The Mistress

by Kellis

Winter, 2007

It was my favorite jack-off spot: just under the top of Cardiff Hill, a nice level patch of grass surrounded by shoulder-high bushes.  If I squatted down below the top of the bushes, nobody could see me, and the afternoon sun felt good on my naked body — except in the summer.  But then school would be out so I would come in the morning and let the breeze cool my sweat, which I made lots of for the second squish.

I had discovered the spot a couple years before when I was ten, just a kid.  I went there then to play eagle and look down on the valley, the way an eagle would, and also to read books Mom let me borrow from the library.  It was my private aerie.  I thought of it immediately when Vernon Croft took hold of my dick through the front of my britches and showed me how to jack off.  I was jacking off there one afternoon the first time I squished and wet my pants leg.  Vernon had warned me of it, so I didn’t worry but always after that I took off my pants.  This year I’d begun taking everything off, even sometimes in winter.  It was hard to believe anything could make it nicer, but total nakedness did, especially for the second squish.

I’d managed to squish three times in one visit, but the third time really takes forever.

Oh, I still jacked off every night in bed.  Who wouldn’t?  I was naked there too.  I’d done it in every room of our little house with some toilet paper folded in my hand, even on Mom’s bed while she was banging pots in the kitchen.  That was funny.  She heard the bed shaking and wanted to know what I was doing.  I said, “Scratching.”  She said, “Must be a terrible itch!”  Oh, it was!  But once was enough in her bedroom.

Nothing compared to squishing in my aerie.  I loved to play with my dick while the birds were trilling and bees buzzing, especially in the spring when the sun warmed me just right.  I’d keep stroking and pulling the endskin even when the good feeling hadn’t started.  I loved my aerie.

But then I found out it wasn’t mine.

* * *

Today was Wednesday, May 7, 1947.  I knew I’d want to remember this date.

I climbed the hill right after school let out.  The air was a bit cool but I knew the sun would be perfect.  I took off my clothes, every stitch as usual, shoes and socks too, and folded them on top of my books.  Best not to get them dirty because washday wasn’t till Saturday.

My dick was already half stiff in anticipation.  I lay down on my back in the center of the grass, spread my legs apart as far as they would go, pointed my toes and began to squeeze my balls.  I’d learned if you play with them a little first, being careful not to pinch, the good feeling will start even before you touch the thriller.  But you can’t stand to wait too long.

When the real meat was stiff as a fried sausage, I took it in my fist and began to pump, slow at first but speeding up.  In no time the first squish came, just a dribble, then a squirt that arched over my chest and landed on my shoulder with weaker squirts that mostly hit my belly.  The first squish is always a lot, and I hadn’t made one since last night.

It was so good!  But it lasted only a few seconds.  Why does that wonderful feeling have to quit so soon?  God is stingy with his gifts.

One time last fall I managed a second squish pretty quickly.  Today I pulled up my knees and relaxed but kept hold of my meat just in case.  The light breeze felt good and so did the warm sun.  My belly and shoulder were wet, but I knew from experience if you let the stuff dry you can rub it off and it doesn’t stink.  So I lay there, playing with my dick, mainly pulling on the endskin, waiting to feel a throb of renewed goodness.

“Would you like some help with that?”

It was an adult voice, pitched halfway between a man and a woman, moderately loud.  It jerked me up on my feet, intending to dash down the hill, but after a couple steps I realized I was naked and about to abandon clothing and books.  Still in motion, I spun around, stumbled and fell on my butt.  I was blushing down to my belly and I’m sure my face was a spectacle.

A large woman sat on a chair-sized boulder at the up-hill end of the grass.  She wore black high-top shoes with long green stockings, a pleated tartan skirt tucked primly below her knees, a green jacket over a white blouse and a brown hat with a wide brim.  Where did she come from?  How long had she been there?  Her face was wrinkled around the eyes but she was smiling.

“Please don’t be frightened,” she added.  “I mean you absolutely no harm, not now and not later.”

“Ah, gah …”  Tongue-tied, I could only cross my hands over my still-stiff dick.

“Come on back and sit down.  Get dressed if you wish, though I’d rather you didn’t.”  She opened a small purse on her lap and took out a Butterfinger bar.  “Would you like some candy?”

Candy is sparse in my life.  My mouth watered at the thought.  But something else was more important.

“Did you … did you see what, ah …”

“What you were doing?”  Her smile widened.  Her top teeth were straight and white but the bottom teeth were crooked.  “Oh, yes, and I thought it was very well done.”

“I mean … jacking off.”

She nodded.  “That’s one name for it among boys.  It has other names, more amusing and ironic.”

“Ironic?”  I had read enough to recognize the word.

“How about ‘self abuse?’  Would you believe some people would think you were abusing your cock?”

“‘Cock?’”  I uncovered my dick and raised my eyebrows inquiringly.

She nodded.  “That’s your cock.  Still standing, how wonderful!  What do you call it?”

“My dick.”

“Another common name for it, though I believe cock has the better claim.”  Her eyes sparkled.  “How did you learn to play with it?”

“Vernon — ah, my friend showed me how.”

“Vernon, eh?  Was he an older man?  Not your uncle or you would have called him that.”

“A boy at school.”

“Of course.  What did Vernon do to you?”

“He … pumped me through my pants.”

“Ah, yes.  One of the few male advantages.”

“Advantages?”

“To get a female started requires more precise access.”  Her long fingernails ripped open the paper wrapping of the Butterfinger.  She bit the tip off the exposed bar and said with her lips spraying gold particles, “This candy tastes good.  Come and share it with me.”

I loved peanut butter and chocolate.  And her talk was fascinating.  I drew near but hesitated.  Why didn’t my nakedness outrage her?  What did she want?

She raised the candy toward me and grinned.  “Have a bite of this.  I promise not to bite you.”

I reached for the candy but she shook her head.  “No, bend over and open your mouth.”

Suddenly I had to have that candy!  But first I went to tiptoes and looked all around.  Fleecy clouds laced the sky.  Otherwise I saw only grass, bushes, boulders on top of the hill and the seated woman.

She chuckled.  Her jacketed arm slipped around my buttocks and pulled me to her side.  “Of course we’re alone.  Do you think I’d let anyone see me talking to a naked boy, even one as pretty as you?”

I was fixed on the candy.  Smelling the rich chocolate aroma, I bent over her hand.  She thrust it into my mouth so I could bite off an inch or two.  Heaven!

The remainder of the candy bar, still mostly covered in paper, went back in her purse, the purse to the ground beside her.  She spread her legs and pulled her skirt up over pale knees.  Her freed hand went behind my thighs.  She actually lifted me off the ground and sat my bare rump on one of her skirted legs with my own legs falling between hers.  The last time Mom tried that she had groaned and said I was getting pretty heavy, but this woman was bigger than Mom.

Her voice softened.  “I don’t know your name, my dear, and you don’t know mine, which is good for both of us.  I shall call you Narcissus, because you evidently love yourself very well.  Do you know the story of Narcissus?”

I shook my head, still chewing vigorously.

“He was so pretty he fell in love with his own reflection.  You’re that pretty, but I think loving your cock is healthier.”

No one ever called me pretty.  I blinked at her and she smiled.  At this distance I could see fine white hair on her upper lip.  Her eyes were bright green.  She was older than Mom and not nearly as pretty, which made me doubt her opinion about me, but her eyes got your attention.

“With this fine May weather I’ve been coming up here and sitting among these rocks for the last several days.  I used to come here when I was your age — are you twelve yet?”

“Yes’m,” I mumbled through the candy.  “Last week.”

“Many years ago the boy next door showed me this place.”  She chuckled reminiscently.  “We also decided nudity was the right costume here.”

