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Coming Of Age

By: ianhambone



Ashley's Cabaret was drawing its share of guests. A large restless Saturday night crowd of drunken sailors filled the small nightclub. A small naval base, on the coast of North Carolina, offered the men stationed there small chance for entertainment. Most of these sailors were on leave and just wanted to have a little fun.

As Dakota stepped down from the stage, her black dress in her hand, she sighed softly. The men tonight seemed to want more attention than usual. She had to linger over one last macho man, who was determined to get some affection before he handed her the usual dollar bill. Often, a night like this one included a hundred men who seemed to think love was worth a dollar.

A young man offered Dakota his hand as she stepped off of the stage. Dakota's high heeled boots were not to be trusted as she climbed and descended stairs. The colored lights flashing on the mirrored walls made her dizzy; it had been a long night and Dakota was tired. She distracted herself from her fatigue by reminding herself she was expecting a friend to arrive before the night was over. Once he was here, she would feel more comfortable.

Dakota walked over to the bar, her muscular, tanned legs attracting more than a few glances from the drunks sitting there, but she made no attempt to cover herself. Her curvaceous hips swiveled as she parted the crowd. Dakota's most beautiful asset was the Mother Goddess breasts hanging in front of her. Her wide mouth curved into a smile and her green eyes flashed when the men's gazes followed her. Flipping her curly, auburn hair and gesturing with her long, painted fingernails, she managed to coax a drink out of the bartender. She sipped it until she felt more relaxed, and then turned to step into the dressing room.

Alone in the dressing room, she pulled her long, black dress over her hips, adjusting the top of her dress to cover those marvelous breasts. Ashley's was short-staffed tonight and the few women working faced the challenge of entertaining the men, steely smiles fixed on their faces. Once the last bohunk walked out the door, they could all go home. Dakota leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

Well, I'd better make some more money before we close, she thought. She walked back out into the dim, smoky confines of the bar area. Scanning the men, she noticed someone wearing a cowboy hat down at the end of the bar. Grinning, she walked up to him and growled, "Care to buy me a drink, stranger?"

The man in the cowboy hat turned, surprised to see Dakota at last. He stood up to hug her, his tight jeans and leather jacket outlining his compact, muscular body.

"Tank, I have been waiting all night for you. Are you on leave now?" 

Tank smiled and his blue eyes lit up. "Yeah, I have ninety-six hours to spend before I have to be back at the base. Want to shoot some pool?"

Dakota nodded in agreement. "Sure." 

Her smile grew wider as her eyes traveled down Tank's body. Tank's blue jeans gathered tightly about his crotch and his ass. Dakota liked what she saw. As Tank put down his drink, Dakota slid her hand across the wide belt at Tank's waist. Tank hooked his thumbs over a belt buckle as broad as Texas. The two made a fine looking couple as they sauntered over to the pool table.

Tank, being a gentleman, allowed Dakota to break. He then proceeded to nail a few shots in a row. His aim was flawless; he had obviously played pool before. Within a few minutes, the number of stripes on the table had dwindled to none, and then all that was left for Tank was to sink the eight-ball. He aimed his cue at the cue ball, leaning over the table to increase his reach. Smiling wickedly, Dakota wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind, supporting herself on his broad back. Tank's movements were slow and graceful. With a beautiful woman on his back, her breasts pressing into him, he easily banked the eight ball off of the end cushion and into the near corner pocket.

Turning, Tank winked at Dakota as he laid his cue across the green felt of the pool table. Dakota's smile was sly. She returned the wink and reached up to grab the cowboy hat from Tank's head. She placed the wide-brimmed hat on her own head. She pulled it low over her eyes, bit her lower lip, and sashayed away. Over her shoulder, she called, "Thanks for the game, stranger."

Finally, the night was over. Dakota spent some time commiserating with a few of the other woman in the dressing room, before walking back out to the bar. Her purse firmly planted under her arm, she pulled at her garter belt until it loosed somewhat. Whew, she thought. Either this is tighter than it looked in the store, or I've gained some weight.

Her eyes widened as Tank turned to smile at her from the same stool at the end of the bar, where she had found him earlier. He had had a few more drinks. Well, she thought, I am going to have to drive the poor boy home, she thought. Shaking her head, she rested a small hand on Tank's shoulder. "Come on, Tank. I'll take you to my place."

The drive home took Dakota and Tank along back streets, wending their way along the coastline. Dakota's brick red 1991 Toyota managed to get them both to her house safely. Stars twinkled overhead as Dakota pulled Tank, his arm over her shoulder, into the one-story, ranch-style place where she lived. 

Dakota decided the first thing she ought to do, as soon as Tank was safely in a deep armchair, was to have a drink. I might as well catch up with the fool, she thought. She put ice in a tumbler and poured some whiskey, when she thought she heard Tank calling her name.

Carrying her drink, she went back to the den to see what he wanted. 

"What're you drinking, Honey?" Tank asked with a sloppy grin on his face.

"Oh no, you don't. You are cut off for the moment. Maybe, if you are a good boy, I'll feed you in the morning." Dakota purred.

Tank's eyes lit up. "Come here, girl."

Dakota smiled impishly and said, "Baby, I need a shower. I'll come back out when I am wearing something more...comfortable."

Tank, grumbling, reached for the remote and flicked on a sports channel on the television.

Satisfied that he had made himself at home, Dakota withdrew in to her bedroom and pulled off her clothes. She winced as the tight thong chafed sensitive, recently shaved skin.

She ran hot water in the shower and soaped up lavishly. She let her mind wander to Tank. Was he as good as he seemed to be? Only one way to find out, she decided. It had been several months since her last boyfriend had left her and she was in the mood for a good screw.

She looked up, as she turned off the water, to see Tank come in the bathroom. He began to piss in the toilet. Dakota could not resist. She pulled back the shower curtain to let Tank look at her dripping wet, and very naked body. Her curly auburn hair lay plastered to her back. Rivulets of water ran between her breasts, over her belly, and down between her thighs.

Tank's eyes popped. He reached out to steady himself on the sink, and then let his attention linger on Dakota's luscious body. Also at attention was Tank's dick, making a very believable impression of a ramrod-straight rifle.

Dakota decided she wanted Tank's fully erect member. Stepping out of the shower, wet in many ways, she cooed, "Tank darling. Will you dry me off, dear?" She handed Tank a fluffy, white towel and waited, her back turned, for him to comply.

Tank had other plans. He wrapped Dakota in a bear hug. His mouth found the nape of her neck and he began sucking until Dakota felt her spine tingle. With her ass pressed up against Tank, Dakota was sure she could feel his prick, ready and willing.

Turning around, Dakota gave her mouth to Tank, who searched hungrily for her tongue with his. Thus intertwined, Tank and Dakota kissed passionately.

Tank pulled off his shirt; Dakota following suit with his blue jeans. Beneath them, she found no underwear, only a very large penis rising from a thick crop of pubic hair. Dakota caressed the huge organ, feeling the head pop forth, throbbing under her touch. Dakota needed that rod inside her. Already she felt her juices flowing, mixing with the shower water, which had not dried.

Tank put his arms under her and picked her bodily off the floor. Dakota had loved being carried since she was a child. 

"Take me into the bedroom and fuck me, Tank," she sighed. 

With his dick wagging in front of him and Dakota in his arms, Tank walked into the bedroom. The room was dark and Tank, still being drunk, almost missed when he laid Dakota down on her bed. Dakota spread her legs wide, and to Tank's credit, he did not miss as he lowered his head. His lips found her labia, shaven smoothly. Soon, Tank's mouth was filled with Dakota's cum as she writhed in ecstasy. Grabbing the corners of her comforter underneath her, Dakota's hips bucked in orgasm. Tank's mouth followed her cunt in every direction it moved. Panting, Dakota cried, "Fuck me, Tank!"

Tank was ready. His pole seemed ready to explode as he knelt in front of Dakota. Dakota's legs stuck out around him. Between them, her pussy waited -- wet, womanly, and very, very willing.

Tank tried to slow down a bit, but Dakota would have none of that. Her muscular legs grabbed Tank from behind and pulled him into her. Tank leaned forward, grunting. Without even trying, his dick pushed forth inside her, as his weight bore down. Dakota's moans increased in pitch.

Tank thrust in and out, while Dakota moved her hips in rhythm with his. As her second orgasm approached, Tank grew more and more excited. Her vagina surged around his penis and they came together, both of them gasping for breath. They rode out the last of their steam, crying out in abandon.

Tank rolled over, wiping sweat from his eyes. Dakota's chest heaved and her breath came in ragged gasps. "Oh, Tank!" she murmured over and over.

They fell asleep in each other's arms. The sun rose and the small world of the coastal town started to work again, and still Dakota and Tank slept.

Tank was still sleeping, when Dakota rolled over and hitched her leg up over him. Smiling, she caressed his chest with a languid hand. She remembered the previous few hours; the sex was as good as she had ever experienced. Again, she felt herself growing excited down below. Her inner recesses tingled from the night's lovemaking. She asked herself, Should I do him again, or let him rest? Her mind flitted from images of his broad smiling face to a close up of his engorged member. She quivered. After last night, she still wanted that dick for herself.

Shaking Tank lightly, she called, "Tank. Tank. Wake up, honey."

Tank smacked his lips, swallowing -- his mouth pasty. He groaned and Dakota realized he must have a hangover. Getting up quickly, she went to the bathroom and drew a glass of water for him. She walked back into the bedroom and found Tank watching her with heavily lidded eyes.

She gave him the water to sip and curled up next to him, skin touching skin. The scent of last night's sex still lingered over them. Dakota was patient. He might not be ready right now, but, hey, they had all day.

Coming of Age



I am certain that I was cussing like a drunken sailor on shore leave. I get that ability from my father.

My mother was the reason I was cursing. Or at least, the values that she instilled in me.

She taught me that charity, and giving of ourselves, is a good thing. And I was being charitable, helping at the chocolate fantasy fund raiser for homeless dogs and cats. Charitable in that the event was mostly a couples thing, there would be lots of happy people together, drinking and eating chocolate, having their brains fooled into thinking that the reason they were so happy was the fact that they were together. In fact, it would be merely artificially induced brain chemistry caused by the xanthines in chocolate.

But there I go, being cynical and sarcastic. Because my jerk ex-boyfriend had dumped me at the holidays for the "It Girl" of his office.

So, I was helping as a volunteer at the fundraiser for couples; then I would attend the evening by alone.

Except, at the moment that I was cursing like the sailor, I was on the floor, writhing in pain from a pulled muscle in my back from moving boxes of supplies and decorations. I wasn't proud of myself at the moment, but the good news was that it got somebody's attention.

I didn't hear Greg some into the room, but he knelt beside me and had a calming effect.

"Let's check this out and see if it's serious," he said. His voice was deep and raspy. "Roll onto your back."

It hurt to roll and I was ready to swear again, but the presence of another person stopped me. He asked me what happened, sites of pain, and gently moved my hips and legs trying to assess me. He finally helped me sit up.

"Right there," I yelled, when he pushed on my back. I have zero pain tolerance; I'm not sure which parent that characteristic came from. It really sucks that I can never rate any pain less than an "8" on one of those smiley face scales.

He pushed along my spine, at the hips, on the thighs and there was no pain. But when he touched the meaty part of my lower back, it sent a shock of raw pain through my body.

"Holy fucking shit."

"That bad huh? So on a one to ten, that's a what, three or four?"

I gave him a look that I got from my maternal grandmother. Grams was Irish Italian, a wicked merger of ethnicities. I figured out at an early age it was advantageous to keep on her good side. When I was seven I had trampled through her tulip garden, breaking all of the early blooms and buds. She never said a word, didn't touch me, she just gave me a piercing look from her blue grey eyes that I can still remember. I've watched horror movies that weren't as scary as her stare. I never saw it again; we had a great relationship until she died a few years ago. I think it was because I never did anything to cross her again. And I learned the stare from her.

"Okay, so it's worse. Let me try a couple of things."

I wanted to yelp out a couple of times, but didn't. But after a few moments, the pain abated and actually seemed to get better, no it was gone. He moved his hands from side to side, telling me to inhale and exhale at different times, and kneaded the muscle until the pain dissipated.

"Holy fucking shit."

"Still there?"

"It's gone!"

"I've still got the touch."

His hands on my back, very professional and nearly clinical felt nice. For an instant, I started to have impure thoughts, like what it would feel like to have him touch me elsewhere, but I did a mental face slap and got professional and polite.

Greg helped me finish moving the stored boxes (which had caused the lower back muscle spasm). It was easier with two people and we had the job done fairly quickly. There were other volunteers there; we set up the room, the bars and chocolate stations for the revelers that were to attend later. It was nearly four o'clock, we were done and both of us sat sipping bottle water after the job.

"May I ask you for help with a delicate problem," Greg said. He looked embarrassed.

Great, a pervert trolling for women under the guise of good heartedness.

"My daughter is giving me a real bad time about dating her friend's mother."

"So you're dating her?"

"Oh, no. And I don't want to."

After a few minutes of background, Greg explained he was divorced, and his daughter had decided that he needed to start dating again. He was happy single, and not dating. 

"So, just say no."

He peered over his glasses.

"You don't know my daughter. She's a lovely girl. But she is very," he paused. After a moment he said "Persistent. Or annoying. Sometimes both."

He had signed up for a "secret" girlfriend, code for not a real one. He had paid a company to send him texts from a woman. He was having difficulty setting it up on his phone. He really didn't feel comfortable telling friends what he was doing.

I took his phone and in less than fifteen minutes he had a girlfriend set up on it. He sent a text message and a couple of moments later someone, somewhere texted back. They went back and forth for a couple of minutes, neither saying anything revealing; all were "G" rated. 

"Look, you don't know me, but you know something about me even my friends don't," he said shaking the phone. "I don't feel like staying tonight and I'm starving. You want to get dinner."

I obviously paused for a moment too long.

"What a schmuck, sorry. You're coming to this party tonight, or something with your boyfriend, I'm sorry."

I don't do spontaneity well. That's from both parents. When I was growing up, if it wasn't planned for three months and on everyone's calendars, it didn't happen. No, without the boyfriend my social calendar was pretty open. Except I still acted like I had to plan weeks ahead of time.

"That sounds great. My treat."

"No, mine, you set up the phone."

"You cured my back. That trumps it."

We were in East Nashville and I didn't know a lot of places that were close. Greg's face beamed and he texted me an address. He told me to follow him. A few minutes later we walked into a small, funky vegetarian restaurant. The fragrance of cilantro, garlic, pepper wafted around the room. We found a table in the back and puzzled through the menu. When we couldn't make choices, we told the tattooed waitress to pick her favorite appetizers and entrees; she nearly skipped to the kitchen to place the order.

Greg was tall, muscular with short brown hair that was flecked with gray. A medic in Viet Nam, he had been a paramedic for the fire department and now taught at a community college. The conversation was light, ebbed back and forth, like we were old friends and not new acquaintances. Then he picked at a scab.

"So why no boyfriend?"

I clammed up and clenched my jaw.

"Sorry, my bad. None of my business."

I thought about it for a minute. My girlfriends and I have analyzed relationships gone wrong until we could puke. Why not get a guy's point of view. So I told him. Everything. The good and bad, finally the infidelity.

"You did the right thing. Wipe him off your life. That's what I tell my daughter. Except, as her father, I have also offered to break the idiot's legs if he even gets near her again."

"That's what my friends say."

"Listen to them."

We nibbled through a shared desert. I really didn't want the night to end. It wasn't' romantic, or anything like that but it was fun. I enjoyed the conversations and the company. We parted at the door. He gave me a fatherly hug and a few final tips for my back before he walked off into a light drizzle toward his car.

My Sunday mornings are reserved for brunch with my friend Susan. She's the older sister that I never had, although age wise she more like my mother. She's nearly sixty, looks forty, and some days acts like a twenty year old, which may not be a good thing. It was her turn to cook and I poured the last of the wine into our glasses.

"So, you had a nice time with this guy and don't want to call him again? Some part of your brain turned off this week?"

I hemmed and hawed while trying to come up with reasons. I pushed the last of my Mediterranean omelet around my plate. She finally held up her hand.

"So, how old is he?"

I felt my face flush. Shrugged my shoulders. Whispered into my wine glass as I took a sip. She almost has Grams stare, I think I must have taught it to her. 

"Sixty, maybe sixty five?"

"Is that a question or a statement?"

"Susan, I can't date someone sixty years old." She glared at me again. "I don't have a Daddy thing with men." Wrong thing to say to her.

"So if I date a younger man, it's a Mommy thing, or a MILF fantasy like some fetish porn movie?" she said.

"Well, no ..."

"So how is your situation different? Look, do whatever you want. I'm your friend. But life is short and we only go around once. He sounds like a great guy, or at least an interesting one. If you don't want to go out, then don't do it. But don't let something silly like a number stop you."

That's what friends are for. They pick you up when you're down, and give you a swift kick in the ass when you need one. I called Greg when I got home. I remembered back when I was seventeen and was waiting for a boy in chemistry class to call me. The poor guy muttered and mumbled throughout the call as he worked up the nerve to ask me out that weekend. He didn't have anything on me. Greg and I talked about the day, and the dinner, and setting up the app and the secret girlfriend. I started a wandering discussion of a new Sicilian restaurant that was having a wine tasting the next night.

"Well, that sounds like fun," he said. There was a pause, a little too long. "You were calling to see if I wanted to go, right?"

My mouth had gotten so dry that I couldn't talk. Finally, I was able to say "yes".

I was a wreck for the next twenty eight hours (not that I counted them). I thought about what to wear and to talk about. I'm a teacher. I stand in front of a room of kids all day, nothing fazes me. But that Monday, I was a mess. I dressed and changed my clothes at least six times before putting on a really cute, flirty blouse and short skirt that I had started with on the ensemble search with an hour earlier. When I got to the restaurant, I was a mess.

"Wow," Greg said when he saw me. He grimaced and looked around the room. "Sorry, didn't mean to be rude. I meant to say you look really nice."

"I'll take a 'wow'".

He looked pretty good himself in a black turtle neck, khakis, a jacket. If dinner Saturday was very good, this one was great. We talked and laughed as we wrote notes on our sheets about the wines that we tasted. The tasting provided hors d'oeuvres; we added a meal to the tab and split an order of spaghetti with garlic and olive oil. It was nearly eleven o'clock when the wait staff started to look put out that we were still there. Greg grabbed the check and we stepped into the early February air. He walked me to my car, and before I could anticipate how to end the evening he kissed me on the top of my head and walked away.

It was nearly midnight before I got into bed. Thirty minutes later, I was still awake, tense and excited thinking about every moment of the night. I also had a sexual tension that I hadn't experienced in months. Hell, I was depressed when I got dumped: my sleep was interrupted, I ate poorly, and getting off was the last thing on my mind. I sat still in the warmth of my blanket and comforter layered bed. My hand brushed against my hard nipple and it shot a spark to my pussy and a delicious feeling. I rolled my nipple between my fingers while I circles my clit with my other hand, dipping into my wet pussy, smearing my juices on my clit, gently at first and then harder and faster until a wave of warmth washed over me sending tingles into my butt and down my legs. I collapsed into the mattress with a sigh and fell asleep in seconds.

I didn't hear from Greg for the rest of the week. I was tempted to call him several times, but just didn't do it. I'm not sure why. Maybe I wanted to see if he would call. I had talked to Susan a couple of times, I told her about the wine tasting, and we talked about what to do. She makes her own future and never waits for the call; if she is interested and wants something, she'll go after it. We're clearly not related in that behavior. But after a long Friday I finally dragged home and literally had dropped onto my sofa with a glass of wine when Greg called.

"Sorry, late call," he said with any prelude.

"Hello to you too."

"Well, yeah, Julia, hello. Like I said, late call, and well, a friend had tickets to a traveling Broadway show, and then had to bail on it, and he offered them to me, and I usually don't go to things like that, and then I thought about you."

"So, are you asking me if I want to go?" It was my turn to hear his discomfort. He was normally very confident and it was interesting to hear a little anxiousness in his voice.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Guess? Or asking?" I enjoyed the tease.

"Asking."

The problem is that he had waited so long to call that we only had an hour before the show; we agreed to meet at the theater. Five minutes to show time I walked into the outer foyer to find Greg. He was dressed in a black suit with a starched blue shirt and pink tie. His broad chest and shoulders filled the clothes and he looked luscious.

"Hey sailor, buy me a drink."

His head snapped back when he looked at me. I only had ten minutes to dress, but I maximized my efforts. I had pulled my hair up and back and used some make up for the first time in a year. I finally got to wear a hand painted silk jacket that I had bought at an arts fair. I thought I looked good, his eyes said I was right. He stood still, the house lights flashed, and I grabbed his hand and started pulling him through the entrance.

We saw "The Buddy Holly Story". If it had been a real show, like one with plot and characters and real conflict I would have been in trouble. We sat next to each other; I contorted in the seat so I could push my shoulder and leg against him, and swayed and bopped to the music, a series of Buddy Holly songs loosely linked by a bare thread of plot to the next song. Everyone stood and clapped and sang along with the cast during the encore. Greg's muscled hand found mine as we left the auditorium.

I don't know how he worked it but we went to an intimate restaurant near the auditorium, Etch, and launched into a wonderful meal. Each time we were together we removed another layer of our lives to the other. Greg had tried to avoid service in Viet Nam, but a low number and no money for college got him drafted.

"A trip to Canada felt like a one way ride. And my brother had served, and I didn't see a way out of it." 

So he enlisted, got into the medics corps and ended up with two tours, in the thick of it, but he made it. When he got back to the States, he got a paramedic job, retired after thirty years, after a month was bored, and started teaching.

The waiter brought the grilled cauliflower appetizer and beets and berry salad just as he flicked through his phone to find a picture of his daughter.

"Nurse by day, matchmaker at night. She's the one trying to fix me up with some friend's mother."

"So what are we?"

Greg fumbled with the phone as he thought about an answer.

"I don't know. Two people who seem to enjoy each other's company."

"That's it?"

"For now. Is that all right?"

I studied his face. The two small scars near his left eye. The top of his left ear gone. A happiness to his eyes when he smiled.

"It is, I think. I like you. A lot. And I've had a lot of fun going out with you."

"So?" he said

"I guess we play it by ear," I said. I'm not sure that is really what I wanted, but at the time, I was committed to trying it.

Restaurants make their money turning over tables. I learned that when I was in college and waited tables during the summer to make ends meet. I felt guilty again as we lingered over the remnants of our meal as we watched the place empty and discovered we were the last to leave. Greg walked me to my car at a lot near the Ryman Auditorium.

"Call me when you get home. To let me know you're there, okay." I nodded and he stepped away, turned and walked back. "I've had more fun in the past week than I have in the past year. Thanks." He leaned toward me and kissed my lips, a chaste kiss, polite and measured. I closed my eyes, tried to lean forward to savor the contact for a minute longer, and he stepped back and walked away.

The next morning, Saturday, I was up early and out running as the sun was cresting over the trees. I love my days off, love to sleep late, savor the morning paper and a cup of coffee. Greg had ruined the morning for me. I had thought about him, dinner, the show, and that one stinking kiss all night. And I was reminded whenever I turned in the bed that I slept alone.

"You're a normal young woman," Susan said as she smeared cream cheese and chives over her toasted bagel. "I'd worry about you if you liked being alone."

"You're alone."

"By choice. For right now. That could change tomorrow. Look, I've been married four times. Always thought the next one was the one for me. He wasn't. Or I wasn't. I'm no prize."

"You are the sexiest woman I know, and that's coming from a straight girl," I said.

"Yeah, and sexy only gets you so far in life. I have OCD, and inadequacy issues, and I'm a bitch to be around in the morning. I like where I am in my life. If I like someone, and we want to couple, then fine. If it's me and my Hitachi vibrator, that's fine too. I'm happy. But my life style isn't for everyone. When I was your age, I wanted to be in love, be loved, get laid, and be married, not necessarily in that order."

I guess I've been passive in relationships. Taking what was offered without really thinking through what I wanted. And I have had four long term relationships that just broke down after a while. Maybe I didn't put enough into them, but when I was in them, I thought I did. But with school, graduate school, low level teaching jobs and now a great teaching position, I probably made priorities that were different. Maybe I was ready to make a change in my life, and then Greg showed up.

"And the age thing?"

"What age thing?"

"Well, that's good to hear."

"Never think about it. He's a guy, a friend that I hang out with. At this level, it's not an issue.

"And if the relationship changes?

"I'll cross it when I get there."

Greg texted me that afternoon and a few moments later called me. He had more tickets to another show. He offered to pick me up. I tried to turn away the offer, but agreed.

Then, I needed to clean my apartment. And take a shower. And find the right outfit for the night. I finished everything just a moment before he rang the bell. He looked good and gave me a hug when he entered the apartment. He asked for a tour and I gave him one and then we were out the door and to the show. It was at a small theater in town with a local cast but the show was excellent. We went to dinner and had to wait for a table. We were standing near the bar with wine when Greg walked away and gave a young woman a hug and lead her back to me.

"I don't believe this. Julia, this is my daughter Kerri. Kerri, this is my friend Julia."

At that moment, I thought that Kerri might actually be an unknown cousin, long lost in the family because she had Grams look that bored into me and gave me a shiver. Greg went to get another drink and Kerri stepped closer.

"So are you Dad's girlfriend that he's been talking about?"

"No, we're not ..."

"Listen, bitch, stay away from him. He's too old for you, you're too skanky for him, find someone your own age that you can hang onto but get the fuck away from him. Do you hear me?"

I felt as if I had been slapped and kicked. I felt nauseous and pulled away from her.




Coming of Age



"If you want a Daddy, go find one and stay away from my father."

You know, I think we all have those moments when we wish we had a do over, when we had the ability to freeze time for a moment, to compose ourselves, think through an answer, and make it sound great like it does in the movies. That wasn't one of those times. I should have told her to fuck off. Or to mind her own business. If I was a better person, I would have told her that she didn't know me and that I was a nice person.

Instead I fumed inside, averted her look, and walked away. Greg returned a few moments later with wine, I apologized, pleaded a headache and offered to take a cab home.

"I'll drive you home."

"Your daughter is here. You've got wine. Talk to her." And I walked out the door.

Greg started called me a little later and I texted him that I was home. I turned the ringer off on my phone on Sunday and didn't take his calls or texts. I sulked, or at least that's what I called it, and spent the day in bed feeling sorry for myself.

I went to work the next day and ignored Greg's calls and texts that night. I finally texted that I felt under the weather. He offered soup, juices, a grocery run. I turned it down. I felt bad, not physically, but I was an emotional wreck.

I'm not proud of what I did; it was probably illegal, and maybe I could have gotten my friend into trouble, but that's water down the drain. I talked to a friend who worked at the hospital and somehow she could access work schedules. With my class in the morning, I had a tight timetable, but I was at St. Thomas at six thirty in the morning on Wednesday, at the elevator to Kerri's floor. I caught her by surprise. She didn't recognize me at first, and before the glimmer of recognition matured into anything else, I started.

"I don't know your problem, but it's usually teenagers that get all weirded out by their parents starting a relationship. I'm an adult, as is your father. We're just two people that bumped into each other and hit it off. And you know what, I like him. And I'm not going to make him choose between you or me, because that's petty and immature, and really sort of twisted. If that's your gig, go for it, but you tell him, and let him decide. You don't have to like me. Or even acknowledge me. But don't think you can judge me."

And I walked away.

I found a bathroom on the first floor and stood in a stall and shook for five minutes. Then I realized that I had twenty four second graders who wanted to get ready for a Valentine's Day party and I went to work.

That night I called Greg and apologized for not answering the calls and texts.

"Friday is Valentine's and I know we're just friends and all, but I'd like to invite you over for dinner."

"Let me think about it," he said.

I felt a lump in my chest. I had trouble sleeping that night. He called me Thursday when I was walking into my classroom.

"Does the offer still stand?" I told him it did. "I'd love to join you."

My grandmother was an incredible cook. She never used a cookbook or a recipe. She made other dishes her own by subtle changes in spices and textures. My mother couldn't make Jell-O without help. So I thought that cooking skills were one of those things that skip a generation and then return, a weird genetic mutation with variable dominance and penetrance and all of those genetic phrases I can't remember.

It isn't. Cooking is one of those things that you have to work on. Every day. And while I got my Grams stare and I could wilt granite with a good look, instant mashed potatoes are a challenge.

So here was my dilemma. Greg was coming to my house Friday. I had to work all day. I can't cook. So I improvised. The internet is a wonderful thing. "Google" foolproof appetizer, entrees, luscious deserts and there are thousands of hits. Now my idea of foolproof and reality may be light years apart. But at least it was a start.

The timer on the stove started to beep and I moved pots around from hot spots to cold. It was six forty five and Greg was to arrive at seven. It was at that moment that I realized I was totally screwed. The salad and starter were ready. The desert was an idea and plan in my brain. The entrée was unassembled in various heaps and mounds around the kitchen. And I still had not gotten dressed.

I turned up the Nora Jones CD and whipped through clothes in my closet. I really wondered what the hell I had been thinking when I invited Greg. It's hard to concentrate when you're anxious and stressed and I sure as hell wasn't feeling real romantic.

I found a pair of red tights and a lacy black skirt. I had gotten a pretty white blouse for Christmas and finally had the chance to wear it. I dug out some of Grams costume jewelry, dusted my face with glittery powder and slipped on my shoes. The doorbell beckoned me.

I swallowed hard when I saw Greg. The man was gorgeous in a black single breasted tuxedo jacket with a red bow tie and cummerbund.

"Damn."

"Am I all right?" he said, a look of panic washed across his face.

"You are more than all right. On the other hand, I look like I walked out of a ..."

"Fantastic dream." He stepped closer and kissed my forehead.

We stood in the doorjamb for a moment, our foreheads resting against each other until I came to my senses and invited him into the apartment.

"Something smells fabulous," he said. He put two bottles of wine on the dining room table and handed me a wonderful bouquet of cut flowers with carnations, irises, and tulips.

"Thank you for lying. The super bowl is the biggest day for pizzas, but I've got a twenty to order one if needed.

Greg acted like he had been in the apartment forever. He opened the wine and poured two glasses. He held his up to his eyes, looked through t at me and said "To friendship." We sipped the scrumptious, tart red wine. "Okay, put me to work."

I took him up on the offer and lead him into the kitchen and pointed him toward the salads. He added carrots and olives and dressed them before carrying them to the dining room. I dished the soup and got rolls from the oven and arranged the table. I had originally set us across from each other, but after a moment Greg moved to the seat next to mine.

A funny thing happened. We started where we had left off earlier in the week. It was if the week itself had not happened. He dropped into telling me a story from a class he was teaching and I talked about my kids. Soon we were laughing and joking and comparing the eight and twenty year olds and discovering that there were actually very similar. We had finished the first bottle of wine, the salad and roasted squash soup were gone, and I realized that dinner was unassembled in the kitchen.

"We may need to call for the pizza."

"I think we can think of something."

He took me by the hand and led me into the kitchen. He looked at the assembled ingredients and my recipe that I had printed earlier in the day. He rummaged through the refrigerator. He barked orders like a drill sergeant and I stood at the stove like an automaton following a program. 

"Lower the heat, stir slower to caramelize the onions."

Greg stood behind me and placed his right hand on mine and moved it through the buttery onions frying on the stove. He slid his left hand around my waist and rested it on my belly. I closed my eyes and stepped back and leaned against him. I dropped the spoon and wrapped his arms around me. Turning, I took his head in my hands and lowered his mouth to my lips. I tried the chaste kiss, and then attacked his lips and tongue, savoring the taste of his tongue against mine and his skin against mine.

"Onions are burning," he said.

"Fuck the onions," I said. I turned off the gas.

I took him by the hand and lead him into my bedroom. I stood next to the bed and turned and searched his eyes. 

He placed his hands on my chest, under my arms, and I swear to you the man dead lifted me off the ground and held me in the air over him. I get spastic with heights, but this was a real turn on. He lowered me onto the bed. He lowered himself onto me and we started to kiss. He raked his tongue across my neck, nibbled my nose, and caressed my ears. I nipped at his Adam's apple and massaged his neck. All the while I moved my hips, trying to rub or push or bump his pelvis.

