0 comments/ 21326 views/ 2 favorites Mellow Yellow Next Generation Ch. 01 By: miskeivitch Author's Note: This story continues the saga from Mellow Yellow 20. When the Crown Colony of Hong Kong reverted to the Peoples' Republic of China in 1998, Syd Poole lost his job as the Reunified Hong Kong Administrative District Office Vehicle Supervisor. The new masters of Hong Kong were reluctant to employ someone identified so closely with the hated former colonial regime. It didn't matter to the new regime that Syd had reasonable skills in Cantonese and a Chinese wife. He just wasn't wanted. As for Syd, he considered the Hong Qi limousines favoured by the Communist bureaucrats to be a bigger pile of junk than the Daimlers he fussed over while at the Colonial Office. Syd may have been a mechanic by trade but he had pride. Syd's wife, Lily Poon, retained her job as manager of the restaurant at the Royal Hong Kong Yacht Club (subsequently renamed the People's No. 2 Recreation and Navigation Society after Reunification). Lily's dissatisfaction began when her salary was "harmonized" downwards to the level of her waitresses. Her job title was also downgraded from Catering Manager to Worker Co-ordinator but her working hours were upgraded to 60 hours per week. As Worker Co-ordinator No. 6, she had to field her staff's complaints that the new Communist apparatchiks were lousy tippers in addition to being high-functioning alcoholics. When the new bureaucrats ordered Lily to remove the Yacht Club's Cantonese specialties and replace them with Szechuan and Beijing dishes, her cultural resentment of all things Northern came to the surface. So, Lily and Syd turned their backs on Hong Kong and emigrated to Australia with Lily's two teenaged children, Pamela and Patrick. Determined never to depend on others for their jobs, the Poon-Pooles bought a dilapidated "Chew and Spew" on the Coastal Highway just outside Bummkrak, Qnsld. Lily and Syd worked hard on the renovations. Lily tore down the wall, behind which the former owners had hidden while making egg sandwiches and soggy chips, and created the first open kitchen in Queensland. Lily replaced the deep fryer and filthy grill with woks, dumpling steamers and commercial rice makers. Within a year, "Lily's Guangdong Oasis" established its reputation as the best Chinese restaurant between Brisbane and Cairns. Motorists flocked to the outskirts of Bummkrak to watch Lily make each of the 100 dishes on the menu and inhale the blended scents of ginger, garlic and peanut oil wafting from the open kitchen. Sid Poole cleaned up the garage and replaced all the antiquated tools with their metric equivalents, liberated surplus from the old Colonial Office Motor Pool. He became equally famous as his wife as the only honest car mechanic in all of Queensland. Truckers and tourists alike lined up for Lily's Chinese cooking whilst Syd filled the trucks with diesel and repaired the Holdens and Fairlanes of Queensland. Unfortunately, Pamela and Patrick had far less social success than their mother and stepfather's economic success. Having grown up in the competitive environment of the Hong Kong, they were accustomed to completing all their assigned homework on time. How could a Chinese child bring shame on the family by not achieving to their full potential? Of course, the white students disapproved of "the Chink kids messing up the curve." Their immediate response was to attempt bullying and intimidating the new arrivals from Hong Kong. Scratch a white Queenslander and you'll find a racist lurking below the skin. In response, both Patrick and Pamela demonstrated to the white students that Asian martial arts movies were more than mere fantasy. Unable to physically bully the two teenagers, the white teens shunned Pamela and Patrick socially. The two Chinese teenagers went dateless from their first day in Bummkrak, becoming that rare commodity in Oz, 16-year old virgins. This was even odder considering that both teenagers were quite striking in appearance. Patrick had rugged features that were more northern Chinese than Cantonese. Pamela's slim waist and smooth, well-shaped legs spoke of movie star quality. Although they kept it well hidden behind inscrutable Chinese faces, Pamela and Patrick were as lustful as any two white teenagers. The two teenagers managed to turn their sexual energies to sports. Pamela took up volleyball where she earned extra respect by spiking the ball in the face of any girl who attempted intimidation off court. Patrick accomplished the same by a few well-aimed elbows to white groins on the football pitch. In "footie", there are advantages to being short, stocky and well muscled. Patrick became a valued member of the Bummkrak All Blacks, the closest thing to a living black player the team had. However, when it came to the party after the game, Patrick was conspicuously dropped from the guest list. The final character in this drama is Allison Koowootha, known to her few friends outside the Aboriginal community as "Koo". Allison lived in a collection of corrugated roof shanties on the other side of the Coastal Highway, designated on roadmaps as West Bummkrak but known to white Bummkrakers as Jackytown. Despite her humble origins, Allison was intelligent as well as quite attractive. In almost any other environment, she would have attracted a coterie of male admirers, but this was Bummkrak, Qnsld. It was not surprising that Allison and Pamela became the best of friends, both outcasts to their cliquish white classmates. The odd tall/petite couple enjoyed each other's company for more reasons than to enjoy some intelligent conversation. Allison and Pamela shared a curiosity about their bodies just like any other sixteen year old girl. Pamela may have been better read on the subject of the female body but Allison had more "hands-on" experience. When they weren't talking about sex, their conversation turned to their future, which consisted of careers and marriage. "I don't even want to think about getting married until I've finished my university. I'll become a psychiatrist like my Auntie Susan. I'll marry a doctor and we'll be rich but happy. My only problem is that my marks aren't quite good enough to get accepted to medical college. When you're a visible minority in Oz, you need to be twice as good as a white kid to get into University. So, maybe my dreams will never come to anything and I'll be an old maid." "I'm not sure if I ever want to get married. Especially not to any of this lot in Bummkrak. Not that the black guys in Jackytown are that much better. Ozzie guys, black and white alike just want to drink until they chunder. If they ever get around to thinking about women, we're just Shielas to fetch their next beer." "I agree. There's not a guy in all of Queensland that I'd ever date. That's why I've applied to the University of New South Wales for the next semester. How are you going to get out of Bummkrak, Koo?" "I want to become an artist, the best Aboriginal artist in Oz. My only problem is that I can't afford the supplies so I can develop my style. But artists never get rich so no guy will ever look at a poor black girl, no matter how pretty she might be. That's my problem, Pam." "I may have a solution to both our problems, Koo. I've wanted to work fewer hours in my mother's restaurant for the past year and get my marks up so I can get into University. Mum says that there aren't any girls in Bummkrak she can rely on, especially not those white bitches. Why don't you talk to my Mum about replacing me? The Oasis is right between school and your house." As Allison and Pamela entered the Oasis Restaurant, Lily was in the process of firing the latest in a series of disastrous part-time hirings from among the white population of Bummkrak. "You no nice to customers, you razy and you raff at my Engrish when you think I no risten. I sack you now. Get white ass out of my lestaulant and no come back." Pamela cringed. In most respects, she was proud of her mother except for her colourful manner of speech. Lily's English had improved marginally since her move to Oz to the point of being almost comprehensible. Allison backed away and motioned that it might not be a good time to talk to Mrs. Poon. Pamela knew her mother better. Her temper was short-lived and she never channeled her anger at the wrong target. Besides, Pamela explained to her mother that she had just brought Lily the solution to her latest problem. Lily looked Allison up and down, mostly up from her diminutive Cantonese perspective. Unlike the white bitchy sheilas who applied for work at the Oasis, Allison appeared to be friendly and, best of all, enthusiastic. Lily hadn't found much work ethic under white skin since she had moved to Oz. Had she been looking in the wrong place? Lily didn't waste a moment, addressing her daughter by her Chinese name. "Pin-mi, you fliend nice brack rady. You rike wolk in lestaulant? I got rotsa wolk here. Arison, you come with me and I find nice unifolm show off cute bum. OK, lest of you get to wolk." So, Allison became part of Syd and Lily's extended family, making the Oasis an even bigger success. Patrick pumped gas and kept his eye on the till while Pamela and Allison served up Lily's steaming, shiny Cantonese delights. Even if the citizens of Bummkrak eschewed the Oasis, the more cosmopolitan Victorians and NSWers, white, black and yellow traveling the Coastal Highway appreciated the Oasis' good food, good service