tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35850795849730637852024-02-19T11:16:47.192-05:00BARE IN MY BONESShort fiction, often with adult themes, sex and/or nudity.Rumplebearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504112871253308235noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3585079584973063785.post-25104374466621970672011-01-02T22:21:00.006-05:002011-01-02T22:54:15.538-05:00Well, He Said<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgloSg3hxrwmXXyMDKmPfafNz7rCMjQaJv8WGr-YWzIuynXqgIuji3XQaQLo_JLJuJsEFgjKr-kur6G8-c6vyiOYt1Aj3ge-D5IADnXvV1TT5Oy08x0M9P5VSwTBewYOFp2GOTiNDs4Pgi8/s1600/Cabin3Outside1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557796653389681218" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgloSg3hxrwmXXyMDKmPfafNz7rCMjQaJv8WGr-YWzIuynXqgIuji3XQaQLo_JLJuJsEFgjKr-kur6G8-c6vyiOYt1Aj3ge-D5IADnXvV1TT5Oy08x0M9P5VSwTBewYOFp2GOTiNDs4Pgi8/s400/Cabin3Outside1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br />Sure, my Chevy is an old car. Certainly I expected things to begin going wrong as it wore out, a little at a time. What I didn't expect was a major breakdown. Nor in such a place, at such a time.<br /><br /><br />On a beautiful Wednesday afternoon I was traveling between a large town and a small city without a care on my mind: no place special to be, and in no hurry to get there. I turned off the highway and decided to follow the country roads in the general direction I was headed, west. If I crossed a river, I'd be too far. It couldn't be simpler. And then the Chevy died.<br /><br />Heading down a long grade toward a creek, it began to make sounds like a wrestler in a choke hold. I pumped the accelerator a few times but that didn't help. I slipped the transmission into neutral to let the car coast; it replied with a long groan, two coughs, and a long sigh. Then silence, at least from the motor. Me, I was cursing, profane and profound.<br /><br />I let the damned thing roll as far as it could, down toward that creek. We both rested, the car and I, while I pondered the options and cursed the fact that I had deliberately left my mobile phone behind. If this thing didn't get moving again, I didn't have any options except to walk out. This road felt abandoned. I hadn't met any other traffic, nor had I seen many signs of civilization except some fences and utility poles.<br /><br />Knowing there was nothing behind me, I took a chance and followed the grade up the slope before me. The other side of the hill looked no more promising. There wasn't much tree cover; the land was mostly open meadow. The problem was that it seemed just as deserted as the rest of the countryside I had passed through. But just down and to the left a trail seemed to separate from the dirt road, something that might have once been a road but hadn't seen a wheel in a long time.<br /><br />I stopped a moment, then shrugged off the urge to go back and lock the car. Instead I followed the track away from open spaces, along a line of trees and shrubs. After two minutes I was about to give up and turn back. This was leading nowhere. And then I heard the snort of a horse.<br />Where there is a horse, there are often human beings around. I continued on. Then through a break in the tree line I saw a cabin. It seemed deserted. On what might have been a lawn between me and the cabin stood a horse who looked at me, then went back to cropping the grass. Now I'm a city boy, but I could see that the animal had no saddle or harness or other horsey stuff, so there was good reason to believe that he was not here with any person and I was still out of luck. I decided that I should inspect the building to see if there was any sign of inhabitants.<br /><br />As I turned toward the cabin, the horse raised his head and stepped toward me. There was a rope hanging down from a loopy thing around his face and neck that reminded me of the old cowboy-and-Indian movies. I stopped and reached out my hand, as if he might sniff it like a dog. What he did was tickle my palm with his big soft lips; his big teeth never touched me. I scratched him on the forehead, between his eyes. He nodded his head as I did so.<br /><br />“Well, big boy,” I told him, “I seem to be in a pickle and you can't help me out, can you.”<br />I thought perhaps the rope had broken and he was free and on his own but the end was clean and wrapped tight. Maybe he had just walked away. I held the rope and walked forward to the cabin. The horse came along like a big dog on a leash. I dropped it to check the window in the cabin. Make that “windows,” the plural. In the side away from me was a large expanse of glass; the inside of the cabin was filled with light.<br /><br />The inside was clean and tidy; although there was no visible sign, I got the feeling that this must be an artist's retreat of some sort. I could imagine a painter working on a canvas in seclusion here, or a writer working on a manuscript. It might not be in current use but it was not deserted. There was no suggestion that a human being was anywhere near right now. I tried the only door to the structure, but it fit snugly and was locked tight.<br /><br />Under a large tree off to the side stood a picnic table so I decided to sit down, collect my thoughts and make a decision on what to do next. The horse stayed where he was, sort of nuzzling at the grass but I could feel him keeping an eye on me. I decided to call him over to keep me company.<br />I didn't know his name, and when I called out, “Here horsey, horsey, horsey!” I only got a very disgruntled look in reply. He made no move to come to me. I figured it might be better if I went and got him. He followed me at the end of his rope and stood across the picnic table from me. Somehow I got the idea that if he could, he would sit down and we could figure a way out of this dilemma together. I liked that thought. Maybe if I voiced everything, lay all my cards on the table so to speak, I might be able to see something I'd been missing. So, with two sympathetic ears turned my way, I spelled out my predicament to a horse.<br /><br />“So,” I ended, “that pretty well sums it up. Here I am seemingly in the middle of nowhere with a broken down car and no phone. The only signs of civilization are a deserted cabin and yourself, a loose horse. No utility wires to the cabin. Come to think of it, not even a well or an outhouse! I think we're in a fine mess! Do I leave you and go back to my car, hope and pray that someone comes along sometime today? Do I hold on to you and wait for you to lead me to your home? We could stay here until someone comes looking for you; I know you would be missed. What to do, what to do.” I planted my elbows on the table, looked down at the ground, and sighed.<br /><br />“Well,” he said, “we might just be able to help you out.”<br /><br />I froze. I'm not so naïve that I would believe that horses can talk if they want, but that was uncanny.<br /><br />Slowly I looked up. Grinning at me from the other side of the horse's back was a young man with tousled blond hair and striking blue eyes, the fingers of one hand entwined in its mane. When he saw the look on my face, he laughed aloud.<br /><br />“ I was down along the creek a ways. I came back and discovered a stranger setting out his problem before old Barney, as if maybe he could help. Sure, Barney is as smart as he looks, maybe even smarter, but I'm the one with a cell phone.” He stepped up to the table and lay down a small back pack. He unzipped it, extracted the afore mentioned cell phone. “My name's Eric. This is the back end of my place. And this one you've met is Barney.” The horse nodded its head.<br /><br />That was about the time I found my voice again. “Uhmmmm … uhhhh …” I said eloquently. “My name is, uhh, David and I want ...”<br /><br />He interrupted me. “Here's the plan. I call a friend of mine with a garage and tow truck to take your car in for repair. You and I and Barney go to my place. I'll get him to call as soon as he knows what's wrong, when he can fix it, the cost, and so on. And then we can decide what comes next, after you call anyone who may be waiting for you or worried. Sound like a plan?”<br /><br />He didn't wait for a reply, punched a number into his phone and waited until it was answered.<br /><br />“Tank, Eric. I'm with a guy who's broke down on the Twelfth Line.” He looked at me. “Where's the car, David, and what model?”<br /><br />“It's an old Chevy, dark blue; its back there where the creek crosses under the road,” I told him.<br />Eric passed the information on. “We're heading on to my place. Phone me when you get it in and take a look at it will you?” He closed the phone and tucked it back into his pack.<br /><br />“I rode Barney here; he won't mind taking the two of us if you want to ride. If you're too uncomfortable, we'll walk.” H e didn't give me much choice. He slung the backpack over his shoulder and turned the horse so it was standing sideways to the table.<br /><br />“Climb onto the table and sort of slide yourself into a sitting position on Barney's back. I'll get on behind you and make sure you don't fall. Barney will listen to me and go slow. He knows the way home very well, but I can guide him with touches from my hands or heels so don't worry.” I did as I was told. This was a new situation and I was thankful for any guidance offered. With his one arm around my waist, the other hand holding Barney's rope, we started off. It felt so strange feeling the great muscles move underneath me as the horse's head before me nodded up and down.<br /><br />When I began to believe that nothing drastic would happen I finally posed the question that had curled around my mind since Eric appeared.<br /><br />“Just how long had you been watching me and listening to me?”<br /><br />I could hear the grin that I couldn't see in his voice. “I was down by the creek a ways; I saw you and heard you when you first approached the cabin. First I was wondering if you were going to break in. Then I wondered if you were going to steal my horse. I was hoping you'd take off, but ...”<br /><br />“So what made you come out when you did?” I asked him.<br /><br />“You,” he replied. “I know I can trust a man who talks to a horse as if it were his best friend. You can always tell.”<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN4M2Xo6ghppl9TsPj4uIBP6iegiwBU8Nkkcjx-_1_fS6R3HzMO3BEGIuxU8-PkGuVqhQM4jX2gmuHefAEeHBzbaxy67TEG6uoEzZ9SdY6Bo7awjqYCQPVRmRVxLLpsbEIbeKyxFpFkhXn/s1600/HorseJackField.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557795302391259026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 280px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN4M2Xo6ghppl9TsPj4uIBP6iegiwBU8Nkkcjx-_1_fS6R3HzMO3BEGIuxU8-PkGuVqhQM4jX2gmuHefAEeHBzbaxy67TEG6uoEzZ9SdY6Bo7awjqYCQPVRmRVxLLpsbEIbeKyxFpFkhXn/s400/HorseJackField.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div></div>Jeffersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03640510186663979919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3585079584973063785.post-33430514484387340032010-12-28T07:54:00.003-05:002010-12-28T08:04:43.650-05:00Slow<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiESYd5Bej_oRGRPQ45rqNTy_2ZTSGhWnadi7F_nLU3Phf0P-jZGnDs8afN9exGCwftVyOO6A3sOwZK4EjoOUPoQeneIjfRjOS1jFiVPxKEhiExpMCqQcpk1RY7cRNY3DoZuPXsiSlIDY_3/s1600/slow_food_logo_redlarge.gif"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555716845664716114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 272px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiESYd5Bej_oRGRPQ45rqNTy_2ZTSGhWnadi7F_nLU3Phf0P-jZGnDs8afN9exGCwftVyOO6A3sOwZK4EjoOUPoQeneIjfRjOS1jFiVPxKEhiExpMCqQcpk1RY7cRNY3DoZuPXsiSlIDY_3/s400/slow_food_logo_redlarge.gif" border="0" /></a><br />He was brought in toward the end of her shift at the overnight walk-in clinic. It had been slow, the usual aches and pains and one sprain that needed to be X-rayed to rule out a fracture. The man the police had brought in an hour or so ago lay on a gurney with its head end somewhat elevated. He stared at the line where the wall met the ceiling.<br /><br />When the doctor on call came in she looked up from the paper work she was filing in. All he had to do was say “nurse” and she began to recite the patient's history while he prepared to examine the man on the gurney, as much of the history as she knew.<br /><br />“Someone discovered him slumped on the steps of the library, approximately three a.m. Saw he was unconscious and called ERS. No response to regular stimuli, no sign of trauma or alcohol or drugs, so paramedics and police brought him here. Dumped him.”<br /><br />“Regained consciousness?”<br /><br />“About ten minutes ago, after I had called you. He doesn't seem to respond to the usual sound or pain stimuli, only reflexive responses of the pupils to light. Both equal but slow.”<br /><br />“His name?”<br /><br />“They think he's one of those street people, the homeless but a new one. They haven't had to deal with him before. You know how those guys are; no I. D. or anything. This one, all he had on him was a library card with the name Thomas Duhammeloc. He didn't respond to his name when I tried to speak to him earlier, but the police did promise to look through shelter records for us.”<br /><br />The doctor approached his patient. “Mr. Duhammeloc? Am I pronouncing that right? I just want to check your signs to prove you're OK. May I call you Thomas? Or do your friends call you Tom?” The pulse, respirations and blood pressure were within normal limits but the patient showed no response to the doctor's voice or the touch of the stethoscope, nor did he respond to requests for a deep breath. The doctor turned away and began to make his own notations in the man's file.<br /><br />“Just monitor him for the time being. I'll make arrangements to have him transferred and seen by a neurologist in the morning.” He turned back to the patient and noticed a broad smile on the face, even though the eyes still seemed to be focused on the juncture of wall and ceiling.<br /><br />Doctor and nurse chatted for a few more minutes, and the doctor prepared to leave. Then a voice came clear and strong from the man on the gurney.<br /><br />“My mother calls me Richard.”Jeffersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03640510186663979919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3585079584973063785.post-90189331856761994142010-12-27T16:20:00.003-05:002010-12-27T16:33:46.827-05:00Once Bitten<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxUKtPixfjR8lZQphtgeAcAKcODf0uBf_RkKp-IQCbUyaDHx0Oc7ZliDz7efyjQZVlIqOFJB7vMZC7yrFXEftjHd0W5uJTMPvz6UXnc6Fi-Kmhx1R4uy_KySTr8zXaIfSy3dTg2eQ4UVcU/s1600/passionate_Kiss.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555477047612028322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxUKtPixfjR8lZQphtgeAcAKcODf0uBf_RkKp-IQCbUyaDHx0Oc7ZliDz7efyjQZVlIqOFJB7vMZC7yrFXEftjHd0W5uJTMPvz6UXnc6Fi-Kmhx1R4uy_KySTr8zXaIfSy3dTg2eQ4UVcU/s400/passionate_Kiss.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />I have to blame my sister. None of it is really my fault.<br /><br />My sister Anna was the one who decided to hold a birthday party for one of her coworkers at our house, to hold it on an evening when our parents were away, of course. She was the one who decided it would be girls only. And she was the one who invited Raisa, the girl who had moved to our town a few months ago.<br /><br />Raisa. The Ice Queen as she was politely referred to in some circles. The Russian Bitch. None of the guys of my acquaintance had been able to date her, not even so much as to accept an offer to buy her a coffee. No man had got close enough to her to chat her up, and the best had tried.<br />I don't know how Anna became her friend. They never hung out together at work, but Anna seemed to know a lot about her. My sister claimed she had a gentle, shy personality and that beneath her unremarkable clothing was a smart woman with a trim body. It was none of my business why she didn't want anything to do with my friends. And besides, I was moving in on a sultry Latina who knew how to laugh. Loud and musically.<br /><br />For some reason I was alone that evening. The girls, pardon me, the ladies spilled from the containment of the rec room and spread through most of the first floor with giggles and gossip while music blasted away downstairs. In the local pub, I knew, I would find people I didn't want to see; I locked myself in my bedroom with a DVD and earphones. When I resurfaced after midnight, things sounded much more subdued. I went down to see if there were any munchies left to snack on.<br /><br />Some of the guests had departed; others were preparing to leave. Anna happened to corner me in the kitchen by the fridge.<br /><br />“David. I need you to drive Raisa home.” It wasn't a request; it wasn't a suggestion. When Anna has a plan in mind she gives orders that can not be argued. I shrugged my shoulders, made a face.<br /><br />“Just save me a chunk of that fancy birthday cake. Oh yeah, and any of that giggle juice you guys haven't consumed. I'll have it when I get back.” If I had to spend time with the ice queen, there needed to be some reward.<br /><br />I waited while Anna and Raisa giggled and said their goodbyes, then led the way to my car. I opened the passenger door for her. She slid in quite primly and said thank you in a soft voice, as if remembering the manners her mother had taught her. I went around to the driver's side, buckled in, started the car and looked over at her.<br /><br />“So, where to?”<br /><br />She never even looked my way. She recited an address and asked, “You know how to get there?” I didn't deign to reply.<br /><br />There was no real conversation during the drive, no matter how hard I tried. Any remarks I made about the party, birthdays, my sister, her employment were met either with a quiet “mmm” or complete silence.<br /><br />Her destination was a split level on a side street. I guess that, like many of us, she still lived with her folks until there was something permanent to move into. I parked on the street and like the gentleman I am, rushed around to open her door and assist her from the car. And then, like a gentleman, I walked her to her door and waited while she found her keys.<br /><br />It was then, standing behind her as she fumbled with the key and the lock, that insanity grabbed me. I put my hands on her waist and pulled her toward me. I like to pretend that I don't know what came over me but that's a lie. I could see myself bragging to all the guys that I had kissed the Ice Queen, and lived to tell about it.<br /><br />Instantly, at the touch of my hands she turned. The keys dropped to the ground and her mouth opened to protest. I covered her mouth with mine. I believe there was about a ten second delay while I enjoyed the feel of her lips against mine, while I caught a hint of the scent of her hair. Then she reacted.<br />She clamped my lower lip between her teeth. She bit down. Hard. I tasted my blood.<br /><br />Afraid to pull away, I growled. She let go and stepped back, panting, her eyes flashing and what seemed like curses beginning to form in her mouth. I couldn't help it, honestly. It was automatic. I slapped her across the mouth.<br /><br />Whatever response I might have prepared myself for didn't happen. An intense glow lit her eyes. She grabbed me by my collar and pulled me toward her, mashed her face on mine, her mouth pressed fiercely on mine. I stood helpless as she ground her body against me.<br />What saved me was a noise from inside the house. She heard it too, and pushed me away. She snatched her keys from the ground and attacked the lock, hissing at me over her shoulder.<br /><br />“You must go. Hurry. But call me. Anna has my numbers.”<br /><br />She disappeared into the darkness behind the closing door, and I scurried back to my car. For a long time I sat there, awash in confusion.<br /><br />Then I remembered the large chunk of birthday cake. The bubbly chilling in the fridge. My take-charge, know-it-all sister. And some words of explanation, perhaps.Jeffersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03640510186663979919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3585079584973063785.post-64226587447392284942010-12-22T22:21:00.003-05:002010-12-22T22:40:48.642-05:00Beauty Displayed<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeLZakhl8UC3MG2BHjrNfNAXcf9IoRJzjUmQN_7_n_C_xh8IqYMbCoSCT7_Oh7SF7cNTJXXsk7gYXrDQcsKsfVwmfu78nDMAxojkalmvT4hbMdaVbFnS39al_ihzYUYazRU35qGdlXE-E5/s1600/summer_breeze_liza_00934_2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553713832184226626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 222px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeLZakhl8UC3MG2BHjrNfNAXcf9IoRJzjUmQN_7_n_C_xh8IqYMbCoSCT7_Oh7SF7cNTJXXsk7gYXrDQcsKsfVwmfu78nDMAxojkalmvT4hbMdaVbFnS39al_ihzYUYazRU35qGdlXE-E5/s320/summer_breeze_liza_00934_2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />BEAUTY DISPLAYED<br /><br />To take advantage of a short cut to the building where I needed to be for an appointment, I slipped through a small tulip garden sheltered by thick evergreen hedges. In that corner secluded within the expanse of a larger city park, I came face to face with the serendipitous nature of beauty. Although not by design, my approach must have been almost soundless. I was struck motionless by the pleasing sight of a young lady on a south-facing park bench, awash in light, soaking up all the available sun.<br />Unaware of my presence, she sat with her face turned upward as if gazing into the source of heat and light. Her eyes were closed; her long chestnut hair hung down over the bench’s back. Her hands seemed to be clasped behind her, a pose that arched her spine and thrust out her bosom. Her hips flared out from her waist; her legs were spread in a most unladylike position. And oh, yes. She was as naked as she could be while still wearing clothes.<br />Following the example of her face, her breasts rose proudly from the exposed expanse of chest; a sweater and blouse were wide open and held away well down her arms from the rounded shoulders. After the dip at the end of the rib cage, her abdomen rose gently to a low mound around the depression of her umbilicus. Her skirt was gathered loosely below her waist, exposing as much of her legs to the sunlight as if she’d been wearing a bikini. Low-heeled shoes remained on her feet. Her knees were bent as she perched on the edge of the bench and her thighs were wide open, unhindered by the folds of skirt tucked onto the seat behind her. The panties she wore were a pastel blue, lighter than the color of the sky.<br />I know now what it means to be struck dumb. I understand the feeling of being frozen in time. I would swear that for a small eternity nothing moved, no birds sang, no wind whispered. Afraid to fracture this frail tableau, I remained standing perfectly still.<br />I don’t know that she was beautiful, nor was it important that she wore very little. I stood simply amazed by the play of light and color on her skin. The shadow cast by the rise of one breast enhanced the cleavage between the two; the other breast glowed in empathy. Like castles guarding hilltops her nipples stood proud in the April morning air, steadfast on the long slow rise and fall of her breasts with her breathing. The taut expanse of her abdomen called to mind visions of gentle virgin slopes waiting for the plough. The muscles in her calves and thighs were well defined, as if she could be a runner. No tremor disturbed them as they held the limbs in a tight V. Heaven, as I said before, was a pale blue.<br />With her eyes still closed, she removed her hands from behind her and stroked her thighs, almost as if she was massaging the heat and light into her skin. A shiver, brought on by a cool breeze that tweaked her nipples, ran across her chest with the majesty of an undulating earthquake. She opened her eyes and looked directly at me.<br />There had been no time to improvise an excuse for peeping. I expected fear and anger, shouting and a scramble to cover up but that didn’t happen. She looked into my face. She looked directly in to my eyes. I don’t believe anything was said. Becoming engulfed in the smile that filled her eyes kept me helpless, unable to move, to speak. Peripherally was I aware of her fingers carefully buttoning her blouse and sweater. Somehow my brain registered “no bra,” and filed that information. Then, in one fluid motion, she rose from the bench and picked up her bag. Her skirt instantly settled about her knees. With a still brighter flash of smile, she nodded her head towards me in greeting, as strangers will. And disappeared.<br />I felt as if I had been standing there for hours, as if my life had undergone a complete turn around. My chest was tight; I found I was holding my breath and quickly let it out. I wanted to run after her but had no strength to follow her. I had to sit down; I needed to reconstruct my life<br />With long slow rhythmic breaths my body regained its equilibrium. This mind, however, will never be the same.Jeffersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03640510186663979919noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3585079584973063785.post-36357388996910362632009-12-10T09:49:00.005-05:002009-12-10T10:07:11.609-05:00Annabel<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAOBYqbNCJ0GEPUNUJNH42JwWHq3S-OzB5Fczyp3BVg1lw_foxdsqf7fC-4uxw5z-MeA57uQfa04LOjV5LqiV-kxutxidc2bwqynC779oIY1HNefiFxci8OrM7enNe4X7R9juSERzG0xA/s1600-h/7.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 151px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413620007969551970" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAOBYqbNCJ0GEPUNUJNH42JwWHq3S-OzB5Fczyp3BVg1lw_foxdsqf7fC-4uxw5z-MeA57uQfa04LOjV5LqiV-kxutxidc2bwqynC779oIY1HNefiFxci8OrM7enNe4X7R9juSERzG0xA/s400/7.jpg" /></a>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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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?”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Drive carefully, Mike. Behave yourself and be good to Annabel.” Once again, that remark didn’t mean anything special until afterwards.<br /> <br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />But I’m babbling. The memory of Annabel’s bosom still has that effect.<br /><br />The question is not what I saw but how I saw.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Oh, Mike. Just in time. Would you spread some of this sun block on my back where I can’t reach?”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Come on, Mike, it’s only some bare skin. Or do I have to sit up and undo it myself?”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Pass me that sunscreen, please. I’ll do the front. I think it’s private enough to lay out like this.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Hey, Mike! Check on me in fifteen, twenty minutes! I don’t want to fall asleep and burn!”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />I felt her shift on the blanket behind me.<br /><br />“Mike.”<br /><br />“Hmm?”<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“There! Does that taste any different?”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Mike? Would you kiss me?”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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 …<br /><br />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.<br /><br /> 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.<br /><br />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 …<br /><br />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.<br />My erection remained but we both continued to ignore it.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />“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?”<br /><br />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.”<br /><br />My body seemed to be relaxing slowly. “Sure. Pepperoni, salami, ham, sausage, it doesn’t matter. Just no anchovies, those little fishy things.”<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />The pizza arrived. She paid the guy so I guessed she was fully dressed now.<br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />We finished the pizza. I felt relaxed and relieved, only slightly apprehensive of what the evening might bring.<br /><br />“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 … “<br /><br />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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“This way.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Mr. Henriquez! I almost didn’t recognize you. Thank you for the music you provided this evening.”<br /><br />He peered at me over his glasses, grinned as he saw Annabel standing behind me.<br /><br />“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?”<br /><br />“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.”<br />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.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />We stopped beside my mother’s car.<br /><br />“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?”<br /><br />Talking about it like that embarrassed me almost as much. I looked down at my feet with a silly sort of grin.<br /><br />“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?”<br /><br />I didn’t reply. She knew if she wanted me, I’d come over. No amount of embarrassment could negate my mother’s offer.<br /><br /> “Michael?”<br /><br />She became seemingly self-conscious looking over my shoulder as if there should be more than a car behind me.<br /><br />“Michael? I need … Uh, I want …”<br /><br />She took a deep breath unaware, I think, of the way that pushed her breasts at me.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />I don’t remember driving home.<br /><br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />My mind was on what my body would be doing tomorrow.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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!)<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“What time are you going over to help Annabel?”<br /><br />I almost choked on my cereal. I glanced up at the kitchen clock. Looked at Mom with a question in my eyes.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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?<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Mmmmnh! Hmmnn. Nnnnuh.” Something resembling words were pushed out around our two tongues, into her mouth rather than her ears.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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…<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Oh, yes, Mike. Hold them. Please touch them. You can’t imagine how I’ve dreamed of your hands all over my boobs. Ahh.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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,<br /><br />“Mike, take your shirt off.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Michael! Oh god, you’ve got to stop! I don’t want you to stop.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Come. To the bedroom. We’ll be more comfortable there. Oh god, Michael.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Now given the circumstances and the build-up, the whole thing should have come as no surprise. But it did.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Oh my god, Annabel. I’m so sorry, I didn’t think … I should have told you I was going to come.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Nnnh nnnhn. Hmmm ummhuh.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Ooh, nice! Just what a girl needs.”<br /><br />Her eyes sparkled as my cock peeked from behind my inadequate fingers. Then her voice turned serious.<br /><br />“Really, Mike, you’re what I want.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“I can’t take this much longer, Mike. I need you in me.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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!”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Fuck me, Mikey! Fuck me as hard as you can. Oh, please, please fuck me, fuck me!”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Oh yes. Deeper, Mike. Long and slow, for now.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Oh yeah, that’s it, honey. Nice and slow, nice and slow.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Yes Mikey! Yes Mikey! Now! Now! Do it now!”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Mike, we have to move for a bit and clean off. We’re soaking the mattress.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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!”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Lie down beside me, sweetheart. We both need to rest for a while.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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?”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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?”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br /> * * * <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Oh, Mike, I’m so sorry!”<br /><br />The continued whooping and laughing from the floor beside the bed certainly didn’t bring out any sense of sorrow or apology.