Greg kneeled over me and unbuttoned my blouse. I started to help but he ceremoniously took my hands and placed them beneath my head as to immobilize them. My blouse fell open and he placed his hands on my breasts and rubbed my nipples with the feathery silk fabric of my bra. He found the button to the skirt and peeled it away and tugged down my red tights. He made a production of sliding them off my legs. I lie in front of him in a pair of pink boy shorts and my open blouse. He was still dressed; okay, he taken off the tie and cummerbund.

Greg knelt on the floor, had me point my legs up and managed to slide the lacy shorts off my long legs.

The sensation of his tongue on my pussy lips sent a jolt through my spine like I had never felt before. He placed his hands on my thighs, gently holding them apart to expose me to him and he continued to gently, lightly move his tongue across my lips. Then he did it. He zeroed in on my clit and it felts as if an orgasmic tunnel from my pussy to brain had been formed. I moaned and growled and probably used words that cannot be found in any English language dictionary. Just when I thought I had felt as good as I could without coming, he raised the intensity level a factor of ten and sent me to a new plateau. Then he took me to a new place.

He slid a finger into my tight pussy and moved it in a circle while he licked the nub of my slit. The competing sensations were phenomenal. I put my hands on his head and pulled him into me, pushing harder on my clit, encouraging the continuous licking and pressure on my clit as he continued his slow finger dance inside me. The first wave was like a pebble dropped into a still pond, small and contained that rapidly escalated and exploded as a wave of pleasure exploded from the tight confines of my pussy and spread in rippling waves into my back and spine down my legs and into my chest, washing over me in a warmth that I have never experiences before. I collapsed into the bed as I covered by clit to avoid any further stimulation.

"Wow," I said in a barely audible breath, too tired and satiated to put any energy into the word.

"So that was a three or four?"

I smacked him on the head.

"The chart isn't long enough for that one."

Then he did it all again. And it was even better.

Greg climbed onto the bed and lie next to me. We rubbed noses and I smelled my juices on his face; his breath and lips tasted like me. I continued to kiss him and slid my hand down to his groin and rubbed his cock through his pants. He was already hard. I opened his shirt and bit and licked his nipples while slowly applying a circular pressure to his cock. He rocked his hips, trying to maximize the pressure on his cock while I suckled him. I kissed my way down his belly, unzipped his pants and slid everything off and through his pants onto the floor. His cock slapped his belly.

"Well, look at this," I said taking his cock in my hand. I spit on the head and slid my hand up and down the shaft. 

I slid him to the edge of the bed so his feet were on the floor and I knelt between his legs. I continued to slide my hand up and down the shaft, very slowly and then I touched my tongue to his balls. He moaned and squirmed, trying to push his balls against my tongue. I pushed back, licking the base of his balls while slowly jerking him.

Greg was naked. I only had my lace bra on. I straddled his face, hovering my still buzzed clit just inches from his face.

"Don't touch it or I stop," I said with a giggle.

I lowered my head to his cock, sliding his head into my mouth and I resumed my stroking. I varied the pace, fast and slow, putting pressure on the head and stopping the stroking when I thought he was getting ready to come. I cradled his balls in my hand while I stroked.

"Please, I need to cum," he said, a tone of utter desperation in his voice.

"Where?"

"Anywhere!"

"Cum in my mouth," I said as I started to swirl my tongue around the head, and jerked him harder and faster. It only took a few seconds and he sent four long shots of thick, ropey cum into my mouth. I swallowed it and licked him clean.

I pulled back the covers and we lay on the crisp sheets and kissed, making mewing sounds as we cooed. I fell asleep with our lips touching.

It was midnight when I woke and found myself alone in the bed. I heard crackling from the other room, threw a robe on and walked into the kitchen. Greg was standing at the stove wearing my red microfiber fleece robe. There was water boiling on the back burner, the skillet was sizzling, and bread was baking in the oven.

"Ready for dinner?"

We opened the second bottle of wine and we ate a lavish pasta dish with peas, carrots, onion and cream with shaved parmesan and a side of Italian spinach. I still don't know how he did it.

We giggled and laughed all through the meal. We started our conversation where we had left it, talking about our students.

"I'm sorry about Kerri," Greg finally said.

I felt myself flush. I didn't know what he knew.

"She was out of line. But that's my daughter. She means well, but then some days she turns off her social regulator and says things that shoul never leave her lips."

"I went to St. Thomas Wednesday morning."

"I know."

"You do?"

"She told me. Or tried to tell me without telling me why you would do such a thing. We had words, said a few things that we shouldn't have said. But she eventually told me what happened Saturday night."

"So?"

"So, she and I have had a talk, or several of them. I raised her since she was fifteen. We've had lots of talks over the years. We're good."

"And us?"

"Well, let me say I haven't had that much fun," his eyes darted toward the bedroom, "In years. No, ever. And you?"

I closed my eyes.

"Susan says age is just a number and I'm working hard to believe her. And then I wonder what people will think."

"They'll think that that guy has got one smart, hot woman with him."

"Or how did she find a guy like that."

I leaned over and whispered in his ear.

"Honey, I'd love to, but there is one thing with the age difference. The equipment takes a while to recycle and recharge."

"Oh really? Isn't there anything I can do to help it?

I turned his chair, straddled his legs, lowered my bare pussy against his soft cock and started kissing him. We weren't there long, just a few minutes, enough to show him I was eager to try. I felt a little surge in his cock against me. I lead him to the bedroom, threw him onto it, and knelt between his legs.

I may not be any good in the kitchen, but I can find fun things on the internet. I got a tube of lube from my bedside table and smeared it all over my fingers. I put my finger against his asshole and slid it into him.

"Ooh!"

"Yeah, that's right, baby, 'ooh'".

I turned my finger upwards and slid it in and out, pushed against the firm bump.

"That's nice."

"I thought it would be." I rubbed back and forth, making small circular rings, and pressing harder at times. His cock started to get bigger and I bent down and took him in my mouth again. "That's it, get hard in my mouth."

And he did. I rubbed inside, pushing against his prostate, pumping it, and sucking him at the same time. It took a bit, but after about ten minutes his cock was hard. I think it was even bigger than earlier in the evening. I pulled my finger out.

"What did I say I wanted?"

"You wanted my cock in your cunt."

"That's what I still want."

I crawled on the bed and hovered over him. I took his cock, put it at my opening, and lowered myself onto it.

"That. Feels. So. Good," I grunted the words as I slid his thick, hard cock into me. I rested on my arms enjoying the sensation of being completely filled.

"Look, if we're going to do this," he said, "We need to do it right."

He pulled me to him and rolled, like a fancy wrestling move. a tangle of arms and legs, sweat and sex until I was beneath him.

"Like this. I'm going to fuck your cunt, Julia, until I cum inside you."

And he did.

My grandmother was a great cook, I'm not. She could put you in place with her eyes, so can I. She was extremely passionate about everything she did: her work, her family, her garden. Since I met Greg, I realize that I am a lot like my grandmother. And that age is just a number. And that I love him dearly.



Coming of Age



It was one day after graduation from West Trowbridge High. It was three weeks after my eighteenth birthday and my dog Toto picked that day to die. After all, she was thirteen, old for an Irish setter, but it hurt. Dad and I went to bury her and mom went to the grocery store. She came home and dad went down the basement to his home office to do some work.

Okay, I was eighteen, but after we got the groceries stowed, I just burst out crying. Mom took me in her arms. "Barry?" She asked, "is it about Toto?"

I took a deep breath. "Yeah, stupid, huh?"

Mom held me tight and then kissed me on the lips. I mean not a motherly kiss either. In spite of myself, I got a hard on. With my mom? Shit!

She backed off and held me by the hips. "Barry, why don't you go out tonight? You deserve to have fun."

"Go out? Like with who? You know I don't have a girlfriend. Mom - I had three dates my whole senior year for God sake."

She moved one hand up and tousled my hair. "Son, you are what? Like five eleven?" I nodded. "You're built beautifully. And a track scholarship to FSU." 

I nodded again. "So?"

"There is no reason you shouldn't have girls lining up to go out with you. And especially on a day like this, you should have someone - a girl to comfort you and hold you. But you don't. Why?"

"Christ, mom - I just don't. You asking if I'm gay?"

She grabbed me again and held me tight. "No, love, not at all. Not that it would matter to me, but what I feel against my hip is enough to tell me you are very heterosexual."

"Mom!" I yelled.

"Did I shock you?"

"Well, hell yes, Mom. Look, can I go up to my room, please?"

I twisted away from her and ran up the stairs into my room and slammed the door. What the hell did she mean by that? I got out of my jeans, even took my jockeys off threw on some gym shorts and lay down on the bed. 

Now, truth? At home I couldn't even get to web sites with sex stuff. Both my laptop and the desktop in the library still had all kinds of parental controls.

No, only at the gym or at track practice could I see that stuff on some of the other guys laptops and even their phones for God sake! No I never even saw a real girl naked, much less been laid. Kissed two girls my whole life, both of them good night after a dull date.

Track was a great sport for me because it was solitary. Yeah, we were a team but what we did, we did alone. So no, I had no girlfriend to cuddle with, but my mom knew that!

Just then, I heard a little knock on my door. "Can I come in?" It was my mom.

"Yeah mom - it's not locked." Now let me tell you about my mom. She wore her hair short. It's jet black and cut pixie style. She is about five foot nine, which makes her almost my height. She has these immense dark eyes and her figure was incredible. Matter of fact it still is. I mean in a bathing suit she still makes every guy - even guys my age stare at her. 

That afternoon, she was wearing a tee shirt about two sizes too big or her, but I still could tell she did not have a bra on, and she had on these cutoff jeans so I could see her legs which were in great shape. As a runner I know good legs. 

She came into my room and strange, locked the door behind her. She came over to the bed and sat down beside me. "Barry, I didn't mean to upset you just now, honest."

I am staring at the ceiling. "Oh mom - it's okay."

She puts her hand on my stomach. "No Barry, it's just, I hate to see you upset. Let me ask you something, and please answer me honestly. Have you ever been with a girl?"

I roll over and her hand drops away from my stomach. "Mom? What do you mean?

"Son, simple question. You are eighteen - what is your sexual experience? Have you ever made love to a girl?"

I am turning red. "Mom!"

She starts to rub my back, very softly. I swear she hadn't done that since I was a little kid.

"Look Barry. Maybe it's just that you feel so inexperienced you don't know how to approach a girl. Do you even know how to turn a girl on?"

Softly I said "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Do you really know how to kiss a girl - like you mean it?"

"Well, I don't really know..."

She rolled me over, sat me up, took my head in both her hands and kissed me again, this time softer. Then I felt her tongue come out and run across my lips. I opened my mouth, mostly to breathe. Her tongue went in my mouth and I felt my dick rise under me.

She backed off just a bit and whispered to me "let me taste your tongue, darling."

I kind of put my tongue out and she twirled her tongue around mine. Damn, what a sensation that was. 

She backed up a little again and said softly, "see, darling, it's easy. Do you know what that does to a girl?"

I was half sitting up with my hands on her shoulders and hers holding my face. "No mom, I never..."

"Well, how did it make you feel?"

"Umm...kind of - I don't know...warm and fuzzy?"

She laughed that wonderful laugh of hers. "That's really good, Barry. It does the same thing for a girl. Now, since this fall you will be going off to college, a couple of more things. Do you know what one of the most sensitive and arousing part of a woman is?"

"The lips?"

"Well, that's not bad, but here." With that she took my hand and laid it on her breast. I damn near freaked out. "No darling, don't let it just lie there like a piece of meat, stroke it."

And with that, she took my hand and moved up and down through her tee shirt. It felt warm and wonderful. Mom started to breathe a little harder.

"Now Barry, let me really show you how." With that, she took my hand away and lifted the tee shirt over her head.

"Mom?"

"Now don't tell me you haven't seen a woman's boobs before. On cable TV - or on some guy's internet." 

I'm staring at my mom's boobs. I didn't know where to look first. They are smaller than the girls on the internet, but those are so goddam big that I don't believe they could be real. But mom's? They stuck straight out and she had these great pink nipples.

"Well, son?" She asked softly.

"Mom? Oh God mom, they are beautiful. I mean I've only seen other boobs on the internet in the locker room, but yours are sensational. I mean they are great."

She laughed a really hearty laugh; throwing her head back and making her boobs jiggle a little. "Sorry to laugh, darling, but that was funny. Now let's try it again. Put your hand on my left breast and caress it. You know what caress means?"

"Well, yeah. Sure mom. Are you sure?"

"Barry..."

So, I reached out with my right and felt her boob. It was really firm. I just kind of held my hand there.

"Now Barry, stroke it, pet it - kind of like you used to do Toto."

So, I did. I began to slowly pet her breast. When I got to the nipple, I took it between my fingers and began to twirl it very gently. Mom's eyes closed and she began to really breathe hard.

"Kiss it baby," she murmured. She took my head and pulled it down to her breast. I kissed it and then kissed the nipple. I thought I was going to cum in my pants.

"Suck it, baby, please," she whispered in my ear.

I began to suck on the nipple and I really got into it. It's something I guess that does come naturally. Pretty soon I was moving from breast to breast, stroking one, pulling on the nipple and then stroking the other. Finally she pulled my head back. I looked at her face. It was flushed, her eyes were closed and she was breathing hard.

She opened her eyes and pushed me back on the bed. I was lying on my back, looking at my mom's boobs. There were like red blotches on her skin. She sat back on her knees and smiled at me. Then she leaned forward and pulled my shorts off, tossing them on the floor. I was lying on my back, my boner sticking straight up and my mom, with nothing on but her jean shorts, smiling at me.

"Barry, I am not going to have intercourse with you - not yet," she said softly. "But I am going to show you real oral love." With that and before I could react she leaned down, took my cock in her hand, stroked me twice. I felt her lips close around the head.

I stiffened my back and I thought my legs were going to cramp. But what an incredible feeling. She sucked and slathered her tongue around the top and I thought I was going to explode. I just lay there, flat on my back, my hands grabbing the bed posts while she took my whole cock in her mouth. Now, understand, I was eighteen years old and this was something I thought only happened in porno movies. But for God sake - it was my mom!

She came off it for a second, smiled a smoky smile at me and got back to work. About ten seconds later I knew I was going to cum. "Mom!" I whispered. "Mom!" She just sucked faster. I felt it from my feet to my stomach. I came like I never had before. She did not stop! My cock was so sensitive I thought I was going to scream or pass out. I wasn't sure which.

Mom finally came up, wiped her mouth gently on my sheet and slid off the bed. She picked up her tee shirt, came back to the bed and kissed me on the forehead. "Now - see Barry that was oral sex. Your friends would call it a blow job. I prefer the other term, it is more genteel. That should take your mind off Toto. Now get dressed for dinner. The rabbi may have called you a man at your bar mitzvah, but now, son? Dream of me and what a wonderful life you have ahead of you - my Jewish man!" 

That night at dinner, I couldn't look at her, but she seemed perfectly natural. The next day when I went to apply for a job lifeguarding at the Y, she told me to take the car. Things seemed so regular I began to think maybe I dreamed the whole thing.

The first afternoon I came home and I heard my mom clanging pots in the kitchen. 

I walked in and she gave me this terrific smile; like we knew something that nobody else did. Damn straight!

"How was your first day?"

"Cool mom. Tomorrow I get to teach some really young kids how to keep from drowning in the kiddie pool."

"Hungry?"

"Not really - the lunch you packed was super. I'm going to take a shower. I feel sticky, okay?"

"Of course darling." She turned back to some kind of meat she was cutting. 

Amazing. Was it just yesterday I was kissing her tits and she was sucking my cock? Amazing. I went in my room and took off my sweat shirt, shorts, Nikes and socks. I took my bathing suit out of my gym bag and headed for the bathroom across the hall.

I hung the bathing suit up on a towel rack, turned on the water and climbed in. I don't have a bathtub in my bathroom, just a stall shower. I let the hot water run over me taking away the sun screen, sweat and other stuff. The shower was going full blast, so I didn't hear the door open.

Next thing I know, there's mom - totally naked, climbing into the shower with me. Before I can say anything or even react, she says "let me get your back, Barry. Too tough to reach by yourself."

She got behind me and with a washcloth and soap; she washed me from my neck down to my ankles. She stopped for a bit to run the washcloth up my ass crack and I jumped.

She was squatting now behind me. "Relax, darling. Clean is clean."

She turned me around and I looked at her. God - she was the most beautiful thing I ever saw in my whole life. Her black hair was sticking to her skull and curling around her neck. Water was running between her breasts and down her stomach which looked as good as any of the teen agers on the rowing team at West Trowbridge.

I saw a little patch of black hair around her pussy. Her legs, like I said before were in great shape. Damn - and here she was naked in my shower. She began to wash my shoulders, my arms and down my chest. She squatted in front of me and washed my legs from top to bottom.

She looked up at me, blinking the water out of her eyes. She smiled and then very gently took my cock and held it. It was already about three quarters up and when she touched it, it was full sized. She gently washed my balls, sending me back against the wall of the shower.

Still holding my cock, she stood up and was right up against me, my cock about even with her stomach. "I want to taste you again, Barry, is that all right?" She said with a smile on her face.

"God, mom - I don't know what to say, I..."

Before I could get another word out she was squatting again, her hands on my balls, stroking them softly. She just leaned in and took the tip of my cock in her mouth. I was up against the rear wall of the shower. I took my hands and started to stroke the top of her head. She looked up at me with her huge dark eyes and began to suck at me and take more and more of me in. Her hands came off my balls and began to stroke me while she sucked.

I don't know how she could have stayed in that squatting position so long. I was convinced at that moment there never was and never would be any woman for me but my mom.

She finally stood up, still pulling on my cock and kissed me full on the mouth. She squeezed my cock and like she knew I was going to cum before I did. But boy did I. I shot jiz all over the fucking shower. Some of it on her, some of it right down the drain, some of it even on the walls.

She stood right up against me until my cock finally shrunk. "Better turn off the water, darling, in case your dad wants a shower when he gets home." With that, she stepped out of the shower and was gone.

After that, about twice a week for the next couple of weeks, she would either get in the shower with me or knock on my bedroom door and come in. We would kiss, I would kiss her tits and she would suck me off. I had no desire to see another girl, no desire to get laid or anything but to feel my mom's lips around my cock. I mean there were plenty of cute girls at the pool, but my mom, man? She was a woman.

Naturally, I didn't tell any of my buds about this. I mean, c'mon! Number one they wouldn't believe it and number two why would I? I didn't want them to think my mother was a slut - which she wasn't of course, but you know...

I looked at other girls, but hey - Some of the other lifeguards would talk about girls there who would fuck some of the guys - especially the jocks, but they obviously had no respect for them. I mean hooking up was a part of life for most of most of the young guys, but my mom gave me all the sex I could handle. Sure, I thought what it must feel like to really like get laid, you know, but I wouldn't know how to start with any girl I knew. So, it was the incredible blow job and that was it for me.

Then, just about three weeks later, I was in my room on the cool new iPad my mom got me for being "such a good and understanding son". Right. I was into a video on the civil war and all when she called to me.

"Barry? Could you come here?"

I got off the iPad and went down the hall to her room. She was lying on the bed wearing a tee shirt with no bra and a pair of shorts. "Come sit on the side of the bed, darling. I want to ask you something."

I sat down and looked in her eyes. I was just staring at her. She was propped up on a pillow with her kindle in her lap. I looked in those enormous dark eyes, took in that pixie hair cut for her black hair, her great lips, long legs and like I said before, a great set of boobs. I was thinking about all the times those lips had been wrapped around my dick.

"Barry," she said softly. "Why are you staring at me like that? What are you thinking?"

"Well, just how gorgeous you are, mom."

She let out this deep wonderful laugh. "Well, thank you kind sir!"

"Cool mom. Now, what did you want to ask me?"

She shifted on the bed. She sat up and reached out for my hands. "Barry," do you remember the first time that we, umm - got together?"

"Mom! How could I forget! I mean, God!"

"Well, you have been maturing beautifully this summer. You still look the same height."

"About. Afraid I'm done growing."

"And added some real muscle."

"Well, yeah - the pool and the weight room at the Y."

She smiled, reached out to me and stroked my cheek. "I know, darling. But I wonder, Barry - the whole summer and still no girlfriend?" 

"Well no mom I don't. I don't really care to."

"But Barry - you've got to meet girls your own age. I want you to have a social life."

"Mom - I do. We go out as a crowd - to the movies, the pool, you know."

"I know. And" she looks right in my eyes "Sex?"

I feel my cheeks getting red. "Sex? What about it?"

"Well, I know kids today. Haven't you thought about sex with anyone?"

I sat bolt upright. "Of course! Mom - what is that we do like at least twice a week?"

She gives me another laugh. "I know darling, but there is so much more to it than that!"

"Well yeah, I know, but that is really enough for me."

"Come up here, Barry, let me hold you."

I scoot next to her and she puts an arm around me. I've never been in mom and dad's bed before. It is really comfortable. "Barry, you know I love your dad."

"Well, yeah."

"But you also know dad is quite a bit older than me."

"Gee mom I never really thought about that."

"Well, he is. A great guy and twenty years ago when we met, a great lover as well."

I started to squirm. "Oh, relax darling! He was! But then he was forty five, I was twenty five. Now he's over sixty and I'm at that time of life when women reach their sexual peak."

"Really? I thought..."

"Barry - do not believe that God does not have a sense of humor. Men reach their sexual peak at about eighteen - women at forty. Hardly fair, wouldn't you say?"

"Well, yeah, I guess."

"Well, my point is, I don't really want to get involved with another man - too complicated. Dad and I have a wonderful relationship understand, but at his age, well, he just doesn't get desires like he used to - like I bet you are beginning to get."

Beginning to get? This is my beautiful mom who has been sucking my dick like the whole summer.

She put her hand under my chin and lifted it. "Barry darling - don't the boys talk about sex - I mean there have to be girls..."

I let out a sigh. "Yeah mom, of course they do. But the girls who like 'do it' are sluts except in case one guy and one girl are like, you know, going steady and all."

"And when you say 'do it', you mean intercourse, right?"

"Well yeah, I guess."

Mom laughs and I feel her hand move down to my shorts and she starts to stroke my dick through my pants. Of course I get hard right away. "Darling, do you think of that?"

"Of, like fucking?" I swear, it just popped out of my mouth. "Oh god mom - I'm sorry. I meant..."

She put her hand over my mouth, gently. "Shh - that's all right Barry. Call it intercourse, fucking, screwing, making love - it all means the same thing. Putting this" and with that she squeezes my dick "in here" with that she takes my right hand which has been like in her lap and presses it against her pussy, which I have only seen a couple of times.

My hand is on the outside of her shorts but her shorts are really damp. "Well, yeah. Mom, I know what it means and how it looks. I mean I can't get any porn on my iPad or on your computer, but the guys at school?"

"Ah," she says and continues to hold my hand right there. "So you have learned some techniques?"

I am starting to squirm a little. "Well, I mean I see how guys do it - but mom, you know what?" 

She keeps rubbing my hard on through my shorts. "Tell me darling."

"Those guys on the porn sites have such huge, long penises, I feel that, man - what am I?"

With that, she sits straight up, flips her Kindle to the bottom of the bed and unzips my shorts. She pulls them down over my hips and my Jockeys come with them. I can't move, my shorts have got me trapped and my hard on flips out and stands straight up.

Mom takes my dick in her hand. Now she does this when she sucks me off, but now she is just holding it like almost clinically. "Barry, that is a good five inches, wouldn't you say?"




Coming of Age



"God, Mom! I mean, I guess."

"And, given the chance, would you know how to move it?

"Move it?"

She looks in my eyes, still holding my dick and she has that smoky look again. "Yes darling - move it back and forth inside a woman's vagina, stroking." With that she starts to stroke my dick.

I start to lie back like I do when she sucks me. "No Barry," she whispers, "Not that today. Today momma wants to teach you some more and besides momma needs some, desperately. Take your clothes off."

With that she pulls the tee shirt up over her head. I see her boobs. They still look sensational. She looks at me staring at her. "C'mon Barry, now!"

I slide the rest of the way out of my shorts and jockeys. I take off my shirt. By now she has slid out of her shorts. I stare at the little mound of hair between her legs. The lips of her pussy are puffy and damp. 

She pulls back the covers and lies down on the sheet with the pillow under her head. I'm just sitting on my ass on the other side of the bed wondering what the hell I do next.

Looking right up at the ceiling, she says "Now darling, you have to learn to get a woman ready for sex. You will never be one of these 'wham bam thank you ma 'am men, understand? You will prepare them sweetly and slowly." She rolls over just a bit and gets up on one elbow. "A man is different, Barry. As soon as your friend" she puts her hand on my dick "gets a little harder than it is now, you are ready, right?"

I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to be ready for, but I just nod.

She lies back on the pillow. "But women are different. We need what we call foreplay."

"Foreplay?"

"Come close to me darling, I'll show you." I scoot over to where I'm right next to her looking down in her beautiful face. "Now lean over and kiss my lips."

I lean down and touch her lips with mine. It still feels weird to kiss my mom like that. "Now," she says in a husky voice, kiss my neck, then my shoulders." As soon as I start on her neck she whispers "use your tongue, darling."

So, I start to lick her neck and then her shoulder. Suddenly it's like it's not my mom any more. It's just a beautiful woman with slightly salty skin and I'm licking at her. Then she takes my head and moves it to her left breast. "Suck, Barry, suck!" She commands.

I take her nipple in my mouth and swirl my tongue around it. I am getting so hot I have trouble breathing. I move my mouth to the other breast and I feel my throbbing dick brush across her stomach. She is breathing harder and making little growling sounds in her throat.

She takes my head again and pushes it lower on her body. I start to kiss and lick her stomach. Mom is a regular at the gym and like I said, her belly is as tight as a guy's. Her stomach is heaving now and I'm licking harder and mixing it up with little kisses - don't ask me where this is coming from but man, it is working, for sure!

Mom scrunches up on the bed a little higher and reaches down to push my head even farther and OMG! I feel her pussy hair on my nose!

"Honey," she whispers hoarsely, "lick my pussy -use your tongue my sweet..."

I pull my head back and she spreads her legs. Those wonderful, long sexy legs. I lean back and stare between her legs. There it is. Pink and white, lips open like, well, dammit, like the mouth of a freaking goldfish. Sorry, but that was my first reaction. Yes, the guys had shown me pictures of pussies before, but man this was live.

It was wet, little drops of liquid on the hair around it. It didn't seem to be shaved, just some hair around it and really not much of that.

My mom moaned quietly. Her hands moved to the outer lips of her vagina. She put one long middle finger at the top and began to stroke. "Please, baby," she moaned, "do it."

I leaned forward and her hand came out of the lips. I stuck my tongue out and gingerly licked right where her hand had been. Her whole body jerked. Her legs fell more open and without thinking, I rolled over her left leg and stuck my face right in that goldfish mouth. I licked the edge. I sucked on the whole thing. I took my hand and put my finger inside. Oh God! It was so warm and wet! I was sure I was going to cum. 

"More!" She moaned. "More!" I didn't know what she wanted, so I put a second finger in and then a third. I was stroking up and down and pumping my three fingers in and out. She was arching her back and groaning and growling. She reached down and took my hand and pushed it. I made a fist and GOD! The whole thing went in her pussy!

She was thrusting against my hand, holding it there in like a death grip. She moaned again and then with a shuddering thrust I felt all this juice run up my hand and down my wrist. She held it there, thrusting and growling. Finally, she gently pulled my whole fist out of her. She reached over and grabbed my dick which was about to explode. "Now Barry - now! Inside me - now!"

She pulled me on top of her and guided my dick in her vagina. Oh God! It was so warm and wet and I really did not know what to do, but somehow, naturally I just began to pump back and forward, She grabbed my back and into my ear she growled "Fuck me, baby, fuck me, fuck me!"

Then, I swear - the inside of her pussy tensed and grabbed my dick even harder. I thrust myself in as far as I could and oh my god! I am cumminng!!

I looked up in my mom's face. Her eyes were slits and as she felt me cum they opened wide and her legs gripped me by my hips and she thrust up on the bed and screamed - I mean it started like a little "hoo-hoo-hoo" and then erupted in a low scream. She was cumming and cumming.

Finally her legs relaxed and her hands came from around my back. She took my face in both her hands. "Oh my sweet son. It has been so long, so long."

I don't know how long we laid there, I know I rolled over and she settled against my back and we spooned and I slept and I think she did too. Finally I woke up and was staring at the bedside table with my dad's stuff on it. Man! What if he comes home and finds us? I couldn't remember if he was out of town or at the golf course or what. I slid out of the bed and went in my shower. I scrubbed and remembered and scrubbed some more. After a few minutes remembering my mom growling in my ear "fuck me, fuck me".

I really did not know what to do. Go back in my mom's room? Pretend it never happened? Then I heard some noises downstairs. I was toweling off. I quick put on my tee shirt, jockeys and shorts and peeked out of my room. It was getting dark and the lights were on downstairs. 

Just then I heard my dad's car come up the driveway. Man, dinner was going to be awkward. Except it wasn't. Mom and dad chatted and dad asked me about the Y and was I ready for college and when was practice. Mom smiled at me. She was wearing a strapless sun dress and near as I could tell no bra.

After dinner I went up to finish my homework and look at some sms that some of my buds sent me. I was tempted, but there wasn't anybody I trusted with my secret. And you know what's funny? It never happened again. I mean none of it. No blow jobs, no fucking, not even a kiss other than kid and mom stuff.

A week later mom and dad drove me up to FSU and I kissed them goodbye. But that memory will always be with me. Sometimes I would think the whole summer was a dream. 

End of my sophomore year and I wanted my new girlfriend to come home with me. Mom and dad came up to get me. They had met June off and on during the year and while even we didn't know if it was going to get really serious, my parents said, that it was cool for us to come to the house for a week or so. It was really nice and the affair with my mom was like it never happened. But when we were leaving to go back to Tallahassee, mom hugged me and whispered in my ear, "remember, Barry, I was your first."



Coming of Age



Zoot was so excited. At last, after all these years, she was at that age, that special age, that coming of age, where she could drink, take drugs and have sex. Now, she could share the physical love, which until now she could only practise on herself. She hoped that all her practising had prepared her well for her new life, where her vagina could at last be penetrated. Her mother marked the day, as was the custom, by shaving off the hairs that had grown so wild and full in these years of waiting. Zoot stood there, wearing nothing, her hair short and shaved on the sides and back, longer and full and permed on top, while her mother carefully ran the laser shaver over her crotch, only the short stubble left to remove. In the cane seat in the corner of the room, was Aghana, her mother's partner, watching the ceremonial shaving with concern while tenderly worrying the golden ring in her own shaven crotch.

This was how Zoot would always be from now on, now that she had come of age. And soon, if she ever chose to take a partner, she too would have a ring pierced through the folds of her vagina or even her clitoris. Her mother wiped her freshly shaven crotch with a towel and then splashed some sharp sweet smelling perfume on it, which smart ever so slightly and made Zoot gasp.

"There! It's done!" Zoot's mother exclaimed. "Now everyone will know that you've come of age." She ran her palm over her daughter's smooth crotch, admiring her handiwork and the beauty of her offspring. "Now, you'll be able to enjoy the pleasures of love. Now you'll be able to do whatever you like."

Zoot's mother lowered her face between Zoot's thighs, as she stood against the large windows that opened into the garden and the huge elm trees that towered high above the house. She let her tongue slip through her lips and lovingly licked her daughter's crotch, while Zoot gave vent to another gasp. So, this is what it's like! Zoot thought to herself. She'd so often watched her mother and Aghana making love, their tongues on each other, their fingers inside each other's smooth and shiny orifices. And now, while Aghana smiled approvingly, she could feel another woman's tongue on her. The tongue glid over the smooth mound of her crotch, and then worried itself into the folds of her vagina and then ooh! her teeth nibbled gently on her clitoris. Zoot felt a warm, slightly troubling, sensation burn from down there, while she looked down on her mother's short-cropped head between her legs.

"Azini! Enough!" said Aghana, with a chuckle. "Your daughter needs to be ready for her party this evening. Not exhausted." She brushed the long single strand of hair off her face. The only strand which survived her brutal daily shaving, and emerged from above her forehead and curled around over her cheek and shoulder.

"You're right, lover!" laughed Zoot's mother. "It's just that I've looked forward to tasting Zoot's little clitty for so long. And now of course I can." She stood up, standing slightly taller than Zoot, her large artificially enhanced breasts on a line with Zoot's shoulder, a dress open at the front and down over her buttocks and revealing her own shaved crotch from which dangled a long chain which would slap against her inner thighs when she walked.