I puzzled out the meaning of that.  “You both got naked?”

“As jaybirds, which led of course to appropriate behavior.”

I imagined them jacking off.  “How do girls do it?”

She chuckled.  “We humped like minxes, you know.  God, it was sweet!”

Humped?  Mom would say to me, “Hump out that flower bed.”  I understood it to mean a lot of work.

She sighed.  “I thought those days were gone forever.”  Her lips curled in a half-smile and her eyelids drooped.  “Can you imagine my surprise when I found a naked lad in my fairy ring?”

I gulped.  “Your … fairy ring?”

She gestured.  “The bushes make a sort of ring, don’t you think?  What’s your name for it?”

“Eagle’s aerie.”

“And you’re the eagle, no doubt: how masculine!  Appropriate to this sweet thing.”  As she said that, her hand dipped between my legs and took my almost soft … cock … between thumb and forefinger.  I flinched back but managed to stop before jerking it out of contact.

“Do you know, this is exactly like the one I played with here so long ago, even to the little nipple-shape of the foreskin when it extends beyond the knob.”  She peeled the endskin — foreskin? — back and exposed the purple end.

I felt a thrill.

She must have noticed the pulse.  “Of course you like this.”

I swallowed the last of the candy and managed to ask, “When did you first see me here?”

She smiled, “The first day I came you were already here.  I think you didn’t hear me because you were about to come.  I stood beside that boulder with my mouth fallen open, watching as you furiously beat your meat — boys still call it meat, don’t they? — until the spunk sprayed from your fist.  You worked much harder than just now for much less juice.  It must have been your second time that day.”

At my wondering stare she chuckled.  “Yes, I know a boy must fight harder for his second climax, which is a disadvantage of boys compared to girls.

“In any case you fell asleep.  I laid myself over the boulder to watch you and fell asleep myself.  When I woke, you were gone and I wondered if I had dreamed it.”

She smiled.  “I came earlier the next day.  A few minutes later you passed through the bushes, whistling a tune.  I shrank down behind my boulder, but you never looked around.  You must feel confident of your isolation.”  She grinned.  “Until now, eh?”

Her fingers were making mild thrills.  My cock was hard again.  She continued to work the foreskin over the knob.  “I watched you come twice, remembering other afternoons here, over 30 years ago.  That was yesterday.  Today I was again first and you put on another pretty show.”

She leaned down and licked my right shoulder where the squish had landed.  I almost flinched back.

“My, yes!” she breathed, wetting her lips.  “How I learned to love that taste!  Narcissus — may I call you Narcy? — would you mind very much helping me relive my youth?”

Her slow stroking felt good.  For sure I didn’t want it to stop, but I was always a little cautious.  “What would I have to do?”

“For a boy brave enough to jack off naked on a hill every day, I doubt you’ll be at all sorry.”

“Can you … show me?”

“With pleasure.”  Her hands grasped my hipbones and lifted me off her leg to stand directly before her, my cock just below her chin.  To my absolute astonishment she slurped it straight into her mouth!

Now the thrill was one of fear!  My hands caught her head and pushed it back.  “Don’t —  Don’t —” I began.

Her mouth opened wider in a peal of laughter.  “Oh, Narcy, did you think I was going to eat you alive?”

“Ah, ah —”

“What I’m going to do is suck on your cock.  Surely you know about blowjobs!”

“N-no!”

Her lips parted in disbelief.  “What kind of school do you attend where the boys don’t talk of cocksucking?”

“Nobody talks much.”

“Not even at recess?”

I shrugged.  “No recess.  It’s a half-day school.”

She shook her head.  “Even so!”  Her hands went to her head, pulled a few pins and removed her hat.  Dark brown hair fell over her ears, lustrous in the sunlight.  Next she shrugged out of her green jacket and laid both garments upon the grass.  For the first time I noticed that she had a lot of bosom.

“This work can get hot,” she said with a grin, again catching my hip.  “Now hold still and let me introduce you to something you will certainly love.”

“It won’t hurt?”

“Narcy, I promise you that only one thing ever feels better.”

Without waiting for my permission she took my cock back into her mouth.  I tensed up but she was right: it didn’t hurt at all.  She let it slide mostly back out of her mouth, looked up at me with a twinkle and pushed the foreskin back using only her pursed lips.  I shivered at a powerful thrill when the knob passed between them.  Her rough tongue stroked the bottom and I shivered again.  Her cheeks went hollow and she sucked it in until her nose bumped my belly.  I felt like I was melting.  I couldn’t believe the sweetness!  In its own way it was better than the candy, much better.

Her hands stroked my hips and butt cheeks until one dipped under her chin and squeezed my balls, rolling them in her fingers.

Today the second squish would be quick.  I thought it was only fair to warn her.  “I’m about to … do it in your mouth.”

She blinked and made a giggling sound through her nose.  She thought my threat was funny and didn’t stop sucking at all.  So I began to squish out my juice.  It was strange not to see where it went, but, golly, nothing ever felt so good in my whole life!

I found out why the best feeling has to be short.  My knees got weak.  My hands had fallen to her shoulders.  Now my weight was on them.  She must have guessed what I was feeling.  Her hands under my buttocks and behind my balls helped me stand — kept my dick from pulling out of her mouth.

All I could think of was that lovely, lovely thrill in my dick — until it began to hurt.  You feel that mix of pleasure and pain if you keep beating hard after a squish, but this was much worse.  It made me squeal.  My hands caught her head to push her back.  But her arms went around my butt and held me against her mouth.  She quit sucking, at least, or I think I would have passed out.  She only let my dick lie on her tongue until I quit moaning.

At last she opened lips and arms to release me.  I stumbled back and stared at her.  Somehow I was short of breath.  She stuck out a surprisingly long tongue that she had formed like a spoon.  The bowl of it was full of the white stuff I had left in her mouth.  I thought of it in my own mouth and nearly gagged.  It made my knees weaker.  I just flopped down on the grass.

She laughed through her still open mouth, I guess at my expression.  She closed her lips and swallowed hard, putting her head forward, then reopened them and stuck out a dry tongue.  This time I couldn’t suppress a slight gag.

She grinned wide.  “What’s the matter, Narcy?  I can’t believe you never tasted it.”

I shivered.

She looked surprised.  “Were you never curious?”

“I never tasted my pee either.”

“Why not?”

I’m sure my eyes goggled.  “It stinks!”

She chuckled.  “Not after a few beers.  You probably won’t like champagne either.”  She took a breath.  “Spunk and pee have almost nothing in common, aside from their use of the same eye.”

I understood she meant the slit in the dick end, but eye?

She was still talking.  “They look different, smell different and taste different.  A woman can learn to love spunk, especially the youthful variety, like malassol caviar.  Even a girl can!  I did, as a girl…”

Her eyes went distant until she shook herself.  “Well, Narcy, what did you think of your first blowjob?”

I tried to be honest.  “Nothing was ever so, so …”

She smiled.  “Can’t find the words?”

“Sweet, I guess.”  Her pale knees were apart.  She must have seen my eyes intent under the hiked-back skirt.  If so she ignored them.  She wore white panties.  In her groin curly black hairs pushed out from the edges.

She nodded.  “It’s an ineffable experience, but you put it rather well.  One doesn’t forget her first tonguing.  I do so remember mine.  It happened right about where you’re sitting.”

“‘Tonguing?’  Is that another name for it?”

“For girls.”

“Can you suck girls?”  I didn’t think they had cocks.

“You lick girls.  Sucking their little nubs is far too intense, except at climax.”

“N-nubs?”

She smiled indulgently but glanced at her wristwatch and became serious.  “I have to go, Narcy.  If you meet me here tomorrow I’ll show you a nub.”

