***Author’s Note***
This story is a companion piece to my earlier story “1969: Ghost Before the Dawn” and a companion piece to any stories in the “1969” series, and related series.
You don’t have to read those to understand this story. They are all meant to make sense individually, as well as together.
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It was a gentle afternoon in early spring of 1968. Golden light peeked through cotton clouds, and gentle breezes kissed the cheeks of Dorothy and Ginger–peach and copper-skinned respectively, each with black hair and casual garments –as they smoked and rested on a park bench, shaded by a tree.
“…so my mother goes on one of her tirades, all ‘what have I done? What have I done?!’ and asking God to forgive her for bringing me into this world–which is kind of fucked up, actually–and I thought, that’s pretty dramatic; I just offhandedly mentioned my crucifix keeps falling off the wall. Pretty sure it’s just not set up right.”
“That’s… heavy,” Dorothy said, “are you sure you won’t move out sooner?”
“After my brother does. It shouldn’t be too long.”
Ginger took another drag from the cigarette. “I don’t know. Tell me your week was better.”
“It was great, actually, but that feels like a dick thing to say right now.”
“No, no. Go ahead. Tell me about it.”
—————
A series of knocks met the apartment door.
“Who is it?” Hiram called.
“It’s Dorothy.”
A rush of footsteps back and forth across the floor, a faucet in use, and a few unknown clangs came just before Hiram opened the door, honey-skinned and dark-haired in a scarlet robe.
“Oh, Hiram!” she embraced him tightly, pushing the door behind her shut with a single foot.
Her face was buried against his shoulder, wisps of curls pressed to his neck, his arms wrapped around her short, black turtleneck dress.
And his dogs happily nuzzled against her.
When she finally stepped back, which took some time, her peach nose was reddened and the whites of her eyes much the same.
“What’s wrong, Dorothy?”
She sniffled. “Just a long day.”
“What happened?”
“Bunch of meshugas.” She threw off her shoes and went to the bedroom, plopping on the violet sheets. Hiram followed and shut the bedroom door behind him.
“There were so many people today who were absolute fucking scuzzbuckets. One man tried to pinch my ass and I told him, even politely, not to touch me and he said he ‘wasn’t doing anything’. Another man kept ‘joking’ about what I’d do for twenty dollars. Then some bitch screams at me because she didn’t like the food she ordered and she’s hurling slurs and talking about my ‘fat Italian nose’. I didn’t bother correcting her. I mean, what the fuck?”
“Damn.”
“Well, I went home, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about it, so now I’m here. All because ‘the customer is always right’. Suck my dick.”
She blew a raspberry and huffed.
“I think I’d like to see it first.”
“What first?”
“The dick.”
She burst out laughing. “Sorry, man. I left all my dicks at home.”
“Bummer.”
Dorothy eyed his robe. “Were you jerking off?”
“Yes.”
Dorothy tossed her socks aside and pressed bare feet against the scarlet fabric. He caressed her leg and the two locked eyes.
“Did I interrupt?”
“No. You have impeccable timing.”
“If I had impeccable timing, I probably would’ve been here just before it.”
He gave a soft chuckle, a hand trailing further.
“Oh, I don’t think so, Dor.”
She held her feet higher and he leaned to kiss the tips of her toes.
“I think… ” Hiram said, “it was perfect.”
Dorothy wrapped her ankles around his neck and dragged him to his knees.
He kissed up her legs.and her body relaxed.
Hiram lifted her thighs up and she pulled her dress higher, exposing her dark bush, then he put a pillow just beneath her ass.
Soon, his face was between those thick thighs, inhaling that sweet, intoxicating scent.
He kissed at her folds, gently pushed them apart, and sucked on her clit.
She squealed and giggled, then held his curls with a sweet sigh.
Just the right amount of pressure, his tongue pressing against her, his mouth upon her.
Dorothy softly groaned.
And he kept a steady rhythm.
She kicked a little and briefly muffled her moans with a pillow, leaning further into him.
Harder into him.
God, she was so wet.
Breathing picked up and mutual moans combined.
Much time passed, and he kept steady.
Feet gripped his back and she let out primal grunts, holding his head against her.
Still, he was steady.
She groaned deeply. Just about violently.
She squealed and shook and squirmed, but he gripped her thighs and kept his mouth perfectly in place to suck that sweet, swollen clit.
Dorothy rose even harder onto his mouth, tensed, hot, and wet, panting and twitching.
Again and again and again, and still, he maintained the perfect rhythm as the minutes passed.
Her hands rested on her breasts through the black fabric. She pressed her lips together, breathing heavily through her nose.
Moaning out hard, her deep grunts punched the air till she pillowed herself once more, her body pulsating in his mouth, tensing and untensing with each release.
She collapsed onto the bed, her form fully relaxed, and heavy breathing quieted.
Only then did he take his mouth off of her.
Their eyes locked. He crawled up to her and she caressed his hair as they shared a gentle kiss.
She giggled. “You taste like pussy.”
“What a coincidence, so do you.”
They laughed together and kissed once more.
“…hey Hiram?”
“Yeah?”
“I was just wondering; what were you thinking about when you were jerking off?”
“You really want to know?”
“Well, especially now that you’ve said that!” she laughed. “Lay it on me, ‘ram. What was it?”
“Betty Rubble.”
“Somehow, that makes a lot of sense.”
After some rest, Dorothy opted to spend the night and phoned her family to let them know. She and Hiram spent the evening with a great many kisses and some analingus, and went to sleep after they were sure to catch The Carol Burnett Show, one of Hiram’s favorites.
—————
“So, when are you getting married?”
“Oh my god, Gin,” Dorothy laughed. “When did you become my mother?”
“1946.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“Does it?”
The two laughed.