"Oh, Mum!" exclaimed Zoot, disappointed. She'd so often looked forward to the moment when she could share the conjugal bed with her mother and Aghana.

Her mother kissed Zoot gently on the lips, not able to resist the temptation of running her slightly sour tasting tongue over their reddened sheen. "Don't worry, sweetest! There'll be plenty of opportunity in the future. You've come of age, you know. There's no law in the solar system that can stop us now."

"But you promised, Mum…" began Zoot, regarding her mother's huge breasts which seemed out of proportion to her lithe slender body.

"Don't forget your promises," agreed Aghana, who was naked as always except for the chains she had dangling from her own much smaller, pointed breasts. 

Zoot's mother nodded, and let her daughter take her breasts in her mouth, supporting their full round glory in her palms, while nibbling and licking the nipples, which like her Zoot's own clitoris, had become stiff and rigid. Zoot had not tasted them since she was just a baby, and she'd never tasted anyone's flesh except her own. It was so warm, and soft, but resisting. And those nipples, which filled Zoot's mouth tasted so sweet. Her saliva dribbled down her mother's breast, while she gripped her now smooth crotch in a hand, feeling that unfamiliar hairlessness, and masturbating herself with a long finger.

"That'll be enough, dear!" said Zoot's mother, clearly reluctantly, after a few minutes. "You've got your party this evening to look forward to. You don't want to be worn out before then, do you?"

Zoot let herself be eased off, and stood silhouetted against the windows, still rubbing her crotch, wondering to herself whether she wanted to rub herself off in front of her mother. Somehow, this act still seemed too private to do so publicly, even though her mother had so often encouraged her to do so when she was watching sex films with her partner and her. However, her mother and Aghana made the decision for her, leaving arm-in-arm, clearly quite excited, and probably off to make love together, while Zoot collapsed onto the full sofa, which engulfed her, while she pushed and thrust her fingers into her crotch. As she gasped and sweated, her fingers aching from the effort, she thought ahead to her party, the first one, of course, she was ever able to go to, and naturally so because her own had to come first before she was of age to go to any other.

As her fingers probed and explored her now strangely smooth crotch, she reminded herself of the stories Alifa, her best and closest friend, had told her about her own coming of age party, not so many months earlier. Now, she too could have sex with as many people, and as often, as she liked. And tonight, she knew, she would lose her virginity.

At long last, after all the presents were unwrapped and later discarded, it was the time for Zoot to enter her own party. As tradition required, the other guests had already arrived and were massing together in the vast hallway in her mother's home. Zoot sat impatiently in her room unable to concentrate on anything. Zoot wasn't really watching the holographic porn video that was playing in the background, nor was she really that interested any more in her view of herself in the long mirror at the end of her bed. She was dressed in a long red velvet cloak that came down to her bejewelled ankles, which parted at the front to display her pert young breasts and her recently re-shaven crotch. Delicate booties raised her heel high off the floor and there was a small jewel-encrusted crown pinned into her hair. Who would be the lucky one tonight to snatch her of her maidenhead?

She could hear the sounds of computer-generated music fill the rooms and hallways beyond her own: the melodies and harmonies chosen to fit and change with the ambience and mood of the room in which there were any listeners. And then, with a broad grin, her mother opened the door. She strode up to her daughter and kissed her on the mouth. Zoot responded with passion and for a few moments, mother and daughter kissed, their tongues battling amongst the teeth and through the lips. Zoot placed her hand on her mother's crotch and was delighted to find that it was as moist and hot as her own groin most certainly was.

Zoot's mother gently pushed her daughter off her. "It's true that I've waited so many years for the pleasure of your body, but not now. You have a party to go to and a virginity to lose. Come now. The guests are all waiting for you."

"Is Alifa here?"

"Is she to be the lucky one? Oh! Sweetest! You choose so well. But savour first. And there's much to savour. Yes. Alifa is here. And all your friends. Except Omeg and Inzoince. They, of course, haven't yet come of age. But worry not, you'll have your chance with them on their coming of age parties."

Zoot's door slid open and she and her mother ventured onto the huge balcony. Her mother hadn't lied. Everyone was there. Everyone she knew. And plenty others beside. An exotic gathering of beautiful young women, and a few older ones amongst them. The household's music system responded to their entry with a loud fanfare of celestial choirs and trumpets. The lights arced and swivelled to highlight Zoot against the top of the stairs as she strode down on their dark red velvet carpet, the rest of the house dimming so that she was undoubtedly the centre of attraction. And then everyone cheered her; while the celestial chorus built up to a crescendo of celebration, and garlands, flowers, butterflies and confetti fell onto the heads of her waiting guests from above. 

Zoot strode regally down the stairs, her mother behind her. Her cloak shimmered in the slight breeze generated by the house's climate control system, occasionally parting to show not only her smooth groin but her pert expectant breasts and the small gold chain that dangled over her hips. And soon she was at the foot of the stairs and engulfed in a sea of welcoming guests. Her body was caressed and stroked by others dressed in their own tastefully chosen clothes, all discreetly arranged so that for most of the time their bare crotches could be seen. 

"Oh Zoot! I'm so happy for you!" said Alifa who placed a hand on Zoot's crotch. "Please let me be the one. Say that it'll be me."

"I'll make my decision later," Zoot replied coyly, but nonetheless taking the opportunity to place her mouth full on her best friend's. For several minutes, the two of them sunk their tongues into each other's mouth, the taste of her mother's saliva still distinct amongst the tastes of Alifa's wine-soaked breath. Zoot had almost already decided that it would be Alifa who would plunge the golden phallus inside her unbroken cunt. She loved Alifa to distraction as she had for the many years from earliest childhood that they had known each other. 

Alifa was wearing a golden and silver waistcoat, opened at the front, and had titanium rings pierced through her nipples. She was bare from the waist down except for some gauze like shimmering cloth strapped around her legs just below the knees and flaring out to her dainty azure slippers. Her hair was long and straight, shaved at the front, as were her eyebrows to give the semblance of an impossibly high forehead. She put an arm around her friend's waist and the two of them wended their way through the welcoming guests, exchanging kisses, strokes, caresses and probes of an intimate and sensual nature. The flame in Zoot's crotch her mother had lit that morning was fanned by all this attention to burn even brighter. She could barely wait until the moment of penetration would occur.

She let one hand probe down to Alifa's crotch and pinched and squeezed her friend's vaginal lips. She bent down on her knees, and in the middle of a group of admiring friends, she placed a finger below Alifa's clitoris and licked and teased it with her tongue. It smelt so strange. Not like a smell she'd ever smelt before, even from herself. So rich! So appetising! So sweet!

"Come, Zoot!" said Alifa putting her hands on her friend's ears and pushing her gently off. "Time for that later. Now is the time you shall taste wine and plenty." She eased Zoot up by her hands beneath her armpits and nodded to Elise, another friend of hers, who was proffering a goblet of sparkling clear wine. Zoot took the glass and savoured another delight that until now she had been too young to legally enjoy. It was a strange taste. Sweet but also slightly sour. And the bubbles tickled her nose. She wasn't sure whether it was the party atmosphere or the alcohol, but she almost immediately felt intoxicated.

From thence, her memories of the party were scattered and uncertain. She drifted amongst her guests, wandering from room to room, savouring on the way other previously forbidden delights. Some that you drank. Some you inhaled. Some you sniffed. And always around her the presence of naked or near-naked flesh, feeling her skin against theirs and their skin against hers. And soon she was lying on the grass on the lawn under the artificial night of their artificial world, looking up at the stars beyond the great transparent dome and the massive glory of the nearby gas giant, Uranus, shining almost as brightly as the distant Sun itself. 

She was with Elise and Alifa. Their three bodies were entwined and naked. Somewhere in the party she had left her gown behind, surely now in the possession of one the household's domestic robots to be returned to her whenever she would require it again. Elise had a bob of light green and purple hair that covered her eyes and went round the same length to her shaved neck. She was slim with breasts almost hardly formed at all. Indeed they were almost all nipple. And after having admired those nipples for so long, Zoot had now had the pleasure of their taste. 

Zoot had learnt a lot already, though how much was promoted by the hallucinogens, the alcohol or the serotonin she couldn't be sure. She had learnt just how different people smelt and tasted. And how each person had different smells and tastes all over the body. Although she dearly loved Alifa, it was Elise whose taste and smell was somehow the richest and most enticing. She smiled at her lover, and kissed her on her full purple lips. Perhaps Elise would be the one. In fact, the way she was feeling at the moment she wished it was Elise now. The golden phallus between her slim, angular hips thrusting back and forth while she kissed her best friend, Alifa, whilst her mother and all her guests would stand around admiring and cheering them on.

And how sweet did Elise's vagina smell! Sweeter even than her mother's. And such perfect, unbroken folds. Such a firm and proud clitoris. Zoot grabbed Elise by the back of her neck and thrust her face against her own for a long slobbery wine-tinged kiss, while a languorous Alifa ran her fingers idly up and down Zoot's thighs and stroked her vagina. A cloud passed overhead between the top of the trees and the light from the nearby planet, and there was a flutter of bats near the eaves of her mother's grand house. Surely this was heaven. And perhaps now was the time. The time that would truly mark her transition into adulthood.

However, Zoot felt she ought to see more of the party before she made her decision. She disentangled herself from Elise and Alifa, who moaned softly but remained entwined together. She crawled forward on her hands and knees, and then stood up naked under the stars, the grass pleasantly brushing against the soles of her feet and through the gaps between her toes. She wandered back towards the house, past other naked bodies, many of which coupling with vigour, but mostly relaxing in the warmth of the night. She climbed up the steps to the long balcony that went around her house. Through the windows she could see guests making love or just having conversations with each other. In the large hallway she could see a number of guests dancing to the heavy percussive sounds of electronic dance music. Should she join them? She decided not to. She was slightly tired from her own lovemaking and her narcotic infusion.

She walked along the balcony to the point at the furthest end, which looked over to the hills and parks near the small sea. This had always been her favourite place to stand and relax. Sometimes in the distance, you could see the planetary cruisers as they darted across between the many settlements and artificial worlds surrounding Uranus. She put her hands on the wall around the balcony and leaned forward, feeling the slight breeze on her breasts and on her bare crotch.

But she wasn't alone. Another girl was standing at the balcony also watching the view. And not a girl she'd ever met before. She was also naked except for short puffed blue velvet sleeves that covered her from her elbows to her shoulders. She had long braided hair trailing down her back cascading from a topknot in the centre of her otherwise shaven head. Unusually, however, she was totally black. In the modern world most racial distinction had disappeared after the many years of interbreeding. Most people were various shades of brown. Very few were especially pale or especially dark. What dedicated single-mindedness over the generations had led to such racial purity?

"It's a very warm night," the girl commented with a broad smile from between thick reddened lips, a flash of white from her eyes and teeth startlingly distinct against her black skin. "And such a beautiful view!"

"It is, isn't it?" agreed Zoot. "Look at the lights shimmer on the sea from the planet's reflection. I often stand here and admire this view. Sometimes, you see the moons reflected as well."

"You often enjoy this view? You must live here? Are you Zoot? The girl whose coming of age it is?"

"Yes, the same," Zoot smiled. "Is it a long time since your coming of age?"

The black girl smiled in return. Such beautiful strong teeth! "Not long ago, really. Less than six months, I think. I'm still getting used to all the freedom I can enjoy. It's so liberating, but also quite daunting. Look, we're not introduced. I'm Lamentha. I came here with Agnatha. I've really enjoyed your party."

Zoot put an arm around Lamentha's waist and the two of them stood at the balcony edge looking out at the dark shadows and the distant lights. Lamentha leaned her head over and kissed Zoot tenderly on the cheek. Despite all the physical attention she'd received all night, somehow this kiss imprinted itself more firmly in Zoot's mind than all the probing and sweaty groping she'd enjoyed up till then. She turned her face around away from the starlit view and gazed deeply into Lamentha's eyes.

"I don't really know you. Perhaps we shouldn't…" she commented.

Lamentha grinned. "This is your coming of age, Zoot. From now on, it doesn't matter whether or how well you know anyone. If you want to, you can just do what you like. Come on, girl. I've heard so much about you this evening from your friends. Let's see what you feel like."

The black girl put her hands around the back of Zoot's neck and pulled her forward onto her large welcoming lips. Still shy, despite her relative intoxication, Zoot was uneasy with getting to know Lamentha so physically so soon, but as their lips conjoined and she tasted Lamentha's tongue on her own tongue, she felt her reservations fly. She put her own arms around Lamentha's hips and pulled the slim naked body towards her. She had such full breasts, and not ones artificially enhanced like her mother's. And those buttocks! How could an arse be so warm and inviting and full? And the taste and scent and colour and flavour of Lamentha's skin. It was so warm, inviting and arousing.

"On the grass. Come on!" Zoot whispered through long deep breaths. "Together. Stretched out."

"Yes. It's. Nicer. On the grass," gasped Lamentha as short of breath through the haze of passion as Zoot. 

It was an ache for their bodies to separate, as they strode hand in hand down the steps which led from the balcony to the lawn which stretched for so many hectares out into the distance. One thing was for sure, out here in the outer suburbs of the solar system, space was very cheap. Zoot had heard that it was so much more crowded and expensive the closer you got to the Sun. The two girls lay down on the short soft grass, Zoot below and Lamentha above. And their lovemaking became more passionate and free the more they got to know and be familiar with each other's odours and tastes. 

Lamentha was so different to Alifa and Elise. Those beautiful soft breasts, crowned by those proud long nipples. That slender, slighter muscular waist. The beautiful, smooth skin to her vagina, with lips that pursed together so perfectly and exactly. And when Zoot parted those lips, the dark skin against her own pales fingers and her sparkling silver nails, there was such a pink looking clitoris and the flesh inside was also pink, perhaps even slightly yellowish. Zoot couldn't help it. She let her tongue lap up and down Lamentha's vertical smile, enjoying the rich smell and the slight sourness of the juices freed from within Lamentha's innermost recesses. And while she probed and licked and kissed and nibbled, Lamentha stroked her hair and shoulders and her own pert hardened nipples.




Coming of Age



A groan startled Zoot, but she looked up at Lamentha's face and saw that it was she who was groaning. The passion was released by a moaning, sighing cry. Zoot became belatedly aware that she too had been vocal in her passion, but as nothing to Lamentha, who gave so freely of her emotions.

As the two girls caressed and their bodies slid so easily over each other, there were other noises to be heard. The cicadas in the trees. The rustle of the mild breeze through the trees. And also the grunting and groaning of other guests. Soon enough, Lamentha and she were sufficiently sated that they could lie back, their sweating damp bodies on each other, Zoot's chin on Lamentha's breast, her black lover's arms around her shoulders, and their legs and feet intertwined. And now Zoot could more clearly see the source of the other noises.

One particularly loud set of groans and cries came from over where Zoot had left Elise and Alifa. Zoot smiled. Her friends had clearly resumed their lovemaking. She peered more closely. There were three, no four, figures silhouetted against the distant trees and bushes. There was Elise and Alifa. She could still recognise her friends even in shadow form. But there was another woman who was thrusting in and out of Alifa's cunt with a monstrous dildo, while Alifa herself was thrusting her dildo into Elise's cunt. And around them, encouraging and licking and teasing, was Aghana, a dildo clearly silhouetted against the grass. They were really making more noise than any set of lovers. And now that she had noticed them, more than anything other than the thumping dance music that was seeping out of the house.

Zoot knew that she should feel happy that her best friends, and her mother, and her mother's lover, should be getting on so famously and enjoying each other's company so much. But a more selfish part of her was less than pleased. After all, it was her party. Her coming of age. And if anyone should be getting or giving special treatment, it should be Zoot herself. Not those who just happened to be closest to her.

She ran her fingers over Lamentha's vagina, which still felt warm and liquid. There was a clear, oozing juice smeared over her lips, which was just too viscous to be sweat. "Lamentha. It's my coming of age. And I can choose whoever I like to break me in."

"I remember my coming of age. I chose my best friend, Agnatha, but she wasn't really the best. I didn't know it at the time. But there are girls who fuck a lot better than she did. Or does."

"Well. Anyway. I've chosen who I want to take my maidenhead. And I've decided that it's not going to be my best friend."

Lamentha sighed. It was as if she'd been expecting Zoot to announce that she would be leaving her for her ceremony at any moment, and that she'd preferred that they just stay together. She made an attempt to look enthusiastic. "Who's it going to be? Your mother? She clearly knows how to fuck. Or her partner? She doesn't look at all bad for an older woman."

"No. Not Aghana. And not my Mum, either. No. I've chosen you!"

"Me?" replied Lamentha, but clearly looking delighted. She could barely contain the pleasure in her voice. "But we've only just met."

"And I hope we'll meet again. No. It's you. It's you I want. I want you to take the golden phallus and fuck me. I want you to fuck me like you've never fucked anyone before. I want to be fucked to the heights of ecstasy."

Even through her dark skin, Zoot could see that Lamentha was blushing. "I just hope I'm able to satisfy you."

And so, Zoot introduced Lamentha to her mother, Aghana, and her best friends. It was obvious to her that both Elise and Alifa were upset that she'd chosen a strange woman to do the deed, and not one of them. Alifa was the most clearly disappointed. She must have always believed that the moment was meant for her and no one else. But she gamely congratulated Zoot.

"Where are you two going to do it?" she asked.

"By the swimming pool," Zoot announced. "If it gets too hot we can easily cool off!"

Everyone laughed, Elise and Alifa the least convincingly, as Zoot and Lamentha wrapped their arms around each other, feeling excited at the prospect. At last, thought Zoot, she would be a proper woman. And although the first time was always special, she'd do her best to make it up to her best friends. And she could see a residual disappointment in her mother, who'd perhaps hoped that tradition and custom would have given way to familial passion.

And so the party gathered, a couple of hours to daybreak, under Uranus's comforting green glow, by the huge irregularly shaped swimming pool. Everyone was there. The domestic robots had ensured that. And many guests had even put back on their clothes, including Zoot's mother, who wore a dress parted at the front for her enormous breasts, and, of course, her vagina, and belted tightly around her waist. Zoot was feeling increasingly nervous, despite all the drugs and drink and sex. Had she made the right decision?

She watched Lamentha who was being prepared by Aghana. She was cleaned with glistening oils and the golden phallus was secured to her waist. It was not the largest dildo there is, but for the first time it was more than adequate: nearly 20 centimetres in length. It shone a golden metallic hue, but was flexible and solid, fully able to do the task in hand. Beneath it were two golden testicles, whose presence was a distant memory of an earlier age when there was another now superfluous gender. Lamentha was so beautiful. How could a woman be so beautiful? And Zoot felt so grateful that it was Lamentha who would be the one for her.

The sound systems emanated a discreet ambient sound as Lamentha strode towards Zoot under the appreciative gaze of her guests. Zoot felt even more nervous, although it was Lamentha whose performance would be the most open to scrutiny and criticism. Zoot had heard stories of ceremonies like this, which, despite the best intentions of everyone concerned, had not really matched expectations.

The two girls lay on the soft luxurious mattress the domestic robots had prepared, their eyes gazing at each other, and their hands touching the other. And then encouraged by the changing tempo of the sound system, they became more adventurous with each other, recapturing those delicious moments they had enjoyed alone together on the lawn. The lights were turned down, so only the mattress was lit and that very dimly. Zoot could still see faces in the dusk, including Alifa who had her arm around Elise's waist. But it was on Lamentha she concentrated her attention. Her tongue and lips explored her shaved vagina, while above her Lamentha had her face in her own crotch, where with her fingers and saliva she was lubricating Zoot's already wet and willing sexual centre. Lamentha's phallus was pressed against her face, and she alternately licked and chewed at that. It oozed its own sleek coating which tasted so sweet and ever so slightly sickly. It was shaped quite strangely. Not only were there those peculiar testicles, surely too large to function efficiently as a control system, but also a shape that was unlike anything Zoot had ever seen so close before. It had a strange nobbled head, a bit like a shoe's heel and coloured slightly darker than the rest of the phallus. Stranger still were the strange raised lines along it, which resembled the veins on her hands or her neck. All the while, her own crotch felt like it was dripping and there was a strange tightness in her belly like, but not like, that she felt when she'd left it too long before she'd gone to the toilet.

This could have gone on forever. In fact, Zoot almost wished it did. But there was a job to be done. Lamentha judged that all was well. Her lips left Zoot's crotch and she swivelled around on the mattress to kiss and lick Zoot's face.

"Are you ready?" she whispered.

Zoot nodded, and the household's system must have recognised the signal changing into a rhythmic thrusting tempo that assisted the two in progressing to the next stage. Lamentha sat up on her knees, with the phallus pointing out in front of her and glistening in the dim house lights. Zoot lay on her back, gazing up at her black lover's serious face, screwed up with concentration. She parted her legs as she'd seen her mother when Aghana used a similar dildo on her. Or more normally, a rather larger one.

And then, penetration. Slowly and timorously at first, eased in through the parting vulva, through the vaginal lips, and then into the main passage that had only been explored and penetrated by fingers before. And then, bit by bit, thrust by thrust, the phallus entered her to a depth greater than any finger could reach. And it was so much wider and thicker and more solid. How could a girl's vagina take in so much? And, yes, it did hurt. A stinging, tearing pain. But not one she'd not been repeatedly warned about.

Lamentha leaned down on Zoot, her long black arms supporting her weight with her hands on either side of Zoot's bare breasts. Her buttocks were jerking backwards and forwards, both facilitating the entrance and lubricating Zoot's vagina with their delicious thrusts. The pain sharpened and then lessened, but Zoot was becoming increasingly immersed in the lovemaking and almost wished the pains were sharper and more painful. She so liked the physicality of it. So this was what it was all about. And Lamentha was evidently well experienced. She thrust back and forth, in and out, the phallus occasionally pulled almost all the way out so that Zoot could feel its touch again on her lips and clitoris and then back in again. Thrust after thrust. The sweat poured down Zoot's neck and onto her breasts and belly, but her feelings were focused beneath her on Lamentha's thrusting.

She soon gave vent to louder and louder cries of passion and ecstasy, reciprocated by Lamentha's own as she collapsed onto Zoot's bosom, the phallus deep inside, thrusting away, harder and harder, faster and faster.

It was up to Lamentha to decide when to finish. Zoot was lost in spasms of liquid explosion, which came from just above the phallus's deepest entry and somewhere below her stomach. This was a new sensation. Very physical. So much more vital and powerful than the feelings she'd enjoyed all evening from Elise, Alifa and even her mother. And, she didn't know how, but each climax, which shivered and shook her body and left her gasping, was to be followed by another which seemed somehow greater, more wet, more powerful than the one before.

And then, the spasms lessened in intensity and Lamentha's thrusts became correspondingly less urgent, and the two were close on top of each other, the phallus still inside, and still as big, but somehow less needed.

When Lamentha eventually withdrew the phallus under the watchful gaze of both Zoot and her guests, there was indeed a dark red dripping on the golden sheen. This bloodletting was what Zoot had expected, although her imagination had made it less of a drip and more of a flood. Perhaps it was a little more than the blood she lost in her menstrual cycle, but it was so mixed with vaginal fluids that it seemed lessened and diluted.

Zoot smiled as Lamentha stood up and removed the phallus and handed it back to Aghana. Her guests then erupted into applause. And Zoot grinned broadly. She needn't have worried. It had been perfect.

She smiled at Lamentha, desiring her still and willing her black body back onto her. Not only had the lovemaking been perfect, she reflected, but the perpetrator of her lost virginity had been perfect too. Zoot gazed beyond Lamentha to her mother, her friends, her guests, her home and the looming glow of the planet beyond. She was such a lucky girl. To have such a loving parent. To live in such a beautiful place. And now to have the most gorgeous lover she could ever imagine.

This was certainly a coming of age she would always remember fondly.



Coming of Age



My husband and I may very well have been to open with our kids as they grew up. But in the over all picture I think they grew up very well and liberal thinking. 

We pretty much let the kids do as they pleased with in reason of safety as they grew up. We were also very loose on a dress code. Nudity in our house was common place. Denny and I often had sex with the bedroom open. If we had an audience no one ever said a word about it. We did of course give the speech about sex to both girls as they came nearer to that age when they talked boys and sex. 

In our state the legal age for drinking has been raise to twenty-one. But when Sherri and Michelle came to us and asked if they could have a graduation party with beer and booze. We had a problem with that. They begged very well and there easy going father came up with an idea. 

Our cabin is across the state line and over there the legal age is eighteen. So we told the girls we would take all the kids that gave us a parental permission slip in our motor home to the cabin let them have the party and we would drive them all home the next day. 

A week before graduation we had sixteen slips giving us permission to serve beer and booze to the kids at our cabin and we were to be the chaperones. Two mothers asked if they could accompany us in there own cars. We happily agreed. 

I called the first mother and introduced myself. "HI "I said "I am Karen Wheeler, Sherri and Michelle mothers." She said her name was Linda and the mother of Jerry Stone." She said her husband was away for a few weeks and she really wanted to get out of the house. So I welcomed her to come along. 

The second was the Grandmother guardian of a boy named Randy Cole. She said she was not so sure about these kids drinking alcoholic beverages but her grandson wanted to real bad (Because of the girls) so she wanted to go along to make sure things did not get out of hand. I welcomed her also. 

Sherri and Michelle our twin daughter were all excited the day of the big party. Denny had parked the motor home out front so as the kids arrived we pilled them in the coach. The last one arrived at two o'clock and the two followers were close behind. It was a very noisy sixty miles but even with all the screaming and fooling around we made it in two hours. 

Our cabin has four bedrooms and lots of room on the floor for sleeping bags. The cabin is set back under tall trees a good hundred feet from the lake. Our boat house is next to the dock. We let the kids use it as a changing room for the ones that wanted to go swimming. The booze would not be brought out until after the evening meal. 

Neither Denny nor I had met either of our adult guests until today and he for one was surprised and pleased in both cases. Jerry's mother was slim and tall like me with a skimpy bikini under a see though smock. She made no bones about her suggestive attire and if Denny wanted to look he was welcome. I laughed and told him to be my guest if I could watch. He said he world see what he could do to accommodate me. 

Randy Grandmother, Lacy turned out to be a very young Grandmother and a very pretty one. She was not over fifty and she was also a well build lady with a quick smile. She on the other hand wore jeans and loose blouse. Even at that I could see she had a nice figure. So I was sure Denny noticed as well. 

But with so many young girls around I don't see how he kept from rupturing him self. Some of the bikinis were no more than an after thought. 

It turned out to be ten girls and six boys plus our two daughters. The girls way out numbered the boys. But I got the idea that some of the girls did not care about boys at all. In fact two girls made me smile as they held hands and kissed laughingly. 

We called them all up to the cabin for a meal of junk food with hot dogs and hamburgers. The sun had not yet set as we opened the bar. Sherri had a real bad case of Tom Brice. She danced around in her bikini in front of him showing her tight little figure off. 

Linda came over and sucked up two high balls in a flash. I thought she came to drink not watch the kids. Denny was acting bartender and overseer for those that might have too many. I mingled and went out side to keep an eye on the ones that came only to screw. But at this grouping it looked like to me that every one was here to get laid even Linda. 

Out on the front porch a couple was in the dark corner kissing. They did not even mind when I walked closer. She had her hand in side his swim trunks and he had a finger up her narrow bikini crotch. They looked at me and laughed. I walked away. 

I walked down toward the boat house and just off the path under the trees in the darkness I could hardly make out two shadow forms one kneeling in front of the other. God I do enjoy oral sex and I hoped the boy was getting his. Farther down I heard laughter from the boat house. I peeked in the window to see my daughter Sherri bent over the side of the boat with Tom Brice screwing her from the rear. 

I hoped they were into safe sex. Standing next to them was a girl sitting on the boat and another girl had her head between her legs. God open sex and group sex is the thing now a days. But with a shortage of boys I guess one has to accept what one can get.

I stood next to Denny and gave him the run down on the kids. He said he thought Sherri was not a virgin but was not sure about Michelle. He said Linda had two more drinks and had asked were the bathroom was twenty minutes ago. I told him I would bar tend so he could go see where she was. As he went up stairs Lacy came over to stand next to me. She asked if her grandson had been drinking and I told her not that I knew of but to ask Denny later. I asked her if she wanted a drink. She cleared her throat and said "Maybe a small one just to ward off the night air." So I poured her half a glass of Vodka with no mix. She sipped that and said "Oh, yes that is just right." "Oh great another boozer." I thought in silent mediation. 

Denny came down smiling from ear to ear. Lacy stood looking at him and he smiled at her while he told me "Young Randy is screwing Linda and Linda is licking a pretty little girl's pussy." Lacy pucker up her lips to day something but it chocked in her throat. Maybe Lacy was not use to such language or maybe she did not like her grandson screwing our other adult guest. Denny noticed her stammering and went on as if nothing was wrong. God he is a tease some times. "I think I will get a chance to fuck her later. She sure has a nice ass." He leaned close and said "But not as nice an ass as you my dear." I said "Now remember I want to watch." Lacy gulped her drink and poured herself another. The other kids were all right here in front of us dancing and drinking slowly. 

I handed a kid a drink and she said "Thank you very much it is a great party." And walked away. I turned to Lacy telling her not all the kids were busy fucking there brains out. Her face was bright red and she wanted to say something but was at a loss for words. I called out to the kids present "Rule no.1, no clothing after midnight. Everyone has to get naked or go to bed." The all roared and laughed cat calls came from the two remaining boys. 

I looked around sure enough there were only two boys in sight. We had started out with six boys. One was on the porch getting a hand job. One was of the path getting a blow job and one was screwing my daughter Sherri. So where was number six? I looked around the kids dancing and quickly noticed Michele was missing. Denny said he thought Michelle was a virgin but maybe not after tonight. I turned to say something to my ever loving husband but he was going out the French doors with his arm around Granny waist. Granny or not she was a sexy half drunk lady just the way he likes then. I thought, so go get it old boy my chance will come later. 

A quick check of the key board next to the front door told me he had picked up the keys to the Coach. Well at least he was going to do her in private. 

What I did not find out till later was that when my darling husband and Granny got to the coach. It was already open and Denny walked in on our daughter Michelle getting screwed doggie style right up her pretty little ass. When Dad asked her why in the ass she politely told him so she would not get pregnant. Granny suggested she try sucking him off instead. Michelle said she had already done that. So while the sixth boy fucked our daughter on our bed. Denny followed the youngsters lead and screwed Granny doggie style but not in the ass. He nailed her in the pussy and she cried out with joy. I guess it had been a while for her.

When he finished he was not going soft so he and the boy change partners. Denny fucked his daughter doggie style for the first time but surely not the last. The boy was really into ass fucking and he drilled Granny in the tight little ass hole and she screamed for joy. 

By two Am we had accounted for all the kids and two drunken adults. I went out to the coach and Denny followed close behind. We were just laying there naked talking about the evening when both our daughters walked in. Sherri naked slithered in next to her father and Michelle came around to my side and laid her thin naked body on top of me. 

Michelle smiled at me as we listened to Sherri tell her Daddy how she loved to watch him walk naked around the house with his cock swinging and his big balls hanging down. I know he was so proud of his girls for wanting to be with us this special night. Michelle wiggled around and sat on top of her Dad taking his cock up her sweet cunt. He looked over at me and winked. He said not too long ago we would get to love our daughters and he sure knew what he was talking about. 

Michelle shivered and rubbed her firm little breasts on me. She asked if I had ever had a real girl friend. I asked if she was asking had I ever has sex with another girl? "Well yes I guess." She said. 'Oh my Baby daughter I have enjoyed the kissed and touch of another girl many times. In fact your Daddy and I have enjoyed one special girl together many times. Michelle sat up her thin pussy hair tickling my belly. "Oh, Mommy tell us who." She asked smiling. I looked over at Denny and he nodded Ok. So I said "Well my Darling Daughters; we together, your Daddy and I have had sex with your Grandmother Grace Daddy's mother since Grandpa died seven years ago." 

Sherri was busy rubbing her tight little cunt all over her Daddy's cock but she perked up to ask. "Oh, so can we now have sex with Grandma too?" I said "I don't know why not. I am sure Gamma will love to see we are one big happy family now. The girls leaned to one another and kissed. We got the feeling they had played this game before. 