Her elbow was resting on her knee.  I caught that hand in mine.  “Can’t you stay longer?”

“Why, Narcy,” she breathed, “I think you enjoy my company!”

“Oh, I do!”

She chuckled.  “That pleases me.  You are a sweet lad as well as pretty.  But I’m sure you know about appointments.”  She laughed, eyes sparkling.  “I won’t have time to brush my teeth.  I’ll be sure to breath out when the minister kisses my cheek!”

So he could smell … my juice?

She laughed harder.  “Does that idea amuse you, Narcy?  If I know that old rake, and I do, he’d prefer to sniff at the source.”

“He’d like to … smell my cock?”

“Oh, yes, before and after he sucked it dry.”

I goggled at her.  Men suck cocks?

But she was standing up.  I asked quickly, “Who are you?”

She thought about it and grinned.  “Give me a name when you meet me tomorrow.”

I smiled back because the idea tickled me.  She slipped into her jacket and pinned the hat atop her head.  She threw out a hip toward me.  “Am I presentable, Narcy?  Any white streaks on my chin?”

“No … ma’am.”

“Good.  I always hate to lose what a man gives.  Stand up and kiss me.”

At first I didn’t want to.  Some of the juice from my pee-hole might still be on her lips!  But when I got to my feet, meaning to let her kiss my cheek, she pulled me strongly into her soft bosom, took my head in her hands and clamped her open mouth over mine.  Being a little taller than I, she pulled me up on tiptoes.  Before I realized it her tongue had pushed in and was stroking mine!  At first I almost gagged, though the tongue was tasteless, but somehow it gave my dick a thrill.  My tongue began to stroke back.  I was suddenly aware of her pillowy chest.  Her hand caught my almost hard dick and pumped it a few times before she finally backed away.

She was breathing faster.  She shook her head, still pumping my dick.  “Ah, Narcy, you don’t know how I hate to leave you!”

I put my arms around her shoulders.  “Then don’t.”

“I must.”  She twisted away but paused long enough to take the candy remains from her purse.  “Here, to show how much I like you.”

I mumbled thanks and added, looking down, “I wish I could give you something.”

“You will tomorrow.”  As she left, she said over her shoulder, “Do meet me.  I’m counting on it.”

“I’ll be here!” I said definitely.

I followed her to the crest and watched her start to descend before remembering I was naked and exposed.  By the time I had thrown on my clothes she had vanished in the trees that grow up most of that side of the hill.

* * *

At supper Mom said, “I need to talk to you, Frank.”

I had been wondering how to talk to her.  “Okay.”

“Your father’s insurance has kept us going since the war, but it’s about run out.  I mean to apply for a job.”

“A job?”

She heaved a sigh.  “But I have no special skill.  I can’t type or take shorthand.  The only thing open around here now that the war factories are closed is domestic service.”

“What would you do?”

“Maybe cook for someone.  Maybe keep house.  I do have two years of college.”

I thought about it.  “Will we have to move?”

“Probably.  The upkeep on this place is too much anyway.”

We had recently replaced the roof.  I put my hand over hers.  “Whatever you have to do, Mom.”

She nodded.  “I was sure you wouldn’t mind.  You might even get a better school.”

“Okay.”

“Friday afternoon I have my first interview appointment.  I want you to go with me.”

I blinked.  “Will I get a job too?”

She smiled.  “I don’t think so.  Taking you with me will show how much I need the job and how seriously I’ll do it.”

“It will?”

“Yes.  You must be on your best behavior.”

“Okay.”

She continued to eat.  After a bit I asked, “Do you know any women around here older than you?”

“Lot’s of them.”

“With green eyes?”

“That’s an unusual color.”  She thought a moment.  “There’s Mrs. Paulson, the grocer’s wife.”

I knew the woman behind the counter at Paulson’s.  She did have green eyes.  “Besides her.”

“If I think of someone I’ll let you know.  What’s your interest in this green-eyed woman?”  Her eyes twinkled.  “I thought you’d soon run into girls and turn their eyes green.”

“Girls?” I repeated speculatively.  I had finally understood that what happened this afternoon was sex — with a grown woman in her forties if 30 years ago she was twelve.  When I had thought of it, maybe once or twice, I too had expected my first time to be with a girl, one about my own age.

Had I done something wrong?  Not that I had done much of anything.  The pang of guilt died aborning.

“Who is this woman?”

I shrugged.  “I forgot to get her name.”

Mom stared at me for a long moment.  “I never asked you, John.  Where do you go in the afternoon?”

“But I’ve told you.  Up Cardiff Hill.  It’s a good place to read.”

“Well, I hope you didn’t meet your green-eyed woman up there.”

I managed to join her chuckle.

* * *

I dreamed of her that night: green eyes that found my juice so amusing.  Spunk, she called it.  She had given me several new ideas.  Where do girls keep these nubs you lick instead of suck?  In my dreams I licked her nose and sucked the snot.  Instead of disgusting me it made me tingle.  In the morning my sheet was a mess.  I didn’t know dream sex could make spunk!

* * *

She was waiting for me, sitting on the grass as a woman does, with her legs curled to one side under her skirts.  Her elbow was leaning on something behind her.  Today she wore a tan hat, also with a wide floppy brim, and some kind of long green dress that buttoned in front.  Mom has a blue one she calls a housecoat.

The waiting woman smiled brightly at me.  “Good afternoon, Narcissus.  You haven’t kept me waiting, for which I’m most grateful.  This sun would soon be hot.  Do you have a name for me?”

I dropped my books about six feet away.  What she leaned on looked like a picnic basket with a cushion on top of it.  I held out the bouquet of wildflowers to her, took a breath and said, “Joy.”

Her forehead wrinkled.  “Is that a greeting?”

“It’s your name.  Mrs. Joy, if you want.  Because of what you made me feel.”

Her face brightened.  “Joy.  I like it.”  She took the flowers, sniffed them and sighed, “Ah, Narcy, you do take me back.”

I was curious what she meant but intent on explaining my choice.  “I wanted to name you from a story, like you did me, but the only woman I could find who … used a candy lure was the witch who trapped Hansel and Gretel.  Grimm’s Tales doesn’t give her name.”

She lost her smile.  “You wanted to name me after an evil witch?  What did you find so terrible about me?”

“Not you; me.  At the time I was thinking I’d done wrong by letting my first time be with a woman instead of a girl.”

“Oh, Narcy, you’ll learn that a girl still lives in every old woman.”  Now she smiled broadly.  “So I lured you, did I?  How was that?  What exactly did I do to you?”

“Sucked my dick.”

“Sucked your cock — played the cocksucker, as people say.  But that didn’t worry you.  What I did was seduce you.  And I loved every minute of it.”

“You did?”

“I know how Grimm’s witch felt when she had locked up those delicious children.  I always thought Grimm disguised his stories to avoid censorship.  Isn’t it odd how people consider death or cannibalism less perverse for their children?  But surely Grimm’s witch wanted only to suck that cute little cock, make the children lick her clit while fucking each other: teach them the adult pleasures, in other words.  I’ve had occasion to note the sweetness available from such indulgence.”

I gaped at her, caught by the possibilities, except —  “Then what did he mean by having Gretel push the witch into the oven?”

She leered.  “After a while I’ll show you what was meant by the oven and what’s usually pushed into it.”  She seemed to recover her breath.  “Narcy, perhaps you were disappointed in who you let seduce you first, but if I gave you joy, I must not have treated you so poorly.  In time you may even appreciate the trouble I saved you.  But now … are we still alone?  Whom have you told of yesterday’s good fortune?”

I started to mention the brief conversation with Mom but thought better of it.  “No one.”

“Why not?  Isn’t a first blowjob something to brag on?”