and cute waitresses. Patrick watched his sister's friend from his place at the cash register. Her large breasts bounced in rhythm as she walked between the kitchen and tables, unlike his sister's small, firm boobies. The uniform his mother supplied Allison was much too short for her long black legs, so the hem ended up mid-thigh. This fueled Patrick's speculation as to what lay above the hem. How much bush did Allison have? What does a black girl's pussy smell like? As a 16-year old virgin, the real question was what did any girl's pussy smell like? Thoughts of pussy supplemented by Allison's black boobs bouncing around inside her uniform as she walked to the kitchen gave Patrick a perpetual woody. Syd and Lily encouraged their children to do their homework in the booth by the door when business at the Oasis was slow. So, as they grew fonder of Allison, they were pleased that she joined Pamela and Patrick in the "homework booth." Initially, Allison sat beside Pamela but necessities of seeing how Patrick worked out math problems, of course, prompted her to cross over and take up a permanent place beside Patrick. Black and yellow hands entwined below the table while Intermediate Algebra problems got sorted out above. Patrick asked Allison to help him shed his Chinese accent in favour of the nasal Aussie twang. Naturally, so as to not waste time, Patrick's 'Conversational Strine 101' lessons tended towards rather intimate subjects. Very quickly, the teens discovered that they both wanted to lose their virginity but with the right person. Lest the reader assume that this was simply a case of horny teenagers getting physical, Patrick and Allison shared more in common than a need to get laid. The two teens also discovered that they shared an interest in the visual arts. Since Allison painted and Patrick was a photographer, the two art forms went well together. Never having lived in the bush, Allison couldn't paint wildlife from her memory. On their days off, the two teenagers could be found wandering around Bummkrak Zoo, photographing the icons of aboriginal art, wallabies, wombats, kookaburras and koalas, with Patrick's camera. Patrick's photos ultimately found their way to Allison's canvas. This shared interest in art ultimately led to the teens' first sexual encounter. The subject was first broached by Allison. Not being Chinese, she was far more direct about what she wanted. "I'm tired of painting animals, Patrick. Aboriginal artists just paint cute primitive portraits of cockatoos and platypus ducks. I want to move on with my art and paint real people and real events. I want to paint aboriginal warriors fighting white settlers – and winning, of course. I want to paint something that will make Aboriginals proud to be black." "What's your hang-up? With your warrior past, I thought it would come naturally to you." "I have these visions of semi-naked black warriors carrying spears, with their willies swaying, hanging from their groin. On the other side of the battlefield, the whities would be staring at these huge appendages with looks of fear on their faces. Then in the background, the white women would be hiking up their Victorian skirts and hiking down their bloomers in anticipation of being ravished by my noble black warriors." "You may want to skip the white women in the background in the interests of political correctness, Koo. But I still don't see what's stopping you from painting what you want to paint." "To tell you the truth, Patrick, I've never seen a willie in my life. Yes, I joke about willies all the time with my sisters but it's all talk. I haven't got the experience my sisters have with men. Patrick, would you pose nude for me? Look, we can use your camera and I'll paint from the photos." "I dunno, Allison. Mum and Syd keep a close eye on Pam 'n me. Besides, I feel shy being naked. Call me legally Chinese but we just aren't into nudity the way your ancient warriors were. I mean, have you ever seen a Jackie Chan flick where there's sex?" "We're friends, so you won't be alone. How about if I get just as naked as you. You can stop any time it doesn't feel right. I'll pose naked for you if you'll pose for me." That was an offer that Patrick couldn't refuse. Their opportunity to close their deal came the following Thursday night. Allison and Patrick were at their usual booth preparing for Friday classes. Pamela had already gone home in order to prepare for a university admission test. Besides, Allison could do with more hours to buy her art supplies. The two teens looked up from their books. Lily had changed into street clothes and Syd had scrubbed the oil from his hands. "'Ere, Patrick, can you close the place. There ain't much business tonight and yer mum & me want to turn in early for a change. Can you take care of fuelling cars until closing?" Lily added, "Arrison, I crose glill. You make soup, sarad and sandwich onry. You got it?" Allison accepted her responsibilities readily. Translated inside Patrick's head, "turning in early" meant that his mother and stepfather were in serious need of an oil change. Patrick readily agreed so he could further his own agenda of spending some time with Allison beyond doing homework. As soon as the family car became distant taillights, Allison whispered: "Tonight's the night we do it Patrick. Where's the best place?" "Actually, there's a room off Mum's office. Syd and Mum used to sleep there before we got permanent digs in town. Knowing Mum, she still keeps it ready in case she needs a quickie with Syd when business gets slow." Patrick held Allison tightly with his hand while he put the "Closed" sign in the door Allison made sure that sandwiches and drinks were available from the vending machines. Then Patrick put the petrol pumps on cardlock and turned all the lights out in the restaurant and service areas. The bitumen highway was empty in all directions. They wouldn't be discovered. Patrick took his camera out of his locker and took Allison through the office to the seldom-used office. As Patrick expected, the room was clean and the bed prepared for one of his mother's and stepfather's romps. Aside from the bed, there was an empty dresser in the room that needed to be moved to make a nice blank wall. "OK, I'll take something off first and then it's your turn," Allison said. By now, she knew Patrick well enough that he had Chinese shyness about displaying his body. Allison started with the top button of her uniform, advancing one button at a time. By the time two white brassiere cups appeared, Patrick's eyes were wide and round. Allison knew she had Patrick hooked by her drawn-out striptease. Button by button, each button, each button taking longer than the other, Allison finally had the uniform open to the bottom. In one deft shake of her shoulders, the uniform dropped to the ground, revealing her smooth black flesh. Patrick was pleased to be teased but the Chinese student inside took the opportunity to be educated at the same time. The teenager already knew what a woman wore under her clothes from the laundry that hung out in the poorer sections of Bummkrak. Actually, most of Bummkrak was a slum so Patrick learned a lot about working-class lingerie by walking around town. Despite his extensive knowledge of knickers, Patrick had no idea how a woman put it all together. Patrick's thoughts returned to the task at hand. Instead of watching lingerie over the fence, here was an opportunity to get involved. "Could I unhook your bra for you?" Allison was pleased that Patrick was starting to take some initiative in this project. Allison's back was broad, shining with perspiration in the light. Hands trembling, Patrick thought that he would never get the tiny hooks to release. Finally, the two back straps parted, letting Allison's ample breasts tumble out. With one hand, Patrick slid the strap of Allison's C-cup down her smooth, silky arms. With the other hand, he replaced the brassiere cup with his hand. The rest came naturally to Patrick. He had his first feel of tit in his hand and they were a big pair. He held the soft, pliant globe in his hand, trying not to be too rough. Patrick put his other hand on Allison's other breast, taking her erect nipples and softly massaging them between his fingers. He placed a light kiss as high on Allison's back as he could reach. Allison didn't protest in the slightest. Allison unzipped Patrick's trousers. Allison had chosen Patrick for her deflowering not only because of his charm and good looks but specifically because he was Chinese. Allison had heard rumors from the female side of the Aboriginal Telegraph that Japanese businessmen had teeny-weeny willies. She hadn't heard anything about Chinese guys but they were all the same race, weren't they? Besides, she could always amplify a tiny willie for the terrifying effects she wanted in her art. "Patrick, I want to see what you've got there." The zipper climbed over what appeared to be a very large bump in Patrick's briefs. Allison pulled down the trousers and then tried the same with the briefs. Reaching past the waistband, Allison received a shock as her hand touched her first willie. The rumours about willie size were false, at least for Chinese guys. Patrick was quite well endowed, as her full hand testified. Plus, his willie was rock hard as well. Her older sisters had often complained that the guys with big ones never seemed to get hard. Obviously, they had never met Patrick. Allison pulled