The 8×10 of Darcy O’Dell Ch. 01

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Babes

This is the story of a woman I loved… loved a lot. Too much, really. Years ago. Am I still obsessed with her? That’s what I’m about to tell you. If I had possessed any decent storytelling skills back in 2001 when that was the present day, I would have written it all down back then. But no matter, in a way it’s timeless.

Many thanks to my volunteer editor, thewinedarksea, whose considerable investment of time made this a much better story. This is the first of two chapters.

(In other countries besides the U.S., her photograph would be A4 or 20 cm x 25 cm.)

* * *

INTRODUCTION: The Scanning Project (2001)

I was proud of myself for spending every weekend of the last several months slogging through the many boxes of photos I’d accumulated over the years. I knew that they’d never make it into the computer unless I did a rigorous editing and cataloging first. All the snapshots—literally thousands of them—had been carefully culled down, chronologically indexed, and were ready for the scanner. The final task was organizing the enlargements.

A few had been framed and were up on the wall, but the rest were in boxes I hadn’t looked at in years. The last batch was the big envelopes that held the 8 x 10 prints.

Most were from my college days two decades ago. I slowly flipped through them, recalling fond memories and wondering how the photographs had survived those years. The last one made my heart leap. There she was: Darcy O’Dell, in close-up. Big round sunglasses perched atop her light blond hair, pretty smile on her face, bare shoulders in a sleeveless blouse—her 20-year-old radiance preserved for future generations to gaze upon. It was the only picture I had of her.

Yes, I had a crush on Darcy, big time; but back then she was in love with Steven, one of my close friends. I think many of us could tell a version of this story: admiring a buddy’s wife or girlfriend from afar, wondering why fate hadn’t matched her up with you instead. Or perhaps imagining the two of you as a couple in a parallel universe somewhere—but keeping those thoughts to yourself, of course.

PART 1: Life before Darcy (1980)

The story begins when I was starting my junior year at college. I was fortunate enough to have a little furnished studio apartment on my own. I had convinced my parents it was essential to have a quiet place to study without distractions from roommates.

By contrast, almost all of my friends had gone together to rent a large house on Belmont Street. The house had been stately once, like the neighborhood itself. Time had not been kind to either.

At any given time, at least six guys were living there, often with girlfriends moved in as well. If you remember the movieAnimal House, you’d have some idea of the insanity that reigned, except there wasn’t even the minimal control of a fraternity, much less a college dean.

Steven Carson lived at Belmont. I imagine that almost every group of male friends has a “Steven”: better looking than the others, loads of self-confidence, and an uncanny ability to get inside the head of almost every woman he encounters.

If several of us met a group of new girls, it was a given that Steven would end up with the prettiest one. We had mostly made our peace with this; after all, many times his charisma seemed to rub off on us, too. If the other girls couldn’t have Steven, then one of his buddies would do. I often felt like we were the roadies who were getting the groupies the rock star passed over, but sometimes you just have to accept that’s the way the world works.

What I couldn’t understand was why Steven frequently emphasized quantity over quality. One week he’d bed some beauty who was way out of my league, but then I’d see him go after a girl from the other end of the spectrum. I knew Steven was just adding to his list of conquests, but I learned a humbling lesson from one of them: a flat-chested, homely waif named Mink. I wondered if she had taken her nickname from the actress in the John Waters movies. Someone thought her real name was Melanie, but we didn’t know for sure.

When Steven first showed up with Mink, I wondered what he was doing with a skinny dogface like her. She was passive and unsexy. Her poorly dyed blond hair was chopped short, and she dressed like a little boy: jeans, baggy t-shirts, and always the same pair of dirty tennis shoes. I don’t know where they met, but she had a sad, wrong-side-of-the-tracks look to her.

It didn’t take that long before Steven had dumped Mink for a more attractive gal, but it tookmuch longer than anyone expected. Even so, she still came by Belmont regularly, despite Steven having other girlfriends present—even ones living with him.

We sort of tolerated Mink, letting her hang out with us, go on our weekend treks to City Park, or join the card games when we were short a player. She was quiet, pleasant, and never got on our nerves—more than I could say for some of the Belmont residents. Steven was somewhat friendly to her; the others acted like she wasn’t there. I always thought having another pendik escort woman around our male-centric place was a good thing. No one ever made a pass at her.

