Thursday, December 10, 2009


There were several circumstances which made that summer memorable. I was on my own; my best bud was on an extended vacation with his family. My part time job was just that – off again, on again – and I had a lot of leisure on my hands. I suppose I’ve come to see this time, especially those days I spent with Annabel, as the beginning of my maturing as a man, as I learned to appreciate the subtler aspects of a woman.

Strangely enough, it was my mother who introduced me to Annabel. She’d lost her husband in a car accident and was planning to continue her education in the fall. She was going to list their house for sale after some work had been done and my mother volunteered me as a helper, someone to do odd jobs for her when necessary. I accepted because I had nothing better to do. Also, a woman twelve years older than I was didn’t really interest me as a person. I daydreamed of Debbie with the treasure chest, even though she was out of my league and out of my reach.

I still am not sure how much my mother was aware of my relationship with Annabel and her effect on me. Somehow I’ve come to believe that there may have been ulterior motives to my mother’s introduction of the two of us. Looking back, she must have known very quickly what was happening but never openly remarked on it. Even so, although I have come to understand my part of this relationship, I only vaguely understood Annabel’s.

Anyway, none of that instant attraction. In the first couple of weeks I spent several days clearing out the basement of old furniture no longer needed. We exchanged few words; she gave directions and I sized up the job. I went home for lunch; sometimes I came back. She busied herself upstairs usually, I think. At the end of the second day my mother asked if I liked her; like or dislike hadn’t crossed my mind so I shrugged. After all, she was mom’s friend and nothing special to me.

It was the Tuesday of the third week that things began to change drastically. The weather was hot and muggy. Annabel had given me a choice of organizing some of the stuff stored in the garage or mowing the expanse of lawn. I picked the outside job; inside the garage would oppressive with little chance of a breeze. It never crossed my mind that she would be left to do the more uncomfortable work.

Nor was I thinking of her when I broke away from my task a short time later and entered the house to get a drink of something cold from the fridge in the kitchen. Or at least a glass of cold water from the tap. Before going in, I took off my old T- shirt and wiped most of the perspiration from my head and face with it. I wasn’t paying attention, didn’t hear that the tap was already running at full stream. That sound probably obscured the sound of my entry. Coming to think of it later, maybe Annabel was aware of what was happening.

She was standing at the sink, only partially turned away. She had removed the shirt she was wearing. She was wringing out a cloth soaking with cool water over her throat and neck, her back and shoulders, her naked breasts. Her eyes were closed and an air of relief wreathed her face. She seemed to be in a world of her own and I wasn’t about to interrupt.

My young life had not been filled with topless women, at least not live ones. I stood motionless and silent, watching the droplets of water slide over the contours of her upper body, seem to become part of the small shivers under her skin. My eyes were still entranced by the way her nipples stiffened to the touch of the cold water when she became aware of my presence.

“Michael. I didn’t hear you come in.” She looked at me, then closed her eyes again. “I’ve found this is the easiest way to cool down, aside from a cold shower. Help yourself if you want.”

She didn’t try to cover up, showed no sense of embarrassment. I think I blushed; I tried not to look at her bosom. I stammered something about getting a cold drink. She smiled, made no move to turn away, and again soaked the cloth and pressed it to her throat and shoulders.

“There’s ginger ale and a fruit punch drink in the fridge. Either one is colder than this water. I think there’s still a tray of ice cubes in the freezer.”

I turned my back on her and fumbled with the fruit juice in the fridge. I had to turn back toward her to get a glass from the cupboard beside the sink. As I hesitated she reached up and took one off the shelf, held it out to me. My hand closed around the glass, only inches away from her breast. She stepped against me to open the freezer compartment, inhaled quickly as the cold air reached her chest. I felt her nipples against my bare skin.

“I’m sorry. I guess I’m out of ice cubes. I can go to the variety store and get some. It’ll be easier than waiting for this machine to make some.”

She stepped back to the sink. I assured her that the drink was fine, cool enough without ice. I tried not to be too obvious as she again wiped over and under her breasts with cold water. I refilled the glass.

“I guess you should finish the lawn, Michael, but it’s much too hot to do anything else. When you’re done, come find me and we’ll think of an easier way to spend the day.” She shrugged the shirt back over her shoulders; well, sort of, because every part of her chest and shoulders was still very damp. With a smile she walked out of the kitchen and left me standing there uncomfortable in mind and body, conscious of the way the clinging cloth emphasized the curves and slopes of her bosom.

My body went out and mowed the rest of the lawn, dealt with the heat and discomfort. My mind spent the time in a separate existence, trying to decide whether Annabel was coming on to me, or whether that was her way and I was misinterpreting it. Whatever, it left me confused.

When I finished the lawn it was not yet noon. I went to look for Annabel as she had asked. She wasn’t in the garage. I found her in the house, talking on the phone. Talking to my mother, no less.

“He’s just come in, Elaine. Do you want to talk to him? No, I think I can feed him and keep him entertained. OK, see you later then.”

She grinned at me and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. Her breasts bobbled under the unfastened shirt. In a way I was trying to become more comfortable with my awareness of her body. It didn’t seem to bother her to be seen and admired. I just prayed for enough self-control so I wouldn’t drool.

“That was your mother. It seems she just got a call and will be out most of the day. She asked if you would be here all day, if I would provide dinner this evening. I promised her I’d see to it you were fed supper, even if it was Macdonald’s. OK?”

It seemed that I had been offered no choice, so I shrugged. She took that as assent and laid out her options for dealing with the heat this afternoon. Our first option was a long movie in an air-conditioned theater. If she had a car, well, that would change things; we could go to the beach at a lake not too far from town. She saw how my face perked up at that idea.

“You can drive. Why don’t you call your mother before she leaves and ask if you can use her car this afternoon? Here.” She pushed the phone at me. Automatically I called.

Getting the car was so easy it might have been planned. Mom said if I came home right away and drove her to her friend’s house, I could have the car for the rest of the day. I grinned, more from having her Dodge than the thought of being with Annabel all day. I called out that I’d be back as soon as possible and rushed the several blocks home. Mom was already waiting for me, but I took a moment to find a clean T-shirt, get my swim trunks and a towel. When I dropped her off, she pecked me on the cheek.

“Drive carefully, Mike. Behave yourself and be good to Annabel.” Once again, that remark didn’t mean anything special until afterwards.

Annabel was waiting when I returned. She had changed into a bright flower-patterned beach cover-up that came almost to her knees. I got a glimpse of baggy khaki shorts underneath when she got into the car. Whatever she was wearing under the top held her firm; I glanced over several times without being too obvious. In a canvas carryall she had a blanket, towels, sunscreen, who knows what all. Gleefully she gave directions.

“I know it’s hot but it’s the middle of the week, there shouldn’t be too many people at the beach in the park right now. I know a couple of nice spots. One of them should be free. Oh, yes. It’s lunchtime. Do you want to pick up salads or sandwiches and drinks before we enter the park? It’ll be better food than the concession stand.”

We stopped at a country market and at her urging purchased several different breads and cheeses. She mentioned wine, but we settled for cherry colas. At the park entrance she fumbled to get the fee together. We had both forgotten about that.

We left my mother’s Dodge in the parking lot. She put on a large soft straw hat she took from the carryall, replaced it with her shoes. She led the way, carrying the food; I followed behind with the bigger, heavier load, content to watch the sway of her butt and to listen to the chatter of her voice.

She was right. The beach was not crowded. She found a spot that was quite private and looked for a space where she could spread out the blanket.

“Why don’t you go and change into your swim suit while I lay out our lunch? Unless, of course, you want to go in the water first.”

I assured her my hunger was greater than my need for a dip in the lake and went back to the building that housed the office, concession stand, change rooms and washrooms to change out of my shorts and T-shirt. Back at our spot, I found she had spread out a blanket away from the sand, on grass in the shade of some trees. The beach stuff was set aside on a towel and she was arranging the lunch things on the blanket. She was busy arranging the bread, cheese, and drinks we’d bought, along with an assortment of fruit she’d brought from home, on a cloth in the center. She had removed her cover-up and tucked it into the bag with her shoes.

No, she was not topless again. And I’ve seen skimpier tops. It’s just that any bosoms that I saw up close like that were not ones I had been introduced to. I mean, the ones I’d held and felt intimately, so to speak, were always in the dark; I never saw them the same way in daylight.

But I’m babbling. The memory of Annabel’s bosom still has that effect.

The question is not what I saw but how I saw.

Her feet were bare with, I think I remember, a modest covering of nail polish on well-trimmed toenails. The shapely calves and thighs were smooth and tanned. She wore baggy, sand-colored shorts; whatever she wore underneath was of no immediate concern to me. I was enthralled by her chest, her bosom.

Two areas. No, not the two breasts as you might imagine but the two distinct areas: the covered and the uncovered. My eyes followed the line of her throat to her shoulder; to the strap leading to the material covering, no, cupping her breast; the strip of clinging material holding all in place and fastening together somewhere at the back. Marveled how her breasts fit on and against her chest, as if they belonged there ― as if they were not an afterthought to make her a woman, different from a man. The blue of the material in her top seemed a reflection of the shades of color in her eyes. The top itself seemed as alive, as much a part of her as her skin. Below it, a soft expanse of that skin, with a hint of extra flesh at the waist of her shorts when she bent forward or turned to the side. Subjectively, it seemed the moment lasted for hours.

She caught me looking but didn’t stop her preparations. “Mike. Are you ready to eat yet?” I blushed and shifted to hide the sign of my arousal in the folds of my swim trunks. “We can wait if you want, but everything is laid out and the sodas are still cold.”

I don’t know what sophisticated reply I made. I do know she laughed aloud, a marvelous and intriguing sound, enough to make me believe I could be falling in love. We settled down and ate lunch. We talked but I don’t remember the conversation. I do remember trying very hard to keep my eyes on her face, her hands, the sky, the water, anything but her bosom. I was not completely successful. By the hint of a smile when she looked into my eyes, I knew that she was quite aware of my struggle.

“Mike, would you get rid of our garbage before you go swimming? I’ll stay here. I want to rearrange the blanket so I can catch some sun.”

I took my time taking stuff to the disposal bins beside the concession stand and chatted with the girl running it. I guess it was a way of returning to an emotional normal. Anyway, I felt better about myself when I returned to check with Annabel.

She had moved the blanket into the sun and arranged things nearby. She had taken off her shorts and was spreading some sort of lotion along her tanned, smooth legs, working it into her skin right up to the crotch of the matching blue bottoms. I watched her knees push against her breasts.

“Oh, Mike. Just in time. Would you spread some of this sun block on my back where I can’t reach?”

