MARGE HAD WAY MORE GUY FRIENDS THAN SHE HAD GIRL FRIENDS

First we start out with three large cans of crushed tomatoes, one large can of tomato sauce, one large can of tomato puree, one large can of tomato paste and a large can of spring water. Then after mixing all the liquid ingredients in a saucepan, we toss in four tablespoons of each ingredient of the Italian Trinity. Or oregano, parsley and Italian seasonings as they are more commonly called. Along with three bay leaves that are all mixed in thoroughly.

Now comes the hard part that either makes or breaks the sauce. Over a medium heat, we want to reduce the sauce while it cooks so we have to make sure that we stir it every two to three minutes so it doesn't burn. I remember that we used an egg timer while I was growing up as a constant reminder of when the sauce needed to be stirred again. And we would even take turns stirring it too, that is when we weren't fighting over who turn it actually was.

Add once the sauce began to boil around the edges again, we had to get a grown up to reduce the heat to a slow simmer. Then they also tossed in a pinch or two of baking soda or four tablespoons of sugar.

A word of warning here, if you use decide baking soda, be very careful and don't over do it. As too much baking soda will totally ruin your sauce. That's why I prefer using sugar instead. Since the taste is only altered slightly if you use too much or too little, plus the sauce is never ruined in the process. Though using either ingredient will help reduce the acidity level of the sauce as it cooks. And also makes it much sweeter too in the process, in a partially covered pot so the steam can vent.

 Now all we have to do is stir our sauce occasionally every eight to ten minutes for the next four to six hours. And during the holidays, we usually have two or three pots going at the same time. As one or two of them were for the meatballs and Eggplant Parmesan, while a third pot was usually reserved for the Sausage and Chicken Parmesan. Because the meatball pots usually tended to get a bit over crowded once all the meatballs are added in. This also gave us a little wiggle room to ladle out some of the extra sauce that we used to prepare our Eggplant Parmesan and Chicken Parmesan with, before we started to bake them in the oven. 

Stale bread is the cornerstone that makes a stale sandwich. So the longer the bread stays on the shelf unused, the worse your sandwich will taste. Because of this, we rotate our bread stock twice a week. Once our bread hits the three-day mark, we use it to make our homemade breadcrumbs.

And we use all of it too, not just the rolls. Our breadcrumbs are made with white bread, wheat bread, pumpernickel bread, rye bread, sourdough bread and even the whole-grain or multi-grain breads too. We also toss in the flat breads including wraps, pitas, baguettes, chibatta’s, panini’s, bagel’s and English muffins. Plus all the leftover round and long submarine rolls too. So basically, everything except the kitchen sink.

Once our bread hits the two or three-day mark, we lay it out on baking sheets in the refrigerator to chill and dry out a little bit more. And when it’s ready we cube it all up into one to two inch squares with the crust still attached. Next we place the baking pans into 350 degree-preheated for about 10 to 15 minutes or until they begin to crust up. Lastly our dried out and freshly baked bread cubes spend a few minutes inside a pulsing food processor. Filling the bowl up about three-quarters of the way each time, just so we don’t jam the darn thing up.

This is where we add all the other ingredients like our Italian Trinity of blended spices consisting of parsley flakes, oregano and Italian seasoning. Plus for some added zip, we also add a pinch or two of rosemary, sage and thyme to each batch we make. Finally we store our finished breadcrumbs inside the fridge in a sealed container. Or if we have excess, it’s off the freezer in a zip-lock bag.  

My bright orange neon sign and shaped like a Ford E-100 Econoline van was covered with dust.

When I heard about the game, I knew that I needed to be at Metropolitan Memorial Park .

At the Information Tickets and Tours office, I scored a ticket to the game, where I met Marge .

Marge and I could have done more during the stretch, but I didn't read her signals properly. 

I told Marge about some baseball and wrestling curses, then she say my bright orange van. 

Because of my premature ejaculation issue, I invented this tactic or trick to last a bit longer.  

Now that my bright orange van was all spiffy, all the fan mail from those jealous neon signs could start rolling back in again. While giving my van a bath, I began thinking about how I was going to find a willing partner to help keep my noodle wet, before my next duty day.

