José Araujo de Souza
Bar do Paulo, was right in the middle of the main square of my small city, located in the west center of Minas Gerais. It was there that, while the group of friends drank beer, I, who drank nothing that had alcohol content, drank juice and soda while we talked about various subjects. Pure tavern philosophy. Bar table wisdom. Conversation thrown away. Gossip, lots of gossip.
Of these, the most interesting, I learned through the mouth of my friend Fê, who was always very well informed. And that he was part of our group due to the importance we gave him for keeping us informed about everything and everyone in the city or, who knows, because of the fear that we had deep inside, of becoming news, one day, in his mouth, if we didn’t treat it very well. Before, however, reporting them, it is necessary for them to know, as I do, Fê. So they can believe it or not believe it. After all, gossip is the result of conversations only between friends.
Fernanda’s parents, Fê for friends, as she liked to say, had moved from my city to Goiânia when she was still a little child, with two years.
Her father, Seu Horácio, had passed the INPS contest and was nominated for the Capital of the State of Goiás.
Her mother, Dona Carlinha, who was a primary school teacher in my city, accompanied her husband as a simple housewife. But, arriving in Goiânia, a while later, she got a place as a municipal teacher. They lived in Goiás for seventeen years, until Seu Horácio got a transfer to the Posto do INPS in a city next to mine. But, as the distance between the two cities, mine and the one that was going to work was only twelve kilometers, they preferred to live in my city, where all their relatives already lived.
Seu Horácio worked there and spent the weekends and holidays at home, along with Dona Carlinha and Fé. As he said: “Until he managed to transfer again. Or until he retired ”.
At nineteen, Fé swore with her feet together that she was going to turn seventeen, in the biggest wooden face. And she would scowl if anyone doubted her. But everyone liked her and nobody wanted her to be upset. Mainly because, if she didn’t like someone, alas, poor man. She was addicted to gossip. And the addiction to gossip and gossip in most people’s eyes proved to be far worse than the worst of any other addiction.
But the Fê, whenever she went to talk about someone, apologized and started saying “I’m going to apologize, but although I know very little about the life of so-and-so…” and soon she let her tongue out for as long as necessary to exhaust the whole matter about that one. person. Then she restarted with another one.
For those who said they knew very little about someone’s life, until she was always wonderfully well informed.
In general, I learned about hidden flirtations, who betrayed who with whom, who was fighting with her husband to the point that they no longer spoke to each other, but tried to keep up appearances so that there would be no scandals, things like that. Gossip. Gossips. Gossip. Lots of gossip.
The Fê had for principle to say anything that knew that everyone, of any person, friend or not but, at the same time, hid under lock and key the most intimate and interesting parts of its own history, Thus, what we knew of its life it was more related to her parents’ life than hers. And always narrated by her. But, as with all people, there is always someone more intimate with whom we open up and trust our secrets and sins. Then, everything is gradually unraveled and what was previously considered an eternal secret is becoming known, by some privileged in the beginning, until it becomes known to the general public.
I got to know the true secret story of Fê through the indiscreet account of Amora, a common friend of ours, with whom I had had a short-lived affair, but who left us with a certain attraction that made us more than friends. Amora knew everything about Fê.
“_ What happened, Fê? I’m finding you a little sad today. Has something happened? Can I help?”
“_ It was nothing, Amora. Today I am not feeling very well. These are memories that make me feel bad.”
_ Why don’t you tell me? Who knows just by talking you will improve. Come on, put it out. “
_ “You know, Amora. Today I should be celebrating the birthday of someone who was very important in my life. But who is so far away”
_ “In Goiás?”
_ “Yes, Amora, there in Goiás”.
_ “No, Amora. More than a boyfriend. The only love of my life. Listen, Amora. I’m going to tell you some things that no one has ever known but that I’m feeling I need to talk to someone. I’m going to talk to you, who is discreet and of my confidence. His name is Pedro and he lives in Goiânia, if he hasn’t moved there yet. ”
“_ But this guy called Pedro only ate your ass, Fê?”
