Loving Yvonne

Inspired by the cover of the fictitious Dickgirl Monthly magazine cover I did a while back. I thought the feature article idea 'How the dickgirl next door became my jack-off buddy' was too good not to develop.

Check the second page of this thread for a little extra.

Loving Yvonne

A short story by jokermon©2010

The following is a work of erotic fantasy fiction. It contains explicit futanari (hermaphrodite) content. If that's not your thing, or if reading this kind of material is unlawful where you reside due to your age or other legalities, don't read it. Constructive feedback is welcomed. Do not repost without permission.

~~~

Yvonne and I first met in the summer before my senior year, in the woods behind my family’s property. It was kind of embarrassing. She caught me lying naked on a mossy log by the stream, beating off in a single-minded frenzy. I’ve made better first impressions.

~~~

I was masturbating in the woods because I didn’t dare do it at home. I grew up in a very conservative household. My parents had a strict no-porn rule, and I was prohibited from having girlfriends or engaging in ‘acts of self-abuse’. If you think that kind of ban is unenforceable, then you don’t know my parents.

It amazes me that people so sexually phobic were able to procreate. It also amazes me that I accepted their regime as normal for so long.

While I wouldn’t describe my parents as evil or abusive (they provided as best they could), when it came to sex, they were just…weird. For instance: I had stripped naked there in the woods to ensure no evidence would accidentally spatter my clothes. My mother would carefully inspect every article when doing the laundry, and I would have to explain any mystery stains. I’m not kidding. At night, they would listen at my bedroom door, sometimes for hours. If so much as a bedspring creaked, they would fling open the door to “just make sure everything’s all right.”

I won’t go into all the other neurotic little tactics they used to restrain my burgeoning sexuality during those hellish teenage years, but they were all equally extreme. None of them actually stopped me from masturbating of course, but I had to go to ridiculous lengths to get my private time. And I would feel so guilty about it afterwards that it would be days before I would get desperate enough to do it again.

Sadly, they didn’t have to work too hard to prevent me from dating. At that age I still hadn’t properly filled out, or attained my full height. I was a nervous runt with no social graces. The girls in my hometown couldn’t be bothered with awkward clods like me. Our town hosted a big, prestigious university and the girls only had eyes for the male students. Every year a new