After The Energists: Rebooted Teen YearsChapter 21: Do You Feel Like We Do? free porn video
Mike’s House, Bryanston
9:39am, Sunday, February 20, 1979
I groggily opened my eyes and took a hazy peek at the alarm clock/radio sitting beside my bunk bed. Being tired and somewhat disoriented at the moment, I didn’t immediately recognize the time, or that it was a Sunday morning. I rolled back onto my back and prayed to drop back to sleep once more. As usual, once I stirred from my slumber I rarely returned to that restful state.
As my mind cleared up, I suddenly remembered where I was and what day it was. I thought, ‘Sunday! Church day AND, church starts at 10am! What the heck was going on here that I was allowed to sleep in this late?‘
I threw back the covers from my bed and started to jump out to make sure I wasn’t in trouble for not being ready for church. Heck, we should have been on our way to St. Andrew’s in north London about twenty minutes ago. All this worrying about church took a backseat in the next fraction of a second, though.
Unfortunately for me, in my panicky state, I didn’t remember that I had grown nearly two inches and I royally walloped my cranium against the metal frame of my brother’s top bunk bed. I cried out at the sudden onset of pain, and fell back into my small bed, holding my hands to my forehead.
I vaguely heard a female call, “Are you alright, Mike?”
When I pulled my hand away from my head, I saw it was covered in blood.
“God, no!” I cried out after realizing I split my head open on the damn metal bed frame. “I busted my head, and I’m bleeding pretty badly.” I closed my eyes because even the light coming in around the blinds was adding to my increasing headache. Being fully awake now, I comprehended what had happened and cussed out, “Damn it, Mike!” for being such a ding-bat.
“Uhh, Mike,” I heard from the soft voice of an angel. “You’ve got to take your hands away, and let me see what the damage is.”
I then felt this angel’s hands on my wrists, and she pulled my bloody hands away from my forehead.
Without touching my forehead, I heard this angel say, “Oh man, you gashed the ‘H-E-double hockey sticks’ out of your head, Baby. Let me find something to clean you up with, okay?”
“Sure,” I replied and nodded at my unseen angel of mercy. That simple action caused me to groan out and attempt to replace my hands over my injured head.
“How in love are you with this Blue Jays’ shirt?” my angel asked as my hands were prevented from returning to my aching head.
I was probably London’s biggest Toronto Blue Jay fan as a teenager and college student, but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember having a Blue Jay shirt, so I said to my mysterious medical helper, “Use whatever you think you’ll need here.”
“Okay, don’t get mad at me if the blood stains don’t come out, though.”
In what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only about five seconds, I felt some cloth being pressed against my forehead. “Let me hold it here for a minute or so, and hopefully the bleeding will stop. Just try to relax and let me take care of this.”
I let out a long sigh as the cool cloth and the constant pressure on my forehead was comforting and actually helping to lessen the pain I was experiencing.
I started to move my hands to push the covers out of my way to sit up when I was somewhat admonished with, “Just be still for a few more minutes, and don’t put your bloody hands anywhere, but on your shirt. You’ve already messed it up with your blood, and you don’t want to get it on anything else, if we can help it.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I replied and sighed out once again. I tried to open my eyes to see what was going on around me but some of the t-shirt material was hanging down over my face as my angel of mercy was ministering to my forehead. When I felt the shirt being lifted up slightly from my face, I caught a glimpse of a naked stomach and belly button before the material fell back over my eyes as this person started to wipe the blood from my forehead and face.
“I think the bleeding has stopped, or slowed to a trickle, so I’m going to wipe your head and face some. Is that okay with you, Mike?”
I couldn’t exactly place the voice but it was definitely a sweet sounding, young voice. I struggled to think who this was because it wasn’t my mom or sister, Mary. And, if my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me, I thought this young lady wasn’t wearing a shirt, either.
“Yeah, I’m feeling a tad better. Do what you think is needed, thanks, Uh, uh...”
“No problem, Mike. And my name isn’t ‘Uh-uh’,” she said with a youthful giggle. “You might know me as the girl who gave you her virginity last night, you know, your ... Volcano girl.”