She tossed the squeeze bottle my way and flipped over onto her stomach. Face down, she pulled her hair up from her shoulders and waited for my hands. Carefully kneeling at her side, I dripped some of the stuff on her back between her shoulder blades. She squealed in protest.

“No! Warm that stuff up a little between your palms! And while you’re at it, Mike, undo the back before you begin. I don’t want to end up with even faint tan lines.”

I spread the lotion already there on her shoulders and upper back. I hesitated to reach for the clasp that would let the fabric peel away from her body. She reached back and untied the string at the neck.

“Come on, Mike, it’s only some bare skin. Or do I have to sit up and undo it myself?”

Oh my god. Annabel. Topless in public. I was uncertain of my reaction to such a sight and quickly obeyed her instructions, smoothing the lotion into the expanse of her naked back but too afraid to reach around toward the sides or the front. When I leaned away, she thanked me. And immediately sat up and pulled the top completely off.

“Pass me that sunscreen, please. I’ll do the front. I think it’s private enough to lay out like this.”

I sat back on my haunches, frozen, watching her rub the lotion into her palms and then begin to massage her breasts. I swear my mouth dropped open and I began to drool like an infant. She paid me no mind. I don’t know if she was aware of the stirring in my trunks; I certainly was and got up quickly to rush to the water. Halfway there she called after me.

“Hey, Mike! Check on me in fifteen, twenty minutes! I don’t want to fall asleep and burn!”

Embarrassment is having a naked lady call after you when you’re running to hide an erection. I didn’t pause to see if anyone was watching.

The cool water calmed the physical manifestations but not the fire in my mind, my imagination. After standing chest-deep for a few minutes, I moved to shallower water, walking parallel to the shoreline. Annabel was right. Everyone in the vicinity was minding his own business. Between the older people and a few infants, I couldn’t see who, except myself, might be interested in a half-naked woman. That reminded me. I didn’t know if the fifteen minutes were up, but I should go back. And this time, try to act more mature.

When I reached our spot she was lying there naked as expected. Well, not exactly naked, topless. Flat on her back. Legs out straight, the blue of the bikini bottom snug over the mound at the junction of her thighs. Belly smooth and round with a shallow indented navel. Hands at each side, palms down. Her large straw hat was pulled over her head, covered her face and throat so I couldn’t see if she was asleep or awake. And her tits all naked in the bright sun.

I settled on the edge of the blanket hoping not to disturb her if she was dozing. Her breathing didn’t change; she gave no sign she was aware that I had come back. I wanted to turn my back on her but figured that would be insulting if she caught me like that. Almost as bad as rearranging the erection her body was causing. I tried hard to observe and study the rest of her, but failed. Those breasts sat there on her chest, not pushed together but turned slightly away from each other. The duskier areolas seemed perfectly round, the nipples compact and protruding. Her tits weren’t large, but again I was struck by the sense that they belonged there and nowhere else.

“You’re back.” She startled me as I was trying to wipe my palms on a corner of the blanket. She lifted the hat off her face.

“I’ve got to turn over. Any more direct sun and I’ll fry both these babies.” She flipped over with minimum effort and settled on her front. “Run along, go for another swim if you want Mike. Give me about fifteen minutes, half an hour.” I rushed to the water again.

When I returned twenty minutes or so later, she had moved out of the sun up to the grassy spot under the trees where we had had our lunch. Though no longer in the direct sunlight, she remained naked from the waist up. She had packed a paperback in that carryall and was holding it on her knees; she didn’t seem the least bit interested in it but watched what activity was happening on the beach and in the water near us. More like gazing into the middle distance. Her breasts were pushed slightly together between her forearms. I tried to act nonchalant. She grinned as I approached.

“The sun is much too hot; I should have known. You don’t mind if I don’t put my top on just yet, do you? It feels so good, especially here in the shade. You guys are lucky. Laws and customs don’t make you cover your naked chest.”

I raised no objection. I don’t think one was expected. She slowly sank onto her back, laid the book face down on her belly, and pulled the straw hat over her eyes. I sat cross-legged on the blanket beside her, facing the lake, watching the same nothing she had been watching. Every now and then my eyes drifted over to look at her, to follow the curve of leg and hip past the waist to arm and chest. Those breasts resting on her ribcage rose and fell with every breath. Overwhelming. I tried but couldn’t keep my glances away. Moreover, she seemed aware of both my attention and my attempt at nonchalance. A smile flickered at the corners of her mouth. I couldn’t really tell if she was watching through nearly closed eyelids but suspected that she was. Finally I turned my back to her.

I felt her shift on the blanket behind me.



“I think we should have gone to a movie. It’s still too hot out here, even topless.” She paused but if she was waiting for my reply, I had none. “If it’s O. K. with you, let’s go home.”

She drove the Dodge home. Covered. Very proper in that beach cover-up. Only I (and she herself, of course) knew that she wore almost nothing underneath. No baggy khaki shorts or bitsy bathing suit top; those were still tucked in the bag. I don’t think I could have driven. Even without the physical immediacy, my imagination was too distracting. We talked on the way home, I think. I huddled against the passenger side door as casually as possible.

At her house, we decided that it was probably coolest in the basement rec. room, and the most comfortable activity would be to watch a movie on the basement TV set. Since my trunks were now dry and my T-shirt was presentable, Annabel sent me to the corner store for a tub of French Vanilla ice cream while she went and changed. When I returned she was waiting for me in the kitchen, naked, or nearly so. I don’t know what I expected. All she wore was a pair of loose black nylon shorts. Nothing else. She took the ice cream from my hands and while she scooped some into two dishes, she spoke with her back turned to me.

“Mike, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I like going around with almost nothing on; I like the way it makes me feel. I know you’ve been trying not to look, but it’s alright. I’m not ashamed of my body, and I like that guys admire me. I’m not going to strut or do some kind of kootchie dance for you, but don’t be afraid to look at me. I’d rather you admire me than the furniture!” She glanced at me over her shoulder. “Understood? OK, lets go see if we can find a movie.”

Once again no answer seemed to be expected. Nor was I comfortable enough to help her search through her small collection of videotapes. She popped one into the player, settled down with her ice cream and the remote, and started the movie. I think it was some kind of thriller about lawyers; I don’t really remember. I pushed myself back into the leather recliner set at an angle to the screen, and tried to concentrate on my dish of ice cream.

“Come sit here on the couch. If you stay there, you’ll soon be stuck to the leather.” She patted the other cushion on the couch. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

She slumped down and lifted her bare feet onto the coffee table before us, her eyes seemingly glued to the TV screen, slowly eating the ice cream from the bowl she had perched on her chest. Her naked chest. Right between those two breasts. I thought I should watch the movie but my attention kept darting back to her chest. And then some of the ice cream slipped from her spoon and landed on her naked breast. The right one. The one farthest from me. She shivered a little. I watched in fascination as she scooped it up with one finger and popped it into her mouth. She saw me watching and grinned.

“Ooh, that feels wonderful! You should try it!” I ignored her. I was wearing a T-shirt and had no intention of removing it just to purposefully spill some ice cream on my chest.

We were both scraping at the bottoms of the bowls when it happened again. I wasn’t watching, but I believe it was deliberate. I heard her squeal, looked over and saw that a glob of ice cream had again landed on her breast, this time on her left. As I watched the near-melted stuff slide down toward her side, she scooped up most of it with two fingers and reached over to tuck them into my open mouth.

“There! Does that taste any different?”

My face felt as if panic and embarrassment were chasing each other. She giggled at my discomfiture and her naked breasts bounced as if they too were enlivened by my distress. Suddenly she was perched on her knees beside me on the couch, her hands at my shoulders turning me toward her, her face hovering only inches from mine. The laughter in her eyes and voice quickly became a more solemn expression.

“Mike? Would you kiss me?”

The question was followed by silence, silence on both our parts. I was speechless because I had vaguely hoped for something but not expected it. She probably thought she had been more forward than she should. The hesitation was in the mind; I was not aware of any immediate physical response. I watched her close her eyes, turn her face just a little.

Then our lips touched. My eyes closed. I felt the movement of her breath against my cheek. The kiss remained like that, a gentle touch of lips on lips, no heated pressure, no probing tongue. No teenage chewing of face and swapping of spit. I immediately thought of my mother, but then quickly rid myself of that thought; my mother kissed me on my cheek, not my mouth. But this was …

I was suddenly aware of my hands hanging empty at the ends of my arms, aware because I suddenly wanted them filled with the perfection of Annabel’s breasts, just to marvel at their shape and weight and texture, all with my eyes shut and her lips on my face.

Almost automatically my hands reached for her chest but I held myself back, still unsure of what we were to each other. We were more than acquaintances. She was distant enough from me in sensuality and experience that I was not comfortable with her nudity; she was a woman, not a girl. Even though she had in a way invited me to enjoy her body, I didn’t really know how to respond to her. Nor how to respond to her kiss.

She had sort of settled on my lap and my lap had produced its own response to her presence. She acted unaware of my erection so I too ignored it to concentrate on the more immediate problem of my hands and her naked skin. My hands came to rest on her back. I let them slide down to where her skin met the waistband of the shorts she was wearing. Her skin felt so smooth and hot. My hands were hot and wet and I wanted to wipe them on my shirt but her breasts were in the way and if I touched them with my hot and sweaty hands …

For some reason she moaned softly against my mouth and I stiffened, afraid to move. Her arms slipped to my back and she pulled herself tight against me. Through my shirt I felt her breasts squeezed against my chest, the nipples small and hard. Then slowly she let herself become soft in my lap.
My erection remained but we both continued to ignore it.

“I’m sorry, Mike. That shouldn’t have happened.” She pushed herself up and stepped away from me, picked up the ice cream bowls and headed toward the kitchen. At the kitchen entrance she turned towards me. I watched her breasts float on her chest.

“If you’re interested in the movie, feel free to watch it. Or not, as you wish. I’m going to clean up and then order supper.” She took a deep breath. My eyes seemed to be interested only in her naked breasts. “Do you want Indian or Italian or Chinese?”

I cleared my throat. My voice hadn’t been used in a long, long time. “Pizza,” I croaked. She smiled. “Good enough. And simple enough. Is a medium OK? What do you want on it? Lots of meat, I suppose.”

My body seemed to be relaxing slowly. “Sure. Pepperoni, salami, ham, sausage, it doesn’t matter. Just no anchovies, those little fishy things.”

“You’ve got it!” She disappeared into the kitchen and I heard her on the phone, not the specifics. In front of me the movie, by the sounds of the action, must have been coming to a climax. In my head, the phrase seemed to mean something else. She called out from the kitchen.