Michelle turned around so her sweet little cunt was ready for me and I spread my legs so she had lots of room for her to do her thing. We did a sixty-nine till we both reached a climax. Daddy fucked Sherri to a climax but pulled out of her before he cum. Sherri went down on him and sucked his cock as he came. Sherri pulled up and Michelle leaned over and sucked the last few drops of her Daddy's cum. 

The girls slept on the living room bed and we all were happy for the rest. 

Early in the morning Denny and I went to the house to see how the kids were. Most were still asleep all over the place. We checked the bedroom and found Lacy and her grandson naked together in one bed. In the other bedroom we found Linda with two boys curled up with her sleeping soundly. We backed out we wanted then to wake up with out us knowing what was going on. 

An hour later we had fed them all got the sleeping bags gather up and two very sheepish adults ready to drive back to town. Once we got home I got Linda to the side an asked her if she would like to come over Saturday night for a little party of special friends. These were all adults I told her. She accepted. 

Denny waited till Granny Lacy got home to invite her to lunch Saturday afternoon at the hotel. He said "We have a room there we keep for special guests." He made no suggestion but it was clear what he wanted and she accepted giggling. We put the phone down and he said now be sure you wait fifteen minute before you come up with Ted. I think that will give me time to get her naked and in bed. Lucy will get a kick out of him. Ted is my delivery man he works in my dress store. He is also very young, very black and has the longest cock I have ever seen. 

The girls were listening on the extension and now they were asking "What about us, what about us." 

((Sex 101, introduction of togetherness ;)) Next…



Coming Of Age



“Damnit!” Catherine exclaimed as the wrench slipped and her knuckles scraped violently across the faucet handles. She dropped the heavy silver tool into the sink with a loud clang as she recoiled. Her hand drew up, curled and hiding the hurt. With the other she gently eased open her fingers. She stared down at the torn flesh across her knuckles and brought them to her lips.

The angry flesh stung as her tongue tasted the coppery tinge of her blood. She sucked until the hurt subsided into a dull ache.

“Shit. What the hell am I doing? I don’t know the first thing about fixing this damned leaking bastard of a faucet!”  Catherine’s frustration slammed around inside her head. “Bert was a sonuvabitch, but at least he kept up with the house.”

As she sucked and kneaded her aching knuckles she had to chuckle in that ironic tone. “Bert! Why the hell did I marry a man named Bert anyway? She giggled aloud in the empty room, “Well, she can have his sorry butt!”

Catherine lightly dabbed at her raw knuckles until the pain and blood subsided. She found herself starring out the small window above the sink. Gazing out into the backyard. The old swing set her children used to play on sat motionless. The lush green grass just beginning to become untamed. Her beautiful flowers, the flowers she had spent years tending, beginning to fade with the on coming of fall.

“Is that what this is? I’m in the autumn of my life. Am I going to be like those flowers and just shrivel into winter? Am I…”

Her thoughts interrupted by the throaty growl of a diesel engine outside. It rumbled loudly and close to her home and then stopped abruptly. Silenced. She took one last look and then broke her longing gaze from the memory filled yard and turned toward the front of the house. 

“Must be the lawn service. Wonder if it’ll be that cute boy again? Oh hush, Catherine!” She strode through her home to the front room. She reached the expansive window and peered around the lacy drapes to the street. There sat the bulky white Ford truck. A trailer riddled with mowers, trimmers, and tools following obediently behind. She watched as the door of the truck opened. The boot clad leg reaching for the curb. The white sock pulled into a bunch at the top of the leather boot. The bronzy-colored leg hairs exposed as the leg stretched out of the confines of the cab.

Soon he was out. His above-the-knee olive drab shorts hung loosely but snuggly at the same time. His over-sized white T-shirt clinging to his back from sweat. It was a warm day. Those days when summer and autumn battle for control. The morning had been crisp but summer had asserted to warm the air by mid-day. 

Catherine realized she had moved behind the curtain and was barely peeking one eye around the lacy fabric as she watched him move to his trailer and ready his tools for the job.

“You’re acting like a damned school girl!” She laughed inside her head as her cheeks flushed.

Evan, as she’d come to learn his name over the summer, wasn’t going to be painted on the cover of a romance novel any time soon. Yet, he was attractive. He was handsome. His body lithe with youth but not overly muscular. 

Catherine could remember giggling as his sandy hair would fall into eyes and annoy him as he tended her lawn. Those thick long locks at the front continuously falling flipping about as the sweat dripped from his forehead. Always stopping to shove them aside only to have them again distracting him.

“Damn Catherine. Have you been watching this boy? You naughty old woman!” Again she giggled as she gently peeked around the concealing curtain.

It was getting late in the afternoon. Catherine glanced up at the clock, just past five. Her eyes again back out to the yard watching Evan work. 

“So you’ve been watching him. No big deal. You ARE human Catherine! And he is attractive. And how long has it been since you had sex? Even the last couple of years with Bert were pretty sad. Admit it Catherine. Your horny!”  She couldn’t believe she was thinking this way but wasn’t about to stop it.

Evan had finished the mowing and was nearly done with the trimming. All the while Catherine watched from the window. Slipping the curtain over her barely exposed eyes each time she thought Evan might catch her looking at him.

He had only one last stretch up the walk to trim and he would be done. She had been watching him nearly 40 minutes. Moving again to the kitchen window as Evan mowed and trimmed the backyard. Then back to the front as he finished up there. He was facing the street, away from Catherine, and squatted low and deep. The fabric of his shorts stretched tight across his youthful butt as he paused for a brief rest before finishing the last strip.

Catherine felt a dull tug deep in her stomach as she watched him swipe his sweat soaked hair back. He grabbed his squeeze bottle, his head tilted back, he sprayed the water over his face and head, cooling himself. Catherine could see his back expand and relax as Evan drew deep breaths.

“Damn Catherine. You shouldn’t be thinking what you’re thinking! Your own son is older than he is.” But she couldn’t deny it. She couldn’t deny the fact that she’d been voyeuristically watching Evan for months now. Had she thought about him during those lusty needing moments of masturbation when she sought the relief her body so craved? The relief never fully achieved. The physical satisfied for the time but the emotional left feeling thirsty. 

“Rubber and latex is no substitute Catherine!”  She giggled sinfully at her own wanton thoughts. She watched as Evan finished his trimming and loaded his machines back into the truck.

Maybe I should…you know…invite him in? Just for a cool drink. He has been working hard all day. That’s not bad right? A cool drink for him and a warm drink for me!” She almost shocked herself at the thought. “Damn Catherine, you are horny. You’re actually considering this aren’t you? You’re almost fifty! Your own son is older than…older than…Evan.”  She watched as he latched his equipment into the trailer.

Over the months they had barely spoken. Catherine’s suppressed attraction keeping their encounters brief. But she had always believed that Evan admired her. She had never been a slim or petite woman. She was full and voluptuous. Strong hips, broad shoulders, heavy breasts, thick thighs. She was a bigger girl all her life, weightier than so many of the other girls. But as she grew older she found that many men actually found that an attraction. Bert had told her many times that he would rather have a full real woman than any of those women in magazines. He said they were nice to look at but in reality, when the rubber meets the road, men want a full luscious woman.

Catherine was that. And Catherine was a sexual person. Not really open and brazen but very much in touch with her sexuality. Damn it had been so long.

Evan, his load tightened and secured now, headed for the truck. Catherine watched. Not believing what her mind was screaming at her. But wanting to give in to that dark voice that cried out to her.

She moved to the front door. Watching him through the tiny window. “Catherine, you can’t. Yes you can. You want to…” He was reaching for the door handle. About to leave again as he had every week for months. And soon he would be gone for the winter. And he may never return as the new year brought him new opportunities.

“Oh God Catherine. Don’t…” Before she even knew it the door swung open and she emerged on the porch.

“Evan?”

He stopped and turned. Catherine’s blue jeans stretched tightly over her full hips. Her white spaghetti strap top barely able to hold in her heavy breasts. As she called out to him, her nipples unconsciously swelled. Catherine could see, even from the street, that his eyes lingered on her breasts. Her nipples obvious.

“Yes, Mrs. Morgan?”

Catherine stepped out fully onto the porch, letting the screen door slam shut behind her. “You’re in deep now lady!”

She hooked her thumbs into the back pockets of her tight jeans. Her ample breasts swaying as she rocked to and fro. “Long day huh Evan?”

“Yeah.” He smiled slightly and struggled to keep his eyes off her breasts. She could feel his gaze on her and she liked it. It reassured her. Emboldened her.

“Evan. I know this is a lot to ask. But my sink is leaking like crazy. And well…Well I busted the hell out of my knuckles trying to fix it. I don’t have a man around here and…well…well…you mind taking a look at it Evan?” She bobbed coyly like a teenager on the porch.

“Damn Catherine! If your nipples get any harder they can cut glass. Your getting wet!”

Evan smiled and released the door handle. “Sure, Mrs. Morgan. You’re my last job of the night so I’m in no hurry.” Evan glided up the walk and onto the porch.

Catherine reached out and opened the screen for him. As he passed by she watched his body move. Could smell his sweaty body as he passed close. “Oh shit Catherine. What are you doing?”

They made chit chat as Catherine led Evan to the kitchen. “Well there it is. Damned leaking thing! Been keeping me up at night. There’s a wrench in the sink. Where I threw it.” She laughed.

Evan’s smile was warm and genuine as he turned, reluctantly, from her to the sink. His eyes always stealing down to glance on her hard nipples testing the fabric of her shirt.

Evan snorted, “Well, Mrs. Morgan, you don’t have the right wrench here. One thing I have learned is you have to have the right tool for the job. Do you have any other tools?”

Catherine’s mind was a whirl of thoughts from what she had just heard and what her mind, and more urgently, her body were telling her. He’d meant it so innocently but she had taken his words and twisted them into an ironic sexual connotation. He really had no idea why she brought him in here.

Catherine had her hands on the small breakfast table just opposite Evan. She gazed over his developing body. An adult by law but still so much a boy. His tight calves not yet fully filled out. His thighs just beginning to show the muscularity of manhood. His ass tight but full. His back…

“Mrs. Morgan? Do you have any other tools ma’am?”

She caught herself, hands back on the table, hips forward and swaying. “Yeah I have a drawer full of them but they aren’t like you. You have to have the right tool for the job!”

“Uh…” Evan’s eyes seemed to glide over her face, sneaking glances at her now fully erect and protruding nipples. “Well…Uh hum…Yes I do have more tools. And having the right tool for the job certainly makes sense to me.”

Evan stood half turned from the sink. He wanted so bad to stop looking at Catherine’s breasts, her hard nipples. He was sure she caught him and his cheeks flushed. His shorts began to strain against the counter as he pressed harder against it. Fearful and becoming worried that his growing erection would be discovered.

“Wholly shit Catherine! His eyes are all over you. And look at you. Pouting your crotch out there. Showing off your tits. Well…you’ve come this far…”

Neither of them spoke. Evan stood there desperately trying to conceal his building excitement and longing gazes. Catherine allowing herself to fall completely over the edge and deeply enjoying the attention. The tension thick and weighty.

“You know Evan. What you said about the right tool? Um…Well…I’ve been having some trouble with that lately…”

Evan’s hand gripped the faucet until his knuckles turned white. Was he imagining this? How many times had he lied alone in his bed in the dark and stroked himself to a chest-wetting orgasm thinking about Mrs. Morgan? It must be his mind making this seem like something that it really wasn’t.

“Really…?” He croaked as his growing flesh pressed harder against the honey colored wood of the cabinet before him and his eyes locked into hers.

“Uh huh.” Catherine smiled warmly. Her long dark hair cascading down her back. Most women her age seemed to cut their hair short, but not Catherine. She believed long hair was womanly and so she kept it. Evan’s eyes snapped from her crotch to her breasts and struggled to hold her gaze. But his will was fading as he returned to those thick hard nipples that seemed to call to him. “See, its like you said. You have to have the right tool for the job. I have lots of tools but they don’t seem to be getting the job done. Do you understand Evan?”

Evan kept thinking that what he thought was happening wasn’t. His mind was telling him that this mature woman, likely older than his own mother, was coming on to him. “It certainly wasn’t cold and her nipples are surely hard,” he thought. And her words. Was she really talking about tools? Like wrenches and screwdrivers? Or was she being sexual. 

Evan wished he had more experience with girls. He’d never slept with a girl. Hell, he’d never even been completely naked with one. He’d rubbed a few girls’ breasts and Tabitha Rory and let him rub her pussy inside her pants. And as a graduation present, Tabitha stroked his cock inside his jeans until he filled her hand. But that was it. Work and school and shyness had kept him from girls. Now he wished that wasn’t so because he had nothing to draw from to help his mind sort all this out.

“Evan?”

“Y…Yes, Mrs. Morgan?” His mouth dry as he clung to the faucet.

Catherine giggled, “Evan please don’t call me Mrs. Morgan. After all, I’m not a misses any more. I’m a miss. But I would really like you to call me Catherine. Will you call me Catherine?” She could feel her excitement beginning to pool deep inside her. She watched his ass unconsciously tense tightly inside his shorts, pushing his crotch harder into the counter. “Damn, I’ll bet he’s already hard…”

“Uh, sure…Catherine.” What a beautiful name Evan thought. And sounded, no, it felt so good to speak it.

“How old are you Evan?”

“Uh hum…a little over 18.”

“Hum.” Catherine’s hips swayed lustily as she rolled that thought over in her mind. “C’mere Evan.”

“Come here?”

“Yes. Come over here.” Catherine’s tone had changed. Becoming more demanding, forward and direct. He was just a boy after all. And boys need direction.

“Well…I would Mrs…um…Catherine…” Evan giggled nervously. “Well I mean I really should get this sink fixed.”

“I have another problem that needs to be fixed Evan. And I need the right tool for the job remember? I bet you have the right tool for the job don’t you Evan?’

Evan’s face burned with excitement and embarrassment. “Uh, well yeah I guess so.”

“Oh I know you do Evan. Now come here.”

“But Catherine…” His eyes cast down briefly at his crotch slammed against the counter. “It’s just that…”

A sly smile snaked over Catherine’s lips. She was getting so turned on now. She could feel her warmth filling her jeans, spreading out through her body. “Is it hard Evan?”

Evan nearly choked. Gawd, could this possibly get any more embarrassing? “Well…”

“Come here to me Evan. Come her and let Catherine help. It’s okay.” She reached her hand for him.

Evan turned slowly, his rigid flesh strained uncomfortably down into the leg of his shorts. So hard that the head was outlined through the fabric. Catherine’s eyes fixed on his cock. Admiring how it looked even through his shorts. She noticed too the tiny dark wet spots all around the head. He was getting so excited he was dripping.

“Come on Evan. Come to over to me.” Her fingers beckoned him. Evan moved from the sink and with just a couple steps stood before her. Catherine’s eyes warm and soothing as she stared into his. Calming him, relaxing him, reassuring him. Her tender fingers reached up and lightly stroked his soft cheek. It was downy, not yet stubbly and rough. She heard herself purr quietly as Evan’s eyes fluttered shut.

Her fingers caressed his face, through his hair, over his supple warm lips.

“That’s a good boy Evan. Just relax. Don’t be nervous. It’s okay. Do want to touch them?”

Evan’s eyes flashed open and locked directly on her chest. Catherine’s fingers still ever so lovingly stroking his face. She was so beautiful even at her age. Because of her age. Evan’s lips moved but no words escaped.

Catherine giggled sinfully. “It’s okay Evan, you don’t have to say it. I can see you want to. Here…” Catherine’s fingers withdrew and she quickly pulled the tiny shirt up and over her head. She shook her head side to side and her thick wavy hair spilled over her shoulders. Making her look lusty and wanton. Evan’s eyes wide as he gazed on the heavy fullness of her breasts. He’d never seen such big breasts before let alone touched them.

“They…they’re…” Evan struggled to make his mind work.

“You like them Evan? You like my breasts? Do you like touching the girls’ breasts Evan? Like to feel them in your hands? It’s okay, tell me Evan.”

“Well, yes but I haven’t really…Really had you know…that much experience…” Again his cheeks flushed.

“Really? A strong handsome boy like you?” Catherine’s hands reached out, the very tips of her nails lightly scratching down his forearms. Taking him by the wrists. “I bet lots of girls wish you would touch them Evan.” Catherine pulled his hands up from his sides. “Poor girls. I bet they go home and touch themselves thinking about you Evan. Oh I just bet they do.” Catherine brought his hands up higher. She pulled one to her face.

Evan’s mind was racing with excitement, nervousness, embarrassment. He watched as Catherine brought his fingers up to her lips. Her sensuous pink tongue flicking out from her pouty red lips. Evan stood riveted and mesmerized as Catherine sucked his middle finger into her mouth. Her lips wrapping around it, swallowing it into the wet warmth. He was completely fascinated. He’d certainly never felt anything like this before.

Catherine ever so slowly slid his finger in and out of her mouth, back and forth. Her eyes fixed on Evan’s boyish face. Watching him, watching his reaction to her. His eyes locked on her mouth and his finger. She pulled it from her mouth, and rubbed his glistening finger tip over her lips.

“Mmmm…Do you like that Evan?”

Evan swallowed hard, “Yes.”

Catherine smiled, reveling in the sinfully sweet beauty of this moment. Her own body beginning to cry out to her. Begging her mind to succumb to this boy’s pleasuring body. She pulled both his hands down and onto her breasts. His palms warm and sticky from nervous sweat. Evan’s fingers spread open as he felt her warm fleshy breasts beneath his hands. His eyes starring as his hands froze.

“Mmm…It’s okay Evan. Touch them. I want you to. Feel them all you want Evan.” Catherine could see Evan’s ample erection had found it’s way into a vertical position. The thick shaft swelling out against his zipper. The head just barely concealed by the struggling waistband.

She purred as Evan moved his hands over and around her breasts. Cupping them and feeling their weight. His fingers rubbing and stroking her thick hard nipples. Evan’s touch so gentle and sincere caused Catherine to moan quietly. Her breasts alive with his boyish touch. Her nipples tingling in excited pleasure as Evan explored them. Her chest thrust out. Her crotch gyrating in slow circles.

Evan’s fingers rolled and pinched her nipples. Feeling their hardness, fascinated by the way grew even larger as he fondled and teased them.

“Unh…” Catherine’s eyes fluttered as her body reacted to Evan’s hands. His touch direct and deliberate. The touch of an inexperienced boy exploring and discovering.

When Catherine grunted, Evan froze. He quickly glanced up at her face. Lips shiny and half open. Her eyes lusty and dark, the lids heavy and fluttering. “I’m sorry did I hurt you? Did I pinch too hard?”

Catherine’s eyes focused and she gave Evan a warm reassuring smile, “No Evan. I groaned because it felt good. You won’t hurt me Evan. You’re a good boy. Go ahead now, feel and rub them all you want to.”




Coming Of Age



Catherine was immensely turned on. She needed this. Needed him. Needed to be needed. She purred and groaned louder as Evan resumed his exploration of her tits and nipples. Something about his inexperienced touch made it all the more thrilling. It was genuine and curious. Wanting very much to feel and discover but at the same time very concerned with her pleasure.

The tingling sensations shot out from her thick nipples. Evan pinched and squeezed them. Flicked and caressed them. “That’s a good boy Evan…” Catherine’s voice low and heavy with passion. “You can use your mouth if you want to Evan…”

Evan again swallowed hard, his tongue snaking out over his dry lips. My mouth he thought to himself. “I’ve never done that before…” Evan realized he’d said it aloud.

Catherine’s eyes closed on his face. Evan’s gaze cast down in embarrassment at his unintentional admission. Her palm warm and reassuring cupped his flaming red cheek. Her thumb lightly stroking his face. 

“I’m sorry Mrs…er…Catherine. I must look like a real idiot. You’re so you know experienced and here I am bumbling and so nervous my legs are shaking. I’m probably doing every thing wrong. It’s just that you’re so beautiful. And I, you know, don’t have much experience with girls. Let alone a real woman.” Catherine’s hand held his face, her thumb stroking softly over his cheek as she watched Evan’s confessions and nervousness spill out. She liked the idea of him thinking of her as a real woman. This boy barely a man now wanting so bad to make sure he was doing the right things for her. Unconcerned about his own wants. How beautiful this boy was.

“It’s just you know…I guess I’m scared is all. I want to make sure I make you happy and I’m not sure I know how. I guess I’m just scared is all.”

Catherine didn’t speak, she just smiled at him. Her hand pulled his head forward. She turned it to the side and laid his flushing cheek between her ample bosom. Her hand tenderly stroking his hair as she held him to her. “Ssshhhh…that’s a good boy. You’re okay Evan. I know you’re frightened. You’re doing just fine Evan.”

Evan’s head felt so warm and comfortable pressed against Catherine’s chest. Safe and secure here against her flesh. So safe. He almost cried. He didn’t know why exactly but a flood of emotion spilled over him.

Catherine lifted his head. Her eyes soft now. Her gaze tender and knowing. She pressed her finger to Evan’s lips. Her hands, palms wide and flat, trailed down his chest. Evan’s eyes watching her every move as his breaths quickened. Catherine’s gaze never leaving his face. Wanting to watch the effect she had on him. She would get her satisfaction later. For now, she wanted this boy to take a strong step onto his path of manhood. 

Evan’s arms lifted as Catherine pulled his shirt up and over his head. His chest all but bare, just a few dark hairs around his tiny taught nipples. Her hands stroked and caressed his chest. Her fingers pinching and rolling his nipples. Evan groaning in response to her touch. His face tightening and twitching as Catherine showed him new and wonderful pleasures.

She eased away from the table and lowered herself slightly. Evan watched in wonder as her tongue flicked across his now rock hard nipple. It felt so good. Catherine swallowed it into her mouth gently and warmly. Her tongue stroking over the hard nub of flesh. Her teeth ever so gently clasping it around the best. Evan groaned deep and loud. His body alive with intense sensations.

Catherine’s mouth worked at his nipple as her fingers trailed over his hard youthful belly. Evan was completely lost now, no longer thinking conscious thoughts. Simply reacting to his body and the pleasure Catherine was bringing it. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware that she was opening his shorts. He could feel the straining pressure subsiding as the fabric pulled away from his swollen hard penis. He struggled to look down but her mouth was working such wonderful magic on his nipples. He could barely flutter his eyes open. 

He felt his clothing bunched at his ankles and was suddenly aware that he was naked. Bare and painfully hard. Catherine eased her mouth away from Evan’s nipples. She kissed each one slow and soft. She eased down onto her knees and pulled at Evan’s clothes. He raised his feet one at a time as Catherine eased them off. Catherine sat back on her heels. Her fingers worked at the knots in his boots. First one then the other. Tenderly slipping them off each foot and then returning to slowly roll his socks away. 

She gazed up into Evan’s face. His eyes watching her with pleasured wonder. Fully exposed to her now. Open. Catherine’s gaze made him feel so warm and safe. He was still very nervous but it didn’t seem to matter any more. He knew Catherine was happy with him. Sensed that she wanted him to be happy with himself. Again his eyes fluttered as Catherine’s soft tender hands roamed over his legs. Catherine marveled at them. Legs that had only recently lost the fattiness of boyhood but not yet acquiring the fullness of manhood. Evan was a little slower developing than most. The idea only added to Catherine’s enthusiasm. She was determined to show Evan the wondrous pleasures only a woman can deliver.

Her hands stroked and caressed his legs, cupped and kneaded his fleshy ass. Roaming around his waist and over his belly. Evan’s thick swollen shaft stood tall and erect just before her face. The head reddened and wet with his oozing juices.

Evan groaned and his legs shuddered slightly as Catherine caressed his ample balls. Weighty and full in her hand. She stroked them in the warmth of her palm. Pulled them down gently but firmly, stretching and releasing them. Over and over. Her right hand working his wonderful balls as her left reached higher. Her finger and thumb wrapping about the thick shaft of Evan’s glistening cock. He had certainly developed well here. His cock wasn’t huge, just thick and full. With a well defined head and strong veins. It was beautiful and sensuous. 

Catherine released Evan’s balls and watched as they slowly began to shrink up closer to his body. His breaths husky and forced as her fingers began to lightly explore his rigid flesh. Gently touching and stroking him. Her cast upward and locked on Evan’s face. His head lolled, his eyes squeezed shut. He was completely lost in her now. Lost in his own pleasing body.

Her hand wrapped around his thick cock and she slowly began to stroke him. She knew he wouldn’t last long. She sensed his legs beginning to tighten and stopped her movements. Her hand squeezing hard around his shaft. The head swelling with the force. Her grip pinching off the impending flow of cum. She held him tightly until again his body began to relax. The intensity of the all-too close orgasm subsiding.

Her grip relaxed and she glanced at Evan’s twitching cock. The head tight and purple from the pressure. A thick drop of pre-cum spilling out of him. She held his cock straight out. There on her knees in her kitchen. Her heavy breasts exposed and heaving. This virile inexperienced youth before her. Wanting her, needing her. She stared straight up at his face as her tongue flashed out at Evan’s swollen head. He groaned deep and loud, his lips open and shiny.

Catherine pulled the thick drop of pre-cum onto her tongue. Tasting his salty sweetness in her mouth. The thought struck her that she was the first woman to ever taste Evan. Her tongue swirled slowly and deliberately over his head. Her fingers gripping the base of his shaft tight to help Evan maintain control. Raising his cock to point at his chin. Her tongue sliding slow and long up the entire length of him. Evan’s hands instinctively moved to Catherine’s head. Holding her, not forcefully, just firmly as his body cried out to him.

Catherine watched his body twitch and shudder in response to her licking. So close he was now. She didn’t want him to go over the edge unexpectedly so she decided to release him from his built up tension. She pulled his throbbing cock straight out. Her hand again cupping and kneading Evan’s tight scrotum. Her lips wrapped firmly around the head of his cock. He tasted so sweet in her mouth. The scent of his flesh driving her devotion. Evan’s legs shook and his hands trembled on each side of Catherine’s head. She swallowed him fully into her wet warmth. He was almost there now. His body begging.

Her mouth working slowly back and forth over his thick shaft. Deliberate and focused. She felt him shudder, a deep throaty growl spilling out of his chest. Her fingers kneading his balls. Milking them, encouraging them to spill into her mouth. She held the head of Evan’s cock in her lips. Wanting to leave room for him to explode inside her. Her tongue swirling over the oh-so sensitive underside of his head. She moaned deep and lusty as the first heavy stream of Evan’s thick cum exploded into her mouth.

Her hand stroking his cock, the other rubbing his balls. Wave after wave of Evan’s thick warm cum shot into her mouth. She could barely swallow it fast enough to keep it from spilling out. Evan’s entire body wracked in intense pleasure as his orgasm smashed through him. Catherine swallowed every drop of Evan’s warm seed. Savoring both the taste of him and the thought that she had been the first.

Evan jerked and twitched as the intense waves washed over him. His cock throbbed and pulsed as Catherine’s touch slowed to a relaxed soothing stroke. His eyes fluttered as he tried to regain focus. He glanced down and saw Catherine there before him. Watching him in mesmerized pleasure as she tenderly stroked his shrinking shaft. His fingers played in her hair. Her lips red and full, shiny from her saliva and his cum.

“That’s a good boy Evan,” Catherine purred. “Did you like that Evan?”

“Yes. Very, very much. That was the first time anyone ever did that. It felt so good.”

“Be honest with me Evan.” Catherine finally released his penis and rose to her feet. Her hands cupping his face, her eyes locked with his. “Are you a virgin Evan?”

Evan began to look away but Catherine held his head. “Yes.”

“Its okay Evan. There’s nothing wrong with that. I think it’s nice that you haven’t done it yet. Losing your virginity is a very special thing Evan.”

“Do you want to be my first…Catherine?”

“I would love to be your first Evan. But I want you to go home now. I want you to think about this and be sure it is what you want. In a few days, if you decide that is what you want, then I would love for you to come back here and see me. Okay Evan?”

Evan felt slightly dejected but he understood what she was saying. “Yes Catherine. I understand.”

Evan dressed and Catherine held his hand as they walked to the door. She turned him and kissed him softly and tenderly. As Evan eased out onto the porch and into the cooling fall air he paused and turned back to Catherine. “If I decide I want it to be with you I can come back right?’

“Yes Evan. If you decide that, you can come back. I will be sure it is something you’ll remember all your life.” Catherine smiled warmly. “Thank you for helping me find the right tool Evan.” They both laughed and Evan headed for his truck.

Catherine closed the door quietly and then smiled hugely. Off to her bedroom for some much needed relief. Gawd how she hoped he’d come back. She had so much more she wanted to show him! 



Coming of Age



I awoke on my 18th birthday to find that I wasn't alone. I felt light fingers sensuously stroking my back. The hand made its way into my hair and lightly played with my long hair. I felt light kisses on my ears and the back of my neck as my nightdress was pushed up exposing my back. The light kisses trailed down my back to the base of my spine and I felt a gentle tongue travel between my buttocks.

I snuggled deeper into the mattress enjoying my dream. I felt a hand pulling my lacy panties down my legs and off my feet. The same hand then removed my nightgown and I laid there -- completely naked -- totally exposed. An untouched, nubile young body -- long legs, flat stomach, large breasts. 

I was rolled onto my back and the kisses continued down my front -- stopping at my breasts -- licking both nipples tantalisingly. I started to squirm on the bed as the tongue drifted down towards my naval.

It carried on down and then a hand gently threw off the covers and pushed open my legs. The tongue then found its way up my inner thighs to my untouched, virgin pussy. I gasped as I felt the tongue invade my private space -- lapping at the lips of my vagina and then gently sucking on my clitoris. I jerked and felt liquid running between my legs -- I had just experienced my very first orgasm and knew that I wasn't dreaming! Before I could catch my breath, the tongue was replaced by a large, erect, throbbing penis positioned at the entrance to my womanhood. The owner was kneeling between my legs and holding them wide open for access -- exposing my now wet, but still virgin pussy. Without a word, he plunged in, forcing through my hymen in one go, without faltering, all the way to the hilt and then rested.

As I cried out, partly with shock and partly with pain, he leant forward and kissed me on the lips for the very first time. His tongue probed deeply in my mouth -- entwining with my own tongue. I liked the sweet feeling it evoked -- and felt a gentle tug in the pit of my stomach.

After a minute, his hips started to move, building up a rhythm of in and out. Each time he plunged back in I tensed as I felt the soreness. For the first time that morning he spoke "move with me sweetheart. I know you're ready, come on now, move, it'll make it easier, make it better" and as I obeyed and started to move my hips towards him, I could sense a feeling of fullness and warmth spreading inside me.

This fucking continued for maybe 15 minutes and then as I felt him start to withdraw, a voice from the doorway rang out "no! Come inside her, fill her with your seed. Make a baby in her. We've both waited a long time for this. Make her truly yours now!" Yes -- my mother was actually watching her 19 year old son take her 18 year old daughter's virginity! And he obeyed. With a last almighty plunge and a shudder, he shot his load of cum deep inside me -- aiming for my womb. Then he withdrew and rolled off me.

As I lay, partly in shock and partly in ecstasy, with his hot cum dripping from me, I felt my legs being parted again and then a wet tongue probing where a minute earlier my brother's cock had been. The tongue started to lap up our combined love juices. I looked down and saw my naked mother kneeling between my legs with her ass high in the air, eating out my pussy!

Whilst she tongue-fucked her daughter, her son (obviously quickly recovered) started to fuck her from behind -- pounding in and out relentlessly -- holding onto her large, pendulous breasts, until again he shot his load -- this time deep inside my mother's pussy -- and obviously, now seeing her slightly swollen stomach, not for the first time!

She then stopped licking me and turned to my brother and started to lick his twice-used cock clean. Needless to say, after about 30 minutes, he became aroused again and, with her encouragement (she actually held open my legs for him), he fucked me again -- oblivious to the fact that I was now quite sore down below (it being my first time) and he again filled me with his hot seed, at our mother's bidding.

And, sure enough, 10 days later, on my mothers' advice, I took a home pregnancy test and it was positive. So, there I was, just 18 and pregnant with my brother's baby!

Mum was doubly delighted (another child for her and a grandchild to look forward to) -- Gavin was pretty chuffed too -- well who wouldn't be? 

From then on, Gavin, Mum and me lived in a ménage-a-trois. We shared a king sized bed. He fucked us both daily (usually more than once) -- showing no favouritism -- and my mother and I also fucked each other daily. Gavin willingly assumed the role of husband and lover to us both and enjoyed watching us pleasure each other too.