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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?”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />The mood continued on the way home. Annabel dug the ice cream out of the fridge again and chuckled at the memories it brought.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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?”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Take off the T-shirt and come into the bedroom. The mattress is softer anyway. Bring the tub of ice cream.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“The ice cream, Michael, the ice cream.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Sit here.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“That’s for you Mike. Lick it, suck it, bite it; any way you can before it melts. Quick! I can feel it melting!”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Oh, lick it Mike. Bite it, gently. Ahhh. No, no hands, remember?”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Quick, Mike, quick! Eat it before it runs all over the place!”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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?”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Unh-uhn. Not yet. Now for the best scoop of all.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Eat, Mike, eat! Quick before it melts and runs down to my asshole. And remember, no hands!”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Lick me, Mike. Screw the ice cream. Lick me! Suck me!”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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?”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Watch. This is important.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />“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?”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Down a little, Mike. Touch the rim of my vagina.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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,”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Her physical tremors eased and she opened her eyes. She smiled fondly and gathered me to her, holding me tight against her.<br /><br />“Oh god, Mike.” She drew in a deep breath. “Oh my god.”<br /><br />“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” I touched a finger to the wetness on her cheek. “I didn’t mean to.”<br /><br />“No, no. Such a deep and powerful orgasm. I still can’t believe it happened but it did. It still is. Here, feel.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Oh my gosh, Mike. It’s almost nine o’clock. When is your mom expecting you home?”<br /><br />I couldn’t answer. In the silence, she stood over me. A serious look took over her face.<br /><br />“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?”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“You have to take me from behind, you know, doggy style? It’s probably the easiest and most natural way.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Step up, Mike, and I’ll help you put it in.”<br /><br />“But what about a condom?”<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Push it in slowly, Mike. Very slowly.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Oh hold it there, Mikey, don’t move, don’t move!” She forced herself to take long, slow breaths.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />She raised her upper body off the bed, rested on her elbows.<br /><br />“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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Fuck me, Mike! Now. Hard.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Oh, fuck, I’m coming. Damn it Mikey, don’t stop don’t stop!”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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!”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Wrap your arms around me, Mike, snug under my breasts. Put your head on my shoulder, whisper sweet nothings in my ear.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“Mike …”<br /><br />She didn’t say any more until I even had my shoes on.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Mom was the only one still up when I got home.<br /><br />“Is everything O. K. with Annabel?”<br /><br />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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />I never saw Annabel again. I will never forget her.<br /><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 266px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413621241175089058" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidg9Gqcb5uMvFpIcJokshoP-4gTHvhH2-OLysukMsfkUmLe60Ya4dsL9a1dRWukbWrlInE7XjER8OtJ-hzUXyheuZUYuZwNB2ZePOMxinZRm9mboZ5mvgOazgaQ4O9_ss0Pb79pdO9eXM/s400/couple-under-covers.jpg" /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div></div></div>Rumplebearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504112871253308235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3585079584973063785.post-72677497099356882842009-11-19T22:21:00.003-05:002009-11-19T22:34:38.694-05:00Random Acts<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKtaA-5wRZru07mACo2cWfRxod0hRl1CPDCspamGvhIoc-ES-BG95piq33BmeKwHFT3erkfdZQxrLjG2y1z1TOHwXZAoPFEsu0AwklZxIorDASH0DqTDtmFwespwWWPWxSg8LadDcCeLk/s1600/blizzard.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406023507730907506" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKtaA-5wRZru07mACo2cWfRxod0hRl1CPDCspamGvhIoc-ES-BG95piq33BmeKwHFT3erkfdZQxrLjG2y1z1TOHwXZAoPFEsu0AwklZxIorDASH0DqTDtmFwespwWWPWxSg8LadDcCeLk/s400/blizzard.jpg" /></a><br /><div><br /><br />Sam arrived at the stadium early as usual and paid for his usual seniors’ ticket. Soccer, he thought to himself, is an almost perfect game. Not, like baseball or football, so slow as to become boring, nor so fast that the play could be lost in the action. Add to that a gentle summer evening and a man couldn’t spend some leisure time in a more satisfactory manner. Unless you were a rabid fan, winning or losing didn’t matter much with the season barely underway and even at a championship game Sam was far from rabid. The continuous motion and developing patterns were enough to satisfy him.<br /><br />He found a seat in his usual section, in front of the announcer’s booth but far enough away from the PA system’s speakers; high enough to see the complete field easily and away from the ramps and steps for the fans. As the seats slowly began to fill, he checked the program and watched the teams warming up.<br /><br />The hometown semi-pro Wanderers were matched tonight against a squad of selected touring players who were signed with professional teams but hadn’t cracked the starting line-ups. Only one player had a nationally recognized reputation, a fullback who was returning from an injury. The Wanderers played in a regional circuit. They’d won the championship last season and most of the players from that team were back. The two that weren’t, were in Europe trying out for big-name clubs. The rest had day jobs, were paid for each game for which they were asked to suit up. And that usually went hand in hand with the number of practices they attended.<br /><br />Five of the Wanderers were doing short stop-and-go sprints; a tall midfielder was warming up the goalkeeper with ten-yard shots from different angles. On the other half of the field some of the Selects had formed a loose circle and were going through a desultory passing drill. Sam turned to watch the spectators.<br /><br />The crowd was small but he recognized the usual groupings. Two coaches and a couple of moms trying to ride herd on a gaggle of ten to twelve year old girls, a minor league team on an outing, They wore identical team shirts and ignored their supervisors. At the goal line a group of black high school students were trying to insult the Jamaican-born ‘keeper without success. Mediterranean men with hearty laughs and expressive hands gathered in conversational groupings. The women here could be divided into two categories: those accompanying husband or boy friend and soccer moms escorting a son or daughter. Most of the fans had an interest to which the game was only secondary: family and friends of the players, people with kids in minor soccer, immigrants who missed the general availability of the game they remembered from home. And, of course, the occasional person such as himself who had been drawn to the intricacies of the game through a televised World Cup series or European championship.<br /><br />At game time the stands were little more than half-full. The introductions elicited muted applause. The national anthem, the ceremonial kickoff by someone he’d never heard of, a sharp whistle blast from the official, and the game was underway.<br /><br />The first minutes of the game were not very entertaining. Passes were missed; offsides were called. Neither of the teams was able to find a rhythm. Both of the Selects’ shots sailed high over the net. The keeper easily handled the Wanderers’ only attempt. Sam kept himself amused by watching the non-soccer activities of the fans in the stand. To his left and one row up, a couple of teenagers displayed radically different reactions to the action on the field.<br /><br />The young man in baggy jeans and a muscle shirt was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands to his chin. He was pointedly focusing his attention on the play, ignoring all distraction. But what a distraction. His female companion was dressed in a crop top and tight slacks. She was trying hard to draw his concentration away from the game. She rubbed her whole body along his, the way Sam’s cat moved when it smelled salmon. The girl would push her head against the boy’s shoulder, then whisper in his ear or nip a small kiss along his jaw. Twice he saw her take the boy’s hand and place it on her bare midriff and twice he quickly pulled it away. He spoke to her sharply and she withdrew a little and began to pout. In a short moment she was back at it, one side of a courting ritual. No soccer game was that good. Sam supposed the boy must have friends present at the game. To be seen escorting the young lady was OK, but don’t let your friends see you smooching! Something like that you might never live down. Sam smiled with indulgence and memory.<br /><br />Back on the field things began to become interesting. A corner kick had been awarded to the Selects. The kick was an easy lob placed right in front of the goal and two attackers, but the Wanderers’ goal keeper leaped off his line and grabbed the ball before it could come to a level where it could be played off the head. An excellent save. Sam smiled his satisfaction and watched the next play develop. A fast run up the side, two quick and accurate passes, and the ball was in the penalty area. Because he was marking too close, a well-executed move drew the lone defender away from the ball. The attacking forward took his time to place it properly on his foot and drew back for what seemed to be a certain goal. Suddenly a foot came out of nowhere. The outmaneuvered defender had recovered quickly and went for the ball with a sliding tackle. The ball ended up in the keeper’s hands and the referee signaled play on. The spectators, seeing their team robbed of a sure goal, angrily called for a card. The referee and most of the players ignored their calls; the attacker shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, and trotted back after the play.<br /><br />The action became tighter, more focused. Sam leaned back and watched play develop, tried to anticipate the movement of the ball the way a player would. A midfielder dashed down the sideline; two strikers moved into the middle in front of the goal, anticipating the pass. A defender made a quick move to the ball and the pass was off target, behind the attacking forwards and quickly controlled by a defender. Sometimes methodically, sometimes intensely, the game continued.<br /><br />His attention kept being drawn to the family grouping seated right in front of him but three rows down, a mother with two of her children, Sam assumed. The young girl to her mother’s right looked about twelve but was following the play on the field carefully. Every once in a while she would tug at the sleeve of the woman and remark on or explain what was happening on the field. . She probably plays herself, he thought. And the mother is supportive. I hope she’s in a position to develop her skills, that such a passion doesn’t go unrewarded.<br /><br />The young boy in the seat to the other side of the woman must have felt neglected. Sometimes he would try to draw his mother’s attention away from his sister but mostly he would fidget, He slowly moved along the empty seats beside him, one at a time, until his mother sharply rebuked him. He would rock side to side, then back to front, to a rhythm no one else could hear. He tucked his legs underneath him and turned his back to the game, solemnly inspecting the sparse number of fans seated behind him. When his eyes met Sam’s an involuntary staring match developed. Sam would turn his attention back to the play on the field but whenever he glanced at him, the boy was still staring. In a short time, Sam could feel the pressure of the boy’s gaze and decided to play a little game. The next time he turned to the boy he deliberately suck out his tongue. There was no reaction. The boy continued to stare solemnly at him. The next time, Sam crossed his eyes. Again, no reaction. No matter what silliness Sam came up with, the boy’s regard would not be moved.<br /><br />The announcer on the public address proclaimed the attendance, praised the sponsors and their generosity in providing prizes for the night’s draw. Sam dug out his ticket stub. To his amazement he heard his number being called for one of the lesser prizes. As he rose to report to the announcer’s booth, he noticed that his young opponent had finally shifted his attention back to his mother.<br /><br />The referee’s whistle signaled the end of the half. The scoreboard still stood at nil all, a scoreless draw so far. In the booth, the promo people took the names and addresses of all the winners for publicity purposes, and to add to their database of course. Sam had won a game ball. A chirpy teenaged girl explained.<br /><br />“That doesn’t mean that it is the same ball they’re using tonight. It’s just that it is official, regulation size and everything. Made by the same company, you know. Heck, if we didn’t give it away tonight it might be used in one of the next games, or at practices, you know … “ Her explanation faded away.<br /><br />“I see. OK.” Sam didn’t have the heart to tell her he hadn’t expected the same ball they were using on the field. “Can I leave it here and pick it up after the game? So I don’t have to sit there with the thing in my lap?”<br /><br />“Oh, sure. Here, we’ll put it in a bag and write your ticket number on it so you can claim it later.”<br /><br />“Not on the ball, I hope.”<br /><br />“On the bag, of course.” She giggled a little self-consciously.<br /><br /><br />Now Sam was the owner of a new soccer ball. It was of little use to him and he thought about what he should do with it. Give it to one of the lads in the neighborhood? Save it for a gift for one of his grandsons? Or granddaughters, he reminded himself. Oh, well, that will be worked out somehow.<br /><br />When he returned to his seat, the woman and her youngsters were gone. For some reason he hoped they hadn’t left the game altogether, that they were just doing the halftime washroom and snack bar routine. He felt they had become a part of his whole game experience.<br /><br />He watched as they climbed back up to their seats. The girl was in high spirits; he gathered that one of her favorite players had waved at her from the locker room door. At least, that was the way she was interpreting it. Her mother knew better than to try to disillusion her. She was having a little trouble with her son. He was dragging his feet, with an expression of stubborn anger on his face. He probably hadn't gotten his way at the snack bar.<br /><br />The second half started with a bang. With three minutes gone, a forward for the Wanderers had worked himself in front of the goal, slipped a short pass onto the foot of a charging midfielder who booted it hard into the upper left corner of the goal. The linesman signaled no offside and the home team was on the scoreboard. The fans hooted and clapped, whistled and cheered.<br /><br />The game suddenly became impassioned. Sam found himself watching the action as intensely as the young girl did. Play speeded up. Chances were taken. A hard attempt to stop a player moving the ball near the sideline in front of this section of the stands caused the ball to burst into the air directly towards the area where they were sitting. The girl tugged at her mother and the two ducked. The young boy just sat there, stewing in his anger and not moving. Until the ball slammed into his face.<br /><br />The kid screamed bloody murder. Sam climbed down, picked up the ball and tossed it back to the field so play could resume, and turned his attention to his wounded neighbor. The mother was trying to soothe the boy and Sam looked at his face. It wasn’t bad. The boy would sport a fine shiner for several days but nothing, not even the skin, was broken.<br /><br />“You’d better take the lad down to the first aid, missus. They’ll need to know and they can probably supply a cold compress to help with the swelling,” Sam urged. The woman glanced toward her daughter. “No need to worry about her. I’ll keep an eye on her so she won’t have to miss any of the game.”<br /><br />When the boy and his mother had left, Sam settled into the seat next to the young lady. They watched the game closely but still took time to introduce themselves and talk a bit about soccer.<br /><br />Her name was Tiffany. She was twelve and a half. She loved soccer and played on a team herself, “under fifteen, with lots bigger girls.” As Sam had guessed, her passion and skill had already caught the eye of a coach looking to develop players for serious competition. The facts and comments flowed easily as they kept their attention on the game. She had won a season’s pass from the Wanderers in a skills competition earlier this summer. Her little brother, Kevin, didn’t want to go but their mom couldn’t find someone to watch him. Sam himself didn’t have to say a word. Suddenly she tugged at his arm.<br /><br />“Watch him!” She pointed to the Wanderer rushing up the right wing with the ball, two of the Select defenders trying to cut off his angle of attack. They blocked his progress near the corner and he was forced to pass it back.<br /><br />“Darn! If he had passed it across about three steps earlier, the guy in the center was open for a real good shot.”<br /><br />Sam grinned at her. “You really know your game if you could see that coming!”<br /><br />“They tried that earlier. It didn’t work that time either.”<br /><br />They fell silent as the Selects were awarded a free kick just outside the Wanderers box. The ball sailed to the left of the defensive wall of players. A rushing Select intercepted its course with his head and nodded it behind the moving keeper. The officials signaled goal and a groan came from the spectators. Before play could start again, the referee checked his watch and whistled the end of the game. A one all draw.<br /><br />As the players shook hands on the field, Sam looked around for Tiffany’s mother to make her way back against the slow flow of leaving spectators. He tapped her shoulder.<br /><br />“Can you wait here? I have to get something at the announcers’ booth. If your mom comes, don’t leave until I’ve had a chance to talk to her, OK?”<br /><br />When he hurried back she was still there, watching the players slowly make their way off the field as they discussed plays they had made or missed. On impulse, he held out the bag with the game ball to her.<br /><br />“Here. I won a game ball in the ticket draw, and since I can’t use it I’d like you to have it. I wanted to wait for your mom and ask her if it would be alright, but she hasn’t come back yet.”<br /><br />“Thank you!” A wide smile lit up her face. Then a mischievous glint appeared in her eye.<br /><br />“Here come mom and Kevin. Why don’t you give it to him? We’ll let him think it’s the one that hit him in the face. He’ll brag about it for weeks!”<br /><br />He and Tiffany made their way down to the waiting pair. The youngster’s cheek was already beginning to bruise.<br /><br />“Missus, I won the game ball in the half-time draw. I’d like to present it to your young man here so he can show his buddies what whacked him in the face. With your permission, of course.”<br /><br />She thanked him. “You don’t have to do this. Do you want the ball, Kevin? Say thank you to the kind man.” The boy took the bag and shyly snuggled against his mother’s side.<br /><br />“Oh, but it’s my pleasure. It gave me the chance to chat with a very knowledgeable young soccer player. I haven’t enjoyed a game so much in some time.” Sam suddenly realized the truth in his declaration.<br /><br />The mother and her children headed toward the exit. Tiffany turned and waved as they reached the gate. He realized that he hadn’t gotten their last name, then figured it didn’t matter. A random chain of occurrences had brought a little joy to his own day. He smiled reflexively at the empty soccer field before beginning his walk home.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz2ObWZwZ2gG6LrY1v6b3gSivWpWxSHSNtI6uO3cueLg_mwDP3y8A0Ih5tZctroHdyyUDtYOczHG2UdULyQwpVdewFCj70ukNjl28RDG6YfPftuOI8iruR1W5ZKU07_UM2WqzkmqOPTME/s1600/soccer.gif"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 317px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406021555538825378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz2ObWZwZ2gG6LrY1v6b3gSivWpWxSHSNtI6uO3cueLg_mwDP3y8A0Ih5tZctroHdyyUDtYOczHG2UdULyQwpVdewFCj70ukNjl28RDG6YfPftuOI8iruR1W5ZKU07_UM2WqzkmqOPTME/s320/soccer.gif" /></a><br /></div><br /><div></div>Rumplebearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504112871253308235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3585079584973063785.post-41819118837566991772009-09-27T19:14:00.005-04:002009-09-27T19:44:27.609-04:00The Disappearance of Ms Garwood<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF-xGbFbORleLFyWtugGvsKp_8P5NJ57HhyphenhyphengEIwdFk8UphGdz0AK06Z4dx_2PiFlcVSP1lASohI9FTn4UerQqz7vQu0SOixLwYGZ9CJXD6z2nW2Xgz76k5hgKQ4nbP4r9Qr4IGgPkjbPQ/s1600-h/emma-roberts.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386295438655414194" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF-xGbFbORleLFyWtugGvsKp_8P5NJ57HhyphenhyphengEIwdFk8UphGdz0AK06Z4dx_2PiFlcVSP1lASohI9FTn4UerQqz7vQu0SOixLwYGZ9CJXD6z2nW2Xgz76k5hgKQ4nbP4r9Qr4IGgPkjbPQ/s400/emma-roberts.jpg" /></a>Don’t let them fool you. It’s never any fun being eleven. Nobody respects you, nobody listens to you, nobody much cares that you’re alive. I mean it. Nobody goes Britney do this or Britney do that, Britney go here or Britney go there. They just ignore your existence. Or they treat you like the dog. My dad pats my hair sometimes as he talks to my mom over my head. My mom, she only fusses over me when she thinks it’ll make her look good. My sister ignores me unless she needs me to do something she wouldn’t be seen doing; then she can remember just what I really want, and knows just how to bribe me. And my brother? I think he’s just praying for my titties to grow so he can get a real feel. No shit. Like I said, fun it’s not.<br /><br />One of the best examples has to do with that woman up the street who disappeared earlier. All the fuss, and the cops, and the mystery! I could have told them a few things, clues maybe, but did anybody want to talk to me? Forget it. I’m only an eleven-year-old girl. I don’t exist.<br /><br />But about the woman. If you’ll sit still and listen, I’ll tell you the real story, as I know it. If I feel you’re losing interest or ignoring me, pfftt! I’m out of here. It doesn’t matter to me one way or another.<br /><br />Garwood, her name was. Ms Garwood. Evalina, or Lina to her friends, so I’ve heard. But that makes no difference.<br /><br />She bought the little bungalow up the street last summer and moved in – by herself. No sign of a lover or significant other, according to the gossips and nosey parkers. She had just lucked into a job teaching at the private girls’ Academy across town, according to them. They knew where she came from, but not how she’d discovered the house for sale here. Oh well. Even busybodies aren’t perfect.<br /><br />A teacher. Female. Single. That would be enough to wag tongues for the whole summer, but there was more. The lady was a looker. Curved where she was supposed to be, and then some. Straight long dark hair that reached her waist when she let it loose, and she did so that summer. Every woman on the block mentally or physically checked up on her husband every so often, depending on the amount of trust existing. When not tracking their own man, they’d track someone else’s; just sort of accidentally, you know. The neighborhood burbled at a slow boil all summer long.<br /><br />A good job. Good looks. And a great car to match. Some Japanese model according to the horny guys who would know. Top of the line. They drooled over it almost as much as they drooled over her whenever she mowed her lawn. Oh sure, they had offered to do the yard work for her. She kept the mower in the garage with the car. Any of those ginks who could get her and her car and themselves in the same place at the same time would believe he was in heaven.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3qM7UjnKWq78a9UY54skcct6mwxjS99SQJR_bdPoq4Doa26ARzLBU6Yy8Lz2gM1tibOXm_5fGNeto_zO0Y2hJqnkkt3xPtww0-EHFyNz5dGB_1KqGhskTdSmCG5lwFDMDqx52QwGp3_I/s1600-h/Lexus_logo1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 243px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386294519131116258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3qM7UjnKWq78a9UY54skcct6mwxjS99SQJR_bdPoq4Doa26ARzLBU6Yy8Lz2gM1tibOXm_5fGNeto_zO0Y2hJqnkkt3xPtww0-EHFyNz5dGB_1KqGhskTdSmCG5lwFDMDqx52QwGp3_I/s400/Lexus_logo1.jpg" /></a> Just a month or so into the school term, the biddies found reason for their tongues to wag overtime again. Sometimes a silver Lexus would park in her driveway and a man would come knocking at her back door. And she would let him in. There were times that they’d go out together and others when they stayed in. He even, according to those who kept track of such things, stayed the night several times! The phones would ring and tongues would wag. According to what I overheard (not that I was trying or anything) this seemed to be a serious affair. The man was identified as the brother of the principal of her school, better than well off, but married although separated and in the process of getting a divorce. Rich material for the rumor mill.<br /><br />Me, I thought she was a fool if she let him hang around. He sure didn’t look like a Prince Charming. Older, not all that tall. Losing his hair. He may have been rich but he was ugly in my book. She could do better, what with her looks.<br /><br />I tried to talk to my best friend Marsha about the whole case, but Marsha had found out that a boy really liked her and was doing her best to screw his life around. Since she figured I couldn’t be of any help, she was beginning to ignore me. Our friendship was at a sort of low point and I decided I’d keep all I knew to myself.<br /><br />All winter, between Christmas and Spring break, things seemed to continue to flow on an even keel. The gossips quieted down; the Lexus kept up its usual routine with the driveway; Evalina Garwood continued with her teaching career and going out with the principal’s brother. Boring.<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />All this changed after the school spring break. The Lexus wasn’t around as often but the neighborhood ladies didn’t seem to notice. Maybe they weren’t as interested anymore. I noticed. I also saw that there was a different car hanging around, a blue pickup truck. I didn’t know the guy who drove it but I did catch him several times ducking into Ms Garwood’s back yard. Unlike the other man, he never parked in her driveway. And he always used the back door, knocking and going in without waiting for her to open it. If the gossips were aware of him, they must have figured he was her brother or something. That’s what he acted like, anyway.<br /><br />Once I saw them in the parking lot at the supermarket, just sitting in the truck and talking. About a week later I noticed the truck there again. Ms Garwood and her guy weren’t there and there was a big sailboat on a trailer hitched to the back of the truck. I felt a bit jealous. She’s got a boyfriend with a sailboat? Wow! I sure would have traded the bald guy with the Lexus for this. Lucky lady.<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMFvP3P_GsMGVtYzrVaLK1hhfTQjve4Obn-U6ob7CaCZ2Hy_bPMNcFHOHzBLcYe_ca1CD7FEOAO4Un9F6qKF2_NNmkJS34HnLmjCaamshpBOZNy5H9gtq7pjJiXJZTQM5xKzXJP9-a8Fk/s1600-h/Bluebird.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 182px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386292988043177970" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMFvP3P_GsMGVtYzrVaLK1hhfTQjve4Obn-U6ob7CaCZ2Hy_bPMNcFHOHzBLcYe_ca1CD7FEOAO4Un9F6qKF2_NNmkJS34HnLmjCaamshpBOZNy5H9gtq7pjJiXJZTQM5xKzXJP9-a8Fk/s400/Bluebird.jpg" /></a>The two of them kept a pretty low profile and if I hadn’t been out looking for Romeo that evening in June, I might not know what I do. Let me tell you what happened.<br /><br />At supper that evening Mom mentioned that Romeo, our cat, hadn’t been around all day. Probably hunting, she said. Yeah, hunting for a lady cat, I thought to myself. Anyway, after supper I had nothing to do and no one to do it with so I decided to wander around myself, not really looking for him but just looking, you know.<br /><br />I was passing through the alley behind Ms Garwood’s house, where it’s fenced off with one of those tall wooden privacy fences, when I heard giggling coming from her back yard. Now I’m not nosy but sometimes you can’t help being curious, you know. So I found a crack and applied an eyeball. There she was leaning back against the pear tree in her back yard, with him facing her leaning against her. Whispering at each other. Lovey-dovey stuff probably. Eeuw! Then she pushed him away a little and firmly said, “Yes.”<br /><br />“Lina, do you mean it? You really want to?”<br /><br />“Yes. I said yes and of course I mean it. I believe I can trust you; it’s just a question of if I can trust myself. With you, that is.”<br /><br />Then she grabbed him and they went all kissy and feely. Sickening enough to make me slip away.<br /><br />I sort of wondered what they had been talking about. It almost felt as if they were planning to run away and get married or something. Yuck. Boy, if the nosey-parkers found out about this! Rumours would fly for weeks, maybe months. Well, nobody was going to find out anything from me. And that’s a sacred promise I made to myself.<br /><br />There was no sign of Romeo of course, but then I wasn’t really looking. When I came by again about half an hour later, it was quiet in Ms Garwood’s back yard. I stopped to glance through the crack just in case, you know, and was almost frightened out of my skin when I heard her loud whisper.<br /><br />“Pssst, Britney! Come in here a minute.”<br /><br />I don’t know how she knew it was me or that I was there. She let me in the back gate and closed it behind me.<br /><br />“You were watching Peter and I. Earlier.” It didn’t sound like an accusation, so I nodded. “The sailor,” I told her.<br /><br />“Ah. So you know about his boat.” Again I nodded. She looked at me solemnly for a long minute.<br /><br />“I want to tell you a secret, and trust you to keep it to the best of your ability. Do you think you could do that?” Oh no. She’s getting married and wants me to be a flower girl or some such crap. Please, God, no! Carefully I nodded again. My head was getting a better workout than my tongue but I didn’t know what to say. Ms Garwood looked up into the sky and spoke softly.<br /><br />“I like Peter very much and he wants to take me sailing for four weeks down the coast on our summer holidays. Tonight I told him I would. The problem is that I don’t want everyone to know where I am or whom I’m with. See?”<br /><br />Well, not really. The big relief for me was that there was no mention of wedding plans. I don’t know why I was so stuck on that thought.<br /><br />“Let me explain,” she said. “When I met Peter and got to like him, I tried to break it off with Ronald. You know Ronald?”<br /><br />“Uhuh. Baldy boy with the car, right?” She giggled at my description of her number one man.<br /><br />“Well, he doesn’t believe I could live without him. I didn’t tell him there was another guy; he would get so angry! Anyway, he’s in Germany on business right now and when he gets back he expects us to take up right where we left off. But I intend to be off sailing with Peter, and it’s none of his business anymore. If I confided in any of the people around here, the rumors would be all over the neighborhood in no time.” I guess she was well aware of the busybodies and the way they talk among each other.