“Our pizza should be here in half an hour! I’m going upstairs to clean up. Help yourself to any thing you want from the fridge, juice or whatever.”

I sat looking at the screen, not watching. I heard the shower going upstairs, had a quick image of soapy boobs. The movie was finished and I was busy rewinding it when she came back down. She remained in the kitchen. She bustled around getting plates and things for the pizza while I sat looking at my hands between my thighs. Confused? Yes, but I guess mostly myself to blame.

The pizza arrived. She paid the guy so I guessed she was fully dressed now.
So was the pizza when she called me into the kitchen. Tan moccasins; brown walking shorts; a golden sleeveless buttoned-up shirt; hints of bra straps. On the pizza, cheese, tomatoes, mushrooms; on one half pepperoni and sausage; on the other half green peppers and olives, a vegetarian half. I hadn’t even considered.

She carried the conversation. Her expectations, looking forward to going back to school. My school interests, plans for the future. It sounds solemn and profound but it wasn’t. She had me chuckling at her tales several times.

We finished the pizza. I felt relaxed and relieved, only slightly apprehensive of what the evening might bring.

“Michael?” For some reason she wasn’t looking at me. “I had made arrangements to go to a concert this evening, an outdoor concert in Oakley Park. If you don’t have any plans of your own, you’re welcome to come along with me. I understand if you’d rather not … “

Be seen in the company of an older woman? Even one who looked like her? I knew of no local band playing outside and no one I knew hung anywhere near Oakley Park, so there wasn’t much chance of that. I shrugged. “Sure. I guess.”

She lit up as if I had offered her rubies and diamonds. She rushed around clearing the place and bubbling about the musicians; a string trio: violin, viola, and guitar. One was a friend of hers, and she’d promised; that’s why she felt she should attend and it was so good of me to go with her. Me, I just figured it would be dark soon and even being with her was better than sitting somewhere alone, wondering about her ease at displaying her body and my inexplicable fascination with her tits, her boobs, her breasts.

The sun was lower and the heat was no longer so direct. The park was a fair distance away, but we left my mother’s car in Annabel’s driveway and walked. At her insistence. We walked side by side and she chatted about her friends; we discussed our tastes in music. The few people out were strangers to both of us. I was growing comfortable just being with a girl, an interesting female person. Then she took me by the hand, gave a little tug.

“This way.”

I followed meekly, figuring she must know the way. The only trouble was, as I saw it, she refused to let go my hand. I couldn’t think of a reason to politely disengage, so we continued on toward the park, holding hands. She suddenly, it seemed, had nothing to say. In the not uncomfortable silence my mind concentrated on our shared physicality.

A man and a woman walking together in the twilight, touching, holding hands. Already in my mind it seemed any age gap had become irrelevant. Aside from a comment or two by either one about something in the surroundings, we continued like that well into the park.

In a corner away from the nearest thoroughfare was a small band shell with two rows of park benches facing it, surrounded by an expanse of well-tended lawn. We had arrived early enough to claim a spot on the benches. A few people came prepared with camp chairs or blankets to spread on the ground but even so, the benches weren’t filled. We sat side by side, occasionally touching arms or knees, watching the people as we waited for the concert to begin.

As promised, a string trio appeared on stage. The leader was a young oriental lady, not much more than a girl, on violin. Her efforts were supported by a woman with a viola between her knees and a man seated and playing guitar. He seemed familiar somehow.

The music was, well, different for me and somehow soothing and pleasing. It wasn’t something I would be excited by, but it certainly affected most in the audience. The young violinist mesmerized us with her clarity and passion; the deeper tones of the larger instrument and the intricate plucking of the guitar’s strings worked beautifully with the presentation.

After a fierce and fiery twenty minutes, the group took a short break. For water and towels, I supposed. Annabel and I talked about the music and the musicians.

She knew the leader, Xing Li, only by reputation; the violist was her friend Jan who also played with the Symphony. She didn’t know the guitarist, couldn’t remember his name. When I mentioned that he looked somewhat familiar, she frowned.

“Jan said they were playing with a pianist. I don’t know what happened, but it doesn’t matter. The guy seems to fit right in, as if he had practiced with them.”

We had just agreed that this experience was worth our attention when the trio came back on stage. The stage lights brightened and I noticed how the gathering darkness had deepened. As the music began, much quieter than the first part, Annabel cuddled against my side.

She rested her head on my shoulder, twisting a little toward me and pulling my left arm against her front with both hands. The position may have been very comfortable for her but it wasn’t for me. The top part of my arm was nestled between her breasts, her right one snuggling in the crook of my elbow. My palm came to rest on the top of her right thigh. I considered straightening my arm and pulling it away, repositioning us in a manner more comfortable to both of us, but cancelled that thought almost immediately when I realized the first result of such a maneuver. My palm would push her thighs open and my extending elbow would make her breast bobble on her chest. I undertook to relax the way she was, soft against me and attentive to the music.

The evening air didn’t cool much but enough that it made her shiver. She lifted my arm and snuggled underneath. Her whole side pressed warm against me and she held my left arm draped over her shoulder. Our body warmth didn’t bother me as much as the way she held my hand, covered by both of hers, and pressed against her left breast.

The music might have slowed down but my heart was pounding. I tried to move away but she held me tight, against her breast. I felt her nipple hard against my palm, through the layers of her shirt and brassiere. I glanced down and saw that the right one was also pushing against the stretched materials. And Annabel ignored it all, her body, my body, her arousal, my arousal, and continued to smile, intent upon the music.

We stayed like that until the concert ended. With a sigh, Annabel extracted herself, stood up, and joined in the applause. After carefully rearranging the front of my pants, I stood too. The audience began to disperse but Annabel sat back down.

“Sit down, Mike. I want to give them a few minutes to unwind. Then we’ll go backstage and I’ll introduce you to Jan.”

We went back there together, not touching. The musicians were loading their instruments into their separate vehicles; Jan was tucking the viola into a family minivan. I recognized the guitarist’s car and placed him almost immediately.

“Mr. Henriquez! I almost didn’t recognize you. Thank you for the music you provided this evening.”

He peered at me over his glasses, grinned as he saw Annabel standing behind me.

“Ah, yes. Young Michael, is it? I am glad that you enjoyed our little performance here tonight. I see you have found a beautiful young lady to introduce you to the, may I say, better side of music?”

“Oh. This is Annabel, um, a lady I’m doing some work for? Annabel, Mr. Henriquez is the father of my friend Paul. We play in a rock band together sometimes. Uh, Paul and I, that is. Mr. Henriquez usually plays with a jazz band.”
Both of them took this as enough of an introduction to start a conversation about the music and the performance. I tried to control the discomfiture I felt and tried to imagine Mr. Henriquez passing this bit of gossip on to his son. Somehow I didn’t see that happening and became more at ease.

“I, too, thank you, sir. It was good to meet you, but I must speak to my friend Jan before she goes.” Annabel took my elbow.

She introduced me to Jan as “the son of a friend of mine. He’s offered to help me clean up around the house.” As they talked I was the recipient of several side glances, but tried to ignore them. One of them came when Jan invited us to join Xing Li and her at a local pub; Annabel graciously declined.

We walked home side by side. At first she just held my hand; then in the dimmer light between street lamps, she slipped her arm around my waist as if we two were a couple. I found the easiest way to cope was to reciprocate, put my own arm around her waist. We strolled together, shoulder to shoulder and often hip to hip. Several times she stopped to say something to me and we brushed together chest to breast. I tried to distance myself from the feelings that were aroused and by the time we came to her house I almost felt comfortable walking with her in the crook of my arm.

We stopped beside my mother’s car.

“Mike, I think it’s time I sent you home. I want to thank you for a wonderful day. It’s been one of the few times that I could forget what happened and just be myself, enjoy myself. I know I embarrassed you a few times but I didn’t mean it. No, that’s wrong. I meant it but not in a bad way, a hurtful way. I hope you can understand?”

Talking about it like that embarrassed me almost as much. I looked down at my feet with a silly sort of grin.

“I have to take care of some legal matters tomorrow so I won’t need you. Can you come over the day after and help me decide whether I should get someone in to touch up some of the paint jobs?”

I didn’t reply. She knew if she wanted me, I’d come over. No amount of embarrassment could negate my mother’s offer.


She became seemingly self-conscious looking over my shoulder as if there should be more than a car behind me.

“Michael? I need … Uh, I want …”

She took a deep breath unaware, I think, of the way that pushed her breasts at me.

“I want you to make love to me. The day after tomorrow, when you come over. Think about it. But don’t feel you have to. If you don’t come I’ll undertstand…” She realized she was beginning to babble but I stood speechless.

Then, with a swift move she took my face between her hands, pressed my body hard between hers and the car, and kissed me. Firmly. Then she quickly turned and before I could say or do anything, disappeared into the house.

I don’t remember driving home.

That next day seemed to be the strangest I had ever experienced. My dad went to work as usual. My kid sister, Ashley, left to meet her friends at the mall. Mom was busy around the house and on the phone doing her mom things. I went to my room for something to read but couldn’t find anything to hold my attention. Decided to go to the library.

I couldn’t find anything there to distract me. I tried to expand on some of the study about birds that I’d done for a biology class project, but that didn’t hold my interest either.

I drifted to the music section, found a couple of CDs of string trios. I spent several hours in a music room, headphones on, eyes closed, listening to classical music for god’s sake! My mind just wasn’t on what my body was doing.

My mind was on what my body would be doing tomorrow.

I returned home, and no one was there. Mom had left a note: she would return in time to prepare supper. She didn’t leave any small task for me to do as she often would.

Boredom sometimes is having nothing to do, and a mind so completely occupied that you can’t imagine anything you might do. My mind was full of Annabel; my body was in a state of somnolent arousal; part of me ached to masturbate and another part beat that desire down every time it arose.

I remember taking the bus to a downtown shopping area. Every girl or young woman I saw was immediately compared to Annabel in my mind. Wow, the tits on that one! Nah, too big and too floppy. That one has a nice tight rump. How come she doesn’t move with the grace of Annabel? I walked around or sat somewhere with a permanent semi-erection. Even imagining Mom making supper didn’t relieve the physical symptom.

I arrived home at the same time as Mom, and therefore too early for supper. I spent some time in my room. Dad came home. He and Mom spoke quietly and I tried to imagine them having sex. Pots rattled in the kitchen. Ashley burst in through the back door, yakking at full volume and double speed. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, so I thought about her and one of the guys in her class she claimed to have a crush on, that big awkward James Gersten. In my mind I saw them kissing, saw his big ugly hands all over her naked tits, realized they were Annabel’s tits as I seethed with an anger I struggled to control. And then Mom called up to me that dinner was ready. I tried to ready myself to face the real world.