I could’ve told Vernon, but the idea of sharing her was hateful.  I shook my head.  “I couldn’t brag without telling on you.”

She chuckled.  “You’re a smart lad, Narcy, as well as pretty.  That is, the boy I recall was a pretty one.”

I may have discounted her admiration yesterday but its apparent withdrawal struck me painfully.  She saw it in my face.  Her eyes twinkled and I finally understood.  Shoes and socks went first then shirt, shorts and undershorts.  Soon I stood naked before her.

“There’s my handsome lad!”  Her eyes ranged me up and down, lingering on my dick that was starting to rise.  “Oh, you are pretty, Narcy; just at the prettiest age, with your violet nipples that haven’t yet decided between male and female, and your smooth knees, perfect skin and nearly perpetual erection, so straight and proud.”

She gathered her legs underneath her and rose to her feet.  The smock was long, almost to her ankles.  In surprise I realized she was barefooted.  Then I saw her high-top shoes standing beside the basket.  She unpinned her hat and threw it on the ground.  Again dark hair descended almost to her shoulders.

She extended her arms to me.  “Narcy, come give your Joy a kiss.”

I never thought of hesitating.  As our tongues met she pulled us tightly together.  Today she was softer, like a down pillow.  Her mouth had an interesting taste: minty.  My arms wove ’round her neck and I felt her hands stroking my back and cupping my butt cheeks.  She moaned through her nose and removed her tongue.

“Oh, god, Narcy!  Today Joy wants some joy too.”  Breathing harder, she studied my eyes from inches away.  “When did you last jack off?”

“Um.  Last night.”

“Tell me the truth.”

I took a breath.  “Actually I didn’t last night, but I messed up the sheets anyway.”

“Good dreams?”

“I couldn’t believe how good.”

She chuckled slightly.  “I’ve heard of that.  Then you may be a bit too eager today.”

“I can wait a while.  What’s in the basket?”

“Luncheon for two.  Before we eat, though, that is, before we eat the food, I have something I promised to show you.”

“The nub,” I said positively.

Joy laughed outright.  “Oh, did you notice what I said?”  She stepped back, shaded her eyes and looked all around our hilltop.  “Someone could have a telescope, I suppose, but few men object to a woman with a boy.”  Her hand went to the top button on her smock and rippled down through them, parting the cloth.  She shrugged out of it.  She wore no underclothing.  She stood forth naked as I, except for a wristwatch and some kind of brooch dangling between her breasts on a fine gold chain.

I had to gasp.  I had never before seen a woman’s body, and Joy’s was a pale pink vision.  Her breasts bulged sideways from her chest, large as my head, tipped with brown nipples the size of my fists.  Her belly was smoothly rounded with the navel deeply recessed.  Long vertical gouges in the skin only added to the novelty.  At the groin was a large clump of crinkly hair that matched her head.  Her legs tapered to her knees with rounded calves below.  Recalling her late in my life, I know Rubens would have loved to paint her.

“What do you think, Narcy?”  Her eyes studied my face intently.  “A bit broad in the beam?”

All I could do was stare, my mouth handing open.  Her gaze softened.  “Have you ever seen even a picture of a woman’s nude body?”

I shook my head dumbly.

“Then you have no comparison.”  She seemed to be disappointed.  That prompted me to find words.

“Joy … you … you’re the best looking thing I ever saw.”

“Thank you.”  She chuckled wryly.  “I do take comfort from the state of your cock,” which item of course was sticking straight out.

Joy bent to spread the fallen smock more evenly on the grass then simply lay down upon it on her back with her legs open toward me, her head propped up on the cushion from the basket.  I had a glimpse of a vertical red line centered in her groin.

She raised her arms.  “Come to me, Narcy.  Kneel between my legs.”

With my head about a foot from her groin I smelled a strange odor, but she didn’t wait for me to figure it out.  Her middle fingers pulled the hair apart.  My eyes widened on a glistening crimson gash with a recess in the bottom.  It was very wet but not bloody despite the bright color.

Her eyes twinkled.  “You think that’s interesting, do you?”

“Ah, ah —”

“Take a look at his.  Would you call it a nub?”

Her forefinger nail touched a lump of red flesh at the top of the gash.  I bent even closer.  It had a sort of hood over the top of it.

“Well?”

“Okay, a nub.  Is that what you meant?”

“It’s a girl’s most sensitive part.  The right name is clit, short for clitoris.”  She emphasized the middle syllable.

“‘Most sensitive.’  You mean it’s like …”

“The head of your cock.  You lick around it or on it.  Give it a try.”

I stared into her eyes.  If that’s what she wanted …

The strong odor was soap and something else.  She must have washed here just before she walked up the hill.  The something else wasn’t flowers.  It was more like meat in the pan ready to cook.  I put out my tongue, touched her and began to stroke the nub.  It lost some of its softness.

“Loop around it,” she ordered.

I obeyed.  Her knees came up and cool thighs closed on my ears for just a moment.  Without thinking my arms went under them and up to her soft belly.  I felt her quiver.  My dick was getting hard enough to hurt.

“Faster, Narcy, faster!” she urged.

I sped up, now breathing through my nose.  The muscles tightened up under the padding in her legs and hips.

“Now suck it,” she cried.  “Oh god, Narcy, oh god!”  When I pursed my lips and obeyed, she began to scream softly.  Her legs closed on my head, masking the sounds.  Her body heaved.  Suddenly she pushed my head back.  When I looked up, her face was bright red and her chest was heaving.

I asked, “Did that hurt?”

Joy strained farther up, took me under the arms and dragged me atop her belly.  Her hand caught my dick.  Her hips rolled somehow and my dick thrust into something hot and wet — her gash.  She grabbed my butt cheeks and pulled me tight between her legs.  Her hips rolled forward and back, grinding something — her bottom hair, I realized — around my dick.  She was jerking and gasping, lifting my knees off the ground.  I felt her big mounds bumping my chest.  I wasn’t sure if this was fucking.  I thought of her word of yesterday.  Maybe it was humping.

Then she stopped and just lay under me, panting and studying my face a few inches above hers.  My dick was between us, no longer in her gash.  After a bit she said, “No, Narcy, it didn’t hurt.  But I think I was beginning to scare you.  I’m sorry.”  She grinned.  “I do get carried away.”

Her hands on my butt pulled me up over her belly and sat me in front of her face.  She slurped my whole dick right into her mouth.  In no time the super feeling returned and I began to squish.  Her tongue relaxed and let me.  When I finished, she kept sucking, very gently.  Some of the feeling lingered.  Her eyes were turned up to mine under her eyelids, watching my face.  I sat still, enjoying her tongue.  After awhile her hands on my hips pushed me back a little.  My dick was wet and still hard, but no squish was left.

I’d been thinking about what happened.  I guessed, “It’s too small, isn’t it?”

She seemed to consider her answer.  “It will grow, Narcy.  You can depend on it.”

“You said it’s just like your first one.”

“I did, and it is.  But my quim isn’t the same.”

“You mean your gash?”

“Gash?  As in, ‘Good god, Gertie, what a gash?’”  She laughed harshly.  “Whom have you been talking to?”

“That’s what it looks like,” I said defensively.  “I’m sorry.”

Joy laughed again, more humorously.  “We’ve just acted out the old joke, haven’t we?  The woman sniffs.  ‘My, but you have a small organ.’  And the boy responds, ‘I didn’t expect to play in a cathedral.’”

I understood and broke into giggles.  Smiling at me, she said after awhile, “The organs grow at the same rate, male and female.  My quim has passed three babes but can still grip a man.  You need only grow a little longer and fatter.  I expect another year will do that and more, especially with lots of attention.  I’m sure it wants lots of that!  In the meantime I’ll show you a great substitute.  Now get off me and let’s have some lunch.”