<br /><br />She sighed. “ I don’t really know what I want. Let me put it this way. Nobody, except a real estate lady who will have a key and pick up my mail, will know about my trip. Except you. I think what I want you to do is keep a watch out for Ronald and see how he reacts when he finds I’m not here. Don’t tell anyone what you know, especially not Ronald. I don’t want you to lie to your mom and dad, but keep it from everyone if you can. Would you do that for me, Britney?”<br /><br />Intrigue! Yes! Keeping secrets and knowing things nobody else knows. Now that could make for an exciting summer. She reached out and took both my hands in hers.<br /><br />“Britney and Lina. Girlfriends?’ she said almost hesitantly.<br /><br />“Girlfriends,” I assured her and watched relief come to her eyes. I hadn’t really been aware of the worry in them before.<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />It certainly didn’t take long for the shit to fly. Nobody, not even me, noticed when she left. Then on a late Friday afternoon, Baldy and his Lexus were back. I could hear him knocking at her front door, rushing around to bang at her back door. When Mrs Posner, the widow next door, came out to see what the racket was all about, this Ronald guy got into a heated discussion with her. I overheard a little of it. Ms Garwood didn’t answer her phone, didn’t answer her door. Weren’t the neighbors afraid that something had happened to her? She could be in there sick, maybe even dying, and nobody cared! Well. He was going to call the police, the emergency medical people, somebody to find out fast!<br /><br />Mrs Posner, whose hearing isn’t all that good, shrugged and went back inside, but by now several mothers and about a dozen kids had gathered. They were watching as the police and Emergency team from the Fire Department screamed up in their trucks and cars in response to whatever Ronald had told them with his phone call.<br /><br />Nothing happened right away. The policemen knocked at the doors but wouldn’t break them down the way he wanted because there was no sign of forced entry or any other wrongdoing. The firemen stood around with the lights going around on their truck. Then, I heard later, Ronald remembered he had a key. He asked the emergency people to wait while he went to get it.<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHHs0xpBhDYREKXjWVCMPv-1_6o4ObN4s5DeWs8alEc4Aab5CitCyhKet7kgUIyHVXPfrVSVEIa0GVjo48cH6FPa7Mh3pAO3k48jSTZGckhnk9TWTGR2vN6KiPazbrSwnjKJE52r2KjY0/s1600-h/police.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 225px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386291834768985874" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHHs0xpBhDYREKXjWVCMPv-1_6o4ObN4s5DeWs8alEc4Aab5CitCyhKet7kgUIyHVXPfrVSVEIa0GVjo48cH6FPa7Mh3pAO3k48jSTZGckhnk9TWTGR2vN6KiPazbrSwnjKJE52r2KjY0/s320/police.jpg" /></a>While everyone waited for his return, some of the people were talking to the cops, trying to understand what was going on. I didn’t. I just hung around and listened to everyone else’s wild theories: sickness and death, accidental poisoning, kidnapping, even foreign spies. True to my word, I didn’t say a thing.<br /><br />When Baldy with the Lexus returned with his key, the cops accompanied him inside to inspect the place. When they came out again I heard him urging them to start a search for her; she would never go missing on her own, no matter that there wasn’t any evidence of foul play. Whatever reasoning he was using, the cops weren’t buying. The angrier and hotter he got, the cooler and more distant the police.<br /><br />The Emergency people were the first to go. I overheard the police officer in charge tell Ronald to file a formal statement at the downtown station on Monday morning if he was still so inclined but they couldn’t do anything at this time. Then they left.<br /><br />For a couple of minutes it was a fuming, red faced balding short guy facing a scattered bunch of women and kids on the sidewalk (and two guys watching from the open door of their garage, I noticed.) He too finally roared away.<br /><br />Over supper at our house the conversation, I imagine, wasn’t much different from anywhere else on the street. Suddenly Ms Garwood was the number one topic of discussion. Even my brother had some sort of weird idea to add to the fire, something to do with UFOs and aliens and seeing a strange light in the sky. They didn’t notice that I personally had nothing to add. Nor did anyone think to ask me any questions. And the real estate lady? Nobody even mentioned her or tried to find out if someone was taking care of the house. Not while I was listening.<br /><br />Like I said, it’s not easy being an eleven-year-old kid. People so tend to ignore you. The best feeling is when you can ignore them right back, especially when they don’t know that you know what they don’t.<br /><br />All right! Ms Garwood, don’t hurry back!<br /><br /><div> </div></div></div></div>Rumplebearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504112871253308235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3585079584973063785.post-17146639523859729092009-08-30T10:19:00.008-04:002009-08-30T10:54:54.673-04:00The Trojan Decision<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLr5ifM_aeICupZ10nNUew0tKy1sw8dq4_W3L4t_aO6UG5yVJ_-DSrKrVfZqSBpIVD9wtlAzGEBEuLpIS-SvCAQg5Oi7a15P-i37f0R5ioYEv_jUDOfgaHbl7mWTsRnDSz0P91MYCsMe0/s1600-h/_Lovely_Senior_Couple_1542274.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375768639136428306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLr5ifM_aeICupZ10nNUew0tKy1sw8dq4_W3L4t_aO6UG5yVJ_-DSrKrVfZqSBpIVD9wtlAzGEBEuLpIS-SvCAQg5Oi7a15P-i37f0R5ioYEv_jUDOfgaHbl7mWTsRnDSz0P91MYCsMe0/s400/_Lovely_Senior_Couple_1542274.jpg" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Henry chased the last crumbs of apple pie on his plate as Winona, the lone waitress, stopped to refill his coffee cup and dropped another creamer on the table. He smiled as she sat down across from him. The move was easy and familiar. For the last several months while he had been eating Sunday supper here she had made it a point to spend a few minutes with him if she was working. They’d gotten to know each other, like each other. Sometimes he felt as if she could be like a daughter to him; his own sons had long since moved away from home and his wife, Addie, had died earlier that year. It felt good having a woman to talk to, even a younger woman. Sometimes he missed Addie’s company so much. He glanced up at the clock.<br /><br />“It’s well after eight. Shouldn’t you be kicking me out and closing the place?”<br /><br />“No, that’s O.K. The till is closed and the front door locked. I can’t close the kitchen yet. A private party in the back room. I’ll have to go in there in a few minutes but I want to rest a bit first. One of the reasons I left you sitting here, so I’d have company before I joined the horde.”<br /><br />Henry raised his eyebrows.<br /><br />“Just my brothers and their wives and all the kids. And my mom. You’ve met her haven’t you? It’s her birthday party. I won’t mention her age, but she’s a wonderful lady and I love her dearly.”<br /><br />Through his conversations with Winona he had gathered that her father and mother had successfully run the restaurant together for over twenty years. When Mr. Brennan died of a heart attack, the children had tried to persuade their mother to sell but she would have none of that. She insisted that she needed to remain busy with the kitchen. All she wanted from them was help with the books and taxes. In return, she offered each of her children a share in the business. The boys bought in reluctantly; Winona was thrilled to manage the bar and dining room, help with staffing.<br /><br />“So. You’re catering to the boss tonight,” he teased.<br /><br />She laughed. “You know it’s not like that! It’s just that there’s more room here than in the apartment for all the grandkids. The only reason she consented to this party was for the kids, so she could fuss over them.” A cheer came from beyond a closed door.<br /><br />“Henry, would you do me a favor? Well, two favors to be exact. When you finish your coffee, will you escort me to the party? Dinner should be over, but there’ll be wine and some marvelous desserts mom made especially for her grandkids.”<br /><br />“And the second?”<br /><br />Winona’s face became serious and she paused a moment. “I think I need some help with her birthday present. Will you? For me?” She reached out her hand and Henry took it. “For you, almost anything,” he said.<br /><br />She grinned like a kid with a new treasure. “Wait here. You’ll love it.”<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />When she returned she looked somewhat different. She’d let her hair loose in a way he hadn’t seen it and suspected she’d put on or touched up her make up. She opened the door and led him into the private dining room. They were greeted by a swarm of youngsters and squeals of “Auntie Nona!” Ignoring the kids for the moment, she led Henry to the older woman seated at the head of the table.<br /><br />“Mom, everyone, this is Henry Helmond, a friend of mine.”<br /><br />“Welcome, Mr. Helmond! Scoot, Tiffany. Let the gentleman sit here.” She chased a young girl off the chair beside her. “Please sit down. I suspect you’ve been brought here as a token ‘older person’ to keep me occupied. Louisa, pour the gentleman a glass of wine. Arthur, pass that tray of goodies; you’ve had your share.”<br /><br />“Congratulations on your birthday, Mrs. Brennan. Many happy returns.” He took her hand in his.<br /><br />“No need to be so formal. Please call me Edna. May I call you Henry?”<br /><br />Soon the two of them were engaged in small talk, ignoring the swirls of laughter and conversation.<br /><br />Winona took several minutes to fuss over her nieces and nephews before rapping on the table to get everyone’s attention.<br /><br />“I suppose all you guys have already given Mom her presents?” The question was answered by shouts from the youngsters. “I guess it’s my turn.” From somewhere she had pulled out an envelope. “Mom, happy birthday. Here are two tickets to that musical you want to see so badly.” She kissed her mother’s proffered cheek. “Since I can’t go with you, I believe Henry might be willing to escort you if you asked him nicely.”<br /><br />The two older people looked at each other and recognized the surprise on the other’s face. Neither had had any suspicion of this development.<br /><br />“ It seems, Henry, we have both been set up by this scheming young daughter of mine.” She cleared her throat and glanced at the date on the tickets in her hand. “Would you consent to be my escort to the theatre this Saturday night?”<br /><br />Henry took a deep breath and heard himself say, “Madam, I’d be honored.”<br /><br />Conversations began again until one of the younger girls asked in a voice that stood out above the general din.<br /><br />“Mommy, did Auntie Nona give Gramma that man for her birthday?”<br /><br />Laughter filled the room.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUduzvP93dZZ7gSrcAs2jalj8b2W4BDTspiiMGsdmO7xaff8327eFBcDvpi2iTXUH5rzf1CRL8nuCDp23__ulDW2GaHGOf6aGhyncq9vDmIv2_e-YmSK0MnRoFtnFq5FAlQoFoKFz4AC0/s1600-h/cametringane%2520hotel%2520dining.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 296px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375767435358767394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUduzvP93dZZ7gSrcAs2jalj8b2W4BDTspiiMGsdmO7xaff8327eFBcDvpi2iTXUH5rzf1CRL8nuCDp23__ulDW2GaHGOf6aGhyncq9vDmIv2_e-YmSK0MnRoFtnFq5FAlQoFoKFz4AC0/s400/cametringane%2520hotel%2520dining.jpg" /></a> * * *<br /><br /><div>Several times during the next few days Henry felt a little uncomfortable when his thoughts turned to the coming Saturday evening. At times he felt nervous, like a schoolboy before his first big date. When he shrugged off that feeling, there still remained a nagging belief that he was betraying his Addie, that he was pushing her out of his life to make room for Edna. Every evening as he went to sleep he recounted his day to the memory of Addie as he used to when she was in the bed beside him, but every morning he woke up with thoughts of Edna.<br /><br />On Friday afternoon he called the restaurant hoping to catch either Winona or Edna. He was relieved when Winona answered. Sheepishly he confided that there were a few details about the date she had set up that he needed to clarify. Where should he pick her mother up? She laughed.<br /><br />“You can meet her here, at the restaurant. Mom and I share the flat above, didn’t you know?”<br /><br />“Uhmm. I hadn’t thought about it, but that’s good. Oh, and how should I dress? It isn’t formal or anything?”<br /><br />“Henry! How long have you been out of circulation?” she chided gently. You can find guys in jeans and T-shirt at the opera nowadays. Why don’t you wear slacks and a sport shirt? I’ll make sure Mom isn’t too formally or casually dressed. So, what time are you going to be here? Doors open at seven fifteen, curtain at eight. Do you want to come early for a bite to eat first, a drink while you wait for her?”<br /><br />Henry interrupted and said, “Oh, no. Seven thirty tomorrow. I’ll see you then. The two of you.” He hung up quickly. His hand was as wet as that of a nervous teenager.<br /><br />Well, that resolved some of his apprehensions. Time, place, dress. That left transportation. Drive his own car? He didn’t feel comfortable driving at night any more, and parking downtown was at a premium. That left taking a cab. He could walk the three blocks from home to the restaurant before and after. That is, if it didn’t rain.<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />With some trepidation and a hint of nervous butterflies, Henry presented himself at the restaurant at seven twenty that Saturday evening. Winona was on duty and hustled him to a seat at the bar.<br /><br />“Can I get you anything, Henry? A beer, a drink?”<br /><br />He declined and asked for a glass of water. She disappeared into the kitchen and he heard her call, “Mom! He’s here!” She came back behind the bar and poured his water. “She shouldn’t be too long. You know how women have to fuss over every last detail. She was ready half an hour ago.”<br /><br />While Winona seated a party of customers just coming in, Henry quietly sipped at his water. If he remembered correctly, waiting for a date these days was no different than it had been when he was a schoolboy. He wondered if Edna was making the same kind of observations, if she, too, was nervous and hesitant. He sighed. He was only going to a performance with an acquaintance, to enjoy it in the company of someone else who would enjoy it. What was the harm in that? It had nothing to do with making a commitment to Edna or disrespecting Addie’s memory. He was preoccupied with these thoughts when Winona roused him with a tap on the shoulder.<br /><br />“Psst. Stop daydreaming, Henry. Here she is! Tell her how lovely she looks. Flatter her, it’ll get you anywhere.”<br /><br />Edna stood at the doorway that led back to the kitchen and she did look lovely, with her chestnut hair pulled back from her face. She wore a loose, yellow skirt, a short-sleeved buttoned blouse almost the color of milk chocolate, and sensible tan shoes. Henry stood up and walked over to her, boldly took both her hands between his.<br /><br />“Edna, you look lovely. Earlier I pictured you dressed for a rock concert, all leather and metal and multi-colored spiked hair but you dispel all my worries. I’m honored to be your escort.”<br /><br />Her chuckle sounded almost like the giggle of a young girl. He noticed the slight flush creeping over her face and hoped he hadn’t embarrassed her.<br /><br />“Henry, stop being so gallant. We’re only two people going to a show we both want to see. I’m just glad to have the company. Shall we go?”<br /><br />“Certainly. Let me call a cab. I’m not very secure driving at night anymore.”<br /><br />Winona brought the phone from under the bar and set it in front of him. The taxi would be there within five minutes.<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />When they arrived, the pre-paid ticket line began to move as they joined it. Henry felt a little discomfited when Edna held out the tickets to the attendant. When he was dating such transactions were assigned to the male of the couple, even if he hadn’t paid for them himself. He smiled at the memory. Times change. Usually for the better.<br /><br />Their seats were perfect: three and four to the right of center, in a row about a third of the way up the sloping floor. The sight lines seemed perfect; he hoped there would be no glitches in the audio. When they were settled, Henry remembered his manners.<br /><br />“I forgot to ask. Would you like something from the snack bar before it starts?” Calm down, Henry, he told himself. You’re acting like a puppy, eager to please. Don’t be too attentive. Be cool.<br /><br />Edna smiled up at him as if she knew what he was thinking. “I think I’ll wait until intermission. But a bottle of water might come in handy.” He made his way back against the flow of patrons looking for their seats. In a few minutes he was back with two bottles. He handed one to her and took his seat. In silence, they watched the theatre fill.<br /><br />The actors, singers, and dancers performing on the stage captivated them. Only once did Henry feel disconcerted. While the beautiful young lead actress was dreaming her way through a love song, Henry felt Edna’s hand reach for and clasp his. Startled, he looked at her but she was so enthralled by the performance that her eyes never left the stage. He wondered if he was expected to initiate a hug or a cuddle, but decided to leave well enough alone. Even when the love song had ended, Edna held his hand.<br />At the intermission, he bought her a white wine and himself a beer. They stood quietly against a wall in the lobby and watched people. They exchanged opinions about the performers, about the songs. The story was that same old tale: true love never runs smooth, but overcomes in the end. The music and the songs brought it all to life again with a new glow.</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Um6zQj6FrqZFAxOgeidbiETHVtIA5dzUmmgPQ5RF_kRdqTgiAwmnT0X90dTZnO75QBXvXWSlTXIaGupyu26q2dyrzDIOarNJ55iu5gvJKkFnwyDv8UvU02XIiuRpN0vIRKB5GdoN9Kk/s1600-h/mayan_theatre_600x600.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 262px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375765851194880082" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Um6zQj6FrqZFAxOgeidbiETHVtIA5dzUmmgPQ5RF_kRdqTgiAwmnT0X90dTZnO75QBXvXWSlTXIaGupyu26q2dyrzDIOarNJ55iu5gvJKkFnwyDv8UvU02XIiuRpN0vIRKB5GdoN9Kk/s400/mayan_theatre_600x600.jpg" /></a> During the second half Edna, unabashed, held his hand. Once she leaned close to him to whisper something in his ear and let her head rest on his shoulder for a few moments. Henry felt he shouldn’t move. He might break this spell. For the rest of the performance, his attention was divided between the actors on the stage and the woman at his side. To say the least, it was confusing.<br /><br />The curtain came down, the audience clapped and cheered, the actors took their bows. They let themselves become a part of the flow of patrons leaving. Outside, Edna felt for his hand.<br /><br />“We’ll never catch a cab here at this time. I know a little Irish pub about three blocks from here. If you don’t mind walking we can have a drink, maybe something to eat, call a cab later.”<br /><br />They strolled together side by side, their arms occasionally touching, until she shifted her bag to her other shoulder and took him by the hand. She smiled and kept his arm pressed against her as they walked.<br /><br />The pub was crowded and noisy. There were no tables available so they sat at the bar and decided against ordering food. They settled down with drinks, white wine for her, a Guinness for him. Henry tried to interest himself in the music the band was playing but the proximity of this enchanting woman interfered with his concentration. She kept holding his hand like a teenager and he felt unable to pull it away. He enjoyed her touch.<br /><br />They only stayed for the one drink. In the cab, she sat close to him but didn’t take his hand, as if she was aware that the romantic gesture might embarrass him. When he delivered them at the restaurant, the cab driver pointed out that it had already closed.<br /><br />“We know. I live here. Good night,” Edna told him. They were left standing on the sidewalk.<br /><br />“Walk me around to the back, Henry. The back door has a direct entry to my apartment.” He followed her, admiring the grace of her movements as she walked. She fished a set of keys from her purse, unlocked the back door, then turned to him.<br /><br />“Henry, if you want to come up I can make you something to eat.”<br /><br />Slowly he shook his head. This time he reached for her hands, held them as he tried to express how he felt.<br /><br />“No, it’s getting late. I just want you to know I had a great time this evening. Not just the show. I really enjoyed the company. When you see Winona, let her know how much I appreciate her kindness, even though she did sort of trick us both.”<br /><br />He never figured out who made the first move but they found themselves embracing. Her cheek was against his and she whispered in his ear.<br /><br />“I had a marvelous time, Henry. Please call me soon. I’d like to do something like this again. I swear, if you don’t call me I’ll call you.”<br /><br />He felt her lips brush his cheek, then search for his lips and push against them. Gently he replied in kind, just enjoying the softness of her mouth, the grasp of her hands at his shoulder, the lean of her body into his. Then she stepped back.<br /><br />“I mean that, Henry. I want you to call me. Soon. We aren’t youngsters any more.” She stepped inside and closed the door.<br /><br />On the walk home Henry didn’t notice the cool night air. His mind was awhirl trying to decide what she had really meant. Just as if they were both teenagers again. At least, most of the mistakes and obstacles that beset the young were no longer in their path. He almost laughed out loud.<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />Often during the next several days he thought of calling her, but didn’t know what to say. There had to be a better reason to phone her than to simply thank her again. His mind was a whirl. Fantasies of Edna seemed to be replacing memories of Addie; or perhaps they weren’t replacing them but seemed just as prominent if not more so. If Addie, wherever she was, was aware of his thoughts about Edna, would she approve? Possibly. She had always said things like “I want what’s good for you, for both of us.” Then he would pose the question to himself. If he had died first, would he want Addie to be happy with another man? He thought so. But again.<br /><br />The question hadn’t been settled in his mind when the phone rang just after noon on Wednesday. He picked up the receiver, expecting another telemarketer.<br /><br />“Oh, Henry. It’s Edna. I didn’t know if I could catch you at this time of day. Am I interrupting anything?” She didn’t pause for a reply but continued. “I wanted to thank you again for last Saturday, but also to ask for a favour. We were talking about old movies and there’s a double feature of Bette Davis films playing at the Avalon, you know, the repertory house way out in the east end of town, and I’d love to see them but Winona has something planned and can’t go and I don’t really want to go alone, so I remembered that we talked about movies from the forties and fifties and it sort of crossed my mind that maybe you would be available and that I should maybe call and see …”<br /><br />It dawned on Henry that the rising tone of her babbling meant she was nervous. He interrupted her flow.<br /><br />“Edna! Am I to understand that you are calling to ask me out on a date?”<br /><br />Several seconds of silence were followed by a demure giggle and a long inhalation of breath.<br /><br />“Yes, I guess I am. I feel like such a schoolgirl! Henry, I don’t want to seem too forward, but would you be available to go to the movies with me tonight? It’s my treat. If you say yes I’ll even come and pick you up.”<br /><br />“No, I’ll tell you what. I have nothing planned for supper so I’ll drop by the restaurant for something to eat. You can meet me there whenever you’re ready. I take it you aren’t working?”<br /><br />“That’s perfect, Henry. I’ll drive if you don’t mind, you know. See you here, then? Six thirty or so?”<br /><br />They agreed and disconnected.<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />Henry was just finishing his meal when he heard the teasing voice of someone coming up behind him.<br /><br />“My, you look and smell nice this evening! Got a hot date?”<br /><br />“Hello, Winona. I expect you know very well that your mother asked me to go with her to some Bette Davis films tonight. She said you were supposed to go, but backed out. Is this another one of your set ups?”<br /><br />“No, no, no. Three of us girls got the chance to go to New York City in a couple of weeks, so I have to trade a few shifts to shake loose. I don’t want to miss that chance! No, it was Mom’s idea to ask you. She could have gone alone; she’s done that before.”<br /><br />Winona sat herself down across from him and watched his face as she spoke.<br /><br />“Mom asked me if it was alright for a woman her age to ask a man out, so I explained to her that at her age etiquette was not as important as seizing the opportunity as it presents itself. The next thing I know, she’s taking you out to the movies. I didn’t have anything to do with that.”<br /><br />Henry remained silent, unable to find a proper response.<br /><br />“Henry, if my Mom wasn’t her age, I’d think she had a crush on you. Maybe I’m out of line talking like this, but she matters a whole lot to me. I haven’t seen her so carefree and girlish in a long time, since Dad died, and it feels good. Be kind to her, O. K?”<br /><br />With a quick grin, Winona left and disappeared into the kitchen. Her words hadn’t really come as a surprise. The attraction worked both ways, he was well aware. And then Edna appeared in the doorway.<br /><br />She paused, almost as if deliberately posing. Her dark hair shone under the overhead light, tumbling loose to her shoulders. She wore a knee-length dress in a sort of a wine colour, a silver belt at the waist, and carried a matching silver purse. He felt out of place, as if not worthy to be seen in her company, but her face split in a mischievous grin and she reached a hand out to him.<br /><br />“Come on, Henry, let’s go! We don’t want to be late!”<br /><br />When he stood up, he almost overturned his chair. Clumsily he reached for his wallet and looked for a server to present him with the bill.<br /><br />“No, it’s on the house. No one is going to present my date with a bill in my restaurant. Come on, the car’s out back.”<br /><br />She took him by the hand and led him outside. At least she didn’t insist on helping him into the passenger’s side of her white Nissan.<br /><br />He was quiet for most of the drive, letting Edna talk and only answering direct questions. She noticed.<br /><br />“Relax, Henry. I know I’m the one who asked you out, and maybe you’re not exactly comfortable with that, but I’m not some wanton woman looking to have my way with you. As my daughter said to me, we girls deserve to have fun. And last Saturday evening I had fun, something I hadn’t considered in a long time. And much of it was because of you.”<br /><br />They both remained quiet and thoughtful as she parked the car in a lot across the street from the theater. She spoke again before they got out.<br /><br />“Maybe you’re thinking of your wife. How you used to do things like this together. How maybe you feel as if you’re being unfaithful. I know. I had to deal with the same sort of thing. At least I had Winona to talk to. It can be such a surprise when you find out how mature your own children can be in their outlook. That’s when you feel maybe you’ve brought them up right. It must be difficult when you no longer have anyone close. I’m sorry. I have no right to talk to you like this.”<br /><br />Henry smiled and decided the remarks needed no immediate answer. He offered her his arm and led her inside.<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />The first movie was a dark thriller. At some time Edna grabbed his hand and held it in hers for the remainder of the film. Henry felt as protective as he had when he was dating, when he was young. He didn’t let it embarrass him.<br /><br />The second one was more romantic. When they had finished the bucket of popcorn purchased during intermission, Edna cuddled up against him. He put his arm over her shoulder to hold her close, then was surprised when she tucked his arm under her own. His hand rested on her breast and she held it there with both her own, occasionally squeezing his hand against herself. Henry lost track of the movie’s plot.<br /><br />He couldn’t bring his mind back to concentrate on the film. Every now and then Edna would use his hand to squeeze her breast or gently stroke it. When she laid her other arm on his thigh and softly rubbed his knee, he almost pulled back in surprise. For the rest of the movie he sat almost motionless; her nipple slowly hardened under his palm and her hand felt strangely warm on his thigh. Well, he thought, now I know how she feels about me! But he hadn’t considered how to react if and when this moment happened. He tried to keep as detached as possible.<br /><br />When the closing credits appeared on the screen, they both feigned a need to stretch, and gathered errant body parts back to their usual places. The drive back to the restaurant was silent, no remarks about the movie. Both of them were examining the step toward intimacy that had been taken.<br /><br />Parked behind the restaurant, Edna turned off the ignition and shifted to face Henry. She reached for his hand.<br /><br />“Please, Henry. I can drive you home, but I would love for you to come up and have a drink or something with me. I can promise not to be forward or embarrassing because Winona’s home. Besides, I need some more time to think about us. I guess you do too. I know you know what I’m talking about. And maybe you aren’t as certain as I am, but that’s O. K. Please come upstairs with me for a few minutes anyway.”<br /><br />He smiled in agreement and followed her. In the apartment they found Winona curled up with a magazine in front of the late night news on the television. She jumped up, greeted the two of them and began to grill her mother about how the date had gone. Edna cut the questions short and steered the conversation to safer topics. She bustled about in the kitchen and prepared the tea they had all agreed upon.<br /><br />Henry let himself relax and enjoy the dynamics of being alone with the two women. He was far more at ease with himself when he decided to take his leave. Edna offered to drive him the short distance but he refused, said the short walk would be good for both his mind and his body. She accompanied him downstairs.<br /><br />“Henry, I have no right to put any pressure on you, but you’ll have to decide for yourself if we can be together. I think I know how you feel, but you should know this too. I’m falling in love with you, Henry Helmond.”<br /><br />Her kiss was fierce on his mouth and her body tight against his. She broke away, rushed back up the stairs without another word. He began to walk home slowly, his mind and body occupied with her.<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />He tried discussing his emotional dilemma with Addie, at least with his memory of her. He felt silly talking out loud when no one was there. It seemed almost as if Addie was saying in her practical way, ‘When you live your life, Henry, don’t suppress your feelings. We didn’t. This isn’t about you and me; it’s you and her now. Be kind to yourself.’ and dismissing him. In a strange way, he felt more alone than ever. For a day or two he moped and mooned around, trying to sort out his emotions.<br /><br />Saturday morning he woke up with his mind clear, knowing he had made a decision and that now all he needed to do was to act on it. He found Edna’s number where he had folded it in his wallet and punched it into his phone. Winona answered.<br /><br />“Hello, Winona, it’s Henry Helmond here. Is your mother available? I need to talk to her.”<br /><br />Need? Henry was surprised that the word seemed so right.<br /><br />“Hi! Sure, Henry. Just a minute.”<br /><br />He discovered that the pause didn’t induce the small discomforts that he had expected. He took this as a sign that he had come to the right decision, that even Addie would approve of his actions.<br /><br />When Edna came to the phone, his voice seemed abrupt, even to him.<br /><br />“Are you busy tomorrow afternoon? I’ve been thinking, and I would like to talk with you in a quiet place with no distractions. Would you be free to go with me for a walk in the park? Centennial?”<br /><br />In the long, long moment of silence Henry felt and heard his heart beat a thousand times. The reply, when it came, carried no sign of her emotions.