But all I could concentrate on were the three letters that Gwen sent me wile I was deployed. And in the first one, she wrote.

Larry,

Today I moved out of our apartment without any problems. Roy and I walked around the whole place and didn't see any damages what so ever. Roy said that you should be receiving a credit on you’re credit card in about 45 days for the entire amount of your security deposit. And my job is going great plus Don (her ex boyfriend) and I hooked back up again.

Don also likes it when I kegel fuck him, thank you for teaching me how to do that. And I’m also training him just like you taught me to do. Because once I found out that he likes me to be a dirty little whore for him that is exactly what I became. As I'm always going out with him in public and simply forgetting to wear a bra or panties, and I’m constantly flashing him too.

Plus every time I visit Don at work, I only wear that dress with the zipper all the way down the front. You know, the one that you had me unzip in that fancy restaurant you took me to once. 

And I’m always daring Don to unzip it all the way down right in front of his co-workers, but he never does. Then every once in a while, while I’m standing in his office or an empty cubicle with him. I would slowly start to unzip it down below my belly button just to tease him. But he always seems to stop me before I reach the hemline. Oh well, maybe next time.

Gwen

Even though I wanted to write her back, I couldn't because Gwen used our apartment as the return address. And I hoped that she had enough common sense to at least fill out a change of address form, but one never knows of these things.

Mental note to self, stop by and check with the local post office when I get back to see if there are any undelivered mail for either of us.

Then in a second letter I got from Gwen it was about 47 or so days later, and in it she wrote.

Larry,

You should have received the credit to your card by now, which I did, almost two weeks ago.

I went out and bought Don a Gary Hogeboom jersey because the Dallas cowboys are his favorite team. But I only got to wear it once, because the next week Don bought me a Dallas cowboy’s cheerleader’s outfit to wear instead.

Now every week during game time, we both have something and only that outfit to wear. Plus I’m still working on training Don and he's almost right where I want and need him to be.

Then in closing, Gwen wrote.

I wore the hobbling rope that you made the day we moved in together to work twice under my clothes so far. And the first time I just wore it wrapped around my waist. Then while I was working, I got so horny that I had to diddle myself in the ladies room twice.

But the second time though. I actually wore it behind my neck, then down between my boobs and I tucked both loops into my panties. That day I had to frig myself off a half a dozen times at work and once again before I took it off after I got home.

Plus sometimes when I have the day off, while Don’s at work, I would hobble my legs together and lay face down on the bed waiting for you to come home and fuck me like that again. You know, I almost got busted three times when I fell asleep dreaming about you.

But each time, I've managed to safely tuck the rope away before Don walked into our bedroom. Plus all three times I was spread eagle and soaking wet, and I would say. Oh Don, I was thinking about you and want you so bad. I decided to get ready and wait for you.

And each time, right on cue, Don has fucked me silly. Then maybe one day, I will teach Don exactly how to tie me up just like you did so many times. And I might even let Don tie me up and send me to work with your puppet strings hidden under my clothes.

Because I absolutely loved it, each and every time you made me your little sex puppet on a string. So no matter what happens between me and Don, you will always be my Puppet Master.

Your LSP, Gwen

When I received the last letter from Gwen, I was happy for her and sad for me at the same time, because in it she wrote.

Larry,

I got promoted at work today. And now I’m in charge of all the cashiers and bag boys. My official title was head cashier. (Hell, I could have giving her that title after the blowjob that she gave me the day I left.) And with that title, I am now responsible for training all the new hires and making out the weekly work schedules. Plus my boss John also put my name in to be promoted to assistant manager.

For that, I was happy and proud of her accomplishments.

The sad news however was also in this third and final letter I received from Gwen. And it felt like a dozen kicks straight to my nuts, because in it Gwen also wrote.

Don and I are getting married and I don’t want you to come looking for me when you return. Because I know that if I ever saw you again, I would want you to hobble me to a table and fuck the hell out of me again.

