0 comments/ 17471 views/ 0 favorites A Lesson in Life By: Jaysce This is the continuation of Man of my Dreams, Pt 2 Carmen's Story. -------------------- Falling in love was never easy, and for Carmen it was an experience that lasted some time. She genuinely thought she'd never fall for another guy again, or never find someone who was as perfect as Brad. When High School was over, she regretted never saying anything, yet knowing someone like him had to be taken, figured a confession would simply have led to embarrassment and more regret. When prom night came, she turned up with some friends, not having any particular interest with going with any of the guys in her grade. Except perhaps David, who had grown interesting and having been friends of sorts, making her laugh in moments of depression, had touched her heart with feelings similar to a crush, though they could by no means equal her feelings for Brad. Being dragged along to the "after party" she eventually decided, in a moment of spontaneity, she would dress up in a black mini leather skirt and leather mini top in hopes of attracting David's attention. She knew that she had long legs short shorts or clothes showed off her legs, which is why she never wore them. But having spent her final year in some mad fitness regime she figured it paid off as she noted her slim toned stomach, arms and legs. The top she noted, also showed off her large breasts. Anna was a little late, but Carmen, at the last moment needing to purchase some alcohol which she would later refer to as 'lolly water' didn't notice. This being the first time she had seriously drunk anything besides sips of wine from her parents, and an occasional glass of rum and coke she had no plans of hitting into the hard chore spirits. Having never liked the taste of alcohol this was a new experience, but something about the night and the expectations had her in the mood to experience something new and she found a wild, heretofore absent, side emerge. Opening her drink she found she rather liked the taste, drinking slowly as to settle the soon sick feeling that always arose. When it settled she sped up the pace. In 20 mins she had drunk all but one of her 12 bottles. Looking ahead she noticed a couple making out and shaking her head she turned to Anna, "Isn't that Vicky?" Anna looked and nodded, "yeah." "I thought she just broke up with Mike this morning." "She did." Carmen shook her head. Yet as she did a profound (yet not new) thought occurred to her. She had witnessed in life many situations both on movies/tv and in real life where women who had recently broke up with a boyfriend or had been sadly disillusioned in love try to "get back in the game" so-to-speak by dating, then sleeping, with a new hot sexy guy. This incident with Vicky was a prime example. What did this mean? Did it mean that they were acting out in revenge, or did it mean that sex was just that, sex? That it didn't need to be with someone you cared about to feel good. As she pondered this she noticed Vicky's partner was David and a new and boiling anger filled her and she found herself staring. How dare David hook up with Vicky? Consumed by jealousy she did not notice as someone sat beside her. "Hey there sexy lady." She did however, not miss that pickup line. Amazingly she grinned. "That's rather bold of you don't you think?" He grinned. "It worked didn't it?" "I guess so. So who am I speaking to?" "The names Robert. But all my lady friends call me Rob." "I see. So how do you know Alex, Rob?" Alex was the owner of this house, and the person who had arranged the party. "Actually I don't, my roommate is a friend of Alex's, I just came along for something to do." He looked to her hand. "What're you drinking there?" She told him "That's weak shit, you'll have to drink like millions of them to get even tipsy." "What do you recommend?" she said not sure exactly what she should try since she was new to this. "Well are you a vodka girl?" "Maybe." "How about Fire Engines?" She looked hesitant. "Here, give it a try. If you like it you can get one over there." Cautiously Carmen took a sip. Having never tried Vodka it was a little weird the taste going down her throat but it was not unpleasant. She nodded. "It's alright. I think I'll go get one." She returned in a moment with a plastic cup filled with a fire engine and sat down next to him. "So tell me about yourself Rob." He leaned back and started talking. She learned he was in Uni, studying Sports Science. Was 20 years old and was currently working at a club serving drinks. Since clubs keep unusual hours he said he was naturally wide awake now because this was about the time he got up. As he talked Carmen found herself retreating to her drink from nerves. He was an extremely attractive man she noted. His hair was dark brown and wavy, and she found the fact that he had a gap between his front teeth extremely endearing. His eyes were a golden brown and she found as she drank she was losing herself in them. Somewhere in the conversation she had drank two more cups. She found the night to be suddenly unreal, the stars almost painfully bright. As she looked at him he seemed in moments very far away, then suddenly very close and she had to blink a few times to keep things clear and into focus. "Are you alright?" "Yeah." Suddenly she needed to go to the toilet really bad. "Ah…where's the toilets?" "Round the back." She got up. He did also. "What are you doing?" "I'm coming with you." She stared at him. "It's dark back there, you never know who