PART 2: The Lesson from Mink (1981)

One night I learned one of life’s important lessons, the kind you never see coming. I was out the door of the Belmont house and heading down the sidewalk to my car when I heard Mink call my name.

“Jeff, can you give me a ride home? Valerie was supposed to come get me, but she just called and said she can’t make it.”

Valerie was another one of Steven’s short-term conquests, plain and dull like Mink. She also kept coming around Belmont to hang out. That’s where she met and became friends with Mink—both rejects from pretty boy Steven.

I was tired and didn’t want to drive to some unknown part of town that late. She walked up to me and put her hand on my arm. “Please?”

“OK, Mink. Just tell me where to go.”

When I opened the car door for her, she seemed surprised at the gentlemanly gesture. Her directions took us past the college to a well-kept neighborhood with modest homes. It was closer than I expected but still not a distance a woman should be walking at night.

“You can pull over here. I rent a little garage apartment. Can you walk me to my door? It’s so dark back there.”

“Sure.” I went around to open the door for her. Mink took my hand and lifted herself out of the car.

“Thanks, Jeff. I didn’t want to walk home this late. I doubt anyone else at Belmont would get up off their ass to help me.”

Itwas very dark. I would have been nervous about walking back there by myself.

“The landlord doesn’t want a light on back here. He says it keeps him awake at night.”

We reached the stairs that led up to her apartment. After an awkward pause, she touched my hand.

“Would you like to come up?”

I had known Mink for about three months. I never thought I’d find myself standing in the pitch dark in front of her home with that question hanging in the air. The loneliness from my long stretch without a woman gripped my heart.

“Sure. That’d be nice.”

When I stepped inside her apartment, I was shocked. I’m not sure what I expected to see, but it was the neatest, cleanest place I’d been since moving out of my parents’ house. The contrast with the squalor at Belmont was striking.

As soon as the door was locked Mink surprised me by quickly making the first move, grabbing me forcefully and sending her tongue into my mouth. All my preconceptions about Mink quickly melted away. She was an excellent kisser, groaning with arousal, wrapping one leg around me, and unbuttoning my shirt as she ran her fingers through my hair.

I cupped her little ass in my hands, and she squealed with delight. “Bedroom,” she gasped.

As I followed her back to her boudoir, she undressed on the way, deftly hopping on one leg at a time to get out of her jeans. She had no underwear on. Her slender, gamine body and short hair were unnervingly androgynous, but that perception was quickly dispelled.

I followed her lead and yanked off my shirt and was struggling with my jeans as we entered her bedroom. “Here. Sit down,” she commanded, pushing me back on her bed. Mink had my boots and pants off in a flash and my boxers lowered just enough to guide my erection into her mouth.

Her oral skills were impressive. As soon as she had my shorts on the floor, she began a slow, sensuous worship of my cock. Both hands were busy, stroking my length and fondling my balls. A surprising burst of dirty talk flowed from her mouth as she rubbed my cock on her face.

“Let me make you feel sexy, Jeff. I want to touch you. And kiss you. Everywhere. Mmm, you’re nice and hard.” She stared into my eyes, massaging the tip of my cock as she dipped one hand between her legs. “My pussy isso wet!” A huge drop of precum oozed from the end of my prick. Mink caught it on her tongue and lapped it up. My head was still playing catch-up with my body at that point. Had it even been ten minutes since she asked me for a ride home?

While Mink continued to work her magic on my cock, I momentarily glanced at my surroundings: her bedroom was neat as a pin, quiet, tasteful, and feminine. Instead of the expected rock music and celebrity posters, she had pinned up what looked like original fashion sketches: dresses, hats, jackets. Mostly women’s stuff but a few male studies as well.

A moment of guilt overtook me. When I decided to follow her up the stairs, I felt like I was doing her a favor. A mercy fuck. That I would be a good guy and do (most of) the same things with her sexually that I would for a bustier or prettier woman. What a heel I was! At Belmont she was like furniture, in the background. We had stopped thinking of her as a human being, as a person with her own thoughts, feelings, and ambitions.

But now she was front and center. On her turf. Surprisingly aggressive and sexually adept. Trusting enough to take me into her own bed.

Mink started to crawl on top of me, but I stopped her.

“I maltepe escort want to see how wet you really are.”

