"You know," said Sylvia, "when you invited me here to eat take-out, I pictured pizza."

"Well, you've had me as a guest in your apartment; I thought I should reciprocate. Did you like the pancit?" Greg gestured for her to stay seated as he rose to clear.

"Delicious. I'd never had it before. The chicken was great, too." She raised her voice a little to carry into the kitchen. It wasn't really necessary.

"Add Filipino to your list of possible restaurant types. Now, this isn't ethnically pure; but would you like a little Sauterne to polish off your meal?" He was carrying the bottle and two glasses from his last trip into the kitchen

"Half a glass."

"Half a glass it is. I know you're into moderation." He poured her half glass and a little more than that into his. He remained standing.

"That tastes good. Aren't you going to have some?" She looked at him, and saw that he was standing with his arms open.

"Soon. Stand up." She did. The kiss was sweet. He didn't press firmly or demand anything. He continued, "Your mouth is warm. It tastes of wine, and spice, and you."

"Did you plan to get me drunk to kiss me? You didn't need to." She was holding him around the waist as loosely as he was holding her.

He bent down to give her another kiss. "No. I planned to kiss you to get me drunk. It's starting to work."

Sylvia could feel the beginning of an erection against her hip. Some boys she had gone with would have pressed it into her groin to make sure she'd notice it. Others, especially earlier, would have been so embarrassed that they would try to hide it. Greg let it stay there. One of the advantages of dating an older man, one of the advantages, for that matter, of being an adult college graduate herself, was that he treated his desire with maturity.

Greg kissed her once more, then stepped away. He carried the wine glasses over to the coffee table in front of the sofa. He'd prepared the entire apartment for this date. The light focused on the dining table was bright. It cast enough light on the sofa and coffee table so that he wasn't inviting her into a dark nook. Even so, it wasn't enough to read by.

She took the suggested seat. He punched a button on the entertainment center on his way to pick up the rest of the clutter on the dining table. Quiet music filled the room. It was a piano piece, maybe Chopin. She asked when he settled beside her.

"This piece, yes. I've made a selection: classical, but nothing that demands attention." He sipped from his glass before kissing her again. This time, she tasted the wine on his tongue.

Greg liked Sylvia as a person. He wanted the relationship to go further, but he wanted a relationship. He was quite certain that grabbing her would end the relationship. He was equally certain that she expected him to take the lead. He took her face in both hands, and worked at the kiss. Her tongue met his. When he moved them apart, she was breathing heavily. He caught his own breath while staring into her eyes. She looked down. He let go of her face and leaned back on the sofa with his arm behind her.

When she settled back against that arm, he hugged her. He kissed her temple and then her ear. She turned so that the kisses were mouth-to-mouth. He hugged her with his right arm and gently held her face with his left one. As the kiss continued, he stroked down her face and neck until the hand reached her clothed breast. He held it, supported it. Finally, he dropped his hand and broke the kiss by leaning away from her.

"Take another sip of your wine," he suggested.

Sylvia was puzzled. He couldn't really be trying to get her drunk. She had a good idea of her capacity, and half a glass of whiskey -- much less wine -- would be insufficient. The kiss and the petting had been pleasant; why should she stop to sip wine. Her previous experience was with men (boys really) who would have been trying to get her top off by now. Boys she'd liked less than Greg had succeeded. But Greg having offered her the wine, she took a sip. When she set the wine glass down, he turned her face towards him for another kiss. His tongue touched hers again.

"Quite the most intoxicating way to drink wine," Greg said. "The taste is there, if the quantity is low; and the kisses provide the intoxication."

Chopin came to a climax; a Brahms string piece followed. Greg kissed her again, pulling her into the kiss. When she seemed involved, his hand went to the buttons on the back of her blouse. She made no objection. He'd expected none. The problems he expected wouldn't be above the waist. When the blouse was fully unbuttoned, he rested his hand on her back while leaning back from the kiss. He held out her wine glass again.

"Share another sip?" he asked. She took the glass and sipped. When she'd put the glass back on the coffee table, he pulled her into another kiss. This was more insistent. She bent back a little while his tongue explored her mouth. At that point, he unsnapped her bra. He let her settle back. He held her loosely by the shoulder while he kissed her brow and the side of her face.

Sylvia enjoyed these kisses, even if they weren't as exciting as the earlier ones. She'd had a blazing romance her junior year, a romance which had stopped just short of intercourse. And, she sometimes admitted to herself, it would not have stopped short if Aaron hadn't graduated. But Aaron had never made her feel so cherished as Greg sometimes did. The kisses were signs of being cherished, and the hand brushing up under her blouse to hold her right breast was as exciting to her as it probably was to Greg.

Greg kissed Sylvia again as he fondled her. Lovely girl, dear girl, she was responding to him. When his thumb brushed her nipple, it was already erect. He dropped both hands to her hips and lifted her onto his lap. Now, his kisses went from her ear to her neck and back. His hands cradled her breasts with one finger occasionally straying across a nipple.

Greg's sudden display of strength surprised and impressed her. When the motion didn't threaten her in any way, she relaxed into a new level of arousal. The kisses were gentle gifts to her excitement, not something he was taking from her. Even when he brushed the blouse and bra straps off her shoulders, she was being freed, not being stripped.

"Sweet girl," he whispered, "lovely woman." When her head turned towards him, he kissed her temple near the corner of her eye.

He half raised her again. When he let her down, she was seated almost sideways on his lap. He returned his mouth to hers as the fingers of his left hand began to stroke her breast gently, always toward the nipple.

Sylvia felt aroused in general, but the nipple of her left breast felt engorged. It was as if his fingers were sweeping the emotions along her breast to its end. She was afraid of her feelings. She almost decided to do something to slow the evening down. Yet she felt disappointed when he leaned back with only his lap and the arm around her shoulder holding her.

"My turn," Greg said. He reached for his glass and poured a healthy swig into his mouth. He raised her with his arm while ducking his head until his mouth covered the tip of her breast. He let the wine in his mouth surge forward to soak her nipple and areola. He sucked twice before swallowing. Then he licked the nipple before withdrawing his mouth. With his hand on her knee, he went back to kissing her mouth.

The wine had an astringent effect on Sylvia's nipple. She felt as though all the arousal that his stroking fingers had stored in the nipple ran down into her belly. She could barely taste the wine in his mouth, but his searching tongue aroused in a different way. By the time she felt his hand sliding up her thigh, it was more exciting than threatening.

Greg caressed up her thigh until his fingers could pass under her clothed labia. Some moisture had seeped through panties and pantyhose. He rubbed that dampness as lightly as his fingers could manage. Meanwhile, he kissed a trail from the corner of her mouth to her ear before returning to lick her nipple again.

Greg wanted to get out of the living room. That afternoon, before showering and changing his clothes, he'd prepared the bedroom.

He'd changed the sheets and folded the top sheet into a narrow pad at the very foot of the bed. He'd secreted several contraceptives under the edges of the mattress on either side. He'd left the light off, but the bathroom light on with the door half closed. The door from the bedroom into the living room, he left barely ajar. He was ready; the room was ready; now to get Sylvia ready.

Sylvia felt more aroused than she had ever felt this fully clothed. Had she been alone, she would have ripped off her skirt and underclothes and brought herself some relief. But she wasn't alone. All this arousal was coming from him. She tried to keep still, but she couldn't keep herself from wriggling slightly under his caresses.

When Sylvia started writhing in his arms, Greg's patience snapped. He put his left arm under her legs and straightened on the couch. He pulled his legs under him and pushed himself up. For one horrible second, he was unbalanced. Then he straightened with Sylvia in his arms. He'd been aroused for some time, and was careful to hold her so that she didn't press against his erection. He walked to the bedroom and used a foot to shove the door open. He carried her through. When he set her on the bed, he knelt beside it. He kissed her mouth once, and then returned to licking and sucking her breast.

Sylvia knew she should say something when he picked her up, but she was too busy holding on. Besides, what she really wanted was for his hand to resume stroking her. Soon it did, and his mouth returned to her breast. The bed, although frightening, was also more comfortable. She could move as much as she wanted to without pressing against his hard arm.

Greg thought that Sylvia was ahead of him in terms of clothes. He used his mouth and left hand to keep her aroused, while his right hand unbuttoned his shirt. He stroked his left hand down to her knee, abandoned her to release two cuffs and toss the shirt behind him. He took another two minutes stroking her thigh through the pantyhose and playing with her ear with his right hand before he stopped to tear off his t-shirt. The loafers didn't need any hands at all. When he bent over her to kiss the breast he had been neglecting, he felt the wet nipple of the other breast against his skin.

Sylvia felt aroused, but confused. She was staring up at a ceiling dimly lit from two other rooms. She felt bare skin pressing into her bare skin. Wasn't that awfully far along? Yet the kisses were welcome, the feelings in her crotch were delightful. It seemed weird to accept these and question mere touching. Then he was kissing her mouth again. Then he was whispering to her.

"Sylvia, beautiful Sylvia, delightful Sylvia, raise your hips a little."

When she did, Greg drew her skirt down and off. As it was passing over her feet, he grabbed her shoes, as well. He turned to lay the skirt across a chair, and put the shoes safely under it. He could treat his own clothes as cavalierly as he wished; messing up her clothes might poison her entire memory of the evening. He returned to her mouth. After a moment, he stroked her leg upward from the knee.

When he reached her mound, he pressed that and relieved the pressure rhythmically. He wasn't being rough, but he used more pressure than he had on her labia, more -- even -- than he had on her leg. He went back to sucking her nipple, and let his fingers stray down to her labia.

Sylvia felt her nakedness more now that the skirt was gone. It certainly hadn't hampered his hand, but she felt more exposed. That exposure, however, added to her arousal. And the kisses were still sweet. Indeed, she wished that he would be more direct on her clit.

Greg was burning with desire, but he had only one hand for his own clothes. He got his right sock off easily; the left one defeated him in this position. He loosened the belt and dropped his trousers down to knee level. He raised himself to kiss her mouth, using the opportunity to get his right leg out of the trousers. He stood up again with both hands on the edge of her pantyhose.

"Darling Sylvia, raise your hips again." He started to draw down the pantyhose, but the panties rode down. He grabbed them, as well. When he turned back from dumping her underwear on top of her skirt, he saw Sylvia in all her nakedness. The hair on her mound was beginning to rise from the compression that her panties had caused. Lovely ringlets. Her thighs were white, smooth as silk, calling his hand. They were parted enough that he could see a tiny red line glistening between her labia. His cock jumped when he saw that, breaking out through the fly of his boxers. He knelt back immediately.

Sylvia found her full nakedness as arousing as it was frightening. Nobody since Aaron had seen all of her. She closed her eyes as the panties left her hips, but the air on her skin told her that she was bare. Like this, she couldn't know what Greg would do. She opened her eyes to see hie face just before he kissed her again. She was bare to his hand, but only felt his mouth.

Greg peeled the trousers and sock off his left leg. Then he stroked his left hand from her knee to her mound. His finger stroked the moistness. When she shuddered, he thought, "She's ready, but I'm overdressed." The boxers proved too much for his lone right hand. He searched under the mattress for the condom. With it in his right palm, he managed to extricate himself from the boxers. Then he rolled on the contraceptive. He applied a little of the extra jelly to her slit. Then he stroked upward to the clitoris itself.

Sylvia felt something chilly-but-smooth against her lips. They were being stroked again. It felt heavenly. Then, it felt better. He got the spot, and he got the rhythm right, too. She began to drift towards her climax.

When Greg saw her accept his strokes, he rose again. He continued stroking as he climbed onto the bed and between her knees. With his right hand on her breast, and his left spreading her labia, he stopped just outside the sweet entry. He looked into her closed eyes and spoke.

"Sylvia, darling Sylvia, look at me. Say 'yes,' sweetheart. Say 'yes.'"

Sylvia opened her eyes to see him staring into her eyes. She felt him between her thighs. "Yes," she said. She had no real choice. She felt his fingers spread her lips, then something cooler and smoother enter her. Where nothing but Tampax had gone before, it spread her and filled her in the way no Tampax could. The sensations were exciting, and so was the idea. He was filling her, possessing her.

Greg felt the tightness of her entryway against the head of his phallus. He pressed forward slowly. It spread around him, gripping him tightly but offering no resistance. "Between tampons and gymnastics, girls don't keep hymens very long," he thought. He was sure that he was deflowering a virgin, however little resistance he felt inside her. The idea was even more exciting than the smooth grip she provided along his entire phallus. When he felt his groin press against hers, he reached back his left hand to raise her knee higher against his hip. Placing his left hand on her breast and his left elbow beside her to support his weight, he reached back with his right hand to lift that knee. He felt himself sinking microscopically deeper into her.