And to be perfectly honest with all of you reading this, I really don't know if I could say I can't or we shouldn't. Especially if Gwen ever said, “Sailor I want you to fuck me right here, right now, And I want you to keep fucking me until I tell you to stop.” 

Because even after what Suzan did to me, I would have most likely done the same thing to Don. So I guess that would make me a hypocrite.

Then in closing Gwen wrote.

Everything that I am today and everything that I will be tomorrow, I owe to you and that fateful day we met at the flea market. I could never fully repay you for what you did for me that day and the many wonderful days that soon followed. It was because of your hand up and not a hand out that I’m where I am today. I think of you often and if you think of me once in a while, I would truly be happy.

Your friend forever, Gwen.

But in truth, I thought about Gwen almost every day too. And today was no different. As I climbed into my while it was still dripping wet and started jerking off to the many fond memories that Gwen and I shared. And that’s also when I heard on the radio that the Syracuse Chiefs were in town. And that they were playing the Tidewater Tides tonight at Met Park.

And after quickly cleaning up and getting dressed again. Deep down in my heart of hearts, I knew that I had to be at this game in order to find my next girlfriend. So I raced through hand drying my van, then I raced back to the base and to the ITT Office. That means Information Tickets and Tours for all of you non military viewers out there reading this.

And the ITT office usually had free or discounted tickets for the military and their dependents. So they could attend many of the local events going on in or around town. And if I had to meet my next ex girlfriend on the cheap, then so be it.

But ever since 1977, I’ve been boycotting the International Baseball league. And that’s when the Syracuse Chiefs changed their team affiliation from being a New York Yankees farm team to the Toronto Blue Jays. I never saw myself attending a game again, until today. 

But what we were doing was extremely dangerous at best. Since Marge and I weren't paying any, or very little to be more precise, attention to the game. And one of us could have been seriously injured by a foul ball.

Plus I was quite sure that Steve would have sacrificed himself to save Marge if need be. Then on the other hand, I would be lucky to get a “Hey, Larry look out” from him.

Although, no one never knows how they will act until that type of situation actually arises. And if the roles were reversed however, I'm pretty sure that I would have done the exact same thing for both Marge and Steve. At least I hope I would anyway.

As Marge and I sat totally oblivious to the game, our surroundings and Steve for that matter, we continued talking. First we covered the International League. I told Marge that when I was younger, I went to about 20 games a year until 1977 when I stopped going to them.

And that we would arrive at each game as soon as the gates opened. And how we would bounce around from the home teams side to the visiting teams side keeping all the ushers on their A game. 

Then Marge piped in with how her father Adam would take her and her brother James to a dozen or so games each year. Mostly when Richmond was down visiting and that they would occasionally drive up to the capital city to watch the Braves play at home.

Then we started talking about the Major Leagues when Marge asked. “Why did you stop going to games back in 1977?”

Swallowing hard, I simply said. “I'm a Yankee fan down to my bones and not a Blue Jay’s fan. And that's when the Syracuse Chief's jumped ship. They left New York Yankees farm system and headed across our northern border to Toronto Canada."

And Marge confided in me that because her father was an Atlanta Braves fan that she and James soon became Atlanta Braves fans too. When I told Marge that my father was a big fan of harness racing, and that I really never understood how to read those dam racing programs. So I just stuck with baseball, and Marge started laughing.

This was also the first time that Steve gave me the stink-eye. Though it was a pretty lame one, it was still considered a stink-eye none the less.

Then I started to dazzle Marge with some baseball trivia by asking. “Which league, the Majors or the International had the longest recorded game?”

After thinking about it for a while Marge replied, “The International League?”

Laughing, I said, “Your right.”

Laughing too, Marge confessed. “It was total guess with my answer,”

Now giggling, I confessed too, by saying. “Either answer was right, because both leagues had record setters. It's just the International League had the longest game in history.”

And it was from that point on, that Marge made sure that she either touched my hand, my arm or my leg every time she spoke to me. Not that I minded, it's just that when she did, Louie would simply flex his kegel muscles and he became a little stiffer inside my jeans.