Patrick's jockeys down as she dropped to her knees. Patrick's willie popped out over the waistband. Patrick wasn't cut. A foreskin hooded the tip of his willie, hiding the full head. This was a bonus for Koo's art. In primitive times, her noble warriors were also uncut. First, she ran her nose along the length of Patrick's shaft, then her tongue over the veins and ridges. Finally, she inserted the willie into her mouth, savouring the taste, size and strength of Patrick. The close inspection was all in the in the cause of Allison's art, of course. The two embraced tightly, feeling the warmth of each other's body. Patrick breathed in Allison's scent, hints of almonds and passion fruit masked by faint odors of oyster paste and peanut oil from his mother's kitchen. Even if she wanted to back out, there wasn't any time for that. Patrick had her on the bed and he was kissing her boobs with passion. In fact, Patrick didn't seem to be in any rush to jam his willie into virgin pussy. Allison had heard so many young guys, black and white brag about their wham-bam encounters. If Patrick was a typical Chinese guy, then that race knew what a woman wanted. Allison relaxed as Patrick slowly licked her nipples, making her boobs tingle. Patrick's slow caresses along her body sent rushes of feeling downwards, focussing on her pussy. Moisture trickled through her pussy lips down the crack of her bum. Mellow Yellow Next Generation Ch. 01 Patrick moved his hand along Allison's black thigh. He was surprised that moisture had trickled almost down to her knee as they were standing. Her pussy was warm, wet and hairy. Patrick had only seen his sister's bush once years ago when he accidentally rushed into the bathroom as Pamela was getting out of the shower. Pamela's pre-teen wisps of hair were nothing like the lush tropical forest he was now caressing. Allison thought, "This guy's an expert the way he's taking his time caressing my mound." In fact, Patrick was inexpertly trying to find Allison's pussy lips in all that hair. Patrick thought, "They must be in here somewhere, at least that's what the Sex Ed. Book said." Finally, Patrick found Allison's gushing pussy, a hidden brook in the thicket of her bush. Finally, he would apply Syd's advice on how to stimulate a woman. "After yer get her slit apart, yer takes yer middle finger and gently runs it up from cunt ta clit. Yer don't press too hard or she says yer hurt her." Heeding the voice of experience, Patrick slowly slid his finger up Koo's slit. That provoked Allison into sighs and suddenly a shudder that Syd's lessons hadn't predicted. Patrick was witnessing his first female orgasm. Allison lay limply on her back, basking in the best orgasm of her life. Then she was aroused from her reverie by the pressure of a blunt object forced between her pussy lips. Patrick was inexpertly attempting to penetrate her virgin pussy. Patrick's size meant that Allison would literally need to give him a hand. In the dark, it seemed as if Patrick's willie was even larger. She couldn't wrap her fingers around the shaft. However, she managed to get the blunt thing down into her pussy opening. She tried to relax to allow Patrick's oversized member to penetrate her virgin pussy. Fortunately, she was well lubricated, allowing the willie head to slide in the opening. Allison felt pressure as Patrick's willie pressed against her maidenhead. With a sharp pain, Allison became a woman. Patrick saw his black lover wince the same time he overcame the barrier. This was not the night to bang black beaver the way he had dreamed of taking Allison. It was all over too soon. Patrick came with his willie in only half way. His first orgasm was long, intense and accompanied by liters of come. Patrick pulled out a plug the diameter of an A-battery flashlight from between Allison's legs. A white trickle tinged with blood seeped from between her black lips over her white thigh. The two teenagers lay in each other arms, savouring the moment they both became adults. Little did they know that even greater pleasure would lie in store for them as their relationship developed on all levels. All too soon, the moment was over. Patrick got up and began to fold the bottom sheet. Allison's female instincts and her Home Economics class lessons intervened. "Let me take that and soak out the sperm and the blood. I'll have it back in a jiff and your parents'll be none the wiser." "'ands off mate. I need this sheet after we're married. A Chinese guy has to prove his bride's a virgin! When I'm sitting around with the guys, I'll bring it out to prove that we're on the up'n up." Allison couldn't believe what she was hearing. One poke and Patrick was already talking marriage. Maybe it was sort of general and couched in Chinese cultural icons but it did include the word "marriage". Somehow, Allison and Patrick never quite got around to posing for nude photos that night. Probably that was just as well. Allison managed to eliminate all the other evidence and leave the room tidy. Patrick remembered to hide the sheet but he forgot that he left his camera in the spare bedroom. When the cleaning lady brought the camera to Lily, there was nothing more incriminating in the flash memory than a few photos taken at the zoo and Bummkrak Beach. Nevertheless, Lily was intrigued by what her son was doing in the bedroom that particular evening. Even without Patrick's pictures, Allison's memories of willie were vivid enough that she began a series of paintings of nude aboriginal warriors. She would never forget that first view of Patrick's willie. Nevertheless, Allison quite often asked Patrick to refresh her memory. Thus, Allison began a career painting erotic Australian Aboriginal art. Her most popular works, especially among women buyers, were her paintings of nude warriors. Their poses, expressions and weaponry were fearsome enough but it was thought that the warriors' prominent manhood dangling between their legs was the feature of the painting that ultimately made the sale. Mellow Yellow Next Generation Ch. 02 I dedicate this story and the next story in this series to the dear and wonderful Chinese woman who suggested the idea. Pamela Poon loved Sydney as much as she hated Bummkrak, Qnsld. Perhaps it was the cosmopolitan nature of the city that allowed a Chinese teenager to feel at home. Definitely, the Queensland rednecks who still believed in the "Yellow Peril" did little to make Pamela Poon feel welcome in Bummkrak. Sydney's openness, quirks and charms reminded Pamela of her native Hong Kong. Perhaps it was the thorough makeover Sydney received to host the Olympics. Perhaps it was because Sydney was her step-father's name and a Chinese daughter always honours her parents, even adopted parents. Today, Pamela Poon was not in love with Sydney, the city, as on other days. With her bus firmly entrenched in gridlock at a downtown intersection, Pamela resented Sydney's traffic situation. Pamela muttered under her breath, employing an all-purpose Aussie curse: "Bugga. I'm going to be late for Koo's award. Oh, Bugga." Pamela disembarked from the bus, catching the next monorail to Darling Harbour. Darling Harbour was once a busy part of the Port of Sydney, shipping Australian wool to the mills of Lancashire. Now, Darling Harbour was an upscale tourist attraction, one feature of which was the Aboriginal Cultural Centre and Keeping Place. Pamela's best friend at Bummkrak High, Allison Koowootha, would receive an award for her art today at the Cultural Centre. Finding a seat at the back of the auditorium, Pamela listened politely as the pompous master of ceremonies droned on. "Pretentious arseholes come in all colours, black, white and yellow, I'm discovering," Pamela thought. Finally, the master of ceremonies came to the moment she had come all the way across Sydney for. "And now, I'm pleased to introduce our next honouree of this event, Miss Allison Koowootha. Allison, or 'Koo' as she signs her paintings, is this year's Most Promising New Aboriginal Artist. Allison has pioneered, harumph, new erotic themes in our traditional Aboriginal art. It's not a trend that I entirely approve of myself. As one of Australia's most eminent art critics, I was appointed to the committee for this year's awards. When Miss Koowootha's work was considered for this award, it was I who noted the Chinese willies on the Aboriginal warriors. I maintained that willies coloured differently from the body constituted a discordant surrealistic element that could not be considered fine Aboriginal art. Notwithstanding such obvious defects, the other committee members (all women I might add) have overruled me. Allison Koowootha, please accept this honour on behalf of the Australian Aboriginal Artists Association." After the boring speeches had ended, Pamela and Allison walked to a restaurant in Sydney's Chinatown, conveniently located near the Cultural Centre. The odd pair, consisting of a black Aboriginal woman towering over a petite Chinese woman, attracted many glances, not always approving, in Bummkrak, Qnsld. In Sydney, only the occasional male who developed a lust for non-European beauty gave Pamela and Allison a second glance. Pamela hadn't seen Allison in person since she left Bummkrak a year before to take her pre-med studies in Sydney. They made small talk over tea and dimsum snacks about inconsequential happenings to their families and friends in the past year. Finally, they came to the subject that inevitably