For a long time, I didn’t let him put it in my pussy. Only in my ass. When he wanted to, I said no, that I wanted to marry a virgin. That my ass was always his and nobody else’s. But that pussy didn’t work until it got married. Idea put in my head by my mother. After we finished high school, Pedro and I engaged in a more serious relationship and ended up engaged. We set the wedding. And we continue to fuck now more at ease because we know we were getting married. Then, one fine day we received an invitation to spend the weekend at a farm of a friend of ours, a few kilometers away from Goiânia. We went on a Friday afternoon to return on Monday morning. There, we met two more couples: the owners and our mutual friend, with his wife. We left the food part to the men, who planned to prepare a barbecue and we were willing to enjoy just the walk, with no home obligation. As I was the only single, I was a little separated from the others who, being married, had more things in common to talk to. Still on the afternoon of the day we arrived, I decided to enjoy the beautiful view that could be seen from the edge of an artificial lake located about fifty meters from the house where we were. There, sitting on a wooden stool made on a tree trunk, I started to contemplate the landscape. I was so distracted, Amora, that I only realized that I was no longer alone when I heard a scratchy throat next to me. When I turned around, a man appeared to be in his mid-forties, handsome and all smiling.
“_ Did I scare you? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It was so connected to the landscape that I didn’t even notice it when I arrived. I’m Quincas, friend of Aparício, owner of the site.” He held out his hand to me and when I took it _ “Ouch, Amora ‘, it was like I had a shock of 220 volts” – he looked me straight in the eyes and said to me, without releasing my hand “You will excuse me for again, but you’re beautiful, very beautiful. You must be Pedro’s girlfriend. He’s very lucky. The only thing I managed to say was a “Thank you so much” that came out a little scratched in my throat. Really, Amora, I never felt that way. I wanted him. I wanted him inside me, anyway. I thought I was going crazy when I said “You are also beautiful. And very tasty”. I don’t know why I said that, but I did. When I found out, he had washed me up in a kind of orchard, where there were hoses that looked very old from how big they were. Without saying anything, he hugged me, covered my mouth with his lips in a nice wet kiss, put his tongue in my mouth until I almost choked and squeezed me against the tree trunk. When I came to understand what was going on, I was holding a big, thick, hot stick that pulsed between my fingers, throbbing. He gently pushed me down, making me crouch as he stuffed that bludgeon beauty through my mouth, down to my throat. I sucked that cock more and more. I took it off and licked it, nibbled lightly while he stuck it in and took that stickiness out of my mouth like it was fucking. Without saying anything, while I was shaking from head to toe, he took off my panties and made me stand on all fours. I was sure that I was going to fuck myself and I wanted to because I wanted to say that I couldn’t, that I was a virgin, that I had promised that the first time in my pussy would be Pedro’s, but I couldn’t speak a word. I only started to moan when I felt that he was putting that cock in me, carefully, while I moaned and clung to him. I felt it when he tore me up at once and I didn’t care about the pain it caused. After pushing it in, he kept pushing and pulling the stick inside me. On all fours, as he put it, I was left with no opposite reaction. He fucked me for many minutes until I heard him moan loudly, squeeze me hard, take a lunge that almost threw me to the floor and shuddered as hot liquid dripped inside me and down my legs. I can’t say, Amora, if I came. What I can say is that I really liked that guy fucking me the pussy that I kept, with so much affection, for Pedro. I can say that my first fuck in the pussy could not have been more delicious and could have been divine.
“_ Uai, Fê, if it was as you told, it was really divine.”
It would have been, Amora, it would have been if when Quincas took the stick out of me and we got up I hadn’t come face to face with Pedro, standing about ten meters from us, looking at us with wide eyes, white as a deceased.
When I recovered from the shock of that vision, he had already moved away towards the house where the other friends of ours were. I ran, still with weak legs, to meet him but when I got there, he was already accelerating the car and returning to Goiânia. Nobody understood his return or my cry. We never saw each other again. Today is his birthday.
_ “But, what about Quincas?”
Quincas, Amora, stayed there on the site all weekend, comforting me with his cock while his wife just wanted to know to go for a swim in the pool.
Compre um dos meus livros:
CONSENOR – Uma Utopia Poética
CONSENOR – A Poetic Utopia
THEIR (Erotic fiction of their sexual memories)
Parte inferior do formulário