In time, Mum gave birth to a boy (Davy) at the ripe old age of 38 and 6 weeks later I gave birth to twin girls (Jessica and Joanna) 3 months before my 19th birthday. And my brother became a father three times over, at the tender age of just 20. We both chose to breastfeed and each fed all and any of the babies as and when required -- as well as both feeding Gavin too! He loved it!

And what does the future hold? Well, a year on -- yes - we're both pregnant again! And yes, they're both Gavin's so ...!



Coming of Age



(Author's note: This is an official entry into the 2009 Literotica Summer Lovin' story contest. It is a work of fiction concerning a brief, May/December relationship between a young man and older woman. I hope you enjoy this little tale, and please don't forget to vote.)

* * * *

"Andy! Package pick up!"

I was halfway across the warehouse, approaching the flapping double doors to the hardware department, when I heard my manager's nasally, irritating voice. I contemplated a moment about continuing on my way and forgetting I'd heard him, then reconsidered. Part of my job was to help the department store's customers, after all. Even at the age of nineteen, I had cultivated a responsible work ethic.

So instead of heading toward hardware with my pallet jack loaded with power tools, I stopped and called back. "What is it?"

"TV," he shouted through the chaotic, overstocked expanse of the warehouse. His office was right beside the customer pick up bay. "One of those big Sonys."

I groaned. Goddamn it, I thought. Those things weigh a ton. But it was too late to do anything but follow my obligations. Leaving the pallet jack parked to one side of the warehouse's main aisle, I trundled toward the grey doors of the pick up area. Roy met me with a ticket in his hand, and I turned toward the electronics section of the warehouse, dragging a dolly behind me. The immense, sixty-inch television in the box was nearly as tall as I and thrice as wide. I had earned a pretty impressive build over the previous year through hauling, stocking, and loading various kinds of merchandise, but the big-ass projection TVs were behemoths. They weighed more than my almost two hundred pounds.

It took some leverage, but I managed to settle the box on the flat jack and guide the monster out through the doors. I read the customer's last name on the ticket. "Fontana?" I called.

The woman was already striding toward me, clad in slim-fitting blue jeans and a loose white blouse. Had I only seen her from the neck down, I would have sworn that body belonged to a girl my age. Not that she was overly wrinkled, or unattractive in the face by any means, but the faint lines at the edges of her eyes and around her mouth, along with her short black hair, bespoke to me a more advanced age. But not, you know, too advanced.

"Wow, it looks a lot bigger in the box," she commented, her voice smooth but a little raspy. She proffered a little glittering-eyed smile. "I hope it fits."

I had never seen eyes like hers before. They were a crystalline blue, like the faintest refraction of that color through a prism. At once eerie and alluring. I probably stared for a moment too long, because she gave me this coy little look and wink before turning toward the door.

"Come on. I'm parked right outside."

I didn't respond. Words failed me. In a single instant, a woman who could potentially have been old enough to be my mother had turned me on. My soiled and dusty jeans felt constrictive.

Mrs. Fontana led me through the automatic sliding glass doors of the pick up area toward a large white truck parked along the curb. The numerous bracelets around her wrists tinkled lightly when she jerked the tailgate down. She looked to me with a moment's concern. "Are you going to be able to get it up there?"

Something compelled me to be brash. "Oh, I can always get it up," I said, maneuvering the mammoth boxed television in line with the truck. All that was needed was to get the edge of the box over the tailgate. After that, it was just a matter of leverage and strength to slide the damn thing onto the bed.

Several minutes later, after using straps to secure the television in the truck bed, I stepped off the tailgate and, as a courtesy, lifted it back into place. I had been aware of Mrs. Fontana's eyes upon me the entire time, and caught a few catty grins from her as I worked. Her attention was predatory but arousing.

"Can you really?" she asked me once my work was done.

I frowned, confused. "Can I always what?"

She pushed her lips out, just a little, in a way that was poutingly seductive. Her eyes all but literally sparkled. "Get it up."

Instantly, the intimidation factor took hold of me. I felt embarrassed and challenged in ways I had never before experienced. Averting my eyes, I responded with a simple, stock answer.

"Um, looks like you're ready to go,"

"Maybe," she said. Her voice held a sensual, teasing edge. "But maybe not entirely."

I could not say anything more as I watched my casually sexual customer open the door of the truck and climb in behind the wheel. I think I caught a glimpse of a mischievous, naughty smile in the rear view mirror before Mrs. Fontana started the truck and ambled away from the curb.

It took a few minutes before my half-swollen erection shrank behind my jeans.

* * * *

Every Wednesday, I always went for a couple of dogs from Trudy's Red Hots in the mall's food court. Weighing half a pound each and loaded with sliced tomatoes, spicy mustard, diced onions and pepperoncinis, each one was a meal by itself. Considering how hard I worked, it took two of the damn things to fill me up and keep me going for the rest of the afternoon.

As usual, I took a table away from the middle of the food court, beneath a large fake tree of some kind. I liked the seclusion, so that I could enjoy my meal without feeling on display. I was still pretty shy at that age, with only a small group of friends and not much in the way of confidence to endear myself to girls.

"Oh, hi, it's you."

With a mouthful of food, I glanced up to see the same woman I had assisted just two days before. She had looked good in tight jeans, but even better in a denim skirt and soft red halter. A few bracelets adorned each wrist, and a copper bangle was wrapped around her upper left arm. I did not see those too often, and the presence of it made her seem a bit exotic.

I thought to speak, but figured Mrs. Fontana wouldn't appreciate seeing what I was chewing on. She apparently thought my predicament amusing, because she laughed and raised a hand.

"It's okay. I seem to have a knack for catching people at odd moments. I do it to my kids all the time."

I finally managed to swallow and set down my red hot in the little paper-lined basket. "Hi again," I said back. "Um, how's the TV?"

She smiled while rolling her eyes. "Permanently stuck on ESPN," she said ruefully. "My husband's a sports nut. Do you watch sports?"

"Uh, yeah, sometimes." Yeah, you're a great conversationalist, Andy, I berated myself.

"Only sometimes?"

I shrugged. "I like soccer," I told her. "Not much of that on TV."

"I bet your girlfriend's happy about that."

Now, even at nineteen, I could tell a loaded statement when I heard one. Mrs. Fontana was probing, of that I was certain. But her mention of kids and a husband made me reluctant to prolong the flirtation. I was bewildered.

"She might be," I said. "If I had one."

She arched a single, finely-detailed brow. "No girlfriend? I find that hard to believe."

The reddening of my cheeks was palpable. "I guess I'm kind of shy."

Mrs. Fontana tittered. "A handsome young man like you shouldn't be shy. Girls should be throwing themselves at you."

I laughed. "I wish."

Her smile was mysterious, contemplative, maybe even scheming. "Personally, I've always preferred the shy types as opposed to the cocky ones. Shy men always seem to have more to offer, once you get down to it."

I did not have a reply to that. My eyes had wandered to her smallish breasts, noting the pronounced nipples making creases in the fabric of her top. "Maybe," was all I could say.

She sort of half-laughed at my comment, then made a thoughtful sound. "What's your name?"

"Andy," I responded.

"It was nice seeing you again, Andy," Mrs. Fontana said, then stepped away with a swish of her hips.

* * * *

With the advantage of hindsight, I should not have been so surprised to see Mrs. Fontana later that afternoon. At four-thirty-something, I was leaving the store through the passenger pick up area, ripping off my gloves and lumbar belt. The bus which would take me toward my parents' home lay beyond the parking lot and a few blocks down Washington Avenue. I was just nearing the edge of the lot when a little blue VW Bug, one of the new ones, cut me off. The passenger window lowered with the faint whir of a tiny motor.

I frowned, leaning down and looking in. There she was, Mrs. Fontana, behind the wheel and smoldering a look over the rim of a pair of sunglasses perched atop the tip of her nose.

"Need a ride?"

I felt both aroused and uneasy. "I, uh, usually just take the bus."

"No car?"

I scratched the back of my head self-consciously. "Working on it."

"Not exactly efficient, is it?"

"Well, the bus gets me close enough."

And then came the loaded question. "Wouldn't you rather go all the way?"

The foolish bravado returned. "When the opportunity presents itself."

Mrs. Fontana's eyes panned over me with the precision and assessing ability of a laser. "Get in."

* * * *

Girls my age were easy to talk to. I shared interests with them, of course: tastes in music, popular culture, the politics of college life. With a woman at least twice my age, however, I felt like a child. I sat quietly in the passenger seat of Mrs. Fontana's car, my earlier bravado absent for the moment. I didn't know what was going to happen, or even what I wanted to happen.

"So, what degree are you majoring in?"

The question jolted me, since it came firing through the silence after almost a full minute inside her car. But I was glad for it. The subject was an easy one for conversation.

"Um, history," I said. "With a concentration in Mediterranean civilization."

"Interesting," she said, briefly flashing me a smile. "Not very practical, though."

I felt a little defensive. "I want to be a teacher."

Her eyes twinkled when she looked to me again. "Not much money in that."

I frowned. "Not everything's about money."

Now Mrs. Fontana shrugged. "If you say so."

I looked around as she drove through a large public park. We were not exactly close to where my apartment complex lay. "Um, where are we going?" I asked. "This isn't my part of town."

"Not mine, either," Mrs. Fontana said. I caught the catty smile at the corner of her mouth again. She kept her eyes on the road, eventually finding a large tree with limbs hanging over a small parking lot near a closed-down gift shop. Upon the sculpted greens around us, families with young children played and ran and laughed.

I shifted uncomfortably as she stopped under the tree. She put the Mercedes in park but left the car idling.

"So, um, what are we doing?" I asked.

She turned in her seat and leaned close to me, left hand settling upon my upper thigh. She stroked up and down as she spoke. "Well," she said. "You're just going to relax and stretch out. I'm going to give you a blowjob like you've never had before."

A tremor passed through my body, carrying currents of anxiety and arousal. I couldn't find the words to respond, but my body was doing enough talking on its own.

Mrs. Fontana cooed as she placed her hand over the denim outline of my cock. I sighed as she groped and massaged me. But I was a little nervous, even uncomfortable. I could tell the car's windows were tinted, but just how tinted were they? There were easily a dozen people within a hundred feet. The risk of being caught was tantalizing, I admit, but also daunting. And, on top of that concern--

"You're married."

The words just blurted out, the way an idea is suddenly launched to your lips the moment it's hatched and you've had a few drinks.

Mrs. Fontana kept her hand where it was, but stopped groping. She turned her face to address me, looking both condescending and amused. "Why should that bother you? He's not here."

I swallowed thickly, mouth dry. My mind listed back and forth, like a galleon on rough seas, between desire for what this woman was offering and fear that allowing her to continue would cause more trouble than pleasure. My brain was somewhere in mid-list when I responded.

"I guess it doesn't bother you."

She must have taken my comment as derision, because she took her hand away and sat up. The sultry look on her face vanished, replaced with stoic impassiveness. "Perhaps I figured wrong, Andy. Maybe I should just take you home."

Panic slashed its way through my chest. "I'm sorry," I said hurriedly. "I've just never, um, met someone like . . . I mean, it's not like this is a regular thing for me, you know."

Mrs. Fontana stared for a moment, making me think how idiotic my words sounded. But as I was internally berating myself, she suddenly sputtered with laughter, slapping her hand back onto my leg and shaking her head. "You're right," she conceded. "And this isn't quite normal for me, either. I suppose I was making too many false assumptions."

I managed to awkwardly match her smile. "Um, it's okay. I'm just not used to, you know, a girl -- I mean, woman -- coming onto me like that."

She chuckled softly, making her eyes glitter. "Not too often a woman twice your age comes along and just randomly offers to suck you off."

My laughter was a relief, an ice-breaker. "Honestly, it'd be pretty nice if it was."

Mrs. Fontana leaned closer once again, sliding her hand across the top of my jeans. "So, can I assume you wouldn't mind if I continued?"

My cock began growing beneath the dirty, dusty denim covering it. "I, uh, I guess not . . . but, um, I've been working all day and, um, I sweat a lot when I work and--"

"Again, it doesn't bother me, so it shouldn't bother you."

I trembled as my cock swelled beneath her kneading fingers. "You serious? I mean, you just wanna suck me off?"

Seductively, exaggerated for effect, she passed her tongue across her upper lip while narrowing her eyes. "I take it that surprises you."

I laughed curtly. "Well . . . yeah."

She insinuated herself even closer, so that the exotic, spicy scent of her perfume wrapped around me and I could feel her breasts pressing against my arm. Her soft, ripe lips parted slowly in an alluring smile. "I'm not some little college-aged girl, Andy," she said flatly. "I'm a woman. And I know what I want."

My dick was bunching up almost painfully in my jeans, making me squirm and flinch. "I'm just not used to that."

Her smile was as patronizing as it was enticing. "You're young," she said while unbuckling my jeans. "You have a lot of wonderful, delicious things to experience yet."

I couldn't say another word as Mrs. Fontana unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans. I automatically lifted my hips, allowing her to push them down to mid-thigh. My cock was heavy and thick, bouncing across my lower abdomen. The smell of musky sweat blossomed in the air, making me concerned. But Mrs. Fontana didn't seem the least bit fazed. In fact, she inhaled deeply through her narrow nostrils while wrapping her cool, slender fingers around my shaft and balls.

"Now that is a beautiful cock," she said in admiration, eyes fixated upon what she held. "Long and thick, but not too much of either. Just nicely above average and perfect for all the right uses."

As if providing proof of her statement, Mrs. Fontana leaned over, first licking, then parting, her lips. She made a sort of hungry, animalistic growling sound that became muffled once soft, slick, caressing lips spread across the head of my penis then slid down the shaft.

I could not help but groan. I could count on one hand how many blowjobs I had enjoyed before that day, and none of them could have compared to what I was now experiencing. I felt nothing but blissful wet warmth. She held about half the length of my dick in her mouth, drawing the essence from the shaft and seepage from the slit, for about a full minute which felt like blessed eternity.

Then she started to bob.

Sucking, pulling, pumping with both her mouth and hands, a woman old enough to be my mother was treating me to the most incredible sexual experience of my life.

I wish I could have lasted longer.

Maybe two minutes passed, I figure, before the lightning rush of orgasm tore through me. I barely had time to gasp as I punched up my hips, driving my cock like a piston between the amazing, massaging lips of my lover. And, to my surprise and gratitude, Mrs. Fontana didn't stop as my cock pumped and gushed in her mouth. Indeed, she muttered a muffled moan of approval upon tasting the eruption I fed her.

It was a novelty for me, having a woman who allowed me to ejaculate in her mouth. The closest I had come was jacking off against a girl's tightly-pursed lips. The pleasure was intense. Mrs. Fontana kept sucking and pulling, swirling her tongue around the head of my dick, making me groan, gasp and wince. Just when it became too much to bear, she slipped her mouth off me, lower lip somewhat glazed with a frothy film, and slowly, firmly, stroked my still-swollen shaft. A thick, glistening bauble of cum seeped from the tip of my cock, shimmering like a clouded diamond. She quickly lapped it away.

I watched her face in profile. Mrs. Fontana looked proud of herself. Satisfied, even. She licked and smacked her lips a few times before speaking again.

"I'd almost forgotten how much a young man comes," she muttered, softly fondling my spent and satisfied cock.

"Wow."

She looked to me, giggling. "'Wow?'"

I laughed back, euphoric. "That was incredible."

Mrs. Fontana bit her lower lip. "Never had a girl let you come in her mouth before?"

I shook my head. "I never felt anything like that before."

She gave me a fond look and petted my softening shaft before easing back behind the wheel. "As I said, you have a lot of wonderful things to learn."

* * * *

I was still in a daze when the Mercedes drove away from the house. The most amazing thing had just happened to me, and it felt as if I had been shoved back through the looking glass into the world of the mundane.

My mother wasn't home yet; she worked nights at the liquor store on Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. I wouldn't see her until about ten o'clock. Of course, she had left a list of chores for me to do tacked to the little billboard hanging just inside the front door. I gave her two hundred dollars in rent every month and took care of the "guy stuff" around the house. Not a bad arrangement, I guess. My mom recognized me as an adult and gave me my own space.

There was a crock pot full of beef stew filling the house with tantalizing aromas, to which I helped myself after taking out the garbage and finishing the shelving on the back deck for mom's plants. Then I headed to the garage to work on my ongoing, and beloved, project.

Pieces and parts lay upon shop mats around the primered body of a 1973 Dodge Dart Swinger. I was glad mom humored me with the use of the garage while rebuilding the classic car. It had not been my first choice for such a project, but it had been cheap and in reasonable condition . . . especially for five hundred bucks.

The Swinger had been working when I drove it away from the old man who sold it to me, but only just. It needed a lot of work, but that was what I was prepared for. I didn't know all that much about cars, but after taking the car apart piece by piece and cleaning everything, I knew what still worked and what needed replacing. A manual for the venerable two-seater included detailed plans and blowups, which helped immensely.

I just had to put the damn thing back together.

* * * *

I assumed that brief liaison with Mrs. Fontana would be the end of it. As much as I had enjoyed the pleasure she gave me, reality told me it had been a one-time thing. She was either a slut or she was getting back at her husband for fooling around with his secretary or something. Chances were, I'd never see her again.




Coming of Age



"Hey, Andy! Some lady here to see you!"

The call from my coworker Melvin came across the warehouse as I was rearranging the third tier of toolbox shelving. Instantly, my heart leapt as I thought, is it her?

I scrambled down the side of the shelving column, dusting myself off upon landing on the floor. Melvin watched me with a bemused smile.

"Don't think it's like that, man," he said. "I think she's your aunt or something."

I shot him a look. "I don't have an aunt," I said. Well, the only one I did have was seven states away at any rate. Leaving Melvin behind, I pushed open the door to the customer pick up area to find Mrs. Fontana standing there, a smirk decorating her pretty face. She wore a peasant blouse and matching skirt, showing off lean, long legs.

"I thought you might be hungry," she said casually, as if we had seen each other just that morning. She held up a brown paper bag I recognized as coming from Trudy's.

I gingerly accepted the bag, feeling more than a little tongue-tied. "Uh, thanks. Um, what--"

"See you around," she trilled casually, turning on her heel and heading for the door. I wasn't sure what to make of the little exchange. Did she mean "see you around" as an implication of meeting up later? Or was it just a brush-off?

I could have gone after her, I suppose. But if this was a game, I had to play it. And if it was not, then I would just make an idiot of myself for chasing after an older woman So I watched her leave, admiring the swish of those experienced hips.

"Now that's a fine woman," Melvin commented, almost startling me with his presence.

"Yes, she is," I agreed, then looked down in the bag as Melvin ambled away. Atop the food lay a pair of silky beige panties and a note.

"You'll have to put these on me later."

My heart flipped and my groin swelled. I couldn't wait for my shift to be over.

* * * *

By the time four o'clock came, anticipation over what was in store for me had me nearly shaking. I found myself distracted throughout the last half of my shift, but not to the point where I was unable to perform my duties. I was simply consumed by desire to perform in other ways.

To say my libido was overwhelmed would be like saying a beaver dam was overwhelmed by the Mississippi. The unique combination of sexiness and mystery, of promise and uncertainty was making my head swim. In short, for the first time in my life, I was being seduced.

"Yo, man, where you going in such a hurry?" Melvin asked me as I started to bolt out the sliding glass doors.

I hesitated, looking back with a sheepish smile. "I just have something to do."

He nodded with a funny grin. "Uh-huh. Something?" he asked. "Or someone? That wasn't you're aunt earlier, was it?"

There were two parts of my brain that wanted to respond, the part that wanted to brag, and the part that wanted to keep Melvin guessing. Thankfully, the second part won out. "No, it wasn't," I confirmed.

"Yo, Andy, hold up," he cautioned, approaching. The look on his face was grim.

"What?"

"Just do yourself a favor," he said. Melvin clapped my shoulder. "Go on and hit that. Have your fun. But don't get serious. 'Cause trust me, man, she ain't."

I frowned. "You know her?"

He grinned, flashing his gold tooth. "Wish I could lay claim to ass like that," he said. "But I don't know her. I know bitches like her, though. They're called cougars, and believe me, man, they act like them. So watch out for the claws."

His words were confusingly encouraging. I just nodded and told Melvin I'd see him tomorrow. I then returned my attention and libido to what I hoped was a thoroughly pleasurable imminent future.

* * * *

But almost half an hour later, I was still waiting for Mrs. Fontana. Too many times, I would see a car of similar color and shape to her Mercedes, but it would roll by as I sat in the summer sun on the curb near where Mrs. Fontana had found me the day before. It was finally the discomfort of heat and sweat that compelled me to rise and jog down to the bus stop, just in time to catch my ride home.

I was dejected and angry when I went through the door. The day-old beef stew did little to assuage any of the hungers screaming for satisfaction, and doing my chores was nothing but frustrating. But there was still the car to occupy my time.

The function of mechanical thinking was a welcome relief that allowed me to temporarily push Mrs. Fontana to back of my brain. Having to line up gasket seals and affix them perfectly in place was precision work, one which required all my concentration.

The sun was hovering above the roofs of the houses across the street, telling me it was getting close to nine o'clock. When a set of headlights flashed upon me as I was tightening some bolts on the engine, I expected to see Chuck step out of his own vintage P.O.S.

But Chuck didn't drive a Mercedes. And he certainly never had legs like the ones I saw.

Both excitement and consternation fought for prominence in my mind. I was angry that Mrs. Fontana had apparently stood me up, but also aroused by her presence. My emotions were apparently telling, because Mrs. Fontana stopped a few feet from me, her carefully-trimmed brow narrowing in a frown.

"You don't seem all that happy to see me," she remarked, looking me over. I had stripped to the waist due to the heat, which left my chest bare and sweaty. I guess she liked what she saw, because a smile started pulling at the edges of her mouth.

I wiped my hands. "Thought you were picking me up after work," I said.

She arched a curious brow. "I don't recall telling you that."

My shoulders rolled, and I realized she was right. The note, after all, had only indicated later. "I just figured, since you picked me up after work yester--"

Her piercing, exotic eyes stopped me. "Don't make assumptions about me, Andy. I'm a very busy woman. I have numerous responsibilities that I have to satisfy before I can even begin to think about you."

Her words came out carefully enunciated and blunt. I felt like I'd gotten a speech from my own mother, which left me irritatingly chastised. "Right. Didn't know I was so far down your list of 'things to do.'"

She crossed her arms. "I thought you would be more mature than this, Andy."

I huffed. "You know, you talking to me like I'm eight years old sure doesn't help much."

"Then maybe you shouldn't act like it."

My teeth ground together as I held my anger in check. "What do you want from me?"

She chuckled. "I thought that was obvious by now."

A heavy sigh slipped from my lips. "I guess I just don't understand."

Mrs. Fontana softened visibly. She lowered her arms and approached me, the click of her heels echoing in the garage. That predatory look returned to her eyes. "It's very simple, Andy. I want you. Is it really that hard to accept?"

My mouth was drained of moisture as Mrs. Fontana traced random patterns on my chest and flat abdomen with a fingertip. The predictable response once more made my jeans constrictive.

"It's just, um, different," I whispered, voice breaking.

"Good different, or bad?" she asked casually, finger traveling down to the edge of my jeans.

"I-I'm not sure . . . ."

She laughed softly, cupping my bulge and massaging insistently. Her hand slid further down, gently squeezing my balls. She watched my face all the while, appearing amused at my reactions. "Well, let me help you make up your mind. Are we alone?"

I blinked, somehow able to concentrate on the moment. I found the wall clock hanging in the garage. "Uh, yeah, for about an hour."

"Good," she declared, popping the top of my jeans. Deft hands released the zipper and slid my jeans down to mid-thigh. My cock was hard and ready when it sprang out, and Mrs. Fontana's hands found it quickly, making me shudder.

I groaned in response, once more lost to the insistent command of my libido. I watched the seductive older woman before me as she dropped to a squat, legs fanned wide to make her skirt ride up. But not enough; the treasure between her thighs remained hidden in shadow.

A wicked smile stretched her glossy lips as Mrs. Fontana extended her tongue to swipe the head of my penis. She licked up and down the shaft, alternately watching my face and concentrating upon the object of her oral attention. A car rolled by on the street outside the garage, reminding me that we could be seen.

"Um, maybe we should move," I suggested nervously.

"You're room?" she asked.

Hell, no! That place is a mess! "Um, maybe just out of sight . . ." I trailed off, indicating the half of the garage that couldn't be seen from the street.

With a last lap of her teasing tongue, Mrs. Fontana rose. "If that would make you more comfortable," she said, stepping to the closed trunk of my car. Just before she stepped out of view of any wandering eyes on the street, she unsnapped her wraparound skirt and let it fall, giving me a glimpse of a heavenly firm, round, and very naked ass.

Coquettishly, she eased her naked cheeks onto the closed trunk and crossed one leg over the other. She seemed to be waiting for something.

"Well?" she asked.

I blushed, remembering. My hand slapped to the back pocket of my jeans, where I had stuffed the beige-toned panties she had given me. With a smile, I took them out, holding them aloft.

Mrs. Fontana giggled like she was my age. "Come over here, then," she directed, beckoning with a single curling finger.

I stepped around the back of my unfinished car, eyes wandering over my mature lover's toned and alluring body. Her skin shimmered in the dim light of the garage's single bulb, showing a few drops of perspiration here and there. Even at the time of night, it was still close to ninety degrees.

"So, uh, should I put these on you now?"

She stared at me with a catty expression, slowly spreading her legs. I was transfixed by the sight before me. Nude from the waist down save for her heels, Mrs. Fontana was a lewd work of art. The tendons of her inner thighs stood out like guide rails pointing the way toward plump, hairless vulva framing the dusky wings of intimate flesh beneath a swollen clitoral hood. Only the tiniest wispy swirl of light-toned hair lay above her clit, like the tiara of a princess. The aroma of her expensive perfume mingled with the basic, feral scent of feminine arousal.

"Not yet," she said. "I think turnabout is fair play, don't you?"

Unable to think beyond my desires of the moment, her question confused me. "What?"

She giggled, supporting herself on her arms. Her slim heels hooked onto the bumper of the Swinger. She was obviously comfortable in her brazen nudity. "Do you know how to go down on a woman?"

My heart jumped to the back of my throat before I forced it back down. ". . . maybe?"

Her amusement remained. "Come here, Andy," she ordered. "Get on your knees. I'm going to make you intimately familiar with a woman's pussy."

I did as she bade, lowering to my knees between her spread thighs. As close as I was, mere inches from her fragrant sex, the aroma was stronger, sharper, sweeter. In the ghostly amber light of my steamy garage, the inner lips of her pussy took on the shape of butterfly wings, with the darker, wetter opening to her vagina completing the illusion.

Her hand slid down over those sleek lips, prying them apart with a soft wet sound. "Now, you don't want to go for the jackpot right away," she instructed. Her eyes flashed impishly. "Well, sometimes you can, as a tease."

I suddenly came to understand my role in this game. "Where do I start?"

She grinned. "Inner thigh," she said. "Just . . . little kisses and licks. Make your way up, but not too fast."

I followed her directions, leaning in for the left leg first. There was a tiny beauty mark there that seemed as good a place to start as any. Mrs. Fontana cooed, lightly petting the top of my head as I licked and nipped further up her thigh. Her skin tasted vaguely salty and a little sweet. As my mouth and nose neared her pussy, the lips seemed to swell. Or maybe that was just my imagination.

I finally reached her lips, caressing the soft edge of it with my tongue. Mrs. Fontana trembled and clutched a handful of my hair.

"Lick the outer lips," she urged in a heated whisper. "The thick parts there."

The sleek, extended labia of her pussy brushed the corner of my mouth as I licked with the flat of my tongue along the salty-sweet fleshiness of her vulva. Her thighs spread wider, giving me better access. I licked up and down, switching to the other side. I started feeling something I could only think of as liquid silk against my tongue each time my tongue touched the bottom of her opening. She was getting more and more wet.

"Suck me," she whispered. I looked up past the tuft of hair above her sex to her reddened, impassioned face. "Suck my lips into your mouth," she continued. "Lick inside."

My jeans were painfully constrictive now, but I did as Mrs. Fontana desired. The way she responded to the apparent talent of my mouth was incredibly arousing, at least as much as if I had been inside her.

Looking up at her near-painful expression, I pressed my mouth to her needy sex, sucking those fleshy, slippery lips into my mouth. My tongue swiped between them, into the quick of her pussy, and I finally tasted the real essence of her, that tangy, sharp, oily sweet nectar. Mrs. Fontana moaned and pushed down against my face. Her heels fell to the floor and she planted her feet on my shoulders. This opened her up even more, making her pussy all but gape.

"Put your tongue inside me, Andy," she directed. "As deep as you can."

I smiled first, then extended my tongue and stabbed deep into her sex, shoving my nose against her clit. I wiggled my tongue around inside her, feeling her inner muscles flexing in an effort to grasp it. I did it again and again, making Mrs. Fontana gasp and writhe. Both her hands pulled at my head, holding me in place. She began rolling her hips, bucking against me, until the lower half of my face was glistening from her fluid.

Abruptly, she pushed me back, staring down with a feral expression. "Stand up, Andy. Show me your cock."

I was too turned on to do anything other than be her sexual robot. I shoved to my feet quickly, almost ripping open my jeans to expose my penis. A deep sigh left me when it was finally released, and again when Mrs. Fontana reached for it with both hands.

"You almost made me come, Andy," she told me as she pulled me toward her.

"I would have kept going," I said, as if to apologize.

She laughed softly under her breath. "No. I want this inside me when I come. I want your cock fucking me when I come."

Oh, those words! Coming from an older, obviously wealthy woman like Mrs. Fontana, they were so deliciously naughty and incredibly inspiring. My dick jerked in her slender fingers, seeking the moist heat between my mature lover's thighs. The trunk of the car put her at just the right height, and I grabbed her slender thighs, preparing to shove home. But she stopped me with her hands against my abdomen.

"Slow, Andy. Put it in me . . . slowly." She touched my chin, my lips, and smiled blushingly. "Remember, you're a little bigger than the average man."

I smiled back, then looked down, watching the head of my cock pushing against her flared lips. Mrs. Fontana's heat seared through me, lighting my nerves on fire. We both watched, and groaned in unison as my cock was gradually swallowed up inside her. Her inner muscles gave way to my intrusion, then relaxed and started massaging along my length. With the last inch, I thrust as deeply as I could, making Mrs. Fontana gasp painfully.

"What's wrong?"

She eased me back just a little, wrapping her lean legs around me. "Cervix," she explained simply. She smiled, face flushed and shimmering with sweat. She pulled her blouse loose, then drew it over her head. Though on the small side, Mrs. Fontana's breasts were round and firm, capped with dark, thick, and very stiff nipples. Slipping a hand behind my neck, she lifted herself until our sweaty bodies were pressed together. I easily supported her weight, my hands gripping her slippery buttocks.

"Now fuck me, Andy," she insisted between licks and sucks of my lips. "Try to last as long as you can."

I'll try, I thought. But I'll be surprised if I can go even a full minute . . . .

With her ankles locked behind my back, fingers laced about my neck, Mrs. Fontana was able to swing back and forth, my hands gripping her ass acting as a guide. I had never had sex standing up, had never even contemplated it. Doing so involved more than simply inserting tab A into slot B. I had to maintain my balance, and the bursts of passionate breath on my face was distracting. Whether Mrs. Fontana planned it that way or not, the position certainly helped stave off my orgasm even as she stiffened, face grimacing, pussy sucking and clenching at my cock. Even I could tell she was coming.

She vibrated against me as if a police officer had snuck into the garage and zapped her with a taser. Her body quivered against mine, nipples stabbing into my chest, vaginal muscles clenching then relaxing with aftershocks. Her sweaty forehead rest upon my shoulder; I felt hot puffs of breath snaking rapidly through the hair on my chest.

Finally, Mrs. Fontana raised her euphoric face, glazed eyes beaming upon mine. "You didn't come."

"No," I blurted. "But I'd sure like to!"

She laughed, then smothered my mouth with a steamy kiss, while disjoining us. Her feet settled to the ground. "I'm sure you are, young man," she purred, before dropping to a squat and engulfing me with her mouth. I moaned, gently holding her head in my hands as she bobbed and licked along the shaft, lapping up her own creamy streaks of fluid. No girl I had ever known would consider tasting herself on my penis after sex.

