The Tabatha Diaries – Ch 3

I was much happier after that. I still woke with an erection and went to bed with an erection, but I quickly developed the manual skills for fast relief. I could be done and cleaned up within 5 minutes in the morning and I didn’t have to worry about morning erections at breakfast. My open fly pyjamas mysteriously disappeared in the wash the following week and Mum replaced them with shorts that had no fly.

The roles were reversed at breakfast as I now had little interest in Tabatha’s thighs after a morning wank, but I kept catching Tabatha sneaking glances at my crotch. In fact, her general attitude to me changed after that. She was much more friendly and interested. She asked me things and looked very directly in my eyes when we spoke. There was an intensity in her gaze that I found disconcerting. It was like she was trying to tell me something with her eyes or testing me to see if I could read her thoughts.

In the evenings I went to bed early and kept myself entertained for hours before drifting off to sleep. I would come at least twice each night. Sometimes three times. But I never repeated the 5 in an hour of that first night.

I found that if I got the first one out of the way quickly, I could have more fun with the second one. I had been so frustrated and so permanently aroused for so long that I actually enjoyed sitting on the edge of an orgasm for an hour or two. I didn’t realise until years later that this form of orgasm control is called “edging”. I became very good at it.

When I came quickly, the cum just flowed out of me in pulses. But at the end of two hours of edging, the cum flew across the room in intense squirts. I learned to turn my head at the end so as not to give myself a facial like the first night. I didn’t like the feeling of my own cum splatting into my mouth and my nose and my eyes at high speed.

One time on a Saturday afternoon, when Mum and Tabatha had gone out and I had the house to myself for a few hours, I had an orgasm so intense that it felt like I might have broken something internally. I turned my head to the side and braced for the hail of cum. But it didn’t come. I heard it hit something, but I didn’t feel anything, until the third squirt hit me on the chin. I kept spasming until the twelfth or thirteenth squirt became a dribble. I cleaned up and looked around me to see where the missing cum had gone. It wasn’t on the pillow. I ran my fingers through my hair, but it wasn’t there either. It was a mystery.

Just then there was a commotion at the front door. Mum and Tabatha must be home. I quickly pulled on shorts and a tee shirt. As I heard footsteps coming down the hall towards my room, I picked up my copy of Men’s Health magazine and pretended that I had been sitting in bed reading all this time. Tabatha burst into the room. She did that quite often these days and she didn’t knock any more. I worried that she would catch me wanking one of these days.

“Look what I got!” she twirled around in a pale yellow sundress I’d never seen before. The pleated A-line skirt flew up and out as she twirled and from my reclining position on the bed I caught a glimpse of her bare butt cleaved by a white Brazilian thong before she slowed and the dress settled back down over the tops of her thighs. A few weeks ago, a flash of her arse like that would have driven me insane. (And I was beginning to suspect that she knew that!) But after the nut crunching orgasm I’d just had, I was able to be more objective and I just took a mental screenshot for later. I noticed now that the dress had white polka dots and long spaghetti shoulder straps. It was sexy and cute.

Tabatha seemed a bit deflated by my lack of enthusiasm. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. New dress?”

“Yeah, do you like it?”

“Yeah, I do. But since when do you value my opinion on your clothes?”

Tabatha was no longer paying attention. She was looking at the wall over my head. She looked at me, then back at the wall, then back at me. I met her quizzical look.

“Either Britney’s got a really bad cold, or you’ve been using her for target practice. Either way, you’re both disgusting.” And with that she turned and walked out of the room.

I jumped up to look at the poster of Britney Spears above my bed. I found the missing squirts. A thick white booger draped down over her lips from her nose. It had hit her forehead and slid down. The poster paper was darkened where the track of fluid had passed over it. It was still sliding slowly south, like a grotesque white slug. Further down a second splash of cum had wet her bare chest and was now sliding down into her cleavage. I couldn’t have aimed better if I tried.

All this sounds better than it looked and I grabbed a tissue to wipe it off. The dark stains looked like they might not come out. My heart sank at the realisation I had probably ruined my favourite poster.

Later I calculated that the Britney head shot had travelled a distance of over two metres. If Britney’s head had not been in the way, it probably would have gone at least 4 metres. Once again I was left a bit in awe of what my body could do. And when I reflected on Tabatha’s reaction, it occurred to me that she had betrayed the faintest hint of being impressed. By this stage, too many embarrassing things had passed between us for me to care what she thought any more. I pretended nothing had happened and sort of forgot about it.

I should point out that, while this story focuses on incidents between Tabatha and me, we both had other love interests during this time.

As I went to an all boys’ school, meeting girls was not that easy. But it helps when you’ve got a sister. Tabatha’s best friend was Lisa Hannan. Lisa had a younger sister, Jo, who was about my age. She came to our house a few times with Lisa, so we knew each other to say “hello”. And sometimes I would see her with her friends after school, at the Fish ‘n’ Chip shop at the top of Glenferrie Road.

I had a crush on Jo. Strangely, she was a lot of things that Tabatha was not. She was friendly and open and seemingly innocent. Tabatha always looked like she was scheming and hiding something. Jo had pale skin, but she tanned to a dark brown in summer, like me. Tabatha didn’t tan at all.

Also like me, Jo had hazel eyes. But where mine were blue, with a brownish green centre, Jo had green eyes with an orange brown centre. They were the most amazing eyes. I got lost in those eyes. Jo was shy and she would look down and look away when I stared into her eyes. I was not the sort of kid who is confident enough to go around making direct eye contact with girls, but with Jo I couldn’t help but stare in open admiration of her beautiful eyes.

I came to appreciate later that Tabatha has a subtle beauty that is more readily recognised by women. There was nothing subtle about Jo. She was gorgeous – pure and simple. Every guy I knew thought so. There was nothing subtle about her tits either. Jo tried her best to hide them, but there was no escaping the fact that she was stacked.

Tabatha could see the way I looked at Jo and she teased me about it. Lisa told Tabatha that Jo thought I was “cute” and they plotted to bring us together. But more on that later.

Tabatha herself was very popular with boys and seemed to have more of them visiting more often than Mum would have liked.