Here it is!
 
 

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Here it is!

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  • Here it is story

 
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    07-02-2011, 07:28 PM
  #1
Weanling
Here it is!

Here it is, the story mentioned in my previous thread! Farmpony84 (moderator) gave clearance to post here so, here goes! (I will only post this in parts, starting with part one.)
_____________________________________________
When you think of a girl, you would normally think of pink nail polish, feather boas, and sparkly stilettos. Not this time. This girl isnít the typical dictionary definition. This is the girl who played with hot wheels instead of barbies. Who would prefer to rip through the mud with her dirt bike than go shopping. Who likes action movies over fairy tales. Sam is what they call her. Samantha Taylor Abrams.
She grew up like any normal kid would. She and her mom were the average mother-daughter pair. Not too close, not too distant. The relationship she had with her dad, on the other hand, was just downright awkward. Their conversations usually consisted of: ďIím going to work.Ē and ďOkay, bye.Ē Her car rides with him were always silent. Samís older sister, Olivia, was the girly one of the family. She was 20 years old, had the perfect apartment, went to the perfect school for physical therapy, the perfect job as assistant manager at her agency, she even had the perfect car. Sam almost thought it was disgusting how much success she had reached in so little time out of graduating high school.
When Sam hit 13, she discovered an alter-ego of herself. She was now turning into this wild, raunchy, spontaneous, badass rebel child, and she took pride in the title and image she carried. Her mom obviously noticed, though her dad paid no heed to it.
She was fifteen now, and she ran through life like nothing could touch her, she was invincible. She had the ultimate boyfriend, Cade, who won over all the trophies in looks, personality, and lifestyle. He was the perfect fit for her.

Something is interrupting my steamy, dreamy, beauty sleep. Yelling. Calling. Mom.
BREAKFAST!!!
Ugh. Wake up. I stare at the ceiling for a few seconds, throw back the destroyed sheets, and stumble out into the hallway. Whooo, head rush. Spinning, static, falling, coming back to life. Reality smacks me in the face as I drag my feet into the kitchen. Mom casually flips over a pancake singlehandedly.
Sup, Bren.
Excuse me?
Good morning, mother!
Better. Sleep well? Breakfast is on the table.
I slept GREAT, complete with waking up to the sweet smell of melting syrup.
Well your sister is coming over this weekend for the 4th of July.
FML. Just what I need. Yet another rub in my face that Olivia is far more successful than I will probably ever be. WaitÖ isnít someoneÖ DING! Brilliant idea. Cade is going to the lake for fireworks this weekend. Courtesy to the genius inside my mind.
Well in that case, Iíll be going to see fireworks with Cade.
Whatever, Samantha. As long as you at least say hello to her.
Uh, sure. Love to.
My cell phone rings in the other room. Speak of the devil. Cade.
Hey there, stud muffin. Whatís shakin?
Mornin, beautiful! So I got the spot by the pier reserved for us this weekend. Everythingís lined up.
Man, I love the sound of his voice. Makes my diaphragm shiver.
Wicked. Mom said I can go, so weíre all clear. Iím up for a little fun.
Yeah, weíll have a great time. Well, I guess Iíd better go. Meet me Sarurday at 5, behind KFC.
Hey wait, see if you can snag a spot in Bradleyís driveway. No one can see my truck there.
Oh, good idea. Iíll see you then. I love you. Bye.
Love you more. Later.

Saturday afternoon. 4:30. My flat iron smells like burnt death and my dogs are going mad. Welcome to a normal day in the Abrams household. I grab by phone, and barely slip out the door when Oliviaís little silver Lexus pulls up in the driveway.
Hey Sammy! How are you?
Oh, hi. My week was great. How was yours? Good talking with you. I gotta go now. BYE!
Poor girl looks confused. Good going, Sam. You really pulled that one off. I turn the key and the engine coughs up to a tired rumble. Jason Aldeanís voice comes blaring out the speakers and the truck chugs out the front gate.
I see KFC and Iím tempted to stop and get a coke or something, but my sex bomb boyfriend awaits me. I circle around the back, slip into Bradís deep driveway and see Cade, all 17 years and 71 inches of him, looking beautiful as ever as he leans against his big ripped up black dually truck. I park and take the keys, run and leap into Cadeís open arms. He squeezes me tight and kisses me with his drug-like, addictive lips.
Hey, gorgeous! Ready to hit the road?
You bet, hot stuff. You picked up extra batteries for the radio, right?
Sure did. Pack of four Dís.
Awesome. Letís beat it.
I slide onto the smooth grain leather of the passenger seat, and scoot up right against Cade. The strong diesel roar of his Ford lulls me to sleep within 10 minutes of the ride.
When I wake up, itís already dark out, and we are parked right by the side of the lake. I see Cade in the back, letting the tailgate down and spreading blankets out in the bed of the truck. I climb out and pop myself up on the jacked-up tailgate next to him.
Hey sleeping beauty. How was your nap?
Good. Quiet.
Well itís just about eight now, they should be starting soon.
His perfect estimation is right on the dot.
There they are.
The first of the little green firecrackers go to popping, and my fingertips start to tingle. I look deep into his emerald-green eyes, and find invitation. So starts a sweet little kiss. Then a long and strong one. They just keep progressing and they wonít stop. But I like it. More and more and more. Before my brain can tell my conscience what to say, my hands grip his soft cotton shirt and up they come, off it goes. We recline and lay back on the blankets and whatever is coming isnít about to stop any time soon. Thatís not at all a bad thing in my book. My hands creep up along his bare muscular stomach and powerful chest. This is an amazing drug. Pleasure this real should be illegal, then Iíd be a well known delinquent. Just a thin layer of latex will determine whether or not my life will be changed, forever.
     

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