The Punany Experience (3 page)

“Never mind all that,” Sister Talbert said. “Stormy, you mind your manners around that young man. You understand? He’s not a boy. He’s a man.”

“Yes, Momma,” Stormy said.

Sister Talbert could feel Sister Thomas and Sister Sarah looking at her suspiciously. “Bless you, sisters. Bless the both of you!”

She tossed her nose in the air and walked down the hall. She hoped to speak to Brother Samuels, but she was stopped in her tracks by Pastor, who prayed over her Cancer in front of the church. When she opened her eyes, Brother Samuels and nearly everyone else was gone.

S
TORMY WOKE UP EXTRA EARLY ON
S
ATURDAY MORNING
so she could leave the house before her mother woke up. Stormy was
only fourteen. Too smart, her mother said, for her own good, and too young to be wearing black stockings with a seam up the back. Her mother had told her to throw them away when she bought them at the liquor store on Sunday. But she liked the way her legs looked in them. They made her legs look exactly like the ones on the package. So instead of tossing them, she had stuffed them into her purse and had been posing in them in the mirror all week long; sitting on her dresser, legs crossed, toes pointed, stomach sucked in, budding breasts forward, silently laughing, and touching fingertips to her chest, she had practiced being grown up in them.

Her dress was short enough to show them off as she walked to the bus stop. The bus driver noticed them with a bright golden grin. The old ladies, with huffs and snubs, noticed the grown-up legs on the teenage girl. Stormy silently hoped for a more favorable reaction from Marcel Samuels as she crossed her ankles and turned her face away from the women.

Stormy and Melissa, the soprano that stood next to her in the choir stand, had been jabbing each other in the thigh during rehearsal, in girlish competition for the young director’s attention. Melissa, he said, had a voice like Tramaine Hawkins, so he offered her the lead on “When You Pray.” Stormy was sulking in defeat as Melissa melted in the sultry attention of the director, whose hands manipulated their way from her shoulders to her diaphragm, compelling the young vocalist to push the song out. Melissa giggled when Brother Samuels told Stormy that her voice was shaky and compromised his entire choir, but she swallowed her laughter whole when Brother Samuels offered Stormy some personal assistance after rehearsal.

Saturday afternoon, when choir rehearsal was over and all of the good Christians were gone, Stormy lay cradling herself on the
floor, where young Brother Samuels had abandoned her wilted body, with her virginity bleeding slowly down her thighs in the Pastor’s study.

Stormy didn’t know how he had removed her pretty black stockings. She had only wanted to kiss him. She had only wanted to see what kissing his special mouth would be like. That first kiss was the sweetest thing she had ever felt. Everything else happened so quickly that she couldn’t think straight. Her face was stinging, there was something around her neck, his salty hand was over her mouth and nose, and she couldn’t breathe. Then she was on the floor with her hair being pulled back so far she thought her neck would snap. Her fists pounded the flesh and muscles of his big, strong back, and someone was screaming “no” and “stop” and “it hurts” and “please, Jesus, stop him.” Things in her stomach were being pushed around as her bones seemed to split and give way to a digging inside of her and everything between her legs was throbbing, aching, and bruising. Then time was still and she left the room and floated into space and looked for Jesus. She was calling His name and looking and calling and looking, but she couldn’t find Him anywhere. She found a quiet place, lay down and waited, unsure of what she was waiting for.

Suddenly, there was a loud grunt in her ear, and then panting, squeezing, shaking, and breathing and then…he was soft again, kissing her with his special mouth.

“Now that’s some pussy that can make a brother sing,” he said, kissing her again. Stormy didn’t say anything. She stared at the cross on the wall behind him, where Jesus hung. “Hey, are you in there?” Brother Samuels knocked on her head with his knuckles. She turned her empty eyes toward him. “Don’t worry. It won’t hurt the next time.”

He stood up over her. She saw his dick; the first one she had
ever seen. It had blood and white stuff on it. She felt her stomach retching and thought she would throw up, until she swallowed hard and looked away, at the cross again.

Brother Samuels picked her dress up off the floor and wiped his dick with it. “You ain’t never even seen one before today, huh?”

