0 comments/ 88478 views/ 3 favorites When Allen Met Jill By: D-Cutter The first girl Allen ever had a crush on was a curly-haired blonde sixth-grader named Candy. They were both twelve years old, they were both just starting to feel the onset of the approaching hormone storms, and Candy had no idea that Allen had a crush on her. Allen really had no idea why he had a crush on Candy, either; in later years he figured it came from the day in class when he had been walking back from the pencil sharpener past Candy's desk while she was leaning over to pick up a dropped eraser and by pure happenstance got an el primo peek directly down the front of her blouse. He hadn't been trying to look down her blouse, and even if he'd really known the full significance of what he was looking at, there wasn't much there, because Candy was only twelve years old, for God's sake. Besides, it wasn't a frozen prepubescent tableau; it couldn't have lasted more than half a second. And even if he had had the chance to stand there and feel her up with his eyes, he'd never have been able to do it. Allen, you see, was shy. And after he worked up the courage to tell Candy that he "liked her-liked her," and she replied by calling him "Pruneface" for the rest of the semester and regularly sprinkling pencil shavings in his baloney sandwiches, his bashfulness grew to neurotic proportions. Two years later Allen was sitting in science class trying to pretend that mass displacement in liquid media was as captivating as the NBA playoffs when his teacher, Mr. Comstock, announced the long awaited and dreaded science project. Mr. Comstock, like all junior high school teachers, loved to make his students pair up into teams, and also loved to pair up boys with girls. Allen didn't know whether Mr. Comstock wasn't getting enough at home or whether he just got his jollies from adolescent awkwardness. Mostly he just wished the science teacher would find some liquid medium someplace and use himself to displace some of it. It was bad enough that everybody was silently, furtively laughing at him on a daily basis for reasons they tauntingly kept to themselves, but which he was SURE was his bashfulness around girls - now he was being forced to team up with…a girl! Terror welled up within him. What was he going to say to her? How was he going to get through this project? Oh, the life of an eighth grader is truly the toughest plight of all. Time passes quickly during an anxiety attack, and by the time Allen managed to refocus, Mr. Comstock had reached the “G’s” on the class roster. "Grosserhahn!" "Um, yes, sir?" "You're with Miss Miller." Allen looked around, the name not striking him as being familiar. Then he saw her, and his heart skipped a beat. She was beautiful - tall, with long brunette hair, big limpid blue eyes, an absolutely angelic smile, and the fixings of a small but firm bust. She was new, her family having just moved to town the previous summer. He hadn't met her previously, but he had heard through the grapevine that she was very nice and was very easily embarrassed. "Hi," she said softly, "My name is Jill." "Um, hi. I'm Groslen Alhahn. I mean I'm Hahnal Algrosser. I mean-" His stammering was interrupted by a nervous giggle from Jill, which simultaneously entranced and humiliated him. Without thinking, he blurted, "Is it true your nickname is H.H.?" This meant 'the Happy Hooker,' one of the primary monikers used to tease Jill, or so he'd also heard. That cut off her giggle in mid-throat, if not her own nervousness. "No," she replied, blushing furiously. "Oh," murmured Allen, "sorry. I didn't really think you were one. A hooker, I mean." Oh, great, he chided himself, you just meet the nicest, prettiest girl you've ever seen, even if it is only as your science project buddy, and you're discussing her future career in the red light district. Come on, man, you can do better than this! "Um, so, anyway, what project were we assigned?" "Weren't you paying attention?" Jill asked. "Er, ah, well, no." "Well, it's okay, I took notes. You can look at them if you want. We'll be doing the one where you use a dill pickle to power a light bulb." "Oh," opined Allen. "I was hoping for the one where you light a paper towel on fire inside a milk bottle and it sucks a hardboiled egg in the top. It makes a really cool sucking sound." Oh, crap, he thought, I just said "sucking" in front of her! "Yes, well, we got this other one," Jill drawled, appearing to be losing interest in the exchange. "I've got light bulbs at home. Can you provide the pickle?" Allen snorted a loogie halfway across the room to splatter against the front of Mr. Comstock's desk, which he covered by pretending to have sneezed. Great, he thought, the one good thing I've done is not blow boogers in Jill's face. When, in his deepest heart of hearts, what he wanted to do was kiss that face all over - and not stop there. But such thoughts never got out of his deepest heart of hearts, and so he and Jill went on to collaborate on their pickle bulb project without incident, good or bad. The two got to where they weren't mortified in each other's presence any more, and actually came to be something like friends. Which, for junior high school, was more than sufficient. But as the next few years passed, what seemed to still be sufficient for Jill was becoming manifestly insufficient for Allen. They were both good students, so they shared many of the same classes and were both in Honor Society and other activities together. They had many of the same friends, so they ran around in the same social settings. But they never had any real time alone together - not because Jill wasn't open to the possibility so far as Allen knew, but because he didn't dare take the risk of asking her out. It really was a pathetic state of affairs, and it was all the worse for Allen's acute awareness of it. He was in love with Jill, or infatuated at the very least. He longed to be with her in any setting. He would go to places where he knew she'd be walking by and act like he just happened to run into her just so he could say hi. But actually asking her out on a date was out of the question. Even the slightest chance that she'd point and laugh and call him "Baby Dill" the rest of the semester was too much to take. It was an intolerable situation that was bordering on obsession. The school year came to an end, and he went with his dad on the annual trip to Ohio to visit his grandmother. And he got an idea: he would write Jill a letter. Yeah, that was the ticket - a nice, friendly letter sharing with her what was going on with his summer and asking her what she was doing, and then hinting ever so slightly that he'd give her a call when he got home. So he did just that: he wrote his letter, he shared what was going on with him, inquired about her summertime activities, and told her that he'd call her when he got back. He folded the paper, stuffed it into the envelope, stamped it, and dropped it in the mailbox. And when he got home…he never made the phone call. He just couldn't do it. He was too scared. What if he'd overdone it? What if he'd come on too strong? When school started in September, Jill was colder than a penguin's scrotum. She acted as if they inhabited separate quantum realities. Allen concluded that the reason why was because he had, indeed, come on too strong in the letter, and cursed himself for sending it. He had no real recourse; he couldn't very well write ANOTHER letter, and he hadn't been able to call her on the phone when she had been platonically friendly to him. He didn't know what to do, so…he did nothing. That year passed, and then senior year. Allen busied himself with other things, but he never lost his passion for Jill. Graduation came and went, and as always happens, friends and acquaintances went their separate ways. Allen was accepted at a major in-state university, while Jill moved halfway across the country to a small college in Missouri. And still he loved her, such that it never occurred to him to play the field where he was. Besides, he was still as painfully shy as he'd always been. New Year's Eve of Allen's junior year he was home and got together with some friends to watch Dick Clark's ball descend (that's how Allen described it, anyway), when who should show up but Jill Miller. This is my chance, he thought; enough with this adolescent nonsense; I'm a man now, and she's a woman - I can talk to her. I CAN talk to her. Heck, he thought self-deprecatingly, maybe I can even talk her into joining in a game of strip-Trivial Pursuit. So, just as he had seven years before, with his heart hammering in his throat, he stammeringly struck up some small talk with Jill. And also like seven years before, she was just as nice, and just as easily embarrassed. But this time Allen managed not to talk about "hookers" and "sucking," although the latter was still definitely on his mind, if still buried deep within it. Jill told him, to his pleasant surprise, that she had transferred to an in-state school, which was on the other side of the state but still a lot closer than she had been. With