Then I said. “It was between the Rochester Red Wings, which was a New   York team by the way, and the Pawtucket Red Sox at McCoy Stadium in Rhode Island back in 1981. The game started on April 18th and was halted in the top of the 33rd inning at around 4 in the morning. And that the game resumed in the bottom of the 33rd inning on June 23rd when both teams would be together again. And it was in front of a sell out crowd that lasted less than 20 minutes. The entire game over both days was over 8 hours long."

After I lightly touched Marge's arm, I continued by saying. "Now the longest Major League game was in 1920 between the Brooklyn Robins, a.k.a. the Los Angeles Dodgers and the Boston Braves, a.k.a. the Atlanta Braves. That game was over 4 hours long and lasted for 26 innings.”

Giggling, Marge said. “I wonder if my Dad knows that the Braves got their start in Boston. I'll have to ask him next time I see him.”

Laughing, I simply replied. “Just don't quote me on it. I may have some of my facts messed up. But the Boston Braves did eventually become the Atlanta Braves.”

Next we talked about football, where I told Marge that I was a longtime Pittsburgh Steelers fan. And that it all started in the beginning of the steel curtain days around the mid 70's. Because when the team lost their quarterback Terry Bradshaw and the defense totally took over for the team the rest of that year. And that the front four, basically shut down the entire offensive capabilities of the last nine teams they faced.

Then Marge told me that she was an Atlanta Falcons fan too.

And when I asked, “Let me guess, from your father too?”

Giggling, Marge said. “I'm busted.”

Thinking to myself, I said. “With grapefruit sized tits like that, Marge you are definitely busted all right.”

But on the outside, I just put my index fingers on both my temples and said. “Marge I also see that your father was an Atlanta Hawks fan too, so you and James both instantly became Hawks fans.”

Laughing now, Marge simply replied. “It's not as easy as all that. My father followed the Hawks down from Milwaukee to Saint   Louis where he met and married my mother Bethany. Then when his job moved he brought all of us to Virginia, where he exposed us to the Atlanta Hawks and the other two Atlanta based teams. And that's how James and I became fans; the Richmond Braves were just tossed in as a bonus.”

Laughing myself, I just had to say. “Marge, your precious Atlanta Hawks that your father introduced you and your brother to were once called the Buffalo Bison’s and they were out of New   York State. And that the Boston Braves moved to Milwaukee before finally relocating to Atlanta.”

Serious now, Marge asked. “Are you sure?”

Giggling back at her, I simply said. “Ask your dad about them too, the next time you see him, of course.”

And Marge just replied. “I will.”

And that also earned me my second stink-eye from Steve. So I just figured that Marge was having a lot more fun with me in the last few hours then she ever did with Steve.

All because I was connecting with Marge on a level way above his head, and that I was using some of her early childhood memories to link us both together.

Then I asked Marge, “Do you know which team won the last Governor's Cup, Syracuse or Tidewater?”

After Marge thought about it for a while, she quickly confessed. “I’m not sure.”

And that’s when I chimed in by saying. "The last time the Chief's won the cup was back in 1976 and that the Tides last won it in 1975.”

Now it was Marge’s turn to pipe in by saying. “I know that's not right. Because the Tides won two years in a row in 1982 and 1983 and I'm pretty sure that the Richmond Braves won the cup in 1978.”

And at this point, all I could do was laugh, when I quickly confessed. “Sorry, but my International League memory has a 7 year gap in it from back in 1977 until I stepped foot in the Metropolitan Memorial Park or the MET here, less than 2 hours ago.”

Marge was laughing as she started to lightly caress my forearm, before saying. “I'll just have to fill you in on what you missed later on tonight.”

But it was the gentle and steady stroking of Marge's hand that sent constant jolts of electricity straight down to Louie and overloaded his tiny little brain. Even still, my big brain thought that Marge meant later during the game, instead of later on tonight back at her place.

Once the topic shifted to professional wrestling, I was back on my “A game” when Marge and I hit the mother load because we both picked the Nature Boy Rick Flair for our favorite wrestler ever.