I immediately tensed up, and fired my bloody hands up to grab her wrists. When I pulled them and the now bloody t-shirt away from my head, I was greeted with the sweetest smile I had ever seen from my angel of mercy, Lynette. Right then, as I stared into her brown-green pools of compassion, I suddenly remembered everything that had happened the night before. We indeed gave our virginity to each other, and then a killer ice storm hit as she was giving me a ride home. That was the reason why she was here with me, now, and probably why my mom or dad hadn’t come in earlier to wake me up for Sunday church.
“Oh, God, Lynette,” I softly cried out as she bent down towards my bloody face to give me a wake-up kiss on my lips. When she sat back up on the edge of the bed, I saw that her full, firm breasts with her constantly puffed up nipples giving me to a wonderful wake-up vision.
Just then, my bedroom door opened and the overhead lights came on, which caused me to groan out as the lights even somewhat shielded by my brother’s top bunk, fired up the pain in my head once more.
We then heard my mother call out, “Is everything alright back there, Mike, Lynette?” as she walked from the other side of the divided bedroom.
Lynette was overcome with a look of sheer panic as she struggled to release her hands from my grip to cover up her naked breasts before my mom came walking around the partition to my side of the bedroom.
Just as I saw the faint shadow of my mom move around the partition, I felt an energy field buzzing around me, and then the light haze of the Energist’s ‘Time-Stop’ bubble surrounded both Lynette and me.
“Uh, Lynette, baby,” I softly said to my fear-stricken girlfriend. “In the second drawer from the bottom there, snag yourself another t-shirt. Hopefully, a white one so it will look like the one I gave you last night.”
Lynette looked at me like I was crazy, but then I nodded in the direction of my mother’s shadow and she realized that it wasn’t moving. After another moment, my girlfriend comprehended that there wasn’t any movements or sounds at all, other than what we were creating inside our energy bubble.
When her facial expression relaxed some, I said, “We’re isolated at the moment like we were in our home room the other day. So you can move and find a t-shirt to wear. Then, I’ll end our little isolation time and we’ll have to deal with my mom and your helping me with this gashed forehead. Are you okay with that?”
She let out a loud sigh of relief and then said, “Oh, God, yes! I just about had a heart attack thinking your mom was going to see me here topless with you. Even though I was helping you by using my shirt, it would have been embarrassing, and probably troublesome, don’t you think?”
“Embarrassing for you? Yes. Troublesome? No,” I replied with a pained smile. “My mom is a nurse and she’d have understood why you were like you were helping me. However, if I can keep you from dying on me, it was worth it to use that ‘stop-time’ energy field.”
“Thanks,” Lynette smiled down at me as she slid off the bunk bed and scurried to find another suitable white t-shirt from my dresser drawer. “Is this shirt good?” she asked as she held up a white ‘Mitchell Blue Bombers baseball’ t-shirt.
“Perfect,” I replied and watched as she quickly pulled the tight t-shirt over her head and her youthful, high set breasts. “That shirt is a close match to the Blue Jays shirt. Plus, that is one of my favorites, because I played on that team the past few summers when I worked at my uncle’s farm in Mitchell.”
After Lynette repositioned herself beside me and retook the bloody Blue Jays shirt in her hands, she nodded down at me to let me know it was good to end our shared energy bubble. I felt a small tingling sensation as we watched my mother’s shadow start moving again. In another second, her physical body appeared from around the end of my bunk bed.
“Uh, Mrs. Nevins,” Lynette said with some true to life panic still in her voice. “Mike hit his head on the bottom of the top bunk, and gashed his forehead pretty good. When he cried out, I came around to see what was wrong. I saw this t-shirt on the floor, and figured it was the best option to stop the bleeding.”
“Oh goodness, Mike, are you alright?” my mom asked as she finally saw the bloody t-shirt and my bloody face and hands. “Here, Dear, let me in there so I can take a look at that cut,” she then said to Lynette, who quickly scooted back and stood up to walk around my seated mother.
“My head is hurting some, but I think it’s mostly from the overhead lights. When you turned them on, the pain I originally felt from busting it returned.”
“I must say, Lynette, you did a great job at stopping the blood flow. He might need a couple of stitches to help that cut heal properly, but I’ll know better when we get him cleaned up in the bathroom. Are you able to get up and walk, Mike?”
