The Girl Whose Name I Can’t be Forced to Remember
Introduction:
Note: This a true story. I have not romanticized it a bit. If it’s disappointing, such is life.
When I moved out on my own, I totally moved out on my own. Unlike your average twenty-something, I did not move in with friends, I just moved out on my own. I had a trailer of my own, with nobody else with which to share it.
It took some getting used to, but I eventually grew to like not having anyone to mess with my things, or to tell me what I needed to be doing. Due to a deal with my sister, I still had someone once a week doing my laundry (while I wasn’t home, but she was doing her family’s laundry at the same time so it worked out). Otherwise, I had the run of the place to myself.
Eventually a friend of mine, an acquaintance, really, needed a place to crash temporarily. Due to his pride, I accepted a monthly fee that he was good at paying. Having spent his time in the Armed Forces, he didn’t complain at how low I set the thermostat in the winter or how high in the summer, so things went fairly well, and our friendship built.
All of this went well until Dierdre.
My roommate, Ron, suddenly began to see my ex-girlfriend, Dierdre. This wasn’t a problem at first. When I first had started dating her, I had realized that she wasn’t who I was to end up with, so I had never really grown attached. When we broke up, even, the break-up was more of a mutual acknowledgement of what had already happened, so we managed to maintain friendship. After she started to “date” Ron, she
started to spend the night more and more with Ron.
When she spent more than half of her nights sleeping at my trailer, I finally intervened. I let her know that if she spent more than half her time at my place, she owed me rent. This went differently than I expected, and, next thing I knew, she was renting from me as well.
After she finally admitted that she was six months pregnant, I finally put my foot down and let them know that my trailer was no place to raise a child (a decision I later held to when my own child came along). They needed to find another place to live. Ron was, at this point, working at an apartment complex, so the decision was easy. In short order, she had stolen as much of my stuff as she wanted (including the nastiest porn I owned), and left all of her trash, and they were gone.
I sat back and sighed with relief. Around about this point, though, the phone rang. Conditioned to always answer a ringing phone, I picked up.
“Jones residence,” I answered.
“Is Dierdre there?” a female voice inquired.
“She doesn’t live here anymore,” I responded. “Sorry about that. Take care.”
“Are you just going to hang up on me?” she asked. “Don’t you want to talk?” WTF? This might be interesting. “So you’re no longer renting out?”
“Just so you know, I was burned pretty badly by her and her boyfriend, so I’m not looking to rent out anytime soon.” This was entirely true. As my congratulatory gift on the birth of her daughter (which turned out not to be his), I forgave them about 6 months of rent.
“I’m just looking to talk,” she began. “I’m Tammy. I used to work with Dierdre . . .” And talk we did. About
half an hour or so later, one or the other of us begged off.
I checked in with Dierdre a day or two later.
“Tammy?” she asked. “I remember her. She’s crazy.”
A day or two later, the phone rang again. It was Tammy.
“How are things going?” she asked. The conversation started up again. Nothing important, just two people sharing the insanity of the world with each other.
Every day or two, she’d call back. We’d talk, I’d hope, we’d hang up. After a week or so of this she finally invited me to meet her at her place, about half an hour’s drive away from my place. My hormones, eager at this point for some relief, said yes.
I showed up at her aunt’s apartment (she had already shared with me a sob story about how her parents had kicked her out) looking as sharp as I could. My hair was perfect, and I was dressed attractively, but casually. I nervously knocked at the door, and it was almost immediately answered by Tammy
herself.
She wasn’t a beauty queen, but she was still attractive, in a plain-Jane sort of way. Shoulder length mousy brown hair hung around a perky sort of face. I smiled as she let me in.
On the TV, two grown men were grabbing at each other in tight shorts. Her and the man she identified as her cousin were obviously engrossed in it, but I just wasn’t.
“I am such a Jericho-holic,” she proclaimed. I caught it as a professinal wrestling reference, but didn’t respond.
At my lack of response, she turned on me. “Don’t tell me you don’t watch wrestling!” she demanded.
“I don’t watch TV,” I answered truthfully.
“No TV? How boring!” she proclaimed.
I bit back my first few responses before answering, “I never said I was interesting.”
After that, she decided a walk was a better idea. And so we walked. The conversation was light, with no great ideas involved, but casual enough to relax both of us. Eventually she decided that it would be best if she returned back home to make sure that her cruel aunt and uncle didn’t miss her.
Disappointed, I drove back home, where I slept very well.
A couple of days later, she called back.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hello,” I responded. “How’s it going?”
“Pretty well. I should be free up this Friday. Want to grab dinner and a movie?” she asked.
“Sure,” I replied. “I’ll see you then.”
Friday came, and she showed up. I took her to a mid-scale restaurant, dropped by a movie-rental place and picked a film I had vaguely wanted to see. We returned to my place.
I popped in the movie right away, but real quickly she asked for the bathroom. I directed her, and she went back there, but somehow I couldn’t really interest myself in the film. Soon enough, though, she was back.
“Care to just snuggle up on the couch?” I asked nervously.
“Sure,” she responded, setting her purse down next to the couch.
We lay down across the couch, my arm draped around her. It didn’t take long, though, for my hand to start rubbing her stomach. From her stomach it seemed to follow a natural enough path. When it reached under her silvery shirt, I found a surprise.
“You removed your bra?” I asked naively.
“While I was in the bathroom, silly,” she answered.
“Oh.” As dense as I was, I could take a hint.
My hand felt right at home, pushing her shirt up to expose and explore a couple of nipples on some C-cup breasts that were capped with some pretty tight and dark areolae capped with some enlarged nipples.
My mouth sought her neck first and then her lips. The lips were opened and welcoming, and her tongue found its way into my mouth. Next thing I knew, my hand had found its way under her skirt and was rubbing her mound.
Her panties came off smoothly, as did her top. She was only wearing a skirt at this point, and even that was bunched up at her hips. Two tremendous globes and a neatly trimmed bush were greeting my greedy eyes, while her eyes were a bit glazed, to say the least. She seemed to be in high gear.
Her hands eagerly undid the fly of my jeans, pulled them down, along with my boxers, and sought out my ever-hardening cock. Staring dreamily into my eyes, she stroked me long and hard.
“Do you . . .” I asked, and pantomimed something inanely to indicate oral sex, to which she answered a quick “No.”
Disappointed, but determined, I thrust my now-hard cock straight into her depths and thrust it all the way in. She responded with a moan, encouraging me on. In I went, feeling her incredibly wet folds. Out I went, feeling the cool autumn air. Back in again, and so on. With the lack of foreplay, I lasted for a while, but eventually, as every man must, I finally came, in my own way, silently and ardently.
She straightened herself up shortly thereafter, and begged out. I didn’t say a word as she walked out the door.
The following Monday, she finally called back.
“I got married over the week-end,” she explained. “Any chance that my husband and I can move in?” she asked.
“I told you that I’m not looking to rent out any time soon,” I explained. That was the last I ever heard of Tammy.