"How do you want me, baby?" she asked at last, rubbing her cheek against my erection. "Maybe doggy?"

I shrugged, ready to agree to anything if it meant me getting off. "Sure."

With a devilish grin, Mrs. Fontana stood once and turned about, planting her hands on the trunk of my car and pushing her spread legs up onto her toes. She arched her back deeply, allowing some of the garage light to illuminate the swollen lips of her pussy. The powerful, heady aroma of her excitement filled the air between us. She looked at me over her shoulder. "Come on, tiger. What're you waiting for?"

Just admiring the view, I thought, then lined up my cock, settling my hands to her hips. Again, I watched as my penis disappeared past soothing pink lips and into the eager cavity beyond. Mrs. Fontana bit her lip, eyes fluttering closed as I buried myself once again, then pulled back. I pushed in and out, slowly increasing the tempo until my hips slapped against her taut, barely-quivering cheeks.

My lover began panting and moaning yet again, inspiring me to fuck her as hard and sure as I could. I wasn't thinking of her pleasure, to be honest, but it seemed to me that my selfishness was not noticed. No sooner than a few minutes later, she was shoving back against me hard, panting and gasping, sweat dripping from her face to the dirty lid of the Swinger's trunk.

I felt her clenching once again, signaling her second orgasm. The knowledge that I was making her come again heightened my own outpouring of orgasmic bliss. My cock burned and throbbed inside her, releasing every jet, drip, and dribble of seed I had to give. My orgasm was so strong I swayed on my feet and had to sag over Mrs. Fontana's heaving body, slapping my hands to either side of her on the trunk.

I was suddenly aware of the term "afterglow." Having sex with my few previous girlfriends had been satisfying, but never so pleasurably draining. I felt like laughing and crying all at once. I was both ready to take on the heavyweight champion and collapse onto the floor. For several moments, not a single coherent thought entered my mind. Just the jumbled images triggered by sporadic and overloaded neurons.




Coming of Age



Clarity finally entered my mind, corresponding with the normalcy of my heartbeat. I pushed up and stepped back, taking Mrs. Fontana's hand as she turned around.

"Now," she said dreamily. "You can put the panties on me."

I chuckled, finding the pair of silk panties. I knelt before her, and Mrs. Fontana stepped into them. Her sex was ripe and saturated with our mingled fluid, but she did not seem at all put off. Once the cool, smooth fabric was settled snugly around her hips and against her sex, I stood.

She gave me a soft, but long kiss, then slipped her lips from mine and picked up her top and skirt. I suddenly felt self-conscious with my jeans halfway down my thighs, and jerked them up.

"Walk a girl to her car?" she asked.

"Uh, sure," I said, following Mrs. Fontana to her Mercedes. She approached the driver-side door then turned and gave me an expectant look.

I frowned. "What--"

"A gentleman always opens doors for a lady."

I felt chastised. "Oh, right. Sorry," I said, reaching for the handle and pulling open the car's door. "I kind'a thought that was old-fashioned."

"It is," she agreed with that catty smile of hers. "But some old fashions should be kept new, don't you think?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I'll work on that."

She caressed my face over the frame of the window. "It's all about respect, Andy," she told me. "A good man treats a woman like a princess in public, even as he fucks her like a whore in private."

A chuckle escaped my lips. "I'll remember that."

"Oh, one more thing," she said as she got behind the wheel.

"Yeah?" I asked, leaning on the frame of her door.

Her unearthly blue eyes flashed. "Call me Dee."

I smiled. "Okay . . . Dee."

* * * *

I felt like Marc Anthony returning from Egypt the following day as I strode through the doors to work. Considering how high my nose was thrust into the air, I'm surprised I didn't trip over my own feet. The secretaries in the hub office could tell there was something going on, but I wasn't the type to brag. Mrs. Fontana -- Dee -- told me that a gentleman doesn't brag. He lets his confidence speak for itself.

Melvin, of course, was also quick to notice my improved mood, and shook his head with a knowing smile as I entered the warehouse. "I ain't gonna ask if you got some, man," he said. "'Cause I'd be really surprised if you didn't."

I grinned in response.

"You gonna see her again, stud?"

My grin faltered. "To be honest, I really don't know. I think so, but--"

"Lemme guess: she's calling the shots, right?"

I shrugged sheepishly. "Yeah."

Melvin laughed and slapped my shoulder. "That's part of the game, my man. Enjoy it while it lasts."

* * * *

At lunch, I found myself searching the crowds in the food court. It seemed there were slender, older women with short black hair everywhere, yet not a one of them was Mrs. Fontana. Back at work, I kept hearing faint echoes of my name reverberating through the warehouse, making me think someone was calling me to tell there was a woman waiting for me at package pick up.

But the workday passed without a visit from my new obsession. Dejection rose in my heart once again as I trundled toward the bus stop, but I wasn't angry. Just disappointed.

City buses always have a certain smell, the stink of dirty bodies mixed with diesel fumes and mold. The closer the Swinger came to being finished, the more exaggerated the smell was each time I set foot on a bus. I still had at least a good six weeks, I figured, before the Swinger would be finished. Six weeks of enduring that stench five out of every seven days.

It was going to be a long summer.

* * * *

The box lay out of sight near the front door of the house, behind the low hedge my mother cultivated. It was a plain box, having obviously been used to hold something else at some point. The shipping labels had been blackened out with marker, and a piece of plain white paper was taped to the top. "For Andy."

Inside, I set the box on the table and cut through the tape sealing it with a knife from the cutlery drawer. Within was a hand-written note settled atop something wrapped in tissue paper.

"My Dear Andy,

 I'll be around at eight o'clock to pick you up. Shower, shave, and otherwise make yourself presentable. I want to see how well you clean up. Make sure you wear both items I've included in the box.

 P.S. You won't be coming home tonight, so be sure to pack whatever you need for tomorrow.

 Dee."

My heart was pounding by the time I finished reading the note. I couldn't help but wonder what delicious variations my mature lover would be introducing me to this night. I had already masturbated that morning, remembering the evening before. Going out to the garage, I swore I could have smelled the lingering traces of our coupling. Mrs. Fontana's sexuality was a very palpable thing, present even when the woman herself was not.

My excitement over the carnal enjoyment I was sure to experience became tempered as I took out the other items in the box. Wrapped in tissue was a pair of silk boxers in the darkest red I had ever seen. Not exactly intimidating, but they were not what made me hesitate.

It was the thick, purple plastic ring with some kind of small, oval device attached to it. I didn't have to be a genius to figure out where it went. I'd heard of cock rings before, but had never actually seen one. There was another note beneath the device: "The bullet goes underneath, cowboy."

I figured the polished metal object in a little plastic sheath was the "bullet." Holding it up, I had to wonder if my penis would fit through the opening, which was only about two inches across. But the ring was somewhat stretchy, though not much.

"Jeez. What am I getting myself into?"

* * * *

I showered, shaved, applied fresh deodorant. Standing naked before the mirror in the small bathroom across the hall from my room, I felt more than a touch self-conscious as I considered the cock ring. I wondered what the "bullet" was for. Weight? Was it supposed to make my dick stick straight out, instead of curving up, or something? Not to brag, but it would take more than a few pounds to do that, and the little silver bullet didn't weigh more than an ounce.

My curiosity bade me pushed against the protruding part of the bullet. I nearly dropped thing out of startlement when the whole thing started vibrating. It took only a millisecond to understand.

Cool.

Pressing the bullet again turned it off, and I lowered the ring toward my crotch. The first few tries to get my dick through the aperture were almost painful. Then I took a moment to think and applied some of the hand lotion on the sink. Working it into my cock was like masturbating, and it didn't take much for my dick to start its journey toward full raging thickness. I didn't want that.

About a minute of thinking about old, naked, unwashed nuns killed Andy Jr's rise to power, and I set about, as clinically as I could, to fitting the silicone ring. With my penis soft and slippery, I had to work the ring back and forth to push the head through, then the spongy tissue of the shaft. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but once I got a few inches through the ring, I was able to push the ring all the way to the base and position the bullet correctly. Just for experimentation's sake, I turned the little vibrator on.

Wow. Um . . . damn, that's different. But good different.

My cock responded to the stimulation by thickening and angling up. The pressure of the cock ring increased as I hardened, but it wasn't exactly painful. Maybe a little uncomfortable, but the vibration felt strangely sexy against the base of my dick and my balls.

Penis leading the way, I returned to my room and eyed the articles I had placed on my bed. I only one set of "good" clothing, consisting of black slacks made to resembled silk and a matching blazer. I had only worn it once, and that had been to my Uncle Jeff's wedding the year before. I hoped it still fit across the shoulders; at the time, I had only been working at the department store for a couple of months, and did not enjoy the broad shoulders and trim waist I sported now.

To my consternation, the silk boxers felt deliciously caressing, like the tongue of a nymph, against my erection. Between them and the cock ring, I was sure to have an erection all night. Anxiety mounted as I pulled on the slacks, then the only good dress shirt I owned. Serendipitously enough, it was dark purple as well, as if made to match my genital decoration.

The socks and shoes were a little difficult to don, considering the obstacle of reaching past my swollen erection. But I managed, and finally slipped on the blazer. Though a bit more snug across the shoulders than I remembered, it nevertheless fit. Looking at myself in the mirror, I decided against wearing one of my three ties. None of them matched, anyway.

I stared at my reflection, then checked the time. 7:49 pm. I smiled at myself.

Go get her, tiger.

* * * *

Mrs. Fontana arrived right on time, just as the sun was setting. Her punctuality was no surprise. I was fairly certain she would always be wherever she wanted to be, when she wanted to be there, regardless of obstacles.

She did not call me, or honk her horn. She did not need to, since I was watching the street through the lacy curtains of the front family room window. The moment her headlights blared as she turned into the driveway, I was taking out my keys and reaching for the door. I had left a note for my mother explaining that I was staying over at a friend's house, without naming the friend. As the good son I always wanted to be, I had fixed Mom a plate for breakfast, shrouded in plastic wrap, in the fridge. All she had to do was pop it in the microwave for two minutes.

I headed out toward the Mercedes after locking the door. Beyond the headlights, I could just make out Mrs. Fontana's catty face. I was unsure as to whether she was impressed or not. For my part, I was self-conscious about the very obvious bulge my groin made against the slacks.

The passenger door popped open as I approached, and I slid into the leather-clad seat after tossing my duffel in the back. My eyes wandered over Mrs. Fontana with appraisal; she wore a shimmering, charcoal-grey silk gown that revealed just enough of her well-toned legs.

"My, you do clean up nicely," she commented, reaching across the seat divider to grope my swollen erection. She smiled. "And you followed my instructions."

"Wasn't easy, putting that thing on," I told her.

Her eyes flashed as she cast me a smile. "It'll be worth it, baby. I promise."

I looked her over. I don't doubt it.

"Tonight is my treat, Andy," she said as she navigated the streets of the city. "But I want you to be in charge of things." She handed me a glossy black credit card.

I gingerly accepted the thing, turning it over in my hands. "Why?"

"Because a man needs to be financially responsible, at least as far as appearances are concerned. Whatever we do, wherever we go, you're paying."

I frowned. "With your money?"

She smiled at me again. "Not tonight, it's not."

"Um . . . is there a limit?"

Mrs. Fontana snorted with laughter. "Not with a black card," she said. She shot me a meaningful look. "You could buy a nice-sized Pacific island with that thing."

I slipped the card inside my jacket. "I hope we don't meet any real estate agents, then."

Her response was a breathy laugh as she drove toward downtown.

* * * *

The place was definitely out of my league. I had heard of Buchanan's Steakhouse, and knew enough to understand I couldn't afford anything on the menu. The ritzy establishment occupied most of the ground floor of the St. Peter hotel and was known as the place to be for politicians, local celebrities, and anyone else looking to bask in the glow of the radiance of the elite.

I knew I was woefully underdressed for the restaurant even before the car stopped in the valet's circle. Even the red-vested employees of the hotel looked better dressed than I. Mrs. Fontana stepped out, compelling me to do the same, and handed off the keys before stepping around to take my arm.

"Shall we?" she asked.

I shuddered nervously beside her. "I've never been in a place like this," I said.

"Then you had better pay attention."

Right. I took the lead, as I figured Mrs. Fontana wanted me to, and approached the broad glass doors of the restaurant. Just looking through to the lobby beyond stirred the butterflies in my gut. A suited man opened the door for us as we approached, and I thankfully had the presence of mind to allow my lover to step through first. She gave me a little knowing smile that told me I was off on the right foot.

"Good evening sir, madame," intoned the well-fed man standing beside a podium. There was an attractive girl about my age in a slinky black dress who gave me an appraising once-over as she stood behind the podium, but she said nothing.

"Good evening," I responded after a pregnant pause.

"Table for two, I presume?"

You see anyone else? "Uh, yeah."

Mrs. Fontana squeezed my arm briefly, as if signaling that I had done something wrong. But her expression wasn't telling. I felt a little perturbed on the way to the table. The man in the suit escorted us past several secluded booths while the comely young hostess followed with menus. The tables, I noticed, were set with crisp white linens and cloth napkins folded in the shape of swans. There were candles everywhere, casting some spicy-sweet fragrance in the air and making everything seem moody and dramatic.

Arriving at an unoccupied table bordered on three sides with real wood paneling, the man in the tuxedo took away two of the four wine glasses and place settings, standing back while the hostess set the menus on the table. He then passed off the plates and glasses to the silent girl and indicated for Mrs. Fontana and I to sit.

"Chef Michael highly recommends the poached salmon almondine," he said once we had taken our seats. "It pairs exceptionally well with the Siegrist Sonnenberg Riesling."

I had no clue as to what he just said, so I merely nodded and thanked him.

"You will be served by Giorgio, Rudi, and Paul this evening. Enjoy your meal."

The moment he left, I leaned across the table. "What did I do wrong?"

Mrs. Fontana looked amused. "Enunciation, Andy," she said. "You need to learn to speak more succinctly."

I frowned. "Like, how?"

"Try saying 'yes' instead of 'yeah.' Pretend you're James Bond or something."

My frown remained. "I don't have to do the accent, do I?"

She chuckled softly under her breath. "No, you don't have to do the accent."

A man about halfway between mine and my lover's age approached the table, clad in a white jacket over white shirt, shimmering black tie, and a long apron that nearly brushed the floor. He looked very professional. "Welcome to Buchanan's," he said in introduction. "I am your server, Giorgio.

"Good evening," I said carefully, making an effort to sit up straight.

"The Maitre'D mentioned our features this evening, I'm sure," he continued. "I must say the poached salmon almondine is perfection. It is a generous portion of fresh-caught poached wild salmon, stuffed with our unique mixture of almond foie gras. For an appetizer, I would suggest the jumbo shrimp ceviche, made with Tres Generacions silver tequila and the freshest ingredients."

I blinked. I was in way over my head. I'd be happy with just a cheeseburger and fries, the bigger and greasier the better--

"I think we would like a minute, Giorgio," Mrs. Fontana said, saving me from certain embarrassment.

He nodded and took a single step back, joining two younger men clad in dark red coats. "Signal when you are ready. I will be available," he said, then departed with the other two in tow.

"Feeling overwhelmed?"

"Maybe just a freakin' little," I huffed. "Why did you bring me here? Everyone's looking at me like I'm wearing a Wal-Mart suit."

She half smiled. "Well, it's obviously not Armani. As for why I brought you here . . . I need to see what I'm working with. There are only two months left until the end of summer."

"What does that have to do with anything? What, am I like a pet project or something?"

"Andy," she said in a soft but firm tone. "I can teach you a lot of things, if you're willing to learn. But not all of it is about how to fuck."

Confusion would be too weak a word to describe what I felt. ". . . why?"

Mrs. Fontana shrugged. "Why not? You're getting a degree in history, right? What's more historical than learning the rules of etiquette?"

I had to nod in agreement with her logic. "Okay. Makes sense. I guess I'm just . . . well, you said it. Overwhelmed."

She settled her elbows on the table and made a table out of her fingers for her chin to rest upon. The candle flame was reflected in her pale blue eyes. "By the end of the summer, you won't be."

* * * *

My lover patiently and efficiently explained the menu to me, educating me on just what terms like Riesling, ceviche, and foie gras meant. I grimaced at the explanation of the latter. Why would anyone want to stuff salmon with goose liver?

After some brief coaching, I raised a single finger in the air, which Mrs. Fontana assured me would summon the waiter. After about twenty seconds, he appeared as if he had been beamed down from the Enterprise. I ordered a bottle of the Riesling and, following my lover's suggestion, an appetizer of bacon-wrapped zuccini medallions. Mrs. Fontana told me I was to do all the ordering.

She explained everything about fine dining as we went along, preparing me for every stage of the meal. From the French onion soup to our entrees -- I ordered a New York strip, which I was strongly urged to have cooked medium rare -- I was educated in the steps and nuances of upper echelon etiquette. Though I faltered a little, Mrs. Fontana was quick to save me, jumping in when necessary.

I have to admit, everything was damn good. The wine took a little getting used to, since the only wine I'd enjoyed previously had been cheap sparkling wine at my uncle's wedding. My steak was so tender I didn't even need a knife to cut into it. The blood oozing from within made me hesitant, but not wanting to risk my lover's disapproval, I dug in.

"I trust everything was near perfection, sir?" Giorgio asked once his assistants had cleared everything away.

"Complete perfection," I said, remembering Mrs. Fontana's instructions.

"Coffee, honey?" my lover asked, punctuating her query with a meaningful stare.

"Uh, sure," I agreed.

"Our cappuccino is unsurpassed through the city, sir," Giorgio bragged.

"Sounds good to me."

As Giorgio left the table, Mrs. Fontana gave me a funny look as she reclined in her seat. I felt her right foot questing up the inside of my thigh. "You catch on quickly, Andy," she praised.

I smiled and shrugged. "I want to do good."

Her eyes smoldered. "Oh, you're doing very good," she assured me.

* * * *

I was a little surprised when the check came. Delivered in a polished black binder a little larger than a standard paperback, my eyes bulged upon seeing the price for our meal.

"Holy shit!"

"Andy!"

I bit my lip at Mrs. Fontana's chiding bite, but nevertheless pointed at the check. "You see how much this is? It's, like, more than half my paycheck!"

"Andy," she said sternly, eyes glaring. "It doesn't matter, remember?"

I swallowed back any further words and just nodded, taking the black credit card from my jacket. I set it in the binder, which Mrs. Fontana said I should set at the outer corner of my side of the table. Giorgio was quick to swoop out of nowhere and snatch up the binder.




Coming of Age



"How much are you going to tip?" my sophisticated lover asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know."

"I'll tell you how much. Fifty dollars."

"You serious?"

"That's a little over twenty percent of the bill," she informed. "And in a place like this, it's an insult to tip anything less. Giorgio's service was impeccable, wouldn't you agree?"

Again I shrugged. "Okay. Sure. But all he did was talk. The other guys did most--"

"Andy."

"Yeah?"

She narrowed her eyes.

I sighed and corrected myself. "Yes, I meant."

"Andy, no one comes to a restaurant like Buchanan's because the food is good. They come here because they can afford it. Trust me; no one else here tonight cares how much anything costs. Now, when he comes back, he will ask if there's anything else he can do for us. Tell him you would like a bottle of champagne sent up to our room."

"'Our room?'"

She grinned mischievously. "Yes. Our room."

* * * *

With Mrs. Fontana's arm wrapped around mine, I felt something like a male escort as we headed away from the restaurant and into the lobby of the hotel in which Buchanan's resided. I noticed quite a few May/December couples, both older women with younger men and older men with younger women, in the bar outside the restaurant. The women, most around my age or a little older, were all stunning, and the men looked like models from the cover of GQ. There were more "normal" looking pairs as well, from twentysomethings to sixtysomethings, and every one of them obviously had money.

The elevator attendant said nothing as we rode to the fifteenth floor of the hotel. Mrs. Fontana gave me naughty smiles and winks, suggestive of delights to come in the imminent future. My cock swelled obscenely against my pants. It was a good thing the attendant had his back to us.

Once inside the richly-furnished room, which was dominated by a massive king-sized bed framed by four intricately carved posts, Mrs. Fontana strode purposefully toward the wide-open floor-to-ceiling window that dominated most of the opposite wall. A little bistro table framed by two low-backed wooden chairs sat before the window, and she pulled out one of the chairs and sat down, looking upon me sultrily.

"I want to watch you take your clothes off, Andy," she informed.

I smiled nervously, locking the door and stepping into the room. "Okay . . . ."

"Do it slowly," she directed. "Take your time. First, the shoes."

I started toward the bed, with the intention of sitting down on the edge to remove my shoes by hand. But she stopped me.

"No. Step out of them. First the left, then the right. And don't kick them away. Set them at the end of the bed."

Why should that matter? I thought, then pushed it from my mind. Guess it must mean something.

So I did as Mrs. Fontana wanted, stepping down on the heel of my left shoe and slipping my foot from it, then doing the same with the right. I bent and retrieved them both and set them at the end of the bed.

"Good," she said with a sultry-eyed smile. "Now the jacket. Just slip it back off your shoulders and let it slide down your arms. Catch it before it falls."

Again, I followed her instructions, but getting the jacket to just slide down my arms wasn't easy. I finally worked them off, feeling my face get red under my lover's attentive gaze. I didn't catch the jacket before it crumpled to the ground, and cursed under my breath.

"That's all right, Andy. Go hang it up."

I was starting to get a little annoyed. But, biting back any comment I might have made, I took the jacket to the small open closet by the entryway and slipped it onto a hanger.

"Now, as you come back, undo the cuffs of your shirt, then unbutton it. Slowly."

I was sour-faced at first as I strode slowly back into the room, working the cuffs of my sleeves loose. But upon seeing my lover and the smoldering expression upon her face, I suddenly understood. Mrs. Fontana was actually telling me how to seduce her. With that realization, annoyance turned to excitement, which mounted with every button I popped.

"Nice," she commented, cheeks beginning to glow. She parted her legs, making her skirt slide up those svelte legs. "Very nice."

I finally got the shirt undone and pulled the tails from my pants. Rakishly, I let it slip from my shoulders and fall to the floor. Mrs. Fontana neither chided nor corrected my actions. She was clearly becoming aroused.

I wore no undershirt, so the next article to be removed were my slacks. Keeping my gaze locked on Mrs. Fontana, and enjoying being the center of her attention, I let the pants fall to the floor. I stepped out of them, moving closer to my lover.

She licked her lips, gaze transfixed upon the outline of my cock. It stood out starkly against the silk boxers.

"Do you want it?" I asked her, following a brief epiphany concerning my role. It had suddenly dawned upon me that I really was the one in charge. While I followed my lover's directions, I held the controlling hand. That realization changed everything.

"Yes," she whispered, eyes still locked on my crotch.

I slipped my thumbs beneath the waistband of the silk boxers and moved them down a bit, exposing the pubic curls above the base of my cock. "Are you sure?"

She emitted a soft, shuddering, half-laugh, half-sigh. "Oh, you're good at this."

My ego swelled. I pushed the boxers down a bit more. My cock was fully erect, kept down only by the elastic waistband. The base of my penis was visible. "Like you said, I catch on quickly."

She licked her lips, parting her legs widely. As the hem of her silky dress slid all the way up, I could tell Mrs. Fontana was not wearing panties. The dusky lips of her sex flared out beneath her carefully-trimmed thatch of downy hair. "Oh, you do," she breathed. "You deliciously do."

I let the boxers fall to my feet. My cock bounced out toward her, aimed at her face. Standing proudly before her, I let my lover assess me with her lustful eyes. Her own slowly traveled up my body, drinking in every inch before coming to rest upon my face. "What do you want, baby?"

I smiled. "Anything you want."

She breathed in deeply, lowering a hand to pet her dampened pussy. "No, Andy. Tell me what you want me to do. Take control."

The butterflies returned, but only briefly. For whatever reasons, our roles had suddenly been reversed. I was the dominant one, now. So I reached for Mrs. Fontana's head and pulled her toward my needy cock.

"Open your mouth," I directed.

* * * *

Well over an hour later, I lay panting upon the bed, staring up through a field of tiny supernovas at the gently-spinning ceiling of the hotel room. The air was thick with the primal scents of sex. Mrs. Fontana sat astride me, my cock still buried within her and only somewhat softened thanks to the still-vibrating cock ring. I managed to lift my head and look upon her. She leaned back with her hands braced upon my knees, body sheathed in sweat to match my own.

With a blissful sigh -- she had enjoyed more than twice as many orgasms as the two she had coaxed from me -- she eased off me, letting my cock slap wetly to my abdomen. Glistening with streaks of semen mingled with my lover's own orgasmic juices, my cock was like a newborn, shriveled and dark and sticky.

Accompanied by a deep, rumbling moan from somewhere within her body, Mrs. Fontana settled herself between my legs on the spacious bed and languidly, lovingly, licked up our mingled fluid from my dick. While doing so, she gently eased the cock ring up the semi-wilted shaft. I felt a sudden release of pressure when the device slipped past the head, which was engulfed by my lover's questing mouth. I shuddered as she cleaned me.

My hands caressed her short, thick hair, voicelessly telling her how much I appreciated her attentions. But if she thought to revive me for a third go-around, she was going to be disappointed.

Thankfully, she made her way up my body, kissing and nipping affectionately before settling comfortably on my side and resting her cheek to my chest. Apparently, she was as spent as I.

"I can't believe how good I feel," I muttered, eyes covered beneath heavy lids.

Mrs. Fontana sighed contentedly. "You and me both," she whispered.

I managed to curl an arm around her warm body. "I don't know why this is all happening . . . but I'm really glad it is."

The fingers of one hand lightly scratched my chest. "You're going to make a wonderful lover and husband someday, Andy."

Fatigue and the miasma of euphoria kept me from responding, or even thinking about her words. I had no alternative but to surrender to the insistent lull of a very satisfied sleep.

* * * *

That wasn't the last time Dee and I would enjoy a night in a hotel. Over the course of the following several weeks, I met with her many times, and always on her terms. She would leave me notes in cards and packages sent to the store or my home, instructing me in what to wear or do. But, more and more as our relationship progressed, I took the lead in both social and sexual situations.

Her tutelage included more than just the intricate variations of sex. She taught me about wine, fine food, etiquette, art and other subjects of interest to the upper class. I kept wondering why she made the effort to transform my blue-collar, low-class sensibilities into more refined ones, but I never questioned her.

Heeding Melvin's advice, I didn't let my emotions cloud my relationship with Dee. That was not an easy thing to do, of course. At my age, great sex was tantamount to love. But the vast difference in our ages allowed me to stay emotionally distant from Dee. I knew she wouldn't leave her husband for me, nor did I want her to. I was acutely aware that I wanted a girl my own age, and thanks to Dee's tutelage, I was certain to give any girl I met more than she expected.

The Swinger enjoyed my attention whenever I was not either with Dee or at work. Mrs. Fontana seemed interested in my project, and I suppose I probably bored her with the details of rebuilding a 340 V6 engine. Still, she encouraged my completion of the classic car, even going as far as to insist on paying for parts I needed to get the car in top condition. She even sprang for a forest-green paint job once the restoration was complete.

Driving the Swinger back home on a Saturday afternoon, after inspection and registration, Mrs. Fontana cast admiring glances around the interior of the vehicle, commenting that it reminded her of the cars her father drove when she was a child.

"Although," she added as she pulled up the loose denim skirt covering her upper thighs. Brazenly exposing her naked pussy, she stroked the fleshy lips while giving me a dreamy expression. "I never wanted to fuck in any of my father's cars."  

I smiled, reaching across the space between the car's bucket seats and replacing Dee's hand with my own. She sighed as I started fingering her. "Maybe I should find a nice little place to park," I suggested.

"That's what I was thinking," she murmured, pushing down against my hand.

* * * *

Early in the second week of August, on a Saturday, I awoke before Dee in yet another expensive hotel room. Making my way to the bathroom, I splashed some water on my face and stared at my reflection. The previous evening had been a marathon bout of sex, with Dee acting fervent, almost desperate, as if that night had been the last we would share together. The memories of that night would linger with me for the rest of my life.

Returning to the room, I found Mrs. Fontana sitting up in bed, the sheets barely covering her legs. She sported a small, almost sad smile as she watched me approach the bed.

"You're an incredible man, Andy," she told me.

I smiled self-consciously. "I've had a good teacher."

Her eyes glittered. "I have one more gift for you."

I shook my head. "Please don't --"

"I insist."

I sighed. "Okay. What is it?"

She cocked her head, regarding me wistfully. "I sent all the details in a message to your phone," she explained, then sighed. "God, you look good naked."

I casually touched my semi-erect penis. "Morning sex?" I offered.

She chuckled. "As wonderful as that sounds, I'm sorry."

I crossed my arms for want of putting them anywhere else. "This is it, huh?"

An inscrutable look crossed her face. "You're not surprised."

I shrugged, grinding my teeth. "You kept mentioning the end of summer," I said. "Figured it wasn't gonna last."

"Not in this sense, no," she confirmed enigmatically. She smiled philosophically. "There's a party on the seventeenth, at the house. My house. I'd like you to be there."

"Your house?" I asked in alarm. "Like, um, where you live with your husband?"

She tittered. "Yes, that one. Don't worry, Andy. Everything's going to be fine."

"If you say so . . . ."

"Just remember everything I taught you, Andy. Don't disguise what you do, but impress us with who you are."

I breathed in. Right . . . .

* * * *

Dee's last present to me consisted of instructions to a tailor, where I was fitted for a new suit. The older gentleman I spoke with was very patient and polite, humoring my questions and offering much-needed suggestions. He informed me that I essentially had my pick of the store, thanks to Mrs. Fontana. He never asked what association I had with the woman.

In the end, I chose a dark blue silk suit with a pale white shirt and silk tie. I was told that it would be ready by the seventeenth, which was when the tailor had been told to have it available. Leaving the store that afternoon, I was left with a niggling feeling of anticipation, even anxiety. After months of being the "other man" in a wealthy older woman's life, I was suddenly informed that I would be meeting her husband -- and, ostensibly, the rest of the family -- and to "impress" them with who I am.

Was I just some kind of project for Dee? I wondered. And now she's gonna show me off like a prize horse?

I needed another perspective on the situation. Thankfully, I knew just where to find it.

Melvin always worked Saturdays, I knew, and I managed to catch him at a lull between stocking the warehouse and delivering packages. After telling him I needed to talk, he told the other guys in the warehouse that he was taking a break. We headed around the back of the store to a weather-warped picnic table, upon which Melvin sat before lighting up a cigarette.

"So how's that grade-A prime pussy you been hitting?" he asked with his usual aplomb.

I chuckled, hands in my pockets. "More or less over," I answered.

He nodded. "Knew that was coming."

"It wasn't like a huge breakup or anything. I just sort of knew."

He smiled ruefully. "Then you're one up on me," he said. "The cougar that got me, I just couldn't let go. Pussy that fine, you want it all the time, you know?"

"But you eventually let go, right?"

He chuckled darkly. "Nope. Bitch took out a restraining order on me."

I shook my head. "I don't think I'll have to worry about that."

"Something else going on, ain't there? Else you wouldn't be talking to me about this."

I hesitated briefly, wondering if it was such a good idea to clue Melvin in. But I really needed his advice. "There's a party on the seventeenth," I shared with him. "At her house. Her husband's gonna be there. Hell, I figure the whole family, bunch of friends are gonna be there."

"So why the hell does she want you there, right?"

"Right."

Melvin shrugged. "Got me, man."

I sighed. "I feel like I've been set up for something," I said, kicking the ground. "All this stuff she's been teaching me, about clothes, food, wine --"

"Sex."

I laughed. "And sex," I agreed. "But why? What's it all for?"

He pulled on his cigarette. "Guess you're gonna have to go to the party and find out, man."

* * * *

I had asked for the seventeenth off from work, mainly so I wouldn't be in a rush to get ready after work. Early that afternoon, I picked up my new suit and the tailor asked me to put it on just to insure the fit was right. Damn, I have to admit it looked pretty good on me, accentuating my broad shoulders and narrow waist. With the black leather shoes and my new haircut, I looked like I should have been attending Harvard instead of the local junior college.

I cleaned up the car, then showered and dressed in the new suit. Dee wanted me at the house by seven o'clock, and in the interest of insuring I'd get there on time, I left early just in case I lost my way.

I shouldn't have worried.