<br /><br />“Sure. We should do that, Henry. Meet me here at the restaurant at two, tomorrow afternoon. See you then.” Calmly the call was disengaged.<br /><br /><br />At times Henry marveled at the calm and strength he felt. He knew what he wanted from this budding relationship and was almost positive that Edna felt the same way. Their friendship and comfort with each other was such that it needed no questioning. A decision about expanding this to a physical relationship would have to be made. And now was the time. Several ways of introducing and exploring the question drifted through his mind but none stuck, none seemed to present itself as the perfect, the only way.<br /><br />When he walked to the restaurant to meet her, Edna suggested taking the bus. As if by common consensus, they walked around the ball fields with scurrying kids and shouting parents toward the creek flowing along the other end. Side by side, not touching, her arms folded in front of her and his hands in his pockets. When the playground sounds had faded, Henry cleared his throat.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieACKHnM7v_zhx4C3gVHy6Qyj-mgUyHdPINYGxVE1VLhMO0ceDtu_IgWFcBpinI8l8jWvBgOpxBeICWStzolvd1VYnRC2Bu47XvS9q8Ksv1jn0PCf7D8sxlRkRYQs7LX1tWArjUBRAkPc/s1600-h/bloomsbury_city_park_fountain_discover.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 189px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375763834138817682" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieACKHnM7v_zhx4C3gVHy6Qyj-mgUyHdPINYGxVE1VLhMO0ceDtu_IgWFcBpinI8l8jWvBgOpxBeICWStzolvd1VYnRC2Bu47XvS9q8Ksv1jn0PCf7D8sxlRkRYQs7LX1tWArjUBRAkPc/s400/bloomsbury_city_park_fountain_discover.jpg" /></a> “I’ve been thinking…”<br /><br />She didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at him. She was not going to make this any easier for him, he understood. But then, she’d been quite clear about her feelings and the response had to come from him and him alone. When he reached out a hand to touch hers she made no move. He tried again.<br /><br />“Edna, I feel so awkward walking and talking and thinking and all. Can we find a bench and sit down?” He was embarrassed at the touch of a whine in his voice. At the next park bench she sat down primly and stared into the flowing water of the creek. He glanced at her and then turned to watch the same ripple in the water she was focusing on. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.<br /><br />“Edna, I think I love you. No, that’s wrong: I know I love you. I’m just not sure what to do with this. I want to make love to you. I want to take you to my bed and feel you naked against me but I’m afraid of the memories… I can’t see us at your place… renting a hotel or motel room sort of turns me off… but I do want you. I have for some time now. I think you knew even before I would admit it to myself.” He paused to take a long breath.<br /><br />“Henry.”<br /><br />He opened his eyes at the demand of her voice, caught a glimpse of the shine of moisture at the corner of her eye as her face suddenly pressed against his and her arms pulled him tight. Her tongue stroked his lips, then suddenly forced its way into his mouth. He moaned at the ferocity and passion of it, wrapped himself around her as if this was the only natural way to be. As she had been the one to instigate the clinch, she was also the first to pull away.<br /><br />“Henry. Listen to me. When we were leaving, Winona was planning to go out with a couple of friends. There should be no one home about now. The hired help is running the restaurant but the apartment is free and clear… Henry, will you take me home? We can do whatever you want, no whatever we want.” They stood face to face, smiling into each other’s eyes and holding hands.<br /><br />“Come on,” he told her. “If you think Winona’s had enough time to clear out, let’s grab a cab back.”<br /><br />On the ride home they ignored the cabby’s attempts at conversation. It seemed so natural to sit in the back seat holding hands, gazing into each other’s eyes. Words like silly or moonstruck didn’t cross their minds. As Henry paid the fare, Edna rushed around to the back stairs, almost skipping like a schoolgirl. He caught up with her as she opened the apartment door.<br />Resolutely, she pulled him inside. The first thing they both noticed was the large card propped in the middle of the kitchen table. The illustration portrayed two birds cuddled together on a branch. Edna snatched it up, glanced inside, and handed it to him. The inside was blank except for a hand-written note. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! Have fun! W.” Left sitting on the table was a packet of three condoms. Trojans.<br /><br />Edna blushed and picked them up. “I guess we should talk about health matters before we… I just never considered…”<br /><br />“It’s alright.” He took the packet from her hand. “It’s better to be safe. I’m healthy, but if it’s the thought that counts…” He reached into his pocket and came up with a second packet of three condoms. Trojans. He grinned and looked at her.<br /><br />“Me, too. No diseases, I mean.” She chuckled. “Wait here a minute,” she said and disappeared into her bedroom. She returned momentarily with her hands behind her back. Holding his gaze with her own, she slowly brought a hand to the front and laid something on the table. Another packet of three condoms. Trojans.<br /><br />They burst out laughing, laughing as if they would never stop. When she caught her breath, she asked politely, “Would you like some tea, sir?”<br /><br />“Later. First things first,” he growled. They disappeared into the bedroom, slamming the door against a determined daughter, two paperboard lovebirds, and nine unnecessary condoms on the kitchen table. Trojans.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Ee7gnnSuf_YR7LEWbpd1ZyDnaJQbTEe0s56oU4dX60WSnTcmPCM6pGhp4mAefQdvV2bBmgQyvNdRBtt-4cOkWVOzOuY5MPiG_19opbYn3LU1I6vVoBHX4w2JBJzV1xSxTTOlCV_coOM/s1600-h/csola668.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 268px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375761971239896114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Ee7gnnSuf_YR7LEWbpd1ZyDnaJQbTEe0s56oU4dX60WSnTcmPCM6pGhp4mAefQdvV2bBmgQyvNdRBtt-4cOkWVOzOuY5MPiG_19opbYn3LU1I6vVoBHX4w2JBJzV1xSxTTOlCV_coOM/s400/csola668.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div>Rumplebearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504112871253308235noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3585079584973063785.post-6182536491661551402009-08-17T09:54:00.006-04:002009-08-17T10:26:32.378-04:00Bookstore Revolution<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCkvgQO2nLBAVgm-GDFiQyWK_hXh6JthddfyMjN80M1w7auyZ8YUKm-YDpWcfPsiPFS9ZWgkclA2vNA3PmlVQXfwzgKLIm5cpSlldJEouNUg02XubFLbaI8dwKYZOe8bcmT1CgzgrmIe4/s1600-h/24thSt_Cafe-Interior.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 313px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370937979114224290" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCkvgQO2nLBAVgm-GDFiQyWK_hXh6JthddfyMjN80M1w7auyZ8YUKm-YDpWcfPsiPFS9ZWgkclA2vNA3PmlVQXfwzgKLIm5cpSlldJEouNUg02XubFLbaI8dwKYZOe8bcmT1CgzgrmIe4/s400/24thSt_Cafe-Interior.jpg" /></a>It’s true. If you went down to the Sunrise Restaurant any morning between nine and noon, you could find another mind with which to swap opinions, ideas, and the occasional lie.<br />Those gathered this morning seemed to be discussing local politicians who were unable to act, who showed no ability to make their own plans for the city and follow through. There wasn’t any strong argument against that basic claim.<br />Al the butcher, long retired and longer widowed, threw in a new twist. “We’ve got time and energy. I’ll bet if we concentrated on one or two issues we could get city councilors to hop to our tunes. Hey, we could run this town without even getting elected!”<br />“That’s not new, that’s the way it’s done already.” Young Mel, just sixty and only semi retired, sipped his coffee. “One hand washes the other, you know. It’s the businesses with the money that run this town. Any town.”<br />“You got inside dope, maybe? Money makes influence makes power. And that, my friend, is politics.” Harry took the last bite of his Danish.<br />“You guys talking politics again?” Mike had just come in and dragged a chair toward the common table. “Claire, coffee and a bran muffin please? You want politics, have I got a story for you.” He settled quietly, waiting for his coffee. The other men made grumbling noises. Harry voiced the common opinion. “What kind of fairy tale are you going to push on us today?”<br />“I have a story that will astound you.” He extracted a copy of Time magazine from the inside pocket of his coat. The waitress calmly placed his order in front of him. “And the story has its end right here in the international news. It began seven years ago when I still had my book store; in fact it began in my book store!”<br />“What doctor’s office did you snitch that rag from? And what could some story in an old issue of Time have to do with your used book store?” Harry was always the skeptic, always the one to ask questions.<br />“Here’s the story. Daniel Oruwonda, the new president of the small African nation of Buluwesi. Leader of the revolutionaries who seized power in a bloodless coup. Do you know how many bloodless coups they have in Africa?”<br />“Not as many as they have chicken coops,” chuckled Harry. “But seriously, Mike, what has this story got to do with you?”<br />“Curious now, are you? Look carefully at the last paragraph in the story. ‘Educated in Canada and Britain.’ What it doesn’t say is that the year he spent in Canada he studied at our university. Some of that time he spent in my book store. I knew him, personally.”<br />“What did you do, Mike, pat his head and tell him to study hard so that maybe he could grow up to be president? And now he has, you want a share of the credit?” Harry pushed back to get ready to leave. “How naïve do you think we are, that we’d believe you had anything to do with the president of Whatsis.” But then Al the butcher spoke up. “Let him tell the story, Harry. At least it’s one we haven’t heard before.”<br />“Yeah,” Young Mel piped up. “Let the man tell his story and try to impress us.” So Mike got to tell his story.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinG-pvJ0yKR2s6LeyxX-eKQP2wqO0wjanxoXK0okEU9pufwDC0aSc6ZVaoqY3VhRRrf2P7tpl2oIBK6bsb-Blw5MYBjSnYvCDPcdHlk5qd3nult7p2dMY3wb8YiNrxr-K__pnLNnY1Tng/s1600-h/africa-nerica-large-en.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 310px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370937427384770690" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinG-pvJ0yKR2s6LeyxX-eKQP2wqO0wjanxoXK0okEU9pufwDC0aSc6ZVaoqY3VhRRrf2P7tpl2oIBK6bsb-Blw5MYBjSnYvCDPcdHlk5qd3nult7p2dMY3wb8YiNrxr-K__pnLNnY1Tng/s320/africa-nerica-large-en.jpg" /></a>This whole thing started, Mike said, about five or six years ago when I still ran that used bookstore. You know how it is in September when the kids come back to school. You have new people coming around, checking things out; a couple of weeks later they’re trying to find a book for a course second hand. Sometimes they become customers<br /><br /><div><div>It was on a Saturday morning towards noon when a bunch of kids stopped by, nobody looking for anything, just browsing. They spread through the place and I watched but not carefully; none of these were going to rip me off. One of the girls in the group was asking about Faulkner if I remember right, when a handsome black kid who was looking through the bargain bin let out a shout. He raised a small book in the air as if he had discovered a rare treasure. Sure, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure: I hadn’t seen any value in it. The kid babbled about how it was a collection of poems and essays by some hero who came from his part of Africa and, since the book had been privately printed in Jamaica and not many copies circulated, he had never expected to find one! And here was one! He would gladly pay the one dollar that I was asking. For him, the book was priceless.<br />Another guy snatched the book from his hand and inspected it. “Brossard may have been born in your country, but it was mine he helped set free from colonial oppression,” he said in a West Indian accent. “This book is more important to my people. I will pay five dollars more than any price this man is able to offer you.” The stricken look on the African guy’s face was something else, as if some bully had snatched his heart’s desire right out of his fingers. That and the arrogance in the other’s voice and manner made me grab the book back and proclaim, “This book is no longer for sale.”<br /><br />“So you refused to sell a kid a cheap second-hand book,” grumbled Harry. “Sounds about your style.”<br />“Shut up and let him continue,” declared Mel to an affirmative chorus.</div><br /><br /><div>That shut the whole auction sale off before it even got started, Mike continued. They saw that they weren’t going to get anywhere trying to argue with me so they took their discussion or argument or debate or whatever they considered it out into the street and back to campus. Somehow, I figured, I hadn’t heard the last of this and put the book away in a safe place. My library at home, of course. I had to read it to find what the fuss was all about, no?<br />Well, the African kid came in a couple of days later with this bright idea. He wanted to get together a few other black students and start a study group, using this rare book by Henri Brossard as a guide. Since the book was still mine and neither he nor the Jamaican fellow could agree who should have custody of it, would I be so kind as to be an informal patron of the group, a “keeper of the book” so to speak? If I had the time and would be so kind, I could attend meetings with the book; otherwise they hoped that I would photocopy sections as they required them and make them available to members. Decisions as to the relevant passages would be made by the group’s leaders, under my supervision, of course. And I would be reimbursed for any expenses.</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtuHoEXb2eJBLR06xS1tu-qiywfFYFVICqYpAHAPH3CsCwAG6O2sl-ypUiMv0pItPyBVt26LIqoF7SlzrF7yzvbMkWGBZ9b8ZJsdWoWapVQsB2h6NFtSp9MIJoHFv1dir9pmT6w2G8qZs/s1600-h/1242638956.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 296px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370934113130909330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtuHoEXb2eJBLR06xS1tu-qiywfFYFVICqYpAHAPH3CsCwAG6O2sl-ypUiMv0pItPyBVt26LIqoF7SlzrF7yzvbMkWGBZ9b8ZJsdWoWapVQsB2h6NFtSp9MIJoHFv1dir9pmT6w2G8qZs/s400/1242638956.jpg" /></a> “Here we go,” said Harry. “I was a bookie for the . . .” “ Shut up, Harry,” sang the chorus.<br /><br />Mike didn’t let the interruption deter him. It seemed, he continued, that the two of them, the West Indian who was not from Jamaica but some smaller island and this African guy by the name of Danny Oruwonda had made this deal, as long as I agreed. What could I say? Here these kids are working out an agreement worthy of the United Nations. I agreed and offered them a meeting space, that wide room in the basement with the sofas and easy chairs and the coffee-maker set up in a corner. They wanted a Monday evening but I made them agree to Thursday; I had to be at the store that night anyway, and that way they could meet for free. So, for most of two semesters I was the informal patron of an informal discussion group that probably played an important part in the formulation of the political philosophy behind the movement that made Daniel Oruwonda the current president of the free African state of Buluwesi!<br /><br />“Bull,” said Harry. “How long did it take you to memorize that high faluting mouthful of garbage? How old is that magazine anyway?”<br />“Leave him alone, Harry,” Mel said. “It isn’t that often we get a Socratic lesson in the influences of minor incidents on the formation of almost cosmic events. Take it for what it is, and in the spirit in which it was offered.”<br />“And always consider the source. Socrates he’s not.”<br /></div><br /><br /><div>Good-natured laughter rang through the coffee shop. The story no longer mattered; friends were able to get together over coffee and talk about things that count. To whom and for how long was not important at all.<br /></div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9mUt15yoUYGpU0RTjdux3DA2MWXqoFx3Mk47L7mXHyyma16ixZRR0gml__K8Ku33CJeoqrGZDq6UOV_RaOAOx9FzYoMR60ten5asFNlT78p7rY3GvujUjfR4s0cZbL1WiX8ETazsN9P4/s1600-h/Bookstore.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370933045655881474" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9mUt15yoUYGpU0RTjdux3DA2MWXqoFx3Mk47L7mXHyyma16ixZRR0gml__K8Ku33CJeoqrGZDq6UOV_RaOAOx9FzYoMR60ten5asFNlT78p7rY3GvujUjfR4s0cZbL1WiX8ETazsN9P4/s400/Bookstore.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div>Rumplebearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504112871253308235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3585079584973063785.post-77277343698229756812009-08-15T17:40:00.006-04:002009-08-15T18:06:10.010-04:00Broken Fences<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJBukGhLkX_5fnD_dMJ49hihcrRGs9ArisiizbwFbeputbGCPkniYVKXGTQl0RSPXNfO_cDPsbjeWplgGGxwUc3-YYhofqKR4qSKRCqCdd4C-gGTtvcJlUNTgQnHaCiVNs3J2929bmUnY/s1600-h/ontario_farm.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370314521535568466" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJBukGhLkX_5fnD_dMJ49hihcrRGs9ArisiizbwFbeputbGCPkniYVKXGTQl0RSPXNfO_cDPsbjeWplgGGxwUc3-YYhofqKR4qSKRCqCdd4C-gGTtvcJlUNTgQnHaCiVNs3J2929bmUnY/s400/ontario_farm.jpg" /></a><br /><div></div><div>When John got up before first light as he did every morning, he found the dog wide awake but quiet, sitting at the kitchen door. He knew something wasn’t quite right. Usually the dog would stay in the corner where she slept until after he had made the coffee, had his first cup, and made a move to start the morning chores. Whatever was bugging her, he figured, couldn’t be that bad or she would be making noise, itching to go outside. He gave it no further thought until he had his coffee in hand and stood at the kitchen window to watch for the first streaks of light over the hills to the east. He became aware of several large shapes moving slowly on the lawn. He gulped down his coffee, sputtering at the heat, slipped into his boots and spoke to the dog as he stepped outside.“Easy, Tess. Quiet. Heel, now.” The dog, even though it wanted to run at whatever was out there, stayed close. When John turned the corner of the house he saw what had disturbed the dog, what he hadn’t been able to identify with the bright kitchen light all around him. Three steers and a young heifer were grazing the lawn, slowly headed to Martha’s vegetable garden. He recognized them right away. They were part of his own herd, but should be out in the back pasture with the rest. He couldn’t see immediately how they had gotten here. At least they didn’t belong to a neighbor. Broken fences and loose cattle could strain most relationships to the limit. He was equally glad the animals hadn’t headed down the road and ended up crapping in Mrs. Williamson’s flowerbeds. This he could handle if the beasts didn’t do any damage to the garden. With the dog, he circled and got them moving away from the vegetable patch; he ordered the dog to hold them while he opened the gate that let them into the enclosed barnyard. They’d have to remain there until after breakfast when he had the time to drive them back into the pasture where they belonged. He’d also have to check the fences, find out how they had managed to get to where he found them.<br /></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkeoDSR34lsa0yVeH_1a-iiqfys6M-RW8xEfBqjI8RKMMquSQBFlTkvtaglUnke2lAmjfyrJ2uGd4ar4GWok5kqj95hD_IEXUoNL3x9oQPFJoLMyxnKlPETtmiq1flMjQeqyrJiL55EME/s1600-h/Dog1.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370313067521331250" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkeoDSR34lsa0yVeH_1a-iiqfys6M-RW8xEfBqjI8RKMMquSQBFlTkvtaglUnke2lAmjfyrJ2uGd4ar4GWok5kqj95hD_IEXUoNL3x9oQPFJoLMyxnKlPETtmiq1flMjQeqyrJiL55EME/s320/Dog1.jpg" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFjiYQs9RokJRQfHV85IacUMI2P9ZIYzOePWow8OaHslhNhinlCdRTMno_krGJEo3RlrZilPG7UKe2bGOENWoyTF3CjbVOgpp0MVvr2Y_DyLZNIpMMqqqbnEDil9zeIW21hsGpxRsrJpc/s1600-h/dairy-cows-in-field.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370313291375558114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFjiYQs9RokJRQfHV85IacUMI2P9ZIYzOePWow8OaHslhNhinlCdRTMno_krGJEo3RlrZilPG7UKe2bGOENWoyTF3CjbVOgpp0MVvr2Y_DyLZNIpMMqqqbnEDil9zeIW21hsGpxRsrJpc/s320/dairy-cows-in-field.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div><div>When he returned to the house after morning chores, his women folk were filling the kitchen with chatter and activity. As he dug into his pile of pancakes and sausages, he listened with half an ear to the school adventures the girls were relating to Martha. Eleven and fifteen, they were. And both of them so chipper in the mornings. Bright and noisy as young birds. He smiled to himself. There were many people who began the day sullen and remote until they had made some adjustment. He was lucky to be blessed with these. Before they got ready to catch the bus, he told them how he’d found the young cattle on the lawn this morning. When he admitted that no damage had been done, the girls lost interest immediately. School promised more exciting people and things to deal with. Even Martha seemed to have more important things on her mind.<br /><br />The dog was waiting for him outside, as if she knew that her assistance was needed. Tess. Susie, no, Suzanne as she insisted now, had for some strange reason named her after Saint Teresa but it had been shortened to Tess. A collie and setter cross, she was as much a working dog as she was a pet. The young cattle were clustered together in the barnyard. Tess held them in place while he opened the gate leading into the unfenced lane beside the cornfield. At his whistle, she moved toward them at an angle, slowly urging them forward. John walked carefully at the edge of the corn, watching for the slightest inclination from one of the animals to break away, but they reached the end without incident. He slipped ahead and opened the gate into the back pasture where they belonged, stood aside while Tess urged them through, and closed the gate behind them. The rest of the herd was not in sight, most likely in the low meadow beside the creek that flowed along the bottom of his acreage. Now to figure out how the animals had gotten to his yard.<br /><br />The most direct way would be through the fence beside the road where a narrow strip of the pasture met it beside the Williamson’s line. Strange, because this was the newest part of his fencing. The section along Williamson’s field was older but in good repair. The poet who had written that good fences make good neighbors knew what he was talking about. John figured any trouble spot in his pasture fence would be back by the creek, but his animals would then have ended up in the next township. It would be best to check the piece fronting the road first, then the line shared with Williamson, and last of all the back fence beyond the woods.<br /><br />With the dog at his side, he made his way along the edge of the corn field to the corner where it met the road. A single look down the fence line showed the problem. One of the wooden fence posts was broken and another leaned crazily toward the road. This had to be the place where the cattle had found their way out of the pasture. Had one of them leaned against a rotten post and broken it, recognized the attraction of a lowered and leaning fence with possible access to richer food? The ground here wasn’t so damp that rot could have set so quickly into the treated cedar posts. He’d have to check it more closely, make some sort of assessment to establish what he would need to repair the damage.<br /><br />On the scene, he found a couple of signs that the break in the fence wasn’t the result of natural causes. The splintered base of the fence post showed no sign of weakness, no hint of decay. Whatever caused it to break must have been a considerable force. The fence itself had been stretched, some of it broken, and most of it pulled out of the post by the staples. It looked like a hard yank by a tractor or other powerful machine, caused by some person or persons unknown as the cop shows on TV would have it. What bothered John was that he couldn’t think of anyone who would want to deliberately destroy his fence. Granted that not everyone in the world was in love with him, he was sure that he had no enemies. And who would pull a stupid prank, one that was more an irritant than a cause of serious damage? What really bothered him was the fact that it must have happened during the night sometime and he had heard or seen nothing. Not that he patrolled his place or anything like that, but anyone who lives in the country becomes attuned to things that are not as usual. The tearing down of a fence at night is unusual and not exactly noiseless. He couldn’t remember unexplained noise or strange vehicles during the evening or night.<br /><br />John propped up the post and pulled the fence into some semblance of temporary restoration. He’d have to go to town, pick up a new post at the lumberyard, borrow a fence stretcher. He still had some wire and staples. The ground seemed loose enough to dig the stump and set the new post by hand. It could have been worse. He and Tess walked the road back to the house.<br /><br />He hollered in the back door to Martha that he had to go to town for some material and did she need anything. She assured him that she was fine and asked no question so he didn’t have to explain about the torn fence. He got the keys for the pick-up, told the dog to stay, and headed to town.<br /><br />Miller’s Lumber didn’t have the post he needed but said they could order one, be here in two days, Saturday at the latest. He approved the arrangements and went back to his truck. Oh, yes. He should stop by the police station and report. Vandalism was a crime and perhaps it was part of a pattern even if the damage wasn’t much. The constable wasn’t in the office, out in the patrol car somewhere the girl on the desk told him. He left his name and address and the particulars of the incident with her. She assured him the officer would be by at his earliest convenience. On the drive home, John pushed the situation to the back of his mind and concentrated on the more mundane and immediate concerns of his daily life.<br /><br /><br />Sometime around two-thirty Constable Evans, a tall, young rangy man with a tangle of red hair under his cap showed up at the farm. Martha, at first worried, sent him down to the barn when she found out it had to do with a property damage report John had filed this morning. John and the constable walked up the road to where John had made the temporary repairs to the fence that morning. Evans carefully inspected the area and the fence.<br /><br />“You heard or saw nothing?” John shook his head. “You doing anything that might impel some one to spy on you? Secret government contracts? Building missiles in your silo? Growing hybrid grains or illegal crops? A still?”<br /><br />As the questions became more and more absurd and confusion became more and more evident on John’s face, Evans’ smile grew until he began to chuckle out loud. “The evidence, John,” he said, “points to just one thing. Kids in a car. Look at the way the grass is flattened here. That mark there in the loose soil comes from a tire. To prove it, see here. A small spot of oil on this broad leaf.”<br /><br />“But the fence. Deliberate destruction?”<br /><br />“I don’t think so. A part of the car, probably a bumper, hooked onto the fence when it was parked too close. Look here. There’s a small bit of paint on the fence post and a staple. Whoever was here has probably got a new scratch on his paint job.”<br /><br />John inspected the miniscule flecks the constable pointed out.<br /><br />“Kids, you say.”<br /><br />“That would be my best guess. How old is your oldest daughter, John? Guess the boys could be sniffing around like dogs any time now. Do you want an investigation, lay charges if we find out who did it? Your choice, but my advice is to let it ride. If I happen to find out who it was for sure I’ll let you know and you can talk to the kids, the parents, whatever you want. I don’t think it was an intentional criminal act.”<br /><br />John grunted. The two of them walked back to the house in silence. As he got into his cruiser, Evans put a hand on John’s shoulder. “I’ll let you know, but don’t expect much.” John watched him drive away. He decided not to say anything to Martha at this time even though she was probably wondering what the visit had been about but went back to the barn to continue the work that had been interrupted.<br /><br /><br />The whole thing about the loose cattle and the broken fence, the visit from the police, that the girls were not aware of, didn’t come up in any talk during supper or the rest of the evening. John had pretty well filed the incident way back in his mind. It was when they’d settled into bed before midnight that Martha asked him what the constable had wanted, whether it had anything to do with the cattle being loose this morning.<br /><br />He sighed as he stretched out on his back. “That Evans is a pretty smart cookie. He persuaded me that it was some kids and most likely accidental, that they busted the fence when they tried to turn their car around down the road apiece. We decided to let it go, for now. No real harm done. More a nuisance than anything.” He said nothing about the suspicion that had been raised, that maybe the house was under surveillance. Martha took his hand in hers.<br /><br />After a moment or two of comfortable silence the direction of the conversation changed radically.<br /><br />“John? I think our girls are growing up. Ellie let out that there’s a rumor going around at school that some boy really likes our Susanne. I understand her friends have been teasing her about him because he goes out of his way to walk close to her, say hello to her. Ellie says he even sat next to her at the most recent assembly. Susanne hasn’t said anything to me about it and I don’t want to question either of the girls while things still seem to be in an innocent stage. Right now, I’m not concerned but I think we both should be aware.”</div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFWNdc9SNNHWdjmbdLrmt0PRQVfGVlfc0zDjJLXKLGpMiiSe-bLNMuG5VOk-xlYGLlhqU3h4NJOYfSFQJrA0r17rWspGpUOoxGaNgtyx2OAKOznVAbiGn-IcVkB9887EpFoPzbHGy4aV0/s1600-h/712417_com_rci_teensd.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 244px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370310077754886578" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFWNdc9SNNHWdjmbdLrmt0PRQVfGVlfc0zDjJLXKLGpMiiSe-bLNMuG5VOk-xlYGLlhqU3h4NJOYfSFQJrA0r17rWspGpUOoxGaNgtyx2OAKOznVAbiGn-IcVkB9887EpFoPzbHGy4aV0/s320/712417_com_rci_teensd.jpg" /></a> “Teenage girls. The boys go crazy about them.” At first he smiled in the dark, but then his face tightened when he heard the echo of his own word. Crazy. No. Young and foolish, unthinking maybe, but not insane, obsessed. He couldn’t believe that. Then he remembered an escapade from his own youth.<br /><br /><br />The hot piece of gossip among the girls at high school that spring was that Christine, what was her last name? Cook, that was it, that she had bragged to her girl friends that she slept in the nude. John had overheard it accidentally and his first thought was to find out if it was true. For several days in the late evenings he hung around the place where she lived until he found out which room was hers, but never saw anything. If she stripped to the buff, she did it behind closed curtains and without even a shadow to tease a watcher.<br /><br />After a short time, he sort of gave up on his quest, as he considered it in his own mind. The impossible dream. Still, every time he passed her place he would slow down and look up at her window. One warm evening in early June he got lucky. Her bedroom light went out just as he was passing and he stopped beside a hedge at a neighbor’s house. In a minute or so the bedroom curtain was pushed to the side, the window was opened to let in the fresh air, and there she was. Christine naked in all her glory, leaning out with her face to the starlit sky, the light from a street lamp reflecting from her breasts. John held his breath, praying that the moment would last, that she wouldn’t see him standing there gawking like a pervert. She couldn’t have been there long before she drew back inside, left the window open an inch or two, and pulled the curtain again. John could still see in his mind’s eye that tableau. Christine’s face turned to the sky, her throat stretched taut, shoulders pushed back, and those wonderful breasts pushed out naked and pale in the light.