takes over the conversation of twenty-something women; relationships. Pamela, out of respect that today was Allison's day, let her friend discuss her relationship first. Pamela wasn't the least bit surprised that a relationship developed between Allison and her brother Patrick. (Mellow Yellow Next Generation Ch. 1) "I saw that one coming, Koo because I had a hand in it. The truth is that I wanted you to work at my mother's restaurant so that you could meet Patrick. When I saw the spark between two of you, I used the excuse that I needed time to study so you two could be alone. I could have gotten into University without all that extra study time." "Pam, I've always thought that you're quiet but very devious. I bet you're into a relationship right now but you haven't told anyone yet. Come on and spill the beans to Allison. We're best buddies, aren't we?" "Actually, there is someone serious, Koo. I think I've found the one. He isn't what I expected either and you're right that I can't tell anyone about him." "I love mysteries. Tell me how you hooked up with him and why all the mystery surrounding this relationship." "When I first came to the University. I started dating some of the guys but nothing serious ever developed. Actually, I got burned several times by guys. The students from Mainland China are either computer dorks or else they just want to marry a girl to get Australian citizenship. The white students think they're so cool that any Chinese girl would be privileged to shag them. Really, I think that all Australian guys are like the boys in Bummkrak. They're in such a rush to get into your pants that they never chat a girl up or treat her right." Allison nodded her head knowingly. The two women just wanted to forget about the white guys in Bummkrak and Queensland in general. Allison asked: "He must be a black guy then?" If Pamela acquired an Aboriginal boyfriend, the four of them could chum around as couples. "No, he's white and Welsh, definitely not Australian. He's older than me. Maybe that's why I was attracted to him. I've always admired the way my stepfather treats my mother. Do you think it's wrong to be hung up on older men?" "Only if they're not married as well as well as old. Omigod – tell me he's not married." "Please, Koo, he's just shacked up. But let me tell the story in my own way. He's my English Literature 100 professor, Marcus Aurelius Studley-Moore, or Mark as I call him. Don't look at me that way, Koo. Let me tell the story and perhaps you'll understand. I met Mark at my first English class. To tell you the truth, Koo, I was sitting in my seat theoretically writing in my notebook but my eyes were off to the side looking at the bulge in the pants of the guy next to me. I was letting my imagination go and getting a bit horny when Mark's opening remarks caught my ear. He stood on the podium as if he owned the lecture hall and all the audio-visual equipment. There was something so confident, something so fatherly in his words that I forgot about the guy next to me or any of the young guys around me. Mark was the only man who existed in the lecture hall from that moment on. When he spoke in his resonant Welsh accent, it was as if Richard Burton himself were giving the lecture. Yes, I was enthralled by the man but I considered him out of reach for a freshman. As a good Chinese student, I decided to study my subject. I found his teaching schedule and tried to observe his habits and especially the women he consorted with. In order to observe him from afar, I used the binoculars issued to me in Ornithology 100 to spy on Professor Studley-Moore. I spent many hours at the top of the parkade watching the birds on the campus as well as peering through the window of Mark's office. I never saw Mark do anything but work in his office. He never even put his hands in his pants to play with his willie, as Patrick tells me men do quite often. In fact, Mark seemed to lead a most chaste, almost celibate life. He never spoke to a woman unless they were seated in his lecture room. He only associated with his male colleagues when he ate at the Faculty Club. From my perch, I could see him leave in his automobile, always alone. I had my doubts about Mark's sexuality. Perhaps he was gay or perhaps he was impotent. My doubts about his sexual orientation were dispelled in the lecture hall. Mark was teaching us about Thomas Hardy's novel, 'Jude the Obscure'. I was quite taken by the parallels between the class system in Victorian rural Dorset and the class system as practiced in Queensland today. I also identified Arabella Donn as one of those white bitches my Aunt Susan analyzed in her technical paper 'Male Sexual Dysfunction Causal Sources (3): Emasculating Caucasian Females'. I also identified Sue Bridehead as Thomas Hardy's attempt to portray an ideal Asian woman within the confining strictures of Victorian prejudice against 'wogs'. Mark confirmed my analysis and casually mentioned that Hardy had modeled Arabella Donn on his own wife, Emily. Only I could see that Mark identified himself with the character of Jude Fawley. Mark talked about Jude's sexuality in a way that demonstrated that he longed for a satisfying relationship with a woman. No, Mark was not asexual or gay. He was a repressed man. My English professor was entrapped in a loveless relationship, as was Hardy's character Jude, as was Hardy himself. In his lecture, what Mark said about Jude Fawley, I understood it to mean Marcus Studley-Moore. I was positive that Mark was crying for help when he mentioned that Henry Randolph Ash in the novel "Possession" was loosely based on Hardy and his life. Of course, the fictional Ash was also in a loveless relationship. After the lecture, I asked Mark if he had any other material on Hardy's private life that I could read. Mark seemed to be so pleased that a freshman took interest in his lecture. 'It's fortuitous that you asked, Miss Poon. I've nearly finished my doctoral research and I've made a first draft of my thesis: "Thomas Hardy and Florence Dugdale; Older Men who Chased Younger Women Amongst Victorian Literati." Miss Poon, you've demonstrated such extraordinary enthusiasm for Victorian literature that I think I can ask you a favour. I'll loan you my thesis if you could do some proofreading for me. Can you drop by my office after classes today and I'll let you have a copy?' Of course I said 'Yes', so I made my way over to the offices of the Faculty of Arts after class. The English Department listed all its faculty members on the door. There was Mark's name: M. A. Studley-Moore M.A. I was about to ask the receptionist to tell Prof. Studley-Moore that Miss Poon wished to see him when this most hideous woman stormed out of an office clutching an envelope. She put the envelope somewhere inside her saggy bodice and then stopped to lecture the receptionist as if I didn't exist. 'I'll be away for a fortnight. I'm going to New Zealand to lead a Greenpeace demonstration. Can you please provide him with an organic bran muffin and a hot cup of coffee every morning? Also, keep your hands off Marcus in my absence.' Since I was apparently of no consequence to this ugly creature and she went on at length threatening the poor woman, I took the opportunity to look her over. She was overweight and her personal hygiene left much to be desired. She wore a dress that was far too short, exposing a vast expanse of thick thunder thighs. Her greying, greasy hair was tied at the back of her head in a frizzy bun. There were traces of a moustache growing on the upper lip that seemed to be frozen in a sneer. This ugly creature turned her back on both the receptionist and me, leaving a vast expanse of bum waddling out the door as her parting show. I asked the receptionist what that was all about and why her tone was so hostile. 'That's Professor Studley-Moore's missus, Hellweg Gnerd. Insists on having a different name from the Prof. I'm not even sure that they're married, but she acts as if she owns the man. She always comes in and nicks his pay packet when she goes off on one of her environmental causes. I think this time she's demonstrating to get the Maoris to provide flying lessons to the kiwi birds. Look, if you're here to see the Prof, I'll see in fifteen minutes if he's ready to see you.' So, I was correct. Mark was in a relationship with an emasculating white bitch. The way she ignored me, I just knew that she was a racist as well. When I finally did see Mark, I could see he was still upset by his wife or whatever's visit. In order to save face, I couldn't let on that I knew what had caused his black mood. I took the disk with his thesis and listened patiently as he told me how to make notes for him. For several nights, I devoured Mark's thesis and tried to read between the lines. He had uncovered evidence of many affairs that Hardy had with younger women while married to the very nasty Emily. His second marriage to the mousy Florence Dugdale was only the culmination of Hardy's search for young love that his unhappy marriage had deprived him of. Mark's thesis described Emily Hardy in such devastating terms that it must be his own unhappy marriage that he was describing. How else could he so clearly describe a talentless woman disparaging the work of one of the masters of the English language, unless it had happened to himself? Did he identify with Thomas Hardy's many conquests of younger women? I finished proofreading Mark's treatise on a Saturday