"Lovely woman," he said. Must remember not to call her a girl. In a decade, she'd be glad to be called a girl. Now, she was newly a woman. "So sweet." He bent down and kissed her lips. "So soft." He moved both thumbs, not enough to rub against her nipples, just enough to move them. "So warm. Lovely woman." He began to move within her, the sensation from the slippery clasp around his phallus almost driving him to speed up too soon.

Sylvia heard his compliments, felt his hands on her breasts, then felt his motions deep within her. The motions created a new sort of arousal. His motions were so slow that she started moving to increase the sensations. If many of the sensations were new, she also felt the tension which presaged her approaching climax. She raised her hands to grip his arms.

Greg was beyond words, now. He tried to keep himself moving slowly through her tight, warm, slick tunnel. When he was fully inside, he moved from side to side to rub the base of his phallus against the top of her vagina. He hoped to stimulate her clitoris that way. As she gripped his arms and moved under him, he felt himself losing control. But only when she clasped around his phallus rhythmically did he let go. He drove into and out of her in increasing speed.

Sylvia was luxuriating in the sensations coming from the piston moving deep within her when her climax -- which she had felt approaching for some time -- surprised her with its arrival. She clutched her hands on his arms as she clutched him deeply within her. She arched into his driving thrust and writhed as he moved back. She heard herself moan.

"Oh, darling," Greg said. "Oh sweet." He drove in and out of her clutching warmth. Then he thrust himself against her and felt his whole being poured deep into her. He held himself rigid above her for another second, then collapsed onto her soft body.

Sylvia held him while she heard his gasps near her ear. Some time later, she realized that she was gasping as well.

"Am I too heav?" Greg asked.

"I think so."

He pulled out, reaching between them to hold the rubber around his shrinking penis. When he had fallen onto his side, he hugged her with his right hand on her far shoulder. He kissed her near shoulder every once in a while.

Sylvia felt comforted by the hug, romantically pleased by the occasional kisses and the contact of so much skin with skin. Then she felt exposed to be lying naked on top of the bed.

"I shall return," Greg said, "with wine." He rolled off the bed and went immediately into the bathroom. He wrapped the condom in toilet paper and buried it in the waste basket. He used the facilities, washed his cock before his hands, and left the light on but the door nearly closed. They didn't need much light in the bedroom, but Sylvia would probably welcome knowing where the bathroom was sometime soon.

When he passed through the bedroom, he saw that she had pulled the sheet up over her.

As soon as Greg left the bed, Sylvia felt extremely exposed. She was terribly embarrassed by her nakedness, a little embarrassed by his. When the bathroom door closed, she moved down to the bottom of the bed where her feet had felt some folds. She brought the top sheet up to cover her to the neck. She lay there wondering if she should get dressed. The idea of his watching her dress, somehow greater exposure than seeing her naked, prevented her. She hid under the sheet, feeling it against her skin instead of the nightie she wore in her own bed. The past hour, which had been pleasurably exciting while it happened, started to seem dreadful.

She had loved Aaron. She had reminded herself for more than a year that she shouldn't give any boy she didn't love what she had refused Aaron whom she had. Now, Greg had taken that. She shouldn't lie to herself. She had given that to Greg; she had said 'yes.'

When Greg passed through the room into the living room, she saw his nakedness with his cock waving at his groin. She felt herself blush. She had handled Aaron's cock, but never seen it across the room. She shouldn't blush about that sight after what she had done. And she hadn't known what to do. She had been an inexperienced virgin, certain that when she had experience, she'd know all about it. Now, she had the experience, and she still knew nothing about it. He probably felt that she was a dry stick. He was treating her casually enough. And what if she got pregnant?

Greg turned off the music and light in the living room. He came back carrying the bottle in his left hand, and the glasses in his right.

She still had the sheet up to her neck. He set everything down on the night stand on her side.

"Should have been champagne," he said. "Can't drink lying like that. Would you be more comfortable wearing this?" He picked his own shirt off the floor and draped it over the sheet. She would probably be more comfortable with him in the boxers, too. He turned his back to pick them off the top of the stack and put them on slowly.

As soon as he had turned, Sylvia grabbed the shirt and put it on. for some reason, the buttons gave her great trouble, but she was decent, and under the covers again when he turned around.

"As I said, it should have been champagne." He picked up his glass and went around the bed. Setting it down on that night stand, he climbed in. He was careful to keep his distance from her. He sat with his back against the headboard and sipped from his glass. "Drink up. You know I'm not going to take advantage of your inebriation, and this is a night to celebrate. It was your first, wasn't it?"

"Was I that clumsy?" She was certain she had been, but he didn't have to announce his disappointment. She had thought him a kind man if a bit devious.

"Clumsy? Oh no. Dear girl, you were delightful. Still are delightful even though my desire is less. That's because it was sated, not because you are less desirable." All that about his desire was a great exaggeration, but probably necessary. She didn't look like she wanted to repeat the activity just now.

"Now, my feelings are grateful memory and a sense of having been honored. You allowed me to share a turning point in your life."

"Well, I hadn't really planned this." Still it sounded better to have honored him than to have been a total klutz.

"No," Greg thought it would be gauche to say that he had. "And, when you said 'yes,' you were a bit hmm -- distracted. But there were times you could have said 'no.' You have said 'no,' I'll wager, at similar times in the past. And you didn't. I feel honored. Sit up. You're covered. Drink; it doesn't have to be more than the remains of the half glass if you still want that to be the limit. But this is an event to celebrate."

She sat up and took the glass. In fact, she was thirsty. He reached his glass over, and she clinked hers against it. She felt better. If she'd gone further than she had intended, at least she hadn't done so clumsily. And probably she hadn't gotten pregnant.

"Girls don't get pregnant the first time do they?"

"Not when they use this." Greg felt under this side of the mattress. It was easier to find when he was less desperate and maddened by lust. He handed her a wrapped condom. "I used another one of these. The wrapper is somewhere over there on the floor. Sorry. I thought disposing of the used one was a concession to your modesty."

Actually, it had been. She'd have blushed purple to see it. "A teacher told me that if a girl knew a boy well enough to go to bed with him, she knew him well enough to discuss contraception first."

"A good rule. Mine is that if the lady in question hasn't convinced me that she has taken care of the responsibility, then the responsibility is mine." This night had hardly been a time he was ready to discuss contraception first.

That worry dissipated, convinced that he didn't express dissatisfaction with her -- if less convinced that he hadn't been dissatisfied, she relaxed and drained her glass. She poured herself more. He'd said it was a celebration, and treating it as a celebration was better than crying over it.

"The first time for anyone is a major event," Greg said. "Maybe a bit more major for women, but mine certainly felt major. Top up my glass, and I'll tell you about it." He wanted her to sleep beside him this night. Being Friday, and her living alone, she could. On the other hand, this was too early for going to sleep. The longer she stayed, the more reasonable spending the night would look to her.

And this is the story he told:

Greg was elated. He'd taken Deb's roommate, Janet, on a date to the movies. Enough of his friends had seen them there that the entire school would know that he'd had a date with a college woman! And, now, she raised no objections when he pulled off the road into a private spot. He'd get to make out with an adult woman.

Janet would never have gone on a date with a high-school boy at home. Visiting Deborah's family over Christmas break, however, incurred a debt. Her parents were preparing for a divorce, and she did not want to go home. On the other hand, she had no reputation in this town; so she was losing none. And she was repaying not only Deborah but her family by dating her brother. Deborah said that he "had a few rough edges." None had been obvious, but what conversation did you expect in a movie. And she had enjoyed "Same Time Next Year," not ever having seen it before. She'd expected the parking; she knew what "date" meant. Above the waist, fine; below the waist, no. That was serious, and she didn't feel serious about Deborah's little brother.

Greg learned that Janet could really kiss. But it was the breasts he wanted -- the breasts of a real woman -- preferably the naked breasts of a real woman.

Janet was learning about the brother's rough edges. His kiss was insistent. Tongues were fine, but a better lover worked up to them. She'd been willing for him to unbutton her coat and blouse, but she had expected him to earn it. Deborah's brother went for the buttons much too soon. Even so, she owed Deborah. When her brother fumbled at her back, she leaned forward to let him reach the bra straps.

Greg was in heaven. He was about to fondle the bare breasts of a real college woman. When the bra came loose, he dug his left hand under the near cup. Nipple!

Janet had had enough. That hurt. She grabbed his wrist with both hands.

"For the love of God, Greg. Those are sensitive. You know, those aren't the most sensitive parts of a girl. If you treat them like that, it's a wonder your girlfriends let you into the parts that are even more sensitive."

Greg blushed. Then he turned white. She would complain to Deb! Deb would razz him. She'd guess that he struck out with all his dates, even if Janet hadn't.

Janet saw him turn pale. God! He hadn't. He must have. He was on the football team, after all, even if he was no sort of star; he drove his own car. But, clearly, he hadn't. Poor boy. She'd hurt him to the quick, although she owed his family Besides, being a teacher had its own appeal. She'd been taught at about his age.

"Poor guy. They don't, do they?" He shook his head, reached for the key. "Wait. Will you do what I tell you?"

"Anything, if you don't tell Deb."

"Neither of us is going to tell Deb. We saw a movie; that's it. Now, fold your hands in your lap. Lean over towards me." She took his face in her hands and kissed his lips. When she licked them, he opened his mouth eagerly. She drew back. "Not so fast. Do what I did. You can hold my face, but don't use force."

Greg was being kissed rather than being ratted out. He followed directions. The feel of her cheeks was nice, even if it didn't compensate for the feel of her breast. The kiss was sweet, erotic if not a conquest. When he licked her lips, they tasted of popcorn and lipstick.

"Again. More gently." The guy was learning fast. The kiss was beginning to provide an erotic frisson. Maybe not; maybe being the instructress provided the charge. She buttoned up her blouse. The bra would be too much trouble. She opened her lips the third time he licked them. She opened her teeth only enough to let the tip of his tongue in, but she let the tip of her tongue touch it. "Isn't that more erotic than playing tonsil hockey?" she asked after she'd drawn back.

Greg was far from certain of that. On the other hand, he was getting a charge both from the kisses and from being in her hands. And ten more minutes of kissing meant that they would get home late enough that Deb wouldn't know that he'd struck out.

"During this kiss," Janet said, "unbutton one of my buttons." He did. "Like what you see?" she asked when she leaned a little back.

"Oh, yes. You're a pretty girl. I like all that I see." Though he'd like to see more.

"Then why don't you show your appreciation by kissing the skin that has been revealed?" God! She had to tell him every little thing.

"Gently," she added before his lips touched her skin. And he was gentle. Rough edges, for sure; but he could learn. For that matter, the kiss began to feel good. She tipped his chin up for another kiss on her lips. She brought his hands up to the next button.

Greg was hard as a rock. With his lips an inch from her breast, he could smell her perfume. It was, somehow, an adult perfume. He kissed her again, touched tongues again, opened another button. This time, he was kissing a breast. He licked it -- gently.

Janet was getting turned on. The kid might be young, but he could learn, The tongue against her breast was arousing, and his own idea. They repeated the mouth kiss, button, kiss on her breast twice more silently. He'd learned that lesson. She held his head on the next kiss with her left hand while her right hand finished the unbuttoning. She raised the bra to neck level.

"Janet!" he said when he could see her. His hand went to her breast.

"Gently."

"Of course. You're beautiful." He cupped his hand under her breast and approached the tip reverently. He took a good look at the nipple before his mouth touched it. He kissed it gently, licked it lightly, took it into his mouth.

"We should really have gone more slowly," she said. She was, after all, teaching this kid. "But you can suck it if you can manage gentle sucking."

He managed gentle sucking. It was the peak erotic experience of his life. When he shifted his hand to hold, simply support, the other breast, she put her hands on the back of his head. It was wonderful. He suddenly came in his pants. He blushed, but she was still holding his head against her. Finally, she spoke.

"I'm getting cold. Can we stop?"

There never was a question whether he would obey her. He pulled back and zipped up his coat.He waited while she did the more serious restoration to her own clothing.

"Another kiss," she said. They kissed with her mouth closed. "You're a fast learner. If we had a place to go, I think I'd take your lessons further. But don't worry. You're a sweet kisser and a football player. Some girl in your class will let you go as far as you want to, as long as you're gentle with her." She meant it. The experience had been arousing. Teaching was fun. Maybe she'd visit again sometime when the weather encouraged more liberties.