this new relational beachhead now established, Allen began corresponding with her regularly, and she with him. And when the summer arrived, he felt emboldened enough to ask her out on a date, and was rewarded with an enthusiastic acceptance. The two became inseparable, spending almost every day together. It didn't really matter what they did or where they were; their togetherness was all that seemed to matter. Allen had never been happier. But he still had a problem: his pathological fear of talking to Jill had simply gone on a forced march ahead of him and had now transformed into a pathological fear of intimacy. He could talk with Jill about seemingly every subject under the sun except the personal. And forget about trying to kiss her. Even the thought of holding her hand made him break out in cold sweats, even as it also gave him a constant, running boner of granite proportions. The dog days debuted, signaling summer's waning. Soon it would be time to return to their respective schools, he thought morosely, and he'd be reduced back to reading her letters and shooting putty at the ceiling. With such happy thoughts dancing through his head like malignant sugar plumbs, or Dick Clark's undescended balls, Allen called Jill's house to see if she wanted to go see a movie. "No, Allen, I'm sorry, but Jill isn't here tonight," her mother replied. Oh, this didn't sound good. "Where is she, Mrs. Miller?" "Jill is house-sitting for some friends of ours - the Tapletts, I think." "Oh, yes, my family knows them too. Would you please tell Jill that I called? Maybe we can get together tomorrow." "Certainly Allen. Thanks for calling. Goodbye." Allen hung up the phone, an idea blooming in tandem with the grin on his face. Jill and he; in somebody else's house; alone; just the two of them. It was almost too good to be true. Shaking his head, he realized it WAS too good to be true. But he could still go over and they could watch Seinfeld or the Simpsons together, right? Walking up to the door, Allen was still telling himself, almost desperately, that nothing was going to happen, because the thrill running from his genitals up his spine and back down again wouldn't go away. Neither would his hardon, which was raging like a six-alarm structure fire. He'd had to change from boxers to briefs just to keep his shorts from tenting out like a storefront awning. He rang the doorbell and waited. And waited. And waited. He peered in the side window, wondering what was taking so long. Jill's car was in the driveway, so where could she be? Then a thought erupted in his mind that maybe she was out with somebody else. Yeah, that must be it - all this time spent together this summer and I've been as shallow as a kid's wading pool. Damn it, I blew it again with her! When am I ever going to learn? Why don't I have any balls? I'm getting in my car right now and wrap it around the nearest-- The door opened, and there stood Jill. In a bathrobe. Hair wet. Ohhhhhh, man. "Um, hi, Jill." Allen managed. "Hi, Allen. What brings you here tonight?" What's underneath that bathrobe, Allen thought. Aloud he said, "Well, I called your house and your mom said you were house-sitting down here so I thought I'd surprise you. But I can see you're busy, I’m sorry I didn't call first, I'll be--" "That's okay, come on in. I just washed my hair, so you can have a soda while I finish drying it." And taking Allen's hand, she led him down the main hallway to the living room, where an ice cold soda already awaited him on the coffee table, as though straight from a Star Trek replicator. For which Allen was particularly thankful, as his mouth had gone very dry all of a sudden. "Thanks. I'll just turn on the TV. What do you want to watch? It's all reruns, but there's a good Simpsons on--" "I have a video that you might enjoy. Just sit tight here while I make myself presentable." Why does she keep interrupting me? That's not like Jill at all. "Um, okay. Which movie is it?" "You'll see." Jill replied cryptically. She disappeared down the side hallway before he could come up with a suave riposte, leaving him with his stubborn spine-genitalia connection, wood of old-growth magnitude, and a belly full of butterflies. Unable to sit still without fidgeting, he got up and browsed through the videos in the Tapletts' entertainment center cabinet. Not much of a selection there - mostly chick flicks and Hallmark drivel. "I've got the tape right here," called Jill's voice. Allen turned around and his jaw hit the floor with a Wile E. Coyote thud. There before him stood Jill Miller, the girl of his dreams, both dry and wet, in Victoria's Secret lingerie. The small but firm bust of girlhood was now a C-cup rack of nothing short of perfection, and damn near just about everything but the nipples were in full, glorious view. The panties barely even qualified for the name - thong would be more accurate, covering so little of her hidden treasure that she had to be almost totally shaved. And her ass was completely on display, and was beyond belief. The overall effect was reminiscent of the legend of Helen of Troy launching a thousand ships, or at least causing a thousand sailors to lose their loads all at once. And in her hands she held an adult video entitled, "While You Were Sleeping, We Were Fucking." As for Allen, it scared the hell out of him, and all he could think of was that she was calling his bluff and he had to get out of there. But his legs, damn them, picked this moment to turn on him, no doubt in conspiracy with his groin, which not even his briefs could conceal anymore. "Come here, big boy," purred Jill. "Um, uh, er, what do, um, what can I, that is--" "Just come here." "But Jill, we hardly know each other, I mean, well, we KNOW each other, but not THIS well, and what if the Tapletts come back early and find you, I mean, find us, well--" "Allen…" "And what if your mom calls? Your folks trust me and I don't want to betray that, I mean, what if they found out that I came over here and we, uh--" "Allen!" "Hum?" "Why did you come over here?" "Well, ah, like I said, I thought we could watch some TV and--" "And that's all we're going to do." "Really?" Allen squeaked almost in relief. "With you wearing…that?" "It's comfortable," Jill shrugged. "I put it on for modesty's sake, actually. Usually I wear nothing at all." "Who are you, and what have you done with my friend Jill?" Allen joked skittishly. "Come over here to the couch and find out," she replied sweetly. Allen complied. "Can I have another soda?" he asked. "Be quiet" Jill commanded. Allen complied again. She inserted the tape into the Tapletts' VCR and the show was on. It wasn't the first porn Allen had seen, though he would never in his wildest dreams have ever admitted that to Jill. But then he never in his wildest dreams would ever have imagined that he'd be watching one with Jill, much less in this set of circumstances. As the erotic images tumbled and writhed and gyrated across the screen, complete with slurping and groaning and flesh slapping and a torrent of filthy dialogue that he always found irritatingly distracting, something unexpected took place - his abundance of detoured blood flow began redirecting itself to its original pathways. Truth be told, he was growing bored. And as he beheld the unfathomed vixen sitting beside him, her attention raptly held by the onscreen goings-on, he began to feel like a fifth wheel. And that began to piss him off. "Jill?" "Shh, this is the best part." On the screen the man was about to penetrate the woman anally, something that also held little appeal for him. "Why are you so focused in on this movie? I mean, uh, I thought with you in, um, your present state of undress, that--" "Allen, pay attention!" Now he was really becoming annoyed. "To what? Jack Hammer cramming his bone up Cindy Morehead's poop chute? So what? Is there going to be an exam on it later? Do I get partial credit if I guess his pecker size within two inches? What IS it with you, anyway? Where did this slut persona come from?" Jill's eyes narrowed as she paused the VCR. Part of Allen chilled at the realization that he may have stuck his foot in his mouth again, but damn it, as exhilarating as all of this had seemed at first, it was becoming damned peculiar, and he wanted some answers. Such as who this slut was and what she had done with his friend, Jill. "I'll ask you again, Allen: why did you come over here?" "I told you-" "Bullshit. You didn't come over here to watch TV re-runs. You came over here to fuck me." The setting was whirling away into surreality. HIS Jill, using language like that? His Jill, a closet nudist? His Jill, a porn connoisseur? What had happened to her? "Jill, I wasn't-" "Do the math, hon. You call my house, you find out I’m down here, alone. You don't call in advance but come over here unannounced. You and I, with an opulent house, complete with Jacuzzi, all to ourselves. What else could that possibly suggest to you? How can I spell it out any plainer? Why do you think I went to all this trouble?" Allen had lost her after "Jacuzzi." "What?" "This," Jill replied, dropping