“I think so. I’ll try, at least,” I replied to my mom’s question.
“Take it slow, Mike,” Lynette said as I started to shift my legs out over the edge of the bed and lift up from the small mattress. “Let me know if I need to help you up, or while you walk, okay?”
“Yes, take it slow,” my mom reiterated.
“I’m good,” replied and pulled my chest and head up. Unfortunately, I wasn’t as good as I thought and I nearly fell back onto the bed from a combination of dizziness and the sudden pain. Fortunately for me, Lynette was prepared and slipped her arm under my back and kept me from completely dropping back down to the mattress.
“Come on, tough guy,” Lynette strained to say as she helped lift me back to a sitting position, “How about just sit there for a moment or two.”
“You better hold that bloody t-shirt to your forehead, too,” my mother said as she looked down at both of us. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it starts bleeding again when you stand up and move around.”
With Lynette’s help, I was able to get to the upstairs bathroom without further incident. My mom had me stand up and hold onto the sink for balance, as she dug out a clean wash cloth and the medical supplies from the bathroom closet. Lynette filled the sink with hot water, while still keeping her left arm around my back for additional support.
I also enjoyed feeling her bra-less left breast with her semi-hard nipple pressed into my right arm. However, I soon realized that I better ignore that contact, as my lower body didn’t care if my head was gashed and hurting. It simply started to respond to Lynette’s wonderfully close proximity. Thankfully, I was able to hide my pelvis and that unwanted issue from my mother as she came up alongside me.
After cleaning my forehead, face and blood stained hands, my mother smiled at both Lynette and me and said, “I hope you like your guy with a beat up, rugged look, Lynette.” My mother chuckled to my girlfriend, “because that is going to leave a pretty impressive little scar, I think. Especially, since we can’t get him into the ER for a few stitches this morning. Hopefully these Steri-strips will do a decent job at keeping the skin together.”
“As long as it’s not a ‘blinking, neon sign’ type scar, I think I’ll be able to hang with this tough guy and his new facial look,” Lynette replied back to my mother as if I wasn’t standing right next to her. She then leaned forward to make sure I was watching her and said to my mother, “However, he won’t seem so tough when word gets out about how he acquired this new look.”
I was just about to chime in on their conversation when my mother deadpanned, “Yeah, getting cold-cocked by a bunk-bed doesn’t seem real macho, does it?”
“Hey, now,” I finally interjected on their cheeky banter only to have Lynette reach down and ‘goose’ me on my butt for interrupting their conversation.
“Hey!” I cried out and jumped back from her mischievous hands.
“That’s what you get for butting in on your mother and me as we discuss your epic injury,” Lynette chuckled and re-grasped my right arm with her hands. When my mom broke out in laughter at the look on my face, Lynette finally said, “I suppose we can create a more heroic story regarding your battle wound. Would you like that ... my sweet darling man?”
I quickly snapped my right arm from Lynette’s hands and wrapped it around her waist, giving her a mighty side-body squeeze and causing her to squeal out in surprise. I then turned my head towards her surprised face and gave her a hard kiss on her forehead, about where the gash was on my head. She ducked down a little, turned her head to the side and planted a kiss on my exposed neck before she twisted out of my one arm hold.
When my mom’s laughter died down a little, she added, “At least your brother wasn’t here to see your head to bed strike. You two should be able to develop whatever crazy story you want to explain this to your friends, and Patt won’t be able to refute it to anyone at school.”
“Thank God for small miracles,” I replied which caused another small round of laughter from the two ladies beside me.
My mom then ran her hands up through my hair and felt the bloody, stickiness in it, and asked, “Think you can wash your hair in the sink, and not cause any more damage to your cut, young man?”
“I’m sure I can,” I replied.
“If we, uh, cover those steri-strips with some gauze and tape before he washes his hair, would that help protect his cut?” Lynette innocently asked.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” my mother replied as she shook her head in disillusionment. “Smart girl, you have here, Mike. A smart girl, indeed.”
Lynette was beaming at my mother’s praises and when my mother turned to snag the gauze and medical tape, Lynette tilted her head up towards me and we shared our first real kiss of the morning.