you could run into." She nodded, and allowed him to walk with me. Fortunately the line wasn't that long, though she found waiting five minutes at this time was perhaps the hardest thing she had ever done. As she exited she felt suddenly a lot better, and looking around for Rob she found him in the lounge room of Alex's place. She found him examining a range of photo's that hung on the wall with interest. "Weird, but it has something I think." He said as Carmen came up behind him. Turning to her he suddenly took her hand, stroked it, then looked into her eyes. She couldn't look away. Slowly he slid his hands under her shirt, and stroked her back, pushing her to the couch. As he leaned over her, he reached forward to kiss her neck, on both sides as his hands stroked her legs. As he reached to kiss her lips she suddenly turned to the side so his kiss landed on her cheek. As she pushed him away a giggle was heard from behind and was all the interruption she needed to be let free. She quickly jumped back. "Sorry…" she said standing. "I just can't," then walked away. She had learned a very important lesson in that moment. Sex was not just sex. When Rob had touched her, it had not felt right. In fact, it had felt wrong. Only when she cared for the person would it feel right. And though it would mean waiting for the right person, which could mean a long time, in the end, it would be worth it. A Lesson in Life We were 18 and in between school and the rest of life. It was a hot summer and me and three friends were tanned and lean from working as labourers on a block of flats and then going to the beach to wash off the dust. This day, we had taken a break from the sun to hang out at the house of a girl who was passing through town with her newly-divorced mum, staying in a rented place, because they had relatives locally, while they waited to move to a place back in London, where they came from. The girl was a looker and she seemed very cool to us. In those days, having a divorced mum was out of the ordinary for a start. And Ginnie, the daughter, was easy with guys' company. Most of the other girls we knew hung around in groups unless you were actually taking one on a date. Anyway, the site foreman was away and we went round to hers for the afternoon. We played records, we talked bollocks, and we smoked a bit of hash, which was a fairly new thing then, but which this girl seemed to have an endless supply of. Even with the curtains drawn, it was hot as hell. The sort of day that makes England seem like a foreign country. Everything is somehow different in heat like that. Everybody is changed in some way by the feeling that normal life is suspended. We got onto the subject of sex and, in particular, onto strippers. Ginnie, wanted to know if any of us had ever seen a "real" one. One of the lads said he had, on a holiday in Bridlington, and she wanted to know all the details, which saved the rest of us admitting we were as interested as we were. My mate said this stripper was an older woman, he guessed 30, a bit plump, who danced on the floor in the middle of a late bar he had gone to with his cousins. She took everything off except her panties and then went around dipping gum lollipops down the front of them and popping them in the guys' mouths before she whipped the knickers off for a final flash and ran off. Ginnie wanted to know if she was shaved. He said No. We were thunderstruck at the question. In those days, we didn't even know you could get shaved pussy. Even thinking about it gave us all stiffies. Ginnie asked if the stripper was a turn-on. My mate said Yes. She said she thought it must be a trip to do a show like that. She had tried it sometimes, in her bedroom, imagining an audience. We all shared another smoke. Well, you guessed it. I got to choose the record while Ginnie went to get dressed for undressing. I found a Slim Harpo record - lots of bass and sleazy harmonica - which was also very cool then. You only heard Slim on Radio Luxembourg, usually, because he was a bit too suggestive for the BBC. Ginnie came back wearing a mini-skirt, high heels, a feather boa, I forget the rest. I tell you, you could smell the pricks standing to attention. What she was mainly interested in, though, was showing off her dancing, and she took her time about losing her clothes. Eventually, though, she was down to bra and pants and boa and we were getting seriously hopeful, when her Mum walked in and threw down a tennis racket with a clatter which made us all jump. Ginnie ran out of the room. The mum lifted the needle off the record player and looked us all over. We were squirming, of course. But she stayed cool. She was a nice-looking woman, somewhere in her mid 30s, I guess now, with the eyes and cheekbones that made Ginnie such a looker, but a bit harder-faced and fuller in the body. I've got a picture from a porn magazine which I keep because it reminds me of her. "I'd better go and talk to Ginnie," she said. "You boys stay here." As she went out the door, she turned and said: "Don't panic, lads. I know it's not all your fault." Somebody said we should go. But one of the others said we'd better stay and talk it out. I opened us a beer each. We'd brought them, after all. We heard raised voices upstairs and then the front door slammed and, through the gap in the curtains, we saw Ginnie stomping off down the path. I went out to the door to go after her but Mrs C was there before me, locking it. "Not just yet," she said. "We need to talk. And anyway, I don't want you boys out