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Well I lived on the outskirts of town from Cherry Bomb
I don't remember the first time I met Selma, that event was long ago lost in the backwaters of my memory, I do know that by the spring of 1988 we were best friends. We attended the same school, liked the same songs, fantasized about the same boys and hung out together afternoons and weekends in our hometown of Big Spring, Texas. Selma was tall for her age, lanky, awkward, quiet, shy and very self-conscious. She was an attractive girl with a narrow face, huge blue eyes and long black hair which cascaded over her shoulders and hung halfway down her back. Every day after school we would head over to Selma's house. It was in a dusty, rundown area of town, nestled behind a string of stores and facing an abandoned spur of the Union Pacific Railroad. Her mom had run off with a younger man when Selma was nine leaving her and five sibling for their father to look after. Her dad wasn't the most reliable person in town, he was usually employed as a casual labourer and the house, with its' peeling paint and a broken screendoor hanging off the hinges, was all he could afford. I liked it over at Selma's; her family was much more easy-going and casual than mine, the house had a lived-in feeling too it, no one worried about a little mess here or there. On this particular June day, Selma was upset. A boy at school, we'll call him Tommy, had mocked her in front of their classmates making rude remarks about her family, laughing at her clothing. What made it all the more hurtful was that Selma had a crush on him. Tommy came from one of the leading families in Big Spring, his father worked as one of the senior managers at the big refinery in town. He was the same age as Selma, tall, well-built and handsome always dressed in expensive clothing and hanging out with the other kids from well-to-do families. Going back to her house, I noticed that Selma was quiet and sullen. It was a Friday, so we hung around for a little while over by the corner store discussing what to do on Saturday. She had overhead Tommy talking with a couple of his friends about going down to the hole in the wall on Saturday morning and Selma wanted to see what they were up to. The idea appealed to me and I agreed to go wirh her. We set out for the hole in the wall very early on that Saturday morning. It was quiet as we took the back roads through what had once been an industrial area in the southwest corner of town. At the end of an unused road we turned and walked along a railway track that ran parallel to a long concrete barrier topped with rusted strands of barbed wire. Weeds and scrub had reclaimed the area, pushing up through the road and between the rail ties. Presently we came to a low, bunker-like concrete building with spanish graffiti on the outside. Selma entered first, then I went in. Bright texas sunlight streamed in through a broken window and cracks in the roof. As my eyes adjusted to the light I noticed an empty, crumpled pack of Faros cigarettes, some burnt matches and a few butts next to the remains of a pale blue shirt on the hard concrete floor; the only signs of recent human habitation. A large, rusting steel plate covered an opening to the outside, a single, jagged hole three inches across pierced its center. This was the hole in the wall. The hole in the wall had achieved some notoriety in Big Spring, at least among the boys at our school. Rumour was that mexican women, in the state illegally, frequented "the hole" and gave blow-jobs for five dollars. Whether this was really true or not I don't know but the boys believed it. The setting provided anonymity; a small hill and some trees provided privacy outside, the bunker gave shade and protection inside. We stood together, facing each other in the shade of the bunker, a gentle breeze blowing. It was still early in the morning, the only sounds were the rusling of trees outside. Selma put her hands on my hips, her thumbs gently brushing my bare skin underneath my shirt. I moved closer to her, my hands on the back of her head, stroking her long hair, working downward to her smooth, slender neck. She began kissing the nape of my neck, first with soft pecks, then with full, passionate carresses. Soon we were both kissing, our tongues pushing into each others mouth. Her mouth was soft, wet and sweet , her hair and skin had that faint summer scent. I could feel Selma's hard nipples through the thin cotton shirt as they rubbed against the soft flesh of my breasts . She pulled up my top with one of her hands, lowered her head and began sucking on my erect nipples. I felt her hands pulling at my shorts, I pulled her close, she moved lower and lower, kissing and licking me. Selma kept working her way down my body; my shorts fell to my ankles. Kneeling, she moved between my legs as I leaned back against the wall. I felt her tongue work its way between my fat labia, massaging my clitoris then plunging deep inside me. I must have been quite juicy because I remember listening to the wet slurping sounds of Selma's mouth sucking on my vagina. It wasn't long before I felt a twitching in my pussy, the prelude to a series of explosive orgasms that left me gasping for breath. Selma stood up. Our lips locked in a long passionate kiss, tongues entwined, exploring each other's mouths, both of us covered in a thin film of sweat, our long hair sticking to our faces. Quickly I pulled down Selma's jeans. She stepped out of them and sat on a low bench by the wall. I knelt down, she put her legs over my shoulders, leaned back and pulled up her shirt exposing her large, firm breasts each one capped with a perfect dark pink nipple. Pouting pink lips, swollen in anticipation protruded from the tangle of thick, black hair which covered her vulva. I pushed my face into her warm wetness and began sucking. With the tip of my tongue I played with her clitoris, pushing up under the hood and licking the swollen clitoral head, feeling it become thick and erect. I could feel her muscles quiver as I dug in deeper, fucking her hard with my tongue, drinking her sweet vaginal juice. It didn't seem like very long until she orgasmed, not once but several times, her hands