The Loft

I dined with the Lafontaine family that night – there were at least 15 people living in that house – on venison, wild rice, gravy, cat tail roots cooked by their grandmother and mother. The meal was delicious. The Lafontaine women could really cook.

The Lafontaine tribe came from the Bad River Band of Ojibwa or Chippewa. Ojibwa and Chippewa are used interchangeably in northern Wisconsin. (The name Wisconsin is said to originate from a French pronunciation of an Ojibwa word: Oui-scon-sin, which translates roughly to Bountiful Land.) There is one major difference between the Red Cliff Band and the Bad River Band of Ojibwa. The Red Cliff band was strongly influenced by Jesuit’s like Father Marquette. Red Cliff Indians accepted the teachings of the Catholic Church whereas the Bad River Ojibwa did not. In fact, Bad River chiefs outright rejected and denounced the Catholic Church. Missing from the Lafontaine home were the crosses and bloody Jesus statues and prints that permeate Red Cliff homes. Therefore, the Lafontaine’s aligned well with Blackwater Tribe teachings.

After dinner we kids headed to the garage where Buster had a fire blazing in an old Franklin stove that looked like it could have belonged to old Ben himself. It was toasty warm despite the 10 below zero outside temperature. Auggie brought out a few jugs of homemade crabapple & rhubarb wine that was sour but packed quite a kick. It wasn’t long before I was feeling tipsy as was Loraine. Her hands were roaming farther and farther over my clothing-swaddled body.

All were laughing listening to Buster’s stories of his recent trip to Minneapolis where the military had given him a physical exam and made him take tests to judge his fitness to serve. His description of the privates, corporals, and sergeants was hilarious. I confirmed his observations stating that I knew Army guys just like that.

Toward the end of one long story Loraine pulled my jacket and whispered in my ear, “Do you want to go up in the attic and have some fun.” I like fun so I quickly nodded yes and we slipped away up a ladder that ran straight up the wall and into the tiny attic.

The attic was packed with old boards, boxes with rags hanging out of them. At the far end were a bunch of clothes that made up something of a nest. We crawled on hands and knees to the nest. It was even warmer in the loft. We passed a wine jug back and forth, each of us trying to work up the nerve to make a move. Or, maybe Loraine was waiting for me to make a move. I was shy, insecure, and harbored enormous fear of rejection. She started kissing my neck and giggling, finally working her way up to my mouth. Her warm tongue probed at my tight lips until I finally opened my mouth for my first French kiss. We kissed and kissed until my lips, mouth, and face started to go numb.

At some point, Loraine had wiggled her leg over mine. She managed to find a position that allowed her hip to rub my crotch while she humped my leg. I reached down with my left hand and started rubbing her ass, urging her forward. My rod was as hard as it had ever been and ached for release. Her rubbing kept me near the edge without pushing me over, torturing and tantalizing me at the same time.

Without losing suction on my face she unzipped her coat and shed it in one smooth motion. Then, she tugged on the zipper to my jacket in an almost desperate manner. I took the cue and started unbuttoning her sweater until I could peal it from her arm – two layers down with three more to go. The key to surviving a northern Wisconsin winter is the layering of clothing; many layers of clothes provide greater protection than one bulky coat. She pulled at my upper dressings until they slipped over my head leaving me naked from the waist up. I sped up my unbuttoning action but not fast enough for Loraine who assisted me in removing another sweater, a blouse, a t-shirt and a bra.

There they were. Two large breasts with nipples so taught they could poke out an eye. I had seen boobs before in the strip clubs, but they all sagged down from bored strippers. These were the first boobs I had seen up close. Loraine was still humping my leg with her crotch when she guided a nipple to my mouth. Some innate animal sense told me what to do with it. While I sucked at her teat, she unzipped my pants, unbuttoned my long johns and started tugging at my shorts. I tried to lift my ass off the ground but it proved impossible with this large Ojibwa girl on my leg.

I ached to have her touch it. You know, it.  My brain was screaming: touch it, touch it, oh, please touch it. And then, we both twisted in the right direction at the right time allowing her to pull my garments down to my knees. Her hand slid up my leg until, finally, at long last, her hand brushed my balls and wrapped around my stiffee. She was touching it. A girl was touching it. Her touch felt better than anything ever had in my life. She moved her hand up and down a few times and that was all it took to make the hot juice squirt out landing all over my belly. She giggled and said, “Oh my, you had an accident.” I thought I was done. That’s the way it worked when I jerked it myself: white stuff squirts out, tissue, sleep.

Loraine wasn’t near done with me. Still holding my rod tightly she unzipped her jeans, then stripped jeans and panties completely off one leg. She didn’t care about the other leg, apparently. She whipped her leg over both my legs so that her crotch straddled mine. She then proceeded to rub my wilting willie in her moist, lubricated box. She moaned deeply while rubbing me against her. Much to my surprise, and delight, her moans and actions brought me back to life. She kept rubbing and moaning until her legs began to shake uncontrollably. She groaned, “Yes. Yes. Gichi Manitou, yes,” then guided my third leg to her opening and slowly sunk onto my shaft until our pubic hairs intertwined. I switched boobs as she slowly, deliberately forced herself up and down on top of me. Soon, er rhythm sped up until I once again felt her legs wobbling as her belly quivered. She sunk down back on me as the wave of spasms consumed her. She babbled incoherently in Ojibwa.

She collapsed onto me for a few moments to rest. I was having difficulty breathing with her massive breasts compressing my chest. Before long, she realized that I was still hard deep within her. “Mmmm, mmmm,” was the sound she emitted as she rose back up for another ride. I was relieved that I could breathe again. I began thrusting my hips upward along with her, a motion that she obviously enjoyed greatly.

We continued on for three or four more rounds until we both collapsed in exhaustion. She hugged me close to her and kept repeating, “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you…”

Hell, I was the one that should be thanking her. This was my first time, well, the first time with an actual girl. What started off as quite awkward quickly transformed into a vigorous, delightfully explosive experience.

I had had fun in the past but nothing like Loraine’s brand of fun. Down below, the radio blared out station WEBC while the kids talked, sang and danced while Loraine and I had fun over and over and over…