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Foster's World	By : Wendell Urth Category: +1 through F > Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends Views: 4137 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends and all associated characters belong to their respective creators and owners, not me. I receive no compensation whatsoever for this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 8: Naming the Names
They walked through the heat of the afternoon. They didn’t tire, but after a while Frankie’s stomach began making sounds. Mac giggled, then his made an even louder one. She laughed. They approached a grove of trees, different from any seen before. In the upper branches were a group of creatures, all bright red with one arm short and the other longer than their torsos. It was Frankie’s turn to name. “These are ‘Wilts’,” she told him and he agreed. “Good name.” He watched as the creatures began picking fruit with their shorter arms and tossing the wrinkled brown fruit to each other with the longer one. Mac began calling and waving to the creatures to toss them down some of the fruit. One creature studied him for a moment, then faster than the eye could see, nailed him in the forehead with a blinding pitch from the long arm. Mac fell ass backwards. Suddenly all the Wilts began pelting them with fruit, which exploded and splattered painfully. Laughing, they scrambled back behind some rocks. It was too painful to try to recover any fruit that missed. Mac looked woebegone, covered in brown pulp and fruit juice. She leaned over and licked a long strip from his forehead.
She burped! Smiled for a moment and ran her tongue down his chest’ “Good,” she slurped. Although it wasn’t her turn, she blurted out “Wine” and so the fruit was named. Mac began licking trails of juice and fruit pulp from her body. It was strange to his taste and he quickly got a silly look on his face. He nibbled some pulp from her breasts. She loved it and licked his lips. They kissed and traded juice and spit.
They got roaring drunk, licking and kissing each other. Tasting and slurping, enjoying each other’s bodies. Frankie managed to find a few undamaged Wine Fruit and wished she had pockets to carry them in… then wondered what exactly a pocket was, anyway. She asked Mac if he knew. He was swaying, unable to walk a straight line and promised to think about finding her some pockets once he figured out where they grew.
Important lessons were learned in that grove. They would never be shy around each other. And the best way to enjoy Wine Fruit was smashed and licked from the flesh of someone you loved.
And kissing was fun. They would do that a lot, even when the Wine Fruit ran out.
Later they came to a small pool under a shady tree Mac named “The Willow” and decided to splash around, wiping the last traces of Wine Juice from their skin. Then Mac was sitting on the shore; Frankie had dived in deep and suddenly burst through the surface. Mak looked up as the water streamed from her body, her long red hair curling around her shoulders. He wanted to cry. He had never seen anything so beautiful in his short life. He couldn’t look away; he wouldn’t look away. Her full ripe breasts moved in rhythm with her swaying hips as she came towards him. The small triangle of curly red hair between her legs looked inviting, but he couldn’t say why.
Frankie began to run, she wanted to be next to him, to touch him again. She loved his hands on her body, her breasts, her waist, her ass. It set her skin on fire and sent ripples of feeling down her arms, her belly and legs. And she loved touching him, his smooth chest. She was fascinated by the small protrusion between his legs. All so different than her own body. She wondered what it was for, but somehow knew it was for her.
They found a large soft patch of pinkish moss under ‘The Willow’, suddenly they were both tired.
Maybe it was the long hike.
Maybe it was the Wine Fruit.
Maybe it was the silver falcon owl (still unnamed), which began humming in the highest branches of the tree. Wrapped in each other’s arms, they slept.
While they slept, while the bird sang, a dusty haze rose from the moss.
Later Mac would name the moss, “The Fuzzy Pillow”. It would become one of the most useful discoveries from those earliest days. But that would be much later. (Time has little meaning for Frankies and Macs. They refer to the earliest days as “The Days Before The Days”.)
The Fuzzy Pillow was more like a combination mattress and bouncy house. It supported you in every position, was dreamily springy and had one feature that Mac and Frankie had no word for. We have the word. It is an ‘Aphrodisiac.’
Oops.
Frankie slept; it was certainly more comfortable than the beach had been. The dusty haze she inhaled tickled her nose. It was… pleasant. It gave her a warm feeling all over…
Early morning. Mac had gotten up to pee. She watched him use that little thing between his legs to water some bushes. It looked easier than the squatting process she had discovered for herself. She was fascinated by his little thing. It was as long as her smallest finger (they still hadn’t named the fingers… or his little thing yet) and as thick 2 fingers. She now knew a wonderful secret about something that could be done with it.
She lay back as the Fuzzy Pillow adjusted to her. She spread her long legs, pulling them up as she bent her knees and using her hands, signaled Mac to come to her. “Hurry” was the clear signal.
He laughed, jumping on her body, between her legs, nestling his head between her breasts.
She reached between his legs, grasping his little thing between thumb and next finger. He gasped as she pulled slowly and stretched him. She felt it come alive in her hand, growing, thickening. Soon it was twice its size. She needed to use her whole hand now, unable to completely encircle the rigid shaft.
It felt so nice in her hand, as if that’s what her hand was made for.
Mac moaned, licking and teasing her nipples, her breasts.
Mac thing had doubled in size and doubled again? And…? She couldn’t work out the numbers. It didn’t matter. His thing (no so little anymore) was pressed between their bodies. She found the joy and pleasure of rubbing the head against her folds. It was doing things to her; it was doing things to him…
“I know where that goes,” he whispered, kissing her throat. She laughed, “I know you know.” Slipping the head inside her. Her back arched. “AHHHHHHH, so nice.”
He took control. It was his dick after all. He pressed into her more deeply. Oh, she was tight and it felt so good to the boy. She looked at him through half-closed eyes. “More. Give me more, my Mac.”
Oh, he was happy to oblige. He began to pull back momentarily… then pressed himself more deeply inside his Frankie. “My Frankie”.
She gasped. Her own pleasure had doubled and doubled (?) again. Oh, it didn’t matter, how can you measure ecstasy? She wrapped her strong legs around his torso, pulling him into a tighter embrace. He set his arms down and began pistoning into her. Her hips rose to receive his thrusts. Her fingers instinctively touching the little button she had no name for, but oh, how good it felt…
It was a rhythm older than time on this world.
The shared sweat. They shared spit. They shared joy in each other’s bodies.
- 8
- 9
- 10
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Foster's World