Time Machine Sexual Adventures

"He sounds pathetic," I said.

"Well, you know if he hadn't discovered the two of us in 'flagrante delicto' with your old skinny dick in my caboose, I'd probably still be married to the jerk.

"Wow, you've got some great vocabulary."

"Yeah, Arty used to give me a list of words to memorize. Come on, Raphie, let me show you around. You don't mind if I call you Skinny Dick, do you?"

"Of course not."

She gave me a tour of the home. I was pleased she'd done so well to be able to afford such a grand place. We had a few drinks and then a walkabout. I quickly realized she'd offered me the tour as a way to get me up to her bedroom. Women can be quite devious at times.

Sadly, I had previously read her obituary and knew she would die at the Roosevelt Hotel. Seeing her in her new digs made me more relaxed. If I could keep her from leaving, perhaps she would not undergo the preordained fate. That was part of the reason I'd chosen to be with her on the day of her death. I hoped I could save her.

When we got up to her bedroom,

"Well, Slim, so now that we are up here, how about a reunion fuck?"

"Sure, but I'm afraid after the drinks, my weenie has gone limp."

"No problemo," said MM. "Come stand in front of me. I'll get down on my knees like a good little girl. I'll make you believe you are the czar of the studio, and I'll suck old skinny back to life. I promise, inside my mouth, he will reach his full potential."

You never argue with a woman anxious to give you a blow job. Just the way she said, "down on my knees," put a spark of electricity into my dick.

MM started sucking, and my dick began like Jack's Beanstalk to grow and grow. I was deep, deep in her throat. That was, as they say, when the shit hit the fan. Suddenly, with all eight inches jammed in her mouth, her throat contracted. She started pushing my belly to get free, Marilyn's face turned red. I realized we were in trouble.

It felt like one of those Chinese finger cuffs that the more you pull, the tighter they get. I put both hands on her forehead, but I could not get her free of my swollen dick. I had to watch as the flower of American Cinema fell at my feet. Only then, as my weenie went limp, was my very swollen penis head released from her throat. We separated, but it was too late. The sex goddess was on her way to heaven, I imagined. Where else?

I tried to revive her by pouring water down her throat, but it did no good. She must have dropped some meds in the cup because it left her lips all pasty. I tried squeezing her chest, but that did no good and gave me another hard-on. I imagine the residue is why they thought her demise was due to barbiturates, but it wasn't. My penis caused her death.

However, I am not going to cop to manslaughter. As much as I loved Marilyn and loved having sex with her, I was just an innocent time traveler getting a marvelous blow job when that crazy set of circumstances took place. Obviously, the reports of her demise at the Hotel Roosevelt were in error.

I rushed out of the house before Salami guy or Garet, her new boyfriend, arrived. I never even stopped to stick my dick back inside my pants. I jumped into the old-time poltroon and hit the purple button, and as the clouds passed in front of the moon, in that instant, Kaboom, in a blinding flash, was whisked back home.

So when you ask me the benefits of being a time traveler, I must tell you that it was a disaster in my experience. I screwed up MM's legacy by participating in a stag film, I screwed up her possible reconciliation with the baseball player and on my previous trip, and on this, my last trip, I was the cause of her death.

That was the last time I ever used the damn Time Machine. I think in all sincerity, it was her contracting throat that caused our tight encounter. I was not the actual cause! Maybe I swelled up a bit too much. Wouldn't you? I was only a tangential spectator, with my eyes closed, a little too involved in the proceedings to do much about it. That was the last chapter in the Marilyn chronicle, and sad to say. I guess I wrote her finish.

Of course, the press reports fucked the whole thing up. They said Marilyn was found in a room at the Hotel Roosevelt. That wasn't true! The cops and inquest found barbiturates on her lips and throat, but that was me. I poured water down her gullet to bring her back to life. It didn't work! She did not die in some hotel with an overdose described by the press or as the coroner's report stated.

The great actress and sex symbol died because her throat spasmed on my cock while giving me a deep throat blowie. After that fatal occurrence, I escaped by traveling through time. If I'd hung around, they would have caught me. They would have tried me for murder, like the guy I wrote about at the beginning of this story. Please, dear reader, do not share my confession with anyone. If the statute of limitations on murder has not run out, and the authorities get wind of my confession, I guess I will hear the cops knocking on my door.