Stormy lay there. She did not answer. She did not cry. She kind of lay numb and wondering. What had she done wrong? Why was God punishing her? Was this what she had to look forward to with men?
If God is everywhere
, she thought,
why couldn’t He hear my prayers from inside a Pastor’s study?
Her eyes were fixated on that cross, where a hippy-looking white man hung with nails in his hands and feet. Her Sunday school teacher said Jesus was a carpenter.
Maybe he built his own cross, too
, she thought.
Jesus, where were you when I was looking for you?

She shivered.

“Are you cold?” Brother Samuels asked. “Here, put your dress back on.” He tossed the dress onto her body, but she didn’t move a muscle.

For a moment, there was tenderness in his voice that Stormy appreciated. Even when he wasn’t singing, praising God with his tenor tone, his voice sounded like a song.
Are you cold?
Even in the aftermath of him stealing her virginity, Stormy was drawn to his voice and waited for him to say something that would make her feel better.

“Is something wrong?” he asked her. “Why are you laying there, staring up at that cross?

“Oh, so now you’re not talking. What happened to ‘
Oh Brother Samuels, you sing so pretty
?’ And ‘
how old are you
?
Hee hee hee’
; I saw ya’ll up there in the choir stand giggling. I be seeing ya’ll all the time, talking about me. Now that you have my attention, you can’t talk. You all hurt. Shit.” He curled his lip in disgust at her. “You
know, you females make me sick, prancing around in front of dudes, dressing like little sluts, switching your little asses around, batting your eyelashes, flirting and shit. Then you have the nerve to cop an attitude when men want to fuck you; especially you young chicks. Sometimes I think God be playing games. I mean, He be giving ass and titties, like the ones He gave to you, to kids, and expects a man not to want them. It don’t make sense. It’s just wrong. That’s why I’m in this church, playing the piano, singing and getting paid. My pretty hands make seventy-five dollars every time they touch the keys on Sunday. All this shit is fake. You are hell of fake.” He kicked Stormy’s leg. “I’m going to give you some advice, young lady. You would be smart to take it. Don’t take this situation and try to use it to play victim. You’ll only be fucking yourself up for later. Pussy wasn’t created for anything but fucking and having babies. So if you think I’ve done you wrong, think again. I simply got you ready.”

He knelt at her side, watching her lay still. Young Brother Samuels spoke slow and deliberately to her. “I know you’re feeling kind of bad about it right now, going out like a hoe and all; especially at church, and being only fourteen. But I can see it in you. You’re going to be one of those bitches who love to fuck. Trust me; don’t worry about it right now. Hey…” He waved his hand in front of her eyes. “What are you doing? What are you looking at?” He followed her eyes to the cross on the wall behind him. “What? Do you think He’s going to climb down off that cross and whip my ass? Hey, my cousin said that Mary, you know, from the Bible, Jesus’ mother, was around fourteen years old. So you’re in real good company.”

Stormy just lay there, not responding. He looked at the catatonic girl on the floor, laughed, and stood on his feet.

“Naw, for real though; that’s some real good pussy you got.
You were fighting me for a minute. That’s something you can hold on to, for sure, for your honor. But I could feel you wanting to fuck me back. I could feel you holding yourself back. You even got a couple of good pumps in there, didn’t you?”

Stormy turned her face away. He reached for her chin and turned her face back over to him. She closed her eyes.

“Open your eyes. I want you to look at me and remember me. I want you to remember what I smelled like, what I tasted like, what I felt like, before all those other men come rushing up inside you. You should do yourself a favor next time; don’t hold back. You ain’t being raped if you’re fucking back. Remember that.”

Stormy watched Brother Samuels as he walked away from her, shaking his head. He checked his hair in the mirror by the coat rack, where the Pastor’s robe, hat and coat hung, and continued to talk.

“Pussy ain’t all special like you females try to make it out to be. That’s all I’m saying. Men know what pussy is for. We have to have it. We would kill to get it. We pay for it! I mean, I don’t pay for it but some fools do. Men are the ones that give it value; not women. Pussy ain’t worth anything; not really. It’s just that men have a need for it. So in the future, if any of these fine, upstanding church men want to run up in you, you need to get a little something for your college fund. You know what I’m saying?