massaging her breasts, her voice a low moan. Afterwards we cuddled on the bench for awhile, talking softly, sharing secrets. We had just put our clothes back on when we heard something outside the bunker. There seemed to be a discussion going on outside "the hole", two male voices that I couldn't make out. In a moment, we heard a rustling noise and a five dollar bill was pushed through the hole. "Oye chicas! Cinco dólares! Cinco dólares!" It was Tommy's voice. "Hey girls! Five american dollars! Blow job, you understand?" The five dollar bill waved back and forth. Tommy repeated the phrase a couple of times then I heard another voice, also male. "Come on Tommy, nobody's here, let's go" At that moment Selma reached over and grabbed the five dollars. Outside silence. "Hey! There's somebody in there." Fingers appeared in the hole, someone was looking in. We were to the side of the hole, out of sight. "Hey girlie, what d'you look like? Where are you?" We waited in silence, the fingers disappeared, some more rustling, then we saw the penis. Pushed through the hole it was just over eight inches long, thick and hard, well-formed, with a huge flared head and a network of dark veins standing out on the shaft. Selma knelt down beside the penis, her face only inches away. She pursed her lips and blew on the glans. In response, the penis stiffened up for a moment. She blew on it again with the same response. A small drop of clear fluid formed at the tip of the penis. Selma was beginning to get more confident. Grabbing the glans between her thumb and finger, she squeezed it until the erection began to subside. She raked her fingernails along the undersurface of the glans, up and around the coronal ridge producing another erection. This continued until another drop of clear fluid formed at the tip signalling an impending orgasm and, as before, she squeezed the glans. This continued for a while, Selma bringing the penis to the edge of orgasm, then stopping. She alternately blew on the penis, dragged her fingernails along its' length and used her long, black hair as a whisk to stimulate the sensitive glans. By now the entire penis was a dark purple, ready to explode. Grasping it part way down the shaft she squeezed it and pulled on it. All of the penis was now visible, curls of the light brown pubic hair surrounding its' base poking through the hole. She kept pulling on the penis, her hand moving up and down the firm shaft, flicking the pee hole every so often with the sharp tip of her fingernail. This constant stimulation without orgasm must have been driving Tommy insane; Selma wasn't going to let him cum. As she put the penis on the stretch, I saw her reach back with her free hand and pick up a stick that lay nearby. WHUMP! Selma had hit the penis with the stick smashing it down on the sharp, rusted metal edge of the hole. Blood poured out of a gaping wound at the base of the penis as she kept a tight grip on it. Outside I heard Tommy screaming and pounding on the metal. WHUMP! Another direct hit with the stick; a jagged piece of metal sticking through the top of the penis. Most of the shaft had been cut through by the rusted metal; only skin held the penis onto the body. WACK, WACK, WACK, THUMP!! Selma hit the penis four more times with the stick severing it completely. Quickly I stuffed the blue shirt that was on the floor in the hole. I could hear Tommy screaming outside, his friend in a complete panic. We ran outside into the bright sunlight. Selma dropped the bloody stick down a nearby drainage grate; we watched it disappear into the subterranean darkness. She found a discarded plastic bag and dropped the severed penis into it. Following the railway track we made it back to the road without being seen. It was mid-morning by the time we reached Selma's house. No one else was in the house. We opened the bag and looked at the penis. It was quite a sight. Shrunken and flaccid, it was completely covered in dried blood with some dirt and rust flakes stuck to it. Selma carefully washed it off and squeezed out the remaining blood. As she dried it off, we were able to examine it more closely. The penis had been severed right at the base; lots of brown curly pubic hair still attached to the ragged skin. Using her fingers she carefully formed it back into its erect shape, although much smaller. She buried it in a container of table salt and kept it on the sill of her bedroom window. She changed the salt every morning and every evening; the salt drew out the moisture and preserved the flesh. Each time she took it out to change the salt she worked the penis with her fingers to mould and form it to a natural shape. At the end of a week, the penis was a dark tan color, three inches long and about three-quarters of an inch in diameter, perfectly preserved. Selma bored a hole in one end to thread a piece of string through so she could wear it around her neck. By the end of the summer, the penis had aquired a natural glowing patina from resting against Selma's skin and absorbing the natural oils from it. You may be wondering what happened to Tommy. His friend ran and got help, Tommy was taken to the hospital and they patched him up as best they could. When the police investigated, Tommy's friend told them about an odd mexican man he had seen nearby the hole that day. A couple of other kids thought they had seen the man too, sneaking around down by the railway tracks. Those reports, along with the cigarrettes and the shirt left in the bunker led the police to conclude that it was that mystery man who had mutilated Tommy, probably an illegal who had snuck across the texas-mexican border. No one had seen Selma or me at all! Tommy was devastated; especially since he lost his penis while still a virgin. Gradually he faded out of the high school social scene and became somewhat of a recluse. After high school, both Tommy and Selma got jobs at the refinery, but in an ironic twist, Selma is Tommy's supervisor. When she bends over his desk beside him to check his work he doesn't even suspect that hanging on an old piece of string, hidden under Selma's shirt and nestled between her breasts, hangs a dried piece of flesh that was once his penis.
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