Greg heard only the promise. What he needed was somewhere warm and private. He didn't have any chance; his only privacy was in his car -- hardly warm enough and cramped even for petting. He had no privacy at home. He could keep his parents out of his room, but he could hardly invite his sister's roommate in. He couldn't even have a girlfriend in his room with the door open. Still, he thought as he drove home, this was the best date he had ever had. Even though he'd have to conceal his jism-soaked pants, it had been his finest night. He should probably be nicer to Deb this Christmas. She was Janet's friend after all. Janet must know what she was talking about. If he couldn't find a time and space to go further with her, he'd find a new girlfriend and try gentleness with her. He wouldn't find any warm privacy for the new girlfriend in January either, but maybe he could bring her along slowly until they were both looking for the place.

"Your brother isn't stupid," Janet told Deborah in the privacy of their room -- well, Deborah's room.

"I didn't say he was stupid, just that he had some rough edges. Did you enjoy your date?"

"Very much." And she went on to tell Deborah about "Same time Next Year." This was understood etween them as a hint that she didn't want to talk about the parking afterward. Deborah accepted that. Talking about a date was one thing; talking about a date with her brother was something else again.

Greg was trying to be nice to the entire family. Family fights must look juvenile to Janet, and he owed Deb -- his number-one enemy in the family. When his mother wheedled him to go on the visit to Aunt Jennifer this year -- he'd skipped the last two -- he almost agreed. Then a light dawned.

"Sorry, Mom, I promised the guys on the team I'd do some things with them." Janet wouldn't possibly be interested in a visit to a nursing home to see a relative of her roommate.

He managed to get Janet where they couldn't be overheard. He was steadying the stepladder while she was hanging the highest decorations on the tree.

"Beg off the trip to see Aunt Jennifer if you are asked. I'll be out of the house when they leave, but I'll come right back."

"And then?"

"Then, you'll continue my lessons.": He held his breath. She had promised, but he couldn't force her if she had changed her mind.

Janet took a deep breath. The first lessons had been exciting. Being the teacher was really a turn-on. Still. . . . But she would be a good teacher.

"And if Deborah stays home?"

"She won't. Please!"

"Don't beg. It's not masculine." Now she was being the teacher already. And she had packed her diaphragm. But that was bad teaching. "If Deborah or somebody else interferes, it's all off. No begging. And you have to provide condoms." His puzzled look made her correct her vocabulary: "rubbers."

The word gave Greg an instant hard-on. It meant that she would go through with it.

The hundred things which could have gone wrong didn't. the drugstore clerk didn't call the cops; he didn't even blink. Deborah didn't beg off so she could be with her guest. She didn't even comment on his showering and shaving in preparation for a night with the team. When he got home, Janet was waiting in the living room of an otherwise empty house.

"Do you have the contraceptives?" she asked. She'd inserted her diaphragm. Teaching him that he had to provide contraception was one thing; risking pregnancy on his using them right was another.

"They're upstairs."

"Well, starting in your room is a bad lesson. You should spend at least an hour with the girl being social and another half hour petting before you even invite her up." His face fell. "On the other hand, we might not have all that much time. Rushing sex is a greater evil. Lead the way."

He led her up to his room.

"Well, you cleaned it up. Good for you! I've had sex in some raunchy places; but neater is more pleasant, and making it as neat as possible shows consideration for your date. Now show me." He got the box of condoms out. "Take one packet out, but don't open it yet. Put it where you can reach it from the bed."

She looked receptive to a kiss. Greg didn't have to be told about that. He walked over, tilted her head up, and kissed her mouth gently. When she put her arms around his waist, he held her by the shoulders. When he thought he'd put enough time into the kiss, he licked her lips. She opened them, and their tongues touched. He backed off. Maybe it was just the expectation of getting laid for the first time, but. . . .

"That way does seem sexier."

"It is sexier. They say that 'rape isn't about sex; it's about power.' The closer screwing is to rape, the less sexy it is. You think I'm here to lay you. Surprise! I'm here to see if you can seduce me."

That was an unpleasant surprise. Given the choice, however, he'd try to seduce her. He drew her close again. Instead of cooperating in the kiss, she scattered kisses over his face.

"Did you like that?" she asked. "Want to try that with me?"

Kissing the rest of the face was what you did when you weren't accepted enough to get a mouth kiss, but she was the teacher. He kissed over her face, finally landing on her ear.

"Ooh," she said, "that was sexy." And it had been. This boy could, with a little teaching, learn to seduce her. "Let's sit down." They sat on the bed. He hugged her and resumed the kiss on the mouth. Their tongues met freely. He opened one button and bent to kiss the skin revealed. She'd left enough unbuttoned that he reached cleavage with his first kiss. Nevertheless, he followed his lesson until the blouse opened to show all her bra. She held him in the next kiss. He was bright enough to finish unbuttoning the blouse.

"Appreciate the outside of the bra," she directed. "Don't start removing it until you've fondled and kissed through it. While he followed her directions, she kicked off her shoes. When he finally reached to unsnap her bra, she pulled her shoulders back to cooperate. "Take them off," she said. He helped her off with her blouse and lifted the bra strap from her shoulder. She lay back, pushing at her socks with the opposite feet.

He lay down beside her. She looked down his length.

"Oops,' she said. "You have to get your shoes off." As he sat up to do so, she went on, "If you're going to go all the way, you're going to need to be naked. It's much better that way. And shoes are one of the worst problems. Invest in some loafers. Take them off with your feet while your hands are doing something more important. You've spent hours imagining what your prick will be doing; that's the least of your worries. Plan out what your hands will be doing, and what they shouldn't be bothered with."

He wasn't happy with her teacherly tone. When he lay down beside her, however, she went back to kissing. Soon she was guiding his mouth to her breast.

"Yes," she said. "Both of them. Gently!" The last direction wasn't really necessary yet, but she was a little afraid of his enthusiasm.

She was starting to be aroused by his attention. She unbuttoned his shirt; that was only fair. Soon, they were lying sideways, pressed skin to skin while they kissed. He remembered to kiss around to her ear, exciting her more. His erection pressed against her belly through layers of cloth. When his hands went to her belt, she pulled his head back to her breast. He kissed her willingly, although not taking the time on the trip down to her nipple the way a more skilled lover would. She was in eager enough a mood that she welcomed his directness. He pulled her jeans down, and then her panties. She worked both off with her feet. He put his hand between her legs. She should tell him to take his time, but -- by this time - - she was aroused enough to welcome the hand.

He fumbled around her genitals, delaying the gratification she sought.

Greg had never got this far. She'd said that she was more delicate between her legs than on her breasts. He tried to be gentle, but the first contact with her moisture almost unhinged him. His cock jumped in the trousers which had already been too tight against it.

He parted her lips and stroked there. After a minute, he parted her inner lips. Stroking there supplied much more moisture. He stroked upward until his finger passed over a tiny bump. She seemed to flinch.

"Yes," she said, "but gently." He was there, and she was getting there. He stroked the length of her labia each time beginning by gathering moisture and ending by stroking over her clit. "Yes," she said again, She was getting too deep into her own feelings to do the teacher bit any more.

Greg lay back down to suck her nipple while still stroking her slit. She gave him no more instructions for what seemed the longest time. Her hips were rising and falling, though. He must be affecting her in some way.

"It's time to put on the condom," Janet said. She really wanted it now, was afraid that she was going too deep into her own feelings to keep control of her voice -- much less direct him.

Greg rolled away to fumble off his jeans and shorts. He had to reach across her to get the packet, and then it took forever to tear it open. He rolled it on and turned towards her.

Janet had cooled off without the boy to provide stimulation. "Kiss me again," she said, holding her breast out towards him. He sucked her nipple again. His hand returned to her clit without any prompting. She lay there returning to her arousal. She was close; there was something she should do first.

"Janet," he said, "I have to." He was about to explode into the rubber.

"Okay." That was what she should do first. She spread her legs. He got over her left one and knelt between them. She grabbed him by the hips, holding him back. He rested one arm to her right while he put himself a bit into her with his other hand.

Greg could feel her lips around the tip of his cock. She was holding him back. Then she let him come forward and into the glory of her cunt. Through the rubber, he could feel the tightness hold his tip, the bulb of his cock, the shaft, further and further down the shaft.

"Yes," she said. She could feel him gliding into her, filling her. "Come all the way inside." Being filled was good, but the pressure of his delta against her clit was better. She rolled slightly from side to side to rub it against the base of his prick.

Greg was in heaven. In Janet's cunt, which was heaven by itself, but her motion was the most arousing thing he'd ever felt. He couldn't keep still for long, though. He moved back and then in again.

"Slowly," Janet managed to say. The slippery motion of his prick entering and leaving her sent her arousal spiraling upward.

"I love you!" And he did. He loved everything about her, though her cunt was far at the top of the list. He tried to slow down, but he couldn't. Every time he ground deep into her he had to draw back. Every time he felt his bulb at her entryway, he was driven to bury his cock in her again. If there had been space, he'd have crawled in after it.

Janet hadn't the attention to pay to the rest of Greg, let alone the bed or the room. All she felt was the sensation of his prick sliding into her and out of her faster and faster. Her hips were meeting its every thrust. She felt her climax rushing toward her.

Greg felt himself driving into and out of her while his desire peaked and his muscles clenched. Then he drove into her without backing up. He pulsed. The pulsation was centered in his cock, but every organ had the same beat. Everything poured out of his cock, until he thought his heart would go there. He poised rigid above her, only touching where it mattered.

Janet felt him pulse deep within her. Then her body answered. She spasmed, spasmed again and again. She soared. She came back to earth with Greg's body a limp weight pressing her into the mattress. She pushed at his shoulder.

"Sorry," Greg said before rolling off her. He lay on his back. "Whew!"

"Enjoy your first time?"

"More than I can say. You are wonderful." Saying that much was, as a matter of fact, an effort. He felt as though he'd played the full four quarters, not against hie usual opponents, but against Notre Dame.

"How long do we have?" Janet was recovering quickly. This had been fun, but she didn't want to get caught.

Greg struggled up to look at his bedside alarm clock. "They won't even have started home yet, and they'll take an hour."

"Okay. I want to shower before Deborah gets home. I don't want her to smell what we've done. "Now, you were great. I have a steady, and he doesn't take me any higher on his best days." She might have been exaggerating a tiny bit, but Greg had been great.

"It's like you made the touchdown. No, what position do you play?"

"Right guard."

"You've made the tackle that won the game. The next practice, the coach doesn't say, 'Greg knows everything about playing his position; he doesn't need to practice.' Well, you did great. You have tremendous talent, and for something more important than football. That doesn't mean that there aren't things you can work on. Especially, you might be dealing with a girl who hasn't decided to go to bed with you as firmly as I had.

"Yeah, I know, you held back, took your time, were gentle. But you'd do better to hold back more, be gentler. The face, the lips, the ear, the neck -- you didn't really get to the neck -- are all different phases. You can go back some, but they each deserve their time. Each breast and, separately, each nipple, is a different phase. You need to kiss the breast thoroughly before heading towards the nipple. The thighs, the lips, the clit, is each a phase in itself."

"Is every girl I date going to want that?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Girls who want you to go faster have ways of letting you know. And, if they don't, what have you lost? If you're stroking the inside of the thighs of a girl who wants you to get to the clit, she isn't about to get dressed and go.

"Another thing we skipped is the entire dating part. Not every girl who dates you will kiss you in your car. Not every girl who kisses you will pet with you. Not every girl who welcomes you inside her blouse will welcome you under her skirt. Not every girl who lets your finger into her panties will let you prick into her snatch. You have a reputation, don't you?"

"Yeah." And he wasn't fond of it.

"Well your reputation here can change, not overnight, not all the way; but it can change. And you're going to college in September. That will be a whole new reputation. A girl is unlikely to say, 'he got me off when I let him finger me in my panties.' On the other hand, she's likely to say that you were a good date. Bad reputations travel faster and are more specific. 'He was rough. He was an octopus. He tried to pressure me.' That all can hurt you through the entire school.

"After all, guys have one advantage over girls. They ask for dates. If you have five dates with a girl, and you aren't making progress with her, you can ask another girl for a date. If every girl you leave wishes you hadn't, you'll always have girls saying 'yes.' Ultimately, you'll having girls saying 'yes' to everything you want."

"You're so good to me."

"Well, a guy was good to me. We still have time, I'll tell you about my first time."

And this is the story she told:

Jan was excited to be back at the antique store. Not only would she need the money for college expenses in the fall, but she had a great boss. Cindy, who worked at the supermarket for crabby Mrs. Jonas, claimed that Jan didn't deserve to be paid, "with a boss who looks like that, you should work for nothing." And Mr. Fisher had a personality as pleasant as his looks.