We quickly parted lips when we heard, “Ahem,” followed by a surprising, “you two look like you should go share a room ... Oh, yes, you did just share a room, if I remember correctly.”
Lynette and I both had shocked facial expressions as we listened to my mother’s sexually inspired statement. Before either of us could come up with a response to her unexpected words, she plain as day asked, “Lynette, think you can cover that cut up with this gauze and tape, so it won’t loosen those strips?”
“Uh ... yes, ma’am,” Lynette struggled to reply to that simple question, as she and I still were processing my mom’s previous words.
“Good,” my mom said as she handed the gauze, medical tape and small jar of Vaseline to Lynette. “If you put a little Vaseline on the gauze where it will touch the cut, it won’t stick to it when it is removed. Then, just cover the gauze pad with the tape, so the water from washing his hair won’t get into the wound. Sound like a plan?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Lynette once more replied with a whole lot more confidence in her voice.
“Okay, then. I’ll see the two of you downstairs when Mike gets his hair washed, and changed you’re out of your sleep clothes ... Mike?” my mom added as she turned to leave the bathroom.
“Ma’am,” I quickly replied.
“If you ask Miss Lynette nicely, she might agree to wash your hair for you as you lean over the sink.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I enthusiastically said back to her.
When we heard the bathroom door close, I looked at Lynette and we both burst out laughing at the strangeness of that prior discussion. After we calmed down some, Lynette had me sit on the bath tub edge, so she could easily see my forehead as she dressed the cut with the Vaseline, gauze and tape.
When I stood back up in front of her, Lynette smiled at me and simply said, “So?”
I looked back at her, slightly confused and offered an unclear, “Sooo, what?”
“Aren’t you going to ask me, NICELY, if I’ll wash your hair for you ... like your mother suggested, and you obviously agreed to do?”
Forgetting about the cut on my forehead for a moment, I raised my left hand up and bopped my forehead, just missing the new dressing Lynette placed there.
“Oh, you idiot!” I softly cried out as I felt a small, but sharp bolt of pain radiate out from my forehead.
“Oh, God, Mike! Are you okay?” Lynette quickly said as she watched me bend over in front of her.
“Yes,” I replied as I stood back up in front of her. “My pride is hurt more than my head for doing that stupid thing.”
“Come on then,” she said as she tried to lead me over to the sink. “You don’t have to ask me to wash your hair. I’ll be glad to do it for you.”
“No, no,” I quickly replied. I turned to face her, raised my hands to gently hold her face and softly asked, “My little Volcano, will you please do me a GREAT favor and wash the blood from my hair, please. I really would love to have your help with that.”
Lynette smiled at me as she listened to my sugary sweet request for her help. After she heard my words, she also raised her hands up to my face and pulled me in for another wonderful kiss, which I gladly took as her affirmative response.
“Are the towels stored in here, Mike?” she asked as she moved over to the closet in the bathroom.
“Yuppers,” I replied as I reached over the tub to grab the bottle of Salons’ Selective shampoo and conditioner, and set it down on the pedestal style sink. “If you want to turn on that radio, sitting on the window ledge that would be great.”
After flipping the small toggle switch on the radio, she asked, “Is that station good?”
On the radio, I figured we missed about the first fifteen seconds of Peter Frampton’s live version of Do you Feel Like We Do. “Too loud?” Lynette asked as she turned back to me.
“Can’t go wrong with Frampton, and I think it’s good, Lynette.”
Lynette came back with two big, fluffy bath towels in her hands. “Here,” she said as she handed me one and hung the second over the shower rod. “Lay that one down along the edge of the sink and you can rest your chin, or head, on it as I wash your hair. Okay?”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said as I placed the folded towel along the front edge of the sink. “Let me, uh, pull this shirt off first. If it gets wet, it will be a lot tougher to pull off over my boo-boo.”
“Let me help,” Lynette replied as she grabbed the bottom part of my t-shirt and started to lift it up over my torso. “I’ll be careful,” she added when she saw me slightly grimace as the shirt’s collar pulled up off my nose to my forehead. I felt her fingers slip between my skin and the collar material, just prior to it rubbing against the gauze bandage material.
“Thanks, ‘Cano,” I said with a smile as Lynette tossed my t-shirt in the corner.