Family dinner was pretty normal. Ashley was full of more stories that she had to tell even though no one wanted to hear. Mom and Dad exchanged remarks about their activities that day. I was quiet, had nothing to say. Mom was concerned and asked if I was feeling OK. I gave her some story about considering expanding my research on that bird project I had done. I told her I had found some interesting stuff in the library that morning and now my head was full of biology stuff. (If they only knew!)

That evening I joined Dad in watching most of a ball game, one that was not too boring for a change. I went to my computer to check on some of that bird stuff again, just for something to do. I went to bed.

Somehow I had made it through that day. Somehow I fell asleep without making a conscious decision about what I would say to Annabel the next day. I couldn’t envision myself suavely accepting her offer with a devil-may-care attitude. Nor could I see me calmly and cold-heartedly turn her down. At least the thought of running and hiding, of not showing up at all to face her didn’t cross my mind.

When I awoke in the morning, nothing had changed. Well, after a small series of thunder storms overnight the weather was a little cooler and less muggy. But for myself, no subconscious decision had seemingly been made. For some reason, it didn’t matter. What would be, would be. Until Mom’s casual remark started putting pressure on me.

“What time are you going over to help Annabel?”

I almost choked on my cereal. I glanced up at the kitchen clock. Looked at Mom with a question in my eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that, young man. She called here last night but didn’t want to disturb you. We had a nice talk; she was quite taken by how much help you had been. She just said to remind you that there were a couple of things that still needed attention. You don’t have to hurry right over, but she does want to see you. Around noon? She said she wanted to do a little shopping first. But to remind you, she does need you over there.”

That’s when I felt that perhaps this whole matter was quite out of my hands. That’s when I first suspected collusion between the two older women.

Before this time I would have thought, no, I had thought that if someone had waved the certain chance of sex at me I would have reacted like a true male of the species; I would have come running, dropped my shorts and clambered aboard, then pumped away in glorious joy to the ultimate fulfillment. A suggestion from Debbie of the treasure chest or any hot young thing of my acquaintance would have had me involved without thinking. So why did I have to slow down and think about what I was doing by answering the call of Annabel, so to speak?

My mother had said something about noon. That gave me all the more time to think rather than act. Rather than run, or find excuses.

My first thought was, “She knows. My mother knows!” Mothers have the reputation of instinctively knowing when their offspring have done something wrong. I thought of Annabel explaining how I had ogled her tits and how she had flaunted them right back, but couldn’t imagine that. I feared some sort of communication had passed between them, but couldn’t pin down what it might have been. Annabel might have confessed, “Your baby boy has a date with me to fuck my brains out. See that he gets here.” I just did not believe it.

By eleven that morning I almost had myself convinced that I had imagined the whole scenario. I was to go over to her house to consider some small jobs she still had in mind. She had called Mom to let me know she would be busy in the morning and therefore not to hurry. Of course. The simplest explanations are always the closest to the truth.

Annabel must have been watching for me. Before I could announce myself by ringing the bell, she opened the door and pulled me inside. Immediately she wrapped her arms around me, pushed me against the wall, and kissed me. Hard. Deep, pushing her tongue into my mouth. For a long moment I was helpless, afraid to move, afraid to respond. As she pushed her body against me, I tried to find a place to grasp her, to ease her away from me. My hands slipped down her back to the buttocks filling her snug shorts. All that did was cause her to grind her hips into me also. In the confines of my jeans, my cock expanded and hardened, becoming almost painful. I tried to speak, to ask her to ease this grip.

“Mmmmnh! Hmmnn. Nnnnuh.” Something resembling words were pushed out around our two tongues, into her mouth rather than her ears.

Even so, the ploy worked. She untangled herself from me and stepped back. She breathed deeply as she stood before me. Her hair was slightly disheveled, the top three buttons of her blouse undone as her hands held me by the shoulders. Her chest heaved out and in and I could almost feel those two breasts reaching for me as they came forward and then were pulled back. Her glance dropped to the floor; a noticeable blush climbed from her throat to her cheeks.

“Oh my god, Mike. I’ve been so afraid you wouldn’t come, that you would despise me for throwing myself at you. But you’re here.” Her eyes glistened and she stepped forward, burying her face into my shoulder, her chest into my ribs. Gently I wrapped my arms around her and held her snuggly until she was ready to turn away.

She poured us both iced teas in the kitchen, then preceded me to settle on the fat, overstuffed couch in the living room. I sat myself tentatively down beside her, parking my drink beside hers on the glass top of the coffee table. She didn’t look at me as she spoke.

“First of all, I guess I owe you an apology for my behavior the other day. I don’t know what came over me. No, that’s a lie. I knew what I was doing and why I was doing it. Let me try to explain.”

She took several sips from her glass of iced tea. As she set it back down I was aware of her glance toward me, as if trying to read my reaction. Seeing none, she let herself slouch back into the cushions.

“Mike, you were so different from what I expected. I figured all guys were guys like when I was dating, panting and lusting after anything female. And you were such a gentleman, almost ignoring me. I guess that’s part of the reason I acted so foolish. I wanted you to notice me, to admire me. I guess I really pushed my boobs at you, didn’t I. You were so cute, so innocent…

“Then at the beach when you tried so hard to hide your erection. God, you made me horny! I almost attacked you and ripped your trunks off right there on a public beach! Maybe you don’t believe it, but sometimes a girl can come pretty close to losing control.

“And then with the ice cream. Dripping on my naked boobs and all I could think of was you. That kiss. Young man, you have never been so close to being forced into something you weren’t sure of, so close to rape it scared me. I wanted to and I didn’t want to. I had to pull myself away to get us something to eat or I would have eaten you. Offered you my naked body for dinner.”

Her voice cracked a little and she reached for her drink, emptied it in several long gulps. My own mouth felt somewhat dry but I did my best to ignore my drink and to look at the floor rather than Annabel. She got up and went to the kitchen for a refill; she didn’t check mine.

I took the few minutes that she was out of the room to think about what was happening here. Different people show their nervousness in different ways. Annabel seemed to be a talker, a babbler. I, on the other hand, knew that I lapse into an introverted silence. And here the two were meeting.

She returned, still talking, but I was paying scant attention to what she was saying. The rest of the buttons on the front of her blouse had come undone, deliberately or not. She sat down close to me, talking about her late husband, how she had felt about him, how she missed him, the loneliness . All the time her eyes were focused on the glass in her hand, as if she was talking to it. It took some time before I realized what she really wanted, what she was hesitant to demand out loud. I slipped my arms around her and held her close. My hands parted her open blouse and felt for her breasts, cradled one in each palm. At the touch, she inhaled sharply, then seemed to relax, almost to melt in the confines of my arms.

“Oh, yes, Mike. Hold them. Please touch them. You can’t imagine how I’ve dreamed of your hands all over my boobs. Ahh.”

She was trying to make me think that she was composed but the tightness in her arms pushing against the sides of her breasts and the grip of her fingers around her glass betrayed her. I wanted to speak, to let her know that just sitting here holding her in my arms was enough, that this was all I’d ever wanted from her. But I believed she had a need to fulfill some plan maturing in her mind. I suspected, yes hoped it involved sex, but she would have to lead the way. I certainly didn’t see myself as the aggressor, and besides she was the older one, and more experienced. I nuzzled my face into the hair behind her ear, gently touched my lips to the bare skin of her neck.

I must have done something right. She squirmed forward and my hands fell from her breasts. She set her glass of iced tea on the table, turned toward me, and looked me in the eye,

“Mike, take your shirt off.”

Swiftly I complied, skinning the T-shirt over my head. During my moment of blindness she had removed her blouse, tossed it away. She grinned almost mischievously and then turned again to snuggle against me.

“Oh yes. Skin to skin.” My front against her back. She fumbled behind her to find my hands, pulled them around her and placed them on her breasts. She kept her own hands over mine. With closed eyes she leaned back onto my shoulder.

“You know I’m kind of proud of my boobs, and I know you really like them. Do you want to play with them? Just pet ‘em and stroke ‘em and show ‘em you love ‘em. You’ve played with a girl’s boobs before. How many? No, don’t say; it’s none of my business.”

She stopped talking. Her hands rested on my wrists as my fingers stroked her breasts, first the palms gently against the sides, then the fingertips lightly against the undersides. I remembered Rosalie in eighth grade, who had developed breasts before most of her friends. She had let me touch them; then together we had explored what felt good and what didn’t. She had taught me not to maul and squeeze at first, to glide and almost tickle my way around them. I wondered where she was now.

The method still brought results. I felt for Annabel’s nipples and the crinkles of her areolas. When the tips of my thumbs, first one and then the other, found them, I could feel the small protrusions gather and become hard at the touch. I brushed my fingertips in the crease where her breasts meet her chest, marveled as they scarcely moved when the support of my hands was removed. I brought my index fingers up to each nipple to join the thumbs in teasing and squeezing the little pebbles. Annabel gasped and covered my hands with her own.

“Michael! Oh god, you’ve got to stop! I don’t want you to stop.”

She tore herself away from my hands, stood up facing the couch, her naked bosom heaving up and down with the intensity of her breathing. Her hands still reached for mine.

“Come. To the bedroom. We’ll be more comfortable there. Oh god, Michael.”

She grabbed me by the arm and pulled me along as she practically ran up the stairs. I staggered in her wake, lost in the pull of her arms, the twist of her naked back, the bounce of her buttocks in her shorts, and the flash of long legs. This is what heaven should be like, I remember thinking; all flashing parts of a perfect female body and the Promised Land waiting.

The minimalist layout of her bedroom seemed to catch her by surprise, as if she hadn’t already gotten rid of most of the things that she had shared with her husband. No pictures on the wall or on the dresser. A throw rug on the wooden floor. A wicker chair. I almost knocked her over when she stopped so suddenly in front of me. Then she sat on the side of the bed.

“Mike, I want to be really clear about what we are doing, so neither one of us goes away with a wrong idea about this, OK? What I want, and I hope you do too, is something more than simple sex, just plain fucking our brains out. I suppose that’s OK but it sounds so animalistic and I want us to be more than two fucking animals.” She wasn’t looking at me but I saw the embarrassing pinkness shine from her throat to her cheeks. “Oh god, I don’t usually talk that way but you know what I mean. I hope.”

She sort of shrugged and raised her hands to me. I didn’t know whether to take them in mine, sit down beside her or what, but that didn’t matter. Before I could make a move, she had her arms wrapped around me and her face sideways against my bare belly. I felt her breath and the flutter of eyelashes on my skin, then the warm, wet touch of her tongue around my belly button. I didn’t know what to do with my hands, so I let them rest on her shoulders. Her naked shoulders.