"Well, Janet, we've got to get ready for the summer." Dan Fisher was relieved that Janet had come back for a second year. Some high-school graduates took their last summer of freedom, and he'd been worried that she would join that group. His antique shop made enough profit to pay rent on the building for nine months of the year. The summer people tripled his business, earning him a good living. He didn't want to train someone new in June, and Janet had been much better than the two assistants he'd had in his first year running the business. But he really valued Janet's presence even more than her work justified.

Locals bought different things than the tourists did, and they spent the next three hours carrying local goods upstairs to the storage room he'd made out of an unused bedroom in the owner's apartment. They carried summer goods back down on the return trips.

Dan enjoyed walking upstairs behind Janet. He watched her hips clench as she climbed. He hoped that she didn't notice. He should have done the carrying himself, but she neither complained nor looked tired.

"Break!" he said after they'd stored an especially heavy chair which had taken the two of them. "We can leave the other furniture down there. Summer people don't object to seeing it; they just won't buy it."

"You want to start on arranging the display space?"

"The energy of youth! I want to have a glass of lemonade and sit in the kitchen for ten minutes. Join me?"

"Please." Jan had never been in Mr. Fisher's actual apartment. The storage room didn't count. He opened the door into a living room and led her across it to the kitchen. He took a pitcher out of the refrigerator and poured them each a glass. "Delicious," she said. This glass gave her much more pleasure than she had ever had from a glass of lemonade before. She was more excited than she'd ever been by a beer or a glass of spiked punch. Her only regret was that she was wearing jeans and an old blouse -- fit for the dirty work, but not for being entertained in the home of the most sophisticated man in town.

"Out of a can. One person living alone tends to let lemons spoil if he buys them. So, tell me. How was your year?"

"I did all right."

"Which means all 'A's when you say it."

"I got some 'B's." Trig had been a bitch. Still, "State accepted me."

"And your social life? Have you chosen a young man yet?"

"It's a choice among octopuses." She could never admit to him that part of the problem was comparing callow boys to his sophistication.

"You can do better in college. Not that there aren't octopi in college." Jan noted the subtle correction. Her English teacher would have made a big deal about it. Her social-studies teacher wouldn't have known. Mr. Fisher was not only smart, he was kind.

"As a male," he went on, "I can't really blame those boys. You are a lovely girl."

"But you don't grab." Not that she would have been in any hurry to push him away. There had been days when she was tempted to do the grabbing.

"I may not grab, but that doesn't mean I'm not tempted." He might not grab, but he knew he was entering risky territory here. But Janet was more than lovely, she exuded youthful femininity. The nine months of her absence had only made his silent infatuation worse.

"A handsome, adult, man like you must have real women falling at your feet. Don't tell me that you notice a girl like me." She hoped she didn't sound jealous, though she knew she was a bit jealous. Maybe more than a bit. She'd seen some of the summer women flirting with him. And he'd flirted right back.

"Okay. I'll try to keep it a secret. I think I was successful last year. But don't say that you aren't a real woman. Young, yes. But when did 'old' become desirable? One reason that it is silly of me to talk like this, one reason of scores," -- he thought he was probably talking to himself more than to her -- "is that you probably put me in the same age bracket as your principal." Who looked to Dan to be in the same age bracket as Dan's father.

"You're not old."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Well, I'm old enough to be able to tell that this conversation is getting me in hot water. Let's go down and arrange the showroom. We'll see tourists coming in next week." He led her out into the living room and toward the stairs.

Jan resisted making an offer to wash the glasses. Considering that he was paying for her time, it wouldn't be all that generous an offer. It would be, in fact, a selfish offer. She thought she'd been a little bit into his life for the break. She'd like to be further into his life. The conversation had been both intimate and complimentary. And, now, they'd go back to discussing what people saw as they wandered around the shop. Mr. Fisher arranged the items so that every turn revealed some new surprise. Well, her last turn to the lemonade had revealed a real surprise. She wanted to see more. He was on the first step down, down to the work-a-day world.

"Mr. Fisher?"

"Yes?" He turned to face her.

She kissed him. He might refuse her; he might fire her; he might even laugh at her. But she wasn't going to go another winter wishing she'd acted in the summer. She had given up wishing that he would act.

Dan was so surprised by the kiss, he almost fell backward. He held onto her to keep his balance. Then he couldn't bring himself either to let go or to end the kiss. He only moved back to catch his breath. "Janet," he said. He was still holding her waist.

"Yes." and it was indeed 'yes.' The kiss had been surprisingly sweet. She could feel her nipples burning in her bra. They were pressed against his chest; maybe he could feel the heat. His hands were on her waist, warming her there.

"You don't like octopi. I'm about to turn into one." Her sweet butt, a butt he'd watched climb the stairs ahead of him for much of the morning, was inches from his hands. She took his right hand in both of hers. Well, he'd learned to take a refusal; he should have known that this desirable girl knew how to give a refusal. And he should have known that she -- whatever compliments she paid her boss -- had no interest in a fossil like him.

Jan took his hand and placed it where she wanted it, and where -- however little he'd meant the compliment -- he'd said he wanted to put it. Her breast burned from the contact. Her face burned from her shame.

"Oh, Janet." The breast was as soft, even through the bra, as he'd imagined it. He kissed her again, his kiss -- not hers . Her lips were sweet and warm. She opened her mouth when he licked them. When her tongue met his, it was as if a spark flew. His left hand dropped to her butt and cupped it. It was firm and sweet. His thumb found her nipple through the blouse and bra. It responded to him.

Jan was discovering that being caressed felt different from -- the opposite of -- being grappled. She hugged Mr. Fisher's shoulders to keep those feelings coming.

Dan abandoned Janet's mouth to kiss her jaw line in a path to her ear. He tasted salt every time he kissed a new spot. He dropped one foot down another step as he kissed down her throat. He tore his hand from the glory of holding her breast to start unbuttoning her blouse.

Jan grabbed Mr. Fisher's head as he moved away from her. Then, as kissed down her neck, she only held it to the place he was kissing. The path of kisses ran down her neck, across her chest, and into the cleavage where the bra didn't cover her. Finally, she felt the thrill of his kissing her nipple through the bra. Her only worry was that it was an old, ratty, bra. She had much sexier ones she would rather him see. She felt him pull the blouse out of her jeans and his hands stroke up her back. Then the bra was unsnapped. She pressed her lips against his hair, She breathed in his masculine odor.

Dan caressed her sides on the way to her bare breasts. Then his mouth sucked her nipple while his hands went back to her adorable derriere. He tore his mouth away from the glory of her breast to speak.

"Oh, Janet."

"Mr. Fisher." She was clutching his hair with both hands. What could she do to give him the soaring pleasure he was giving her?

"Dan." He had talked enough. There was an entire breast he hadn't kissed at all. He started in the cleavage and kissed a path towards the nipple. Under the fresh sweat, he smelled the sweetness of a young woman. His hands, almost without aid of his brain, found first her belt buckle and then the side clasp and zipper of her jeans.

"Dan. Oh, yes, Dan!" If he would only keep kissing her, she would call him anything he asked.

Dan tasted the nipple as he unzipped Janet's jeans. He sucked it while stroking the jeans down, and then stroking his hands up her naked thighs. They were so smooth, so warm. When his fingers reached her panties, the crotch was moist. She was really responding to him.

Jan could only hold his head against her as the feelings shot through her. She wished that she could pull the delightful hands closer, too; but that much effort was beyond her.

Dan cupped one cool, panties-clad, butt cheek with his left hand, while a finger of his right hand stroked inside her panties. He reached her moist warmth. So soft! He stroked the moisture up one lip until it slid over the bump of her clit.

"Oh," Jan breathed. His touch was much softer than hers had ever been in that place, and a thousand times as exciting. She grasped his head tighter and let the sensations spiral through her.

Dan nursed on the sweet, young, breast as though he were her baby. All his concentration was on the index finger of his right hand as it stroked her towards completion. As long as she pulled him towards her instead of pushing him away, he was a lover not a rapist. The salt was gone from her skin; all he tasted was the blandness of his own spit. He was beginning, however, to savor the odor of her arousal. He stooped there unable to adjust his trousers around his erection.

Jan soared with every twitch of his finger. The higher she went, the tighter she felt. Pleasure, exquisite pleasure, gave way to fear. Before she could state that fear, her body spasmed.

Dan felt her climax. He held her up by her clutching butt and continued stroking. He heard her gasp for breath.

Jan had never come like this. It went on and on; she soared higher and higher. She felt his continual sucking on her breast and his continual tickling of her clit. Wave after wave crashed though her. She couldn't stand it. It would have to stop Then, it did stop; She collapsed . She dropped from a great height, but landed in Mr. Fisher's arms.

When Janet collapsed against him, Dan almost fell down the stairs. Instead, he lifted her on his shoulder, climbed the two last steps, and carried her into the bedroom. Every step of the way, his terror grew. Had that been rape? Sexual assault, certainly. He had some defense in that she'd kissed him first, but even an acquittal would ruin him. When he sat her on the bed, she dropped down flat. He took off her shoes and socks before pulling her jeans over her feet. While he had the opportunity, he took off his own shoes and socks. He also stripped off shirt and t-shirt before he lay down beside her.

The first thing Jan felt was her tennies being pulled off. She was lying in a bed. Her jeans followed her tennies, but her panties didn't.

She also had blouse and bra tangled at the top. She managed to extract her left arm from them. Mr Fisher lay down next to her -- and on the bra.

"Janet, lovely Janet," he said.

"Mr. Fisher, you were. . . "

"Dan."

"Dan, you were wonderful. You are wonderful, I mean, but you were wonderful then."

"You enjoyed yourself?"

"Oh, yes." She would have said more, but he was kissing her. That was much more important. When her tongue met his, she felt something stir in her lower belly. Like an engine which turned over on its last drop of gasoline, the feeling died back.

Dan was feeling much happier. Janet didn't sound like a despoiled minor. He loved her, and apparently the feeling was at least partially reciprocated. When he kissed her, she participated. And she was a quite delightful armful. He stroked her warm, smooth, breast while he kissed her some more. Then he turned her so that her breasts were touching the skin of his chest.

Jan was recovering from the exhaustion of a minute ago. Now, she was starting to feel aroused again. She began to complain when he stopped the kiss. He was only moving to kiss down her neck, though, and she knew where that path led. Her nipples hardened in anticipation She began to stroke his arm and shoulder.

Dan pushed her onto her back again as his kisses traveled down to her breasts. He stroked ahead of his mouth, feeling all the youth, smoothness, softness of her body. After loving both breasts, he continued onward. Her only reaction was to draw in her breath. His mouth reached her quivering belly as his hand reached the elastic of her panties.

"May I?" he asked with both hands on the top of her panties.

"Oh, yes. . . yes Dan." She'd said his name, They were intimates. And he was her chosen man. It was right for him to be the first to see her naked.

"Help me." As she lifted her butt, he drew down the last veil over her beauty. A heady sample of her aroma wafted up as the waistband was freed. It left him dizzy as he pulled the panties down her legs and over her feet. He came back up the bed between her legs and stopped to kiss her thighs. He struggled with his own clothes as he kissed towards that beckoning aroma.

Jan was spiraling upward again. She'd never experienced being kissed on the thighs before. Boys had grabbed her there, but never really caressed her there, much less kissed her there. As his kisses neared her snatch, she blushed. He couldn't. He shouldn't. But the kisses she was getting now were too lovely to stop. She reached down to touch his head just as he reached her lips. After that kiss, she dropped back down in the bed.

Dan reached up to spread her labia with his fingers. Then he went back to undressing while he licked slowly upward between her labia. The fourth stroke reached her clitoris. Under his mouth, she jerked.

'Yes," Jan sighed. She'd never felt like this. Even the exquisite sensations which had led her to -- and through -- an orgasm minutes ago had not felt like this. She wallowed in bliss.

Dan gave most of his attention to her young, flowing, pussy. With what attention remained, he struggled out of his trousers and shorts. Then he stretched to open the drawer in the night table -- the drawer which contained his Trojans. He scrabbled within for what seemed like a century. He didn't want to abandon her beauty for the necessary chore. If she came back to earth, would she deny him? Finally, he found the box and opened it.

Just as he was extracting the ribbon of packets, Janet climaxed again. She bucked under his mouth. He rested his right hand on her mound. When he could return his mouth to her clitoris, he sucked it.

