Asstr Beating Off Bob

Asstr Beating Off Bob

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Dlordload opened this issue
Jul 25, 2021
· 2 comments

Dlordload opened this issue
Jul 25, 2021
· 2 comments

Add site https://www.asstr.org

…

dteviot

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Status: Completed

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Jul 27, 2021

dteviot

closed this as completed

Jul 30, 2021

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chapt list- https://www.asstr.org/files/Collections/Clitorides/
Chaphttps://www.asstr.org/files/Collections/Clitorides/SCA0107.txt
So tried doing it myself but failed.

The text was updated successfully, but these errors were encountered:

@Dlordload
Updated version (0.0.0.135) has been submitted to Firefox and Chrome stores.
Firefox version is available now.
Chrome might be available in 1 to 3 weeks.

This icon identifies a story as a partial preview of a Lubrican ebook available for sale via Smashwords.com .
Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3-4 and Epilogue Available On
PLEASE NOTE: This is a preview of this short story. It is available for purchase in its entirety via

Foreword

I got some mail from a woman I'll call Penny. That's not her
name, in real life, but it's her name in this story. Penny told
me, in this email, that she had become pregnant at an early age, but
that a problem had developed after she gave birth that caused her
emotional distress. Now most people have heard of postpartum
depression, and there's plenty of media attention given to that.
But there are other kinds of emotional problems too. This story
is about one of those situations that the media doesn't talk about.

I tried to email Penny, to let her know I had written this, but the
mail came back undeliverable. So I can only hope she's still out
there, and reads this tribute. I'd like to thank her for sharing
her story with me, and letting me share some of it with you.

Bob

Chapter One

Kids make mistakes. It's just what they do. And it doesn't
matter if they have parents who hover over them and try to train them
and teach them and all that stuff. They still make
mistakes. And hopefully they learn from them.

Now, I think the vast majority of the population would agree with all
that. But where things begin to break down, in terms of the
agreement thing, is at what point kids should expect to get no more
help from their parents. Actually, "help" isn't the right
word. I'm not sure what the right word is, for that matter.
All of us are full of opinions, and most of us don't mind sharing
them. And that goes double for parents who have opinions about
what their grown up kids are (or are not) doing. But, even before
they're grown up, as you may have already noticed, when the kids get
into their middle teens, they don't seem to recognize or revere the
sage advice and opinions voiced by their parents. And they keep
making mistakes.

So what is a parent to do?

Well, that vast majority out there, who I'm depending on so much to
agree with me, would probably say "Gotta love 'em!" with a wry
smile. That is probably the deepest, most meaningful
comment (okay - paraphrase) to come from television, by the way. Just my opinion, but
if everybody lived by that catch phrase, wouldn't it be a better world?

Except "vast majority," by definition, doesn't include everybody.

Which brings us to my brother, his wife, and their daughter, Penny.

At the time this story started, at least for me, Penny was seventeen. One of the mistakes she made was
her choice in boyfriends. Not so unusual, really. She chose
one who had graduated, and had his own place and a job and 'everything.'

That his "place" was a two room apartment with a mattress on the floor,
a television, and various different sized trash bags to hold his
clothes, didn't matter to her. She was in love. That his
job involved the well known phrase "Would you like fries with that?"
didn't bother her either. He was going to be a manager some
day. And the fact that he had little more money than was
necessary to keep him in cigarettes and beer didn't bother her
either. Once she graduated, she'd go to work too and they'd have
two incomes!

Another mistake she made was on her seventeenth birthday, when she gave
herself the present of becoming a woman. She planned it all
out. It was supposed to be a ceremony, with candles and ambiance
and romance. What happened, as I later found out, was a rushed,
insensitive deflowering, (on that mattress on the floor,) after which
her boyfriend huffed, puffed and chuffed his balls into her fertile
pussy, thoroughly impregnating her the very first time she had sex.

Another of the mistakes she made was trusting him when he said he'd
stick beside her forever. He was eighteen and a man of the world
... right?