Then Marge's second choice was Magnum TA, or Terry Allen who just signed a deal with Jim Crockett Promotions and World Wide Wrestling. But my second choice was the Dynamite Kid, or Thomas Billington who was also one half of the British Bulldogs tag-team with Davy Boy Smith.

On our third best wrestler ever we nailed it again with the Modern Day Warrior a.k.a. the Texas Tornado, Kerry Von Erich or Kerry Gene Adkisson. Who is being poised to challenge Flair for the NWA World Title very soon. But we were again split on our favorite manager, because Marge liked the Mouth of the South, Jimmy Hart, while I liked Captain Lou Albano.

When we started talking about baseball again, I asked. “Marge, have you heard about any of the curses that were placed on some of the Major League ball clubs over the years.”

Softly Marge replied. “I think I have, but I’m not sure. Plus I don’t believe in curses anyway.” 

Giggling, I asked. “Not even the two most famous baseball curses of all time, The Curse of the Bambino and The Curse of the Black Sox?"

After giving Steve a quick glance, I continued by saying. "Because whenever the Boston Red Sox or the Chicago White Sox would get close to winning the pennant or the World Series. All of the news channels and sports casters would literally go crazy talking about these two curses. Plus they would report what the two teams fanatical fans were doing to try and lift the curses. By either dressing up in period clothing or costumes while they attended the games, or by leaving gifts and making sacrifices at the grave site of Babe Ruth. Sometimes they would even get downright out of hand, with fist fights and drunken brawls.”

Plus I was also hoping that Steve didn't curse me too, when he gave me a third stink-eye, once I started talking about curses, especially when I continued by saying. “Marge, the most famous of all the baseball curses is the Curse of the Bambino. You see, back in 1919 when the Boston Red Sox traded away their star player named Babe Ruth or George Herman Ruth Jr. to the New York Yankees."

After giving Steve another quick glance, I said. "And to this day, the Red Sox have failed to win another world series. Some believed that the team would remain cursed until the Bambino passed away. But when the Red Sox failed to win the series in 1948, 1949 or in 1950, some Red Sox fans believed that the team was cursed for life. There are even some people who believe that back in 1920, Babe Ruth himself cursed the Boston Red Sox when he single-handedly saved baseball after the Chicago White Sox allegedly tried to throw the 1919 World Series.”

As Marge started squeezing my inner thigh, I thought that Louie or my Little Louisville Slugger was going to rip right through my jeans and finally expose his hardness to Marge.

And after a brief silence, to collect my thoughts and composure again, I continued by saying. “Many people say that some of the White Sox players received money outside of baseball to throw the 1919 World Series."

While trying to forget exactly how close Marge's hand was to my firm bat, like she was trying to choke up on it. I said. "And even though all of the players were eventually acquitted of any wrongdoing, they were all still banded from baseball for life. Even Shoeless Joe Jackson, who did absolutely nothing wrong, still patiently waits outside the gates of the Cooperstown Baseball Hall of Fame to be finally let inside with the third best batting average in the game today."

With my little slugger getting even harder, and flexing my kegel muscles. I finished by saying. "Many people also believe that Babe Ruth, the Sultan of Swat or the Big Bam kept the fans coming out to the ballparks just to watch him play and hit home runs. And on top of that, back in 1923, Babe Ruth put the Yankees on the map forever when they moved from the Manhattan Polo Grounds into the newly built Yankee Stadium or The House That Ruth Built. Where he hit a three run homer to win the opening game.”

And just as I was about to tell Marge about another curse, it was time for the 7th inning stretch. So I politely asked Marge and Steve. "If they were interested in anything from the concession stand."

Steve quickly chimed in with. “No thanks man, I'm good.”

But when Marge quickly took her hand off my inner thigh, it lightly brushed against my hardened shaft. Then she grabbed hold of my arm with both of hands, before asking. “Larry, can I come with you?”

And I even missed the boat on the softball that Marge lobbed at me. Even though I did simply reply, “I would be more than honored to provide an escort for the lovely young maiden.”

And of course that little comment earned me a fourth stink-eye from Steve, when Marge giggled and said. “I'm no maiden, but thanks anyway.” 