Jan was experiencing the second prolonged orgasm of her life, and the second of this hour. The stimuli were new, the sensations were unbearable. She was going out of her mind, but it was a wonderful way to go. She couldn't control her motion; she just flopped on the bed as the spasms ran through her. She moaned.

Dan finally tore one packet off the ribbon and threw the rest somewhere. He was just rolling the Trojan down his throbbing cock when he heard her moan. He moved up the bed to stare in her face as his fingers spread her labia.

"Look at me." She opened her eyes. He seated the tip of his cock at her entryway. "Is this what you want?"

Jan saw him above her as she felt him against her. She wanted him. She nodded her head, too involved in her body to speak.

Dan pressed forward, felt her entryway clutch around him as she climaxed yet again. As she relaxed, he thrust forward. There was a brief resistance, then he was sliding inside the warm smoothness of her delightful, young, tight, cunt. She may have winced, her face was scowling all the time from her orgasmic state.

"At you all right?" he asked, holding himself fully within her clutching warmth. She nodded.

In truth, Jan was not all right. She was in agony, but she never wanted the agony to end. The spasm felt different, complete, right, with Dan filling her where she was contracting. Then he was moving in and out, providing her with one more new sensation.

Dan had exhausted all his patience keeping still the moment it took her to answer his question. He drew back and thrust into her tightness once again. He tried to move slowly, but even that was beyond him. He only stopped when she clamped her warm cunt around him. And those sensations were exquisite. Soon, all too soon, he drove into her harder than ever. He stayed there and pulsed his seed, his very self, into her. After that, he collapsed onto her softness.

Jan soared; she flew. One climax followed another without any relief. When they ended, she felt Dan lying in her arms. He was so heavy she struggled to breathe, but it was a dear weight. Only minutes afterwards did she remember his prick throbbing within her throbs.

"Am I too heavy?" Dan moved off her, knowing the answer. His cock, much softer now, pulled out of the Trojan as he shifted.

"Stay near."

"Gladly." He reached down to extract the rest of the Trojan from her. He tossed it over the side of the bed away from her. Then he took her in his arms. "You look wonderful when I see you," he said, "but it's much better to hold you."

"I like to be held." That didn't sound right.

"I'm glad."

"I like to be held by you."

"You are a delight!"

"It's not me. It's you. I've never felt like that when I do mys..." She had admitted it! She buried her face in his neck to hide her blush.

"Dear girl! You are so responsive. Did you expect me to believe that you had never responded before?"

"Not like that!"

"But you have had practice. And I'm delighted that you have. . . . Because that practice made you the responsive girl that you are. And that responsiveness was not only your pleasure. It added to mine."

"How can anyone know as much as you do? About feelings, about the things you sell, about pleasing women?"

"I don't know so very much. I keep learning, as does almost every sensible adult. They tell you that you're going to high school to learn, implying that when you graduate you'll know all you need to. Then they break it to you about college. Guess what? You won't know everything when you graduate from college, either. Some things you learn in classes; some things you learn from books; some things people tell you; lots you learn from experience. My first experience with a woman, not -- I'm afraid -- much of an experience of pleasing a woman, was when I was younger than you. You're eighteen?"

"Not yet."

"And I was half way through my sixteenth year. But you don't want to hear about ancient history."

"I have no right to ask, but I want to learn about you." She could feel his prick stir against her leg. It was still soft, but it felt like a living thing. Would he do it again? She was sure she was too tired to try, but the thought was also attractive. She blushed again.

"That's a dangerous thing to tell a man. We all like to talk about ourselves. As I said, I was sixteen, and -- as you noticed in your classmates back then, that means I was randy as hell. . . ."

And this is the story he told:

"Mrs. Fisher? This is Martha Jennings, Lance's mother. I'm about to invite Danny over for supper. I wanted you to know that it was my invitation; he isn't cadging a meal." Mrs. Fisher acknowledged the issue. "Well, I haven't made the invitation yet. Could you put Danny on?"

Danny accepted. Two hours later, he showed up. She had dressed in a blouse and skirt, a teaching suit without the jacket. She wore no jewelry, not even earrings -- only the wedding ring she'd worn continually for more than seventeen years.

"Hello, Mrs. Jennings. Where's Lance?" It was a reasonable question. Mrs. Jennings had always been nice to him, but she was nice to all of her son's friends.

"He's rehearsing that play. I know you didn't audition."

Katy had sneered at the play. Now, he knew that this was because Nancy was certain to get the leading role. He hadn't had much chance, anyway. "Mark and Audrey are gone, too." If her kids were gone, why was he invited to dinner? "I heard about Katy."

"That's all right." What wasn't all right was that she'd heard about it. All the kids were talking about her rejection of him. Half of them knew that it was because he'd tried to get her into bed. The parents couldn't know that, but he didn't want them talking about him, too.

"Rejection is never all right. It always hurts. Come here." She opened out her arms. Would he come to her or would he run away?

She'd started the pills again, which would be a terrible waste if he ran away. Hell! She would be terribly wasted if he ran away. Her planning was partly charity, but partly desire. She missed Larry.

Danny came, reluctantly into her arms. She folded them around him. her hug pressed her breasts against his chest. She was an old woman, Lance's mother for God's sake; but he still got a hardon. He twisted so it wouldn't be pressing into her leg.

"It's all right," she said. "That's a natural reaction. I don't reject you because you have an erection."

His ears burned. He tried to twist away, but she was stronger than an old woman had the right to be. Twisting rubbed his cock against her, and it grew stiffer.

"I'm. . . ." He couldn't finish the thought.

"You're a nice boy. A teenage boy who acts and reacts like a teenage boy. Why be ashamed of that? Do you want to sit down?"

He nodded. they sat at opposite ends of the long sofa facing each other. Danny crossed his legs, trying to hide his hardon. He couldn't think of a thing to say. He'd never said much to Mrs. Jennings -- let alone talked to her while trying to hide a hardon. She didn't seem to have trouble finding words, although he couldn't see what she was getting at when she began.

"When two people have a disagreement, we naturally think that one of them right and the other wrong. That's often a mistake. Sometimes both are wrong; sometimes, which is harder to see, both are right."

"I guess." He was too polite to tell an adult lady that she was crazy. Both right? Then why were they arguing?

"I think your argument with Katy was one in which you both were right. I was a girl once, and see her side. But, I sympathize with yours, too."

Danny didn't want to talk about Katy, He definitely didn't want to talk about Katy with an adult. But he didn't know how to escape.

"You are a yong man," she went on. "For several years, you've had the physical ability to deal with a woman, and the emotional drive to do so. You figured that it was about time. And it was time, and more than time, for you. Katy is a young lady. A young lady's first time, her first several times in fact, should be about her. She resented, rightly so, your wanting her to satisfy your needs."

This had been so clear when she had planned it, but from Danny's face it didn't seem to be clear -- or even sensible -- to him now.

Danny was blushing scarlet and looking at the floor. He wished he could crawl into it. This talk made his hardon worse, but that was the only part of his body with any firmness in it.

"So, you were right about what you needed, and she was right about what she needed. If she's not going to get the experience with you, you can only get it with somebody else."

"So you say!" Danny saw that sullen silence wasn't going to end this conversation. With his own parents, he would have stormed out of the room. He couldn't storm to Lance's room. If he stormed outside, where would he go? To go home meant explanations he couldn't bear making. "So, I should look elsewhere. Katy has been my girl for three years, and you say that since she's a girl she shouldn't. No other girl should either. I'm fucked!" Lance wouldn't like his talking to his mother that way, although Danny had heard him use the same word to her. But this conversation was beyond politeness.

"Actually, you aren't. That's the whole point. The question is whether you want to fuck." Teens did have a different language from people, but -- Martha had noticed -- the words they thought were theirs alone never were.

"That's not the question. Who? That's the question."

"Whom?" She could never persuade Lance, maybe his best friend could be a good example. "I'll answer your question if you promise to never tell Lance -- never tell anyone."

"I swear!" However silly her suggestion, it would at least end this conversation.

"Me. I'm not a girl who deserves to have the experience about her. I have the bed and the other requirements. Back seats and blankets on the ground are possible, but comfort is better. And, I have the experience. You think you know all about it, but you don't. One partner should."

"Are you serious?" She was insane, but he couldn't leave with his cock sticking out like a flagpole. Anyway, he wouldn't turn any offer down. He'd been tempted by a stray dog.

"Perfectly serious. Are you interested?" Doing this was dangerous enough. Offering and being refused would be both disastrous and humiliating. She stood up. "Come here if you are."

When he walked into her hug again, she added a kiss. The pressure of her breasts was gentler this time, but it aroused him even more. He put one hand on her breast.

"Fine. Do you want to come upstairs?" When she started upstairs, he followed her. She didn't turn until they were in her room, her and Larry's room. But Larry wouldn't begrudge her this. ". . . As long as ye both shall live." She closed and locked the door before opening her arms again. Danny looked dazed as he came into them. His kiss, though, grew more insistent. Finally, he put his hand on her ass. She clenched it then relaxed it. That always had turned Larry on.

When he didn't think of her as a mother, she was an attractive woman. Walking behind her up the stairs, Danny saw her butt flex like the butts on the girls he liked to watch. And, really, there was more butt there. When he kissed her, he felt it It wasn't all fat, either; it tightened under his hand. His hardon was poking her, but she didn't seem to mind.

Martha began unbuttoning his shirt.

"I can do that."

"So you can, and I can do my clothes. Don't you think it's nicer to undress the other?" Danny, she told herself, wasn't stupid. Naive maybe, inexperienced clearly, but not stupid. He began on her blouse, fumbling the buttons with shaking fingers. Good! Shaking hands were a better sign of desire in a sixteen-year-old boy than an erection. She'd had to chide Audrey about commenting on Lance's, and the poor boy tried to hide them from his sister. She didn't need this event to be as special as Katy would, but she deserved to have Danny regard her as a woman -- rather than as an old lady. She finished Danny's shirt and helped him with the last two buttons on her blouse. He'd backed off the kiss to see what he was doing.

"Now take this and hang it on a chair." She turned her back. "Can you get the bra?" That fumble was more than shaking fingers. Had he propositioned Katy before he'd ever undressed the girl? She turned slowly, conscious that she sagged.

Danny was seeing breasts, nipples! They weren't Playboy breasts, but he already knew that. They were real live breasts. He looked his fill before reaching out towards them. They were warm and, somehow, heavy in his hands.

It was nice to feel appreciated again. Martha was less certain that she was doing this for Danny, but more certain she wanted to continue. Warm hands, wanting hands, on her breasts after more than two years! She took a deep breath and moved her shoulders back slowly. It hadn't the effect it had had fifteen years ago, but Danny still looked impressed. She finally spoke.

"You should take off your own shirt, now. Kisses feel nicer when people are skin to skin."

Danny complied, dropping his shirt on the seat of the chair on whose back he'd put her blouse and bra. He dropped his undershirt on top of the shirt. When he turned back those nipples were still there, still available. She'd mentioned a kiss. He went for it.

Now, Martha thought, Danny's kiss was starting to be enthusiastic. She turned a little to the side and brought his hand back to her breast. She didn't have to ask twice. He began stroking his fingers along the surface of the breast to the nipple.

"Do you like that? I enjoy it when my nipple is stroked gently."

Danny hadn't needed the direction, he'd needed permission. He rubbed the nipple as softly as possible. When it stiffened in his hand, the other hand went to her butt without his planning it at all. He was surprised to feel his hand squeezing her there, but she didn't express any surprise at all, "I think we'd better take our own shoes off. Then, if you'd like, you may kiss my breasts."

He'd like! The idea took Danny's breath away. He fumbled with his shoes, scared to sit on the clothes-covered chair or sit on the bed beside her. When he stood up, she was shorter -- the top of her head level with his mouth, not his eyes. Inspired by the thought, he kissed her on the forehead, the face, the neck, He continued down until he was kissing her nipple.

Martha was aroused as a woman; she was pleased as a teacher. The last series of kisses had been Danny's own idea. She held his head against her until his suction turned painful.

"Not that hard," she said. "Come, let's get the last stuff off." She guided his hand to the snap on her skirt. He managed that, if not easily. She had almost as much trouble with his belt, then left him to step out of his jeans by himself. He was wearing jockeys, dramatically tented. "Let's lie down." The rest of the removal would be easier like that, and she wanted more petting. She needed it, and he had to learn to give his girls precoital stimulation.

Danny knew that lying down was necessary, but he expected to be lying on top of her. Even so, he was much more comfortable sucking her breasts like this. When she led his hand to her thighs, his exploration was delightful. When he pulled her panties down, she co-operated. He discarded his own underwear and stretched above her. He'd been hard forever. If they were ever going to fuck, it had to be now.