afternoon and turned my mind towards improvements. What the work lacked was a climactic finish that captured the essence of an older man making love to a younger woman. He had to try and convey the excitement of a young woman as experienced, liver-spotted fingers played upon her body. The older man would teach the art of love, awakening the erogenous zones that had heretofore gone untouched. I didn't have a date that Saturday. What to do? My homework was finished as usual. I looked at the essay on my desk by Mark. Why should I sit at home? I decided to personally deliver my corrections and suggestions that very day. There aren't many Studley-Moore's in the telephone directory and the only Marcus Aurelius Studley-Moore lived in Effing, a middle-class suburb of Sydney. So, I put my notes in my knapsack and hopped on the next CityRail train to Effing. Fortunately, Mark lives just a few blocks from Effing Station. So, I found myself looking over the hedge of a bungalow at the address I had written on a piece of paper. There was Mark on his knees, working with a trowel in a flower bed. He had his back to me and his cute buns were up in the air. I so wanted to sneak up behind Mark and clasp his bum cheeks in my hands but my courage failed. I walked away, ashamed that I couldn't speak to the object of my love. There was a store around the corner of the street where Mark lived. So, I went in to buy myself something to drink. Koo, I hope that you haven't been drinking the tap water in Sydney. It's full of some kind of nasty germ that gives you the runs. Nobody drinks tap water in this city. I took some solace in a cold diet cola and sat down outside to have a drink. My hopes of meeting Mark privately had fizzled the same way the soft drink fizzled as I opened it. As I tilted my head back to empty the can, I saw out of the corner of my eye the same car that had been in Mark's driveway. As the car turned the corner, I could see Mark was driving and he was alone. I don't know what got into me but I just had to go back to his house for another look. I don't think anyone saw me peering over the hedge at Mark's bum. Definitely nobody saw me enter his yard the second time. It was supper time and the smell of lamb chops on backyard barbecues hung in the air. I cautiously approached the house through the garden. Perhaps the white bitch hadn't left as promised. The garden had waratahs, bindi-eyes and bladderwort. That last plant reminded me that I hadn't peed since I left the dorm and I just drank a large cola. What to do? I was thinking of relieving myself behind the tool shed when I noticed that the patio door had been left ajar. I pushed the screen aside and entered the house. Koo, I have never been a burglar before but entering that house so clandestinely started a dribble of excitement down my legs. I don't know if it was my full bladder or if I was becoming sexually aroused by my criminal act. My eyes were watering from the hydraulic pressure and my pussy was swollen from my newfound pleasure. The bathroom was the first door down the hallway, fortunately. I put down the seat of the toilet, my first clue that Mark was abandoned and alone in the house. Hiking down my jeans and my panties, I peed buckets. I sat on the toilet thinking of the awful things that that white bitch had done to Mark while unconsciously unrolling the toilet paper to wipe myself. As I swiped the paper up my pussy, my clit was swollen and sensitive. I became even more horny from sitting on the same toilet seat as Mark. I dropped the paper into the bowl without ceremony and began to stroke my pussy and stimulate my clit. My hand moved more and more rapidly up and down my slot. My head banged on the potted plant on the cover of the toilet tank. I did myself right there in Mark's bathroom in Mark's house. I came whilst perched on the rim of the toilet. I hiked up my panties and jeans and straightened my tank top. I decided to take a quick look at the rest of the house. The kitchen was littered with empty pizza cartons and containers of takeout Chinese food. Sometime, I decided I must cook him a real Chinese meal. Mark couldn't cook for himself and I doubted if that woman ever made a decent meal for him when she wasn't gallivanting on her environmental adventures. It would serve her right if an attentive young Chinese woman stole Mark's affections. Then I went into Mark's study and realized that I could be in a lot of trouble if anyone discovered me in the house. The next mid-term test was in full view on top of the pile of papers on the desk. I didn't want to be accused of trying to steal the exam for my own benefit. I knew I should leave immediately but I was so obsessed with Mark that I had to see the Studley-Moore bedroom. That would be where Mark, against his will, had sex with that awful woman he was cohabiting with. I found it at the opposite end of the hall from the bathroom. The bed was in disarray but only one side. It was obvious to me that, not only was that awful Hellweg absent, he wasn't bringing any other women home. In their closet, their clothes were hanging on opposite sides. Her clothes consisted of a variety of dirndl skirts and baggy, unfeminine pant suits. Mark had a couple of older style suits, some shirts that badly needed ironing and some sweats. That woman was as neglectful of Mark's wardrobe as she was of his diet. Didn't she understand that intellectual men aren't interested in clothes and that someone needs to guide them in fashion matters? Koo, I'll make sure that he's dressed well when I move in with him. I walked out of the closet and saw "it". Mark's pajamas were lying on the floor where he left them when he got out of bed. Mark walked naked from that point, past where I was standing, to the bathroom where he shaved. The thought of Mark nude sent another thrill through my pussy. I don't know what came over me but I had an uncontrollable urge to hug Mark's pajamas as if he were in them. Then, I remembered that I was running out of time. I just scooped up Mark's pajamas and stuffed them in my knapsack alongside the corrections for his thesis. I guess that, in my haste to leave the house, I forgot to close the screen door. I walked slowly by a roundabout route to Effing Station. I'm sure that a Chinese girl running through a white neighbourhood would arouse all kinds of suspicion. If I were stopped, I certainly wouldn't be able to explain why I had a pair of used men's pajamas in my knapsack. Very few people were returning on the train to the city so, I'm sure that I went unnoticed. When I got back to my room at the dorm, I closed the door securely. Then, I pulled from my knapsack the prize that I absconded from Mark's bedroom. I buried my face in the cloth, reveling in the scent of his manly sweat. Obviously, Mark didn't do laundry or cooking while his common-law wife was away. Koo, you'll probably think I'm a total pervert but I even sniffed the crotch of the pajama bottoms. I almost came again from the musky smell of his willie. I knew now what I must do with Mark's pajamas. Mellow Yellow Next Generation Ch. 02 I threw my own clothes on the chair without even bothering to fold them. I first put on the pajama top and rolled up the sleeves so my hands were free. Then I put on the bottoms, pulling the drawstrings as tightly as I could so they wouldn't fall to the floor. Finally, I rolled up the legs so that I could walk around. I must have looked a sight, strutting around in pajamas that were several sizes too large. I didn't care. I was beginning a fantasy and, in my mind, assuming the body of Mark. Well, men don't walk around much in their pajamas; they sleep in them. So, I climbed into bed. I lay there absorbing the male smell while the flannel rubbed my nipples. Koo, I was occupying the same space as Mark occupied the night before. What can I say? It aroused made me. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what it was like to be a man. I imagined a thick, meaty willie pushing aside the crotch of the pajamas and lying along my thigh. I imagined my fantasy willie getting erect and ready to enter a pussy. I reached down to grab my imaginary willie but there was nothing there. All I could find was a wet void between my legs. I came back to reality. I wasn't a man but a woman. I did what any horny woman would do in the same situation. I parted my pussy lips, running my finger up to my clit. It was swollen and throbbing. I inserted my finger into my vagina very slowly, to maximize the thrill of penetration. I palpitated my vagina but my finger was too small. It wasn't giving me the feeling I wanted. I looked around my room for any straight, stiff object that could do the job I had in mind. Can you believe it, Koo, that I can go to a doctor and ask him to prescribe birth control pills but I'm too shy to buy a dildo in a sex shop? I had nothing to use for a moment such as this. Then I remembered that I keep a candle beside my bed in case the electricity fails. Ever since New South Wales stopped regulating electric power, the lights in Sydney have become quite unreliable, sort of like Australian men are also unreliable. I was so wet that the thick end of the candle slid easily into my vagina. I worked it in slowly, to maximize the pleasure. Once it was all the way in, I sat up to see how I looked. Koo, it looked exactly as if I had a hard, erect white willie dangling between my legs. I pulled up the pajama bottoms again, being careful to poke