to her knees in front of the couch and pulling down Allen's shorts and briefs in one smooth motion. Taking his reawakening cock in her hand, she promptly swallowed it down to the hilt, with a tongue bath of his balls for good measure, with an expertise that was at once mind-blowing and disconcerting for where and how she must have obtained it. Once again Allen was at a loss for words, but this time he didn't care. The things Jill was doing to his dick with her mouth were indescribable. It was so hot and moist that he dimly thought that this must be what a Ball Park frank feels like when it cooks. She varied speeds and motions, at times licking from the edge of his asshole all the way up to his cockhead with agonizing slowness, at others bobbing her head up and down in a blur, and all of it seemingly designed to draw out the experience to marathon lengths. On the other hand, her expertise was pitted against his virginity, and the latter opened up a can of whup-ass on the former. Allen dimly realized that his ejaculation was approaching like a runaway freight train, and he gamely tried to warn her. "Jill, I'm gonna cum…" Her reaction to this news was to increase the suction of her lips and somehow slather her tongue over all sides of his cockhead at the same time. This brought about an orgasmic eruption that he feared might drown her, but instead she deftly deep-throated Mr. Happy and used her throat muscles to milk every last drop of the torrent of semen that was jetting into her mouth. When Allen Met Jill Again It had been two weeks, Allen was horny, and he wanted to fuck. It’s funny how wives can so thoroughly train their husband’s libidos. Early on in their marriage, Deatra had programmed Allen not to initiate sex by the simple tactic of rejecting him each and every time he tried. Not directly or in any way that could be described as emasculatingly cruel; but in the sense of there always being something else more pressing, more important, that she had to deal with at that moment. When he rolled over with his morning erection, she would give him a peck on the cheek and a “rain check,” citing the lack of time, having to get the kids up and ready, making their lunches, etc. If he set his mental alarm clock to allow enough time, she’d simply pretend to remain asleep, or complain that it was too early and she needed her rest. And as often as not, she wouldn’t deliver on that rain check the ensuing evening, complaining about various aches and/or pains, or fatigue. And when she did deliver, it was usually passionless and perfunctory, ending with him pounding away inside her while she made grimaces of pain or looked away from him, as though she were enduring the experience rather than enjoying it, the only effort at controlling her unhappy countenance mustered in order to hasten Allen’s ejaculation so that she could shove him off of her and go clean herself up. Once in a great while Deatra would feel the stirrings of desire and give him a special treat – not in the sense of doing anything different, much less kinky, but simply of being as willing a lovemaking participant as he, rather than her usual conscript demeanor. And on those occasions, which invariably ended up with her on top riding his cock like a raging bronco, she could be as hot as anything Allen could ever remember. With one exception. And that’s what kept him within the narrow guardrails of fidelity. That, and his characteristic passivity and general surface-unstudliness. But this current dry spell had become intolerable, and with him and the kids going to his parents’ for his twenty-year high school reunion, and her staying home to work, he wanted to have her long and hard before embarking on this long-anticipated trip. Allen’s strategy wasn’t original, but it was bold: wait until wifey had turned on the shower, then sneak into the bathroom, drop his clothes, and surprise her for a session of moistness, penetration, and squishing noises. Dee disappeared into the bathroom while Allen was on the couch, nominally watching WWE Smackdown. Right as Brock Lesnar was F5-ing a member of Team Angle patella-first into the ring post, he heard the magic sound of shower water hitting the bottom of the bathtub. “It’s showtime,” he thought with a grin. Quietly he tiptoed down the hall, and slowly opened the door. He hadn’t gotten halfway through it when Deatra peaked out from behind the shower curtain and screamed in momentary terror. Which, in turn, startled Allen and blew down the erection he’d been building for the previous ten minutes. “What!?” he barked, harsher than he intended – which was oftentimes the case. “Oh, Allen, you startled me, that’s all,” Deatra attempted to soothe, embarrassed at her outburst. “I thought it was one of the kids.” “The kids are in bed asleep, Dee,” Allen grated. “You put them there yourself, remember? And Leonard doesn’t get up to take a piss until around midnight, remember? Je..ez,” he caught himself before succumbing to the urge to curse, “what IS it with you, anyway? When I’m taking a shower in the morning you come barging in here all the time and I don’t shriek at you. Of course, you never join me in the shower, either. If you ever did, I’d probably faint dead away and fall out of the tub altogether.” “But dear, you know I don’t like bathing together,” Deatra primly lectured. “My skin is dry and can’t tolerate prolonged exposure to the water, and besides, I’ve told you time and again that this tub just isn’t big enough for both of us. And with the hot water heater only firing on one cylinder or whatever, there isn’t enough hot water anyway.” “Yeah, yeah, I know, there’s always a reason not to do it. Always a reason not to please me, and to prevent me from pleasing you. Sometimes I wonder whether you didn’t remove one of the heating elements in that heater deliberately so that I would be forced into regular regimen of cold showers. I really wouldn’t put it past you.” Now she was getting that hurt expression on her face that she always got when they lapsed into one of these arguments. At one time he would have been overcome with the need to go to her and comfort her. Now he was so exasperated that he couldn’t get away from it, and her, fast enough. Plopping back down in front of the tube, Allen was just in time to see Kevin Nash club Vince McMahon from behind while Hollywood Hogan looked on. Hey, the nWo was back! At least business was picking up someplace. After Smackdown ended he flipped over to the Red Green Show when he thought he heard Deatra’s voice. “Nah, must be something else,” he thought. Then he heard it again. “What does she want now?” he grumbled. Seeing that the light was on in the bedroom behind the closed door, he padded down the hall to see if she was talking to him. Allen opened the door only to have it closed on him, almost in his face. Incensed, he burst through it, only to have a naked Deatra shriek again. His anger dissolving into confusion, he said, “What was that all about?” Beginning to tear up, she whimpered, “I was going to surprise you, like you always want me to do.” Oh, crap, he thought, starting to beat his forehead against the doorframe. “I’m sorry, Dee. I thought I heard your voice, and I was coming down to see if you were calling me.” Unable to think of anything else to say, he turned on his heel and returned to the living room. Allen’s consciousness didn’t make it through two installments of Red Green. As was a balefully regular habit, he dozed off on the couch, while Deatra dozed off in bed. Once again, there was no sex in the Grosserhaun household. And once again, Allen dreamed. ~ ~ ~ Jill wept. These bursts of melancholy came at unexpected intervals, usually triggered by a sight or a sound or a smell. Anything that reminded her of Mike Penney, and the good times they had had together. They had met on a blind date, of all things. And not any blind date, but on the TV show Blind Date. She had been the “adventurous” physical therapist and he the stolid but quietly fun-loving civil engineer. He had the sort of reserved demeanor that she delighted in drawing out, and he had enjoyed her drawing him out, almost as if that persona was just a façade designed to get out of her what he wanted, but in a playful, rather than manipulative way. They had gone the usual dating format for that show – an activity, followed by dinner, followed by drinks and/or dancing. The producers had tried to talk them into a hot tub encounter, but while Jill would have been willing in ordinary circumstances, her adventurousness wasn’t exhibitionistic. Which suggested a hidden hint of demureness to Mike that added in his mind to an inner attractiveness that matched her outer beauty. When asked if each wanted to see the other again, they both answered with an enthusiastic “yes.” Periodically Jill would reflect on what made her pursue that relationship after all the previous times she’d been burned. The answer was obvious, of course – Mike was a lot like Allen Grosserhaun had been. Or at least he seemed that way. Of course, Mike was a mature man, in his mid-thirties, affluent, established in his