I flung her down on the bed and onto her back. She groaned loudly when I kneeled down, pushed her legs open, and began licking and kissing her thighs. I reached up with my hands to pinch and knead her barely-there boobs. When I drew my tongue along her pussy lips, she struggled to contain her outbursts, thrashing about on her neatly made bed.

Another surprise greeted me when I first tasted her: it was like nectar, sweet and sexy all at once. I pinned down her thighs with my arms and ate her out with abandon. She choked back screams that would have awakened more than her landlord.

I lost track of how many times she came—wet and sloppy, all over my mouth. Her excitement, her release, her sweet taste! My cock ached to feel inside her.

She eventually pulled my head back and begged for a timeout.

“Let’s both get some air for a second. Oh, Jeff, you really know what a girl wants. And how to give it to her. Damn!”

“Mink, I just did what your body was telling me it needed.”

“Did you ever! Well, this body still needs something else. I want you to take me from behind.”

She rolled over, moved her knees to the edge of the bed, and bent over—face on the sheets, her cute little ass in the air. Fingers appeared between her legs, spreading her lips open.

“Ready for you.”

And I was more than ready for her. I was deep inside her on the second thrust.

“Yes, hard like that. Fuck me hard.”

I’d never heard a woman talk like that before—not that I was all that experienced in the bedroom, but wow! I grabbed her narrow hips and slammed into her, as hard and fast as I could. Her body was so slight that I worried about hurting her. Mink never gave any indication I was being too rough—quite the contrary. She was barely muffling her enthusiasm in the pillow. I felt my own orgasm moving closer. I warned her I wasn’t able to hold back much longer.

“Go ahead and come in me, Jeff. I’m on the pill. I want to feel you shoot your load in me. Do it now.”

That’s all it took. Massive surges of pleasure exploded through my genitals as I emptied into her sopping wet pussy.

“Oooh! It’s hot. I can feel it. Going up inside me. That’s gonna make me come again… yes. Ahh!”

Mink’s little body heaved, the waves of her orgasm meeting the pulses of my ejaculation. I had read many a dirty story where a simultaneous climax was commonplace, but that was the first time it had happened to me.

We both held still as the warm glow of release spread through our bodies. Heavy breathing and the smell of sex filled the room.

She flopped down on the not so neatly made bed and rolled over, moaning with contentment. I fell down next to her, put my arm around her, and pulled her close. She seemed so small and fragile. I detected an odd scent in her hair: like French fries?

“Jeff, that was amazing.”

“As were you, Mink.”

She was quiet for a minute.

“Thanks for coming up. I’m so glad you did.”

We cuddled for longer than I expected, gossiping about the other Belmont folks. It was the most I’d heard her talk—ever.

Mink got up and headed to the bathroom; she closed the door but didn’t lock it. I was still trying to make some sense of what had happened between us when I spied an award certificate on the opposite wall with a red ribbon taped to the little frame. That would have her real name on it. Sure enough, in Old English calligraphy: Melodie Markham, Jefferson High School Art Fair, 1st Runner-Up, Senior Class Group.

My jaw fell open when I saw it was from three years ago; she was my age! Heck, I’d been worried she might not even be legal.

She came back and saw me looking at her award.

“Mink, I see you’re an artist.”

“I’m trying. My high school art teacher had a lot of encouragement for me. Finding the money for more training has been impossible. I can barely afford any art supplies.”

“Well, your fashion sketches look professional.”

“Thank you, Jeff. Not many people have seen them, but they’re very real to me. It’s the one thing I have that might lift me up from the grind of my current life.”

We had fallen silent for a moment before she spoke. “You don’t have to stay over. I’d like you to, but it might work better for me if you didn’t cross paths with my landlord in the morning. I’ve got an early shift anyway.” She didn’t say where.

“Then I’ll do what I was planning to do tomorrow morning before I headed out.” I guided her back to the bed. “Lie on your back and relax. Are you right handed?”

She nodded. I gently placed that hand on her mound and parted her legs. I kneeled at her side and leaned over so I could suck and fondle her boobs. One hand to keep busy with the breast I wasn’t kissing, the other to caress her thighs.

“Start playing with yourself.”

There was no hesitation on her part, at all. She began rubbing her clit. My lips closed in on her nipple.

“Oh, yeah! Suck my titties. kartal escort Use your teeth. Harder!”