<br /><br />He should have kept it to himself. Somehow he had bragged to a friend about what he had seen. His friend, of course, claimed not to believe him but the word had spread and it became a secret mission for a bunch of the guys to see Christine Cook naked. They began to hang around her house in twos or threes hoping for a glimpse until Mr. Cook complained to the police about prowlers. Even that didn’t stop the secretive excursions although a girlfriend warned Christine what was going on. The game wasn’t really over until her father one night took his shotgun and fired a couple of blasts in the back yard. Sure, he had some trouble with the police over that, they were not impressed with his claim of protecting his home, but the boys stopped hanging around in the late evening. Christine Cook, John smiled to himself. I wonder what ever happened to you. If he remembered rightly, the family moved away not long after that.<br /><br />And now he was the one with the teenage girl and the boys hanging around at night. He looked over toward Martha but she had fallen asleep. He’d have to talk to her in the morning. What goes around comes around. He hoped Martha could impress on Susie how to deal with young lads sneaking around at night. It could be foolish innocence but it could also mean trouble.<br /><br /><br />On Saturday afternoon the whole family went to town, doing the shopping or, in the case of the girls, hanging out with some of their friends from school. John himself stopped by the lumberyard to pick up the new fence post, then to the feed store for some starter feed. While there he joined the group of men talking politics and other local matters. There was no mention of crime and he didn’t think his fence was important enough to warrant telling others to keep an eye out. When the group began to break up, he began to wander over to the restaurant where they were all to meet for supper before going home.<br />He noticed Susanne with a mixed group of boys and girls at the A&W drive-in, giggling and carrying on. The only one not seeming to enjoy himself was a young man who could be the owner of the blue Dodge they were gathered around. A few things began to slip into place in John’s mind. He waved to catch Susanne’s eye, and in a minute she broke away from the group to join him.<br /><br />“That looks like a nice car there. Who owns it?” John kept the tone in his voice casual, unwilling to cause his daughter to become suspicious.<br /><br />“Jimmy Macalone. Him and his brother fixed it up and got it painted. Boy, is he pissed!” Her hand quickly covered her mouth. “Sorry, Dad. But he is really angry. He found this scratch on the back fender near the bumper.”<br /><br />“Jimmy Macalone.” He knew the Macalones, they were good people. It lightened his burden somewhat. “Is he the boy who’s got a crush on you?”<br /><br />“Dad!” Her eyes flashed in a mixture of anger and surprise. “What gives you that idea? He’s just a guy from school, we all hang out together. You know.”<br /><br />“Sure.” He wanted to gather her in his arms, hold her close and safe, but this was not the time or place. Perhaps that time might never come again. They walked side by side toward the restaurant, each with his own thoughts, in silence.<br /><br /></div></div>Rumplebearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504112871253308235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3585079584973063785.post-32952372485834995582009-07-27T17:34:00.009-04:002009-07-27T18:00:30.387-04:00THE SISTERS<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifnh1dJwyj3xFaVUkOGXB-wNr7oQrZIXrmNBVMibZIS3_AjNT-LcnWzUI1WN0x15SotD32iCXgA63GH19qKsMtgSpSeWgcnkgZ7BOqcn5FIR4Kl13lQZRR3jRyYPH8j2ZE4wereBzTZcM/s1600-h/sisters.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 252px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363261340928243906" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifnh1dJwyj3xFaVUkOGXB-wNr7oQrZIXrmNBVMibZIS3_AjNT-LcnWzUI1WN0x15SotD32iCXgA63GH19qKsMtgSpSeWgcnkgZ7BOqcn5FIR4Kl13lQZRR3jRyYPH8j2ZE4wereBzTZcM/s400/sisters.jpg" /></a><br /><div>The young girl knew she was the cause of my erection and was doing her best to enjoy it. Flaunting a half-naked tit at me. Coming out with remarks with a double meaning, one of course very suggestive. Touching my face and chest with slow, dragging fingertips. Brushing a casual hand over my crotch when no one was looking. And now the music had started with me caught in a corner between her, a wall, and the sofa.<br /><br />The music was one of those tunes that start slow and turn into a heavy beat like that one from the movie Flashdance that exercise classes like to use. She exploited the long, slow introduction to mash her crotch against me, holding me in place by the hips and grinding slowly. When the tempo picked up, she changed her stance and her movement; with wide hips she banged her pelvis to mine again and again. If we hadn’t been sort of fully dressed, we could have been fucking. I couldn’t push her away. The only escape seemed to be an inelegant fall and dive over the back of the sofa. I quite seriously considered it.<br /><br />But let’s go back to the beginning of sorts. It was a Thursday evening party, Jenny’s birthday party in fact. She turned twenty three and one of the girls with whom she shared the rent on a small house, her best friend Amy, had arranged this surprise party. Nothing fancy or formal; both girls were working and between steady fellows at the time. The guest list consisted basically of their common friends, fellow employees, and a number of single, unattached males who could be conscripted on the promise of free booze and a chance to get lucky. I was one of them; I’d gone out with Amy for a short time. Loretta, the third girl who shared the house, was away visiting family.<br /><br />The party was good but not great. Most people knew some of the others at least casually. The surprise thing came off well. Booze and beer and wine flowed; people mingled and talked; finger food was passed around.<br /><br />I had offered my best wishes to the birthday girl, chatted with Amy, of course, and swapped lies with a guy I’d gone to school with. He tried to impress me with his sales ideas but I wasn’t buying. I removed myself from his space.<br /><br />Some sort of music had been playing in the back ground but someone changed it to dance tunes. And that was when the kid cornered me.<br /><br />To be polite about it, she didn’t seem to fit. This bunch was pretty straight forward, employed, in their early to mid twenties. She looked well under eighteen. I watched her slink towards me like a jungle cat. Short black hair with a wide cobalt blue streak. Thick-soled Doc Martin calf-high boots. Pale naked legs and arms. A skirt that almost covered her ass with the side slit turned to the front to show brief flashes of underwear that matched the color in her hair.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8PSw9pR1tXweWcaCEuHExVAlC1BviEbD9POSRgXhyphenhyphenDoXqWKTHBaViYW348vfJ2PrSGjz7BhJakiSCbDJ_8jkX_-nmmMElyDJqeglAb4DvKArlScMpB1Vp2ONGjlTUQS-oZQbGsZSginM/s1600-h/17068.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 338px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363258258072164898" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8PSw9pR1tXweWcaCEuHExVAlC1BviEbD9POSRgXhyphenhyphenDoXqWKTHBaViYW348vfJ2PrSGjz7BhJakiSCbDJ_8jkX_-nmmMElyDJqeglAb4DvKArlScMpB1Vp2ONGjlTUQS-oZQbGsZSginM/s400/17068.jpg" /></a> The T-shirt she wore might have been white once. It was now covered by splashes of paint, esoteric symbols and inscriptions, probable food and bodily fluid stains. More than prominent was a tear from the right shoulder to just about the hem in the middle. Whenever it flapped it exposed what lay beneath. A well-formed right breast, of course. And no brassiere.<br /><br />I don’t know how long she’d been there before she approached me, nor do I have any idea why she picked me. Her eyes seemed to stay locked to mine; her breast and undies flashed blatantly as she drew nearer. As I turned away from my unsuspecting schoolmate, she slid into the space that opened.<br /><br />“You’re Matt.” It was not a question. I nodded.<br /><br />“I’m a friend of Amy’s, I know Jenny through her, she invited me to the birthday party.”<br /><br />The face before me sort of sneered. “Mickey. Jen’s kid sister.”<br /><br />I took her at her word; I didn’t know Jenny well enough to be acquainted with her family. So, she has a kid sister. So, the kid sister seems to have a rebellious streak. And for some unknown reason, she’s here at this party. Probably uninvited.<br /><br />She stepped into me, much closer than polite and somewhat uncomfortable, to tell the truth. I’m not the most outgoing guy but girls don’t usually scare me. This one almost did.<br /><br />She hooked her left hand into the belt at my waist; no, the belt and waistband of my trousers. I could feel her fingers against the skin of my abdomen. What seemed to be a cunning grin played around the corners of her mouth. Calculating eyes remained fixed on mine as she seemed to make some sort of appraisal.<br /><br />Uneasily I cleared my throat. “Hello, Mickey. Pleasure to meet you,” I lied.<br /><br />She shrugged, didn’t take her eyes off my face. The movement exposed her breast, lovely and pale and round. My glance immediately dropped down, caught not only by that near perfection but also the gleam of a shiny miniature barbell that pierced the thick dark nipple. Her eyes remained focused on my face, saw the way my tongue licked at my lips in a nervous gesture. Her free hand slowly pulled the fabric back over the exposed breast, then slowly came up to touch my face.<br /><br />“Like it?”<br /><br />I couldn’t tell if she meant the breast or the piercing. I didn’t answer. She grinned at my evident embarrassment, then brazenly added to it.<br /><br />“If you were the only finger in this room ...” she tapped the middle finger of her hand against my nose, “ who would you want to be stuck up?”<br /><br />I tried to step away from her and realized just how cornered I was. She curved her body from her knees to her breasts against me, hot contact at chest, belly, groin.<br /><br />“If you’re willing, I’m available.” She twisted slightly and again that breast was exposed. This time we both looked at it, the pale roundness, the hardness of that erect nipple, the glow of its chrome piercing. This time she made no move to cover herself.<br /><br />“Let’s go somewhere and fuck.”<br /><br />That’s when someone turned up the CD player and the Flashdance tune started. Both her hands grabbed my belt and the waistband of my trousers. I could feel her knuckles digging into my skin as she ground her pelvis slowly and forcefully against me. My genitalia reacted as could be expected. Then that forceful thumping beat began and her movement changed. No longer the round swirling motion; instead, a harsh physical banging together.<br /><br />If we hadn’t been clothed, we would have been fucking our brains out in the corner of the room.<br /><br />We did not go unnoticed.<br /><br />My mind was so intent on escaping or alleviating this uninvited involvement that I could not say exactly what happened or how it happened. The space in front of me exploded into a whirling mass of noise and body parts. One moment later this instant storm had swiftly moved into the nearby bathroom. I could make out two female voices hurling insults and epithets and bodies stumbling or being pushed around in a confined space.<br /><br />I looked at the other people in the room with me. They weren’t paying attention to what was happening in the bathroom; they were all watching me as if I was the prime mover of this drama. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363258582638505618" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMU4wLNIOL8cJCgzaPNpfacYo6CRilGWnD00Au564PAQA6QPEOWlQUu03Q_8ScTpm1WKZBMdmG1gozeXC7rOjKHx9dZSwZFY98utftwb5E9_6yDeVrpW50WzP4PrUlTSKAei6f9cEmIyY/s400/party.jpg" /><br />Sheepishly I held out my hands and shrugged my shoulders. As discreetly as possible I edged out of the room, into the kitchen.<br /><br />Epithets and occasional thuds still emanated from the bathroom. “Sleazy slut” and “two-faced whore” seemed to dominate the loud dispute.<br /><br />Amy, our hostess, joined me in the kitchen and offered a reassuring touch.<br /><br />“Sorry about that, Matt. I understand the family has been having some problems with Michelle. We didn’t expect her here; she never indicated any interest. We’ll just let Jenny take care of it, OK?” She wrapped me in a comforting hug, and for a moment I thought of the closeness we never did have together.<br /><br />We stood there pretending to make conversation, but both of us were intent on the developments in the bathroom as we could hear and interpret them. The voices subsided to an occasional murmur. No one from the front of the house came back to the kitchen. I made drinks for both Amy and myself. Slowly things turned back to near normal. The two sisters vacated the bathroom. Amy led me back to the living room where the party continued, although slightly muted. Michelle (or Mickey as she had introduced herself to me) slouched on a corner of the sofa; most of the others tried to avoid her. Jenny, as the birthday girl, tried to be cheerful but her sister continued to glower at her.<br /><br />Jenny seemed to be paying more attention to me than would be usual. I thought that she was either staking her claim to me in face of the competition or she was protecting me from the devious schemes her sister might have concocted, always within arm’s length.<br /><br />She got the chance to get me alone in the kitchen and apologized for her sister’s behavior. She had called home, learned that her father had thrown Michelle out of the house again, promised her mother to look after her sister for a day or so, until her father’s temper cooled.<br /><br />“I’ll do my best to keep her out of your hair, Matt.” Neither of us needed to mention the it was my pants she wanted to get into, not my hair.<br /><br />I spent the rest of the evening with Jenny. Dancing with Jenny when she wanted to dance. Hanging on Jenny’s arm when she was chatting with others. Helping Jenny bring food out of the kitchen, provide drinks for the guests who requested them. Only once, as far as I remember, was I out of her sight. She did not take me into the bathroom with her.<br /><br />Those two minutes were an eye opener. No sooner had Mickey realized her sister was absent than she was on her feet and moving toward me, smiling. She softly took me by the arm.<br /><br />“Don’t believe everything my sister might say about me. You know there’s always another side to every story. No matter what she says, I wouldn’t do anything to harm you. I like you.”<br /><br />She stayed away from direct contact, just gazing into my eyes and never glancing away. She touched me, her fingers running along my wrist, my fingers, the palm of my hand. It was so suggestively erotic, I shivered.<br /><br />Suddenly Mickey slipped back to her previous perch and the temperature in the room seemed to turn cooler. Jenny was back and had seen.<br /><br />The party began to break up soon after that. I was beside Jenny as she wished people goodnight and offered her thanks. I made noises to leave also but Jenny would hear none of it. During a pause in the departures, she approached her sister and they talked, keeping their voices down. Jenny returned and we bade the last few goodnight.<br /><br />“You’re not going home, you’re staying,” she told me. “Here. With me. Tonight. Michelle is staying in Loretta’s room. You’re sleeping with me.”<br /><br />Now I could see no good reason why I shouldn’t go. I’d had a few drinks but not enough to impair. I tried to protest.<br /><br />Jenny would have none of it. She glared at me, with a slight nod in Mickey’s direction. I got the idea. She was afraid that if I left, her sister would find a way to leave and corner me if for no other reason than to get back at Jenny. Thus the invitation to her bed. I suppose. I hadn’t expected anything to come from this evening anyway.<br /><br />I spent time in the kitchen, helping Amy clean up. We were quiet enough to hear Jenny forcefully explain the arrangements with her sister, but not the words used. I can only imagine.<br /><br />“He’s mine. He’s in my bed tonight. You had better settle in Loretta’s room and stay there. Keep your fucking hands off Matt. And try to keep your dirty mind off him, too.” At least words to that effect. With some sort of threat, real or implied.<br /><br />When that deal had been settled to her satisfaction, she came into the kitchen to direct me. I could sense the cold anger tight under her outward appearance.<br /><br />“Use the bathroom while it’s free. The flowered towel is for guests. Sorry we have nothing you can sleep in, nothing suitable that fits. I’ll be with you when I can.”<br /><br />Somehow, it didn’t sound promising. I felt that my chances to get laid had just plummeted from a certainty to less than one in twenty. I got ready and crawled into her bed. I considered keeping my underwear on, but didn’t. I did leave the bedside lamp on.<br /><br />The ten or more minutes I waited for her didn’t do one little thing to ease the turmoil in my mind. I seemed to be caught in a power struggle between the two sisters.<br /><br />* * *<br />I lay on my back and tried to relax. With my eyes closed, palms flat on the mattress, I breathed slowly and evenly, willing all turmoil to leave my mind and body. I seemed to be succeeding until I felt the bed tremble with little shakes. She was sobbing silently.<br /><br />I reached out a hand toward her. It came to rest on her hip, below the elbow held snug against her waist. All that did was prove she wasn’t wearing a nightgown of any sort. Or panties.<br /><br />“Don’t touch me,” she hissed.<br /><br />In the dark I turned onto my side facing her. There was probably a foot and a half of space between us, like spoons in separate compartments in the same drawer. I took my hand away and began to stroke her gently along the back of her neck and on her shoulder, barely touching her.<br /><br />“Stop it. I said don’t touch me.”<br /><br />“Sometimes we need to be touched, like a lonely kitten needs to be petted, like a child needs to be hugged. It expresses concern and care much more than any words can,” I murmured.<br /><br />I continued to run my fingertips over the muscles and tendons knotted in her neck and shoulder, a gesture that was neither massage nor caress. I felt her breathing become just a little more even. We continued like that for long minutes.<br /><br />I didn’t expect it. She shifted suddenly and wound up snuggled on her side against me, her head on my shoulder, shoulder in my armpit, her body solid against my side. Her small breasts pressed against my ribcage; her upper leg fell between mine. My cock began to rise.<br /><br />Again I began to stroke her neck and shoulder with the thumb and ball on one hand but she shook her head in the dark.<br /><br />“Keep your hands to yourself. Let me do this.”<br /><br />Once more she made a sudden shift and ended with her body covering mine.<br /><br />She pulled the twisted sheets off our bodies and pushed them to the floor with her feet. She slid her hands under my shoulders. Her breasts snuggled between our ribs. Her thighs, knees, and feet rested to the outside of mine. Her pelvis trapped my tumescent cock between our bellies. Her head was raised over mine; in the dark I could not see her face.<br /><br />“Matt. I am going to fuck you. I need to fuck you.”<br /><br />With her face against the side of mine and our chests still pressed together, she shifted onto her knees. The move freed my cock to grow to even greater stiffness. Her lips found mine. Her tongue forced its way between my lips, then backed away.<br /><br />“Just let me do it all, O. K? Just me.”<br /><br />Her right hand snaked down below our waists and grabbed my hard cock. She slowly slid it along the outside of her labia, in the creases between her pussy and her thighs. Then she spread her legs wider and brought it back along the inside. I could feel the softness of the inner lips and the moisture she was beginning to secrete. She pushed the head of my cock against her still-hooded clitoris, shivered for a moment, then aimed and pushed herself down over my cock. It entered smoothly, as if coming home. We both released breath we hadn’t realized we were holding.<br /><br />“Ah,” she said. “Mmmmm. Don’t move.”<br /><br />I felt her insides contract around me, release and contract again. For an instant I was reminded of milking machines on my grandfather’s farm when I was a kid and wondered if there were special muscles to use, to develop to manage this. I tried to wrap my arms around her and hold her close. She pushed her body off mine, held herself almost horizontal, parallel to me. Her hands were planted firm on the mattress at my shoulders; her knees were spread wider than my hips. The only place, the only way we were connected was through my cock and her pussy. She hunched her hips up and down in a steady manner, as if working toward an end.<br /><br />I reached for her arms, to run my hands up to her chest to hold and fondle her breasts. She stopped all movement.<br /><br />“Stop. I don’t want you to touch me while I fuck you.”<br /><br />I realized that this was her show, that she was doing this while keeping any emotion under strict control, denying any intimacy to the act. I could either lie back and try to remain as clinically uninvolved as she was or turn this into a mass of anger, spite, hatred and overblown emotion with which neither one of us was prepared to deal. So, I sacrificed what little pride I retained for her welfare.<br /><br />With only minimal contact, we fucked. Or, rather, she fucked me. I lay there rigid with my arms spread and my legs together tight. She was poised over me on four points, hands and knees. The only motion, unseen in the dark room, was the ever quickening hunching of her pussy on the tip of my cock.<br /><br />I heard her gasp, then felt the ring of the entrance to her vagina tighten around my cock. Most of it remained outside her immediate grasp but it felt as if the head was being twisted and tickled by a hundred little fingers. She whimpered as the quivering became a fierce and almost violent pulsing that seemed to rack her whole body. I couldn’t see what was happening and automatically I reached to enfold her, to pull her closer into me.<br /><br />Wrong idea. I think she cursed. I know she rolled frantically off the bed. I do not know if the blow she sent my way was aimed nor whether, if so, it was aimed at my head or my cock. An unseen but vicious karate chop caught me in the solar plexus. I lost my breath, any concern for her, all interest in sex for the time being.<br /><br />When I got myself together I was alone and still in the dark in a silent house. I felt around to gather up the bed clothes, tried to ignore the brick of pain in my gut, and yearned for sleep. It finally came.<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />I almost didn’t believe the way I woke the next morning. A solemn Jenny was sitting on the side of the bed, primly covered in a voluminous terry cloth robe. I don’t know what time it was; light was streaming through the window so I quickly closed my eyes again. I smelled coffee and breakfast.<br /><br />“Do you have to be anywhere early this morning, Matt? If you want to get up and have breakfast, I’ll drive you to work or whatever.”<br /><br />I’m a teaching assistant at the college; I didn’t have anything pressing until noon today, thank God. I muttered something and tried to bury myself in non-existent covers. I felt her get off the bed and walk to the door.<br /><br />“Matt? I’m sorry for last night. I shouldn’t let Michelle get to me that way.”<br /><br />I grunted again. Of course I didn’t hold her responsible for her sister’s actions. But still.<br /><br />“And to take it out on you when you were trying to be nice and understanding and everything.”<br /><br />I didn’t hear her come back again. Suddenly I felt her slide onto the bed, stretch out beside me, onto me. She had removed the robe. She was naked. I tried to open my eyes.<br /><br />“I locked the bedroom door. Let me make it up to you.”<br /><br />She reached down and took my cock in her hand. The morning light lay warm on her back as she bent over me and took it into her mouth. Suddenly I was awake and not dreaming. I held her head with one hand, slipped the other under her waist and felt for her breasts, then moved to her pussy. She moaned and I felt the vibration of her voice around my cock. It was beginning to throb.<br /><br />“Jenny. Jenny, please?”<br /><br />She let my cock slip from between her lips, raised her head and looked at me. She read the request in my eyes and voice.<br /><br />“Oh. You want to fuck. For real this time. OK.”<br /><br />She sat up and swung one leg over me so that she was astride me. Even though she hadn’t been visible last night, the position reminded me of that strange time. Painfully, I might add.<br /><br />“No, Jenny. May I, this time?”<br /><br />I don’t know if she blushed at those words. I was too busy standing up from the bed and helping her arrange herself on her back. My cock stood out at right angles and she reached for it to insert it into her pussy.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLFxljqJXEmciStAOBclWGwSXFswlPIKIRfACs1hbxG4Xbdr20gmTmwNo1uCipM18ei5jxNYLXDvIvOL1ZVKBVahpzjSNNyZ9Uf7Fg3Ux02aEIcHz0uWUYzPK6txYPuQk9tXdpzSEGvM4/s1600-h/fuck.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 370px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363260219035161058" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLFxljqJXEmciStAOBclWGwSXFswlPIKIRfACs1hbxG4Xbdr20gmTmwNo1uCipM18ei5jxNYLXDvIvOL1ZVKBVahpzjSNNyZ9Uf7Fg3Ux02aEIcHz0uWUYzPK6txYPuQk9tXdpzSEGvM4/s400/fuck.jpg" /></a><br />“Let me do it.” This time the words were mine.<br /><br />She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, tucked her hands under her head, raised her knees high and wide. I climbed up sitting back on my heels between them, cock in hand, watching the rise and fall of her tummy, the easy lift and fall of her breasts and her chest. When she realized nothing was happening, she opened her eyes questioningly.<br /><br />I leaned over her. I slid one hand under her shoulders. With the other I held my stiff cock, stroking her labia with it. I pressed my chest down against her breasts. And then I kissed her.<br /><br />I’m sure she didn’t expect that. At least she didn’t bite my tongue although in reflex she might have. She moaned and met my invading tongue with her own, put her hands at my side, and half-heartedly tried to push me away. I changed my grip on her.<br /><br />Forget about my cock for a few minutes, I had some serious tormenting to do first. One hand far under her back holding her breasts mashed to my chest. One leg between hers, the other slung over her thigh. The other hand covering and cupping her pussy, held in place by the pressure of my thigh. As close to helpless and in my grip as I could get her.<br /><br />I began to play small games with her. I pulled my tongue out of her mouth and when she moaned in complaint, nipped her lower lip. Then mashed my mouth down on hers again. With no tongue.<br /><br />She tried to twist away from me. I forced my full weight on her chest with assistance from my legs, twisted and rasped my chest hair against the erect and sensitive nipples that tried to puncture me with their rigidity. That hand cupping her pussy was not one of caressing fingers. It clamped down hard, squeezing the labia together. Uncomfortable? Definitely. Painful? I hoped not but nothing was certain. Exciting? Arousing? I thought maybe. My cock lay hard and throbbing in the groove of her pelvis, trapped between our bodies.<br /><br />The flesh cupped by my hand was changing, and not slowly. I thought I could feel her outer labia thicken with arousal, the inner labia push out against my palm, becoming hot and wet. The short pubic hair bristled on my fingers as her hips raised off the bed, pushing up, trying to open up and draw my fingers into her cunt.<br /><br />The way I held her left her almost immobile. She began to sob in frustration. I placed my mouth next to her ear.<br /><br />“This will be more enjoyable if you lie still, let me do the work, all the work. Promise?”<br /><br />I moved and pressed my lips softly to hers. She nodded and I could feel her whole body begin to relax underneath me. I released her, got up and stood beside the bed looking down at her. Almost automatically her hands moved to cover her breasts.<br /><br />“No, Jenny. Let me see you, please.”<br /><br />Her eyes were drawn down to my cock standing out proudly from my body. I spread her knees, clambered onto the bed and settled between them. Her pussy was beautiful. As I had surmised, the outer labia were engorged and a dusky red; the inner, a darker color, had folded outward like the petals of a flower. Moisture was seeping between them, soaking the pubic hair lying short and flat against her groin. Neat. Trimmed but not shaved.<br /><br />The rest of her body was unexceptional. A little padding on the hipbones, a little curve at the belly. Moderate size breasts. I leaned over her to take them in my hands, to feel them and measure them. My cock brushed against her pussy; I lifted to make sure it didn’t go in. I let it rest against her pubis at the top of her cunt where the clitoris hid. No pressure.<br /><br />My hands were full of her breasts. Even before my touch the nipples had begun to harden, the areolas to wrinkle. I brought both thumbs and both forefingers to my mouth to wet them, then grasped the nipples. Gently I squeezed. She sucked in a breath, held it, tried to writhe out of my grip. I thought of bending down to take them between my teeth, decided I would rather watch her face. I sat back and pulled her breasts straight up by the nipples. When she gasped, I released them.<br /><br />I moved down her torso to her belly button, rimmed it with my tongue and blew on it. The result was part quiver, part giggle. I dragged my tongue down toward her pussy. In expectation, she opened her legs wider, hunched her lower abdomen toward me.<br /><br />I changed tactics. I grabbed a buttock in each hand and sank my stiff and aching cock into her wide open cunt, hard and deep with a single thrust. Without any pause, I began to fuck her, in and out like a bunny. The instant rapid movement seemed to confuse her. She tried to push me off, to pull me into her, to time her moves to mine. Before a routine was established, I exploded in orgasm, one that had been building since her little sister rubbed her almost naked body up against me the evening before. I tried to pierce her, to screw her to the mattress beneath us. Before she could come, I was finished and withdrew.<br /><br />I didn’t pause for any touchie-feelie. I quickly got out of the bed, held up her robe.<br /><br />“You’d better get moving. You’ll be late. A quick shower won’t hurt.”<br /><br />She glanced at the alarm clock, slid out of bed and into the robe.<br /><br />“You’re quite the bastard, aren’t you, Matt.”<br /><br />She disappeared, headed for the bathroom. I pulled the covers back on the bed, curled up under them. The smell of sex hung in the room. Just as I was dozing off, I heard the shower start. I wondered if she was going to take care of herself.<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />When I awoke again, the bedside clock said nearly ten so I got up. I made use of the bathroom facilities. The coffee remaining in the kitchen looked dark and bitter so I poured it out, found some instant and filled the kettle. There was a note on the fridge.<br /><br />“Matt: I’m taking Michelle home, then to school, on my way to work. Help yourself to whatever you can find for breakfast. Will talk to you later. Jen.”<br /><br />I found some muesli in the cupboard and helped myself. Someone had left most of the morning paper on the counter so I amused myself as I ate. I heard no one come in.<br /><br />I was rinsing my breakfast dishes and putting them in the dishwasher when two arms grabbed me around the waist from behind. A young, hard body pressed against me.<br /><br />“You fucked my sister this morning didn’t you. I could tell. Tell me, how was she?”<br /><br />“Michelle!”<br /><br />“Mickey. So answer the question. Did she give you a blow job? Want to try one of mine? My blow job is much better than hers. You wouldn’t be the first to admit it.”<br /><br />“You. Aren’t you supposed to be at school? Didn’t Jenny … ?”<br /><br />“Sure. In the front and right out the side. So, wanna finish what we started last night?”<br /><br />Before I could berate her, before I could even turn around in the grip of her arms, her fingers had undone my belt and the button on my pants. I tried to twist away as I reached for a towel to dry my hands, but her fingers had my zipper down. As I finally found the space to turn she fished in my shorts and hauled out my cock. As my pants bunched between my knees and my ankles, I reached for her to push her away. She, however, was already on her knees with my cock in her mouth, hanging on tight around my thighs. And it was getting hard. Fast.<br /><br />I swear to myself that if I had put some effort into getting away, it wouldn’t have made any difference. I would have fallen on my face or my ass. With a small gagging, my cock was buried into the top of her throat. One hand snaked between my legs from the back to fondle my balls. The other grasped the base of my cock as she slowly let it slip through her mouth and over her tongue.