field, as opposed to the callow, insecure youth that Allen had been when she’d taken his virginity. But he still had a boyishness about him that he displayed around her, almost as if she was the only person around whom he felt comfortable dropping his personal shields and exposing his vulnerabilities. It went against her accustomed grain to take a relationship slowly, but Jill had resolved to do just that. And each step of the way, Mike didn’t disappoint. He was steady as a rock, patient, loving, and just very good and kind to her. Gradually she began to feel like maybe she could open up her heart, and her private parts, and take another chance on happiness. She invited Mike on a weekend getaway to a quaint bed & breakfast out in the country. They enjoyed window-shopping in the quaint shops of the nearby little town, picking and eating fresh strawberries and cream, and a romantic candlelit dinner. And later that night, in the Jacuzzi in the outdoor gazebo, Jill took Mike’s cock into her mouth, he slathered her pussy with his tongue, and he buried himself in both her holes until they were sated with satisfaction, exhaustion, and a thin layer of his cum floating atop the still bubbling surface of the water. They were wed three months later, culminating a level of joy that Jill had never dared to believe was possible. And in a sense, she was finally able to tie off the eight hundred pound loose end in her life that had been Allen Grosserhaun. She’d found her life’s mate, and together they looked forward to their lifetime together, and to starting a family. Jill couldn’t wait to get started. That proved to be more difficult than initially anticipated, however. After fucking almost every night for six months without conceiving, Mike and Jill consulted her OBGYN. He gave her a full reproductive checkup, and checked Mike’ sperm count. He even did a “post-coital examination” (“Only time in my life I’ve ever looked forward to going to the doctor,” Mike joked) to see if there were any problems that he had missed. But he could find nothing wrong with either of them. More months ensued, with more daily hammerings, and still no fertilization. They consulted another OBGYN for a second opinion. They underwent the same tests. They were given the same results: nothing was wrong with either of them. Yet no matter how long and how hard they tried, they still couldn’t have a baby. It got to the point that for the first time in her life, Jill no longer enjoyed sex. It wasn’t that she blamed Mike, necessarily; it just seemed that intimacy had become futile. As a consequence, their love life began to slacken. She began to find reasons to avoid coupling – reasons that Allen Grosserhaun would have found very familiar: “I’m tired, I don’t feel well, I had a tough day, I just want to go to sleep.” And Mike was beginning to develop a similar reaction. Instead he came to the rescue with his customary voice of reason. Slipping his arms beneath Jill’s breasts in the bathroom one morning, he said, “You know what we need, hon? We need to get away from it all. And I’ve got just the place.” “And where would that be,” Jill replied, interest beginning to perk. “Our old bed & breakfast.” “Oh, you mean the place we fucked for the first time.” “Well…yeah…but we don’t have to make love, you know,” Mike cajoled. “We can just relax, go for long walks, and talk about anything in the world. No duties, no responsibilities, no deadlines…and no pressure.” “And no fucking?” Jill queried with mock incredulity. “There can be. Or not. We’ll just let that happen if it does, or not of it doesn’t. Like I said, no pressures.” “Who are you kidding, kiddo? I can see the bulge in your drawers as we speak,” she teased. “Oh, that? I’ve just got to take a leak.” “Thought guys couldn’t take a leak when they have a monster boner,” Jill prodded. “Never mind,” Mike sighed. “I’ll take my leak after breakfast.” “Honey?” “What?” Mike said. “I’ll make the reservations.” Then Jill jumped up on her tiptoes and kissed Mike on the nose. The weekend unfolded pretty much like Jill thought it would. Which, for her, was dismaying. And the fact that she found it dismaying only depressed her further. They did all the same things they had done when they came here the first time. The shopping, the long walks, the strawberries, the candlelit dinner, the talking. She had, truth be told, enjoyed it all, but hanging over the good time she’d been having was the unspoken, unimposed, yet implicit obligation she felt that Mike expected to slide the bone home at some point during their stay. Mike, for his part, hoped that they would rekindle their intimacy by separating it from their recent efforts to conceive a child. He subscribed to the notion that a couple can “try too hard,” and if they just relaxed and let nature take its course, Jill would be preggers before they knew it. Returning to the B&B after dinner, Jill unhooked her arm from Mike’s and asked, “Do you want to retire to the hot tub now or later?” He looked nonplussed. “Well, either is fine. Or we can go to our room and I can rub your feet – we did do a lot of walking today. Or we can read to each other. Or we can just go to bed and cuddle. Remember, sweetheart, no pressures.” She smiled and embraced him, but inwardly she still felt unsettled. Jill lay belly-down on the bed in her nightgown as Mike was massaging her ankles. Suddenly she asked him, “Honey, could you put lotion on your fingers?” He complied. A few minutes later she asked, “Could you please rub my calves? They’re awfully sore.” He complied again, without comment, not wanting to spoil the relaxed mood. Then she reached back and moved his slick hands onto her inner thighs, and began to squirm provocatively. Ordinarily this would have turned Mike on instantly, but now it just flummoxed him. “Um, dear, I meant what I said before - you don’t have to feel like you have to do anything for me. We can do whatever you want.” Again Jill grabbed Mike’s hands and directed them pussyward, only more forcefully. “If those are your feet, your arches are in terrible shape,” he joked, trying to bleed off the tension he suddenly felt. Silently rolling over, Jill took the bottom of her nightgown in each hand and pulled it over her head, revealing her full nakedness. And still without a word, she reached over and began pulling down Mike’s pajama bottoms. “Whoa, she-biscuit,” he reacted, stepping back away from her. “What’s up here? I thought we wanted a break from, you know…” “And I know what you want,” Jill replied. “And if I’m ‘she-biscuit,’ I know you’re no ‘Limp Bizket.’” A beat later, she was on the floor on her knees, with hubby’s dick disappearing into her mouth. Mike had always loved Jill’s sexual aggressiveness, but there was something very different about this time. It was almost an angry aggressiveness, as if she didn’t believe his assurances about this trip, about no pressure, sexual or otherwise, as if she thought that he was some sort of insensitive prick who was just shining her on with a bunch of bullshit and really did expect her to perform like a bitch in heat. The effect on him was instant and total flaccidity, even while the whole rest of his body seemed to tense up. He tried to step back again, but she reached around and grabbed his asscheeks, forcing him toward her. Feeling absurdly like he was being raped, he reached down and firmly pushed her back, his linguini weenie exiting her lips with a deflating pop. “Hold on here, Jill. I never in my life ever imagined that I would ever interrupt one of your blowjobs, but something about this isn’t right…” “Oh?” quipped Mrs. Penney. “Since when have you developed a prudish streak?” “You know what I mean. I TOLD you there were no expectations for this trip beyond simply you and me spending quality time together. What we did wasn’t the point; simply being together was. Now not five minutes ago I was massaging your feet, and all of a sudden you’re all but hurling yourself at me like a three-dollar whore. What gives?” Eyes narrowing, Jill answered his challenge. “What do you mean, ‘What gives’? Are you telling me that you DON’T want to fuck me silly?” “Yes—no—I mean…” Mike stammered to a stop before drawing a deep breath and trying again. “Jill, you’re my wife and I love you, and I will always want to make love to you. All I’m saying is that the one and only point of this getaway is just that – to get away. To get away from the pressure we’ve been putting on ourselves to have a child, and the damage it’s doing to our marriage. A husband and wife’s first priority is to each other, even after they have kids. How can we expect to ever be good parents if we don’t have that priority nailed down first? And how can we expect our marriage to thrive in the event that we end up childless?” Mike’s words, meant to soothe and encourage, had the opposite effect. It was as if it had been like the dog listening to its master in the old Far Side cartoon: “blah blah blah blah have a child blah blah blah blah damage to our marriage blah blah blah blah end up childless.” The last phrase was the trigger – Jill burst into