She was holding me tight, her face pressed to my waist and her breasts against my thighs. The swelling of my cock, imprisoned in my jeans, was beginning to hurt and I didn’t think I could push us apart long enough to readjust myself.

I couldn’t make out what she was murmuring against my belly but suddenly I felt fingers unsnap my jeans and tug at the zipper. Almost instantly she had unhanded me and with one swift movement pulled my jeans and jockey shorts down to my ankles. I almost lost my balance, but she nearly was slapped in the face by the release of my swollen cock. She wrapped her right hand around the base and sucked the protruding inch or two into the heat and wetness of her mouth. Her other hand reached for the end of my spine, pulled it towards her and held me to her face.

Now given the circumstances and the build-up, the whole thing should have come as no surprise. But it did.

It’s not that I had never had a blow-job before, but it was generally me that had to cajole the girl. Usually this happened inside a car after a long hot session of heavy petting and kissing. It’s just that I had some difficulty imagining an older woman instigating this ― like my mother? No way! But Annabel seemed intent on doing it, seemed to enjoy doing it, seemed to be marvelously good at doing it. I groaned as her tongue touched something overly sensitive.

I am not an expert on blow jobs. I had received several, but both girls had used more or less the same technique: hand around the bottom of the cock, mouth over the top part; jack down with the hand, suck up with the mouth, and repeat as fast and as often as possible. One would sometimes pause and circle her tongue around the head of my cock; the other I don’t remember, probably because she was my first.

Annabel was different. She didn’t immediately jerk my cock, but paused when her hand and lips came together. She shifted her hand around a bit, almost as if feeling for a proper grip, and then held it firmly. She tucked her lips over her teeth so they wouldn’t scrape my shaft, then slowly and quite firmly she pulled her mouth up to the rim of the head. Her hand didn’t jack my cock at all. It held me in a soft grip, tightening and loosening until I seemed to feel my whole cock throbbing in time to her manipulations. The movements of her mouth on the shaft was firm and slow; every so often the pull of her lips would end with a pause while her tongue stroked my glans, around both clockwise and counterclockwise, over and under. I still couldn’t think of what to do with my hands; they were in the way so again I sort of rested them on her shoulders. I may have involuntarily squeezed her too hard but I was lost in the awesome sensations she was causing. And then before I realized what was happening, my cock began to pulse in her hand and mouth and she stopped all movement. My breath seemed to be out of my control. I came hard and hot in her mouth without even giving her a warning.

“Oh my god, Annabel. I’m so sorry, I didn’t think … I should have told you I was going to come.”

I had come in a girl’s mouth once before. Mainly, I think, because we had no tissue or anything handy. She had opened the car door, spit it out, and then rinsed with a mouthful of beer. She seemed quite casual about it and I never asked any questions.

“Nnnh nnnhn. Hmmm ummhuh.”

Annabel didn’t remove her mouth. Her lips remained wrapped around the end of my cock, her tongue under the head, catching everything that came. I felt her swallow, several times. I looked down at her. She looked up at me, then grinned and let my cock slip from her mouth with an audible plop.

“I knew what was happening, Mike. I wanted it. Come on, kick your pants off the rest of the way and sit here beside me. Or lie down. Wait, I need to get the rest of my stuff off too.”

As I sat down to remove my pants and shorts from around my ankles, she stood up and slipped off her shorts and panties. She bent over in front of me as she reached down, her ass almost in my face. I was charmed by the hint of the tan lines left by her bikini bottoms but fascinated by the space between her upper thighs. Pussy lips. Swollen and thick, thin tufts of hair, a trace of glistening moisture. When she turned she saw immediately what had intrigued me.

“Sure, maybe we got you off but now … Move over. Let me lie down beside you. No, stand up. We should take these covers off the bed. I don’t want to stain the duvet.”

I wasn’t sure what she was talking about but stood as she asked. She whisked the cover and top sheet off the bed, rolled them in a ball and tossed them over the wicker chair. One of the pillows ended up on the floor in a corner. She turned to me and stood there as if inspecting merchandise on display in a store. I stood beside the bed, my hands trying to hide my cock which was quickly becoming erect again.

“Ooh, nice! Just what a girl needs.”

Her eyes sparkled as my cock peeked from behind my inadequate fingers. Then her voice turned serious.

“Really, Mike, you’re what I want.”

She took a big step toward me and wrapped her arms around me. The force knocked me onto the bed. I ended up on my back with Annabel all over me. Her breasts squashed against my chest, her belly to mine, her groin all wet against the top of my thigh. As she kissed and nuzzled at my face, I put my arms around her back to hold her close. I was sure she could feel the hardness of my cock pressing against her.

She rolled off me and pulled me over so we were on our sides facing each other, sharing one pillow. My hand went to her breast; I wanted to touch it, stroke it again, play with the nipple and watch her reaction. She took my hand in hers and kissed my mouth, hard and deep before I could react. She bent a knee and cocked her leg, then pushed my hand against her crotch.

“Tits later, Mike. My pussy needs attention too. Just let your hand hold it, just feel it and don’t grab it, don’t move.”

With her hand covering mine, we held her pussy. I lay on my side watching her face; her eyes were closed as she seemed to concentrate on the feeling of our hands. It was strange but sort of wonderful, getting to know her pussy by touch. I imagined it to be like masturbating but without the frantic rubbing and jerking. I wondered if girls, or women for that matter, rubbed and jerked in a way similar to guys. I concentrated on what I could feel.

I don’t know what I expected. Hair, a little moisture, a hole to slip my finger and maybe my cock into, the usual. Annabel’s pussy seemed different from those of the girls I’d felt up.

My hand cupped her. Hair under my palm and fingers, soft and not very bushy. Two thick folds like lips; my middle finger lay between them. There was a warm, sort of sticky fluid in the hair and between the lips but I knew about that from sex ed. and from experience. I wondered if I should probe for the hole, but let it be. I let my thumb stroke along the crease between her abdomen and her thigh. Her pussy seemed to move under my hand and I swear she became wetter. She took her hand off mine and touched it to my face as she looked into my eyes.

“I can’t take this much longer, Mike. I need you in me.”

She pulled herself away from my hand, sat up on her knees beside me, bent over me and kissed my mouth, licking and probing with her tongue. Automatically my hands reached up to hold her and pull her closer but she kept her body away from mine. A hand closed around the root of my cock, squeezed it, emphasizing its new hardness. She shifted her body, and her kiss moved from my face to my chest, to my belly, to the tip of my cock. This time she didn’t put it in her mouth. She gently stroked it with the fingers of both her hands. It quivered and curled at her touch; and that touch stole the breath from my lungs. Then she suddenly took it firmly in both hands and swung a leg over my hips as if she were mounting a horse. She concentrated on the cock in her hands, slowly stroking it over her wet parts until the sensations were so intense I was afraid she would make me cry out. Then she slowly pushed her hips forward as she held my cock hard and straight in position. It disappeared between her lips, deep into her in one smooth movement.

I moaned, I think. Annabel sighed, I know, and let her body come down over me. Her eyes I could see were held shut tight, but a smile played around her lips. She held up most of her weight on her elbows; her breasts rested on my chest but weren’t squashed. I wanted to reach for them but settled for stroking her back. Then I felt the reason she was smiling.

Although neither one of us had begun any sort of motion apart from fitting our bodies together, something strange and wonderful was happening deep inside her, where the sensitive head of my naked cock met the hottest and tightest depth of her pussy. Instinctively I knew that it must be an autonomic reaction, that it wasn’t something she or I could control once it started. It felt sort of fluttery, as if two butterflies were tumbling and chasing each other in a space that wasn’t quite there.

I looked up at Annabel who had raised herself over me, her back curved and her breasts hanging down from her chest. Her hands gently stroked the juncture of her thighs and her abdomen. I watched a deep pink flush creep from her breasts into her throat, to her jaws. Her eyes were half shut; her sight seemed unfocussed as if it was concentrated somewhere deep inside her. I grabbed her thighs and squeezed, absurdly afraid that she might either explode or float away. She didn’t seem to feel it.

Suddenly her eyes snapped shut, she threw her head back, and she took a deep breath and held it. I immediately felt the change happening where we were joined. The little flutters had changed to a rhythmic thing, more a grabbing and releasing than a pulling or throbbing. For long moments that was the only movement happening on the bed, apart from the pulse in her stretched throat and the rise and fall of my ribcage as I breathed. Then her whole cunt seemed to explode into a throbbing mass. She let go that breath she had been holding, dropped her upper body on me and sobbed into my shoulder.

“Oh, god. Oh god. Oh god. Oh Mikey, that’s so good. I had forgotten how good it can be. Oh Mikey, thank you, thank you.”

I hadn’t done anything. I hadn’t moved but this, I knew, was not the time for questions or discussion. I wrapped both arms around her back, held her close and snug as she breathed at my ear. Every so often a small trembling in her pussy would tickle my cock, still erect and buried deep inside her.

For minutes we lay that way, plastered and stuck tight together, unable and unwilling to move. Then, for some reason unknown my cock twitched and made her aware of the hardness still planted deep within her pussy. She gave a little giggle, a little wriggle.

“Oh, Mikey. You didn’t come yet, did you. That’s OK, just let me … oh my god! I went to all that trouble to buy condoms at the drug store this morning and they’re still in my purse. I’m so sorry, I want to be responsible, but right now I got so carried away!”

She brought one hand up to her mouth, a look of astonishment on her stricken face. She placed the other on my chest as if to hold me in place, to keep me from leaping out of her grasp.

“Please believe me. I know we should always use them, but I swear to you that I don’t have any diseases and that I’m still on the pill. Are you … ? ah, don’t be silly. It’s too late to worry.”

Then carefully, one at a time, she moved her legs straight down so they were outside mine, so her knees held my thighs together. The shift put pressure on my cock but didn’t let it slip from the grasp her cunt had on it. Her face dropped to mine as her hands grabbed my butt. Her tongue filled my mouth. I was considering what to do with my hands, where I should hold her. Suddenly she made an unexpected move and we had changed position on the bed. She was flat on her back, her hands pulling my groin into hers, my cock buried deep and seeming to reach even deeper into her as she spread her thighs wide. She hooked her ankles behind my knees and hunched upward.

“Fuck me, Mikey! Fuck me as hard as you can. Oh, please, please fuck me, fuck me!”

And there I was in a position I had only dreamed about, doing what I had only dreamed of doing. I had no inclination to stop and examine what I was doing, and why, and how. Fuck she said, and I fucked.