"But," she started to say. She wasn't ready yet. For that matter, there were things about getting a woman ready he had to learn.

"Please. I need you."

She parted her legs. He knelt between them and pressed his cock into her crotch. She reached down to put him in. He took two strokes and gasped. He drove into her shooting his whole being out his cock. It felt glorious. He thought that he'd finally done it.

Then he thought that he'd come too soon. He blushed as he turned away from her.

"There, now," Martha said. She hugged him pressing her breasts against his back. "Don't think that you've done badly when you aren't done yet." She was far from satisfied, but there was no reason for his lesson to be one of failure. She just had to teach him things she hadn't previously considered.

"I'm not?" She could have no idea how drained he was.

"No. And you should be happy now that Katy said 'no.' If you'd shot into an inexperienced girl before bringing her pleasure, she would have thought the event not only over, but a failure. Aren't you glad that you're with me?" The more time she gave him, the easier would be his recovery. Besides, a teenager might be turned off by the mess he'd left. She got up to douche. "You stay here."

She took a robe with her, but didn't put it on before she had shut the bedroom door.

Danny paused in feeling miserable to watch her leave. That butt looked good without panties, and he wasn't quite as drained as he'd thought. After all, she had said that they weren't finished. She might know what she was talking about. And, he had been in her, if too briefly. He tried to recall the sensations, both of the fucking and of the prelude. He was still thinking when she came back, dressed in a robe.

"Why don't you wash yourself off? Don't use soap on your penis, just cold water." If he was going to have a clean playing field, why shouldn't she? She didn't offer him a robe. When he came back, he held his hand in front of his genitals. Modesty appears at the strangest times.

She had stripped the bed to the sheets and was lying between them. He joined her. She took his hands in hers and guided one to her breasts and one to her mound. The touch on her breasts was a caress. The one on her mound was more an exploration. That was all right; it was still exciting, and she had things to teach him.

Danny was in bed with a real, live, woman -- a woman who welcomed his exploring hands. He was finding it easier and easier to forget that this was Lance's mother. She had the necessary parts, and that was enough for him. some of the parts were quite good, too. The breasts might not stick out like a Playboy model's, but the nipple stuck out. She didn't lie there with a staple in her belly, but encouraged him.

"Like those breasts? Like the nipples? What they like is for you to stroke them very gently. . . . See? And, down there, you can fit a finger between those lips. Can you tell that there are other lips within? Those like to be sroked gently, too. And, between those, right at the top, there is a little button you can just feel. That's my clitoris. When you stroke the inner lips, every once in a while, stroke across that, too. Yes! You did that very well.

"Women get excited, too. Not as fast as men under twenty, and not as often. But the man who can excite a woman well enough is a skilled lover. He'll be popular with women for his entire life."

Even Danny's exploration had been exciting. His strokes, if less expert than Larry's had been, were more exciting than her own. Her excitement produced her juices, which Danny spread over her lips and clit, which added to her excitement. She was already begun on her journey when Danny sucked her nipple again.

"Oh, yes. Oh, you do that so well." She reached over to hold his head against her breast.

Danny had stolen kisses. Sometimes, Katy had allowed him kisses, even -- on her good days -- open- mouthed kisses. He'd never been permitted to kiss a nipple, much less praised for how well he did it.. He was hard as a post, by now; but he wasn't going to make his earlier mistake.

"What more do you want?" he asked.

"Just what you are doing. Don't do it harder. Remain gentle, just give me more." At that point, Martha suspected that she was beginning to drivel. She shut up and enjoyed Danny's hands and mouth. Later, when she felt she was ready, she touched his closed thighs above the knee. "Open your legs."

Danny opened them eagerly. He was rewarded as fingernails barely scraped up the insides of his left thigh. When her hand cupped his balls, he gasped. She toyed with his sack very gently. Finally, her hand stroked upward to touch the base of his cock. He thought he might explode then and there.

"Do you want to come in me?" Martha asked. Now that she knew he was hard again, she needed him in her. She rolled over on her back That took his hand away from her clit, but she spread her lips with her left hand while guiding him into her with her right.

She enjoyed the feeling of being filled, the first time -- not counting the recent hit-and-run -- in nearly three years.

Danny felt her soft breasts beneath him, her firm thighs around his hips, her mound against his. He felt her warm, moist, smooth cunt sliding over his cock. It was heaven.

"Rest your elbows on the bed beside me, and your hips between my legs," Martha directed. "You should be supporting all your weight but the part that needs to join me." When he complied, she added: "Now move as slowly as possible." He did, and the feeling it gave her was exquisite.

Everything came together, and she went away. She forgot all the parts of him that weren't in her. Her feelings peaked.

Danny fought to keep his climax back. The feelings around his cock were too wonderful to allow them to end. Suddenly, he felt the smooth warmth around his cock tighten and loosen in rhythm. He couldn't hold back any more. He thrust forward hard and pulsed and pulsed. His guts were gushing out of his cock.

Martha came back to the bed to find her hands on Danny's seat. His weight was on her, and she enjoyed it. Then he was too heavy.

"Can you get off?" she asked.

"I'll try." He succeeded, but the trip to the other side of the bed was harder than the half-mile walk here had been. He felt like he'd been worked for a week and then bled dry. Also, he felt better than he'd ever felt before.

"You were wonderful," Martha said. She meant it. "Was it good for you, too?"

"Good? It was great."

"Did you enjoy yourself? Do you think you'll do better with girls than you would have without my hints?"

"It was great. It was the best thing that has ever happened to me. Like all the Christmases in my whole life."

"Then," Martha's mind had recovered, if her breath hadn't quite, "it would be terribly ungrateful to do something which would hurt me, wouldn't it?"

"I'll do anything you want. Forever."

"Then you have to keep this secret, forever. It's too good a story for any of your friends to keep. It would get to Lance, and hurt him terribly. Tell one person and you'd be telling the whole school, ultimately the whole town. Lance would learn, as I said, The friends of the friends of your friends would let their parents know. Once that happened, my friends would know. They wouldn't be my friends any more."

"I'll never tell anyone."

"On the other hand, if nobody learns about this, then occasionally -- not very often -- we can get together again. You still have some things to learn. For example, nice men not only satisfy their women, but they hug them aferwards."

Danny hugged her and found that he enjoyed it, too. She kissed his arm.

"You understand that this could never have happened if Lance's father were still alive. I took an oath 'to cleave only unto him as long as you both' -- Lance's father and me -- 'shall live.' And I kept that oath. He did, too. But he was always careful that I enjoy sex. He wouldn't have wanted me to stop enjoying it when my oath didn't bind me any more. He was a fine man.

"Dinner later. I'm not forgetting that I invited you. But rest here a little bit and I'll tell you about my Larry."

And this is the story she told:

"Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence Jennings." Larry passed the newly inked marriage license to the desk clerk, He barely glanced at it.

"Hardly need to see this." He gave them their key. "Welcome to San Francisco."

They had more than six years of separation to talk about, but neither could find anything to say in front of the elevator operator.

Being in the room with only Larry tied Martha's tongue even more. It was an ordinary hotel room with an ordinary bed, but the bed absolutely dominated the room. She wanted to share her life with Larry. She could hardly remember a time when she hadn't looked forward to being married to Larry. That didn't mean that she wasn't afraid of sharing a bed with Larry. Finally, he broke the silence.

"Why don't I go down and smoke a cigarette while you get ready?"

"That's good." She wouldn't have to undress in front of him or in the bathroom knowing that he was listening to her sounds. Martha stripped out of her traveling clothes and showered. She would have preferred to soak in the tub to remove all the grime of hours of traveling with the windows open to the engine's smoke. She didn't know, however, how long Larry's cigarette would last.

She put on her nightgown, real silk and terribly expensive but worth it. She put away her clothes in the closet and looked at herself in the dresser mirror. She no longer looked like the stern Miss Weaver, scourge of the fourth grade. She looked as vulnerable as the girl Larry had left -- she looked both vulnerable and available. She could see the shape of her breasts through the silk and the shadow of her pubic hair. Larry would see that, too. She hurried into bed and covered herself with the sheet. Then she lay there waiting and waiting. Did he have second thoughts? If he left her, how would she get back to Grand Junction? She told herself that she was being silly. He was just giving her time to get settled. Instead, she was getting unsettled.

Larry wanted Martha, but he wanted to protect her, too. In one sense, he'd been protecting her all his time in Europe and Africa.

He'd thought he wanted her when he was a boy before Pearl Harbor. But that was a boy's ignorant wanting, He knew what it meant, now; he was certain she didn't. After tonight, he wanted her to want him. And his experience with women didn't include experience with love or with a virgin. He went past the desk on his way to smoke in the lobby.

"Told you," said the clerk.

"Pardon?"

"I didn't need to see the license."

"They told me to bring it."

"Rules. Easier to say 'let's see your marriage license' than to say 'you don't look married.' But lovers would be upstairs tearing off each others' clothes. The groom came downstairs to smoke while the bride dolls herself up. Lucky?" Larry took the proffered cigarette.

"We look like husband and wife."

"She looked like a bride. Wives look a little different. You'll look different in another month, too, but not like a civilian yet. Division?"

"Fourth. You?"

"Big Red One."

"So how did you get back before I did?"

"Long before. I was in a stateside hospital on VE day. Recurring pneumonia."

"Sorry to hear that."

"No problem if I sleep inside and don't march for hours in soaked clothes. Somehow, those are easy rules for a desk clerk to follow. You'll like civvy life."

"Yeah. And the best part starts tonight." His cigarette was nearly finished. When he'd taken the last drag, the desk clerk passed him an ashtray. They stood in companionable silence for another minute, then he waved and went back to the elevator. When he got to the room, Larry turned on the bathroom light, went back to get his shaving kit and turn off the overhead light. He didn't want to remove pajamas while lying beside Martha, easier to skip them. But he didn't want to parade naked before her innocence. Back in the bathroom, he stripped and took a quick shower. He'd done not a bit of work since his morning shower, though he'd sweated bullets before the service. He shaved, wanting a really smooth cheek tonight. When he opened the bathroom door, Martha had the bedside light on. He hadn't even brought his new pajamas into the bathroom. There being no choice, he went out naked.

When she was left in the dark, Martha turned on the lamp on the nightstand next to her. She'd paid an arm and a leg for the silk nightgown. Larry was damn-well going to see it. The shower was awfully brief, then there were other noises from the bathroom, but no husband. When he came out, he was naked. Trim, muscular, she'd already known that. He was sticking out in front. She knew what a phallus looked like; she was an educated woman. This, however, looked awfully large; and those of statues projected less..

When he got under the sheet, it was closer, but not so frightening because it was hidden.

"Hello," she said.

He grinned. "Hello." He leaned over and kissed her. "Martha."

"Oh, Larry." This wouldn't be so bad. It was what she'd wanted for years. She hugged him. He smoothed his hand down over the nightgown in back. She lay back and pulled the sheet down to her waist. "Do you like it?"

"The nightie? Yes. The contents? Very much. I love you."

"And I love you." At least, he'd looked at the nightgown. And she certainly couldn't complain that he said he liked her more. When he kissed her again, his hand went to her breast. She started to feel more excited than scared. She reached up to his hand and held it where it was.

"Oh, Martha." The breast was so soft, so firm, so warm, so alive! He could feel her nipple under his thumb. After a moment, it pushed out more firmly. It was so arousing through the cloth, he had to feel it directly. He reached down for the hem of the nightie.

"Let me."

Well, thought Martha, he'd seen the nightgown. And she didn't want it to get mussed. She helped him take it off. Briefly, she regretted the light. She blushed when he looked at her naked breasts.

"Oh Martha!" He'd guessed their shape, but now he was seeing how beautiful they were. As he stared, her nipples firmed slightly. He reached out to cup one breast. It was warm and cuddled into his hand. It moved as she breathed. He bent to kiss the nipple of the other one. She held the back of his head, permitting, even encouraging, this pillaging of her beauty.

Even as she was blushing, Martha saw that Larry's approach was reverent. Seeing herself in his face revealed a beauty her mirror didn't show. She was, after all, his. If he looked at her like that, let him look. When his hand left her right breast to caress her belly, she kept herself from grabbing it. This, too, was his. All she did was pull the top sheet higher when his wrist threatened to bare her mound.

Larry stroked Martha's mound, her smooth thighs -- why were women so smooth and men so hairy? -- and, finally, the lips between her thighs. He was having trouble holding himself back.