my wax willie down one leg, the way I imagined a willie lying along my thigh. Now, I fell back into fantasizing that I was a man with a willie. I imagined that I just woke up to find that I had an erection. I reached into the pajamas and held my hard willie with my right hand very gently. Koo, I have no idea how a man does himself but I started to lightly stroke my wax willie. That made the candle wiggle and jiggle a little inside me. It felt good, so I grasped the candle a little more tightly and started stroking a little faster. That stimulated me some more to the point where I began to feel the beginning of an orgasm. I put my left hand under the pajama top to play with my breasts. With the same rhythm I was moving the candle in and out of me, I caressed my breasts and rolled my nipples between my fingers. The more I stroked my wax willie, the more I became excited. I must have hit my G-spot again and again. That candle gave me the best orgasm that I was ever able to give myself. Once I came, I lay on my back with my wax willie still poking out of me between my legs. I tried to drift off to sleep, enveloped in Mark's scent, but I couldn't. Koo, I don't know how a man can sleep when he has an erection. A hard object between the legs is quite uncomfortable. I reluctantly pulled out the candle that had given me such pleasure and wiped it dry with the crotch of Mark's pajamas. After I returned the candle to the night table, I gave the pajamas another sniff. Now, the musky smell of Mark's willie was combined with that of my own fluids. With that combined stimulant in mind, I rolled on my side and fell asleep, hugging my pillow. I dreamed continuously of Mark. In my dreams, Mark entertained me at dinner, Mark walked with me in the park, holding my hand, and finally, Mark made mad, passionate love to me." Pamela paused as if this was the end of her story. Allison took advantage of the hiatus in the story to comment. "So far, Pam, you've stalked your professor, broken into his house, peed in his toilet, robbed him and done yourself with a candle while wearing the man's pajamas. I can't see how this could be called a real relationship. I think it's all your fantasy. The proof of that is that you only have sex with Mark in a dream. In fact, you seem to have more of a relationship with your emergency candle than with your professor." "No, Koo. We are in a relationship. I'm Mark's mistress now." (to be continued) Mellow Yellow Next Generation Ch. 03 Synopsis: In Mellow Yellow Next Generation, Ch. 1, Patrick Poon lost his virginity simultaneously with Allison Koowootha, his black girlfriend. In MYNG2, Allison's best friend and Patrick's sister, Pamela Poon stalked Prof. Studley-Moore, broke into his house, stole his pajamas and fantasized about her professor using an emergency candle. That episode ended with Pamela's startling admission that she became the professor's mistress. MYNG 3 begins where Allison and Pamela's conversation left off. * The staff of the restaurant in Sydney's Chinatown bustled around the dining room, ignoring the two young women, one Aboriginal and the other Chinese, seated at the table in the corner. The waitresses and busboys prepared the main dining room for the dinner hour. The aroma of vanilla, coconut and red bean soup filled the restaurant as the chefs prepared the dessert table. The staff of a Chinese restaurant is always too polite to remind diners that the dim sum lunch was long over. Besides, the two women were in such deep conversation that it would be rude to interrupt such a significant interchange. At one point in the long conversation, the Chinese woman said something that made her black friend's mouth drop. After a long pause, the black woman spoke: "Did I hear you right, Pam? Did you just tell me that you're Mark's mistress? How exactly did that happen? Usually sexual fantasies and obsessions never turn into real romances." "It turned out to be easier than I first thought. On Monday, I was scared that the University would expel me for breaking into a professor's house and stealing his pajamas. I didn't hear anything about it in my biology or psychology classes. Mark taught his Monday English 101 class as usual but I noticed that he lacked some enthusiasm or he was somehow distracted. I decided to test the waters that afternoon when I returned the disk with his thesis on it. 'I hope that this has been helpful, Professor Studley-Moore. I'm quite sure I caught all the wayward punctuation and grammar, even though English is my second language. By the way, are you feeling well today? I noticed that your lecture on late Nineteenth Century authors wasn't as spirited as your lectures usually are.' 'Physically, I'm quite all right, Miss Poon. I'm just shaken mentally because someone broke in and robbed my house on the weekend. The police investigated but all that was missing was a personal object. I can't reveal the nature of the object because the investigation is still ongoing. It's quite clear to me that the thief was a depraved sexual pervert. My losses are minimal from the robbery but I feel so violated as a result.' I almost blurted out, 'No, no. Please violate me. I'm the one who should be violated by your willie.' But I held my peace, given that he believed the unknown thief was a pervert. Instead, I tried to make him calm and suggested some security measures he could take. Then I diverted his mind back to his thesis by going over some of the corrections that I made. That seemed to do the trick. 'Well, Miss Poon, you've done a remarkable job in proofreading my thesis. If English is your second language, may I ask how you obtained such a good command of the language. Most of my students from Hong Kong need some ESL classes to take my course. And don't ask me about the students from the Mainland.' Finally, Mark was taking some personal interest in me beyond the normal interest he took in all his students. That was a good sign, so I told him my story. 'I was born in Hong Kong but my family and I live in Queensland now. My stepfather is English, Professor Studley-Moore. He's always insisted that we speak proper English. He says that his working class English always held him back in England and among the ex-pats in Hong Kong so, he didn't want us to suffer for bad English the way he did. Chinese children respect their parents so I made special efforts to conquer the English language. But my English skills never seemed to bring me any respect in Bummkrak.' 'I quite agree with your stepfather about learning proper English. Do you know that English people think that someone with a Welsh accent is especially stupid, only fit for mining coal. That's why I came to the University of New South Wales, to get some respect for my work. I suspect it's the same reason you left Queensland as well.' Oh God, now he was getting personal. I was searching for what to say to get us to the next level of intimacy but Mark took things up a notch himself. 'Perhaps I can make your skills in the English language pay off. I don't know if you're busy this weekend, Miss Poon, but I have tickets for a Chopin piano recital at the Opera House. The person who was supposed to accompany me can't make it and, well dash it all, would you care to go to the concert with me instead?' Of course I accepted. And that was how I finally got our first date set up. All my studying paid off at last. I had a date with my dream man because I proofed his thesis. I prepared my clothes for the date carefully. If Chopin was on the program, I would do well to emulate George Sand, if I was going to turn Mark's mind towards having an affair with me. George Sand had a lifelong affair with Frederick Chopin and she dressed in men's clothes. So I chose the pantsuit that I bought in a little boutique in King's Cross. Clothing in Sydney is so much more fashionable than in Bummkrak. Mark was the one who suggested dinner before the recital. We ate at an Indian restaurant on the Rocks. I suppose that Mark chose it because it was ethnically (and racially) neutral for us. The dinner was marvelous. Not just the food but the conversation. It was as if Mark's mouth had been stopped up for years and cherished this moment to get it out. If I wanted to get closer to Mark, he was certainly showing me the way. Over spicy vindaloos, kormas, and biranyis, Mark poured his heart out to me, how he had grown up poor in the Rhonda Valley and struggled for recognition in his profession. He wasn't even shy about his unsatisfactory domestic life with that white bitch. I, of course, listened and took notes of everything he said for future reference. When a man pours out his heart to you, he's halfway to seduction already. I was ever so supportive. With the dinner over, we walked past the harbour ferries along Circular Quay towards the Opera House. Have you ever noticed that the Sydney Opera House looks like a surreal sculpture of a woman's genitals? And we were entering the clams. I said to myself 'Take a hint Mark!' There was still half an hour to go until the performance, so Mark bought a VB for himself and a glass of wine for me. We strolled through the foyer to see and to be seen, the handsome Welshman and me, his China doll. From the looks we received, I must say that we really make a visually appealing pair. Mark and I hooked up with a group of his fellow academics in the lobby. We chatted for a while. They were discreet and didn't ask Mark about Hellweg's whereabouts. Mark was equally