And he did stick with her until she had the baby, regularly lying on
his back on that crushed mattress, while she serviced him with the
pussy he'd knocked up. Then, when there was a crying baby in the
apartment, and things started costing serious money, he decided it was
more important to serve his country. He joined the Air Force and
went off to save the world, never to be seen or heard from again.
Well ... he was heard from once more after that. It was in a
letter, explaining that the Air Force "frowned on" enlistees getting
married before they were fully trained, and had been stationed
somewhere for a while. And oh, so sorry, but he couldn't send her
any money to keep paying the rent, because he had to buy uniforms and
boots and a rifle and maybe even bullets for the rifle too. I saw
the letter, and it made me want to go find America's newest airman and
give him some real training ... in how to survive torture during
interrogation by the enemy.

I found all this out when I went to her apartment one day, to see how
she was doing. And I went to the apartment because, when I asked
John, my brother and her father how she was doing, his answer was "I
don't know. She has been shunned."

"Shunned," I repeated. "Since when are you Amish?"

"Shunning was practiced long before the Amish came along," he
said. "We cannot accept her course of action, and she has
separated herself from us by pursuing it."

"You mean getting pregnant," I said.

"Sex outside of marriage is forbidden," he said.

"As I recall, you used to tear up the pussy when you were growing up, long before you were married."

He frowned. "Those were my ignorant days. I have learned better. I now walk the straight and narrow."

"So you could fuck up when you were young, but your daughter isn't allowed to," I said.

"We told her the rules," he said. "There's no reason she couldn't learn from our mistakes."

"So you told her you fucked everything you could get the panties off of when you were her age," I said.

"Of course not. That wouldn't be a good example for her! We told
her it was wrong, and disrespectful to our beliefs and values."

"As I recall, we got that same thing in Sunday School," I said.

"I have things to do. I don't know where or how she is, and I don't care. I don't think you should either."

"Well, apparently unlike you, I still love her," I said. I was not able to conceal the anger in my voice.

"If you loved her, you'd require her to live a pure life!" he shouted. "When she sees the true way, she can come back."

"Can she bring your grandchild with her?"

"Of course not. That boy is fruit of the wrong kind of tree, and will never soil our home with his presence."

"You are one fucked up piece of shit," I said.

His wife, Meredith had been listening, nodding in agreement with her husband.

"You are no longer welcome in this home either," she said, her voice
shrill. "You curse, you drink and you traffic with sinners.
I'll get a restraining order if I have to!"

I smiled. "Better put Jesus on that restraining order too.
I hear he hangs out with the wrong kind of people all the time."

Then I left, to go find a girl who had been abandoned by her parents because she made some mistakes.

When I found the ratty apartment and knocked on the door, there was no
answer. I heard what sounded like crying inside, so I just went
in. I didn't know what to expect, but I was ready for violence if
it was required. A career in Army law enforcement had taught me
that violence, in the proper amounts, at the proper time, could
actually result in peace. A lot of people don't believe that, but
I'd seen it happen dozens of times.

But violence wasn't needed. Penny was just feeding the baby, and
crying. She was so beaten down that she didn't even care that I
saw her crying, or saw the way she was living. She had no pride left.

So I decided to stay a while and talk.

Penny had managed to keep paying the rent, by the simple expediency of
taking the job her worthless boyfriend had left behind. There was
a church in town that had a daycare center in it that was reserved for
women in Penny's exact situation - extreme poverty. So Dilly
(yes, shithead named his son, unfortunately) was well taken care of
while she was at work. He was young enough that all he required was breast milk, which meant the
only food she had to buy was for herself, but a nursing woman needs
good nutrition to make good milk. Rent, utilities and food were
taking every dime Penny could get her hands on. So that meant
she had to be "innovative" at finding ways to do things that were less
costly than most of us do. For example, she washed out her
uniforms and other clothes in the bathtub when she took a bath.

After sitting and mostly listening for two hours, I suggested that
maybe a short outing might be in order, maybe to go out to eat. I
don't know whether it was because I had been non-judgmental while I was
there, or whether just having someone to listen had revived her spirit
a little or what, but suddenly she had found some of that lost pride.

"I can't go out looking like this," she said. "And Dilly's clothes are all dirty."