I wanted her to feel as good as I did.  “Show me now.”

She tousled my head.  “Don’t be impatient.  We have all afternoon.”  She cocked her head thoughtfully.  “I expect you don’t realize what you did for me with your tongue.”

“What?”

“Made me come.”

I blinked and slid off to the side.  I had guessed Vernon meant squishing when he used the word that way.  I asked her, “Do women come?”

Joy got up on her knees, bent off the housecoat and opened the basket.  Her breasts dangled away from her chest, seeming to grow very long.  They hung low enough almost to touch the grass.  I nearly missed her answer.

“Do we ever!  Oh, not the same way.  We’re meant to take in seed, not put it out.  But women can come stronger, longer and more often than men, bless their envious big cocks.”

“You mean the feeling.”

“Hah?”  She grinned at me.  “Of course, the feeling that gets better and better.  When boy or man gets to the peak, he squirts, which is one difference, and has to quit, which is another.  When a woman gets there, she stays.”

“‘Stays?’”

“As long her man keeps going.  Or men.”

That was an interesting idea.  “You mean a woman can …”

“Accept many men, one right after the other.”  She chuckled slightly.  “Too bad you attend such a small school.  In the big city high schools just about every year some girl will take on the whole senior class after she finds out how good it feels to fill that hole.”

I gaped.  “You mean …”

“In the same night.”

“Gosh!  Doesn’t that hurt her?”

“Hurt?  Her quim is sore for a day or two and might pass a huge lump nine months later, but no, while it happens she’s as close to heaven as anyone can get on this earth.”

“‘A huge lump?’”

She cocked her head at me.  “You live in the country, Narcy.  Don’t you know what sex is for?”

I thought about it.  “She might have a baby?”

“Now you’re thinking.”

“Uh, if I squi— uh, come in your quim, will it make a baby?”

She grinned.  “I suppose it’s barely possible, but don’t worry your head on it.  How do you like ham and cheese?”

“I like ham.”

She had laid out two sandwiches wrapped in wax paper, a thermos with two cups and a small jar with a wide-mouthed lid and the label, Cold Cream.  Mom has such jars but I didn’t know you ate the contents.

Joy gestured at the sandwiches.  “One has cheddar, the other Swiss cheese.  Take your choice.”

I took the yellow cheese.  I’d eaten cheddar before but not with meat and mustard in a sandwich.  It tasted great!  I sat beside her, our thighs in contact, her elbow nuzzling me when she raised her sandwich for another bite.  She ate neatly with her lips closed.  Mom had taught me how to do that too.

Her free hand stroked my back.  She twisted toward me so that her other elbow blocked my sandwich hand when I raised it for another bite.  “You’re a mannerly lad, Narcy.  Let me show you something that is totally unmannerly.”

Joy was surprisingly strong.  The hand on my back caught me under the arm and pulled me up against her breasts with our faces together.  I saw a lump in one cheek.

“Open your mouth wide,” she ordered.

I obeyed.  Her face bent to mine, sides of noses rubbing, and she shoved a partly chewed bite of sandwich into my mouth.  “You grind it awhile,” she said, eyes twinkling.

I stared at her.  I’m sure my eyes were big as marbles.  She licked my lips with her food-spattered tongue.  “Chew it, Narcy!”

I did.  It tasted a little different.  The Swiss cheese?

“Now give it back.”  She opened her mouth and I pushed most of it in.  Her lips sucked my tongue.  My eyes opened even wider.  I could feel an echo of that suction in my dick!

She swallowed after more chewing, grinning the whole time.  “Now you start one.”

I took a bite of my sandwich, chewed a bit and pushed it into her mouth.  Again she sucked my tongue.  Was this sex too?  Apparently it was; my dick was painfully hard.  When she pushed the food back to me, I closed on her lips and sucked the same.  She made a peculiar sound through her nose, a kind of hum, and her free hand slipped under my belly and squeezed my dick and balls.

I felt a distinct thrill and forgot to suck.  She sighed heavily, briefly chewed another bite of her sandwich and sagged backward on the housecoat while the hand behind me pulled my groin up to her neck.  My dick popped into her mouth.  I cringed, fearing that she would chew it too, but her tongue only smeared it with sandwich parts.  The strangeness added a new thrill.

Now she was willing to talk with her mouth full.  “God, Narcy, you are a marvelous lad!”  The words were perfectly distinct.

I groused, “You couldn’t do that if my cock was full-grown.”

Joy laughed, sitting up and pushing me back.  “Probably not.”  She swallowed.  “Spunk-flavored ham.  I love it!”

I had a thought.  “What if I chewed a bite and … pushed it in your quim?”

Her eyes flashed.  “That’s an idea, all right.  Especially licking it out.  But I didn’t bring a douche bag.  Do you really want to put something in me?

“I want to make you feel like I did.”

“You are such a sweet boy!  Finish your sandwich, have a cup of coffee, and I’ll show you how to do that.”

Most grownups seem to like coffee black.  What she poured was light brown and tasted hot and sweet.  I smacked my lips as it burned my throat.

She chuckled.  “I guessed right, didn’t I?  I actually prefer tea, but I drink it the same way, with cream and sugar.  I have always loved sweet drinks and sweet men.”

Suddenly her claim of three babes connected.  My eyes widened and I stammered, “You — you’re married!”

She cocked her head at me.  “Would that bother you, Narcy?”

“Married women don’t … don’t —”

“Fuck men besides their husbands?  In fact, Narcy, only married women can do it safely.”

“S-safely?”

“Married or not, a woman must conceal her affair.  But if a married woman gets herself pregnant, well, that’s supposed to happen in marriage.”

I thought about it.  “What happens if she does but she’s not?”

“The world says she’s ruined.  Polite society shuns her.”  Joy’s gaze was distant.  “At least that’s how it was before the war.  Things may be changing now.”  Her attention snapped back to me.  “But don’t worry, Narcy.  I’ve divorced that last bastard.”  On the next breath she changed the subject.  “I see that you’re a nail biter.”

“Umm, I’m sorry.”  I slipped my hands behind me.

She smiled reassuringly.  “Don’t be.  In fact I’m very glad of it.  Just for curiosity, why do you do it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I haven’t caught you at it.  When do you do it?”

I knew the answer to that.  “When I can’t play with my dick.”

She began to laugh but choked it off when I blushed.  “Wonderful, Narcy!  Apparently my playing with it counts too.  Ha!  I wonder if that’s the general explanation for nail biting.  I’ll have to write my friend, the psychiatrist.”

She opened the cold cream jar and gouged out two finger-fulls.  “Give me your hand.”  The cream felt cold when she slathered it on, rubbing the back, the palm and each finger separately.

Discarding the jar, she held up her own hand with all four fingertips and thumb pressed together.  “Can you do this?”

I demonstrated that I could.  “Good lad.”  She laid on her back and spread her legs.  “Now squat on my boobs with your head over my groin.”  She caught my hips and helped me get in that position.  Boobs is another name for tits?

Her hands slipped between us and pulled her quim open from either side.  “Put your hand in me, Narcy.  Slowly …  Slowly …  Work it side to side.  Yes.  Oh, yes!”

Her odor was stronger.  I felt heat and soft, wet flesh.

“Now make a fist…  Move it in as far as it will go.”

I was in her past my wrist.  She quivered when I contacted a lump.  “Move it in and out, Narcy, slowly at first…  Oh, my, yes; now you’re big enough!  You’re perfect!”

Her hands slipped out and rose to grasp my hips.  I shuddered at the strange feeling when she sucked my balls past her teeth.  She mouthed them a moment, almost painfully, then released them to order, “Now go fast, Narcy.”