discreet and introduced me as his proofreader and not as one of his students. Of course, white people can never tell the age of we Asians so they readily accepted the half-truth. I never once had an intellectual conversation in Bummkrak so I quite enjoyed the way the conversation jumped from subject to subject and the way they included me, almost as if they were testing whether I was a suitable match for Mark. Allison, if you can keep up with the conversation of older intellectual people, they will never talk down to you. During the piano recital, Mark took my hand for the first time. That was the first time we actually touched. At this first bit of intimacy between us, I started to become quite wet between my legs. I was getting so horny that I was afraid that it would seep through my pants. Fortunately, it was not long before the intermission. To avoid showing my feelings through a damp spot on the upholstery, I told Mark that I needed to go 'tinkle'. I got the last free stall and pulled down my pants, my pantyhose and finally my panties. As I expected, I was drenched between my legs but it hadn't penetrated all the layers of clothes as yet. I wiped myself dry, but I was still horny from holding Mark's hand. If it wasn't for the queue forming outside the stall, I would have done myself right there in the Opera House Ladies' Loo. In the second half of the recital, Mark became bolder and put his hand on my thigh. He just rested it there. Besides, I had on a pant suit so he couldn't very well fumble under my dress, could he? The man is quite proper so he removed his hand well before the lights came on for the encore. Mark was quiet as we walked towards the exit but, just as we got to the door, he said 'Isn't this a splendid evening for a stroll. Why don't we view the harbour and the Botanical Gardens?' That's just what every woman wants, a romantic walk in the moonlight as a precursor to getting laid. We walked around the cove until we reached Mrs. McQuarrie's Chair. You know that she was the governor's wife and she had the prisoners carve a chair out of the rock so she could watch the boats entering the harbour. The official story was that her husband wanted to know when the ships came in to Sydney harbour so he could grab the best cargo for himself. The unofficial story was that Mrs. McQuarrie wanted to grab the best and freshest willies on the transport ships for herself. I was afraid that Mark wanted to sit on the cold rock the same way that the awful Mrs. McQuarrie did but he motioned to have a seat on one of the benches that line the cove. I took advantage of the cool evening breeze off the water and asked Mark to put his arm around me. I put my head on his shoulder and savoured the intimacy and Mark's warmth. I didn't want to break the spell, but Mark spoke: 'I'm afraid I've talked too much about a lot about myself tonight, Miss Poon. I haven't given you a fair go at all. Perhaps you should tell me a bit about yourself instead.' Mark asked for a little bit about myself but, instead, I laid all my hurts on him that evening. I told him about my broken home, how my father physically abused my mother and finally abandoned his wife and family to poverty. Then I described the racial prejudice that Chinese suffer in Queensland and how I hated Bummkrak because I had only one friend in the whole town and she was black. I even complained about being intelligent because men seemed to want only bimbos. Allison, I told Mark some things I never even confided in you. I really thought I blew it because what real man wants a whiner for a date? So I quickly changed gears and told him how much I admired my stepfather for marrying my mother out of love that conquered prejudice. Then I praised them both for not letting circumstances stand in the way of love and ultimate prosperity. But I hadn't blown it. It turned out that it was the whiney stuff that grabbed him. 'I do believe Miss Poon that, despite our differences in age and background, that we're very much alike. We're both intelligent people who have a difficult time forming relationships. Despite our differences, I haven't had any problems relating to you. In fact, I've had so much fun that I want to see you again sometime.' 'Sometime, Professor Studley-Moore? I don't want the evening to end now. Please take me home with you.' I couldn't believe what was coming out of my own mouth. I thought I blew it this time with my boldness but it seems that he was waiting for some kind of cue from me. He just said 'Let's get a taxi.' I was so happy he agreed, not least of which was that, if the evening ended here, I'd have to take the 'chunder bus' with all those white kids from downtown to my dorm. The taxi ride to Effing took about half an hour. It was half an hour that we put to good use to get ourselves in the mood for sex. We didn't do anything in the back seat of the taxi that would take the driver's eyes off the road. However, we were fortunate that he was a new immigrant just landed in Sydney from Piraeus, so he didn't understand any of the words of endearment we were exchanging. While I waited by his front door, Mark paid the taxi. Once inside, I half-expected Mark to just his take off his pants, whip out his willie and take me on the floor just like the young guys. In fact, he even seemed to be stalling as if he were slightly guilty. 'Can I fix you a drink or perhaps a cuppa, Miss Poon?' I can sense when a man is about to back out, so I had to direct his mind towards subjects more intimate than bartending or putting on the teakettle. 'No, Professor Studley-Moore. You know what we both want and it's not a cuppa. Kiss me now, my darling. We've both been waiting for this all evening long.' We kissed and I sighed, wanting more and more of this man. I parted my lips and he played his tongue along my teeth tentatively. Then, I let his tongue enter my mouth. It was so exciting after so many months of trying to get close to this man that finally, he was entering my body. It was so intimate that first French kiss. He just put his tongue in far enough so that I could taste him but then he withdrew. I followed his tongue with mine into his mouth. Allison, he tasted so delicious that I explored and penetrated his mouth but not so much as to choke him. I was so engrossed in deep kissing that I didn't realize that Mark was unbuttoning my jacket and blouse. I jumped when I felt his warm palm on the small of my back. Then he caressed my back so gently but not so lightly as to tickle. The pleasure of Mark's hang gently massaging my back further aroused me than I thought possible. The man is incredible. He could kiss me deeply with his tongue while undressing me. Did he get that from experience or was he naturally able to pleasure ma woman two, three ways at once? Without even realizing that we were doing it, we made our way slowly down the hall, leaving a trail of clothes leading to the bedroom. I hope that I didn't let on that I had been there once before. Somehow, I lost my pants between Mark's home office and his bedroom but I managed to keep my shoes. I was so embarrassed the next day because my pantsuit was quite rumpled when I put it back on. Mark was so smooth undressing me that I'm sure he's had lots of experience at this kind of thing. It's odd, Allison. I always imagined him as being slow with women, what with that awful live-in he had. As for me, I never undressed a guy with shirt and tie until that very evening. I had an awful time to get his shirt off, until I realized that I had to unbutton his cuffs. The bed was tidy, as if he was expecting company that evening. His bedroom was totally unlike the first time I had seen it. We stopped beside the bed and Mark embraced me even more passionately than he had at the botanical gardens. Mark then began to gently kiss my neck, sending shivers down my body and liquid trickling out of my pussy. Mark slowly kissed his way up my neck and placed a kiss on my ear. I was afraid he was going to chew on my ear like some of the clumsy boys I had encountered. But no, he sensed what I wanted and how I wanted to be loved. He planted more warm, dry kisses on my face and finally worked up the courage to kiss me on my lips. So, it came as no surprise to me that Mark unhooked my brassiere without me realizing it, liberating my breasts. Mark brought his hand to my shoulder and my brassiere began to slide down my arms. I didn't protest and I let my brassiere fall to the floor, leaving me naked except for panties, pantyhose, oh yes, and my shoes. I didn't want to take my shoes off because Mark is so much taller than I am and I needed him to feel my breasts on his chest. I rubbed my breasts on his chest. My boobies may be small but they're firm. The friction made my nibbles get hard and erect. I feel his chest and every chest hair, I was so sensitive. It felt so nice that I was almost disappointed when he cupped one of my little breasts in his hand. Then he gently massaged my breast and I wasn't disappointed any more. I was afraid that he wouldn't like my breasts because they're so small but he treated them as if they were giants. Finally, he rolled the nipples gently between two fingers, never squeezing or twisting my nipples. I thought I would have an orgasm prematurely, Mark was so good at arousing me. I said, 'Let me play with your things now, Professor Studley-Moore.' I undid his belt and pulled down his zipper and let his pants fall around his ankles. I had Mark