Whatever she thought about Larry's matrimonial rights, Martha clenched her legs together when he touched her there. He didn't argue or use those impressive muscles. He just rubbed where he could. Soon enough, the sensations were more pleasant than scary. Her legs relaxed and the rubbing went further.

When she finally gave him space to do so, Larry grasped Martha's mound with his full hand. He abandoned the sweet breast to kiss her mouth again, This time, his tongue entered and met her tongue .The thrill was electric. When he broke that contact, he insinuated one finger between her outer lips. He felt moisture. She was responding to him!

Martha felt somehow that the hand cupping her center held her in entirety. The taste of his tongue thrilled her. The feel of his finger entering her increased her arousal as it increased her nervousness. Larry was sucking on her right nipple as his finger found her clitoris. She gasped. That was it! Larry had reached the center of her feeling. He rubbed it gently, dipped his finger down further between her inner lips to retrieve more lubrication, and rubbed it once more.

Larry sucked her far nipple again, then returned to the near one. He tried to suck at the same time his finger passed over her clit. All the while, his desire grew and his control eroded. Finally, he came to the end of his tether.

"Darling," he said. He moved his head back from her and started to rise in the bed.

"Yes?" When he pushed her, she rolled onto her back.

"I must. . . ." He spread her legs and clambered between them.

"Yes!" She felt him between her thighs as he brought himself into position.

Larry placed the tip of his cock between her lower lips. He dropped his right hand to the bed to hold his torso straight. He pressed inward. When he felt resistance around the head of his cock, he thrust!

Martha felt his phallus at her entrance. She felt him go in a little. Then, she felt pain. Really, she had expected it. When it eased, she felt that he was filling her deep down below.

"Are you all right?" he asked. She hadn't looked all right when she winced. Larry wanted to move, but he was holding himself fully imbedded in her.

"Yes."

"May I move?"

"Please." His motions within her weren't particularly pleasant, but they weren't like the first sharp nip, either. His face showed concern for her, then pleasure, then what might have been worry. He grimaced, thrust as hard as he had the first time, and pulsed inside her. As he collapsed, he turned so they were lying on their sides.

Larry moved cautiously back until only his head was within her. The sensations were exquisite, better than he'd felt in the most skilled women in his past. He tried to move slowly, but a look at her face taught him that this wasn't doing anything for her. His arousal sped him up, and his speed moving in the tight cunt of his new wife fed his arousal. It peaked when he had withdrawn to her entrance. He drove into her as his seed spurted out of him. He held his left arm stiff one second longer than he thought possible. He fell to his right side, turning her with him.

"Darling," he said some indefinite time afterwards. She was a darling. She was his own darling. It had never felt like this; maybe he had never felt love along with desire. He managed to disentangle them; then, he hugged her.

Martha returned the hug with her top arm. Then he was kissing all over her face. Finally, she abandoned her part of the hug to put her hand on his face to bring his mouth to hers. The kiss was sweet and long. When he licked her lips open, their tongues met. Her pleasure, if less intense than from the first tongue kiss, warmed her. The arousal which had fled when his entrance brought the nip, built again. His hand was on her breast, and she welcomed it. She was a little disappointed when he pressed her shoulder. Was he going to do it again? Well, he'd been away a long time. He certainly wouldn't do it several times every night. Besides, her mother had told her that the pain came only once.

"I'm yours," she said. She turned onto her back.

"Good," Larry said. He bent to kiss her stomach. "If you're mine, I can kiss any part I want to." He had had his pleasure, not that these kisses weren't pleasure of another -- if lesser -- sort. For this to be a real wedding night, she had to have her own pleasure before they fell asleep. He kissed up to her breast, kissed up the bottom of her breast to the nipple. Meanwhile, his hand was caressing downward. He combed his fingers through the hair on her mound. He wanted to see that, see all of her beauty. Well if she learned to desire him, all that would follow. He caressed her thighs as he kissed up her breast. His hand parted her lips just when he licked her nipple. She had more moisture there now. How much of it was what he'd left? He timed it so that he first sucked her nipple as he reached her clit.

Martha enjoyed all of Larry's attentions. The mental pleasure of finding how much her husband wanted her certainly abetted the purely physical pleasure from his caresses. He had come back to her; her worries had been silly. She was in his arms, getting pleasure in his arms. If there was no reason to worry, if he was right here with her -- as here as one could get, why was she so tense suddenly? Telling herself to relax, she grew more tense. Larry's hands on her body and his tongue on her nipple were not easing her tension at all. Pleasure, indeed joy, came from his ministrations, but no relaxation. Her tension soared so high that she almost cried out. Then it rose again. She did cry out as every muscle in her body tightened, relaxed only to tighten again, went into another and yet another spasm. As suddenly as these spasms had hit her, they flew away. She was utterly limp.

Larry watched as the climax hit his love. She groaned as if in pain, then stiffened in his arms. He stopped stroking to cup her mound. He raised his head to watch her face. Grimaces crossed it as the stiffness crossed her belly. Then, she relaxed everywhere.

Her face looked as if she were asleep aside from the deep breaths that pushed or pulled her lips. After minutes, her eyes blinked open.

"I love you," he said. And he did. The relaxed smile she was showing now was as sexy as her previous climax -- far sexier than anything on the movie screen.

"I love you, too. . . . Oh, Larry!" How did she tell him about what she had just experienced? She didn't have words. She couldn't even describe it to herself. She turned in the bed and hugged him. He hugged her back and kissed the top of her head before speaking.

"Let's see." He turned onto his back, pulled one pillow under his head and placed the other pillow on his shoulder. "Do you think you could sleep here?"

She could try. After a little experiment, she found it much easier to turn her back to him. She moved away to turn off the light and then snuggled back He knew so much. He'd gone into the army straight from high school, while she'd had the years at normal school. She thought of herself as an educated woman. Yet he knew so much; he knew more about her than she did.

Larry hugged Martha only briefly. His hold after that would be better called a cuddle. His right arm extended under Martha's head and then along her upper arm. His left hand held one breast gently.

"You know so much," Martha said. A brief pause. "How did you learn so much about women?"

"Can't we say I have a natural aptitude?"

"Not really. How did you know what to do?" She couldn't answer 'do what?' Luckily, he didn't ask.

"Maybe I shouldn't tell you. But maybe I should."

"You certainly should. We don't want to start our married lives keeping secrets."

"I'll tell you. Otherwise, you'll think it is worse than it was. I love you. I've never loved another woman. I've had sex with other women, but not loved them."

And this is the story he told:

Larry was alone in the showers bringing himself off when Hank came in. Hank immediately turned away and watched the wall while he took his own shower. They left the base with the other trainees on liberty. Hank caught Larry's arm as the others streamed into the Red Cross meeting hall.

"Wrong time to beat off. You should save it for afterwards if you don't get lucky."

"As if I ever will. I'm far from home and far from rich. Nobody here knows me, and it looks like nobody wants to."

"You're gloomy tonight. There's a girl for you. . . . Tell me. Do you think you could fake being a virgin?"

"I'm sure." He wasn't about to tell Hank that it would be no fake.

"I'll try to introduce you to Mrs. Powell." He succeeded. The name, which sounded like a matron chaperoning the dance, turned out to belong to a woman who danced every dance. She must be in her thirties or even older, but she was good looking for her age. She dressed younger and smoked with the men.

"So, soldier," she asked while they were dancing, "where are you from?"

"Grand Junction."

"And where's that?"

"Colorado, western Colorado."

"So, you a cowboy?"

"No ma'am." He was thinking how to explain to her about mountains and men who worked on the railroad, when she spoke again.

"Bridget. Call me Bridget. You make me feel old."

She was, of course, old -- nearly twice his age. But he had been raised too polite to say so. And dancing with a woman named

'Bridget' was one hell of a lot better than dancing with one named 'Mrs. Powell.' He figured he was lucky to get one dance; there were more than twice as many men there as women. When the music ended, however, she spoke.

"Want the next dance, too?" This cowboy interested Bridget. He was socially awkward, but she was looking for that. He could dance, which suggested that he was well-enough coordinated to perform other tasks well. She might correct his 'ma'am,' but she wanted someone polite and deferential.

"Miss Bridget, may I have the pleasure of the next dance?"

"You may."

The acceptance jarred Larry. A girl back home would have thanked him. But, he remembered, he wasn't back home. For that matter, this wasn't a girl. He had a woman in his arms. And, when he tightened his arms, she flowed up against him in the dance. Bridget didn't press as tightly against him as Martha did in their private kisses, but she danced closer than Martha did in public. His cock began to stir at the feeling of those soft breasts pressed into his ribs.

Bridget hid her face in the cowboy's shoulder. She'd felt the beginnings of his erection and knew that he would be mortified if he knew that she had noticed. She appreciated the tribute, but didn't want to embarrass him by letting him know. She was fairly certain that this was the one for tonight, but parted after this dance. She danced with two other trainees to keep herself conscious of the possibilities.

Larry couldn't get a dance with another girl. This late in the evening, couples were beginning to pair up. When Bridget asked him to get her a glass of punch after dancing with another man, he brought it back. They sat and talked. She finished her punch just as a dance was ending. He gathered up his courage to ask her again.

Bridget had decided that the cowboy was definitely tonight's choice. Having managed to get him to ask her for another dance, she danced close to him and enjoyed his reaction. She waited until a drop of sweat fell from his chin.

"Isn't it hot in here?"

"Yes, ma. . . . Yes, Bridget." They finished the dance in silence.

"Shall we see if it's any cooler outside?" she asked.

Larry agreed. He was sure now that he was going to be able to kiss her, maybe to put his hands on those breasts that had been pressed against his ribs. Instead of stopping as soon as they were out of the light from the doorway, though, she kept walking.

"Let's go this way."

Larry was confused. It was not only cooler outside, it was nearly chilly. And she was wearing much less than his uniform. Still, she walked away from the Red Cross center. Suddenly, she turned towards a house.

"I have some rooms upstairs here." Even this cowboy couldn't be naive enough to miss that invitation.

Larry followed her up the stairs. By hanging back a little, his eyes were on a level with her swaying hips. It strained his control to keep his hands off them, and -- he promised himself -- that control would disappear when they were in her private rooms. When she led him through the door, he closed it behind him and took her in his arms. She came willingly enough. As he kissed her, he slid his hands down her back to cup those provocative hips.

The cowboy had certainly taken the invitation. Bridget reveled in the kiss, enjoyed his hands on her bottom. When he pulled her against him, she could feel that his erection was more than a beginning. She took his face in her hands and pulled him into a firmer kiss. Things were going well. When the cowboy kept his tongue in his own mouth too long, she pressed hers forward to find it. Soon, they were in a real kiss. Finally, she broke it.

"Not out here," she said. She led him into her bedroom.

Larry had never been in a lady's bedroom -- his parents' but that was his dad's room more than his mom's, his sisters' but that was a kids' room as much as the one he shared with his brother. This was full of dainty furniture, several pieces held mirrors. The bed wasn't dainty, though i's cover was. The bed was a large, solid, piece of furniture; it drew his eyes.

Bridget noticed when the cowboy's attention went from her to the surroundings. She saw that he was trying to avoid her seeing him staring at the bed. Now, he got the idea. She kissed him again holding his hands in her smaller ones. Then she drew them to her breasts.

Larry had occasionally managed to touch one of Martha's breasts as the climax of an evening of kissing. He'd never held one in each hand. These were larger, softer. And Bridget had brought his hands there. He stroked them, finally squeezing them.

"Do you want to see them?" she asked. "Do you want to take my clothes off?" The cowboy didn't answer with words, but his shaking hands went to her buttons. When he got to her waist, he didn't seem to know how to go further. She pulled the blouse out of her skirt, unbuttoned the last two, and turned around as she took the blouse off.

Larry had never seen a brassiere on a woman before. He'd seen his mother's in the wash plenty of times. It took him a minute to figure out how to undo this one. She didn't give him any hints, but she let him have enough time. As it came loose, she backed towards him. He found himself holding her in his arms and her breasts in his hands. They were warm, soft, heavy. They were wonderful.

"Like those?" Bridget asked. "Do this." She used her hands to teach his how to play with her nipples. She didn't need to teach him not to maul them. Cowboy or not, soldier or not, he was gentle when he was handling a woman. She turned to kiss him. When he was holding her close, she started unbuttoning his shirt.

Larry removed his blouse and skivvies when she'd opened the buttons. Then he hugged her warmth with the two pillows pressed against his chest. He returned to the kiss; this time it was his tongue exploring her mouth. He felt one of her hands on his cheek while the other roamed his back. He grasped her hips and pulled her tight against him. When she pushed him away, though, he let go.