I obeyed, working my arm rapidly between deep and shallow, often hitting the lump in back.  She shivered more and more and began to make a strange sound, like someone crying through a tight throat.

I got the sense of it only once, when she called, “Lick it too, Narcy!”

That’s not so easy: to lick a nub while your fist is behaving like steam piston right under it.  I combined licking and sucking.  Somehow her insides tightened up on my fist.  She screamed and her hips heaved.  I stopped immediately.

“No, no!” she cried.  “For god’s sake keep going.  Faster!”

When I did, she went back to wailing and hip heaving.  I wrapped my free arm around her thigh and held on while sucking the nub on top and pounding away inside her quim.  It made a squishing sound.

She soon eased off a bit, so I did too.  That got another, “Faster!  Faster!” out of her.  In no time she was wailing and heaving again.  When she eased off the next time, I didn’t.

That’s the way it went for awhile.  My arm and lips were getting tired.  She heaved very strongly and suddenly fell absolutely still.  No amount of pummeling seemed to bother her after that.  I raised up, rolled my hips off to the side and studied her.  Her head was thrown back so that I could only see her chin.  Her hands lay beside her.  She seemed totally relaxed except that her chest heaved for breath.

I pulled my hand out with a sucking sound.  It was wet but the cold cream had vanished.  I moved up to look at her face.  I could only see the whites of her eyes.  They were rolled back in her head.  If she hadn’t been breathing hard I would’ve been worried.

Her big breasts sagged sideways off her chest, lolling with each breath.  I turned around and lay down to study the nearer one.  The nipple was standing up temptingly.  I licked it.  It was even lumpier than her nub.  I smelled a faint odor of bacon frying.

“Suck it.”

I looked up guiltily.  She had raised her head and was watching me, still breathing hard.  I saw no sign of disapproval.  “Are you okay?”

She smiled dreamily.  “Better than okay.  Narcy, you sweetheart, your hand is just the right size to send me to heaven.  I saw stars!”

I blinked.  “‘Stars?’”

“Oh, yes.  Poor male, you’ll never know.”  She took a deep breath.  “Do play with my boobs.  I’ve been told they’re my two finest points.”

Her hand caught mine and raised it to the breast.  I squeezed tentatively.  It was large as my head, softer than a pillow or balloon.  Resting on my elbows, I brought up my other hand, fondled it between them and tweaked the nipple.  She twitched.

“Easy on that.  My last kid left it sensitive.”

I took it in my mouth and sucked gently, wondering if I had done this before with Mom.  Did I leave Mom’s nipples sensitive?  I wondered further if I sucked harder would I get milk from Joy.  Sucking harder, I pulled more velvet skin into my mouth.

“Oh, Narcy,” she breathed, “that feels good.  You remind me of my last child.  His mouth was so good I almost didn’t wean him.”  She chuckled fondly.  “When he said to me, ‘This one’s empty, Mamma; can I have the other one?’ I knew I had to stop.”

She let me suck and play with both, sometimes stroking my head like you do a cat.  After a while her hand reached between my legs and caught my dick.  At that she pushed me back.

“So!  It’s no longer sexy, is it?  Then why are you still sucking?”

“Playing baby,” I said, licking my lips.

She shook her head.  “I’m not your mother, Narcy.  If I were, I wouldn’t be allowed to do this.”  She rolled over me and caught my soft dick in her mouth.  It was hard in a few seconds.

I said aloud, “Do mothers suck cocks?”

She chuckled through her nose, raised her head and said, “You do remind me of old stories.  Kathy, my good friend, as a little girl looked through the door and saw her mother sucking her father’s cock.  Later when they were alone, she said to her mother, ‘I saw what you were doing.  Is that how you get a baby?’

“‘No, dear,’ said her mother.  ‘That’s how you get a new dress.’”

When I only stared at her thoughtfully, Joy chuckled and explained, “Some women let their husbands believe they hate cocksucking.”

It still took me a moment, but at last I nodded.  “So the man will be grateful.  But she really doesn’t hate it?”

“What’s to hate?  A big fat cock is about the nicest thing you can put in a woman’s mouth.”  She winked at me.  “Or even a little cock, if it’s hard and twitchy like this one.”

Down went her head.  Suddenly I wanted to see.  I scooted around where I could watch her mouth slide up and down my short rod, her nose flattening into my belly each time.  Her ponytail bounced.  My legs were together and I could feel her big tits flopping outside my knees.  Spit oozed from the corners of her mouth.  The thrills boiled over and spunk thickened the spit.

She sucked all of it out and immediately moved her face over mine.  I knew what she meant but opened my mouth and let her do it.

She said, “Time you found out about it.  Now you swallow.”  I obeyed, though it had surprisingly little taste.

She poured the rest of thermos for us, about half a cup each.  While we sipped it, she said, “What did you feel inside me, Narcy?  Was it hot?”

“Oh, yes!”

“I think Grimm’s oven was between the witch’s legs.”

I blinked.  “And Gretel pushed her hand into it!”

Joy chuckled.  “Along with Hansel’s, no doubt.  I understand they were younger than you, with smaller hands.  Narcy, tell me about yourself.”

“Tell you what?”

“Not your real name, not where you live — what you want of life and how you plan to get it.  Or are you like most kids: never gave that a thought?”  She grinned at me.  “Perhaps life’s greatest tragedy is that we can’t fuck all the time.”

I had to giggle.  The idea of non-stop fucking had never occurred to me.  “Is that what the high-school girls you mentioned are trying to do?”

“Yes, exactly.  Girls — camp followers — have literally fucked themselves to death more than once.  I guess the chance of it is why they became camp followers in the first place.  Fortunately, I suppose, for me — who knows really? — World War I ended and the army camp near my home disbanded before I dared to sneak off.  How I dreamed about the thousands of spunky young cocks just a few miles away …”  She sighed.  “I was a hot little number at sixteen, Narcy.  But now the subject is you.  Tell me what you want from life.”

I trotted out the idea of becoming a technician or engineer, as my father had wished, though I knew nothing about it, which a few sharp questions soon revealed.  “You have your work cut out for you,” she said in summary.

I glanced up at the sun, half-way down the sky.  She turned her wristwatch to study it and sighed.  “All good things come to an end.  Give me a good long kiss before we put our clothes on.”

 Indeed it was a long one, during which she stroked my soft dick and I dared to put a finger in her quim, still wet and hot.

“Will you come tomorrow?” I asked.

She smiled.  “You really want me, do you?”

“Yes, Joy, I really do.”

She kissed my check but shook her head.  “Not tomorrow.  Maybe the next day.”

“That’s Saturday,” I said, very disappointed.  “I can’t come until Sunday.”

“Aren’t you too young to have a job, Narcy?”

“It’s not a job job.  I have to help Mom clean house on Saturday.”

“I see.  And I can’t come Sunday.”  She smiled reassuringly.  “But I’ll surely be here Monday afternoon.”

* * *

We passed through our gate to the sidewalk and Mom just stopped, standing straight with her purse strap in on hand and a large manila envelope in the other.  We were wearing our Sunday best.

“Which way?” I asked.

“It’s ten miles in the country, too far to walk.  They’re sending a car.”

Where we lived was not really a town, though we called it that — “Just a wide place in the road,” according to Mr. Paulson, the grocer.  It had neither a bus line nor a taxi and Mom had sold Dad’s old car.  So we waited, shaded by the oak tree next to our gate, on a sunny Friday afternoon.

A black ’41 Ford came slowly along the street.  It had been waxed and looked good.  I could see the driver, a man in a billed cap, craning left and right to see the house numbers.  He stopped beside us and asked through the open passenger window, “Can you point out the Cronin house?”

Mom said, “I’m Mrs. Cronin.”