exactly where I wanted him. He wasn't going anywhere. Then I pulled down his underwear and I saw IT for the first time. My God, Allison, the man is humongous down there. I've never seen a willie that huge before. Do men get bigger as they get older?" Allison thought to herself "I hope not. I already have enough trouble with Patrick's willie the size it is now." Pamela held her hands apart to show her friend the length of her lover's willie. Then she put her hands one atop the other as if her hands were holding a cricket bat. If anyone were watching the two women, they probably thought the two women were discussing a proper grip on the bat. "Allison, now it was me that was hesitating. How would that big thing ever be able to penetrate me? I'm a small woman and I'm very tight down there. It's one thing to have sex with an average size willie but something that size would surely hurt. Then I got this idea in my head that I wouldn't enjoy myself at all. Perhaps I could get away with just a blowjob. I hoped that would satisfy him and he wouldn't force me to have sex with him. Allison, never try and reason out things while you're making love or you'll miss many pleasures in life. I got on my knees and began kissing the shaft of his willie. Not only was Mark's willie long and thick but it was hard as well. He was so hard that the skin of his willie was stretched tight and smooth. I couldn't stop myself from putting my tongue on his willie and licking the shaft from his testicles to under the glans. I licked his glans to try and make him come but Mark has superb control. I read that older men can last longer than younger men and, Allison, it's all true. I licked and licked and all that happened was that Mark's willie became stiffer and stuck out straighter. I even took his willie into my mouth and sucked on it but nothing happened other than Mark's breathing became faster and faster. I think that all I accomplished with my attempt at a blowjob was to make Mark more excited than he was already. I think that's why, without a word, he picked me up out of my shoes, put me on my back sideways on the bed and removed my panties and pantyhose. He pulled my legs apart, so I assumed that he was going to just stick his willie into me the way the young guys do. I stiffened my body, held my breath and closed my eyes to ready myself for the inevitable pain of such a big willie jamming my tight little vagina. Instead of pain, I went through the roof from the thrill of Mark's tongue sliding up between my labia. It was, like, Mark's tongue was made to pleasure a young woman's pussy. The same sweet tongue I had tasted going in and out of my mouth was now tasting my genitals and going in and out of my labia. Oh God, Allison, I was having my pussy eaten for the first time. I hoped I was clean for him but I didn't say that, of course. I said things like 'Oh God, that feels so good' and 'Yes, that's the way to lick my clitoris.' He said things like 'You taste so good down here.' and 'OH BABY, there's nothing like a young woman's pussy.' That reassured me that I was clean for him. Mark's tongue sliding up and down my slit and playing with my clitoris got me so aroused when he ran his tongue over my clitoris again and again that I came to a tremendous climax. I tell you Allison, I never orgasmed like that before Mark made love to me. Mellow Yellow Next Generation Ch. 03 Wave after wave of orgasm washed over me and drowned me in ecstasy. I'm sure that my screams could be heard in the adjacent houses. I orgasmed for as long as Mark continued to lick my pussy. Finally, he stopped and got up from between my legs and reached over to his night table. I rolled on to my side to see what he was doing. He put his hand in the drawer and took out a condom. Like a gentleman, he asked: 'Do you want me to wear protection when I penetrate you, Miss Poon?' I mean, how gallant and old-fashioned can a man be? Mark really isn't clueless, just shy the first time he's with someone. So, I said, 'Every woman in the 21st Century is on the pill, Professor Studley-Moore. And if we're not, there's always the morning after pill. Please put that away.' Once assured, I laid down again and he moved his willie head up and down my slit. He put my legs on his shoulders saying it was better this way. I felt excruciating pain. Mark was trying to insert his willie into me but he didn't realize how small a Chinese woman is down there. So, I said 'Stop, Mark. You're hurting me! You're not pushing into the proper place,' I said. He stopped pushing and said 'That's odd, I've never had this problem with any other woman but then, I've never had a Chinese woman before. Miss Poon, you're very small and tight down there' 'And I've never had sex with a man with such a big willie. Let me find the proper place for you, Professor Studley-Moore.' I grabbed his willie by both hands and guided the tip to the opening of my vagina. I moved the tip around my opening to make sure it was in the right spot. Then he tried to put his willie in me again. I just closed my eyes and let him have his way. He tried pushing it in several times but no success. Allison, I hurt so much but I didn't want to stop Mark from his pleasure. But he did stop and reopened the night table drawer. This time, he took out a tube of gel. I presume he has it because that white bitch never gets wet for him. I was so ashamed that he had to use the same gel on me as that awful woman. But I think that I went dry from fear because I was so intimidated by the size of his willie. Mark put some gel on his finger and put his finger in my vagina. Then he moved it in and out to loosen me. I guess I was too tight from my orgasm or else we Chinese women are simply built tighter than white women. After that he tried to put his willie in me again. This time he pushed it harder. It hurt so much that I almost couldn't bear it. I told him that it hurt. He said 'Relax' and I tried to relax. Then it started to happen! His willie slipped in me slowly. I barely breathed and I felt nothing but pain - not a lot- but still pain. I told Mark to go slowly and he did. After a while his willie was totally in me as far as it could go. I felt his willie pushing right at the end of my vagina. I was stretched lengthwise and sideways. His willie filled me up and more. I thought my hips would separate, the man is so huge. Then Mark started to move in and out of me. I felt less pain but it still felt uncomfortable. He started to get into it. He moved faster and faster and then called out YES, BABY and collapsed on to me. I hugged him hard - I guess he needed it. Mark's body was full of sweat, which made me quite excited. Mark got up and went to the bathroom. I just lay there naked, letting all his sperm and my juices leak out of me on to the sheets. All the liquid that seeped out of me confirmed that he hadn't had a woman for a long time. I wanted to mess the bed properly so that woman would know that Mark had had something nice happen to him while he was away. He came back and lay beside me and held me so close our skin touched from head to toe. I liked it a lot. Post play was another first for me that night, Allison. Young guys just get up, put their gaunches on and, poof, they're out the door. Older men know how to let their women down slowly. My whole experience with Mark convinced me that you haven't really had sex until you've had it with an older man. Since then, Mark and I had sex lots of times and in all kinds of ways. No rough stuff or anal, though. I think that my vagina has stretched to accommodate his size because I don't feel uncomfortable anymore when he penetrates me or when he starts to move his willie in and out. He never needs to put gel on me because I'm so wet from the way he prepares me for penetration. Mark's so gentle and tender. Plus he takes his time. I've had vaginal orgasms since the third time we did it. We were doing a doggie, no less. I have a vaginal orgasm every time now that we have sex. Mark says that he'll never have a white woman again after doing it with me. During the week, we're just teacher and student. We act as if we hardly know each other. Occasionally, we speak to each other and then it's Miss Poon and Professor Studley-Moore. I bought a vibrator just to get me through the weeknights without Mark. I'm spending a fortune on batteries. I sleep in his pajamas every night just so I don't forget his smell until the weekend. He still doesn't know that I'm the one who nicked his pajamas. I spend every weekend in with Mark in Effing. If Mark and I are strangers all week, we know each other Friday night to Sunday, especially in the Biblical sense of the word. We're Mark and Pamela, the lovers. I don't think I have a moment on the weekend that I wear any clothes. He's already thrown out Hellweg along with her dirndl skirts. When I finish my first term, I'll move in with him since I won't be taking courses from him. Please keep all of this to yourself, because Mark will be fired if the University finds out that he's having sex with one of his students. Especially don't tell anyone about the vibrator or the pajama. Also, please don't tell Mum and Syd about us. I think they'll be OK with me marrying a white guy. After all, Mum did the same thing. But I need to tell them in my time and in my own way." "Your secret's safe with me, Pam. Let's order dinner and I'll tell you all about your brother and me and why we can't tell your Mum and Syd about us either."