And when we got about half way to my van, Marge whispered in my ear. “I want to help you break the Chief’s curse. And I want to do it right here in the parking lot with you tonight.”

Again, since I failed to connect the dots or couldn't put two and two together. I didn't even bother to catch one of Marge's two slowest and easiest pitches that she threw at me. As I stood there, motionless for a couple of heartbeats, maybe ten tops.

All because I was totally oblivious and maybe even a little bit naive. That I wound up so far behind the power curve, but when I finally caught on. I was stumbling around like I was back in Junior High School all over again. 

Because I dropped my keys twice on the way to my van and when we finally got there, I had one hell of a time just getting the dam key into the lock. And I was praying that I didn't have this much trouble sticking my huge flesh colored bat into Marge's hairy little batters box. At least I hoped that it was hairy anyway. While Marge just stood behind me laughing and giggling at me the entire time.

Then to top it all off, with all of the other embarrassments and humiliations that I suffered up to this point, when I finally got the door unlocked, I opened it so dam hard that it slammed shut again. Then as I just stood there looking at my van, I silently said to myself. “I am so not getting laid tonight even my van is letting let me down.”

But then I heard Marge still laughing hysterically right behind me, and I quickly came back to my senses. Then after taking a few deep breathes to calm down, I said. “Marge, I made up the whole Tidewater and Syracuse Curse thing just to try and get you to sleep with me. So if you decide to slap me in the face right now, I wouldn't blame you one bit. And if you just want me to bring you home, I'll understand. Because of what I did, or attempted to do was totally disrespectful and untrustworthy.”

Marge taking both my hands in hers said. “Larry like I told you during the game, I don't believe in curses. A team makes or breaks its own luck based on the merits of its players. If the players think there champions, they will be champions. And if they think there cursed, they will be cursed. What you just did shows me that you are a decent and honorable man. Because you risked a chance to sleep with me based on what you believe. And just for the record, I knew that wanted to sleep with you during the stretch when I felt how hard and ready your were. But you ran off to the bathroom before I could show you a place where we could have been alone during the game.”

Shaking my head in disbelief, I just said. “Dam it; I blew my opening game with you in the bottom of the seventh inning.”

Giggling, Marge simply replied. “Just leave the blowing to me. And the sooner you get this door opened, the sooner I can show you my spitball.”

With that being said, I slowly opened the side door of my van again. And placing my hand out to assist Marge inside, I said. “Please Miss, make yourself at home.”

Then as Marge entered my van, she placed her hand on my crotch instead, and said. “What, no big hard surprises for me like during the stretch?”

Trying to make lite of Marge's question, I simply replied. “I think I broke my bat around the second time that I dropped my keys. But before they fell, I was warmed up and ready to pound one out of the park.”

Laughing, now, Marge softly said. “Larry, the next time you have to crack a bat, just let me know. Maybe I can help.”

Giggling back at her, I quickly replied. “Miss sometimes, I wake up at 3 in the morning and need to smack a homer.”

Giggling now too, Marge just said. “Then all you have to do is roll over and poke me with it then.”

Laughing now and even though that was a high fastball. I caught Marge’s pitch with no problem whatsoever, and quickly asked. “So, instead of making me sleep out in my van, I get to sleep in the big bed with you?”

Laughing back at me, Marge simply said. “If you prefer to sleep out in your cold drafty van instead of my warm cozy bed, I won't force you to.”

Swallowing hard, I quickly replied on the outside. “Miss, warm and cozy does sound a lot more appealing then cold and drafty.”

Even though on the inside I was screaming, “My van would be just as warm and cozy as your bed, if you shared it with me.”

Giggling now, Marge said. “Good, then it's settled. I'll just give you a spitball now, and you can try for your homer again after we get back at my place.”

Then as I sat in the M&M chair with my jeans down around my ankles, Marge quickly woke Louie up from his slumber and started giving me a blowjob. That's when I finally had a chance to actually look around and see what Marge would have observed, if her head wasn’t buried in my lap and her lips weren’t wrapped around my cock.