I bunched my fingers together and began teasing her pussy lips. It wasn’t long before she wanted more than that.

“In me. Push your fingers in me.”

Soon I had three fingers pumping into her sodden kitty while I kept up my rough kneading and sucking of her breasts. She had two more wrenching climaxes before collapsing like a rag doll.

When Mink finally recovered, she pulled herself upright and asked me to stand by the edge of the bed. She put her hands on my ass and buried her face in my crotch. I was already rock hard when she took me in her mouth.

“Jeff, I want to get you off one more time before you go.” It didn’t take long before her lips and tongue had my cock ready to explode again. “Do you want to come in my mouth?” she panted.

“No, on your breasts.”

“Oh, Jeff, I want that! Come on me like that. Please?”

She jerked another hot load from me, writhing and moaning while I rained down on her chest. I got home a lot later than I had intended that night.

PART 3: Melodie d’Amour

Over the following weeks I slipped into bed with Mink quite often: sometimes hers, other times mine. She actually had a fairly interesting personality once she was away from the Belmont crowd and could be herself. We did most of our talking after we wore each other out in bed. She had a lot of self-image issues. I’m no psychologist, but I tried to give her some advice and other perspectives.

“Mink, when you look at the entire female population of this country, there aren’t that many knockouts. It only seems like it because we see all the prettiest ones on TV, in the movies and magazines. Other women need to figure out what their most desirable traits are and develop them.

“I’m going to sound like your high school health teacher: work on your personality, be a good listener, don’t take yourself too seriously. No self-pity, no sarcasm. A smile on your face even when you don’t feel like it. Have a positive mental attitude. Take some pride in the way you dress.”

I pointed to her sketches. “Is this your career goal? To be a fashion artist?”

“That will have to come later. There’s no money for that now. It seems distant to me.”

“Something else, Mink. Pretty girls can be shallow since they think their looks can take the place of a personality. Same with busty women who think all they have to do is drop their blouses when they get in the bedroom.”

I let my hand wander below her waist. “You’re pretty good in the sack, you know.”

“I guess I have to if I want to compete,” she said, half joking.

“That’s the spirit, Mink.”

* * *

One night she was sitting on the edge of the bed when I got over there, on the verge of tears. She had been reworking fashion magazine layouts in her own style, but the cumulative beauty of all those models had brought her low. I tried some tough love. I sat down next to her and put my arm around her.

“Mink, I have some questions for you.”

“OK.”

“When we get together, am I hard before you take my pants off?”

“Yes.”

“Am I oozing precum before I enter you?”

“Yeah.” She looked up at me.

“Do you make me come like a bull?”

“Yes,” she giggled.

I took that as an opportunity to wrestle her to the bed and start tickling her. She was an easy mark for that. She shrieked with protest as I continued my questions.

“Like a bull?…inside you?…on your tits?…on your face?…on your ass?…in your mouth?”

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Eeek, stop tickling me! Yes! Yes to all of them!”

I tormented her a little longer while we rolled around on the bed. I was getting very turned on. I could see that flush on her face she gets when she’s that way, too. I stopped, lifted her up, and put her on my lap. I moved her hand down to where my pants were damp from our raucous foreplay.

“Any signs of inadequate arousal on my part?”

“No-o,” she said with a woozy drawl as she felt my hardness.

“Give yourself some respect, Mink. I rest my case.”

The sex that followed that night was glorious.

* * *

We didn’t tell anyone at Belmont about our affair; that was her suggestion. If we were both over there, we had a scheme where I would say goodnight and leave and wait down the street until she left about fifteen minutes later. People never noticed when she was gone—or cared.

I think the only person who knew was Artie, the owner of two adorable black Labrador Retrievers. He had been out walking his dogs when he saw Mink get into my car one night. Artie taunted me the next time I saw him at Belmont.

“Boy, Jeff, you must be hard up if you’re poking her.”

Instead of slugging him, which really wasn’t my style, I calmly asked who he’d been fucking lately. I knew the answer before I asked: no one.

* * *

The affair with Mink ran its course after a few months. One night Steven’s latest paramour introduced me to a friend of hers while the three of us were out nightclubbing. Yes, Patty was taller and bustier and a lot cuter than Mink—and classier, if I’m honest with myself. We danced and made out some, had fun, got sloshed together. But with Patty, I let my heart get way out in front of my head. I stopped calling Mink.

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