So I got her sizes, and Dilly's size, which was a number with a "T"
added on to it for some reason, and told her to take a bath and give
him one too, and be ready to get dolled up to go out. She argued,
but not nearly hard enough to dent the resolve of an old soldier like
me.

I went to Walmart and spent fifty or sixty bucks, a pittance for a 48
year old man who's getting an Army retirement check every month and has
his own security business.

She yelled at me when I got back and spilled the loot out onto the
table. I didn't much listen. I just pointed to the blouse
and shorts I liked the best and said "Those will make you look
hot." I didn't worry about Dilly. He'd be cute no matter
what she put on him.

When Penny had been younger, she'd been plump. Like most American
kids, she didn't get enough exercise, and she carried around some rolls
of fat. Living hard had taken that off of her, though, and now
she was slim, but curvy. I don't know if the fat she'd had on her
breasts had just stayed because she was using them, or what, but they
were very full and a prominent feature, overall. Her hips had
stayed spread after she delivered Dilly too. So she had an actual
hourglass figure. Above that was a very ordinary face, surrounded
by brown hair that was currently a bit dried out and frizzy, because
she couldn't afford to buy all those products that make hair shiny and
silky and all that. I'm not saying she looked bad - not by any
stretch of the imagination. But she didn't look exotic
either. She just looked like a girl in her late teens who had a
good body and was just a normal person. Except for Dilly, of
course. Dilly told everyone that she'd spread her legs for some
boy. Nobody suspected me of being Dilly's father. I looked
exactly like what I was, her uncle, or maybe her father, taking his
daughter and grandchild out to eat.

I took her to Sirloin Stockade, so she could choose from the buffet
there. I like choices too, though I usually sample almost
everything. I run five miles a day, so I get to eat what I want.
That's why I run five miles a day. I don't have a girlfriend. I'm
not into drugs or booze. So eating is about the only vice I
have. And running five miles isn't such a terrible price to
pay. Takes me forty-five minutes, which is about as fast as I
feel like pushing things at my age. So paying for my vice costs
me less than an hour a day. No big deal.

"Better than burgers?" I asked, as she dug into her plate.

"I don't eat where I work," she said. "I know what's in that stuff."

"Oh my," I said. "I eat there occasionally."

"You shouldn't," she said, completely serious. "The food bank has good food."

I smiled. "I don't think I'm eligible for the food bank."

She looked up at me. "They've never asked me a single question."

"Still," I said. "I think the food bank is a great idea, but it should be saved for people who really need it."

"Like me." Her dark eyes stared into mine. Dilly fidgeted
in his high chair, but he was just making noises and we both ignored
him.

"Like you," I agreed. What else could I do? I wasn't going to pretend she wasn't in dire straits.

She slumped.

"Lots of people have problems getting by," I said. "You're not alone."

She put her fork down like she'd lost her appetite.

"I feel alone," she said.

"That's because your parents are assholes," I said.

She blinked. She should have been a senior in high school, and
kids that age aren't used to adults using that kind of language openly,
I suppose.

"I, however, am not," I added, grinning. "Which is why you are not alone. Not any more."

She looked at me with what looked like careful eyes. It occurred
to me that, as vulnerable as she'd been since shit-for-brains had gone
off to save the world and avoid his responsibilities, men might have
tried to exploit her.

"I don't want sex." I said. I admit it. I actually said
that. I didn't do a lot of thinking before I said it, but I did
afterwards, trust me.

"I beg your pardon?" she said, her eyes wide.

I've always believed that, with young people, we tend to treat them
like they're too young to understand anything. That's not true,
of course, and they know that. So I try to approach them on as
much of an adult level as possible. If it's obvious I've gotten
too adult, I moderate, but otherwise I try to treat them like anybody
else. So in this case I just told her the truth.

"I was just thinking that other ... um ... men ... might have offered to ... um ... keep you company."

"For sex," she helpfully added.

"Yeah," I said.

"They do," she said, quite calmly. "Let's say it isn't unusual."

"Well, I didn't want you to think that's what I had in mind," I said.

"So those boners you got when I was fourteen, and sat on your lap and
wiggled, didn't mean anything," she said, also with a completely
straight face.

I blinked. "You noticed that, huh?"

"Of course," she said. "I was trying to give them to you."

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