And what I witnessed inside my van was absolutely horrible. I mean after all, it sat in secured parking for six months and one dam week. And I took it out to a car wash once I drove it out of the secured parking lot. But, let's face it; it was just as dusty on the inside as it was on the outside.

And even though the ship was back in port for less then a week, I should have at least checked the inside of my bright orange pride and joy. But because I didn't, there was a visible layer of dust and who knows how many little furry creatures decided to move into my vacant neon orange condo’s two drawers and step cooler while I was away.

Plus there were spider webs everywhere. On a good note though, I didn't see any big furry spiders lurking around and waiting to pounce on my cute little unsuspecting brown haired and brown eyed cocksucker named Marge.

Then as Marge continued choking up on my hardwood shaft, I tried to grab the back of her head. But just like a CY Young award winning pitcher, Marge gave my hands the brush off. When she started to shake her head from side to side, signaling no to the pitch I just tried.

So I quickly put my hands back along side of me in the M&M chair. And less than a minute later, I decided to throw Marge a change up pitch instead. And I quickly started playing with Marge's chestnut colored locks instead.

Then as I started twisting, finger combing and wrapping Marge's hair all around my ten Russian fingers. I began to feel her body loosen up and start to relax. Then at about the same time Marge's pulse quickened and her breathing increased.

Plus Marge even slowed down the pace that she was sucking on my little slugger with. So I just increased the pace and tempo of my playing with her hair. And the more that I played with her hair, the faster Marge's breathing got and the slower she sucked on my little boner, named Louie.

Although I wasn't sure yet, but I hoped that I actually stumbled onto Marge's kryptonite. And if I did, this was awesome, especially when by using both hands to play with her hair. But almost as soon as I started my ACS or Ancient Chinese Secret, Marge suddenly stopped sucking my cock.

Then she began to unbutton her blouse. So being the nice little Italian boy from a good family that I am. I politely continued to play with her hair while Marge was getting naked right in front of me. And when she was finished, Marge quickly unsnapped her bra and removed it too. But even though Marge partially obstructed my view, I was still able to catch a quick glimpse of her Grapefruit-sized tits.

Marge's areolas were about the size of a poker chip and perfectly centered on each light brown chip was a chestnut colored nipple that almost matched her colored hair. But when I attempted to reach out and try to touch one of them. Marge quickly jerked it away from me and moved from a kneeling position to a sitting one.

That's when I got a bird’s eye view of Marge's completely naked upper body. But within that split second, Marge unhooked her slacks, and quickly pulled them and her panties down over her hips to just below her knees. Then just as quick, Marge was once again kneeling between my legs and resumed sucking on my hard oaken staff.

But this time, instead of trying to swallow my bat whole again, Marge's tongue and lips were going completely crazy. I mean one second Louie was sitting on her tongue and the next he was underneath it. Then Marge would start licking Louie like he was the sides of an ice cream sandwich.

Only to quickly switch to treating his mushroom shaped head like it was the last soft serve ice cream cone in the whole wide world. I mean she would suck and savor every millimeter of it from the piss slit right down to my darker colored circumcision ring. 

Then when Marge finished, she would start the complete cycle all over again. When Marge was just about thirty seconds into her third sucking and licking cycle, my balls exploded right in her hungry mouth. So as my family jewels started to pump, Louie coated Marge's throat with my own home made pine tar.

And the entire time, I continued playing with Marge's hair. I mean, you know it was the least I could do for her. And to my surprise, after the last drop was pumped from my loins, Marge continued sucking on my limp little seedling.

Well, now Mr. George Brett. It seams like now we have something in common. I remembered reading about how you got busted for having too much pine tar on you bat. And that was in the top of the ninth at Yankee Stadium back in 1983, wasn’t it?

But today after a Syracuse Chief's and Tidewater Tides game in 1984, I busted a nut and coated Marge's throat with a fresh batch of my own homemade pine tar. Although it wasn't in a big league ball park like yours was. Mine was in the parking lot of Metropolitan Memorial   Park. I was just wondering George, who will be the third member to join our little pine tar circle of friends. As many people seem to say, that all good things cum (pun intended) to those who wait or in groups of three.