His expression eased.  “Great!  Hop in the back, please.”

Mom leaned down a bit and asked in a tight voice, “Are you from the Laville estate?”

“Jimpson, the Laville chauffeur, at your service.”

“Thank you.”  She glared at me as if I had done something wrong.  I figured out why, opened the back door for her and followed her into the car.

He let out the clutch and did a three-point turnaround before starting back the way he had come.  I was impressed with his smoothness in shifting gears.  He drove much better than Mom had when we still owned a car.

“Nice day,” he said over his shoulder, studying Mom in the mirror.

“Yes, it is,” she agreed.

“Is the boy your son?”

“Of course.”

His eye shifted to me but he said nothing.

Mom was curious.  “Have you worked for the Lavilles a long time?”

“Fourteen years.  I was four-F because of my leg.”

“I’m sorry.”

He chuckled.  “Well, I am and I ain’t.”

“What …”  She hesitated.  “What are they like?”

“Good people.  They paid to straighten my leg.”

“That’s remarkable!”

“I thought so.”

They were silent for most of the ride, which soon left the town on the winding road.  After awhile the car turned off and stopped before a tall wrought-iron gate, which Jimpson got out to open.  When the car had passed, he got out again to close it.  He limped.

As we continued up the long paved drive, overhung with tree branches, he said, “This job won’t be exactly what you expect.”

Mom’s eyes widened.  “Whatever do you mean?”

“Of course I could be wrong.”

“It’s just domestic service, isn’t it?”

“Not just.”

“How’s it different?”

“You’ll see.  Here we are.”

The car pulled into a wide garage.  I had a glimpse of a large, slate-roofed stone house at the end of an enclosed passageway.  Two other cars, one a big new Cadillac, still left room for a couple more.  Jimpson came around and opened our door.  “Follow me, please.”

At the end of the passageway we entered the house.  He led us to a large room with tall windows and a very high ceiling.  Landscape paintings covered the three walls that were windowless, lit by lamps in overhangs.

“Please have a seat,” he said, indicating one of the several couches along the walls.  “Mrs. Tate will be along shortly.”

“I thought I’d be working for the Lavilles,” said Mom with a note of surprise.

“You will.  Tate’s just …”  He grinned for some reason.  “She calls herself the mistress’s secretary.”

He turned around and left the room, footfalls muffled by the thick carpet.

I asked, “What’s in the brown envelope?”

“My references.”

“‘References?’”

“Attesting to my good character.  Rev. Grant wrote me a nice one.”

“They should ask me.”

She smiled.  “Thank you, son.”

I was wondering if you needed references for any kind of job when a door across the room opened and a woman entered.  She was tall and slim, maybe younger than Mom.  She wore a silky blouse and a skirt half-way down her calves.  Mom’s was barely below her knees.  Long skirts were fashionable since the war but Mom couldn’t afford them.

She crossed the room, high heels thudding on the carpet, and stood before us with her hands on her hips and no hint of a smile.  She glanced from me to Mom.  “You’re Ethel Cronin?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Mom, getting to her feet with a nervous fidget.

“I’m June Tate, the mistress’s secretary.  I’m to interview you and make a recommendation.  Please take a seat at this table.”

She backed away, rounded a table the size of our folding card table though made of carved wood, and dropped into a chair.  Mom followed and took the facing straight chair.  The table only had two chairs.  I stayed on the couch.

Mrs. Tate frowned and said, “You are 31 and a widow, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It’s my understanding you never worked as a housemaid.”

“That’s right,” said Mom, “though I’ve certainly cleaned house and cooked.”

“So there’s no point in asking for your maidservant references.”

“I do have character references.”

“Let me see.”

Mom opened the manila envelope and passed over some sheets of paper.  The Tate woman glanced through them and looked up.  “The reverend Grant is your pastor?”

“We … attend his church occasionally.  My son goes to the school his sister teaches.”

“In the church building?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Tate thought a moment before asking, “Do you drink?”

I saw Mom’s shoulders stiffen.  She hates personal questions.  She answered in a lower voice.  “A glass of wine with some meals.”

“Are you healthy?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Do you smoke?”

“No.”

“That’s good.  The mistress disapproves of women smoking.  Do you entertain men?”

I saw Mom’s cheek redden.  “No.  But of course I might do so.”

That didn’t seem to faze Mrs. Tate.  “Let me tell you a bit about the job.  We need a full time maid who, in addition to her assigned duties, would be on call to assist the mistress and her guests.  When not busy, you’d wait in the kitchen or your room for the in-house telephone.  The pay is $20 per week, paid in cash every Monday morning.”

“‘$20 a week?’  Isn’t that rather …”

“Low?  Not for a housemaid today.  But in fact it’s the probationary salary.  It includes room and board.”

Mom sat straighter.  “I see.  How long is the probation?”

“Two full months.  If the mistress judges your service satisfactory you are then made a permanent employee with a salary of $30 per week.”

“That’s a little better.”

“Higher than average these days for a housemaid, I assure you.”  Her eyes narrowed.  “But that’s a base figure, a minimum.  You can actually make a lot more than that.”

“How?”

“By personal service to the mistress’s guests.”  The woman stared unblinkingly into Mom’s eyes.  “I emphasize ‘a lot more.’”

“Good heavens!” Mom exclaimed.

Tate’s eyes glittered.  She smiled just the slightest.  “Of course that part is entirely voluntary.  I understand you don’t own a car.”

Mom took a deep breath.  “That’s right.”

“Then staying in town would not be an option.”

“No, but you offer room and board.”

“For you.”  Her cold gaze shifted to me.  “This is your son?”

“Yes.  His name is Frank Junior.”

“Why did you bring him today?”

Mom sighed.  “To show you how much I need this job.”

“You have to support him alone?”

“That’s right.”

“He’d have to live in your room.”

“Occasionally.”

“You have other arrangements?”

“Rev. Grant has offered to board him for $10 per week.”  This was news to me, but not unwelcome.  I had shrunk from thinking about the 20-mile roundtrip to Cardiff Hill.

Tate eyed me with a peculiar expression.  She actually grinned.  “I’ll bet he has.”

“Well, he did!” Mom said huffily.  “He’s a very kind man.”

“Not many know just how kind,” said Tate with a curious smirk.

“I suppose not.”

I heard the click of a door latch off to the left, in a wall with no window, and realized the overhang that concealed the picture lamps was actually a railed balcony high on the wall.  Two doors, both closed, were visible in the dimness behind the rail.

The grownups ignored the sound.  Tate said, “The boy could be a problem.  We need a maid whose service here would be her main concern.”

“It would be a main concern,” said Mom quickly.

“But not the main concern.”  Tate shook her head slowly.  “The Laville estate really has nothing for children.  I doubt it would work out.”

Mom took breath to argue.  “That’s a premature judgment!”

“Perhaps.”  The woman rose to her feet.  “Thank you for coming, Mrs. Cronin.  You know how to get back to the garage, don’t you?”

Mom and I both stood up.  Mom said, “When will you let me know?”

Tate cocked her head.  “You still want the job?”

“Oh, yes.  I need it.”

“I have your telephone number.  I’ll call you later today.”

“Th-thank you.”

Mom came to me, took my arm and guided me out of the room.  When the door was closed behind us and we entered upon the passageway, I said, “You won’t get it, will you?”

She sighed.  “Doesn’t look like it.”  A moment later she said musingly, “Personal service to the guests!  Oh god, could I really do that?”

I realized she wasn’t asking me.  I wondered if it meant like helping them get dressed, but her expression forbade inquiry.

She muttered something that made no sense at first.  “Big Frank never complained!”  Now she seemed to be smiling in a distant sort of way.  Big Frank was her name for my father.  Something to puzzle on later.