Tentatively at first. Moving myself in small motions, away and back toward her. My cock sliding back and forth inside her cunt, held snug in the grip of muscles that were not my hand. Stroking. In and out. Fucking. She made a sound that suggested satisfaction.

“Oh yes. Deeper, Mike. Long and slow, for now.”

Our position felt awkward for such movement but she was quick to help me up on hands and knees, with my cock still held inside her. She let go the grasp her legs had on mine behind the knees and planted her feet flat on the mattress. Her thighs seemed to open even wider. I felt her hands on the cheeks of my ass; suddenly she grabbed and pulled.

“Oh yeah, that’s it, honey. Nice and slow, nice and slow.”

I fucked her as nice and slow as I could estimate. I undulated the whole bottom of my body, from my chest to my knees, focusing on that spot where we were joined. Several times I seemed to pull back so far that my cock threatened to slip out of her; somehow she still had enough control of both her body and mine to squeeze my cock hard enough to keep that from happening. I began to feel the unnatural curvature in the spine and let myself down on my elbows. Our top halves, too, joined together. The stiff little nipples on her breasts rubbed against my chest and became hot and solid points between us. Perspiration caused by our efforts made us slip and slide against each other. She held tight, her arms first holding my shoulders and then going down to wrap around my waist. In all the heat I felt my balls pull up to my groin and knew I was about to come again. To heighten the sensation, I automatically sped up our rhythm, harder and faster. I wanted to tell her how close I was but the sounds I made didn’t come out as words but more like a growl.

“Yes Mikey! Yes Mikey! Now! Now! Do it now!”

She arched her back, bridging herself on her feet and shoulders, pushing her pelvis open and against mine. Her hands clutched at the cheeks of my ass to hold me closer, tighter. In the hot, wet core of her my cock began its pulsing ejaculation as I held myself tight. All the large muscles of my legs, tight. My hands and arms at her shoulders and ribs, tight. My heavy chest against her breasts and nipples, tight. My abdomen pushing toward her belly, tight. Pelvis mashed to pelvis. For one long moment all that moved was my spurting cock lodged deep in her body. Then, just as I was about to relax, her cunt responded with a firm grasp and pull that seemed to ripple along the length of me. For an even longer moment, so long that I was afraid I couldn’t stand it, the muscular walls of her cunt stroked and held me. My mind seemed to be lodged in the intensity at the end of my cock, unable to think.

That unsustainable tension in our bodies drained quickly. Slowly every thing subsided. The throb of ejaculation left my cock. Annabel sagged back to the mattress, with me a heavy weight on top of her. She opened her eyes, pulled my face to hers, her lips to mine. She sucked my tongue into her mouth, caught it between her teeth. Every time a small tremor made her pussy tighten on my diminishing cock, she bit down on my tongue and giggled. I became aware of how wet we were with the combined fluids of our coupling and the sweat. And then my mind turned to its first rational thought: I am no longer a virgin.

I was lost in the wonder of that concept. As a matter of course I tried to list for myself the friends with whom I could share this information, came up blank because there was no one I trusted that much, decided to leave it for another time. I felt Annabel trying to push me off her.

“Mike, we have to move for a bit and clean off. We’re soaking the mattress.”

I rolled onto my side and swung my legs to the floor, sat with my back towards her, touching the sensitive softness of my cock, then appreciating the urgency of Annabel’s words as I felt the sticky wetness of our combined fluids smeared through my groin. She grabbed a handful of tissues from somewhere, got up and hobbled to the bathroom clutching her pussy. I looked over my shoulder and observed the proverbial ‘wet spot’ no one wanted to sleep on. I smiled to myself. At least the end of this virginity didn’t leave a trace of blood.

Sitting there with my eyes closed and lost in my own world, I didn’t hear Annabel return until she was squatting before me, wiping me with a warm, wet face cloth and smiling up at me. She stood up and held out a towel to me, one of several.

“Stand up for a minute or so, Mike. I have to get this sheet off the bed and clean up before the mattress stains badly. God, I should have been prepared and put a pad on the mattress. I just wasn’t thinking about the mess we would make.”

I stood beside the bed with towel in hand, watched her as she removed the fitted bottom sheet and wiped at a damp spot on the slippery satin-type mattress covering with another towel. The way her back curved when she bent down, the way her breasts clung to her chest, the smooth lines and movements of her haunches, all intrigued me to no end. It felt like the first time I had fallen in love, only somehow this included a sense of achievement. She smoothed a heavier cotton cover over the mattress, shook out a fitted sheet to replace the one she’d removed.

“Come on, Mike. Help me fit this thing on so we can lie down and cuddle. Oh, I haven’t felt so good in such a long time!”

Then we stood, each on one side of the clean expanse, each feasting the eyes on the form of the other. I felt a little self-conscious and casually tried to hide my withered cock behind my left hand. She, however, showed not a trace of reticence. She stood with her hands on her hips, her body thrust forwards toward me. I wanted to inspect her pussy, still red and swollen under the sparse short hair, the part of her that had just brought me so much pleasure. I wanted to look at her boobs, so wonderfully soft and yet firm, the part of her that had so openly seduced me. I wanted to gaze into her eyes. I wanted.

She clambered onto the bed and held out her hands. In reaction I took them in mine and knelt beside her, still looking at her with a sense of unreality. She gave me a tug.

“Lie down beside me, sweetheart. We both need to rest for a while.”

We ended up lying on our sides, facing each other. My left hand came to rest on the slope between her right shoulder and the swelling of her breast. The right one almost automatically went to her waist; I had to stop myself from grabbing her ass and pulling her abdomen and groin against me. She took my face between both her hands and kissed my lips, softly, gently, keeping her eyes open and not losing herself in the act. Her nose pressed against mine and my eyes gazed directly into hers. I watched the smile in her eyes and felt it in her lips against mine.

With a sigh of satisfaction she slowly rolled onto her back and stretched. She crossed her forearms above her head. Whether intentional or not, it made her breasts stand proudly on display on her chest. Her legs pushed together as her toes reached down toward the foot of the mattress.

My left hand had slipped to rest on the fullness of the curve of her right breast but the right hand, the one that had been holding her hip, had lost its place to rest. It wandered over the expanse of her abdomen, then headed for her pussy. As it stopped to tickle the soft short patch of pubic hair on its way to delving into the space between her thighs, Annabel’s hand reached down and placed it firmly on her other breast.

“No, Mike, not now. Everything down there is so tender. We’ve got to give my pussy a rest. We could just lie here quietly. Or if you want to, you can play with my boobs?”

This last was expressed with a questioning tone, almost like a challenge as if she knew I couldn’t leave her body alone. I snuggled up to her, my right leg over both hers, my soft cock against her thigh, both hands at her breasts and my face almost in her armpit. I pretended to try to go to sleep.

The pretence was just that. She may have hoped that I would doze off with a hint of exhaustion, but not so. I had a very important question to pose first.

“Annabel, why Mikey? Nobody has called me ‘Mikey’ since I started grade school and had to fight two different boys for calling me that. Well, nobody but my mother, that is. It’s always been Mike or Michael.”

In the silence that followed I felt her stiffen against me. She seemed to search carefully for words of explanation. It crossed my mind that perhaps my mother had called me that in her conversations with Annabel, and again I was left puzzling about the connection. I couldn’t quite accept her explanation and the way she quickly changed the subject.

“I’m sorry, Mike. I didn’t even realize. Maybe because one of my first boyfriends was called Mikey and I still think of him even though we never and now here we are … but they say you always remember your first time. I know I remember mine. How was this for you, Mike?”

I didn’t answer. I don’t think she wanted or expected an answer. My hands, remember, were at her breasts, and nothing could keep them from caressing, stroking, exploring every crease and rise of that blessed territory. I shifted position so that I was stretched out on my stomach, my feet over the edge of the bed but my chest at her belly, a hand at each side of her breasts and my face in the valley between. Heaven, as I could understand it.

My fingertips trailed slowly along the soft outside swell of both her breasts even though tempted to reach for the nipples. I breathed on the damp warmth of the crease where those breasts met the firmness of her ribcage. She shivered slightly and moaned. I took that as an urging to continue what I was doing. Softly I ran my tongue along the places I had just stimulated with my breath; my fingers reached for the top slopes, the round full reaches of her breasts above her nipples, toward her throat. I pushed my face between her breasts, touched the depth of the cleavage above her breastbone with my lips, nibbled and pulled at the taut flesh there. I have no idea why I would do so; it just seemed to be the way to treat the place I wanted to be.

The attention I paid to her bosom brought expected results. My palms slid over the fullness of her breasts and felt her nipples, small but hard and protruding, push against them. She caught her breath. She wriggled and her arms snaked down by her sides. I bent lower to kiss her bellybutton, to probe it with my tongue, and saw that she had brought her hands down to cover her pussy. She cupped it as if to protect it but still one finger softly slipped along the crease between the lips.

“Oh no, Mike. We really have to stop this. Can you grab the pillow off the floor on your side? Let’s try to relax and not stimulate anything. Maybe we could even take a short nap. Here, heads on the pillow. Cuddle up to my back, spoon fashion. Your hand on my tummy but don’t move it. Breathe deeply and count to yourself slowly.”

I cuddled up like she had asked but figured, with the increasing flow of blood to my sensitive cock pressed into the crack of her ass, that this would be hopeless. I was wrong.

* * *

I woke up some time later flat on my back as a shiver ran through me. It wasn’t the air temperature. Annabel was perched over my legs, her knees outside mine, inspecting my cock as she held it in her hand. Well, perhaps inspect is the wrong term. She was treating it playfully, and it was responding proudly to her every touch. She smiled when she saw I was awake, then returned to her examination.

Her left hand supported it as it reached up toward my stomach. As we watched, it became perceptibly more engorged. It lengthened. It thickened. The head turned a darker color. And all this just by looking at it. When she reached out the forefinger of her right hand and traced the bulge of the urethra under the tightened skin, my cock jumped in her hand. She giggled and held it snug in her grip.

We didn’t speak. I watched her as she traced a finger up and down the sides of my cock, then slipped her palm around underneath my scrotum. Without exerting pressure, she felt the shape of my testicles within. Her fingers moved up to the head of my cock, found it dry, so she brought them to her mouth to wet them. She licked her whole palm and brought it down to gently rub over my most sensitive part. One fingernail scraped harshly on the frenum, that tight little fold of skin under the glans. That’s when I lost it.

The sensation was like being stabbed by a knife, having a dozen puppets leap on a string, and throwing a switch to light a hundred Christmas trees all at once. I yelped. My body bounced on the bed, high and hard enough to throw her off. She ended on the floor laughing as I attempted to determine if I was still in one piece.

“Oh, Mike, I’m so sorry!”