<br /><br />I felt the difference instantly; it was more than technique. Her lips covered the teeth as she sucked and pulled me out of the depths, but there was something alien about the tongue as my cock slid along it. A growth of some sort.<br /><br />Suddenly all external movement stopped. Her hand held my scrotum firmly; the other hand loosely surrounded the bottom half of my cock. Her lips had withdrawn and I could feel the edges of her teeth holding firm just beyond the corona of the head of my cock. And in the cavern of her mouth her tongue was playing a sweet seductive game with my glans. Round and round clockwise. Round and round counterclockwise. The tip of her tongue tapped or tickled the head, using that chunk of extra to fantastic effect. It scraped the most sensitive frenum. I made noises, a cry, a sob, a moan, or some combination of them all.<br /><br />I hadn’t had time to think before everything changed drastically. Her mouth sucked hard and twisted my probing cock. Her hand became tight and jacked me furiously. Then she let go my balls and buried a finger deep in my ass. I think I screamed. I came in the back of her throat. And came.<br /><br />And then some. She sucked and she swallowed. I stood and trembled.<br /><br />Before I could begin to gather myself together, she was on her feet straightening out her clothing. She grinned at my face.<br /><br />“Told you, didn’t I? When you want the best, you’ll know where to come,”<br /><br />She giggled at her own pun even though it seemed to me that she’d used it before, like advertising. She stuck out her tongue at me.<br /><br />The barbell stud through her tongue jiggled and winked.<br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 399px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 259px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363256784535635986" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHjjlchQsqnLIh-t0NGR3guUj6odVX33DyEpA1mSoz0-K38qKv2v4lt-SyVMdrHAedld-uCRY8qdnXmajRgDgdAkQbKLcXE-QJrYdWRasqoTAGZYpwCSdEbU7O6dp69h25qcLtDv60t9Q/s400/real-couples-bj.jpg" /><br />Then she was gone. I made my way to the bathroom, cleaned off my poor cock, splashed cold water on my face and neck. I washed my hands. In the kitchen, the clock said ten thirty. Breakfast and a blowjob in little more than half an hour.<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />I didn’t leave a note. I wasn’t sure if I should thank Jenny for the hospitality I hadn’t needed or expected. I thought perhaps a casual mention in the future might be enough.<br /><br />But there was to be no future. Several times I saw Amy again, but was never able to speak to her. The sisters both disappeared, and I have no idea why. But I can not forget them. </div></div>Rumplebearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504112871253308235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3585079584973063785.post-69362775173699990552009-07-26T18:06:00.009-04:002009-07-26T18:49:18.810-04:00Three In The Bed<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivw-ekww66ygVwMgyJ99e-b6aEWrMr5ad8LW_efatteJcz15_V5X3gXUkHVLBJ6nYX01oBimhZDpCyZQqrq4I88Jp6NAMvOCjUBgXLt5a9pIGcRMZ68MM63i9QfmuimNECOCfTWjJCcgc/s1600-h/top.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 309px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362899922827016530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivw-ekww66ygVwMgyJ99e-b6aEWrMr5ad8LW_efatteJcz15_V5X3gXUkHVLBJ6nYX01oBimhZDpCyZQqrq4I88Jp6NAMvOCjUBgXLt5a9pIGcRMZ68MM63i9QfmuimNECOCfTWjJCcgc/s400/top.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br />“Would you fuck Paula if I could arrange it?”<br /><br />The mind of a woman is a strange, convoluted thing, and the question Janna asked seemed to come from another universe. There we were in my bed making love, no, fucking wildly and joyfully. When she sat herself upright on my hard cock, stopped all movement of her body, and looked down on me with her large dark eyes, those were not words I expected to hear.<br /><br />“Would you?”<br /><br />She had me more or less pinned to the mattress. Her knees and thighs gripped my waist, her calves tight against my hips and thighs. My pelvis bore the full weight of her upper body, its protrusion buried to its root among the wet and clasping folds of her cunt. Her hands had come off my shoulders when she raised herself upright and her arms were now folded under her breasts, giving her a stern demeanour.<br /><br />“Huhn?” My vocabulary when surprised by strange comments in mid-fuck is extremely limited. I tried to push myself deeper into her; my immediate concern was to come and make her come with me. All my concentration was on the matter at hand, at my groin rather, and not on some fanciful possible future.<br /><br />She didn’t move the slightest bit. Janna is taller than me but not heavier. However at this moment she loomed over me like a great dark native goddess, unruly black hair on her shoulders, bosom thrust forward, sparks of passion in her deep brown eyes.<br /><br />“Paula. You know, the woman I live with.”<br /><br />Of course I was aware of Janna’s living arrangements. It’s not often a guy has an intimate association with a woman living in a lesbian relationship with another woman. I had never seen or met Janna’s housemate or partner. Our sexual activities were limited to my place or neutral spaces we discovered together.<br /><br />“Come on, Tom. Answer me. Now.” A long finger reached down and poked my breastbone.<br /><br />“O K. Whatever you say,” I groaned.<br /><br />She grinned like a satisfied tiger and suddenly that warm, wet pussy surrounding my cock became a throbbing grip of tight muscle. In only seconds I came. It felt as if all my insides were being pulled out through my pulsing cock. I don’t know how she moved so quickly but in a flash she was covering me completely: her feet against mine, her hard nipples digging into my chest, her teeth pulling at my earlobe. And always her pubic bone, slamming against mine as her body convulsed into its own climax. I moaned as I pulled her tighter to me. Her response was a series of low animal growls. Then the strain of sexual tension slowly subsided and we lay wrapped up in each other’s bodies.<br /><br />She stretched out beside me, her body long and lean against me and her head on my shoulder. Often her mouth would reach toward mine for a kiss and I reveled in the sense of her body against mine. I watched my pale hand stroke the smooth dark cinnamon skin of her flank and ribcage, enjoying the weight of her breast in my hand. I tried to explore the skin in the crook of her elbow and at her wrist, kiss her smooth palm, take her fingers into my mouth and suckle. When I pressed my thigh against the still moist hair around her cunt, she moved aside a little.<br /><br />“So you’ll do it for me if I arrange it? With Paula?”<br /><br />“I suppose so, for you. But what brought that on? I’ve never met the lady and I don’t think she has seen me. Besides, you gave me to understand that she was an ardent lesbian, that if she never had to deal with a man again in this life it would still be too soon. What happened?”<br /><br />“You probably don’t know or understand, but she’s been married. Her husband treated her like shit, stomped all over her. She found a supportive women’s group. They helped her get a divorce, helped her through it. She’s been working for feminist causes ever since. She stayed celibate until she became involved with a lesbian co-worker. That broke up a few months ago and she invited me to share her home. The sex was a surprise to her; she didn’t know I went both ways. But she has never slept with a man since her divorce.”<br /><br />“So what’s this all about? Have you discussed this or did she ask questions?”<br /><br />“Not really. We were cuddling in bed the other night and I was telling her all about you. Your gentleness and caring, how you don’t ever ignore your partner’s needs or desires. And of course your best feature.” Her fingers curled around my flaccid cock, squeezing it gently until it stirred and began to grow in her hand. “After describing your cock in detail and exactly what it does to me, makes me feel, I found she was wet! She claimed the tone of my voice turned her on but I’ll bet it was more than that. I believe she wants to try a man but is afraid. Then again, if it’s you, I can be there to support her. Besides, the idea turns me on. Watching you and her. Maybe both of us doing her. Even the two of us doing you! What do you think of that possibility?” By this time I was hard as a rock again. Janna didn’t wait for any other response. She twisted round in the bed and took me deep into her mouth, bobbing slowly and rhythmically up and down on the current center of our universe.<br /><br /><br />Dinner several evenings later at the house Paula and Janna shared was awkward to say the least, even if Janna had prepared the way. I arrived alone. Janna met me at the door in a modest, pale yellow dress that displayed her form but left only her arms and throat bare. I don’t know what I had expected, perhaps something frilly or almost non-existent, given the supposed intent of the evening. Her hair was tucked back on the one side by a barrette; the other side hung loose and straight. She brought me into the living room and formally introduced me to her housemate.<br /><br />Paula must have been in her mid-forties, at least twenty years older than Janna and older than I had imagined. She was conservatively dressed in a tailored suit; her hair was a mousy dark blonde, cut short and worn unadorned. I nevertheless found it hard to see her as a confirmed lesbian and passionate feminist.<br /><br />The dinner seemed a cool affair. Paula and I were seated opposite each other; Janna traveled back and forth to the kitchen and served each course, pausing only to eat and join in the conversation. The talk over dinner concerned safe topics: my work, Janna’s work, Paula’s work, opinions and generalities on current affairs and community happenings. The only time there might have been a slight hint of sex was when Paula asked me how Janna and I had met. I believe it was to compare my version with what she had heard from Janna. The whole experience left me feeling like a teenager having to impress the parent of the girl that he wanted to date.<br /><br />After dinner Janna banished us to the living room with a brandy for me and a glass of a sweet red wine for Paula. Awkwardly we tried to continue our conversation while trying to take some measurement of the other person’s personality. Janna paused in her chores, put a soft jazz recording in the CD player and ordered us to dance before disappearing into the kitchen again. I automatically played the gentleman and asked Paula formally for a dance. She stood and let me move her around the small open space on the floor. She kept a prim and proper distance between us; when I slid a hand down from her waist to her ass to pull her closer she stiffened in my arms. If Janna thought this would turn either one of us on, it wasn’t working.<br /><br />“Jesus, Paula. You call that dancing? At least look as if you are enjoying it. Move closer to him, he won’t bite. I guarantee it.” Janna appeared in the doorway wiping her hands on a towel. “Here, I’ll show you.” She stepped in behind Paula and encircled both our waists with her long arms. She rested her head on Paula’s shoulder, whispered in her ear, “like this,” and with her pelvis ground Paula’s crotch against mine for several long, intense minutes. My tool responded like a soldier to a familiar command.<br /><br />Then Janna excused herself to go to the bathroom and Paula and I reseated ourselves near our drinks. Her face was flushed and her hair a little disarranged. She didn’t seem quite so foreboding now, a little less stiff, more human. She never looked straight at me even when I twisted slightly so I could adjust myself in my pants. We didn’t speak but sipped our drinks, waiting for Janna to return and take charge, I guess.<br /><br />Janna’s return broke the awkward silence. She had let her hair loose and taken off her shoes. Her yellow dress was no longer fully fastened at the back and hung down slightly on her bosom. “Here, I’ll show you how to dance with a man. Take of your shoes, Tom.” I did and she grabbed me, pulled me in close. With one hand pulling my ass into her and the other holding my back while she pressed her breasts against my chest, she moved sinuously to the music, not moving at all on the floor. I followed her lead, rubbing myself into her body, both hands on the cheeks of her ass and appreciating every movement of those smooth muscles. I felt her nipples harden through my shirt and realized she must have removed her bra in the bathroom. My cock began to cause me discomfort in the tight confines of my slacks. Janna must have felt it because she stopped, slid a hand under the waistband, adjusted my cock so that it lay pointing straight up against my lower abdomen, and instantly resumed her movement.<br /><br />“A man has a cock,” she instructed Paula over my shoulder, “so use it even when only dancing. Don’t let him be the only one to enjoy it.” She stopped all her gyrations except to move her groin up and down against my evident erection. It felt like fucking through our clothes. I can only imagine what it looked like to Paula.<br /><br />When the tune was over and another one began, Janna let go and stepped away.<br />Wow. You know what you do to me, Tom? Here, feel.” With one hand she pulled the skirt of her dress up over her hips; the other grabbed mine and pressed it against her groin. She must also have removed her panties. Through the soft hair over her cunt I could feel the heat and the moisture. I wanted to be naked, I wanted her to be naked, but this wasn’t my place and Janna was running the show. Even so, her next move surprised me.<br /><br />“OK, Paula. I’ve shown you how. I even got him all hot and hard for you. Dance with him. Loosen up that tight ass of yours. If you can do it with me, you can do it with him.”<br /><br />She pulled Paula out of her chair and pushed her into my arms. Instinctively I pulled her close and this time she didn’t fight the proximity. At first we swayed in the classic position. Then I enfolded her in both my arms, holding her delicately against my body. My left hand rested between her shoulder blades where her bra clasped together. Her breasts felt firm against my chest. My right hand this time was allowed to move down from her waist. Gently I held her against me, not pressing but knowing she could feel my cock hard against her. We moved slowly together, far removed from the urgent gyrations that had driven Janna and me, but learning the feel and movement of our bodies. I liked what I was experiencing. I hoped she felt the same.<br /><br />A noisy sigh from the sofa behind me interrupted our trance and we quickly stepped apart. Janna had stripped off her dress and was sitting gloriously naked with her knees spread wide, her left hand tweaking the nipples of her breasts one after the other, the right cupping her dark-haired cunt with the middle finger stroking between her labia.<br /><br />“Come on, you two. I’m way ahead of you. Get naked.”<br /><br />I stood there uncomfortably, not knowing what to do, what she expected of me. I certainly wasn’t going to make a sudden move on Paula, come on with any display of force. Paula quickly moved away, reached for her wine and took a good swallow. I’m afraid she was a little embarrassed. A lot, perhaps. Janna bounced up from the sofa, turned me to face Paula, and began to remove my shirt from behind me.<br /><br />“Watch me strip him.” She had my shirt unbuttoned and pulled it off my shoulders, down my arms. “Do you like that flat chest? Watch these nipples, they get so hard when I play with them.” She tweaked each of my nipples with a fingernail. As usual, they contracted and became as hard as little pebbles. Her hands moved down and worked at my belt and zipper. My trousers slipped to the floor. “Step out of them and take off your socks.” I stood there with an erection tenting out the front of my boxers, threatening to slip out of the fly. “Paula. Look. This is what it’s all about.” And she yanked the flimsy things down to my ankles, left me on display, naked with my cock bobbing in the space between me and Paula. Discomfited, I watched her face. She was blushing a little but trying to hide it behind her hands holding her wine glass. Her eyes, I noticed, were fixed on my twitching dick. Janna stood up behind me and pressing herself against my back, brought her hands around to fondle my cock. One hand cupped my balls; the fingers of the other softly moved the skin up and down the length of my erection.<br /><br />“OK,” she said. “That’s two of us naked. Your turn.”<br /><br />Paula began to protest but before she could say much Janna gave her an ultimatum.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJZHy9yaKUez-tggtG11HRuincycmkuPcefT9pNBBM0D7cUNlZ-bmjs7kIOLKqPerDEy0NX6ET9eT3wK2mJaNz9mcz7JwyslL5i1Cj7sA7b0uWoyTas0SoG5FJVQbdOfU5MCo3C56yf2A/s1600-h/sofa.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 265px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362897159127254482" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJZHy9yaKUez-tggtG11HRuincycmkuPcefT9pNBBM0D7cUNlZ-bmjs7kIOLKqPerDEy0NX6ET9eT3wK2mJaNz9mcz7JwyslL5i1Cj7sA7b0uWoyTas0SoG5FJVQbdOfU5MCo3C56yf2A/s400/sofa.jpg" /></a> I glanced toward Janna who was sitting erect in a chair turned with its back toward the dressing table. Her knees were open wide and her pelvis thrust forward on the seat. The fingers of her left hand were tugging rhythmically at her pubic hair. Those of her right hand had disappeared into her cunt and I saw her thumb try to manipulate her evasive clit. She was watching us intently. “Come on, you two. Put some life into it. Fucking is supposed to be fun.”<br /><br />Paula increased the speed of her humping motion and I slid my hands down past her waist until I was gripping both cheeks of her ass. I began to move in concert with her, raising my ass off the bed every time she pushed herself down on my prick I felt her protruding clit scrape against my pubic bone, a hard bean-like nub against the softness of the distended lips of her pussy. I dug my fingers into her buttocks and with a tight circular motion ground myself against it, pushing my straining cock as far up her cunt as it could get. Her breath came in uncontrollable pants and then she went wild, crying and shuddering as her body convulsed. She pressed her upper body against me, her nipples scraping my chest. Under my shoulders her fingernails dug into my back as if she was trying to rip my skin off. I heard a long sigh of satisfaction come from Janna’s direction. “That’s more like it!” Her voice was husky with her own passion. “Now that’s what I call fucking beautiful! I knew you two would be good together.” I ignored Janna, more intent on soothing the emotional storm wracking the woman weeping in my arms. “Hush,” I told her. “That was marvelous. Do you want to roll over on your back? I didn’t come yet.”<br /><br />“I’m sorry,” she sobbed “I was so wrapped up in my own orgasm. It was so intense.”<br /><br />“That’s alright. So was I. And I felt every moment of your passion.” My prick, still hard as a rock and aching for relief, twitched and jerked in the deepest part of her. As I rolled us over gently so as not to dislodge myself, she wrapped her legs around my thighs; her arms around my shoulders held me tightly against her chest. “Go slow and easy,” she whispered. “I think I’m going to be sore down there.”<br /><br />I moved slowly and carefully in her, setting a rhythm to which she did not need to respond. As we gloried in the slippery union of our bodies , I felt Janna settle on the bed beside us, could smell the distinct scent of her pussy. Paula paid no attention to her lover, didn’t seem aware that she was even in the room she was so wrapped up in the interaction of her body and mine. I hoped Janna didn’t feel jealous or excluded. After all, this was her idea. It seemed to have paid off royally.<br /><br />Janna curled her knees up against her chest and rested her head in the small of my slowly pumping back. She stroked Paula’s cheek and jaw, then ran her fingernails down my backbone. “Give it to her good, Tom!” She slapped my ass. The shock of her action drove my cock so deep I could feel Paula’s cervix clasping at the tip of my prick. This time we came together in long pulsing waves as our stiff bodies were welded together with the heat. My throbbing cock pumped its load and I was unable to move. The three of us lay there together, drained. Janna spoke for us all. “Wow!”<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd5loCvri2nM8YbrJtJV4UTxR4t3WpD0ndqkY-T-Qp6xZVRqwxloKYgdCsdt_hzuszYgEJ-y7YowLkMKgDZcQIEzkC4Mle7c2yjoSG_-oLFS4GMQfm8Aw1Cff9_dtB71MbhmejYjwOBw0/s1600-h/bed.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 263px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362904304926498290" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd5loCvri2nM8YbrJtJV4UTxR4t3WpD0ndqkY-T-Qp6xZVRqwxloKYgdCsdt_hzuszYgEJ-y7YowLkMKgDZcQIEzkC4Mle7c2yjoSG_-oLFS4GMQfm8Aw1Cff9_dtB71MbhmejYjwOBw0/s400/bed.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Afterwards, we stretched out together on the bed, still naked but for the sheet pulled up over us, looking at the ceiling and thinking our own thoughts. At least, Paula and I were. Janna’s mouth was running almost as fast as her mind, talking a mile a minute about how she had felt watching us get laid. Our bodies were barely touching each other but Janna kept squirming as she talked about how she had devised the idea of her two best friends getting it on together, how she really had to argue to get her lesbian partner to even consider it. She had left me for last. She knew she could control my sexual activities, but had still schemed for the perfect moment to ask me, a moment when she knew I wouldn’t deny her anything. She sat up and reached over me to poke Paula with a finger to get her attention. Like oversized chocolates heavy with cream filling, her tits hung over my face. I felt too lethargic to reach up with my mouth to sample them. God knows I wanted to.<br /><br />“Didn’t I tell you Tom was a great fuck, how he instinctively knows what to do for you when you need it? And I wasn’t lying about his cock, was I. It’s long enough to touch all those places you think you can only find with a supple rubber cock, but the real thing is so much better. So much more alive.” Paula smiled but didn’t open her eyes, absorbed in her own feelings and preoccupations until Janna pulled the sheet away. Instinctively, her hands covered her naked pussy and her thighs were drawn up together. My shriveled dick shrank even further at the exposure.<br /><br />“OK, honey. It’s my turn with him. Do you want to watch or are you just going to lie there with your eyes shut?”<br /><br />“But didn’t you, … you know, before?”<br /><br />“Of course not. He had it stuck in me but that wasn’t for us. That was just to get you hot and horny. While you had a screaming fuck, all I got was a tickle from my finger.”<br /><br />Paula’s eyes opened. “But can he, again, so soon after?” A look of astonishment crossed her face, as if the idea of a man coming more than once in an encounter was foreign to her thinking. I wondered if she had ever watched the prodigious performances of porn stars, or if she thought such scenes were rigged in some way. I was usually good for several, though not of equal force and intensity of course.<br /><br />“Sure he can. You didn’t know? Just watch me.”<br /><br />Janna turned, placed her head on my upper thigh, stretched her legs up beyond my head and gently closed her mouth around the wilted remains of my erection. I shifted a little, not only to make it easier for her but also so I could have access to her cunt in front of my face. She began to suck on my dick, slowly, like a contented infant at a mother’s breast. I spread her thighs and she cocked her leg up so I had access to her wet and hairy pussy. I sensed more than felt Paula sit up beside us, interested in what we were doing to each other. Tenderly I ran a finger all around Janna’s dark pouting labia, spreading her secretions evenly from front to back. I licked her juices from my fingers, then moved my head closer to softly blow into her gaping cunt. I felt a surge of power as my cock reared and stiffened in her mouth, spurred on by the intensity of her lips and tongue. I reached one hand behind her, tapped at her puckered asshole with a moist fingertip.<br /><br />“Nnnhnn.” She removed her mouth from my aching cock. “Not there, Tom. We’re still doing this for Paula. He’s going to fuck me, honey, while you watch. How do you want us to do it?”<br /><br />There was a short pause. “From behind? Doggy style?”<br /><br />“Sure. That’s the way you like it best, isn’t it?” She turned over onto her knees and elbows, her ass higher than her shoulders. She took Paula’s hand in hers. “Watch him. He does this with such lovely long smooth strokes! Alright, Tom. You know where to put it. Slide it on home for me, babe.” I clambered up behind her, nudging her thighs a little wider with my knees and wriggling my stiff cock against her open pussy lips. I pressed my chest to her back, letting her take much of my weight while my hands reached around to manipulate our sex. My left hand held her cunt open; my right guided my cock so that the head was right at the vaginal opening. ”That’s it, Tom. Now.” With one hard stroke I drove my cock home and kept it there. Under my hands I could feel the shiver in her belly. Her firm butt quivered as my thighs held the pressure against it. Paula had slipped from the bed and was kneeling beside it, her eyes glued to the juncture of our bodies from a vantage just beside Janna’s swaying tits.<br /><br />“OK now, Tom, fuck me.”<br /><br />I raised myself up behind her, one hand at her waist while the other pushed her chest closer to the mattress so my cock would have smoother access. Paula had moved closer, bringing her face almost directly under Janna’s belly, intent on the close-up of the fuck. With the contrast of the women’s backs and rumps before me, one pale and compact, one dark and lean, I began the ancient pelvic dance of thrust and withdraw. I closed my eyes and lost myself in the slow pulse of the cunt surrounding my cock, of my cock’s autonomous responses. I knew how much Janna loved to be in this state. I wondered what it was doing for Paula, whether she had any sense of what we were experiencing. We continued like that for long moments, our combined heat and passion flowing like tides on a beach rather than crashing with intensity.<br /><br />It was Janna who changed the dynamics with her request. “God. this feels so good, so alive. But I need to come and it’s hard for me this way. Paula, get down there and lick my pussy. Tom’s cock is nowhere near my clit and you know how to find it. Come on, before I’m too tired and frustrated to continue.” She reached out and tried to pull Paula back onto the bed lengthways. The older woman complied without a word and, as Janna hunched her back, slid her head against my thighs. With her arms around Janna’s lower back she raised her face to the pussy above her, searching for her clit with the tip of her tongue. I felt her nose pushed against my slippery cock. Neglected, my balls lay on her forehead. I did my best to hold a steady pace, even when that tongue at times came in contact with my thrusting cock. I felt Janna’s cunt begin to palpitate and my cock pulsed in response. As we came, she pulled Paula’s crotch to her face, forced her thighs apart, and went down on that slick hairless pussy. Three things happened almost simultaneously. My cock slipped from Janna’s cunt as she spread her knees and ground herself down on Paula’s face. Janna’s face tore fiercely into Paula’s crotch. Paula screamed, pinned down by the taller woman’s muscular body. I leaped from the bed, not sure if I wanted to be part of what was happening here. Paula finally freed her head from the encircling thighs. My come and Janna’s juices were smeared all over her face.<br /><br />“You dumb cunt! I told you and told you not to bite me there! Now it’s going to be so painful I’ll have to sit and walk with my legs spread apart for days! It’s not fair!”<br /><br />“Ah, calm down. That immense clit of yours popped up so nice and begged for much more than a little kiss. All I did was oblige. You came, didn’t you?”<br /><br />“See! You’re so selfish you didn’t even notice! You don’t care about me, just about fucking guys. I hate you!” Paula stormed from the room and slammed the bathroom door behind her. Janna rolled over in the bed. “Don’t worry, Tom. She’ll get over it. Come here and cuddle me.”<br /><br />I got back into bed with her. We nuzzled and kissed a bit the way we usually do after a frantic fuck to cool down from those highs we reach. Before I fell asleep I heard Paula leave the bathroom for another part of the house. I guessed she was too angry to come back for her share of the bed.<br /><br /><br />When I woke Janna was fast asleep. Quietly I rose, looked for my clothes and remembered we had left them in the living room. When I entered I found Paula huddled on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket and staring at the all-news channel of the television. I found my clothes still scattered where Janna had discarded them and got dressed before I spoke.<br /><br />“I’m sorry if I was in any way part of the reason you’re angry with her. None of this was my idea. I admire you. I think you’re a fine woman. I’m happy to have met you and gotten to know you, even in these strange circumstances.”<br /><br />She looked at me and produced a sad little smile. “That’s Janna for you. Always so in control. I don’t want to go back to her just yet. Oh, we’ll make up later, we always do. None of this is your fault.”<br /><br />I paused before opening the door to leave. “Good night, Paula.” I didn’t think I had any call to claim that it’s been fun or suggest we should do it again soon.<br /><br />“Good night, Tom. Feel free to drop by again sometime.” She almost sounded as if she meant it, as if it wasn’t some social pleasantry.<br /><br />I smiled as I stepped outside and gently pulled the door closed behind me.<br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ42WAqgF6VYbE68_dKrw2jmyj1HL17b88mG4i-ScWwyToceciPe3Dkb8IP3bCLqYkTximMKShh_aCksp9ryLTpi40pA4pu1SPBX80Oqfmuo2Xv_ZqKSJq6ycX8u5ys6O7YA0JFkCoJkc/s1600-h/end.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 268px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362894104321958338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ42WAqgF6VYbE68_dKrw2jmyj1HL17b88mG4i-ScWwyToceciPe3Dkb8IP3bCLqYkTximMKShh_aCksp9ryLTpi40pA4pu1SPBX80Oqfmuo2Xv_ZqKSJq6ycX8u5ys6O7YA0JFkCoJkc/s400/end.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div>Rumplebearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504112871253308235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3585079584973063785.post-66114325193859978572009-07-23T10:09:00.005-04:002009-07-23T10:29:56.494-04:00Victoria In The Morning<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYp8jHhgVL2Fhmv89nJWhh-2CD44rOBQyzn4K8xpOlKO6n5UEioofAblQQGwMfmM0R_Yzzm-UssX03pP6gV5A_yvrjROn8qS_sa371zs94lv_5wjqyv0wofmfjB1pRAtaGC0HOz_Le7b8/s1600-h/1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 250px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361659927124016898" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYp8jHhgVL2Fhmv89nJWhh-2CD44rOBQyzn4K8xpOlKO6n5UEioofAblQQGwMfmM0R_Yzzm-UssX03pP6gV5A_yvrjROn8qS_sa371zs94lv_5wjqyv0wofmfjB1pRAtaGC0HOz_Le7b8/s400/1.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Victoria woke up surprised that the alarm hadn’t roused her. She glanced at the clock to see if she had overslept but found it was still twenty minutes before her usual time to arise. She stretched and decided to get up anyway, not to doze and wait for the alarm. An extra twenty minutes before going to work might be a blessing. In her bare feet and nightgown she went to the bathroom to answer nature’s early morning call.<br /><br />She returned naked and began her routine of exercises, squats and twists and stretches. Her body reflected in the bedroom mirror still looked trim. She stepped forward to do the self-examination routine on her breasts. On the bed behind her, her mate Calvin slept on. They were working different shifts at the hospital; he worked twelve hours shifts plus eight on call in emergency, while she was staff on a day surgery unit. She hadn’t felt him come to bed only a few hours ago. She hadn’t felt him in at least a week, she realized. No sex, no loving. That was the trouble with shift work. As she watched, he turned from his side to his back. The bed covers slipped to the side and he lay there with his cock on display, soft and vulnerable and so accessible. She felt a swift stab of arousal in her belly, the urge to wake him and fuck until they both came. No, she told herself, that would be unfair to him. He worked exhausting hours. He needed all the sleep he could get. She watched as he shifted in his sleep, as his hand reached down toward his cock. ‘Lenny’ he’d called it when they first began to make love. She smiled at the sight of the rounding belly that he tried so hard to deny, at the beginnings of love handles over his hips. His fingers scratched at his groin and Lenny wagged at her. Quickly she pressed her lips to his shoulder and pulled the covers back up. But tucking it away didn’t ease the throb in her belly. She pushed her feet into a pair of slippers, grabbed her robe, and went to the kitchen.