The house lay upon a hill just outside the city, like a castle overseeing the peasantry below. There were searchlights fanning back and forth from the front lawn as if they were celebrating a new nightclub opening or a massive sale at a car dealership. Approaching the mansion, I pulled into a line of cars being admitted through the gate of the property. The building beyond was fully worthy of the title "mansion." Three stories tall, with columns supporting a broad portico that looked like the entryway to the Louvre.

Man, I'm in way over my head, I worried as my little rebuilt Swinger rolled toward the gate. I was fully expecting to be turned away.

The car ahead of mine was let through, and a large, muscular man with a military crew cut beckoned me forward.

"Invitation," he prompted through my open window.

Droplets of sweat oozed to the surface of my palms. "Uh, I wasn't given one. Maybe this isn't the right place--"

"Name."

"What?"

The gate guard looked annoyed. "Your name."

I swallowed dryly. "Andy Breckenridge."

He smiled suddenly, his entire demeanor changing. "Mr. Breckenridge," he said in a more upbeat tone. "I apologize for my rudeness. Here."

"That's okay," I said warily, accepting the silver-colored card he handed me. What the hell is this?

"Just put that in the front window and look for the silver sign. It will be in the first row. Have a good evening, Mr. Breckenridge."

"Uh, thanks," I said, then rolled the card forward. Okay, this is getting really weird. I go from being peon to friggin' guest of honor just because of my name? Oh, jeez, look at these cars. Lexus, Mercedes, BMW . . . holy shit, a goddamn Ferrari . . . .

The silver sign the guard had referred to sat before an empty space in the first of six rows of cars. Another muscular, uniformed man motioned me in, then opened the car door after I cut the engine.

"Good evening, Mr. Breckenridge," he said as if addressing a head of state.

Bewilderment almost took away my sense of balance as I stepped out, but I managed to keep my composure. "Good evening," I responded, regarding the man's open hand.

"Keys, sir. We'll keep an eye on your baby."

I smiled in an effort to conceal my awkwardness. "Sure. Right. Sorry, it's been a long day."

"Then it's time to relax," the man said, indicating the cobblestone walk which lead to the front doors.

"Right."

Men and women, mostly middle-aged, milled about the broad yard. Some stood around a large stone fountain depicting a trio of nude women pouring water from gourds. Others were making their way toward the house. I saw a group of guys about my age hanging around in a group, smoking cigarettes and watching me. It was obvious they were making rude comments and jokes, probably about me and why I had the obvious privilege of parking my P.O.S. Dodge in the "silver space." I could just about hear them saying, "what's so special about him?"

I ignored them, allowing my feet to lead me to the house. I nodded to anyone who came within ten feet of me and received similar salutations in return. The smell of money was thick in the air, trailing off expensive suits and dazzling jewelry.

Ahead of me at the door, a short man in a black suit with a nose three times too large for his head was admitting the guests. Beyond the open doors, I heard big band music and the din of a hundred conversations.




Coming of Age



"Welcome to Fontana Manor," the short man said with a thick northeastern accent. "Who am I announcing?"

I shifted on my feet, cleared my throat. "Um, Andy Breckenridge."

He smiled broadly. "Very good to be meeting you, sir," he said, then stepped forward with me to the top of a broad set of stairs. Before me lay a huge ball room, at the far end of which was a twelve-piece orchestra. A massive crystal chandelier floated high above the floor, glittering in the light of numerous wall sconces around the room. There were some people dancing, but most stood around talking and holding various glasses.

A great amount of attention was centered around a beautiful young woman about my age, who sat on an elevated chair near the band. Most of those around her were men of all ages, and she was blushing at the attention.

Suddenly, the short man beside me called out in an unexpectedly booming voice: "Mr. Andrew Breckenridge."

And everyone stopped.

And looked.

Oh, shit.

Someone clapped lightly, which then spread throughout the crowd before dissipating. The stunning young brunette in her elevated chair was staring at me, lips curled in a little smile.

I was handed a flute of champagne before starting down the steps. As I reached the bottom, I saw Dee walking briskly toward me, a grin splitting her face. "Andy! Darling!"

Thank God, someone I know!

Dee kissed me on each cheek, then stepped back to admire me. "Very, very nice," she praised. "Not too stuffy, not too casual. You have excellent taste."

I blushed. "So, the suit's okay?"

"It's perfect. She'll love it, just like I know she'll love you."

I frowned. She?

"Don! Don!" she called, waving over a man about her age with bright silver hair. He approached with as broad a smile as Dee sported, leading with an outstretched hand.

"So this is the young man you've been cultivating," he said with a wink while shaking my hand. "Dee has told me some very good things about you."

My eyes bulged slightly as I shot Mrs. Fontana a look. I wondered what, exactly, she had shared with her husband. I managed to return the man's smile and his grip. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Fontana."

He winced, shaking his hand. "Hell of a grip there, son," he chuckled. "But please, call me Don."

I nodded slowly. "Sure thing . . . Don."

"Gotta make the rounds," he said, and stepped away. Dee was shaking her head with a bemused expression on her face.

"Shall I put you out of your misery?"

I gulped the champagne, wiped my mouth. "God, please."

Dee took my arm and directed me toward the beauty in the chair. "It's very simple, Andy," she said. "Everything we have done has been leading up to this. I have given you the keys to all the doors, now all you have to do is unlock them."

"I don't understand."

"Look around you," she urged. "Money, money and more money. But there are disadvantages to being wealthy, especially if you're born into it. She's going to need a more grounded and level head to keep her from being a spoiled brat. We've done our part, now it's up to you."

"'She,'" I repeated. "Who is 'she?'"

Dee indicated the woman on the throne-like chair. "My daughter, Julianna," she said proudly, then gave me a meaningful look. "Today is her eighteenth birthday. It's her coming of age. Come to think of it, it's your's as well."

I nodded with a small laugh. "No kidding."

"Now. We've given her what she wanted, and now we're going to give her what she needs."

My throat was dry as I swallowed again. "Me?"

Mrs. Fontana smiled and fixed the lapels of my suit. "Go get her, big boy," she said.

I slowly turned away from Mrs. Fontana and approached her daughter. She was joking and laughing with a couple of guys my age who fawned over her, obviously attempting to woo the young beauty. But in a moment of clarity, I realized I had the key, as Dee had said. I was favored.

So, as confidently as I could, I stepped toward the chair, eyes locked on Julianna's. She had the same ghostly blue eyes as her mother She smiled and even blushed slightly at my approach. I stopped, bowed, and offered my hand.

"Andy Breckenridge," I said by way of introduction.

Julianna took my hand with a smile and rose from her seat. "I know," she said, her voice smooth and soft.

"Happy birthday," I wished her as we walked to the dance floor.

That was the first of many birthdays we would spend together.

-finis-

(Thank you for reading. Please don't forget to vote, and leave a comment below if you wish. Feel free to add me to your favorite author's list if you enjoyed what you read today. I am always working on something new for Literotica.)



Coming of Age



Paul Nicholson was chubby, greying and unfit. At 33 he had had little luck with women and, in short, had retired early from the game, thrown in the towel, and now perpetually sat on the sidelines. He watched his obese friend date attractive young women. He looked on as another friend attracted the girl who would eventually become his wife by igniting a blue flame that issued from his backside. He observed with his keen intellect and rationalised his single status saying that, unlike lesser mammals, his life could be sustained without surrendering to animal instincts.

In general, he liked women and related to them quite easily. However, he was greatly threatened by any personal interest a woman might show in him. He had the fear of intimacy. He was uneasy about receiving a warm birthday greeting. A fond kiss was answered by a granite cheek. 

He worked tirelessly at his job and this acted as an effective subterfuge to any advances a woman might make. His job involved coaching boys in the game of chess. There was continual touring, setting up a myriad of competitions and opportunities, maintaining a consistent programme at the school, networking with institutions, and so on. His workload exceeded sixty hours a week and in his spare time he played trombone in a swing band.

In the autumn of his 32nd year, it so happened that a couple of women appeared in Paul's life. He was introduced to Bernadette and her colleague Miranda at an intrastate competition. Both lived in the same city as him, worked in the same suburb, and were employed in a related area. So at a suitably private moment and with a belly full of beer he made a vague reference to his availability at evenings. For her part, Bernadette was interested in this advance but being a reflective person she was slow to respond. And so began a game of to and fro between two shy people making clumsy attempts towards a friendship. 

Bernadette was a personality in recess. She was a cave dweller who ventured to the outer world only as a necessity for survival and who retreated from its perceived antagonism into her private quarters. 

Miranda, was not so burdened. She possessed the skill, if it can be classed as such, of violating the psychological hymens of others when in mixed company. It was a carnal instinct, rather vampirish in nature, and yet accepted as part of her thespian flamboyance. For all his insecurities about women, Paul was surprised that he found Miranda's personality refreshing, not threatening. He fancied it was a type he could toy with safely: she was, he understood, happily married. Moreover, Miranda, like Paul, had grown up amongst the leafy privileges of Sydney's lower North Shore.

On an evening in the deep of winter Paul saw Bernadette at a public play-off that he had organized. She approached him at the end of the proceedings when he was alone and packing up gear. He had never seen her so agreeable or forward in her attitude. Even though his habitual nervous tics around women were playing for all they were worth they were suspended in the gelatinous air that surrounded them. Taking a leap into the unknown Paul suggested driving her home to show her a new software programme he had acquired.

As soon as Bernadette entered the interior of the car Paul felt the air in the cabin thicken with a kind of seminal ether. The atmosphere lightened over the course of the trip and once at her flat he could sense her easing into his presence. He found himself becoming guarded, trying to formalize his manner, drawing invisible boundaries of where he finished and she started. It was after all very late and at the end of another overworked day. He made moves to leave and began packing up.

"We should ... play," he offered.

"What should we play, Paul?" Bernadette asked suggestively.

"Chess," he nervously replied, with a hint of irritation. As they were exchanging phone numbers Paul decided to put her number straight into his cell phone. Paul stood in her foyer as he pecked away at the keypad. Bernadette suddenly snatched the phone from him, cut the light in the hall, leaving the LED torching the area between them. Any moment now and they would be plunged into darkness. Bernadette was laughing softly. Paul was facing a nervous meltdown. Then the mobile lamp cut out.

"Your hand," she said quietly, and he felt her hand touch his forearm. His heart was thundering.

"I'll show you where I've put your phone." She put her palm gently in Paul's left hand and guided both their hands into his left side-pocket. She moved in slowly and as deep as the pocket would allow and then slowly withdrew her hand leaving Paul's alone in there. Somehow she had inserted the phone into his pocket. Bernadette walked back to the lounge room, turned on a soft red lamp, and returned smiling.

"Goodnight Paul," she said, and kissed him on the cheek for what seemed like a full minute. Paul froze into a solid block of ice. All his receptors shut down. Bernadette finally withdrew to allow him to take leave of her. He paused, then gallantly turned, leaving a boyish smile hanging.

And so broke the dawn of Paul Nicholson's sexual coming of age.

2.

The journey home was endless and he longed to be back in his flat so he could relieve himself. This was overwhelming: she was a woman clearly interested in him, who was involved in a similar job, whose mind was similarly constructed. A woman who inhabited the same territory as he did, an intense and not unattractive woman putting it out for him. He couldn't objectify a woman like this. She was already in his pocket. All he could do was to stay remote and he would be safe. 

So when she began a mild campaign of tentative advances he was mentally prepared and fended her off with polite indecision. She soon abandoned the effort. Bernadette had perceived Paul as a near perfect and quirky match for her, but his obtuseness, his peculiar take on friendship and his commitment to guarding his heart so closely, had forced her to formally resign from him as a project. She still had a space reserved for him in the carpark of her heart ; but in her less generous moments she would call it a disabled access car space. 

Meanwhile, Paul began noticing a change in his outlook. It was lighter, sunnier, even dreamy. An attitude of sweet hopefulness kept returning to him. It reminded him of his university years. He was actually starting to feel a little happy about nothing at all. He bought a new car: a sports model, red. His life was in a different gear.

Three months later Paul saw Bernadette again in a work situation. Much had happened since the mobile phone incident. He had had a successful overseas business trip. His position within the international organization had moved ahead. He noticed that Bernadette had also moved on. She had changed from a comfortably plump woman with a quiet compliant demeanour to an edgier person whose physical shape was pared down to reveal distinct female contours. 

It was also interesting that she had raised her concentration level in the game and was now a serious player to be contended with. Strangely, there was not even a hint of acknowledgement from either party of their previous intimacy. Indeed the absence of such an admission seemed to weigh heavily between them as they acted out their roles as consummate professionals.

Bernadette's colleague, Miranda, had also undergone a transformation. Far from the boozy wildcat of six months hence, she was now a demure, deferring, homemaker wife, who frequently made very public references to "my husband." Paul still enjoyed her company. She was cute and girlish and was running at a low energy level. 

He was, frankly, a little disturbed by the high level of intensity that was emanating from Bernadette. Her restless society was unnerving. There was something volcanic about her that he found intriguing but disconcerting. He was also bothered that Bernadette reminded him of his mother, an austere and accomplished woman who didn't suffer fools. When he first met Bernadette she was easy company, but now she seemed a major handful, if only hypothetically, because she avoided him, remained aloof and avoided eye contact.

Paul was confused. It was reason enough to not get involved with women, he thought, they are so fickle, they drag you asunder with their liquid interiors and drown your dreams. Paul erected another fire wall in his heart. It was yet one more chink of armour that comprised fortress Paul.

Around this time he had a resonating dream which haunted him for several days. He dreamt that he was about eight years old with his mother inside a small weatherboard church in the Hunter Valley. There was a stained glass window and the sun was streaming through it. His mother called him to stand in front of the windows and receive a sunbath of colour. 

This was significant because Paul had been diagnosed with colour blindness when he was five years old. As he was looking down at his bare legs and arms flecked with a spectrum of colours which he would never see in his waking state he heard fast arpeggiated sweeps from a zither which seemed to rise out of the kaleidoscope. He was captivated. Then he was aware that he was an adult again and the music was gold, sparkling and wet, and he was kissing a woman's nipples and her mouth was moist and he was kissing her lips, and it was Bernadette. 

He woke up. He was bewildered the whole day. He absentmindedly left his mobile phone on the roof of his car and drove off. By the time he realised his mistake, he was watching a truck drive over it, demolishing everything including its SIM card.

That evening he was scheduled to take part in a public play-off. He knew Bernadette would be there and throughout the day he had an uneasy anxiety. It was like a constantly rising level of adrenaline draining into his bloodstream. Over the long drive to the venue his breathing had become shallow. Bernadette was the first person to greet him. She offered him a friendly smile but he could barely speak without his voice trembling so he pretended to laugh a reply but what came out was a choke of emotion which, of course, really settled his nerves.

As nights went this one was memorable because it was the final get-together of a chess club that had been meeting for a decade, and it heralded the beginning of a new association to take its place. It was a night of slightly sour undercurrents because some of the old members had conspired with younger, less experienced members to form the new club. Paul was one of the younger members and Bernadette was an old clubber who was not continuing in the new association due to its shift in direction.

Given this, Paul was impressed that Bernadette was sporting a calm and positive mood. She has every reason to be churlish, he thought. She presented the former president with an album of club memorabilia spanning the past ten years that she had collected and compiled into a leather bound folio. It was impressive and the gift had the effect of subduing tensions that were just beneath the surface. Then the champagne began to flow.

For the first time in months, Bernadette sat down and struck up a simple conversation with Paul. He opened his body to her: his hands were clasped behind his head, his chest and belly were freely exposed. Paul was enjoying the experience of something he had only ever read about: a pheremonal exchange. A pleasant current humming between two people. 

At this exquisitely delicate moment, Miranda interposed physically and verbally. Positioning herself between Bernadette and Paul, she began offering Paul some free time at her home office to a build a website for the new chess club. He sensed that Bernadette was feeling the sting of this female to female combat. He thought he saw Bernadette's pallor turn a shade of green, perhaps she was blushing. He couldn't trust his green-skewed protanomaly colour spectrum condition; either way her face was red, or green.

Paul refused Miranda's offer on account of his work commitments but she insisted with the manner of a spoilt child. It was a very public offer and strangely provocative on several fronts. Firstly, she had no interest in chess - her area was public relations; and she was still on her IT training wheels. Secondly, her approach was overtly personal and it was placed defiantly between Paul and Bernadette. It seemed the champagne was warping already fraught emotions and letting odd, rampant behaviours range freely. Then Bernadette rattled a skeleton.

"I was appalled at the state of the last club's accounts, Paul. Thankfully, you were eventually able to clear up the mess you'd made," Bernadette blurted out as the night lurched on. Now that Paul had virtually supplanted Bernadette's role in the new club, he was feeling magnanimous.

"Thank you for being polite enough at the time to not mention the scramble that was the accounts of the last club treasury of which I was responsible," he publicly announced.

"So this is John Howard's Australia, where politeness is the New Black! Forget about spontaneity and originality. Politeness and Creativity make unhappy bed fellows, Paul," she shot back.

And so the night continued with old and new club members firing parting shot after parting shot with that peculiar Australian quality of insulting someone with great camaraderie.

Love slipped away for two people that night.

The carpark was the final act. Just as Paul had finished loading his new red car Miranda approached him.

"Love the colour, darling, let me see the interior. Mmm, black leather, you devil. Very cushy." Paul felt self conscious. 

"So, I'm going to be in your suburb on Wednesdays, I can show you the ropes on building the website. I can pop over to your place. An hour, max. here, take my card." 

She stood in the doorway of the driver's side where Paul was seated. His eyes were level with her abdomen. While she spoke to him she moved her hips and her hands tousled her hair and skirt. There was a constant movement, and rustling and jangling. Paul was polite and non-committal but he was acutely aware of this woman's advances. He felt himself go hard and he straightened his left leg. Miranda smiled cheekily and bent down into the cabin of the car. He could smell the perfume on her neck and chest. She put her hand on the top of his right leg.

"Oh, and your good friend Lachlan tells me the landline number that you keep a secret is listed in the White Pages," she said playfully. "Along with your address." Paul was cornered, he was in a confined space and he had an erection.

"Don't believe everything Lachlan says," he managed to choke out in a pretend laugh.

"We'll see about that," and she moved in closer and kissed him on the lips, moving her hand over to his left leg, and briefly brushing his stiff member.

She withdrew, much to Paul's relief. He laughed again in this choked fashion and attempted to start the car without his car keys, fumbling for them and making a rushed goodbye.

Paul had a long drive ahead of him. Down the long stretch of Canterbury Road which in the late hours abandons all pretence of decency as thirteen year old girls wait in doorways and side streets and carparks at traffic lights. Too available, too late, too intense. Somehow he made it home.

And the rosy fingers of dawn played upon Paul Nicholson's sexual coming of age. 

3.

After looking into promotional ideas on the internet for the new club Paul organised a fundraiser dinner/competition to help finance a fit out of the new clubhouse. It was a Famous Faces theme night. As club secretary his job was to order costumes from the fancy dress hire shop for the committee members to wear. The shop would deliver them on the Friday afternoon and the committee would pick and choose as they arrived early to set up tables for the evening. 

As usual, Paul was snowed under with work and was the last to arrive. The last remaining costume was the Dolly Parton. As with most of the humiliations Life had dealt him, he resigned himself. He would cop it sweet. He would wear what he saw as the green sequined frock that came with latex bodice inserts. He would quietly inflate them alone in the men's room. He would mumble inaudibly under the guffaws of the President and Treasurer when they discovered him, and he would simply ask to be zipped up at the back. This was within his sphere of tolerance. He would reason that it was an in-house event to be attended exclusively by families and friends of club members. 

He carefully secured the curly wig with its stench of stale hair lacquer to his head. He fitted the mercilessly high stilettos which came with one-size-fits-all elasticised straps. He attached the big hoop earrings, glued on the false eyelashes using the enclosed instructions and fastened the 12-diamante-wide dog collar. 

Finally, he applied the lipstick labelled "Cheeky Cherry" and what looked like green eye shadow. It took Paul a good half an hour to get ready and by the time he had finished all the members and guests had arrived. There was no escaping a massive entrance, he thought, but he reassured himself that it was going to be an insiders' night.

What Paul didn't know is that the President had been in touch with Miranda to engage her PR skills to increase club membership by targeting a wider demographic. He had invited her to be part of the evening to get an idea of the current membership.

The room was about half full as Paul walked out into the games room. There was a momentary hush as he minced his way across the floorboards and headed straight for the bar. Fortunately, a surreal atmosphere was present as Ned Kelly chatted with Elvis, Shane Warne with Miss Piggy, and Simpson's Donkey entertained George Bush Jr. What a relief, thought Paul, and ordered a scotch and coke. You can count on chess players to be cool, he muttered to himself.

"I could learn a few things from you about accessorising my wardrobe," Paul heard a familiar female voice say. Miranda seemed to spin around from out of nowhere and into Paul's immediate space. After a momentary disappearance into a black hole Paul emerged with a forced, "Hi!" Miranda was wearing a Chrissie Amphlett outfit: a short school tunic of box pleats, black stockings and suspenders. Her hair was in side plaits. It was going to be an interesting if long night, thought Paul.

"Oh," said Paul, "what are you doing here?"

"Your illustrious President asked me to come along as part of the PR contract. You know, to get a feel for the new membership" Miranda said with a wry smile. Paul was overcome with nervousness and scuttled off, bewildered, and attended to the games, raffle tickets and general networking. 

When the lucky door prize was being drawn Paul looked for the President to present it but couldn't find him so he improvised an impression in falsetto of "Joelene." Fortunately he was amongst friends. Amidst the warm applause he noticed through the glass doors at the rear of the hall that Miranda was coming out of the President's office adjusting her hair and laughing. The President was behind her. Paul was stung with jealousy. 

"What PR contract?" he asked himself as he undressed at the end of the night, removed the false eyelashes, and inspected the chafings the dress had made on his underarms and nipples. "And why the hell do women habitually do this to themselves?" he raged on privately. "Is it for our benefit or to remind themselves constantly of their body parts? Women are baser creatures than us, absolutely." 

When Paul came out of the men's room there were still a few stragglers about. Miranda was at the bar and she looked, even from behind, like she'd had too much to drink. Not to be outdone by the President's advances earlier in the night, Paul took a deep breath, and approached her and said, "The Divinyls were a great Australian pub band. I remember seeing them when I was still in high school."




Coming of Age



"Yes, I'm sure Ms Amphlett would have taught you schoolboys a thing or two," she said loosely.

"Maybe," said Paul guardedly.

"Maybe? As a teacher I'm sure you'd know something about discipline." She was sitting on a bar stool and slowly crossed her legs. Paul glimpsed a bare thigh under her uniform.

"I'm sure your husband ..." Paul let fall.

"My husband is busy screwing his ex-wife and has no mind for his current spouse," she declared hotly.

"Right," he said awkwardly.

"I'm looking to widen my skills base and I need some ... let's call it coaching," she ventured. Paul started to swell in his trousers and he knew she would notice. He politely made some moves to leave.

"I'll walk you to your car," she said. Paul noticed Miranda's wayward gait and thought she had probably drunk too much to drive.

"Are you catching a cab?" he asked.

"Yes, if I can get one at this hour. Can you drop me at North Sydney station, there's a taxi rank there."

Miranda slid into his black leather interior as if it was her natural habitat. Paul was feeling a strange mixture of anxiety and arousal. Once the car was moving, Miranda started rifling through her handbag for peppermints, somehow dropping her house keys into the small gap between the console and the passenger seat.

"Stop! I dropped my keys," she said suddenly. Paul pulled up alongside North Sydney Oval. Miranda tried with her slender fingers to reach the key ring.

"No, I can't get them. Have you got a long metal rod or something I can hook onto the ring?"

"I'll get the crank for the jack," said Paul. While he was at the boot of the car getting the tool, Miranda came around.

"Find it?" she asked as Paul laid his hands on it.

"Great," she said, taking it from him. Paul approached the passenger side to find Miranda sitting on her knees on the seat with her short tunic barely covering her naked backside as she clumsily worked with the rod.

"I've almost got them," she said. "Can you hold the rod and ease it up and I'll grab the keys when they get close to my hand." That, of course, would involve him pressing against her from behind and she was wearing no underwear. Somehow laughing nervously was not an option. He tentatively moved in. He had half of his bulky frame in the foot well and the other half firmly pressing her into the back rest of the seat. He manoeuvred the rod as best he could given the angle, poor light and the lump in his trousers.

"Got it!" she jerked, jolting Paul towards her. Suddenly the passenger seat went travelling back on its tracks and the backrest hit the rear seat. Miranda fell onto her side fully exposing her bare nether regions. Paul fell on top of her. The next thing Paul was aware of was Miranda opening her thighs to accommodate his bulky frame. 

"Mmm, you're hard - and big," she purred. Paul was frozen.

"No need to say a thing," she said as she dexterously unzipped his fly. Paul was breathing heavily now and Miranda kissed his lips with a boozy breath that somehow gave him licence to continue. It was all happening very fast as she now had his extended member in her hand and was teasing herself with it. There was a lot of wetness between them and she slowly inserted him into her. She rotated her pelvis and grinded it upwards to take more of him inside her. Paul began to move with her jagged rhythm and heard Miranda's breath get shorter as he drove himself into her. He could feel himself rising and Miranda devouring every entry he made. She sounded lusty as if he was hurting her and he moved further into her with each thrust. Her breath became thicker with each move he made.

"You're a bad boy who is teaching me a lesson for drinking too much," she whispered, and with that he came as she moaned into his thick neck.

"So this is how you discipline naughty school girls who drink underage," said Miranda as she withdrew herself from him. Paul realised he was no longer a virgin. There was a weird silence. 

"How did that happen? I don't know how that happened," Miranda said in a different voice.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I don't know how it happened either," Paul offered, turning away from her and fumbling with his trousers. "I'll drive you home."

"No, it's okay. Actually my car is in the carpark back at the club," said Miranda.

Paul was silent and deeply embarrassed. It was hard to tell how Miranda was feeling, thought Paul. She was chattering on about Paul's friend Lachlan and how she had met with him socially and introduced a friend of hers to him with a view to matching them up, and how the friend had wondered whether Lachlan was gay or not. Paul found this funny and forgot how embarrassed he was. He and Lachlan had an ongoing joke about Paul's long term single status being read as real or latent homosexuality. This new bit of gossip would give him some retaliatory action against Lachlan. He pulled into the carpark smiling broadly and parked next to Miranda's coupe.

Just then he saw Bernadette carrying a large box from the carpark to the club. His heart started to thump. He couldn't turn the car around, he would have to see this out. His thoughts raced and fretted over whether Bernadette knew about his new red car. 

"Oh, shit, there's Bernadette. What the fuck is she doing here at this hour!" hissed Miranda. "Doesn't she have a life?"

"It's okay, I'll handle it," Paul said, not really sure what he was going to do.

Miranda was trying to straighten her messy hair and tidy her crumpled tunic, all the while maintaining that Bernadette hadn't seen them.

Bernadette returned to her car and drove off into the night, seemingly oblivious to Paul's new car sitting in a virtually deserted carpark with two people in it.

And the sun blazed over Paul Nicholson's coming of age.

4.

Paul was not convinced that Bernadette had overlooked them in the carpark. He knew she was sharp and observant and would be piecing things together. He slept little that night and wrestled with paranoia amongst a host of other demons none the less of which was the unease he felt about his unceremonious deflowering. By morning he had resolved to contact Bernadette with a pretext of asking about the former club's archive. Presumably, that was what was in the box she was carrying. 

He was concerned that if word got around that he had left the club with a very drunk Miranda in his car and returned some time later in a less than open manner the club executive would demote him for unprofessional conduct with a contractor. More importantly, it would eventually get back to his school. It would be the end of a great career on which he had built his adult life. 

Ordinarily, Paul would never call a woman such as Bernadette. However, his present circumstances and recent actions showed that his life was anything but normal or ordinary. He had never felt his libido as a palpable force in his life before. He would have to call her, and under a false pretence. It wasn't going to be easy. 

So he procrastinated for a day or so. Then one afternoon at the club Bernadette walked in unannounced looking for El Presidente. Paul was alone, feeling bashful and defensive, but he saw that his career was at stake in this woman. 

"Hi!" he forced out.

"Hello Paul," Bernadette smiled shyly. 

"How have you been over the last three months?" Paul offered. Bernadette seemed taken aback at such a question but she played a neutral hand.

"Very well thanks, yourself?" 

"Good. The new club is increasing its membership."

"Yes, I heard. Miranda told me she got the PR contract." Paul was already feeling cagey but the mention of Miranda heightened his tension. He was scrutinising her features and body language and trying to read something into them but Bernadette seemed relaxed, unbothered.

"Anyway, I'll leave a note on the President's desk. It's not urgent, tell him it's about the archive if he rings. Thanks, Paul, see you." Bernadette walked out whistling Dolly Parton's 'Joelene'. 

"What kind of a explosive non-statement is that," thought Paul. "She's obviously heard about the Famous Faces night, so how much does she know? She's probably spoken to Miranda. Women get together and tell everything to each other. She knows. Perhaps I can explain my way out of this." Paul was panicking.

Bernadette was just getting into her car when Paul approached her. She got back out of the car to talk to him. 

"What is it, Paul, you look worried?" she said smiling quizzically.

"I suppose you heard about the Famous Faces night," he said carefully.

"Yes, I heard it went well and that you're a natural." Paul found the statement ambiguous and didn't know what to make of it. Bernadette was playing her cards close to her chest. He would just have to throw out for her to show. 

"No, I mean Miranda, she was very drunk," Paul tested.

"Miranda? That's how PR chicks in Sydney do biz. It's all part of their bag of tricks. If she knows that you trust her, an outsider, with the organisation's secrets, she holds the power in the relationship. Once she's got hold of that she trades in the currency of trust. Journalists, publicists, researchers, they open doors for her, do her favours and so on because she is privy to their secrets. Personal, business, commercial, whatever. She's ruthless. Of course, she rarely betrays their trust, that would be a loss of currency. What exists is the threat that she could."

"What secrets?" thought Paul. He was still unsure whether Bernadette was referring to his peccadillo with Miranda, or perhaps the President's dally with her earlier in the night. Perhaps she was simply referring to his drag impersonation of Dolly Parton, or secrets in general as a potential trading stock. Bernadette's analytical style in full steam was something to behold, he noted, and he felt matched by her.

"You know what PR stands for? Preternaturally Randy," Paul quipped. Bernadette laughed deeply. Something of their previous intimacy briefly passed between them. Paul loved the sound of her laugh. Still, he couldn't read how much she knew, and every return she made seemed loaded with import. Paul became uncharacteristically direct.

"Have you seen my new car before," he said.

"The red Alpha sports? Everyone's talking about it", said Bernadette.

"I asked you whether you'd seen it," said Paul steadily.

"I'm looking at it! Ok, show me." Bernadette walked over and bent down to view the interior.

"The black leather will hide a multitude of sins," she said drily.

Paul almost choked. She knows, he thought, and she's enjoying playing this situation for all its worth. She's also toying with my sheepish attempts to figure out what she knows. 

Suddenly Bernadette said, "Did you hear about Miranda's car? It was stolen outside her house about a month ago." This was the statement Paul wanted to hear. Bernadette couldn't have noticed Paul's car drive into the carpark that night and pull up next to Miranda's coupe. Paul figured that Miranda must have fed Bernadette this falsehood as a precaution.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Paul Nicholson was absent-mindedly driving in Mosman in smooth traffic when the car ahead of him slowed down and put its hazard lights on. His mobile phone rang.

"Hi, it's Miranda, I'm in the car in front of you. I've got some good news. Follow me to Daddy's house." Paul was curious: he was hoping it was about Bernadette and what she didn't know, but it could have something to do with the club's inroads into live online lunchtime tournaments which Miranda had been promoting. He had about fifteen minutes up his sleeve so he turned off Spoforth Street and followed Miranda up a long leafy drive. He sat in his car and watched Miranda get out of her coupe by swinging both legs round together. 

She was wearing a long, sandy brown wig and wore impossibly high heels with black ankle straps and a dark, narrow, tapered pencil line skirt. It was so tight it restricted her strides to a foot at a time. She wore a tight white shirt. She was smiling as she approached the front of Paul's car and she slowed down, extending her arms generously towards him. She stopped, which was a cue, Paul assumed, for him to get out and greet her.

"Lovely to see you, Paul," she said in a sugary tone and kissed him on his unready lips.