The continued whooping and laughing from the floor beside the bed certainly didn’t bring out any sense of sorrow or apology.

“I should have been more careful. I should have known how sensitive you would be, especially after the way we made it work. Something a lot like that happens if you touch a girl’s clit the wrong way when it is hypersensitive.”

I was lying on my side in a fetal position, my hands cupped around my rapidly withering cock. She spoke to my back, this time with a more apologetic tone.

“The afternoon is almost gone, Mike. If you want to use the bathroom to clean up, shower, whatever, and get dressed, I’ll take you out for dinner. It’s a small and informal place. I think you’ll like it.”

I grabbed what clothing was handy and ducked into the bathroom. I locked the door behind me. The shower was still damp, as if she had used it while I was sleeping. I began to realize that the attention she had been paying to my cock was meant as a sensual wake up call and not a direct sexual invitation. My shower was brief; I realized I was hungry.

We walked to the neighborhood fish and chip shop she had mentioned. The way we walked seemed somehow different to me. I think we talked more than the other evening, about things like food preferences and fast food in general; about environmental issues and how we would approach them; what we hoped our further education would lead to.

We walked side by side at a pace comfortable to both of us. We did not hold hands. The intimacy between us seemed quite natural.

The woman behind the counter and keeping an eye on the fryers was large and raw-boned. I was a little discomfited when she greeted Annabel by name and grinned.

“Sure, Mrs. Bradford, this is Michael, the young man I told you about, the one who is helping me get the house in shape. He’s been such a godsend, I had to bring him here to reward him with the best fish and chips in three counties that I’m sure of. Just let him have a taste of what he’s missing, you understand?”

I don’t think it was my imagination. I’m certain I detected a ribald undertone to the conversation as it continued. Annabel ordered for both of us; it was, after all, her territory.

I had to admit I had never eaten fish and chips that tasty. Mrs. Bradford praised the freshness of the fish; Annabel swore there was a secret ingredient or two in the batter. Personally, I believe my pronouncement was colored by the afterglow of sexual experience. Mr. Bradford returned from making deliveries. He was much smaller and rounder than his wife but not at all intimidated by her. He winked at me and swore she had a magic touch as well as all the rest. We laughed a lot, relaxed, had a fine time. Me, a youngster among the adults.

The mood continued on the way home. Annabel dug the ice cream out of the fridge again and chuckled at the memories it brought.

“Do you want to eat it off my titties this time? It’s just that we’ll both have to be naked so we won’t mess our clothes.”

She stripped off her shirt and skirt, kicked off her shoes, stood there in bra and panties while the ice cream sat unattended on the table.

“Well, come on! Get your clothes off, then finish taking mine off. Call me a dish and I’ll let you eat your ice cream off my body.”

I believe I had passed the personal embarrassment, the strangeness of being in the presence of a woman unclothed, especially one so unconcerned with her own nakedness. What ensued was a friendly but quite spirited wrestling match. I think I won. In the tussle I had been able to pin down her wriggling body long enough to undo her bra. I slung her onto my shoulder to slip her panties over her ass as she worked at my waist with nimble fingers. She undressed my lower body without tearing anything, but she had not been able to get my T-shirt over my head. Not for lack of trying. However, she ended up spread naked on the sofa with me standing over her, admiring her, both of us panting with the exertion and laughing.

“OK, OK, I lose! I’m your dish and you can lick your ice cream off my body. Where do you want it? In bed, right here, or on the kitchen table?”

She paused and tried to read the look on my face. I wasn’t sure what she could see there; I didn’t know myself. She closed her widespread legs and swung them off the sofa. She smiled softly.

“Take off the T-shirt and come into the bedroom. The mattress is softer anyway. Bring the tub of ice cream.”

I obeyed. I stripped off my shirt and followed the bouncing globes of her ass to the open door of the bedroom. She turned around and looked to see me, naked and aroused, following right behind her.

“The ice cream, Michael, the ice cream.”

When I returned with the partial tub of ice cream, she was lying in the middle of the bed on display, I guess. Slightly on her side. Her back leg bent at the knee, cocked up as if to let her pussy breathe. I remembered how hot and sticky it got.

“Sit here.”

She patted the mattress next to her thigh. The tone in her voice sounded strained to me. I think neither knew what we could expect but were willing to follow through. I was, as long as she led. This whole game seemed surreal to me. I sat facing her, with one foot on the floor and the other leg bent and cocked on the bed. The tub of ice cream served to hide my cock from view as well as keeping it from becoming too hard.

“So. No spoons. I forgot to tell you, one of the rules of this game is that the ice cream eater can not use his hands. Give me that. I’ll use my fingers.”

She took the top off and scooped with two fingers. As I watched she plastered the white stuff over her left nipple. She inhaled sharply at the cold sensation on her breast.

“That’s for you Mike. Lick it, suck it, bite it; any way you can before it melts. Quick! I can feel it melting!”

She stuck out her bosom toward me. Almost by instinct my tongue gathered the white rivulets forming and flowing from her nipple to her chest. My tongue chased some back to the tip and she shivered. Uncovered, the little nipple stood hard and proud. Annabel moaned.

“Oh, lick it Mike. Bite it, gently. Ahhh. No, no hands, remember?”

She caught me trying to use my hands to hold myself steady as I was bending over her to lick the other side of her breast. I pulled away slightly. One hand rested on the mattress; the other between my thighs trying to restrain the unruly activities of my cock. She twisted to grab the ice cream again, and this time slapped a larger amount on the other breast, the one farther from me.

“Quick, Mike, quick! Eat it before it runs all over the place!”

I was hovering over her chest carefully and ready to reach for the ice cream when she pushed my arm out from under me and pulled my head to her breast. My mouth was suddenly filled with cold sticky tit, as she tried to rub my face all over it. I spluttered and pulled free.

“I’m sorry, Mikey, I’m sorry! You felt so good I kind of lost control. Here, to make up for it, I’ll let you eat it from my tummy. I’ll even let you use your hands if you wish. Please forgive me?”

She was removing the excess ice cream from her breast with her fingers and licking them clean. She had such a sorrowful look on her face that I relented. I scooped a small amount from the tub with my own fingers and plopped that on her belly button. I balanced myself on both hands and reached for the ice cream with my tongue. I carefully licked at it, dipped into the hollow. The skin on her belly and the muscles underneath shivered. She moaned, but not in a pained way. I looked up and saw her hands at her breasts, twisting and pinching those hard little nipples. I sat up and tried to kiss her face with my cold sticky mouth.

“Unh-uhn. Not yet. Now for the best scoop of all.”

For a moment I was uncertain what she was talking about. Then she dug her bare hand into the tub, came up with an extra-large dollop, and slapped it on her mons. She hissed as the cold sticky stuff settled on the still somewhat enflamed skin below her pubic thatch, on her sensitive labia.

“Eat, Mike, eat! Quick before it melts and runs down to my asshole. And remember, no hands!”

She pulled the nearest hand out from under me and with her other hand pushed my head at her pussy. I knew it would be useless to protest or resist so I quickly began to lick up the ice cream from the hollow at the top of her thighs. Then she spread her knees. Wide. My tongue was still chasing a rivulet of melted ice cream.

“Lick me, Mike. Screw the ice cream. Lick me! Suck me!”

A little confused, I pulled away from her and sat up. She sat up too, noticed the uncertainty on my face, and hugged me. The ice cream was forgotten. She held me against her, hard nipples hot against my skin, firm tits against my chest, lips reaching for my mouth.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have forced it like that. You’ve never eaten a girl before, made love to her pussy, have you? I want you to do mine, please, Michael. Let me clear the ice cream and I’ll guide you in doing it right for me. We’ll take it slow and easy and we’ll stop any time you say so, but I do want you there so bad. Please?”

She stood up beside the bed, holding both my hands, searching my face. I don’t remember agreeing to her request; I remember the pleading look as her face hovered over me, peeking between her breasts, around her aroused nipples. I remember the bounce of her ass as she left with the ice cream, the sway of her tits as she returned with a wet cloth, the smile on her lips and the joy in her eyes as she cleaned the sticky remnants of the ice cream caper off both our bodies. Then she stretched out beside me, stroking my face and hair, talking softly.

“Most women will agree there is nothing more satisfying than the tender and loving treatment of their pussy. Even those obsessed with huge cocks will admit to the occasional need. Whether you use your mouth, your fingers, a dildo or some other toy, always be slow and gentle unless she asks for more force and speed. You know about sixty-nine? Let me shift around. That way I can play with your cock too.”

She switched so that she was lying with her face at my hip. She tugged to roll me onto my side. Fading summer light came from the window, outlining the folds of her groin where her thighs met her abdomen, the puffiness of her labia filling the space, the crowning grace of short pubic hair in a trimmed patch. She moved her legs. One thigh came toward me; the other braced her knee off the bed. Her pussy spread before me.

“Put your head on my thigh. Look at my pussy. No, don’t touch, just look. Most women’s pussies are the same; the differences are slight. I think if you get to know it visually, you’ll be better able to please it with your fingers or tongue. Now, tell me what you see.”

Sex education was never like this: a hands-on, living model giving instruction, explaining the parts, guiding in methods of stimulation and then describing reactions both visible and invisible. She smelled nothing like I had been led to believe. I followed her guidance and traced her labia with first my finger, then my tongue. At the same time, she was performing similar actions on my cock waving in front of her face. She opened herself with her hands and instructed me to lick her from down to up all along the pink membranes inside, then took my cock into her mouth. After only a few moments of this attention she groaned and quivered, pushed my head away.

“Watch. This is important.”

She brought both hands down to her pussy and with the fingertips pushed in and up at the top of her red and engorged labia. The motion stretched the skin over the little ridge between them and a small, rounded end of it was exposed.

“There it is. The clitoris. The magic button you may have heard about. It is usually the most sensitive part of a woman so treat it with care. Don’t touch it with a dry finger; wet that finger, in your mouth or with her secretions. What I want you to do is kiss it gently and hold it between your lips. Don’t touch it with your teeth! You remember what happened when I scraped that sensitive part of your cock with a fingernail? This would be ten times as disastrous.

“But first, kiss my pussy. Those are lips down there, you know. Big, heavy ones on the outside; you can treat them firmly. Slender, more sensitive ones inside them; be gentle with them but they love to be kissed and tugged. So kiss me. It’s like a double mouth, four lips. See?”

She spread her knees as wide as she could, stretching all the folds of skin between her thighs. With a little hesitance I placed my mouth over her whole cunt and held it there. I heard her sigh, felt the tension release in her legs and abdomen. With eyes closed I reached out my tongue and felt the fullness of her outer lips, the soft elasticity of the inner lips. As she stroked my hair with one hand I felt the other fondle my balls.