<br /><br />The automatic coffee maker had not yet finished its cycle. She poured a small glass of juice to sip on while she waited. She and Calvin had been living together for almost two years. Maybe the early passion of screwing at any time in any place in the house had passed but life together was still good, very good. So what if he didn’t surprise her by stepping naked and hard into the shower when she wasn’t expecting it. Or that she no longer tried to distract him from watching sports on TV with an impulsive blowjob. They were comfortable together, cared for each other. Damn. Time to take the mind off sex and concentrate on breakfast. She could feel her pussy begin to moisten.<br /><br />The routine preparation of breakfast. Bowl, napkin, spoon. Cereal, fruit, milk. With a long sigh and hiss the coffee maker finished its cycle and she filled her favorite mug. She settled at the kitchen table and pulled the satin robe snug around herself. The brushing of the fabric against her breasts made her nipples harden. That in turn set her pussy tingling. She remembered the time they had used the kitchen table. With her hands gripping the edges, her legs waving in the air, and Calvin’s mouth working its magic against her cunt, she had screamed and heaved and shuddered so deliciously! Remarks about that breakfast had continued for weeks. She could feel the moisture in her vagina increase. To distract herself she tried to imagine what sort of challenge she could expect to face at work. Her mind stuck with her body, refused to go there. It certainly didn’t help when she bit into a juicy berry; the burst of its juice on her tongue instantly reminded her of Calvin exploding in her mouth. She could imagine him upstairs, naked in her bed. Naked and erect in her bed. She shivered.<br /><br />She rinsed the breakfast things and set them in the drain board, then prepared for her shower. Under the soothing spray she attempted to wash away the sexual longings, to luxuriate in the simple sensation of water on skin. Even when she filled her mind with the upcoming routines of work, the voices and faces of coworkers, she couldn’t stop her hands from answering the signals of her body. One hand drifted down and cupped her pussy; the fingers of the other tugged at her nipples, which refused to decrease their hardness. She pushed aside the desire to masturbate there in the shower. She wanted more, wanted to be filled. As she dried herself she considered the vibrator. That was a possibility.<br /><br />It was right there in her drawer, handy as she chose underwear for the day. She slipped on a sensible pair of white cotton panties and a comfortable bra. Her hand reached for the flesh colored vibrator, ready to take it back into the bathroom, when she saw Calvin’s reflection in the mirror. He was flat on his back with one arm at his side, the other over his chest. Somehow he had kicked off the covers again and he lay there exposed to the knees. His cock, however, was no longer soft. Thick and rampant, it pointed up and a little to the left. His beautiful cock. Her cock. She wanted it.<br /><br />She dropped the vibrator back in the drawer and knelt down beside the bed. Up close Calvin’s cock was so rugged and yet so soft; just the sight and its proximity made her feel warm in her heart as well as her belly. Carefully she grasped it in her hand and brought her lips to the head. If she took her time, perhaps she could satisfy herself with administering a gentle blowjob without waking him. Supply him with a wet dream and diminish if not dispel her own cravings. She held his glans captive between her lips, stroked the length of his cock gently with her fingertips. Her tongue found his meatus, circled down to the hypersensitive frenum and paused there. Careful or you’ll surely wake him, she admonished herself. Even so, his cock grew hard and hot in her mouth. She cradled his balls in her other hand.<br /><br />In his sleep he shifted slightly, as if to push his cock deeper into her mouth. She paused to watch his face. The flesh around his mouth and jaws was still relaxed but the small muscles in his forehead seemed to be gathered in a frown, as if puzzled by what was happening to his body. She watched the flicker of his eyes behind their lids. The pattern of his breathing became somewhat irregular but she was satisfied that he remained asleep.<br /><br />She was well aware of the reactions of her own body as it demanded fulfillment. Her nipples were hard and tight, pushing against her bra as if trying to escape their confines. Wetness gathered between her thighs, and her crotch felt like a swamp flooded in spring. The nerves between her breasts and her pussy tingled with the electricity of desire; her lower abdomen felt heavy with a concentrated heat. She pushed aside the fantasy of a vibrator buried deep inside her for a new vision. Perhaps she could bring herself off with Calvin’s cock inside her but without waking him. Just the idea caused a gratifying throb in her pussy.<br /><br />She let go of his cock completely. It stood erect, hard and strong without her assistance, throbbing slightly with the pulse of his blood. She stood up, removed her now soaked panties, and gently climbed onto the bed without waking Calvin. Carefully she positioned herself over his cock, a knee at each side of his waist. Her left hand felt her trim patch of pubic hair; her fingers spread to open her engorged cunt and hold it open. With her right she grasped the towering cock between thumb and forefinger and brushed its head against the inside of her labia. She almost screamed with the need to plunge it deep inside her but bit her lip, hard. She let her body settle just a little, until the head of his cock was nestled in the opening of her vagina. Not quite in, not quite out. She held the position and made sure Calvin was still asleep. He groaned softly and pushed his head back into the pillow but he did not awake. So far, so good. Now the question was, how much could she move, or how little and still attain all her objectives?<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_qgSnjSa2JfvaRG85B2DyNV_dhEQKkQZGL9_wu7p1hhNvmq7OmHRkVYc6HBro8IXqrb2PJ_Vee-GU1mUN9dtuUZcT7ObKsT4D0Jt2kST_8UGPHnqk1u6xNDUB3uDxCATstTyHp7WQi-0/s1600-h/pic-Woman-on-top-sex-positi.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 147px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361662059295273250" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_qgSnjSa2JfvaRG85B2DyNV_dhEQKkQZGL9_wu7p1hhNvmq7OmHRkVYc6HBro8IXqrb2PJ_Vee-GU1mUN9dtuUZcT7ObKsT4D0Jt2kST_8UGPHnqk1u6xNDUB3uDxCATstTyHp7WQi-0/s400/pic-Woman-on-top-sex-positi.jpg" /></a><br />Gently her fingers explored the place where their bodies joined. The fingertips of one hand explored the taut skin of his cock, feeling the small pulsing of his blood vessels, the thick channel of his urethra underneath. The fingers of the other hand stroked the engorged flesh of her labia, sticky with the flow of her wetness. She touched the pearl of her clitoris poking its apex from under its guardian folds. The touch felt like fire. Her eyes closed and she let her head fall back. She sucked in a breath and held it, brought her hand up to her mouth and bit into it to keep from screaming with delirium. Her thigh muscles quivered with the effort of holding her body rigid, in one place. For a long moment she remained motionless. Her complete attention was centered within her; even without a cock buried deep, she felt the trembling waves of a small orgasm ripple through her pussy. Underneath her, she felt his buttocks tighten and then the nudge of his cock seeking further entry. Quickly she glanced at Calvin’s face. Its expression was one of concentration but he was still asleep. Carefully she touched her button again, circling it with a moist fingertip. Excitement flashed through her. Time to go for broke. Her finger strummed at her clit, her thighs trembled with the strain of holding her in an unnatural position, and her climax overcame her. The fire in her abdomen burst in a hot wave that coursed through her body, consumed her belly, her breasts, her throat, her face. Then came a series of smaller waves, like breakers rolling on the seashore. She found she’d been holding her breath and gasped. Yes. This was the fulfillment she had needed. With care and contentment she glanced down at Calvin’s face. He was still asleep! A trace of perspiration had gathered on his chest and his groin was sticky with her secretions, but he still slept. She felt one thigh threaten to cramp and carefully climbed off his body, off the bed. She scurried to the bathroom.<br /><br />After she had cleaned up she came back with a warm wet cloth for him but he had turned on his side and she was afraid he would wake if she moved him. She glanced at the clock. Damn! If she didn’t rush she would be late for work. This morning escapade had taken more time than she’d bargained for. She slipped her uniform over her head, and fastened it, slipped white loafers on her feet. No time for makeup. She dumped a few necessities into her purse. Socks! Panties! She grabbed some items from her drawer. She’d have to put herself together after she arrived at work; right now she had to catch a bus or be late and have to give a reason.<br /><br />As she dashed for the bus stop she felt a trace of her fluid seep from her sex. I hope it doesn’t stain she thought. Even so, she smiled with contentment. Before going home she would have to find a way through the emergency department, ask him if he had had any good dreams this morning.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQiq5EOkrdpnAsBQT3_FEtpVoaWP2KCoFb6ZWRaQn5ArFkOVnRqqWx7dC2643yc3f2u7YOuOdTnHnXLBUDzmC8uWQRO54vGBUAc4gPHUqBlwu3uxy3HyqO-Xt-uQG8TeWKXeEv7y-K3TY/s1600-h/koika_54601_15.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 266px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361658140004313010" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQiq5EOkrdpnAsBQT3_FEtpVoaWP2KCoFb6ZWRaQn5ArFkOVnRqqWx7dC2643yc3f2u7YOuOdTnHnXLBUDzmC8uWQRO54vGBUAc4gPHUqBlwu3uxy3HyqO-Xt-uQG8TeWKXeEv7y-K3TY/s400/koika_54601_15.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div>Rumplebearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504112871253308235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3585079584973063785.post-41204670010725834312009-07-21T19:14:00.005-04:002009-07-21T19:51:55.644-04:00A Gift of Grace<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjChJ4h8HXHyzldpD1Jfemkzy0mvjhcIoRIh4M9X8iwETEqg8ImSMIbeyM0AglQupj39cFLxHb1XsRrMxWC_xkOKeEK46KLi_J11_5-_9ECye8hvV8tyTNsfrvuNnamcl_NIHu-e7ioXgc/s1600-h/30142.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 338px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 241px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361057894451399346" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjChJ4h8HXHyzldpD1Jfemkzy0mvjhcIoRIh4M9X8iwETEqg8ImSMIbeyM0AglQupj39cFLxHb1XsRrMxWC_xkOKeEK46KLi_J11_5-_9ECye8hvV8tyTNsfrvuNnamcl_NIHu-e7ioXgc/s400/30142.jpg" /></a><br /><br />On the first truly beautiful day of May, a Wednesday, Melissa Burnett and Jimmy Stanski walked home together after school.<br /><br /><br />She’d been watching him for months now, ever since he had taken the seat across the aisle from her in English class. She knew who he was of course, and where he lived; her own kid sister hung out with his kid sister. He was one of the ‘serious’ students, not much for sports or extracurricular activities but willing to help others with questions about class or homework. She found herself watching him surreptitiously. Sometimes he smiled. That smile did something extraordinary to his face. Melissa couldn’t explain what it was, not even to herself. She fell in love with his smile.<br /><br />She tried to draw his attention in little ways, hoping he’d notice her and perhaps speak to her. Often she’d smile at him. Once he smiled back and she turned all fluttery inside. She watched him walk away without being able to say a word.<br /><br />A group of students, about half a dozen, got into the habit of walking home together after school. Melissa was one of them. Occasionally Jimmy tagged along. But this Wednesday there was no group. When she saw Jimmy take off on his own, she impulsively called out to him.<br /><br />“Jimmy! Wait for me!”<br /><br />He turned and waited, watching her as she fumbled with her backpack and the sweater she didn’t need now the day had turned warmer. It felt strange to be alone with him. She didn’t know what to say so she babbled about school and people. Anything to avoid a long silence she knew would be too uncomfortable. If ever he said a few words, she didn’t notice but just kept on with her chatter. When her mind finally stopped feeding words to her mouth she paused, stood still as she felt a slight blush creep over her face.<br /><br />“I’m sorry. You must think I’m silly, just carrying on like that.”<br /><br />He had turned toward her and she looked up into his face. He was smiling that smile and his eyes seemed to laugh.<br /><br />“No, I love watching you talk. You get so animated, so intense.”<br /><br />She began to walk away, not knowing how to take his remark. You don’t watch someone talk; you listen to them, don’t you? Was he making fun of her? That blush that had started earlier began to deepen again. He caught up to walk beside her, seemed to know what she was thinking.<br /><br />“I’m serious. I love the way your face moves, your hands and arms. Wait. Let me get us a Coke or something at the corner store. We can stop in the park and you can talk to me some more. Or is it warm enough for an ice cream bar? That is, if you don’t have to hurry home or anything.”<br /><br />Momentarily flabbergasted, she squeaked out “ice cream,” and he loped off to the nearby variety store. As she waited she wondered how this had happened, how a boy who didn’t seem to know she existed was suddenly paying attention to her. What had she been doing wrong? Maybe it was just this being alone with him.<br /><br />He came back with two Creamsicles and handed one to her. “Come,” he said and turned down the street to the nearby entrance to the park that covered more than a whole city block. A small shiver ran up her spine at the sound of command in his voice. He didn’t look back as she followed him. From this vantage point she watched his body in motion beneath his clothes: not swaggering and self-assured like a jock preening, not hunched and folded around himself like an insecure geek. He walked as if he were comfortable in his skin.<br /><br />At the gate he waited for her to catch up. “There’s a picnic table in the shade of those old maples in the corner. You can’t see it from here; the place is quiet and sheltered.” He grinned at her, then suddenly became serious. “You don’t have to be home at a specific time, do you? We have enough time for our ice cream, don’t we?”<br /><br />Her voice seemed unable to form proper sounds. She croaked something and nodded her head. He smiled that smile again and took her by the elbow to guide her down the path. “Come,” he said again.<br /><br />Her mind was a blank. Her universe consisted of her body and his body, with the center being the point where his hand touched her elbow. I’ll never wash it again, was the thought that crossed her mind and that was just as hastily discarded as too immature. Still, the sense of something awesome lingered. Somehow she found herself sitting across a picnic table from him, watching his smile twist as his tongue swiped out over the Creamsicle and then reform in the silence around them. The only sounds she could hear were the trill of a small bird in a nearby bush and the pounding of her own pulse in her ears.<br /><br />She was afraid she was expected to say something and had nothing to say.<br />Was she supposed to ask him about his interests, his family, his plans, his hopes for the future, his thoughts on marriage and children? Oh my god, she thought, I’m losing it. If I open my mouth again I’ll make a complete ass of myself. She bent to hide her blushing face and wrapped her mouth around the ice cream bar.<br /><br />His voice insinuated itself into her awareness. She glanced at him quickly. His face was serious but he wasn’t looking directly at her, almost as if he were just as uneasy being here with her. She tried to pay attention to what he was saying.<br /><br />He knew a bit about her through their sisters. He deliberately chose a seat near her in English. He watched her in the halls. He loved the blue of her eyes, how it twinkled when she laughed. She made him feel a little shy, intimidated by her poise.<br /><br />She felt a deep, regretful, space open up within her. Both of them, it seems, had similar feelings; each was unable to approach the other. If it hadn’t been for Jimmy walking away from school alone today, her leaving at the same time, and her inexplicable courage to call out to him, would they have gone on like that? Instinctively she shifted her Creamsicle to her left hand, reached out her right over the table to him. He took it in his.<br /><br />This new togetherness, as Melissa thought of it, seemed as familiar as if they had been together for years. Still, it was so unfamiliar. She wondered what she was supposed to do, what words she was supposed to say. “Jimmy,” she began, then looked into his face, unable to continue. Nor did he say a word.<br /><br />She wondered if she should make a move to kiss him.<br /><br />She would have to slide off the long seat, walk around the table, and approach him from behind. Or sit down on the seat on his side and slide toward him. Then hold his face and turn it toward hers. It sounded and felt so complicated.<br /><br />The finished Creamsicle sticks lay irrelevant on the table. Suddenly she let go of his hand and turned around with her back to him. She didn’t know if he was watching her closely, but she was aware she was blushing furiously. Her quick fingers unbuttoned her shirt. With less fumbling than she expected, she unfastened her bra, removed it from under her shirt, and set it aside as if she had practiced the procedure a hundred times. The unexpected fresh air made her nipples stand out. Before she lost her nerve she turned back toward him.<br /><br />Her open shirt displayed her defenseless chest with its small firm breasts and the hard little nipples. “Jimmy,” she said again and looked into his face. His eyes were focused on what she displayed. The fear that he would laugh at her passed. She took a deep breath and held it.<br /><br />“Ah, Melissa,” he murmured. “You are so beautiful.”<br /><br />She watched as his hands reached out to her. She flinched, believing he was going to grab her breasts but he touched her face, one hand on either side, and looked deep into her eyes. “Melissa,” he said again with a tone of wonderment in his voice.<br /><br />Suddenly she felt panicked, breathless. She stumbled and almost fell getting to her feet as she slid away from the picnic table. Without thought she ran toward the park’s entrance as she attempted to button her shirt. She raced homeward as if a pack of dogs were on her heels. She threw herself on her bed in her room and let herself go, to cleanse herself with tears and deep sobs.<br /><br />What kind of feelings were these? She felt shame but not really ashamed. She feared she might have done wrong but couldn’t believe she had. Was this attraction love? It didn’t meet the requirements, yet it felt so right. She sobbed into her pillow, unaware of the passage of time.<br /><br /><br />Much later, she was disturbed by an insistent knocking on her bedroom door. She heard her mother call her name softly. Grabbing for tissues to soothe her sniffles, she invited her in.<br /><br />“Are you OK, love?” her mother asked. “Jimmy Stanski said you rushed away in a terrible hurry and forgot your backpack, so he stopped and dropped it off. And this.” She held out the bra Melissa had also forgotten in the park.<br /><br />“Oh, Mom!” Melissa threw her arms around her mother’s neck and the sobbing began again, louder this time. Mrs Burnett held her daughter and consoled her.<br /><br />“Oh, Mom.” Melissa squeezed her mother tight, spoke into her neck. “How do you know when you’re in love? Really and truly in love?”<br /><br />There was a long silence. “I think it’s different for every one, dear. And it’s never easy.” Her mother stiffened in Melissa’s tight grasp. “Honey, did you and Jimmy?”<br /><br />“No! But what if we want to? What if I want to?” She fought to restrain the sobs and tears.<br /><br />“Melissa.” She turned her daughter’s face toward her. “I trust you, dear. But let’s make an appointment with the doctor. The two of us. And when you feel up to it this evening, we’ll talk.”<br /><br />They held each other very tight. Mother and daughter. One flesh and, perhaps, one spirit.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaFK01-EjS4_BPreRYX6nvdUP_Q5wZjCv8DQ6O63OWMYRtROxukMm71NuAg0SF0OJefVKy0puLviFlKllngcoLUZk4ckos3xSJLFHIm5pd5RrJ8rPlSXRys9v_ftv5CekOOA9PiKmwoxs/s1600-h/younglove.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 259px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361056735920226626" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaFK01-EjS4_BPreRYX6nvdUP_Q5wZjCv8DQ6O63OWMYRtROxukMm71NuAg0SF0OJefVKy0puLviFlKllngcoLUZk4ckos3xSJLFHIm5pd5RrJ8rPlSXRys9v_ftv5CekOOA9PiKmwoxs/s400/younglove.jpg" /></a> </div>Rumplebearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504112871253308235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3585079584973063785.post-43068234599263096892009-07-20T14:43:00.002-04:002009-07-20T14:49:15.367-04:00This Is The End<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7i5c5pN7jpboQ7U6dfeuaeP-yzMMVBtqJr0RFSZNMr7MogRp5gUzII2af5sx26n55w-ZN17zZn03b_eFOKGo1zh4ZI6R-N1A3khqqbSkbrkplm9QrpsuldC-SSaNKCzIXp0P6dViGvFM/s1600-h/jim-morrison-the-doors1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360615801893959714" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7i5c5pN7jpboQ7U6dfeuaeP-yzMMVBtqJr0RFSZNMr7MogRp5gUzII2af5sx26n55w-ZN17zZn03b_eFOKGo1zh4ZI6R-N1A3khqqbSkbrkplm9QrpsuldC-SSaNKCzIXp0P6dViGvFM/s400/jim-morrison-the-doors1.jpg" /></a><br /><div><br />“Mr. James! Wake up Mr. James.”<br /><br />“Get out of here you ugly bitch and leave me alone. Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? How many times do I have to tell you it’s not Mr. James. It’s Morrison, Jim Morrison. That’s Mr. Morrison to you. I don’t let fat and stupid old broads get familiar with me.”<br /><br />The words rang loud and angry in his head but when they reached his million-dollar throat they came out as a long noisy gurgle of phlegm sputtering from his tracheal tube. He didn’t remember how he ever let anyone do something stupid like that to him. Cut his throat and there was a good chance he’d never sing again. Wasn’t it only yesterday he’d been sweating his ass off, on a stage in front of his band shouting down at the little girl faces below him. “Come on baby light my fire!!!” Yeah, their fires had been lit, all right. Those European chicks were OK. But that tall one in Detroit, that was one he’d never forget. Smooth as silk and screwed like a mink. Gave him a hard-on just thinking about the way she ground her ass.<br /><br />He looked down at his body lying straight and stiff under the bedclothes. Whatever it was, it wasn’t his body. No hard-on. He tried to swing his feet out onto the floor. Nothing happening. Tried to lift his hand. Fuck all. This body under the covers couldn’t be his. It didn’t seem to be attached to his brain. He wanted to scream “What the fuck is happening to me!” but all that happened was more gurgling under his chin. The fat broad in the white uniform asked if he wanted his plug in. He looked at her as if he had no idea what she was talking about. She fiddled around with something at his throat and the gurgling changed in tone. He felt the air brush his vocal cords. “I am Jim Morrison,” he screamed, “lead singer of the Doors!” but it came out whispery and whistling.<br /><br />“Now, now,” said the woman leaning over him. “Your name is Eldon James. You were born and raised in Flint, Michigan, and lived here all your life. You have been here in the Hillcrest Lifecare Center ever since you had an accident at work three years ago. You can’t be Jim Morrison. Jim Morrison died in Paris, France, in 1971. You are alive in Flint, Michigan, USA. I am your health care aide, Margaret. Today is the tenth day of January in the year 2001.”<br /><br />Goes to show how much these fools around him knew. He didn’t remember anybody named Eldon James, had never been to Flint, Michigan, and was for sure not dead and buried in Paris, France. Jesus Christ. Why were they trying to confuse him? He was confusing himself just fine, thank you, not being able to remember who had done what to him to get him locked helpless in this place, in this position. And if he was in here, where was the band? Where in hell were Ray and Robbie and John? They wouldn’t let anyone get away with playing games like this. Their livelihood depended on him. Without Morrison, there are no Doors. He tried to wipe his hair off his forehead but again the arm wouldn’t obey.<br /><br />That aide broad was tapping at his mouth with a spoonful of something. Whoops. The mouth seemed to open automatically. It looked gray and lumpy and had no smell or taste. He started to gag but swallowed and the next thing, there was more of the stuff in his mouth ready to go down. Fuck. If they were going to feed him, feed him pussy. A hell of a lot more satisfying and less fattening. He had to get his ass out of here, phone his agent and apologize, find out where they were supposed to be playing next, except his ass didn’t seem to be his ass any more and he hoped some friend or lawyer would spring him from this joint.<br /><br />All this thinking, trying to talk and move, even just swallowing the crap they were pushing into his mouth was making him tired. He closed his eyes and wished everyone away.<br /><br /><br /><br />Coming to life, being born, that kind of trip must have been something like this but, from what he had heard, wet and slimy and a hell of a lot more painful. It was that lasting sense of fear and frustration, of being propelled into an environment not in your own control, somewhere alien. Strange to come to as if from a deep sleep and find two women fussing over him. Not strange that there were two women, that he took for granted. Not strange that they were fussing over him, that was expected; not many women got the chance to touch Jim Morrison’s body. It was just strange that he didn’t remember how this started. He didn’t feel hung over or crashed from a trip, it just seemed that every thing he needed to know or remember was lost in a black hole, sucked out of the universe. “You know who you are,” he told himself. “Now just be cool and find out where and when you are. That’ll give you some sort of handle on this dilemma.”<br /><br />Right. The air stinks like a hospital. The broads touching and fumbling with him are dressed in what looks like white uniforms. The bed is hard and straight, folded a little because the head can be raised. Ergo. This is either a hospital or the set of a bad movie. One of those broads looked good, tall and blonde and a decent set of knockers; the other looked vaguely familiar but he couldn’t place her. She was short and dumpy, not one he’d let into bed but if she was enthusiastic enough? Down on your knees, open your mouth, worship the body! Shit. That was what was wrong. He couldn’t feel his body. Women had their hands all over him and he couldn’t feel a thing. “What the hell is going on here?” he tried to shout but a hissing whistle is all that came from his throat; his throat, not his mouth. He felt something that might be a touch of panic rise like bile, a disgusting taste he couldn’t keep down, an internal worm from some cheap horror movie.<br /><br />“Just be patient for a few more moments, Mr. James,” the tall good looking woman spoke at him as if she wasn’t expecting a reply. “ Margaret has gone to get your wheel chair. We’ll get you up and set you in the sun room for an hour or so. Won’t that be nice for a change?” No shit. She had called him Mr. James so that must be the alias he was using here. He momentarily wondered if it was Henry or Frank. He knew better than to try Jesse. Anyway, it never did much good; he was so recognizable. He couldn’t have been here long. Word must not have leaked out yet because there was no sign of security and the nurses were still using his alias and holding back from calling him Jim.<br /><br />When the other nurse-type person returned with a wheelchair, reclined and nicely padded, both of them moved him to the edge of the bed in preparation to lifting him in. Damn. This finicky maneuvering felt so dreadfully wrong. He wanted to shout, “I’ll do it myself. Don’t treat me like a cripple,” but no sound came from his mouth. He couldn’t feel their hands and arms under him. He could do nothing to stop them from doing whatever they wanted to do. He couldn’t even express his displeasure and his anger. Damn frustrating. Damn damn damn. When they lifted his helpless, worthless hulk of a body into the chair, the taller, younger one took the top part of him. From behind her arms held his crossed on his chest, his shoulders against her rib cage, his head resting in the hollow between her breasts. Surprise! He could feel sensation through the skin on his head and shoulders. He wanted to make some smart-ass remark about resting in the peace in the valley but words wouldn’t come from his mouth. He grimaced. Could feel that too.<br /><br />In the sunroom they tucked a blanket around his waist and legs and left him to sit there. Behind his back he heard the fat one talking in low tones to the babe. He couldn’t make out all the conversation but did recognize his name, Jim Morrison, mentioned several times by the older one, as if clueing the other one in to the secret. Hell, he must look a mess if a good-looking chick didn’t recognize the brooding face, the pouting lips, the hooded eyes of the Lizard King. And what mother had wrecked his throat? He hoped he’d be able to sing again. “Come on baby light my fire.” Yeah. He would light fires all over this country again. Even in Florida, despite its cops arresting him for pulling out his dick on stage. Bigoted bastards, the lot of them. What was needed now was a plan to escape from this place. And for that, as usual, he needed Ray’s help. He couldn’t remember if the guys knew where he was and when visiting hours were. God, he needed a friendly face, someone to take charge. Ray, get here quickly! This is no place for the evil prince of Rock and Roll. Beside him, an old twisted man slept while belted and strapped into a wheelchair. In front of him at an angle, large windows let in bright light through venetian blinds. Directly in front stood a large television set playing what must be some kind of game show, all gongs and whistled and phony screams and laughter. He pushed his head back where he could feel it against the headrest. Lord, get me out of here. He closed his eyes tight. Slowly the noise and light began to fade, to become the darkness and silence of peace and joy.<br /><br /><br /><br />He was lying sort of seated on a contraption that seemed to be a hospital bed. Squinting through a thin slit in his eyelids, he saw a female type person waving a spoon at his face. With a figure like that, she should be stripping that white dress and climbing all over his body. Something is wrong here. A woman near him and nobody mentions sex. “O. K. Leave the gear on. Wrap your sweet lips around my bone.” The unnatural hiss at his throat made him cough and his whole body jerked. The stupid spoonful of goo went flying onto the floor. Once again he could only feel his head bounce on the pillow; what should have been his arms and legs, his chest and belly, did a spastic danse macabre without his control, as if it was a marionette dancing on a string to some inaudible song. God, where am I? No, more important, what am I? Listen to me scum, I am Jim Morrison!<br /><br />When the storm had passed, he remained propped up, eyes shut tight. The tip of the spoon pushed at his lips. The voice wheedled with an infantile whine. “Open up for dinner, Mr. James. I know you’re awake. If you don’t cooperate the doctor will have to put a tube directly into your stomach. Again. You know how you hated the last one.” No shit. Maybe that’s how he got the hole in his throat. Why didn’t they give him a slab of beef and be done with it? He reached up his hand to shove the spoon away and he had no hand. The world has gone crazy and left me behind. Surrendering to the inevitable, he closed his eyes and opened his mouth. I’m a freaking baby bird. Let me fly. Let me sing. The world turned itself off.