"How have you been since we last met?" Paul thought he may as well ramble a little since she was nodding appreciatively at every clause he made. She began tousling her long hair while listening to him chat and she took the liberty of sitting on the red fender, loosely laughing at every comments. Paul was feeling pretty flattered by the attention.

"Your father keeps a tidy pile," he said. Did you grow up in this house?"

"Father? No, this is my Daddy's house, you know, my boyfriend's," said Miranda.

"What?" Paul jumped.

"Relax, he's in Europe -- unwisely leaving his mistress unattended," said Miranda with a careless laugh. She began unbuttoning her shirt while talking about 'Jimsey's' Jag sports in which he had taught her to drive on some back country road in the Southern Highlands, but Paul wasn't listening owing to the preponderance of black lace brassiere overflowing with breast which she was revealing with each slowly unfastened button. He was going hard involuntarily and Miranda met his gaze with a private girls' school smile. She slid off the car and was on her knees in front of him before he knew it.

"I want to see this hero by the light of day," she said with a camped-up tone. Her bare knees were in the dirt as she worked her way into his fly and took him into her mouth. Paul was shocked and utterly overcome. He was swept away in a wave of pure lust. Miranda had her arms behind her back as she took all his thick shaft into her mouth and excited its head with quick movements of her tongue. Just when Paul felt he couldn't know anything wetter and more forceful she withdrew.

"Help me up," she said, trying to stand up in the stilettos with her arms still clasped behind her back. Paul bent to help her.

"Lay me over the bonnet and roll up my skirt," she ordered quietly. Paul obeyed her, his weeping member jutting out from his trousers.

"Now, turn me over, face down, take my ass in both your hands, feel your way and ease yourself in." Miranda still had her hands in an invisible shackle. Paul fumbled a little with where his rod might enter her.

"Lift my ass towards you," she said. Her soft body was malleable around his hardness. His large hands could direct his entrance into her at his will. He held her hips in his palms and slowly slid his stiff python into and through her. She started to sigh heavily and Paul penetrated her deeply. His thrusts became more rapid and she moaned. The only moves she made were from the thrusts he was giving to her and they became increasingly forceful and she groaned as if he was causing her pain. She came. He felt something burst in him. Paul saw his semen seeping out of her.

"Pull my skirt back down," said Miranda as Paul gently withdrew from her.

"I know how that happened," he choked.

"Yes, it's all because of your generous horn," said Miranda, fixing her blouse. Paul put himself back into his trousers and again felt embarrassed but also light-headed and relieved of a burden. He was silent.

"Would you like to see the room where Daddy instructs his mistress, or perhaps take a cup of tea?" asked Miranda.

"No, I have a meeting that I'm scheduled to be at right now," he mumbled. "You said you had something to tell me," Paul said as he made for the driver's seat.

"I forgot," said Miranda carelessly. Paul shot her a look of annoyance.

"Oh yeah, that's right," she said, "Bernadette is totally in the dark about ..." she trailed off. Paul wasn't so sure about that.

"Ok, see you later," he said.

"Until next time," said Miranda, as Paul reversed his car down the driveway.

Paul drove down Military Road in the winter sunshine with a body awareness he had never experienced before. He felt so relaxed and complete even his incessant mind took a backseat to bathe in the exuberance. 

"So this is what it's like," he thought simply.

And a golden afternoon basked upon Paul Nicholson's coming of age.

5.

He was just pulling into the carpark off Falcon Street when his mobile rang.

"Hi Paul, it's Miranda, we've got a problem," she sounded agitated.

"Can it wait? I'm already late for this meeting."

"It's the housekeeper," she continued. "She's taken the security camera video from the driveway this morning and threatened to make trouble for me."

"I'll call you in two hours," Paul rang off.

As Paul sat through the committee meeting he could feel his shickered member through his trousers and it constantly reminded him of the looming storm. Afterwards he couldn't remember what had been discussed about the school's funding budget for his beloved secondary school chess programme. He returned to his car, made sure the windows were up and did something he had never done in his life before. He phoned a woman for coffee.

Paul secured a corner table inside and sat with his back to the wall. A few minutes later Miranda arrived. She was wearing the same pencil line skirt and stilettos but had taken off the wig and had changed into a striped sweater. She looked sexy in a showy, extrovert way and people noticed her in public. Paul could see she was worried.

"This housekeeper, who has always disliked me, threatened to show the video footage to Jim when he returns. I thought it was her day off but she was in there watching us from the laundry. Jim is a really jealous man, and powerful, you know, influential. He's a QC. My career would be in tatters if he found out." She was shaking.

Paul, however, was thinking about his own position. He reasoned that if her lover was jealous, he would set out to ruin Paul.

"Could she be bought off?" he asked.

"Probably, but we may not need to go there. When she first confronted me I flatly denied it. We argued and she showed me what evidence she had. Some parts of the driveway are obscured by trees so the footage only shows me draped over your car with my hands apparently tied behind my back, and you having your way with me until you are satisfied, then leaving abruptly. And, yes, your number plate is visible," she added.

"So it appears ..." Paul began - 

"That it was not mutually consenting sex," she finished. "I told her you raped me so she'd get off my case," she said flatly. "I told her you were a work colleague that I'd known for a long time and had arranged that morning to give you some documents when you were passing through the area. I cried as I told her that you'd pursued me for years and had sexually harassed me several times. I said that I would handle it all but that it would really hurt Jim if he saw this footage. 

I think she bought my story because then she told me that when she was growing up in Manila her only prospect for work was to leave school at 14 and become a housekeeper for a wealthy Philippino family. Even today it is expected that young female housekeepers perform sexual duties for their male employers. There is no union or protection or act of parliament regarding sexual harassment there. She shared her story with me and I think she saw me for the first time as a victim like her and she felt sorry for me."

"Except that it is a complete fabrication," Paul retorted.

"That's a bit harsh," said Miranda softly, "for someone who gives you pleasure."

"I'll be in touch," said Paul guardedly, and they said goodbye. 

And the late afternoon sun began to fade on Paul Nicholson's coming of age.

6.

He certainly didn't want Miranda offside, however he felt no loyalty towards her. She had just made an allegation of sexual assault against him to an unknown third party. Paul thought that she played way too close to the edge and he was unconvinced that she had the situation under control. There was indeed a perverse irony in that it was in Paul's best interests to let Miranda make this allegation so the affair would never get past her and the housekeeper. He reasoned that unless Miranda was in some way threatened by him she had as much interest in keeping mum as he.




Coming of Age



However, the security of both Miranda's and Paul's position was kept in check by a thin thread of false allegiance of two Women Wronged By Men. The paranoid scenario Paul was compelled to face was that it really cleared nothing for him. With the existence of the video, he could have any or all of the following persons threatening to ruin him:

i) one of Sydney's top silks; ii) a vexatious and opportunistic housekeeper looking for an early retirement; iii) a manipulative female with no power of resistance against a well-stocked fly; and iv) her husband, at this point a completely unknown factor.

He also began to wonder how Miranda got in front of his car on Rangers Road, why she was wearing a blonde wig, or holding her hands behind her back throughout the whole act in the driveway. He wondered whether it was just a coincidence that the faux bondage scene was caught on film but not her welcoming embrace or her performing fellatio on him. 

"Maybe she's framing me," he thought desperately. He reminded himself that the slightest insinuation of male sexual deviance within the education system is guaranteed to bring about the collapse of a teaching career.

Paul took the afternoon off, went straight home, got out the Yellow Pages and looked up Private Investigators. He rang a couple of large firms that took out ¼ page ads and was surprised to find that, like the best GPs in town, there was about a three month waiting list. He saw his case as urgent so he went with a small two person operation in local Artarmon.

"Sexual harassment case, eh," said the male voice of Mathers and Turner Investigations, after Paul discreetly described his situation.

"Our specialist in that area is Ruby Turner," he said. 

"Not another woman, please," thought Paul. "Do you have any men that could do the job? It's a sensitive issue," he quietly confided.

"Women get the best results in this area. Only they know how another woman's mind ticks."

"Yes, like a time bomb," thought Paul.

Ruby Turner was a freckly, redheaded woman of average height and build with a slight speech impediment that made her words sound like they were trapped in her larynx. She compensated for this by talking fast and plainly. She didn't mince words or waste time with tactful language and she frequently made bold, sweeping statements that threatened nobody in particular because they were so general. She seemed quite non-judgemental and Paul thought that there was probably nothing he could say that would shock her. 

While he felt awkward having to divulge the details of the affair thus far he really had no choice but to explain as neutrally as he could. The fact that Ruby Turner had clearly established a professional distance and that she was a complete stranger made an excruciating experience somewhat less so. Paul noticed that as he was describing the situation, she was drawing a series of boxes with peoples' names in them and arrows connecting them up. He noticed that no-one was placed in the centre of the page. 

"You've got yourself caught up in a right hornet's nest," said Ruby firmly when Paul finished describing the affair. He felt mightily embarrassed.

"And now you are just one more hornet in the nest," she said. 

"And all because of my horn," muttered Paul inaudibly.

"Your security lies in possessing discrete information on all of the players and communicating to them that you have something on them. My job is to obtain that information - in a more or less legal fashion." 

She explained the approximate length of time it would take to get things moving and how much it would cost. Paul thought it was a reasonable price to pay if it was going to save his career. He even wondered whether it was an allowable tax deduction. After he had left the Mathers and Turner office in Artarmon he felt somewhat less anxious. However, he wasn't ready to admit at this point that he actually had confidence in a woman. 

He felt growing in him the seed of a general malaise towards women. He tried to reason with it. In the Paul had to concede that Ruby Turner was the type of woman that didn't need his approval. Although he wouldn't admit it to himself he had a sneaking admiration for Ruby Turner.

` ` ` ` `

"Paul Nicholson?" asked a direct female voice.

"Yes, who is this?" asked Paul.

"It's Ruby Turner, from Mathers and Turner. We've got some developments on your case, can you drop by this afternoon?" Paul was surprised at how quickly things had moved and he slipped away from work early.

"Good news," said Ruby laconically. "The housekeeper's visa expired six months ago. She's working illegally. Doesn't pay tax. Probably using a false name. We've got a passport check on her at the moment, it's possibly fake. She seems to be sending money home periodically, and doesn't appear to have any family support system here. Giving her a bit of a gentle reminder re: Australian Immigration and the nice guys at the Australian Tax Office should do the trick." Paul noted she was very matter of fact about the matter of psychological blackmail. He just hoped it wouldn't be him that would have to tell this unfortunate woman of her predicament.

"I'll be paying Senora Feliciano a visit. It's all part of the friendly service" said Ruby facetiously, double guessing Paul's anxiety. Paul was beginning to like Ruby Turner. Already she was getting results and she had a gallows humour to boot.

That night Paul Nicholson had another resonating dream. He was the passenger in a flashy car and Miranda was driving, wearing that long haired wig. All the windows were down and her hair was blowing all over her face and into her eyes obscuring her vision. Then the car turned into a surfboard and Paul was surfing down the crest of a wave and as it broke the water turned into sand and he was in sand dunes and his brand new car was full of sand like an empty shell as if it had been bogged and left in a desert storm. When he woke up he realised he had overslept his usual waking time by an hour.

There was text message from Ruby Turner on his mobile that she had sent an hour ago. "Call asap 4 update, rt." Paul felt sluggish and unrefreshed so he made himself a strong coffee before rushing out the door to visit Mathers and Turner in Artarmon.

Ruby Turner was sitting at her desk surrounded by paperwork, and she looked up when she noticed Paul at the door. 

"Have a seat," she said. "It appears that the QC walked a tightrope of ethical conduct some years ago before he obtained silk. He was an advocate for a defendant in a criminal case which hinged on the admissibility of some documentary evidence. 

"It seems the father of a femme fatale who was tangled up in the case was a retired barrister with an active role in the NSW Law Society. He sought to protect his prestige in this circle from the scandal that would have broken if his daughter was subpoenaed to appear. So he offered a bribe to his former associate, Jim Lyneham, to withhold evidence. 

"Lyneham, of course, didn't accept it; he always maintained a meticulous code of conduct that would guarantee him silk in his later years. He did, however, falsely inform his client that a document could not be used because it had been obtained by deception. As it turned out, the defendant was acquitted, but strictly speaking Jim Lyneham walked a razor's edge of professional misconduct because he didn't put his client's needs first. It gets better: further down the track Jim Lyneham was to fall for Madame Metale himself." She got up and turned on the electric jug. 

"That's about three nuggets in your pocket right now." Ruby said. Paul thought it was an interesting metaphor. 

"Coffee?" she asked.

"No thanks. This Madame Metale: we are not talking about Miranda are we?" asked Paul.

"We are," answered Ruby. . "Right," said Paul nervously. "That makes three: the housekeeper, the QC and Miranda." 

"Let's just say we've got an insurance policy to fall back on if the housekeeper loses it and tells Jim Lyneham, or if Miranda gets difficult," Ruby said. "Of course, there's no need to move on this information unless its necessary," she offered up to Paul's confounded silence. "Nothing on the husband as yet, will keep you posted."

Paul left the offices of Mathers and Turner in a state of confusion. What surprised him was that he was jealous, furiously and without reason, about Miranda. When he arrived back at his flat he pulled up and parked in the street. 

Paul was muttering to himself. When he felt threatened by something or someone he loomed a thick fabric of internal dialogue that masked him from the outside world. This was how a friend could pass him in the street and Paul not notice him. Or how he could walk up to his first floor flat and not notice Miranda in the stair well.

"Are you going to invite me in, Paul?" she called incredulously.

"What are you doing here?" he answered defensively. 

"I have a confession to make. Please don't be mad at me," she said. Paul didn't want to invite her into his flat, but he did want to hear what she had to say. Probably he already knew. There were nosy neighbours so he let her in.

Miranda turned on her vast array of coynesses to soften Paul's exterior but they just served to make him more guarded. She took a long time getting to the so-called confession and Paul was underwhelmed when she finally arrived at it.

"The housekeeper gave me the video and has sworn herself to secrecy about it. Unfortunately, my mistake, I left it in my house and my husband found the tape this morning. I don't know where he is, what he is doing with it or what he plans to do with me," Miranda said with a helpless tone. "He's a former rugby player, he knows a couple of tough guys and he's a bit of a loose canon."

"Great," thought Paul. "That's just what this fiasco needs to intensify it, a bit of homegrown violence." 

Paul wasn't about to tell Miranda what he knew about her, or the QC, or even the housekeeper. All he could hope for was that Ruby Turner might turn up something on the husband that would keep him quiet.

"Oh, and I had to call on Bernadette to cover for me," Miranda said, almost apologetically.

"What? How?" Paul jerked back.

"It's a long story, but she owes me one. As we speak she's in my car outside my house dressed in my outfit, and my wig, and my stilettos, waiting for my husband to come home. She's going to try and pass herself off as the woman on the video being taken by you on the bonnet of your car." Miranda said. Paul choked audibly. He was furious.

"But why did you get her involved?" he blurted.

"Look, she already knew about that night in your car," said Miranda, irritated. "The video vision is blurry and it's far away. She could easily pass herself off as me," said Miranda carelessly.

"Bernadette? No." Paul noted quietly.

And a luminous jade crepuscule fell upon Paul Nicholson's coming of age.

7.

Bernadette parked the coupe across the driveway of the house Miranda lived in with her husband. She felt fairly disabled as she climbed out of Miranda's low slung seat in a outfit of clothing half a size too small and a pair of shoes more at home on a catwalk. She felt like she was playing out a scene from the The Story of 'O'. She knocked on the door and heard the heavy footfalls of Steve down the hall.

"Hi, Steve," said Bernadette. "I've parked you in but I've just dropped in for a moment," she said without hesitation. She knew Steve only briefly and she hadn't seen him for about two years.

"Sorry, who?" he asked.

"It's Bernadette, Miranda's colleague," she quickly answered.

"Bernadette!. I didn't recognise you. Where's Miranda? Hey, that's her car, what's going on?"

"She lent it to me for the afternoon," said Bernadette, smiling and tousling her long blonde wig with an upbeat manner. Steve blatantly sized her up and a wry smile appeared on his lips.

"Well, you've certainly changed. You're about half the size you used to be, and you're blonde," Steve added.

"Yes, there's been a lot of changes of late. Can I have a word with you?" she asked.

Steve opened the door and stood back to allow Bernadette through. She entered the hall with a haughty air and was conscious of every dainty step as she walked down the passage. Steve followed her, watching her hips move. Bernadette could feel his eyes on her as she moved slowly. It all seemed ironic. 

"Coffee?" Steve asked as she took a seat in the living area.

"Would you have anything stronger? A red wine, perhaps," she asked. He poured himself one as well and sat on the sofa closest to her. 

"So tell me about these changes," Steve ventured.

"Well, you know, I was a single woman and now, I ... circulate," said Bernadette coquettishly. She noticed Steve was looking at her closely, his pupils were dilated, and he had a bemused expression, and she guessed she was probably on the right track with where she wanted this visit to go. 

Bernadette possessed significant sexual power but had no idea how to use it. She had spent so much time and effort in working over the years that the art of personal relationships and reading non-verbal messages had been overlooked. She was improvising in the dark on the theme of psychological manipulation through sexuality. This was Miranda's song. But there was a lot at stake to follow through on this pretence. The truth was, despite his absence in her life, she was in love with Paul Nicholson .

"I'll come straight to the point, Steve. You have a video which shows a woman having sex on the bonnet of a car in a driveway," Bernadette waited for a response.

"Go on," said Steve with a poker face.

"That woman is me and that was one of my lovers. It was taken at his mother's house. He doesn't want anyone to know about us." Bernadette felt disempowered and her voice sounded feeble, almost childlike.

"And why's that, do you think?" Steve asked mercilessly. Bernadette figured that he was enjoying making her feel small and the thought passed through her mind quickly that this was the pathway she could take. 

"Perhaps he thinks his friends and family will think I'm not good enough and that he's using me for sex. Something like that ... I don't know." As Bernadette trawled through her own degradations she ran her hands over her stockings and crossed and uncrossed her legs. Steve watched her closely.

"Do you like sex?" he asked. Bernadette smiled with a faux coyness and let a moment pass.

"Of course," she said quietly, with her eyes lowered.

"How do I know that it is you on that video and not my whore of a wife?" Steve said suddenly and viciously. "It's her car parked in that driveway."

Bernadette was taken aback at Steve's hardball manner but she had rehearsed a response to this question. 

"My car's been off the road for two weeks and Miranda has been lending me hers when I've needed it to out-of-the-way places."

"This is way out there, all right. So you like a bit of humiliation?" said Steve. "Stand up", he ordered with a bullying tone. Bernadette could see where this was going. She had led it down this route and was now looking down the barrel of a twisted variation on a date rape scenario. She stood up and made an effort towards a submissive, girlish laugh. It seemed to humour Steve a little and his tone softened as he asked her to turn around. 

"Pull up your skirt." Bernadette hoisted the tight fabric up over her hips by moving from side to side. The skirt caught one of the outer thigh suspenders and unfastened it. She stopped, twisted around and refastened it. She caught Steve's eye and kept up a girlish persona to assuage him. She continued to hitch her tight skirt up to her waist and revealed a black garter, black stockings and nought else.

"Mmm, very nice," he growled softly from the sofa. "Now bend over." 

Bernadette felt utterly defiled as she leant over and rested her elbows on the back of the chair she had been sitting on. She heard Steve come behind her and in a moment he had his large hands on her buttocks and he began to rub them. She felt like a pony being stroked on its rump. She pretended to like it. 

Then she let him nuzzle the hardness in his corduroy trousers into her bare ass. He reached around and pulled her arms behind her back and shackled them in his large grip. He repeatedly rammed his trousered groin into her behind with some force. Bernadette lowered her head and privately bit her lip. Suddenly there was a knock at the front door. It startled Steve. Bernadette sighed with relief on the inside. 

"There's no question that it is me on that video, Steve. I want the tape back, please," said Bernadette with all the charm she could muster, twisting around and pulling her skirt down in one movement

"It will cost you," said Steve loosely, as he went to open the door.

"It has already cost me," she answered in a deeper, more strident, tone. She could hear that Miranda had returned. She wondered how she'd got home and hoped Paul wasn't with her. There was a palpable acrimony between husband and wife when they both walked into the living room. Bernadette greeted Miranda briefly, thanked her for the use of the car, returned her the keys and then made moves to leave. 

"Just before you go, take this." Steve ejected the video tape from the VCR and handed her the tape, adding, "Your boyfriend is waiting outside."

"Boyfriend?" said Miranda cattily, "that's pushing it a bit, and look out kitten, he's ropable." Bernadette knew to let these swipes pass unchallenged. They rarely made contact, let alone drew blood.

"I can let myself out," said Bernadette. She picked her way down the front stairs carefully. This attire didn't allow for rushing. The world would have to wait for Madame Metale.

Paul was waiting in his car and saw Bernadette dressed as the woman he had had sex with on the bonnet of his car a week ago. He was upset by her involvement in this affair, not to mention his own humiliation, but to see her strong and able body now so contorted in its movements by this tight, restrictive clothing and seeing her restless, boundless energy slowed down to a snail's pace by this ridiculous footwear almost made him want to weep. 

He wondered why she was doing this, what was owed to Miranda? Paul noticed Bernadette's face was highly flushed and she seemed embarrassed to the point where she was going to walk right by his car and completely avoid his gaze. He got out and approached her.

"Bernadette, let me drive you," he said.

"Hello, Paul, not right now, it's okay, I have to go," said Bernadette, who was not coping with meeting him like this, who was fiercely protecting herself after being traumatised by the humiliation. 

"Please," he said simply. Bernadette turned around and got into his car. He drove off immediately and they shared an interminably uncomfortable silence together in heavy Sydney traffic. Eventually, Bernadette broke it.

"How the hell did that video get into his hands in the first place?" she asked him, fiercely tearing off the blonde wig.

"Well, it explains a lot", said Paul unhelpfully.

"Not to me it doesn't," said Bernadette, looking blurrily through the front windscreen.

"I'm taking you to my place where you can get changed," said Paul as he drove past the turnoff to Bernadette's suburb.

"I've left my clothes in Miranda's car," she said.

"I have some you can wear," Paul offered, and thought he had better offer an explanation. 

"That will be interesting," said Miranda flatly. Paul thought she looked despondent and sounded dogged.

"We should have dinner and talk things over," he offered instead.

Paul got out of the car at his place and came around to the passenger side to help Bernadette get out of his sports car wearing the bondage outfit. Paul noticed how quiet and withdrawn she was and it drew out a protective instinct in him. He offered his arm and she took it. He felt like he was bringing a patient home from hospital who was rehabilitating after an operation. She was something delicate. 




Coming of Age and Coming Out



Cathy and Tammy have been living together for two years, since they both finished high school. They had to keep it a secret for many reasons, but mostly they were afraid what their friends and especially their family would think.

They had a crush on each other the first year of high school, but didn't act on it until their senior year. They lived in Birmingham, Alabama, in the deep religious south, where homosexuality was frowned upon.

Cathy grew up here in Birmingham, spending her whole life not going more than one hundred and fifty miles from Birmingham.

Tammy was different, she was Hispanic and grew up in San Francisco, moving her at the beginning of her first year of high school, and Cathy was the first friend she ever made.

They both had nice jobs, they were lucky; both companies each one worked for supported the gay and lesbian community, a rarity for the Deep South.

Their lives were great, except they had to live in secret, afraid of what the neighbors, friends, and their families would think. Tammy wasn't really concerned about her family much, but a part of her was afraid to tell them.

Both of their parents knew about the other and had met them many times, but their parents and friends only thought they were best friends. They knew they lived together, but not as lovers, but as friends sharing an apartment to save money.

One night, after a long day at work, they were on the couch cuddling and watching a chick flick they both loved, Tammy said, "We should tell our parents and friends the truth about us. I am tired of living a secret life."

Cathy just sat there and watched the movie; she was trying to ignore what Tammy said. They had this conversation many times, and it all ended the same way, with a big argument.

Tammy persisted with it and finally Cathy said, "I love you very much, but you know how I feel about this. I am tired of living in secret, living a lie. I can deal with my friends, even my job, they wouldn't care much, and even if they did, I would get over it. My family is another thing, I have no idea how they would react, and you know they are super religious."

Tammy replied, "I know, just think about it. It would so much easier if everybody knew. I know we would have to move if the neighborhood found out, but all of this will make us stronger.

Cathy and Tammy didn't speak about it the rest of the night, Cathy knew Tammy was right, about everything; she was just scared that everything they have could be destroyed and she would lose Tammy over it all.

They went to bed and held each other while they slept. Cathy tossed and turned all night, the thought of coming out to everyone weighed heavy on her mind.

The next morning at breakfast, Tammy was eating her morning toast, Cathy sat down at the table, and she sipped her coffee and said out of the blue, "You're right, we should tell everyone about us, and it should be done soon."

Tammy almost gagged on her toast, she was not expecting that. She looked across the table and said, "How about this weekend, Saturday, you can go to your parents, and I will go to mine, and we will deal with the fallout Sunday."

Cathy smiled, she got up and gave Tammy a kiss on her forehead and said, "That sounds like a plan, I am still scared this will all blow up on us."

Tammy got up, she held Cathy close and said, "I promise you, if this blows up on us, we will pick up the pieces together."

Cathy smiled; she kissed and gave Tammy a big hug before heading off to work. Tammy realized it was getting late; she threw her dishes in the sink and headed out herself.

They both called their parents and set it all up for Saturday night since they both had to work that morning. I would be a long day for both of them since they won't see each other from breakfast until late that night after the talk to their parents. 

Saturday came and they both headed out to work, they kept sending each other text messages of support all day.

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Cathy drove from work at a large international publishing company to her parent's house. It was a twenty minute drive with traffic. As she pulled into her parent's driveway, she was scared as hell as to how they would react. She wished Tammy was here to comfort her and give her support, but she knew it was best she didn't come with her, her day had a violent temper when he got angry.

All through dinner, Cathy couldn't sit still, her parents knew it was something big she had to tell and tired to pry it out of her during dinner. 

After a long and usually quiet dinner, her parents John and Mary, followed her into the family room and all sat down in the chairs, her parents were sitting directly across from her.

Cathy took a deep and started by saying, "Mom, dad, I have something to say and I know you won't like it, but I hope you will understand.

Her parents looked at her and her mom said, "Its ok dear, whatever it is, and you can tell us. Let me guess you lost your job, didn't you."

She looked at her dad who had a confused look on his face, she looked at her mom and said, "Mom, dad, this is not about my job." She took another deep breath and continued, "As you know, Tammy and I have been sharing a place for two years now."

Her mom interrupted and said "No, is Tammy okay? Did something happen to her? Tell her we will keep her in our prayers and ask the church to pray for her."

Cathy knew this was going to be a lot harder and not good, she continued, "NO mom, Tammy is fine, we are best friends, but also more, we are lovers and we are both lesbians."

Cathy was in a way relieved that it was finally out, but she could she her dad was about to explode, and explode is what he did."

Her dad stood up and yelled, "What the hell are you saying. We raised you to be a good Christian. You know God hates fags and you will burn in hell for this."

Her mom didn't say a word for several minutes, she finally said, "Now John, let me handle this." Her mom looked at Cathy and continued, "Cathy, you know how the church feels about this. What did we do wrong? We raised you to know better. What about children? You need to find a nice man, marry him and have children. How are you going to have children now?"

Cathy was upset; she knew this wasn't going to be easy. Before she could respond, her father started again saying, "We raised you, fed you, gave you shelter, and you do this to us as repayment. You are nothing but a whore, and you know what the bible says happens to whores. What do you think the pastor and the congregation at the church will say?"

Cathy looked at her father and replied, "Tammy is not whore, neither am I. She is more loving and caring than you two hypocrites. All you are worried about is what the pastor and the church congregation will think; you both don't give a shit about me. I love Tammy and I know God loves me."

Her mother was about to reply, but her father cut her off and said, "How dare you speak like that in this house." I could see he wanted to backhand me, but he just stood there and continued, "Get out of this house and don't ever come back. As far as we are concerned, you are dead to us."

Cathy ran out of her parent's house crying. She drove off with her tires squealing and leaving a mark on the driveway. She drove to a nearby gas station and dialed Tammy on her cell phone.

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Tammy drove up to her parent's house near the automotive factory where she worked in the main office. Her parents greeted with smiled and they sat down to dinner. 

During dinner they all caught up on what was happening in their lives, it had been several months since she visited them, due to the high volume of paperwork she had at the office.

After her parents caught her up on what was going on with the family, Tammy thought it was time to pop the news. She looked across the dinner table and said, "Dad, mom, I have something to tell you, a secret I have been keeping. "

Her parents looked at each other and her dad said, "What is it? You know we don't keep secrets in this family, now spit it out."

Tammy took a deep breath, she knew Cathy would have a rough time and hoped this went over good, finally she replied, "Cathy and I are more than best friends, we are both lesbians."

Her parents looked at each other in a way that Tammy didn't know what to expect. Her father stood up and went into the other room and her mother said, "Help me clear the table dear."

My mother and I cleared the table and brought the dishes into the kitchen. Tammy was washing the dishes when her mother walked up and said, "Tammy, me and your father are very disappointed. We hoped you would find a man and settle down and have children. Now we won't have grandchildren and it's disappointing."

Tammy rinsed off a dish and looked at her mom and replied, "I know mom. Cathy and I are very happy. She makes me so happy, all she has to do is be there for me when I get home and I am happy. I don't even care if she happy or mad at me. I know you and dad want grandkids, we would like kids too, and there are ways to make that happen."

Her mom put her hand on Tammy's shoulder, she was silent for a moment before saying, "Let me talk to your father. We are not mad at you, and we still love you. Cathy is a very nice person, and we both like her. Just let me talk to your father for a minute."

Tammy was just finishing up the dishes when her father walked in. They sat down at the table and her father said, "Are you sure you are happy with Cathy? All me and your mother want is for you to be happy."

Tammy looked at her father and said, "Yes daddy, I am very much in love with Cathy. I think I can speak for her and say, we both promise you will have grandchildren."

Tammy's father stood up and put his arms out, Tammy stood up and went over to him and he gave her a big hug while saying, "Then you and Cathy have our support and blessing."

Tammy pulled away a little and said with an excited tone, "You both do? Thanks daddy. Can I bring her over dinner soon, she is telling her parents tonight too, and I know it won't go good."

Before he could respond, her cell phone rang and when she answered it, Cathy was on the other end, all her father could hear was a woman crying on the other end and Tammy saying with a surprised tone, "They did what?"

Tammy could see her father motioning with his hands that he wanted to say something, Tammy put her hand over the phone and her father said, "Tell her to come here, she needs you, tell her to come here and we will all figure this out."

Tammy repeated what her father said and hung up. Tammy looked at her father and said with a sad look, almost crying, "Its bad daddy, worst than what we thought would happen, she will be here soon."

Tammy and her father walked to the parlor, her mother was sitting down waiting for them. Tammy looked at her mother and said, "Cathy is on her way, her parents didn't take the news very good."

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Tammy and her parents heard Cathy's car pull up. Tammy went to the door and let Cathy in. Cathy was crying and when Tammy closed the door, she hugged her and said crying, "They hate me, they hate you, and they hate us."

Tammy patted her back and tried to comfort her; she wiped Cathy's tears and said, "My parents are in the parlor, they are waiting for us."

Cathy looked at Tammy who was hiding her smile out of respect for her love, as Tammy continued to wipe her tears, she said, "Really? Did you tell them yet?"

As Tammy held her, she looked in Cathy's eyes and replied, "Yes I did, they are happy for us. They are waiting for us in the parlor."

Tammy led Cathy to the parlor, when they walked in, Tammy's mom ran up to Cathy and said, "I am so sorry dear, maybe your parent will come around some day. Until then, you will be part of ours."

Cathy looked up at Tammy's mom and actually cracked a small smile and said, "Really? You don't care we are lesbians."

Tammy's father stepped forward and said, "We are disappointed about not having grandkids, but as long as you keep our baby happy, you will be welcome here anytime. We will think of you as our daughter."

Cathy ran and gave Tammy's father a big hug and said, "Thank you. I love your daughter so much, and we figure out how to give you grandkids."

Tammy walked up to Cathy and kissed her, it felt good to get this out in the open, and they wanted to do this for a long time. Tammy broke the embrace and said, "We can always adopt."