“If you either rest your chin or maybe your cheek on the towel, I’ll be able to keep most of the water in the sink as I wash the crud from your hair,” Lynette said as she moved to the right side of the pedestal sink, “I think this will work fine. Alrighty, my bloody mess of a guy, rest your head on the towel and we’ll get started.”
Lynette filled the sink up with semi-hot water and used the glass we kept there to pour several lifts of that water over hair. As I felt her working the water into my hair, I was able to see Lynette’s lower torso and long, lean legs with my left cheek on the towel. I used my left hand for a little support and decided to reach over and rub on her lightly tanned lower thigh with my right hand. When she started to hum along with Frampton’s song and slowly sway to the music, I reckoned that she wasn’t objecting to my exploration of her warm skin.
With her hands now lathered up as she started to wash the blood from my hair, a devilish idea popped into my head. I figured with her hands now wet and soapy, she wouldn’t easily be able to prevent a little more adventurous exploration of her sculptured and strong upper legs and delectable rear end. With her fingers and short fingernails now massaging and gently scratching my scalp, I slowly slid my right hand up the rear of her thigh. I made sure to vary the pressure over her taut hamstrings as I moved up and under the pair of loose fitting running shorts she had on.
When my hand reached the sexy crease in her skin at the junction of her bubble butt and her tight rear thigh, Lynette simply said, “Hey now,” and gave me a slight knuckle wrap on the back of my sideways turned head.
“What?” I falsely cried out at that light tap on my head. “I’m just trying to reward you for your excellent hair washing skills.”
“Umm,” she softly moaned out as my fingers slid inward along that crease under her left butt cheek. “I’m SURE you’re really doing that as a payment for my washing your hair,” she sarcastically replied. All the while, Lynette kept on swaying to Frampton’s classic live song. When my fingers reached her butt crack, I ran my hand outwards and circled it over her left butt cheek a few times.
I noticed her own fingers were slowing down as I caressed her lower cheek. Lynette sighed as she felt my fingertips trace down between her butt cheeks. I thought it very appropriate at that time that Frampton’s voice-boxed:
“Do you feel?...
Do you feel?...
Like I do?...
I want to thank you!“
followed by some killer guitar-voice box work as I explored Cano’s tight butt.
As I pictured Peter Frampton’s fingers moving a hundred mph over the guitar strings, I started to flutter my right hand fingers as they slowly descended down between Lynette’s ass cheeks. On the high pitched guitar-voice box section right before Frampton’s full band reentered the song, my guitar mimicking fingers lightly fluttered across Lynette’s slightly damp and distended pussy lips.
With the keyboards in the song picking up steam again, Lynette involuntarily spread her right leg out wider, allowing my fingers more access to her increasingly wet pussy. I was slightly startled when I felt Lynette pour the first glass of rinse water over my lathered up head. Because she seemed to be focused more on the sensations I was generating between her legs, I was dazed somewhat by that unexpected action.
Lynette did a great job of completely rinsing my hair as I did my best to royally distract her by teasing her pussy and lightly flicking her now awakened clit. After feeling the fifth glass of rinse water on my head, the powerful ending guitar riff by Peter Frampton was in full swing as were my index and middle fingers. Lynette’s groans of pleasure and her slight humping action let me know that my finger fucking was definitely getting her wound up.
As the grand finale of the song rumbled through the bathroom, Lynette rested her hands on my upper back for support as I moved my fingers in for the killer blow. For the fifteen to twenty seconds of Frampton’s final guitar trill, I curled my fingers, and pressed and rubbed the front interior edge of Lynette’s pussy. After a few seconds, I was positive I had found her G-spot as her vocalizations increased with the guitar riff and my fingering action.
Thankfully, my little Volcano still had enough wits about her to grab a section of the towel I was using as a head rest and stuff it in her mouth to muffle her ever increasing cries of pleasure. I pushed my wet head off the sink with my left hand just in time to prepare myself to hold onto Lynette as her legs started to shake like an earthquake as her orgasm hit during the final few measures of Frampton’s song. Lynette’s legs finally gave out on her and she lowered her head onto the sink as I placed my left arm under her twitching stomach for additional support.
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