tears. Mike knelt down beside her and attempted to draw her into a tender embrace, but she jerked away from him and fled into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her, leaving him to sit on the floor in a haze of estranged bewilderment. That had been the beginning of the end, though neither knew it at the time. Their sex life, which had been diminishing anyway, vanished almost altogether. It wasn’t that they fought much or even at all; they just found reasons not to be around one another. She had to work late, he had to work late, he was going to the ballgame with the guys, she was going shopping with her friends. It took a while for the reality of this de facto separation to dawn on Jill, as well as the fact that she had been the catalyst of it. Realizing that Mike had tried to salvage the situation, she knew it was up to her to make the next try. And she had an idea: she would show up at his office, unannounced, wearing nothing but an overcoat and high heels. She would then saunter into his office, close and lock the door, and “let nature take its course.” Looking back on it now, as she packed her overnight bag for the trip to her twenty year high school class reunion, Jill was amazed, even embarrassed, that she didn’t see it coming. She showed up at Mike’s office, alright – only to find him with his pants around his ankles and the long legs of that busty brunette co-worker of his, Janelle, wrapped around his waist and her ass bouncing up and down on his lap. He had at least had the decency to be so startled and mortified that he not only stopped before shooting his load but actually stood up so quickly that he pitched the goddamn bimbo right onto the floor. He also had the decency not to start spluttering any horseshit excuses, either. Instead, his eyes remained as big as dinner plates, his mouth hung open in shock, and all the blood drained out of his ashen face. Indeed, Jill recollected, given the size of his cock at that moment, it’s a wonder he had any blood in his face to drain at all. At this moment of a nightmare come true, Jill became inhumanly calm. Slowly and deliberately removing her overcoat, she walked slowly toward him, as though Janelle didn’t exist. Pushing him back into his chair, she knelt between his legs and took his cock into her mouth, and began giving him the best blowjob he’d ever had. Slow, long, luxurious strokes of her lips up and down his shaft, pausing lingeringly to lazily lick around the head, then slowly swallowing it until her nose was buried in his pubic hair. For Mike, it was the most surreal experience he’d ever had. The only thing he could compare it to was something out of a porno movie, where a guy gets caught cheating by his significant other and then joins them in a threesome or something. Only for him, as for Jill, Janelle really had ceased to exist. Truth be told, neither of them even noticed her leaving the room. The only thing that existed in Mike’s universe was the hot mouth of his hot wife who had caught him red-cocked with his hot mistress, and the huge fusillade of cum that was boiling up from his innards. When Allen Met Jill Again Feeling the telltale twitching and expansion of his cock, Jill started sucking and licking wildly, and Mike cried out as he gushed repeatedly into Jill’s mouth and down her throat. It felt like he’d be pumping forever, but eventually his orgasm petered out. And then he opened his eyes to look at his wife, wondering what in the world he was going to say to her. Only she was gone. Like she had never been there at all. And Mike never saw her again until that day in divorce court when their marital dissolution became final. Yeah, I sure can pick `em, Jill thought. ~ ~ ~ High school reunions are always the same: a bunch of middle-aged people in name tags standing around as if they still know each other, quickly congregating into the same cliques as back in the day, the guys boasting to each other about their professional accomplishments, the gals clucking and twittering about their families and their children and taking catty swipes at other gals not within earshot. When Allen had gone to his ten-year reunion, there was a novelty factor to it. After all, it had been the first reunion since high school, and he was genuinely curious to catch up with old friends and see what everybody was like now. Almost as if it was the last right of passage from youth to full adulthood. Now, ten years further along, there wasn’t much interest in it for him. Oh, he did want to hang with his old buds again, and show off pictures of his pre-teen children, but really he had come more to see his parents, and give his kids quality time with their grandparents, than to stand around nursing a seven-up while most of his old classmates got standing up/falling down plastered. Besides which, he didn’t want to have to answer the inevitable “Where is your wife?” questions. Sure, she was working that weekend, but in situations as this such prosaic explanations never survived the gossip mill. The saving grace was that he wouldn’t have to see these people again for another ten years. There was one classmate Allen was interested in seeing, though. With the reunion approaching, he had been thinking more and more about Jill Miller over the past few months. Not in any kind of deliberate, plotting fashion; just in a nostalgic sense. She had been his first lover, and to this day that first time had been the wildest, longest, moistest, most passionate sex he had ever had, even as it had overwhelmed him emotionally and more than a little morally. Having adored her from afar for years, in one fell swoop she became his insatiable sex goddess. And while that sort of thing is the stock in trade of every young man’s fantasies, the reality had a very large “morning after.” Their encounter had destroyed that romantic ideal he’d carried around like a torch for so long. It was as if he hadn’t made love to Jill Miller, but been buggered raw by a satyr possessing her delectable body. The flesh was fantastic, but it had killed the spirit stone cold dead. And with perspective of just a few weeks’ time, and three hundred miles’ distance, he realized that he was recoiling from the reality of who she had become. That’s what had made Deatra so appealing to him. With that one towering exception, they were on the same basic level relationally and sexually. Her affections he had to earn. And when he won them, the reward was dramatically more emotionally and spiritually fulfilling – even if the fleshly passion wasn’t even a bare imitation. But with the atrophying of their love life over the last few years, with Deatra turning into a premature spinster, at least attitudinally, that one towering exception began to grow to legendary status in his memory. And as the twenty-year reunion approached, he began to dream about it, reliving every moment, every suck, every slurp, every thrust, and every spurt. And that, in turn, made his heightened awareness of his current unhappiness all the worse. So it was that he was standing there, Sprite in hand (they weren’t serving Seven-Up for some reason), nametag long since discarded, when he noticed the face he was incapable of forgetting. Jill Miller had arrived. “Jill! Over here!” “Hi, Allen! How are you?” “Not as good as you look. You haven’t aged a day. I, on the other hand…” “Now, Allen…” Jill scolded, flashing him the smile that had always liquefied his insides. “You may have filled out some, but as skinny as you used to be, that’s a good thing. And the beard looks great on you.” “Despite the generous number of gray hairs sprinkled across it?” “Makes you look distinguished.” “Sure. And Grecian Formula is what they make Greek soda pop from.” Jill giggled. “You haven’t lost your rapier wit, either. Where’s your wife? Is she here?” Gossip mill firing up, Allen thought. “She had to work this weekend. It’s just the kids and me, I’m afraid.” “Really? Couldn’t she get the time off? Take a vacation day or two? This has been in the works for six months or more.” “Well, she wanted to visit her folks for the Fourth of July, and she has a family reunion she wants to go to the end of this month, and she only has so many vacation days to go around. Besides, I won’t be going with her to that – just a bunch of old people standing around trying to remember where they left their dentures and comparing Metamucil recipes.” Oh, that doesn’t sound good, Jill thought. Is there trouble in paradise? “Is everything okay, Allen? I mean, I don’t want to pry, but…separate vacations?” Feeling the need to unburden himself, but also feeling uncomfortable about doing so to his former lover, he gently took her arm. “Let’s sit down over here, out of the way.” Finding a somewhat secluded table, Allen haltingly continued. “Yes, everything’s okay. Indeed, I think it’s a mark of the strength of a marriage that one spouse can be free to take off for a weekend without the other having to drag along with them if they don’t want to go, or the one not going because the other one doesn’t want to. It’s not as if we haven’t done this before, after all. But it isn’t