on the streets in the state she's got you in." She led me back into the front room, holding my hand. She asked for a beer and one of the lads gave her his. She sniffed the air as she sat down with it. "Have we got a joint here too?" she asked. "Pass it this way and start talking. I'm not putting all the blame on you boys but I've come home to find my little girl in a situation which could easily have got out of control and I need to know what happened." I gave her a version and she tutted a bit. Then, after another pull or two on the reefer and the bottle, she laughed. "I can see why she wanted to try it," she said. "I always did." I'm not sure exactly how we got there but eventually the record was back on and she got up and started swaying to it. She was a bit stoned but she could really dance. One by one, she beckoned us up to dance with her, as she gave it some slink, then pushed us back to our places. She was still wearing her tennis clothes - a pink Aertex shirt and a short pleated white skirt. As she danced, she started flipping the skirt up, giving us a glimpse of her panties. I've seen a similar routine once since: Nicole Kidman teasing Joaquin Phoenix in To Die For - great film and memorable scene. When I saw it, I knew how Joaquin felt. Watching Nicole torment him with little hints of what she had waiting underneath took me right back to that hot room, watching Ginnie's mum getting off on the idea of three young cocks getting desperate for her. I don't remember Nicole's knickers, offhand. I expect they were pretty cute. But this experience with Ginnie's mum was long long ago and she had been playing tennis, after all, and hers were plain white. They were made of something much finer than the white cotton panties we knew, however, and they were stretched tight. Yeah, that tight. I guess she must have had somebody on a string down at that tennis club. In retrospect, I guess she probably went out for a fuck that afternoon but it was just too damned hot for any male who was not, like us, still all just prick and ribs, like stray dogs. Still moving to the music, she slipped the shirt over her head, revealing a bra which clearly was not designed for playing tennis in, although it too was white. She had the older woman's advantage over her daughter in breast development and the bra was cut low to show her big breasts to full advantage, just skimming the nipples on the way down to the bottom of her cleavage. You could tell from her breathing she was getting excited. "You boys want to see what it's all about?" she asked. "Maybe it's time a woman showed you. But then you leave my daughter alone, understand?" We all nodded, of course. We would have cut off toes if it meant she would not stop. She had to heft her breasts and stroke the edge of her bra down with her thumbs to give us a glimpse of nipple. It was such a deliberate action it doubled the turn-on. By the time the record was scratching away in its last groove, she was down to the white panties and running with sweat. "Towel," she panted. We all had one with us. In those days, a towel was all you needed to be ready for the beach. I gave her mine and she dabbed herself dry, smiling and looking directly at the bulge in my swim shorts. "Oh my," she said. "What have I done?" She hooked a finger into the waistband of my trunks and it touched the top of my erection, making me groan. It all went quite quickly from there. She knelt on the floor and started working my cock and held out her spare hand to make a come-on gesture to the other two. We were too naive to initiate anything. But we were too thrilled to stop anything. We got stripped and formed a circle and she hand-jobbed us all in turn, for a few seconds at a time, and then popped her mouth over our cocks before moving on. In those days, remember, none of us would have even seen a picture of a blow job before. And there was this gorgeous live woman taking cock in her face and looking very happy about it. It must have put an extra inch on all of us, in all directions. And, of course, one by one we exploded quite quickly. She caught mine in the towel. She helped one of the other lads to spray her tits and then, wiping herself with the towel, she sucked the last lucky sod dry and then licked her lips. She said something about loving the fresh taste of teenage cum, before it got spoiled by beer and cigarettes, which stayed with me. I gave up smoking from that day on. Despite the towel, she was left with a snail trail of quick-dried spunk on her belly, I remember noticing, my heart lurching at the wonderful sleaziness of it. She finished the last beer while we got dressed again and then went up to her bedroom. I gestured to the others to stay put and I followed her. She let me come up behind her and I kissed the back of her neck and put my arms around her and held one of her big breasts in one hand, savouring the weight of it, and with the other hand I got a finger under her pants and slipped it into her soaking cunt. She sank herself down onto it and shuddered. Then she gave my hand a pat meaning let go and put on a robe and went down and unlocked the front door. "I think it's time you boys went, now," she said. I guess the remorse was setting in. She and Ginnie left town a few days later and we never saw either of them again. You can call her a slut. I guess she was. But when the sweat is running into my groin in high summer, I still think of her. And somewhere, behind drawn curtains, I like to think she is touching her pussy and remembering us. ***