But under the constant, random and abrupt movements of Marge's talented tongue, she quickly turned my little seedling into a sapling. Then once Marge started to fondle my family jewels, my sapling continued growing in her warm and inviting mouth. 

And with Marge’s hand steadily working their magic at the very roots of my family tree or my balls from below.  While at the exact same time, her lips kept the mushroom shaped head of my Louisville slugger moist with saliva. But my cock kept right on growing up and stretching out towards her tonsils.

Then a few moments later, Marge had Louie once again standing tall and proud in the on deck circle. Now with my huge stiff bat in her hands and down her throat, Marge just held my little slugger there stiff and at the ready. Then Marge started to claw at my jeans to free my trapped ankles.

And once Marge had my jeans off, she laid on her back upon my carpeted floor and kicked off her own slacks. Now with a bird's eye view from my perch high above in the M&M chair, I got my first glimpse of Marge's entire naked body. Her infield was covered with natural chestnut colored grass that was slowly encroaching her batters boxes along both sides of home plate (or fully exposed pussy).

Although with the center of Marge's home plate still partially obscured by the chestnut colored tangles of her unkempt infield, I would very eagerly sign up as Marge’s private a grounds keeper. Just to plunge my trusty nose, tongue, face and spade or little slugger deep into the center of her infield over and over again.

Then Marge started to lightly pat my carpeted van floor next to her. So without hesitation, I quickly joined her there and eagerly waited for my first job interview as a potential groundskeeper. But to my surprise and almost as soon as I laid down, Marge straddled my hardwood shaft and slowly started rocking her hips back and forth.

So I quickly seized the opportunity that eluded me earlier and reached out for both of Marge's grapefruit sized breasts. Then once her delicious orbs over filled both my empty hands, I started kneading them firmly within my grasp. 

But as the seconds continued to tick by, Marge was slowly increasing the tempo of her hip rocking. And that forced me to grab hold of both Marge’s nipples between my thumbs and forefingers, just to keep my hands in contact with those beautiful bouncing grapefruit-sized globes of hers.

While at the same time, I started to recite the third round of my ACS or Ancient Chinese Secret. By using all the different types of fried rice that are usually found on a Chinese menu and silently saying them over and over in my mind. Because I needed to do this regularly in an ongoing attempt to try and convince my loins not to shoot my load yet.

You see in the first round of my Ancient Chinese Secret, I recite the various types of egg rolls that can be found on a typical Chinese menu. And during the second round, when things start getting hotter and heavier. I have to add the assortment of soups from the menu as well. Just to keep my mind sufficiently distracted from matters at hand.

But right here with Marge and deep in the third round of my Ancient Chinese Secret. I had to add the different kinds of fried rice to the egg rolls and soups that I kept saying over and over in my mind. And if I ever needed to get to the fourth round, I would pull out all the stops. By adding every single entrée on the menu, like all of the beef, pork, chicken and shrimp dishes.

And believe it or not, I have never made it past the third round before going into complete lock-down mode and busting a nut. Speaking of which, I tried to hold out a little bit longer. By immediately jump into lock down mode. And this lock down mode or my new Level 5, or pucker factor 10.

That I got from Lilly every time she would pinch my nuts whenever I didn’t stop pissing when she told me too. I would actually lock down every muscle in my body from my neck all that way down to my toes. And when Marge felt my body stiffen beneath her, she quickly dismounted her prized stallion and held my rigid T-ball stand with one hand and my balls with the other.

Then within five or six strokes, I started to cover Marge's hand and my stomach with a second batch of homemade pine tar. And to Marge's credit, she was undaunted by the content and steady streams of white translucent paste that Louie was covering her hand with. And as long as my family jewels were pumping, Marge kept right on stroking.

But even though Marge wasn't as skilled with the old fashioned hand water pump as Gwen was. Because instead of using slow, long and steady strokes, Marge used much shorter and rapid ones. Still, Marge managed to coax every single drop of my fresh pine tar out of my bat and my loins hanging below it.