<br /><br /><br /><br />He opened his eyes and a sweet young thing was sitting there on the side of the bed jabbering away like a parakeet. Young. Got to be about sixteen, sweet and innocent and impressionable, just the way he liked them. Thank you, whatever fate had brought this into his life! He reached out to grasp her hand, to stroke her arm and slowly bring her closer. First you smell her. Then you taste her. Then you get naked and screw each other’s brains out. That’s the way the world works. Trouble was, the hand wouldn’t reach. Not that she was too far away, the goddamn arm wouldn’t move. He tried to curse and even his fucking throat wouldn’t move, not the way it should. All it did was squeak like a squashed mouse.<br /><br />And the little school girl kept on babbling about her daddy and mommy, as if those people were supposed to mean something to him. Daddy did this and then mom told him to … and yadda, yadda, yadda. How could she look upon his face and not feel her reason for living. Even if she was a virgin, she should feel the urge to tear of her confining cotton undies and set herself FREE! No woman between the ages of fourteen and forty could sit there and treat him like, like a grandfather for god’s sake.<br /><br />He tried to focus his gaze on her face but her eyes wouldn’t meet his. She prattled away at a space above his head, as if she was on a mercy mission to some dying old fart. Show me mercy, he whispered in his head. Spread your sweet thighs and show me mercy! The girl took his hand in her own and held it, but it wasn’t his hand, he couldn’t feel it, it wasn’t attached to him, and it looked ancient and withered like it should be reaching out of a grave in a cheap horror movie. And then again, maybe he did feel some pressure, some warmth generated by that vibrant young body, flowing up that arm to his brain. Imagination is a powerful thing. He could feel the energy seeping down to his cock, felt it twitch. He concentrated on the sensation in his fingertips and the connection to his most precious belonging. Aside from his lost voice, that is.<br /><br />Somehow the hand seemed to have a mind of its own. It slipped from the young visitor’s grasp and fell onto her thigh. Whether through some movement of hers or its own maliciousness, it came to rest underneath the pleated, schoolgirl skirt. It might have been that, when she jumped up in reaction to the unexpected incursion, she moved the wrong way; it certainly couldn’t have been a willful act by her grandfather lying paralyzed and helpless and looking so weird in that hospital bed. Somehow his fingers came to rest where they didn’t belong, between the gusset of her panties and her most private place. She couldn’t help herself. She screamed loud and long and tore herself away.<br /><br />In the fraction of the minute before he died, Jim Morrison again reached heaven. His fingertips knocked at its gate, the delicate fleshy portals surrounded by soft silk. A familiar roar of blood surged from his heart to his cock and up to his brain. There it exploded in gold and blue and burning crimson before existence turned black.<br /><br />An aide gathered the weeping, sobbing girl to her, took her to a lounge to soothe and comfort her while the medical staff did what was necessary in the case of a sudden but expected death. Only one of the nurses mentioned in a report the “lascivious” grin on Mr. James’ face at his passing.<br /></div>Rumplebearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504112871253308235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3585079584973063785.post-35451442651641733522009-07-20T09:39:00.002-04:002009-07-20T18:24:07.402-04:00Summer Heat<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUykGWFI2uyCe10Vyq7p76AddKFYoCOW4cgwn9mjDV0pH6t7UNT15sJqzbTBfBgpDXsOtrs0a-zQpOZHjGMlYClXa7GLmsI1CeNcwNAQN4jdaJJ4vydrotQeAX0mUMRa5FrycuuDZC-bc/s1600-h/carmen_23745_20.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 293px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUykGWFI2uyCe10Vyq7p76AddKFYoCOW4cgwn9mjDV0pH6t7UNT15sJqzbTBfBgpDXsOtrs0a-zQpOZHjGMlYClXa7GLmsI1CeNcwNAQN4jdaJJ4vydrotQeAX0mUMRa5FrycuuDZC-bc/s400/carmen_23745_20.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360671079957043506" /></a><br />Angela stretched on a chaise longue on the deck of the pool, basking in the touch of warm sunlight on her skin. Sometimes, fleetingly, she wished this place were hers. Well, it was hers, at least for the four months her friends and their two kids would be out of the country. When they had asked her to housesit, she had leaped at the chance.<br /><br />She had found herself in a position of limbo. The bitter divorce, the desertion by her best girl friend, the empty disregard shown by her employer, all had brought her to a crossroad where she needed to re-evaluate her life. By some stroke of luck she had been offered four months in comfortable surroundings in which to do so. A ranch-style house in a well-off neighborhood. A private swimming pool for her own use. No job, but enough in the bank to cover necessities. Almost as good as a vacation. Better in some ways.<br /><br />She turned over onto her stomach. Let the sun work its magic on the backs of her legs. She reached back and pulled the bottom of her pale yellow tank top up to the middle of her back and seriously considered going inside to change into something scanty, something to reveal more skin to the sun. No, not this time, but she promised herself to buy a bikini soon. If she worked at it and the summer weather cooperated, she could have a marvelous tan by fall, and with it a new confidence and a better outlook on life. What a simple bikini could do.<br /><br />Through half-closed eyelids she looked at the surface of the still water in the pool. The reflection of the sky was a brilliant blue. She sat up and considered taking a plunge. No, that would mean having to go inside and changing into her black one-piece swimsuit. Unless, of course, she went in naked. Skinny-dipping. She smiled to herself. She hadn’t done that in years, not since she was a teenager. Hey, who was going to see? Her body was nothing to be ashamed of. Sure, the boobs and butt sagged just a little but that’s what happens over the years. A nice thought. She spread sunscreen on her legs, arms, and shoulders, touched up her cheeks and forehead, then rolled the tank top up to just below her breasts and massaged some into the pale skin of her tummy. That would have to do until bikini time. She reconsidered. After glancing around, she stripped the tank top over her head and deftly unhooked her restricting brassiere. She slipped the straps off her shoulders, pulled the cups away from the heaviness of her breasts and dropped the flimsy flesh-toned garment beside the chaise. Her boobies were naked to the sun and the breeze. She shivered, not from the temperature but from the naughtiness of it. Quickly she slipped her top back on but left it rolled up under her breasts, her belly and back bare to the sun.<br /><br />She lay back with her eyes closed and concentrated on the sun’s light and heat on her exposed skin. It was different with no book or radio to distract her mind. The occasional slight breath of wind, the hum of a bee in the flowerbed, a trickle of perspiration through the hair at her temple, nothing disturbed the overwhelming sensation of being receptive to the sun. The heat seemed to penetrate deep inside her. She became aware of two things; it made her lethargic, unwilling to move, and it made her horny.<br /><br />She considered her non-existent love life. The anger and betrayal when the dickhead had moved in with her best girl friend right after asking for the divorce had consumed her, left her with neither energy nor inclination to pursue another man. After the split was final she had let one of the girls from work set her up with a friend but that had not worked out. Sometime soon she would have to make some sort of connection to a supply of single men. Meanwhile, all she could do was dream. And dream she did.<br /><br />It took a few minutes before she realized just what she was daydreaming about. Suddenly she was aware of the sticky dampness between her thighs, that the images drifting through her mind and the sun on her exposed skin had combined to produce that effect within her body. Oh, boy! She was fantasizing about men, naturally, but young men. Boys almost. She recognized the perceptions even though she couldn’t put a name to them immediately. The thin, almost amoral presence of the lead singer of a local rock group she’d seen at a bar last week. The intense baby-faced actor in a dark film from the past summer. The eager teenage boy from down the street who’d helped her with moving some furniture yesterday. God! She was becoming wet; she could almost feel herself squish as she moved her legs together! She tried to relax, to lie back and enjoy the sun but her hands clutched the side of the chaise longue and her buttocks tightened in such a way that her snug shorts created extra pressure against her crotch. Even the slightest tightening of the muscles in her thighs sent gentle tingles throughout her belly. She let herself languish in the slightly lascivious sensations.<br /><br />She reached and unfastened the button at the waistband of her khaki shorts. The looseness made her feel slightly more comfortable but now she had to put out an effort to keep her hand from slipping under the fabric, from scratching that deep itch. Don’t think about men, she told herself. Too many of them are like the dickhead: kind and thoughtful until they figured they owned you, then egotistical and inconsiderate when you didn’t want exactly what they did. A complete turnaround in just over a year. Good thing there hadn’t been any kids. Yet. She let out an audible snort, then quickly looked around just in case someone was close enough to hear. Anger and resentment were not things she wanted to explain right now.<br /><br />So, think about other men, she told herself. They’re not all like that. She caught herself thinking about male bodies, bodies she could use to please herself and discard when no longer useful. Disposable members of the opposite sex. Boy toys.<br /><br />And boy toys brought her mind right back where she had started. The young actor with the baby face, the thick pouting lips, and that steamy languorous look in his eyes. If he was here now, she’d bite those lips, chew on his face, plunge her tongue deep enough to lick his tonsils, suck the breath out of his lungs. And he would do the same to her. She delighted in the quick shivers that ran down her spine. But then again, that singer with the band. Couldn’t remember his name nor the name of the band but she sure remembered his hands. Saw them sliding up and down the mike stand, imagined them sliding up and down her arms and legs, reaching for other places. That long lean body swaying hypnotically like a cobra on that stage, she could almost feel it sliding and slithering all over her.<br /><br />And then there was young Paul, so delightfully innocent. She could remember his name. He lived two houses away and was so sweet. Only yesterday she had called him over to help her rearrange some of the furniture in the downstairs den. He’d been polite and helpful, refusing money but willing to accept a soda and sit with her in the kitchen afterward. He’d seemed shy and unwilling to talk about himself much, but she’d caught him a couple of times letting his eyes sneak glances at her breasts. She had pretended to be unaware of his interest but secretly provided several more chances for him to ogle her boobs. And then she had screwed up. She straightened after picking something off the floor and caught his eyes still buried deep under the low neckline of her shirt.<br /><br />‘Do you like what you see?’ she had asked.<br /><br />Stupid. You don’t ask such questions when the answer is so obvious. She had embarrassed the kid. He had flushed and stammered an apology, emptied his glass and taken off as if threatened by an unknown beast. She still felt a twinge of shame. That was no way to treat a boy; she’d never done so before, not even when she was his age. Sixteen, maybe seventeen? The age of discovery.<br /><br />Now here she was, lying in the sun alone. The cool invitation of the pool on the one hand, the unanswerable arousal of hormones on the other. A nasty pickle for any girl to find herself in. Again she considered taking a dip in the pool. No, she would lie out for another five minutes and then go in. Then she would decide whether to change and go for a swim or whatever. Maybe less than five. Her nipples were pushing against her top and her panties were sticky. Something had to be done soon.<br /><br />She was so wrapped up in herself that she heard no sound until he cleared his throat. Young Paul, the subject of her raunchy little fantasy, stood at the gate to the back yard, hesitating to come in. She swung her legs over the side of the chaise and sat up.<br /><br />‘Hi, Paul! Come on in.’ She gestured toward a chair beside the patio table.<br /><br />‘Hello, Miss Wernechenko.’ Still seeming unsure of himself, he sat as she directed. ‘I just came over to see if you wanted any more help, you know, like yesterday?’<br /><br />Automatically she corrected him. ‘Please. It’s Angela.’ At least it wasn’t Mrs. Dickhead any more. And she had always hated that Ms., that stupid hum with a buzz on it. For better than three years she had been Angie Andrews. Yech! Even the memory left a bad taste in her mouth.<br /><br />A satisfied grin wiped the momentary frown from her eyes. The boy was back! However stupid and forward she’d been with her too quick remark yesterday, it hadn’t kept him away. Well, even if nothing ever happened between the two of them at least she had a small distraction from the boredom of the afternoon.<br /><br />‘No, I’ve decided to enjoy a lazy afternoon. Just lying in the sun. No book, no radio. Me and my daydreams. That darn pool is a distraction, though. I’m just too lazy to go inside and change into a swimsuit. Oh, can I get you something to drink? There’s some ginger ale in the fridge. I could make a jug of iced tea or lemonade if you want.’<br /><br />When he protested that he didn’t want anything, thank you very much, she stretched herself out face down on the reclining chaise with her eyes closed, the sun on her legs and partially exposed back, her arms down at her sides. Paul seemed more relaxed. She asked him a few questions about school, what he wanted to do with his life, any hobbies, any girl friends. The heat of the sun on the back of her thighs became uncomfortable. She shifted a little, pushing her pelvis hard against the canvas beneath her. Her shorts and panties rode up a little, renewing that earlier pressure in her crotch. Damn. She was still damp there. And horny. And the kid was sitting there, only five feet away. She turned her head toward him, keeping her eyes closed.<br /><br />She wondered if he was entranced by her whole body or if it was just her boobs that fascinated him yesterday. She snuck a peek through her lashes. Oh yes. The poor lad couldn’t keep his eyes off her. While he was talking, he would make an effort to look at the pool, the sky, anywhere, but his eyes always came back to rest on the swell of her behind and the curve of her back, the smooth expanse of her upper legs. Automatically she tightened her butt. The movement sent hot thrills deep into her lower belly. It was more than she thought she could stand.<br /><br />She watched his eyes glance down and stay down, saw them widen as he checked his breath. Something had caught his eye. Oh no. She let her hand dangle down and it came to rest on her bra, discarded there on the deck in plain sight. Oh no. It wasn’t hard to imagine the effect of a lacy item of intimate apparel on the inquisitive mind of a teenage boy. She saw his face flush, then compose itself with a seeming nonchalance. Well, nothing to do about that. He must certainly know she was braless. Probably wondered if the panties matched. Maybe she should sit up and show him. She felt her nipples harden, tight under the fabric of her rolled up top. This whole situation was uncomfortable. Slowly she sat up and faced him, a playful grin on her face.<br /><br />‘What do you think of the pool, Paul? Want to go swimming? I do, but it’s really not much fun alone.’ She took a deep breath and deliberately pushed her breasts forward and watched his face while his eyes tried to look anywhere but at those hard tips thrusting straight toward him.<br /><br />He stammered something about not having a suit, having to go home.<br /><br />‘I don’t have one. I’m going in. Feel free to join me.’<br /><br />She watched his face flush, became aware that his hands were folded over his groin. Aha! He’s getting hard! A natural reaction. There was nothing wrong with having a body that could make any man react like that!<br /><br />Angela turned away from him and stood up. With her back toward him, she pulled the tank top over her head and shook her hair free. Her breasts bobbled on her chest; she turned semi profile to give him a look without being too blatant. Her hands grasped at the fabric at her waist, pushed both shorts and panties over the flare of her hips. She bent forward and pushed them down over her knees, stayed like that for a moment as she imagined the view she presented. Long straight legs. Large, well-shaped ass pushing its pale but firm mass back toward him. Sleek ribcage not quite hiding the dangling fruit of her boobies. More than enough to make a man’s mouth water, make his hands instinctively reach out to grasp and hold. Smiling to herself, she hoped he would join her in the game.<br /><br />Three short steps brought her to the edge of the deeper end of the pool. She paused to glance into the water, then turned toward Paul, offering him her profile. He hadn’t moved.<br /><br />‘Are you coming in?’<br /><br />She turned her back to him and posed. Arms raised, feet slightly spread. Pelvis thrust forward to emphasize her butt. The smooth muscles of her back and shoulders stretched taut. Then she relaxed and let her arms fall to her sides, her feet come together. Don’t be such a showoff. The water is too shallow for a proper dive. She shivered and let her body fall headfirst into the welcoming embrace of the lukewarm water of the pool.<br /><br />The water felt so good! It was cool enough to soothe the sun-warmed expanses of her naked skin, warm enough to feel pleasant against the tender and intimate areas that had been covered. She felt the bottom of the pool with her hands, let her nipples and belly brush against it as she began to breaststroke toward the other side under water. When she touched the side, she turned quickly, began with a crawl and turned that into a roll. She rolled from her belly to her back over and over again, rejoicing in the fun and the freedom of it. Freedom from the limits of clothing. Freedom from ingrained propriety. Felt the water push at her skin all over with an equal pressure, holding her softly as it set her free. She ducked down, then pushed off the bottom, breaking the surface and reaching for the sun. Immediately she dove back down, felt the air on her butt, kicked her legs up. With her hands bracing her against the bottom of the pool, she waved her feet like the fluke of a sounding whale. God! She hadn’t had this much fun since ¼ well, since the last time she’d gone skinny-dipping. But that time there had been the usual mixed group of boys and girls. This was something you had to share.<br /><br />Two strong strokes brought her to the edge of the pool where she had left Paul. She stood up in the waist high water, drops running down from her hair and face, dripping from the fullness of her breasts as she raised her arms to the sky. She offered her jubilant body as an invitation to the whole world to join her.<br /><br />No one was there.<br /><br />She felt her joy, and the power of it, drain from her. For a long moment she stood there, dejected, wondering what she had done this time to frighten him off. Perhaps he had left to fetch his swim trunks. Maybe if she just waited for him in the pool. No. All the energy that had driven her in her playful frolicking was suddenly gone. The sensual tension that had started it no longer existed. She climbed out of the pool and went into the house to look for a towel.<br /><br />Her shorts and panties, her tank top, her bra remained lying where they’d been discarded. Forgotten. Empty.Rumplebearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504112871253308235noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3585079584973063785.post-43236174333908875502009-07-19T09:15:00.001-04:002009-07-20T14:58:18.501-04:00PICNIC<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFPVOsLq0IUaI5wxwig9dLzvO-HgQJ69_AvZavJYAhvEgJfkQKlLsnutbAfJm-oP_NfPRC6XtH73GHPcZmpd2sXf2fO7H7LIZgLByNv7XALTnZ7yuWuwB6QoW2m23uN-o3nm6tDagqqb4/s1600-h/picnic2005.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 244px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360166388202470002" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFPVOsLq0IUaI5wxwig9dLzvO-HgQJ69_AvZavJYAhvEgJfkQKlLsnutbAfJm-oP_NfPRC6XtH73GHPcZmpd2sXf2fO7H7LIZgLByNv7XALTnZ7yuWuwB6QoW2m23uN-o3nm6tDagqqb4/s400/picnic2005.jpg" /></a><br />PICNIC<br /><br />If anything could be held responsible, it should be that wayward watermelon seed.<br /><br />However, neither Jaleel nor Mike ever considered the flight of that small projectile as anything but a touch of fortune, something between an irregular introduction and the karmic opening of an unsuspected gateway. Neither one of them had expected anything from that afternoon except to be bored.<br /><br />The company picnic that summer afternoon was definitely lacking in young people Mike’s age; there was not another guy or girl he recognized present. The only reason he had been unable to excuse himself from going was the need his recently widowed mother had expressed for an escort. His older brother had conveniently made himself unavailable. Mike was stuck.<br /><br />In mid-afternoon, most of the men were at the ball diamond with a couple of coolers of beer. Many of the women, his mother included, were involved in the games organized for the children. Mike remained seated at a picnic table, nibbling at a platter of sliced watermelon and wallowing in boredom.<br /><br />A trio of children, dark-skinned as if either Indian or Pakistani, came running by. At the table the oldest one, a girl who looked about fourteen, stopped to straighten out the clothing of the younger two and sent them over to where all the other youngsters were gathered. She sat and watched them trot away. Mike was intrigued by the smoothness of her skin and the lilting accent in her voice. Her black hair was parted in the middle and tied in a ponytail to either side. To hide his obvious interest in one so young, he bit down into the piece of watermelon he was holding. Several seeds spurted away and to his chagrin at least one seed disappeared into her hair.<br /><br />Offering apologies, he hurried round the table, saw one seed lodged in her hair and reached for it. As watermelon seeds will, it escaped from between his fingers, fell to her throat and slipped down the front of her blouse. Instinctively his hand followed, and then suddenly everything stopped.<br /><br />Both became suddenly aware of the situation. A strange man had his hand down the blouse of a young lady; certainly a case of inappropriate touching could be considered even though no harm was meant. What’s more, her hand had come up on the outside of her blouse as if to stop his hand’s progress or to find the sticky seed itself. In doing so, it cupped a small firm breast; at the same time Mike’s hand found something that was not a watermelon seed. A firm nipple became even firmer under his fingertips.<br /><br />Both were surprised, somewhat stunned by what was accidentally happening. She was the first to recover.<br /><br />“Excuse me, sir. I think the object for which you are searching is no longer there. My name is Jaleel and what you are holding in your hand is my left nipple. Sir?”<br /><br />Again Mike offered some sort of apology mixed with an explanation, but when he tried to gently extricate his hand from under her blouse she covered it and held it there.<br /><br />“Oh no, sir. Your hand may not leave that place without an introduction. Whose hand is that on my breast?”<br /><br />He stammered out his name and the reason he was at the picnic. She finally let him retrieve his hand and with a smile watched his face turn several shades of pink. She paid no regard to his evident discomfort and began to explain her own presence.<br /><br />She had finished school in India and had come to attend university here. She was staying with an aunt and uncle until she had to take a room in a dorm in the fall.<br /><br />“Oh yes, Michael. I am not a child as I believe you were thinking. I am a young woman on my own, here as nanny for my small cousins this afternoon assisting their mother.”<br /><br />As Mike sputtered denial, she simply looked at him and grinned with a sweet sparkle in her eyes. It seemed to him as if she could read his thoughts. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so foolish, and that in the face of such poise. She reached out for his hand and shook it.<br /><br />“There. That is a much more proper introduction. I am pleased to meet you.” She said nothing about being embarrassed. She patted the seat beside her. “Now please sit down and tell me how you are.”<br /><br />Caught in a mixture of embarrassment and confusion, he was quite speechless. She saw she would not be able to get any rational information or discourse from him and took his hand. “Come, kind sir, walk a small way with me and when you have collected your thoughts, perhaps we can chat.”<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />She found a path leading away from the picnic area, up a slope and into a stand of trees. They stopped under one, and Mike squatted down on his haunches. She looked around and sat on the ground, folding her legs under her, under the ankle length skirt she was wearing.<br /><br />“Please, Michael. Please sit down. It is not easy to talk to someone so high over one.” As he slid down she continued. “ I am very glad that you chased that errant melon seed. I have been watching you for some time this afternoon and wondered how it would be possible to meet you. Aside from my aunt and her family I know no one here. Not just at the picnic but in the whole city. I was feeling somewhat lonely and sorry for myself. I chased the children and made them run about your table. Then you introduced yourself to me. Or, to be precise, your hand introduced itself to my boobie!” She giggled. She moved over and settled between his thighs, resting her head under his chin, taking his hands in her own. “There are two, you know.” She pulled his forearms snug against her sides and pressed the palms of his hands against her chest. She hesitated, then unfastened her blouse and tucked his hands underneath the material, against her naked breasts. Mike’s mind lost any incentive to function normally.<br /><br />He was confused, unsure of what was expected of him. At any other time, this kind of action had been at his own instigation and persuasion. Should he take over the lead? However, she certainly seemed confident with what she was doing. And what would he change? Here he was cuddled up with a young lady he hadn’t seen before ten minutes ago, a young lady who looked no more than fourteen but claimed to be of age and certainly acted that way. He was holding her naked breasts in his hands, breasts that were warm and firm and seemed created to be held like this. And she continued to talk as if this were perfectly normal.<br />“I was certainly surprised to see someone like you, such a handsome young man here today. My aunt had given me to believe it would be mostly for the young children. Since she was unable to accompany them, I was given the assignment. I certainly did not expect this.”<br /><br />She squeezed his hands into her breasts. The continued contact had its effects on the growing presence in his groin. He knew she must be able to feel him pressing into her lower back.<br /><br />“You are perhaps surprised and wondering at finding a lady naked beneath her clothing? I must explain. Earlier I was playing in the water with the youngsters. When I changed out of my bathing costume, I was feeling naughty and refused to put on again my underclothing. Had it stuck to my bra, perhaps your melon seed would not have slipped down my body and we would not have met in this same way.”<br /><br />She paused and he remembered his earlier embarrassment. She twisted slightly in his arms and his thumbs rubbed against her stiffening nipples. Her voice dropped to a whisper.<br /><br />“Oh, yes. Do that. You have found some things more wonderful than watermelon seeds. Oh, please!”<br /><br />He didn’t move. She pushed her whole body back into him, from the small of her back against his groin to the top of her head against his chin. In an unexpected move, she crossed his left hand to her right breast and tugged the other hand down under the waistband of her skirt and guided it to her pubis. The hair he felt was curly but not coarse. He still could not believe what was happening. She let both their hands lie there motionless.<br /><br />“I was telling the truth when I said I was without underthings.”<br /><br />Mike closed his eyes and pushed his back against the tree trunk. He gave up trying to rationalize in his mind what her hands and body were doing to him. He tried to control his physical responses but could not. Nor could he force himself to pull his hands out of her grasp.<br /><br />They sat there as one until she noticed a change in the activity of the mothers and children. She sighed, removed her own hands from under her clothing, and made as if to stand up. Quickly, as if an invitation had been withdrawn, Mike removed his.<br /><br />“It seems that the children’s games are drawing to a close. I must return to my charges. Will you walk back with me?” She stood and arranged her clothing. He took the opportunity to adjust his shorts for comfort, then wordlessly took her hand. Smiling up at him she said, “I must speak with you after I attend to the young ones and before we must leave.”<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />She came back to the picnic table where he had settled again with a large straw bag and the two youngsters in tow. She sat and shooed them away.<br /><br />“Go! Play until your mother comes for us.” In a lower voice she continued, removing the elastic bands that held her hair in the childish ponytail style. She didn’t look at him directly.<br /><br />“Michael, it is of little importance to me, but would you tell a small part of your background? The children have noticed us and will talk; my aunt will, of course, inform her sister, my mother. I need to put them all at ease because I wish to see you again.”<br /><br />He took a deep breath. “Jaleel, I too want to see you again. Could I have your phone number?” While she scrabbled in her huge bag for something to write on and to write with, he told her a little about himself. He was the youngest of three children; his father until his death several months ago had been a vice-president of the company sponsoring the picnic; he would begin his second year at the university in the fall. She looked up in surprise.<br /><br />“But when I said that I would be going to the university you did not mention the fact that you were a student there!” She handed him a business card with her name and a phone number written on the back.<br /><br />“I think my hands and my mind were too busy with other matters.” He glanced at the straw bag and suddenly wondered if her underwear was in there, lying loose or neatly folded away. He blushed. She smiled, and he noticed again that sparkle in her eyes.<br /><br />She looked toward the parking lot. “Here is my aunt, now. Come children!” she leaned against him, stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. “Please do call. Friday and Saturday evenings are not always free. Perhaps we could go to see a film during the week.” She left without waiting for his promise, hurrying the youngsters before her.<br /><br />“So I guess the picnic wasn’t a complete waste of time for you,” his mother’s voice teased from behind him. “What’s her name?”<br /><br />“Jaleel,” he replied, and looked down at the card. “Jaleel Sandujani. She’s from India.” He turned the card over and noticed whose card he held. “I guess her uncle is Professor Mehta, the Dean of Students at the university.”<br /><br />“So.” His mother placed her hands on his shoulders and watched as the girl shepherded her charges toward the parking lot. “I guess you’ll be seeing her again.” It wasn’t a question, just an observation.<br /><br />Mike felt the warm tingling in his palms. “Yes,” he agreed.<br /><br /><br /><div></div>Rumplebearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00504112871253308235noreply@blogger.com0