Wayward Angel

An eBook By Lizbeth Dusseau.

Sometimes I think I never should have left Back Streets-there are too many memories I can’t forget and would never want to. The smell of tamales and beans in Pepe’s Café... the bell in St. Mary’s church... and Old Gomez who smokes a cigar while his fingers fly over thick guitar strings. Little ones play kickball in litter-lined streets, paying no mind to honking taxis and the mustachioed stallions in their old jalopies. When I was six, the pretty girls had long black hair that grew right to their asses. Their hips rolled, one plump cheek and then the next, as they strolled the broken sidewalks, flirting.

When I was thirteen I became one of them, piling my black hair on top of my head, painting my face with too much make-up and having more fun out of school than in-and who wouldn’t? We smoked in back alleys, giggling like we were drunk. Then, at fifteen when Sonia, Jess and I began to drink, we’d stumble out from behind old dumpsters, looking like we were twenty-five and acting like kids. The truant officer would haul us back to school, just so we could sneak out again-sometimes twice in one day. They hauled us home and I’d get a licking from Papa’s strap-that is, if he was around. He rarely was. Mama would cry over me as though I was lost to sin forever. I smiled at her a lot, and said the nicest things to make her think I was reformed. Next day, my party began again.

I can still recall the day, the three of us skipped out of Social Studies before it began. How could they expect us to concentrate on Rome and Greece when the sweltering heat of Back Streets turned our classrooms into ovens? Mouths parched, we grabbed a quick beer from Carlos out of the back of his bar and hit the streets. Peering over the fence at the Fidelity Bank construction site my eyes settled on tan sweaty arms and a muscled chest. For fifteen minutes, I studied every move that hot boy made-every flex and bend. Every quiver that made me quiver. And every time he ran a hand through his curly hair, I wanted to run mine through the same space. When he turned around, his smile eased into my crotch melting it to liquid, so I was sure my fluid arousal dripped to the ground. I blushed. Thinking I’d explode on the spot, I dragged Sonia and Jess away with me where we cooled down with a smoke.

It didn’t work, though. I was ready to explode. I must have been sixteen by then-I remember begging Papa to let me borrow the truck when the evenings got too hot. I would drive out of the city to the county park where I could masturbate in peace.

Boys got into my blood. Even the guy from the construction site, when I met him at Carlos’ bar. He thought I was much older than I was and almost rode off with my virginity until my big brother’s best friend, Joey, starts acting like a saint protecting me from sin. He spilled my age to my muscled friend, and my poor crotch ended up waiting another six months before it got its first taste of cock.

Sonia had been screwing around for years, Jess at least eight months. But me, I wanted something special that I couldn’t even name. So I waited. And when special didn’t come, I finally let the whole thing slide and took my first cock in Daddy’s truck. Thank the Lord it was quick because it hurt like hell, so much I didn’t want to try again for months. "You’re just small and tight," Sonia told me. "You do it enough, you’ll loosen up." I got this picture of my cunt sagging open and my insides falling out-no thank you!

Special took lots of forms in my mind, but the one I remember most was the day my cousin Juno spanked me at the family Christmas party. My sassy mouth was on a roll, and Aunt Rose had just said one too many things about my short skirt. I flipped her off and started toward the kitchen, ignoring the stares of my relatives whose rowdy conversation ceased instantaneously. Getting fifteen of my relations to stop their crazy half-Spanish, half-American jabbering for even ten seconds was quite a feat. I did it for nearly sixty. The quiet in the room became so eerie that I stopped and turned around.

"What the fuck are you staring at?" I blurted out, knowing that all their eyes had been on my jiggling butt.

Their blank-faced expressions turned into a few anxious gasps before the remark finally registered

Cousin Juno was twenty-three, quite a hunk with the girls, and very strong. He’d been a wrestler in high school and still lifted weights so his biceps looked like mountains. Pissed off, he threw me over his shoulder-with my panties showing-and hauled me upstairs. He didn’t even give me a chance to apologize, which just seeing the look on his face, I would have done in a second. He had me over his lap, spanking my ass with the force of thunder before I mounted a decent revolt.

"Ouch, you evil bastard!" I blared, while the house was still silent enough to hear. After that, I don’t know what they heard.

Juno laid in to my butt with such rip-roaring passion, that my cries and the sound of his hand connecting with my ass cheeks were all that I heard. Maybe they were listening, maybe they went back to their arguing. I didn’t care. I wouldn’t be showing my face for the rest of the day.

My ass wiggled, as my cheeks roasted under the beat of Juno’s hand. Surely, his palm had to be hurting as badly as my ass, but, he was immune to the pain. Worse yet, because my skirt was so damn short, the hem rode high on my ass, and he hardly had to push it away to have bare skin. Thank heavens I’d worn panties-which I sometimes didn’t. If he’d had my butt free and clear, I would have had to knee him in the groin before I ran off. But as long as he kept my pink lace panties between us, I let him have me-grudgingly of course, and with a heck of a lot of hollering.

Problem was, it wasn’t just pain, humiliation and rage I was feeling. Something sexual was happening inside my next to virgin body...

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