Sure, you're gonna ask me, have I done any other time traveling? Nope, not after those tragic fuckups. I've recorded here to set the story right for prosperity. Did I ever track down the inventor, Otto Standike? I'm sure if I went after him, the damn poltroon, with my luck, would land on his head. So no, outta the "question."

After all this bad luck, I was jaundiced on skipping back through the years. I rolled the heavy chair out to the curb after calling the Goodwill Outfit to take away the damn thing and all the paperwork as well. The driver, when he saw how big and ugly the chair was, refused to take it. I had to roll the son of a bitch back into my garage, where it sits today under a pile of shit. Excuse my French. I should have hammered it apart and thrown it out years ago.

OK, so I'm a failure, my brother-in-law would agree, and that fat idiot is married to my sister, another piece of work. Mind you, and I didn't say another piece of ass. I can't believe any guy would want to fuck her. She looks just like my mother, who resembles a drag queen.

As they say, such is life, or as Tommy Wolfey noted,"

" Fuck it. You can't go home again, Bub!"

So now, back from the past, I've decided to settle down. I gave Tina Dove, the girl from the Patent Museum, a call last week and asked her out. We had a really nice date; dinner and visited a club. We danced and drank. When I got her home, she said she didn't believe in having sex on the first date, but,

"I'm going to give you something that you might enjoy."

She unbuttoned her blouse slowly and told me to unhook her bra. When I reached behind her, she shouted April Fools. Boy, did I feel stupid.

She unbuttoned my pants and told me to lower my pants and underwear. Then she pulled off her bra and as I gazed at her beautiful lily-white breasts and red nipples, she said,

"It ain't April 1, you idiot.

She began to massage my penis. She took some lotion from the table and wet me so she could slide easier on my 8 inches.

"It's thin but very long," she said.

"Yes, that's what they all say."

She frowned.

"I'm just fucking with you,"

"Not yet you aren't, at least not tonight, but I have a feeling we are going to arrive at that point very soon."

We both laughed, and then she got serious about jerking me off.

"Tell me when you are ready to cum."

It didn't take long.

"I'm ready," I whispered.

She pulled me toward her and placed my erection between her two breasts and pressed them together--and I created, with a copious ejaculation, a starlit lake there between her full round, warm breasts. I lay there for a while, like a whale in the summer sun, until dickyboy began to shrink. You never want a woman to see your penis when it is flaccid.

"Thank you, It was wonderful," I said quickly hiding my dick under my hand.

"You go now. I'll wash up. Just remember, if we do start fucking, that pepperoni belongs to me and me alone. If I catch you letting another girl taste it, I slice it up and put it on my pizza."

Maybe she wasn't as professional as MM, but I don't think Tina had sucked a thousand dicks as my movie star had admitted. The penis massage was well done and made me anticipate our next date. She was very sexy! Of course, I wondered if she does that with all her dates, but I sure as hell have no intention of asking.

I think I've matured after my experience as a Time Traveler. I've had the best, Marilyn Monroe, and I can settle for less. I'm not going back in time anymore. The Patent Office girl, Tina, provided the perfect ending for a new beginning.

I can see a future with Tina, one without the need of a movie star or a Time Machine. And if we start fucking, and I'm sure we will, you can be sure, my pepperoni is gonna stay right with her, and those fantastic tits are easily as lovely as the movie stars!

Oh yeah, things are looking up. I won a long-term contract to clean all the windows at Paramount Studios. That will require me to hire two employees. If that happens, it seems like the future will be wine and roses for me and Tina Dove.

There is one idea that makes me a little nervous. If the two Time Machines are synchronized, there is the possibility that Otto Standike might inadvertently return from the past on my coordinates, arrive in my apartment with the impact of a V2 bomb, and squash me. That would be one hell of an April Fool's joke. Oh well, even crossing the street is a risk but I'm considering finding another place to live, just in case. Maybe Tina and I will add a child or two crawl around the new place.