Loving Yvonne

Loving Yvonne

A short story by jokermon©2010

The following is a work of erotic fantasy fiction. It contains explicit futanari (hermaphrodite) content. If that's not your thing, or if reading this kind of material is unlawful where you reside due to your age or other legalities, don't read it. Constructive feedback is welcomed. Do not repost without permission.

~~~

Yvonne and I first met in the summer before my senior year, in the woods behind my family’s property. It was kind of embarrassing. She caught me lying naked on a mossy log by the stream, beating off in a single-minded frenzy. I’ve made better first impressions.

~~~

I was masturbating in the woods because I didn’t dare do it at home. I grew up in a very conservative household. My parents had a strict no-porn rule, and I was prohibited from having girlfriends or engaging in ‘acts of self-abuse’. If you think that kind of ban is unenforceable, then you don’t know my parents.

It amazes me that people so sexually phobic were able to procreate. It also amazes me that I accepted their regime as normal for so long.

While I wouldn’t describe my parents as evil or abusive (they provided as best they could), when it came to sex, they were just…weird. For instance: I had stripped naked there in the woods to ensure no evidence would accidentally spatter my clothes. My mother would carefully inspect every article when doing the laundry, and I would have to explain any mystery stains. I’m not kidding. At night, they would listen at my bedroom door, sometimes for hours. If so much as a bedspring creaked, they would fling open the door to “just make sure everything’s all right.”

I won’t go into all the other neurotic little tactics they used to restrain my burgeoning sexuality during those hellish teenage years, but they were all equally extreme. None of them actually stopped me from masturbating of course, but I had to go to ridiculous lengths to get my private time. And I would feel so guilty about it afterwards that it would be days before I would get desperate enough to do it again.

Sadly, they didn’t have to work too hard to prevent me from dating. At that age I still hadn’t properly filled out, or attained my full height. I was a nervous runt with no social graces. The girls in my hometown couldn’t be bothered with awkward clods like me. Our town hosted a big, prestigious university and the girls only had eyes for the male students. Every year a new crop of old-money boys from upstate would come to town, all destined for bright futures elsewhere. My fellow townie boys all learned to say “fucking stuck-up college-groupie” before they learned to say “pass the salt.” My virginity had no end in sight.

Masturbation, however, was well within my grasp. Even with all my parents’ moaning about hairy palms and blindness, I couldn’t be stopped. I was fifteen, incidentally, before I learned the whole were-palm thing was a myth. Not that it slowed me down any. I was at that age where my penis would stiffen up of its own accord several times a day, and it was too tempting not to play with it.

I loved the nasty images that came into my head as I masturbated. Visions of naked, beautiful women and men doing exciting sexy things to each other, and sometimes to me, would just spontaneously appear. The exact details were always vague, as I had no sexual experience beyond masturbation, and precious little visual material to draw upon. The imagination is a wonderful thing, though, and as I rubbed myself, the pleasure and those sexy thoughts and feelings would rise to an awesome peak. When I shot my load all over the bushes, it was pure heaven.

Not much was fun or pleasurable in my life in those years. Masturbation took me someplace else, and that made it an Unquestionable Good.

My parents worked long hours during the summer break, and fortunately, that summer there was only part-time work to be had for students. I had whole days to myself. Our house was out past the town limits, on the edge of a state conservation area, and we had no neighbors. While the house was a sexual no-fly zone, there was plenty of opportunity to fool around naked outdoors. I knew lots of secluded little dells where I could strip and play with myself in complete privacy.

In retrospect, I guess it seems obvious my home life was a pretty repressed, miserable existence. In my young naivete, I thought everybody lived like this. Yvonne taugh

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