I paused for only a moment, then pushed my tongue between the folds and touched the slick and slippery wall of her vestibule. The secretions gathered there tasted a little musty but with an underlying sweetness that surprised me. I felt her hand on my head guiding me.

“Down a little, Mike. Touch the rim of my vagina.”

It welcomed me like an open throat behind a sweet mouth. I almost withdrew with surprise as I felt her mouth go down my cock and not stop, as if my cock was lodged at her throat like my tongue was at the entrance to her vagina. She slowly pulled back while sucking hard on my cock.

“My pussy isn’t all that wet yet, is it. Wet your finger with your saliva and work it in slowly, get the feel of it. Then try with two fingers, later maybe three. Gently now. I’ll let you know when to push in hard,”

She went back to work on my cock, letting its hardness probe the back of her mouth, touch the opening of her throat. She gagged a little. Then I felt her exhale all the air in her lungs and as she pulled in a fresh breath, my cock lodged deep in her throat. Its muscles clamped around the head and her teeth and lips held the stem motionless. The sensation was sort of painful but I can’t really describe it. Sort of a soft sucking cup at the tip of my cock.

I didn’t want her to stop so I attempted to follow the instructions she had given me. Still gently licking her outer labia, I pressed an index finger past the mouth of her vagina, slowly rotated it to stretch the opening. The vibrations of an appreciative moan from her voice box against the head of my cock ripped along nerves through the shaft to my spine, up my spine to my brain and there becoming am explosion of light. It left me throbbing in her mouth but the way she held her hand wrapped tight around the root of my cock kept me from coming instantly. I almost wept with the combination of joy and frustration.

When the intensity had passed and I was in some control of myself again, I went back to trying to stimulate her pussy. Maybe I couldn’t bring forth a response like that, but I sure wanted to try. Her vaginal area was much damper; I slowly pulled my finger back and added a second, pushing them in deep. I felt her mouth smile around my cock.

Intent on eliciting a somewhat similar if not equal response from her body, I pushed my fingers as deep into her as I could reach. All I touched was soft and warm and wet. My tongue worried at her clit. I half-curled my fingers and pulled them back to me, thinking to stroke the rim of her vagina again.

Suddenly her mouth clamped down on my cock, her hips straightened and pushed at my face, her legs seemed to try to crush my head. Even with my ears between her thighs I could hear her cry out. With one hand in her cunt and the other at her lower back, I tried to hold her as she shook. I wasn’t sure what had happened; I hadn’t expected such a fierce response to anything I might do.

When she relaxed and lay flat on her back I turned around and clambered up beside her. Her face was wet, seeming with tears, and her chest was heaving. Sometimes her back arched off the bed. The muscles in her abdomen rippled at intervals. I stroked her hair, her shoulder, her breast. I murmured soft questioning sounds at her ear.

Her physical tremors eased and she opened her eyes. She smiled fondly and gathered me to her, holding me tight against her.

“Oh god, Mike.” She drew in a deep breath. “Oh my god.”

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” I touched a finger to the wetness on her cheek. “I didn’t mean to.”

“No, no. Such a deep and powerful orgasm. I still can’t believe it happened but it did. It still is. Here, feel.”

She took my hand and placed it between her legs. The whole area was soaking wet and below the thin patch of hair her labia were thick and swollen. She bent my fingers to cup her sex and held my hand in place. I felt the small tremors still rippling inside her. She stretched her other hand down to support my testicles as the shaft of my cock lay snug against her wrist.

We remained like that, attached hand to genitals, for what seemed to be a long time. The perspiration was drying on my skin; my cock had shrunk back to almost its normal state; Annabel’s nipples stiffened from the cooler air. Suddenly she started to her feet.

“Oh my gosh, Mike. It’s almost nine o’clock. When is your mom expecting you home?”

I couldn’t answer. In the silence, she stood over me. A serious look took over her face.

“I can’t ask you to stay the night, but there is so much we could still try together. It wouldn’t be right if I asked you back again just to satisfy my desires. But before I send you away there is one more thing. Stand up please, Mike?”

I stood and she stepped close, wrapped herself around me. She held me so tight her breasts were squashed between us; the hardened nipples seemed to bore their way into my chest. Her right arm pulled my head to hers; her lips and tongue worked at my mouth. Her left hand pressed my ass toward her, held me steady as she ground her hips against my groin. Then she broke away, left one hand at my cheek, the other holding my rampant cock. She looked deep into my eyes.

“You have to take me from behind, you know, doggy style? It’s probably the easiest and most natural way.”

Standing on the floor, she bent over the side of the bed. She raised her ass up and spread her legs. The side of her face rested on the mattress but one hand appeared between her legs and beckoned me closer.

“Step up, Mike, and I’ll help you put it in.”

“But what about a condom?”

“To hell with the condoms, for now anyway. It’s much too late as it is. Come on, Mike, don’t tease me. Put it in, please, put it in.”

I stepped up behind her and she grasped my cock. She gently rubbed it all over her labia as they moistened and spread. I inhaled sharply at the sensation on the head of my cock. I raised my head and placed both my hands on her hips. Then she seated the tip of my cock at the slick opening to her vagina.

“Push it in slowly, Mike. Very slowly.”

She loosened her grip on me but left her hand there. She was wet and wide open and her cunt offered no resistance. Slowly I slid in as far as I could and held myself there, my abdomen pushing against her ass. When she slid her hand away, I slipped in even farther. I could feel the end of her vagina, her cervix, the mouth of her womb. A little fear flashed through my mind as I felt all her flesh that touched my cock begin to quiver around it. Under me, she sobbed openly.

“Oh hold it there, Mikey, don’t move, don’t move!” She forced herself to take long, slow breaths.

I tried to remain motionless, my cock sunk into the depth of her, standing up straight with my hands at her hips, my back arched and my hips thrust forward. We remained like that for long moments until our urges waned and could be controlled.

She raised her upper body off the bed, rested on her elbows.

“I love doing it like this and I’ll tell you why. The whole front of my body and all the sensitive areas are available to the touch, yours or mine. You can lie against my back, reach around and play with my tits. You can reach down and stroke the outside of my pussy as you stroke the inside. I can do the one while you do the other. Or you can do one hand on each.” As she spoke, her right hand took mine, led it to the motion she described.

“Now pull back a little. Don’t let it slip out, leave the head in. Mmmm, yes, that’s it.” She balanced herself on both feet, reached back and pulled the cheeks of her butt apart. “Wet a finger, Mike. With the fluids from my pussy or your saliva. Then rub around my asshole. It drives me nuts, other girls too. I don’t know why, the nerves around there I guess.”

As she babbled I sucked on the end of my index finger. When she paused, I began to gently touch the puckered darker skin around her anus. The sphincter tightened, then relaxed, tightened again. I could feel the response deep in her cunt as it grabbed me. She made a whimpering, moaning type of sound as she collapsed face down on the bed again.

“Fuck me, Mike! Now. Hard.”

All consideration slipped away. We rutted in the primal manner of all animals. As I slammed into her again and again I grabbed her tits, pulled and squeezed them. One of her hands stretched around my leg reaching for my ass to pull me in close; I wasn’t aware of the other one. Then suddenly my cock was grabbed so tight I could barely move it and she cried out into the mattress.

“Oh, fuck, I’m coming. Damn it Mikey, don’t stop don’t stop!”

I thought for a minute she passed out but I continued to stroke, slower and deeper as the grip of her pussy turned into flutters. Again I held her up by the hips and held myself in deep, awaiting instruction, I think. Her ragged breathing evened out and then, without moving, she spoke.

“You’re still hard. You didn’t come yet. O.K. One more thing, then. Hold yourself in me, grab me tight, and sit on the edge of the bed. Like that. Oh god, don’t slip out!”

We ended up on the side of the bed. My feet were on the floor and Annabel was sitting on my lap, facing away from me. I tried to shift to a position where I had more equilibrium but she took control.

“Wrap your arms around me, Mike, snug under my breasts. Put your head on my shoulder, whisper sweet nothings in my ear.”

I had no idea where this was going; she did. She began a slow rocking movement, forward and back, as I clung tight pressed against her back. Then I felt her internal muscles grip and release almost perfectly in sync. All my attention focused on the wonderful feeling of my cock in her pussy as it built up for release.

Suddenly she rocked backward with such strength that we both rolled down onto the mattress. My feet were waving in the air; my hands lost their grip on her body. I stopped flat on my back but she continued and rocked forward, slipped her elbows under my knees. My pelvis, still rocking upward, met the slam of hers going down. I cried out with the intensity and the surprise as I came.

In a split second she had torn herself off my body, turned around, and planted my spurting cock deep in her mouth. She sucked and swallowed as I writhed and moaned.

Slowly I subsided. She held my cock softly in her mouth as it softened. When I could open my eyes and lift my head to look at her, she sat back and giggled.

“Oh, the look on your face! So precious! I haven’t done that trick since before we were married. I wasn’t sure if I still had the agility and timing. What did you think? No you don’t have to say anything. I can see it all over your face.”

She stretched out beside me and we cuddled for a time, I have no idea how long. I was startled when she suddenly rolled out of bed and stood up.

“Mike. Mike. It’s going on to eleven o’clock. Your mother is probably expecting you home and I forgot all about the time. You’ll have to rush. Better take a shower before you go. This whole place smells like sex.”

She pulled me off the bed, dragged me to the bathroom and pushed me in. She almost slammed the door behind me. Before I had started the water it opened again and she tossed in a large towel without a word.

When I had finished and came out of the bathroom she called from the front room. She was fully dressed again and had my clothes laid out on the sofa. I put them on quickly.

“Mike …”

She didn’t say any more until I even had my shoes on.

“Mike, don’t take me wrong, but we can’t continue this, you know? I’ll be leaving town soon. You’ll be going on to school.”

She smiled sadly, took a deep breath. I don’t think she realized how that emphasized her breasts and the effect it had on me. Resolutely she steered me toward the door. For a moment she wrapped me in her arms, held me tight, then pushed me away. As the door closed, I walked away from her house and out of her life.

Mom was the only one still up when I got home.

“Is everything O. K. with Annabel?”

I nodded. “I think we got done everything she wanted. I’m pretty beat, Mom, I’m heading straight for bed. See you in the morning.”

Now I can imagine what made her smile, but not at that time. She probably stayed up long after I had retired, just to check with Annabel.

The next time I passed Annabel’s house it stood empty. I vaguely remember my mother’s close scrutiny of my actions but my friend came back from his vacation and we got involved in our preparations for school.

I never saw Annabel again. I will never forget her.