a regular habit either.” Realizing that he was starting to sound defensive, he abruptly stopped. Suddenly feeling awkward and more than a little vulnerable herself, Jill apologized. “I’m sorry, Allen. I really didn’t mean to pry. You don’t owe me any explanation.” “No, I know, and that’s okay. You were just making small talk. Speaking of which, how’s your life been the past decade?” Sauce for the goose, sauce for the gander, Jill thought, cringing inwardly. “Oh, fine. My career has been going well. And I got married a few years ago.” “Really? Congratulations!” “Well, it didn’t quite work out. We divorced last year.” Just stuck my foot in my mouth again, Allen self-flogged. I always do that around her, don’t I? “Jill, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—`` “I know – you were just making small talk.” A wan smile crossed her face like a chill November wind. And then her eyes began leaking, leaving a trail of mascara behind. “Jill, are you okay? Is there anything I can do?” Without knowing quite what he was going to do next, he scooted his chair over and put an arm around her shoulders. Jill didn’t start wailing or sobbing, but just continued to weep silently, and accepted his embrace, taking his hand in one of her own and leaning her head against his shoulder. As he was holding her, a crazy thought crossed Allen’s mind: the scene from When Harry Met Sally where Billy Crystal comes over to Meg Ryan’s apartment to comfort her after her boyfriend dumps her, and they end up doing the sixty-nine skidoo. He was grateful for that thought, as it was a useful mental cold shower against a reprise of that outcome here. Or so part of him hoped. The immediate proximity of his hand to her right breast was causing him to perspire profusely all of a sudden. “Oh, Allen, I feel like I’ve totally screwed up my life. It seems like I only attract losers, and when I finally meet a winner, like my ex-husband – or you – I drive them away.” Allen didn’t know what to say, so he just silently beckoned her with his eyes to continue. “Mike was a good man, and we got married, and we both wanted kids, but we couldn’t conceive. We tried and we tried, but nothing. We went to doctors, but they couldn’t find anything wrong. We got obsessed with it, and it was driving us apart. And Mike realized that, and he tried to rekindle our romance, but I thought he just wanted to fuck me, and I came on too strong and ended up shoving him away. And one night I found him feeding it to another woman, and he never would have done that if I had just accepted his love when he had offered it to me.” Now Jill really was sobbing, and she buried her face against Allen’s chest. Really feeling out of his depth, not to mention making him feel foolish about his own comparatively minor marital difficulties, Allen could only stroke her hair and continue to hold her. He always felt like his words were inadequate at such times, and never more so than right now. “I wish,” she sniffled, “I wish I hadn’t seduced you like I did that time at the Tapletts’ house. I, I, I thought that I was, I was trying to show you my love, but I came on too strong then, too. And who knows, maybe maybe if we’d waited until marriage like you said that night, maybe we WOULD have gotten married, and maybe we’d have been together all this time, like we were meant to be.” This was getting intense. Allen could feel his penis engorging despite his Herculean efforts to control himself and his thoughts. He couldn’t remember feeling this moved since his wedding day. He did still love, and was committed to, Deatra, but all he could think of right now was doing whatever it took to make Jill feel better. “Shh, shh, it’s alright,” he soothed, his free hand rising to touch the side of her face and brush away her tears. She looked up into his eyes, and the moment stretched out, as if time had ground to a halt. Then he kissed her. He hadn’t meant to. It just was. And he didn’t intend for it to linger. She just wouldn’t let go. Jill knew this was wrong. She knew that she was now “the other woman” in this equation. But just as Janelle had ceased to exist to her when she found her humping her husband, so now did Allen’s absent wife. All she knew was that her first love was here, in her arms, and nothing else mattered. “Let’s go someplace private,” Jill whispered. “Um, I can’t, I mean, I’m, that is, you’re vulnerable right now and I don’t want to—`` Running a finger down Allen’s lips to stem his stammering, Jill said, “Allen, I don’t want to take Deatra’s place. And I’m not trying to seduce or trap you. You won’t be getting a summons for a palimony suit in six months. I don’t know what I want, other than that right here, right now, I want to make love to you.” God, it was happening just like it did in his dreams. And in When Harry Met Sally. But he couldn’t. “Jill, please…” “Allen, remember the episode of M*A*S*H where Hunnicut has the one-time affair with that visiting nurse? And he’s racked with guilt and is going to confess it all to his wife and probably destroy his marriage? Remember what she told him? That on that one night she needed to be loved, and he was there to love her. And that was it.” “It’s the same thing here. When I married Mike I thought I was finally closing the chapter of my life with your name on it. And I blew it. And I’ll never be able to move on with my life without that cloture. Seventeen years ago you asked me where my “slut persona” had come from. I’m not here now as a slut, Allen. I’m here as a woman who let her best bet get away, and wants to love him properly one last time.” It all sounded so plausible, he thought. So reasonable. So compelling, even. But it was still a rationalization for adultery. But to reject Jill here and now would be so cruel that that wasn’t something he thought he could live with, either, especially after all of it that he’d taken recently. When he reflected on the irony of the guy who, as a youth, couldn’t score with the goalie pulled, now literally torn between two lovers, he couldn’t resist the chuckle that burbled through him. Kissing her again, he said, “Let’s go.” ~ ~ ~ It was as if, despite a seventeen-year intermission, they’d never stopped. Allen slowly, deliberately undressed Jill, unbuttoning her blouse, pushing it off her bare shoulders, kneeling to remove her skirt, then unfastening (expertly this time) her bra to reveal the impossibly lovely breasts he so well remembered. Gently he cupped one in his left hand, squeezing and rubbing the already erect nipple, while he sucked the other nipple into his mouth, pressing his tongue around the areola and flicking it across the nipple itself. Jill shuddered, half-sobbing at the joy of the sight before her. It didn’t matter that this was, in essence, a one-night stand. Right now, time was not only standing still, but was warping back on itself, cleaning up old messes and making things right. Allen continued down her soft abdomen, kissing and licking and caressing. His fingers reached under the elastic of her panties and gently pulled them over her hips, revealing the same mostly-shaved pussy that also was seared into his recollection. He inserted a finger into her already wet vaginal passage while allowing time for his lips to catch up. It took him a moment to reacquaint himself with the ins and outs of cunnlingus. Deatra had never allowed him to go down on her; she considered it to be unsanitary to kiss the same area that one urinated from. It was the same reason that she’d never given him head, despite more than one plea of his for flexibility on her part. But it really was like riding a bicycle – you never really forget. Or so Allen judged from Jill’s rapid intakes of breath and her rising tide of pleasure-soaked squeals, not to mention the lubrication that was seeping out of her sex. And the best part was, there was no distracting dirty talk like that first time – that was one thing about Deatra that he HAD always liked. But Jill was still given to loud, keening moaning, and she was baying as her good orgasm burst through her at his oral ministrations. Drawing him up to his feet, Jill hugged Allen fiercely as though trying to force herself clear through him, then drew back and kissed him with slow, deliberate passion, tongue snaking between his lips to entwine with his. Allen couldn’t remember the last time he had been this turned on by Deatra, which shamed him. But Jill was only getting started. She undressed him as he had her earlier, pulling his polo shirt off his shoulders, and unbuttoning his trousers, pulling them down, then his briefs, to reveal a seven-inch cock that was the rigidity of tensiled steel and that sprang forth to almost slap her in the mouth, as though impatiently demanding entrance. Not that Mr. Happy had to wait very long. Jill started with slow, luxurious licks around the fabled “mushroom,” then gentle mouthing of it, then retreating to more tongue action. She hadn’t even reached the shaft yet and Allen was leaking pre-cum like an old radiator does engine coolant. Then she drew her mouth down the outside of the shaft, wrapping her