“Besides, fucking is in our nature. It’s something people do. We’re all animals with urges to procreate and shit. That means have babies,” he said, looking back at her on the floor. Stormy was starting to look like she was going to cry. “You need to get up off the floor, and stop feeling sorry for yourself. You don’t even know. I did you a big-ass favor.” Brother Samuels pulled his arms through his choir robe and zipped it. “I swear,” he said, “Females can be so unappreciative.” He walked toward the door.
“Every girl has got to become a woman some time. It’s probably better that you became one in the house of the Lord, don’t you think?”

In that moment, a single tear crawled through the corner of Stormy’s eye. She could feel a well of them rushing in to pity her. He was almost out of the door. She willed her tears away; she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

Brother Samuels opened the door to the Pastor’s study and was stepping through it when he had an afterthought. “I know you don’t want to embarrass your momma with any of this. With that cancer eating her up like it is already, you might kill her with foolishness. I heard, back in the day, your momma knew what pussy was for, too.”

With that, he disappeared behind the door. Stormy could hear him, already humming his next musical gift to God as he shut the door and walked down the hall with her innocence still ripe on his dick, under his choir robe.

After a few minutes, when she could hear the organ flooding the sanctuary, Stormy stood up on her trembling legs. She pulled her pretty stockings from around her neck and tossed them in the trashcan by the Pastor’s desk. She picked her pink cotton panties up off the floor and stepped into them. Then she put on the dress her mother had warned her was
“too short for the church house”
and folded her choir robe. She could hear Brother Samuels on the organ in the sanctuary, singing…

“I find no fault in God; He’s wonderful. I find no fault in Him
…”

The night Korea gave her virginity to Keith, she didn’t even bleed. Over the next couple of months, she let him hit a few more times, hoping it would get better, but she was starting to wonder what all the excitement over sex was about. She was about to stop fucking him altogether when he started getting more creative.

Keith was pretty sure that he wasn’t getting Korea off with his usual moves, so he decided to try something different.
He wasn’t usually a weak fuck, but he had to admit to himself that he could understand if Korea thought he was.
After all, she never made a sound when he fucked her, even when her pussy was dripping wetness. Her silence was so intimidating. It was all he could do to stay hard most of the time.

Korea found a package in her gym locker with a note attached. “Baby, I bought you something. Please put on only what is inside this package and meet me on the corner behind the gym after school. I love you. P.S., make sure you don’t wear anything but what is in the package.”

It was an old trick he hadn’t used in years, but it was failure proof, Keith thought, as he waited with his Mustang idling behind the high school. For a fleeting moment, he thought he might be tricking himself when he saw her strutting toward his car in the red silk wraparound dress and elegant Evan Picone pumps he had given her. Half an hour later, Korea lay on a hotel bed, spread-eagle,
with her full pussy exposed to his razor’s edge.
He had shaved her
, then sucked, kissed, and licked inside her bald pussy until she had moaned for him, for the very first time. But right when Korea was getting into it, rolling her hips and fucking his lips and tongue, Keith had grown excited. He had pulled his face from between her legs and climbed on top of her. Before long, he was spilling his hot milk on her clean-shaven skin.

Korea couldn’t stop thinking about the sweet sensation of having a tongue on her pussy. Every night, she was touching herself and searching for the spots that got her the hottest. But after three days, when her hair began to grow back, her desire to touch herself became an intense need to scratch, as hair bumps began to form, leaving tiny pus-filled blisters. The skin of her pussy became inflamed and hot to the touch in the next days and she could not scratch enough to soothe the powerful itch.

“Aw, baby,” Keith said into the phone. “That happens sometimes. Your skin has to get a little tougher. It’ll heal in a few days.”

“It better,” Korea said, calming down a bit, as she pressed a warm wet towel against her punany.

“You’ve been thinking about me licking on you, huh?” Keith said, in a sexy voice.

“No.”