"The skirt opens on this side. " He took the hint. Under her skirt, she was wearing a petticoat. Under that was her panties, her stockings, and an elaborate contraption holding up her stockings. Each time he removed some piece of her clothing, she took it from him and laid it down. After giving him one last kiss, she sat on the bed.

"You have to take off the shoes before the stockings." He did. then he looked at the top of the stockings. It was hard to concentrate with all the diversions of smooth thighs with the barely-hidden sweetness between. He figured out the connectors, though, and slid the stockings off.

"Careful. It's almost impossible to get more silk stockings." He was careful. She rolled over with her back up. This showed her hips covered only by her thin panties. He managed, however, to look at the contraption which had held up her stockings. When he undid it, she rolled over on her back, but away from him.

"If you want to lie here," she said patting the bed beside her, "you'll have to take off your own shoes and stockings." He managed that more easily than her unfamiliar clothes. He lay facing her. She leaned forward to give him a kiss.

"Now, you'll learn how to get a lady ready," she said. With only her panties, ring, and earrings clothing her, he thought she was nearly ready. And, despite his clothes, he was more than ready. But he was in her house, he would follow her rules. And they weren't bad rules to follow.

"Kiss these," she said holding out one breast in each hand. He scooted down in the bed and over to reach them comfortably. He could only kiss one at a time, but he loved the feel of the nipple in his mouth.

"Now," she took his hand. Since he was lying on his left side, his right hand was available. She moved it down to the leg opening of her panties. "In there are the folds which make me most a woman. Find them with your finger, and stroke them gently." He didn't have to be invited twice. The folds were covered with hair, but between them was a smooth and slippery paradise. He stroked there. As he went lower, he felt her widen out into a tube filled with liquid. When he went higher, he reached a little bump just before the inner folds joined. She hissed when he reached it.

"Yes," she said. "That's my clit. Stroke it slowly and gently." As he did as he was told, Bridget sank into her arousal. She only offered one other direction. "That's too much. You can go back down for more lubrication." He did, and she felt herself tighten as her climax neared.

"I need. . . ." Larry said. His relief in the shower seemed years in the past. His sucking on her breast, somehow even the strokes under her panties, were filling him with a desperate desire. He couldn't say it to her; but if she wasn't going to give him what he wanted, he needed to get to some privacy where he could relieve himself again.

"Just a little longer," Bridget gasped. "You can take off my panties now."

Larry took them off. Somehow the scent that arose when he did so -- something flowery with something unpleasant underneath -- hardened him yet more. But he went back to stroking, which was easieer wtth the panties out of the way, and sucking on her other nipple.

Bridget came to her climax in silence. She stiffened, relaxed, stiffened again. The cowboy kept sucking and rubbing. Finally, she couldn't take any more. She knocked his hand away.

"What did I do?" Larry didn't think that was polite. He'd done what she had asked.

"You did great," Bridget replied. She needed a couple of breaths before she could speak again. "You want to get your own pants off?" Could she tell him how to put on a rubber? Did she need to? She couldn't get pregnant, and this cowboy hadn't been with whores, or even with women. She decided it was too much effort.

Larry didn't need a second invitation. He stripped down to his skin.

"Kneel here." She spread her legs and raised her knees. Larry knelt between her legs. "Kiss me." As he moved down to do that, she grasped his dick and guided it into her. She needed that.

When Larry felt his cock surrounded by her warmth, instinct took over. He thrust forward until he couldn't go any deeper. the feeling of her smoothness surrounding him was delightful.

"Get up on your elbows," she said. "You're nearly smothering me. You do that, and you can get your hands back on my breasts."

She waited until he had followed directions to clasp the muscles inside her around his dick. "Now, ride 'em cowboy!"

Although the internal hug was nowhere near as tight as his fist provided, it felt much more arousing. Larry held her breasts as he moved in and out. It was marvelously sensuous.

It was ecstatic.

It was over. He thust deep into her and poured everything he had into her.

Bridget hugged the cowboy against her breasts. She hadn't come a second time, but she'd enjoyed the fuck. She wanted to be pleasured, but she also wanted to be appreciated. The way the cowboy acted showed how much he appreciated her. Finally, he got too heavy.

"Off." She pushed until he climbed off. He didn't know how to move around another person in the bed. Still, when she drew his hand to her breast, he held it appreciatively.

"Enjoy yourself?" she fnally asked.

"More than I can say."

"You think that I'm a tramp don't you?"

"I never thought that." If she didn't want to be thought a tramp, why did she behave like one? Now that he had time to think, Hank must have known something about her.

"You have a girl back home who's as pure as the driven snow, don't you?"

"I have a girl." But he didn't want to talk about Martha here.

"When you were dealing with a woman you think a tramp, you could wait for her to get her pleasure before you took yours. When you get your pure-as-pure girlfriend into bed, will you wait for her? Or will you take her without a thought for anything but your own lust? I wouldn't advise that. I'll tell you why."

And this is the story she told:

The reception finally over, they fled together under a shower of rice. Jim handed her into the passenger seatoof the Reo and climbed into the driver's seat. Fred already had the crank in his hand. At the third rotation, the engine caught. Fred threw the crank into the car behind them as Jim drove away. Mrs. James Powell, Bridget thought. She was Mrs. James Powell, and would be for the rest of her life.

Bridget, Jim thought, was finally his. Bridget Ryan had been the prettiest girl in town, and now she was Bridget Powell; and she was the prettiest woman in town and his wife. He'd wanted her for years, and now he had her. Jim parked in the street in front of the house. With Harriet and Mildred still cleaning up the reception at the club, he took Bridget's coat himself. He hung it in the hall closet with his. He led her upstairs.

"My room," he said opening the door. He was glad to see that Mildred had cleaned it since he'd dressed for the wedding. "Our room, now." He struck a match and lit two gas mantles. The light dispersed the gloom of dusk from the room.

Bridget looked around. It was a very nice room, decorated with Yale pennants to show Jim's college experience. It was neat and clean, but she thought the bed was intrusive. It took up much of the floor space and more of the space in her thoughts.

"Don't you want to get out of your things?" Jim asked. He took off his own tuxedo jacket and started to untie his tie.

"Where can I? I mean I need help." A wedding dress wasn't the sort of thing one could put on or take off by oneself, to say nothing of the corset.

"This is your room, now, dear. Use it. And I'll help if you tell me what to do. Mildred -- Harriet for that matter -- is still dealing with the remains of the reception."

Bridget didn't have another choice. Her mother had helped her on with the wedding dress, but she wasn't here. She wouldn't be here. Bridget couldn't imagine asking Mrs. Powell for help, even if she had gotten home yet. It would have to be Jim. She turned her back and described the string of clasps behind her back. Jim figured out the laces of the corset himself. She could get the rest off herself. She wondered where she could go to do that.

Jim unhooked the white dress which was her promise of purity. Then he unlaced the corset. All that protected her smooth back from his eyes was her camisole. He kissed the back of her neck. He took one side of the dress in his hand and walked around her, pulling it lightly. When he got where he was facing her, he pulled the other shoulder of the dress forward. The top of the dress came off her into his hands. Without the support from the top, the skirt finally dropped. She stepped out of the gown and he hung it in the closet.

"This half will be yours," he said. That half of the closet held a half dozen hangers and a wedding gown.

"Where can I go to change?" Bridget asked. For that matter, where was her trousseau with the fancy nightgown she had bought?

"Change here. This is your room now." This was hers, but -- more important -- she was his. And he wanted her to be his in all ways. Jim wanted that so much that his dick ached. He returned to her front and pulled gently on the shoulders of the corset. The corset was visible to her waist, where there were petticoats around it.

"The petticoats," she said.

"Then take them off."

Bridget didn't have a choice. She removed the petticoats and brought them to the closet. She draped them over the crossbars of two hangers. Finally, she removed the corset and draped it over a chair. She turned to him in her camisole with her face burning.

Jim barely noticed her face. All his attention was on the breasts sticking out against the camisole. He could nearly make out their shape through the thin linen. There were two points which had to be her nipples. He crossed the space between himself and his bride to kiss her. When his lips met hers, his hands rose to cup her breasts through the cloth.

"Jim," she said. Why had she agreed to this marriage? Why had she wanted it so fiercely?

"Yes, my darling." He turned away to remove his cufflinks and studs. Then he hung his shirt up in what was now his side of the closet. "Let me help you off with those shoes."

She didn't see any way to refuse. She sat on the bed, and he took off her shoes. Then he reached up and removed her garters and stockings. He would get the rest of her clothes off; she knew he would. She'd known that this was part of marriage -- known even before her mother had the talk with her two nights ago. What she'd seen as one part, even as an exciting part, looked like almost the entire thing now. And it looked more frightening than exciting.

Jim sat beside her to remove his own shoes and stockings. Then he put his right arm around her shoulders. He used his other hand to move her face into kissing position. The kiss began gently, but he pressed her lips more firmly. When his tongue parted her lips, it met her teeth. These seemed clamped together. He kept his mouth there and dropped his hand to her breast.

Bridget was tempted to shove his hand away. But he was her lawful husband. But he was stronger than she was. But they were in his room in his house. She let the hand stay there; she kept her mouth against his. When his hand dropped to her knee and then under her camisole, she knew how this evening would end.

"I love you, Bridget," Jim said. He did love her as he felt her smooth thighs. He'd wanted her for so long, and now he had her. Soon, tonight, he would have her in a more personal way. His thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of his family returning.

Bridget heard a door slam. Was she going to be rescued?

"It's my parents," said Jim. He found a pair of slippers and went to the head of the stairs. His father greeted him from the foot. "Get a ride back?" Jim asked.

"The Danielsons. They took Mary and Alice to stay tonight. Sam will be along later."

"Keep him down there, will you, sir?"

"I'll try. Not finished yet?" Jim gestured to his clothing. "Well get moving, son. We're all coming up in an hour."

When Jim returned to the room, he stripped off his trousers right after he closed the door.. Bridget could see his briefs distorted by the shape of his genitals. He stood in front of her with his hand on her camisole.

"Let me take this."

"But. . . . "

"We don't have all night. I don't want the family hearing everything. Do you?" She didn't. Actually, she no longer wanted there to be anything for them to hear. But Jim by himself was a lesser evil than his brother, sisters, and parents participating. She stood to let him take her camisole off. Now, her breasts were bare to his gaze and all that sheltered her most private parts was the inadequate covering of her drawers. She sat down on the bed again.

Jim sat next to her, He kissed her, and then pressed her back. Soon, he was kissing those lovely breasts while she lay there. She didn't look very happy, but he supposed nice girls might not. He felt all over her breasts while kissing her lips again. Then, he knelt on the bed while taking her drawers off.

Bridget blushed and closed her eyes. She felt the bed shift from Jim's movements, but kept her eyes closed.

Jim feasted his eyes on her nakedness, her lovely breasts, the hair-covered mound. He shifted down the bed so he could see her sweet pussy between her closed legs. He removed his briefs, being careful to not hit his stiff dick. Then he moved her leg to make room for himself. As he knelt there between her knees, he looked his fill at the small lips of her pussy.

Bridget couldn't keep her legs closed, she screwed her eyes shut and waited shivering for the intrusion her mother had told her was necessary.

Jim moved up her body kissing each breast again. When his dick came near her pussy, he reached down to part those lips. Then, poised with his dick between the pussy lips of his virgin bride, he straightened until his face was over hers.

"Look at me, Bridget," he said. "Open your eyes and look at me." When she did, he drove forward. He felt resistance against his dick. When the resistance parted, her eyes grew round and she cried out quite softly.

Jim moved forward until her pussy clasped the entire length of his dick.

Bridget felt him above her and against the most secret of her secret parts. She opened her eyes when Jim told her to. She focused on his smiling face. Then the face moved upward and she felt a sharp pain down below. She sobbed, tears dimming her view of Jim's wide grin. The pain was hardly receding when he started moving in and out of her. She shut her eyes again.

Jim, having taken the flower of the prettiest girl in town, rested within her pussy for a moment. Then he had to move. He pulled back enjoying the rubbing all along his dick. He thrust forward, burying himself in her pussy again. He moved more and more rapidly. Soon, he erupted within her. He lay for a moment on her.. Then he rolled over onto his own side of the bed.

Bridget's pain, never as bad as the first, never relenting, went on until Jim groaned above her face. Then he collapsed onto her.

After a long while, he moved aside. After an even longer time, he pulled the bedspread, blankets, and top sheet from under her and began to cover them. He stopped, though, to gesture towards his middle.

"That's my dick," he said. "Can you see your blood on it? I can. That means you belong to me forever."