tongue around it at the same time. Continuing down, she applied the same attention to his balls, gently sucking each one into her mouth. He wondered how he had managed to exist for seventeen years without this kind of pleasure, this level of love. Working her way back up with equal deliberation, she gradually, inch by excruciating inch, sucked Allen’s cock into her mouth until he was completely buried in her throat. It was the most erotic thing he had ever seen, in person, in porn, in his imagination. He harkened back to their first time in one crucial sense: he couldn’t believe this was happening to him – again. Ever so slightly, she began upping the tempo, up and down, up and down, until he could feel the onset of ejaculation on the horizon. And he instinctively realized two things – that cumming in her mouth would ruin the specialness of the occasion, and that he wasn’t twenty-one years old anymore and possessed of limitless ammunition. Wordlessly drawing her up to her feet, he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. Gently laying her down, he covered her with his body, his lips kissing hers, while he drew his cock up and down the crease of her pussylips. Jill began to cry again, she was so happy. It was perfect, all of it. It was how it should have been. And she didn’t want it to end. She reached down and took Allen’s cock in her hand, and inserted it into her pussy. With the seasoning of maturity, he didn’t just shove it in or start banging away. Instead, he slowly, inch by inch, glided into her until he was completely ensheathed. And then he remained there, motionless, while still kissing her, sucking on her tongue as she did his. For Jill, this was the most erotic moment of her life. Allen was filling her completely and yet focusing totally on her – and she was accepting his love as he was offering it. And, in so doing, loving him back the same way. They both began moving at the same time, and at an unhurried pace. In and out, in and out, the steady strokes inexorably building the heat of approaching release, yet drawing it out deliciously. Jill could feel another orgasm building within her, and wrapped her legs around Allen’s back to draw him even deeper within herself while her arms went around his neck and shoulders, increasing the intensity of their osculation and transferring it to their coupling. Allen was on autopilot. In his own way he felt that this was as perfect as Jill did, though he knew that his conscience, held in temporary abeyance by the passion and emotion of the moment, would be a helluva piper to pay afterwards. But such was that passion and emotion, and the technique borne of years of experience, however stilted, that he was confident not only that he was physically pleasing Jill, but that he was giving her what her soul needed as well, even if that meant the wounding of his own. But even if his endurance was as studly as his multiple cum shots were once upon a time, to everything there is nevertheless a limit, and as Jill’s orgasm built within her, Allen could feel his cum surging again toward its release, and this time there was nothing to stop it. As Jill went over the edge, screaming out his name, the squeezing spasms triggered his own gusher as squirt after squirt of semen shot into the depths of her womb even while he was instinctively thrusting as deep as he could. Slowly rolling her over to lay atop him, still buried deep inside her, Allen looked up into that lovely face, where tears were still shedding, dripping down on his neck and chest. He could only think of one thing to say. “I love you, Jill. And I always will.” “I love you too, Allen. And I always will.” ~ ~ ~ When Allen got home Sunday night, he kissed Deatra with unaccustomed passion. And she kissed him back with equal gusto. “I missed you, honey. And I’m sorry about Thursday night,” Deatra said softly. “But I’ve got a surprise for you.” “Really? What is it?” “Just have the kids go play at the neighbors for an hour. Then come back and find out,” she said suggestively, before cracking into a giggle. “And I have one for you: reservations for a bed and breakfast near where your folks live. We can stay there when we go over to your family reunion.” “Really? You’ll go with me?” “You heard it here first.” “Oh, honey,” Deatra squealed, kissing him again, and pressing her tongue in search of his. “And you know what else?” “What?” “It has an outside Jacuzzi too!” He barely ducked her playful swing with her rolling pin. ~ ~ ~ At the time Jill wasn’t entirely sure that her time with Allen at the reunion was really the tonic that she had told him it would be for her, but as the days passed, she found that it had been. She felt like she could move forward with her life, knowing that she was now fully capable of loving and being loved. When Allen Met Jill Again However, she had begun feeling ill of late. She knew that a flu bug was going around, but it wasn’t supposed to hold on for this long. Finally, she went to see her doctor about it. On a hunch, he gave her a full checkup, and made a stunning discovery. “Jill, I don’t know if this will be good news or bad news, but where I come from it can only be accompanied by the word, ‘Congratulations.’” “Congratulations? For what?” Jill asked. “You’re pregnant.” When Allen Met Jill Allen sagged against the couch. It seemed like every fiber of his being had been drained. Every part of him was limp - except his stiffie, which was undiminished and truly stupendous. "You've done this before, I take it," he said, smiling lopsidedly. "Well, let's just say that I experimented with the proverbial 'forbidden fruit,' and what my experiments taught me is that guys are, generally speaking, pricks with legs. And then there's you, Allen. Quiet, gentlemanly, meek you. Always friendly, but more timid than a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Always selling yourself short, and as a result never letting yourself give of the tremendous reservoir of goodness and love that you have within you. It was by going away and finding out what else was out there that I realized what a treasure I had in you all along. I love you, Allen, and as shy as you've always been, I knew that if we were ever going to get things started, I would have to be the one to make it happen." "What do think of my solution?" she asked, waggling her eyebrows. Amazingly, Jill saw a tear run down Allen's cheek. Before she could reconsider her chosen course of action, he stood, pulled her tightly against him, and kissed her passionately, all prior restraint gone. His hands roamed her back, finding her buttocks, and then rising back to her flimsy bra, which he began to fumblingly unfasten. “It clasps in front,” Jill whispered. Without breaking their lip-lock, Allen moved behind her, hands on her breasts, fingers on the clasp. Still struggling with the confounded thing, she reached up and helped him do the honors, and off it came. Immediately his fingers went to her nipples, caressing and teasing and rolling them until they were the size and rigidity of small erasers. Suddenly she pushed back against Allen and they fell back on the couch, with her on his lap. “Oh, yes, that’s it, play with my tits, make my nipples hard, suck on them, you punk!” she moaningly exclaimed, squirming in an impromptu lap dance. “I beg your pardon,” Allen said, stopping momentarily. “I said bury your face in my tits, put your mouth all over them, make them yours!” Before he could say anything else she engulfed his face with them, and he sank again into the dizzying rapids of sensation. Reaching around her, he tugged down on her thong, and off it came. Sitting up, Jill tore off Allen’s t-shirt. “Lay down!” she commanded. He obeyed, and she sat on his chest, straddling his face, and hissed, “Lick my pussy, you bastard, stick your tongue inside me, suck on my clit.” “Excuse mmmmph,” Allen began before Jill began grinding her pussy into his face. Reaching up, he shoved her backwards on the couch, climbed atop her, and stuck his tongue down her throat, relishing the taste of himself that was still in her mouth and the absence of her disconcerting ribald chatter doing so made possible. Moving downward, he put a finger on her lips for emphasis, then reacquainted himself with her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, then continued lower, across her soft midriff, tonguing her navel, leaving a trail of kisses down to the confluence of her legs. He needed no encouragement for what he planned to do now. Before him lay the promised land. He slowly began exploring the folds of her pussylips, licking the crease up and down, gently probing with his tongue and taking the occasional swab over her bulging clit. Jill began thrashing around with barely repressed squeals, which told Allen that he was doing it right. Finally she couldn’t contain herself, and she blurted out, “Oh, Gooooood, yes, keep doing that you dirty son of a bitch, suck on my hard clit, make me cum, oh yeeeeeaaahhhh!” Allen almost choked. “Jill, would you please mmmmph.” She grabbed his head and pulled it hard against herself, completely in the throes of passion. Within seconds, it boiled over as she orgasmed violently. Allen couldn’t breathe, and felt like his nose had been broken. “Oh my GOD, Allen, where did you learn to suck pussy like that?” Prudently removing his head from between her thighs, Allen retorted, “Never mind that, why won’t you shut up?” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Allen sighed. “Okay, since we’re having carnal knowledge of each other anyway and I’m already probably in huge trouble with at least three different parties, what the hell? As you no doubt surmised, I am – or was – a virgin. And yes, the thought of coming over here and making love to you was on my mind. I just never imagined that it would really happen.” “But when I fantasized about it, somehow I never pictured you with porn and a potty mouth. I envisioned…” he stopped, beginning to blush. “Envisioned what?,” Jill prompted. “I pictured…oh, I can’t.” “Allen, I’ve sucked your cock, you’ve eaten my pussy, and we’re entangled on this couch totally nude. What could possibly be embarrassing to you now?” “Well, um...oh, alright.” Averting his eyes and taking a deep breath, he dove right in. “I envisioned us on our wedding night. Both as virgins.” Looking up sheepishly, he grinned crookedly again. “Come with me,” Jill commanded. Leading him down the side hall, they entered the master bedroom, beyond which was a balcony that contained the Jacuzzi she had mentioned earlier. Turning it on, she climbed in and drew him in with her. Then she moved to the opposite end of the tub, bent over, and looked back at him searchingly. Again, nature took over. Rock-hard cock in hand, Allen found the opening to her pussy and slowly slid it inside. “Ahhhhhhhh,” he sighed. It was an incredible feeling. Incendiary warmth, overflowing with her juices, amazingly tight. When he was buried to the hilt, he held still, enjoying the sensation of complete ensheathment. Then Jill did it again. “C’mon, Allen, fuck me, fuck my pussy, fuck me hard, bang my boobs off, do it now!” Growling in irritation at the despoiling of the moment, Allen grabbed her hips and began slamming into her, his belly smacking against her asscheeks much like ol’ Jack Hammer in Jill’s videotape. And still the salacious commentary continued. “Yeah, that’s it, hammer my pussy, fill me up with your big, long, hard cock.” He reached for her mouth, but found her swaying breasts instead, and then they both felt the approach of release. Jill’s hit first, her fluttering vaginal walls squeezing Allen’s cock mercilessly and triggering another gonadal gusher deep into her belly. And still his erection wouldn’t diminish. Jill was astonished. It was like he hadn’t even had a wet dream in twenty-one years, and it had all been saved for her. “Don’t pull out, keep it inside me,” she ordered. Allen was still gasping, but managed to answer, “I wish I had two cocks so that I could be inside you and keep your mouth shut at the same time.” Jill smiled enigmatically and replied, “Pick me up and take me to the bedroom.” Allen wearily did as he was told. He knew that much about this situation wasn’t right, but he was too horny to think beyond the realization that this was the chance of a lifetime and he wanted to sample everything Jill had to offer. Setting her down on her back on the bed, she lifted her legs up and put them against his shoulders. Before she could start cussing again, he once more plundered her mouth, and began thrusting into her missionary style. After a few minutes of this she grabbed him and rolled them over so she was on top and began riding him like a rabid bull. She came again. Then again. And still the thrusting continued. It was like Allen had become a sex machine. Rolling back onto her back, Jill said, “Come here.” Allen crawled forward, straddling her as she had him earlier, and she captured his cock between her breasts. “Fuck my tits you prick, fuck them long and fmmmph.” Her monologue was interrupted by his dickhead as he smoothly and rapidly tit-fucked her into her mouth in a rising tide of now-undistracted lust. Jill reached up and started pinching his nipples, and he came explosively, showering her with surge after surge of his seed, all over her face, hair, and neck. “Wow, my big stud, looks like I’m going to need another shower,” Jill purred. Into the shower they padded, where the sexual calisthenics continued. Before the night was out they had done it in every room of the house, in both their cars, and even in the middle of the backyard after it got dark. He had no idea how many times he had cum, she had cum, or he had cum inside her. He vaguely remembered her saying that she was on the pill, but even the risk of pregnancy wasn’t registering in his brain on this night. Finally, long about 3AM, he was used up. They happened to be reclining on the dining room table at the time. “Allen, you are a wonder of nature,” Jill giggled softly. “Well,” he murmured, “if you say so. My thinking – to the degree that you allowed me to think,” he chuckled, “was that I’ve probably had more sex tonight than I will for the entire rest of my life, and that’s why I didn’t want it to stop.” “What makes you think it stops tonight?” Jill asked. “As the Carpenters sang, ‘We’ve only just begun.’” “For starters,” he began, “We’ll be going back to school in a couple of weeks. And long distance relationships are a lot more difficult to maintain. Plus…” he hesitated. “Would you stop doing that?” Jill demanded, smacking playfully at him. “Just spit it out, along with what remains of my pubic hair.” “Well…I guess the way I’d put it is that there’s a difference between reality and fantasy. Don’t get me wrong, you were unbelievable,” he added hastily, “but what does this do to our friendship? I mean, we went from pals and bosom companions to a one-couple orgy all at once. And the fact that you had, um, previous experience changes things. I know that might sound dumb, but it matters to me in how I look at us.” Jill began to feel cold all over. “But, but, why, Allen? What has changed except that we’ve taken our relationship to a more intimate level?” Allen looked pensive, as if he realized he was bursting the bubble – on a lot of things. “It isn’t being intimate. It’s that you’ve changed. Or maybe you never were entirely as how I thought you were. Admiring a woman from afar can lead a guy to develop idealistic impressions that I’m learning are impossible for her to live up to. Like the idea of her is almost more important to him than the actual woman herself.” “I’ve loved you for years, Jill. Or at least I thought I did. And that may have colored how I perceived and approached you. The truth may be that I was in love with the idea of being in love with you more than I actually loved you yourself.” For the first time all night, Jill was speechless. Allen glanced at her apprehensively, as if he was killing his life’s dream, and maybe hers as well. He pulled her into a body-to-body embrace, her head on his shoulder and gently stroking her left breast. “I’m not saying I don’t love you. Just that this has happened very quickly, and I think we both need some time to assimilate all these changes.” Rolling on top of him on the table, she put her arms around him and kissed him with slow, determined deliberation. But this time his hands didn’t make a beeline for her bottom. He just held her for a while longer. Then he got up, dressed, and left. Two weeks later Allen and Jill returned to their respective colleges. Three weeks after that he met another beautiful brunette named Deatra, who wasn’t experienced, and indeed was resistant to any attempt at courting on his part. But he was patient, and within a couple of months she had let him kiss her. They became a couple. He brought her home to meet his family the following March. In May he proposed, and she accepted. A year and a half later, they were married. The next time Allen saw Jill was at their ten-year high school reunion. He no longer stammered or had difficulty making small talk, what with pictures of and stories about his baby daughter, Elaine, to tell. Jill just listened. She was still single; it seemed that every other guy, for her at least, really was a prick with legs. The one guy who wasn’t, in the end, hadn't wanted her. And the irony was that where Allen had once considered her to be off-limits, now he really was off-limits to her. “Deatra?” Allen’s wife turned, saw Jill’s approach, and smiled. “Hi, Jill. Are you leaving for the evening already? The night is still young, especially when you have yours to baby-sit for you,” she chuckled. “Yes, I think. Some of us are going to a club a little later. But I’ll see you and Allen and little Elaine at the picnic tomorrow.” “Great. See you then.” On impulse, Jill embraced Deatra and said, rather wistfully, “You’re a lucky gal, Dee. A lucky gal indeed.” Then she walked out the door. Seeing Allen coming over with her drink, Mrs. Grosserhahn asked him, “What was that all about?” Looking after where Jill had departed, Allen felt a little sad. “Growing up. And paths not taken. C’mon, the slide show is about to begin.”