We were almost to the end of the passage when a woman called behind us.  “Mrs. Cronin!”

We spun around.  Tate stood in the open door of the house.  She gestured toward herself.  “Would you come back for a moment, please?”

We returned to the house.  As we neared the secretary, she tilted her head back and said with a curiously strained expression, “You’re a well set-up woman.  I’m authorized to make you a specific offer: $25, then $35, two rooms for your residence and the use of a car to take your boy to school.”

Mom’s eyes widened.  “You want Little Frank to live here?”

“The mistress believes you’ll be happier.”

“Oh, I will!  It’s very generous of her.  I accept.”

“Very good.  Can you begin Sunday morning?”

“Well, I …  Yes … yes, I can, except …”

“Jimpson will be at your place at nine a.m.  Do you wish to move any furniture?”

“N-no, just our clothing and personal effects.”

“Very good.”  Tate’s lips actually smiled, though her eyes didn’t.  “Thank you, Ethel.  Until Sunday, then.”

“Thank you!  And please thank the mistress.”

“Certainly.”

Mom’s face showed her pleasure as we retraced our path to the garage.  I hung back.  How could I possibly meet Joy on Monday afternoon?

* * *

Mom was strange Saturday — much more cheerful than she had been.  She was giggly and actually goosed me — poked me at my asshole, through my pants of course — when I bent over to lift a box of books for the attic.  I guess getting this job relieved her worries.

Sunday morning was rainy.  When we got to the Laville garage, we had to carry all our bags down the long passage and up the back stairs to the second floor.  It took two trips, even with Jimpson’s help.

He paused at Mom’s door.  “You’re to report to Tate in the kitchen.  Come on and I’ll show you the way.”

Mom said, “Frank, you wait here while I find out what you’re allowed to do.”

“Can I go outside and explore?”

“It’s raining, silly.  I noticed some magazines in your room.  Why don’t you hang up your clothes?”

An inside door connected my room and hers.  I went through it to get acquainted with my room.  It had a closet, so I spread my stuff between it and the chest of drawers.  A door was in each of the four walls: one to the hall, one to her room and one to an outside balcony that was wet today.  The fourth wouldn’t open though it had no keyhole.

Beside the bed sat a small desk and straight chair.  The magazines were stacked on the desk, year-old copies of Life.  I sat in the chair and thumbed through them, looking at the pictures.  One felt stiff.  I found a medium-sized manila envelope tucked inside it, the kind with a brass clasp under the flap.  I straightened the clasp, opened the flap and slid out two photographs.  The first was a close-up of a girl’s face in profile, with …

I recognized it at last.  The tuft of hair on one edge gave me a clue.  Her lips were stretched apart over a thick cock.  A whole lot of it was in her mouth.  A jewelry stud, barely showing in the bottom of her ear, verified her gender.

A cocksucker, as Joy had put it!  I studied the photo in rapt fascination.  This dick was thicker than her upturned eyeball.  No small boy there!  My own little dick rose.

The next picture was the same profile, though most of the dick had been withdrawn out of the picture.  Half its big head was still inside her lips.  A blob of spunk dangled below her chin.  She was smiling and still looking up.

Oh, god!  Out came my dick just in time.  I caught the spunk in my hand and froze, knowing I’d spill it on the chair, my pants or the carpet if I tried to go through Mom’s door to the bathroom.

When you need to be different, you can be.  I popped the handful into my mouth, swallowed it and sucked the rest off my fingers.  At least I’d tasted it before!

I checked the photo backs.  Someone had written on them with a pencil: 7-43.  I guessed they were dates.  Cooler now, I studied the girl’s profile.  She looked, I don’t know, twentyish maybe.  She would be four years older now.  She was pretty with dark eyelashes.  I studied her a long time, dreaming of her mouth around my dick.  I’d know her if she and I ever met.

I heard Mom next door and quickly put the photos back in the Life.  The magazine was still in my hand when she came through the connecting door.

“Does everything suit you, dear?”

“It’s okay, Mom.”

“What in the world is that odor?”

“Odor?”  I blinked.

She shrugged.  “I see you hung up your clothes.  That’s good.  I have to change, then I’ll take you around and show you where you can go.  Why don’t you put on your everyday pants?”

“Can I go barefoot?”

“Not yet.”  She smiled.  “Let me get to know the people better.”

When she led me out in the hall, Mom wore a black dress very short above the knee with a white apron a little shorter.  Her legs were covered in sheer hose.  Her hair was pinned up under a little lace hat that sure wouldn’t keep off the rain.

“How do you like my uniform?”

“Your what?  Are you in the army?

“No.  In a nice place like this maids wear uniforms.”

I looked her up and down.  “Your skirt’s way too short.”

“That’s what I said.”  She imitated Tate’s sneer.  “‘The mistress sets the fashion around here.’”

It was a big house, at least twenty rooms, according to Mom, with three stories.  I was allowed on the third floor, which was servants’ quarters — for all except Mom and me? — and on the second floor, but only to our rooms and the hall.  Downstairs was off limits, Mom said, except for the back stairs, the kitchen, its bathroom and the passageway to the garage.

“Mainly you have to stay out of sight.  Don’t bother anyone, particularly the mistress and her guests.”

The kitchen was warm, huge and smelled great: sinks, stoves and refrigerators at one end, a long table and several chairs at the other.  Tate and Jimpson sat at the table.  She had a yellow notepad and a pencil poised over it; he was sipping a cup of coffee.  A strange fat woman was stirring something on the stove.

We stopped at the stove.  Mom said, “Hazel, this is my son, Frank.”

I said, “Pleased to meet you,” as I had been taught.

The woman turned to me.  “You like peach cobbler, Frank?”

I thought I’d heard of it: a kind of deep pie.  “Yes, ma’am!” I declared with enthusiasm.

“Some was left last night.  Sit down and I’ll bring you a bowl after I heat it up a little.”  She turned away to the refrigerator.

“That’s kind of you, Hazel,” said Mom, adding to me, “This is where we’ll eat.  Hazel or I will call you to your meals.”

“Didn’t you say I could hang around here?”

“Well, don’t make a nuisance of yourself.  Go sit down and wait for your cobbler.  I’ve got to find the library and dust it.”

I took a chair across from Tate.  She ignored me.  Jimpson grinned and patted his stomach.  “Hazel makes a great cobbler.”

I smiled back and sat still, not wanting to be a nuisance.  Jimpson studied me thoughtfully.  “What do you know about cars?”

“I like them.”

“Of course you do, but what do you know about ’em?”

“Well, I can recognize the models.”

“Any red-blooded boy can do that.  Do you know what makes them go?”

“The engine.”

“Yeah, but where does the engine get its go?”

“From gasoline.”

“And how does it do that?”

Wasn’t it obvious?  “You pour gas in the tank and step on the starter.”

The man chuckled and said to Tate, “I’ll bet you’d give the same answers.”

She snapped, “Well, it’s obvious.”

His chuckle became a laugh.  To me he said, “And what do you do if it doesn’t start?”

Mom had that trouble more than once.  “You call Mr. Henderson.”

“‘Mr. Henderson,’ is it?  What if he’s gone on vacation?”

I spread my hands.  “I guess you wait.”

“And if you can’t wait?”

Call someone else?  I thought of putting it back on Jimpson.  “I don’t know.  What?”

“How about fixing it yourself?”

I blinked.  “Can you do that?”

“I can.  You can’t.”

“Why can’t I?”

“Because you don’t have the foggiest idea where to start.”  He got up from the table.  “Come around to the garage when you get bored.  You’re not too young to learn it.”

I stared after him as he left the room, pausing to take his hat from a rack by the door.  I looked at Tate.  “Do you think he meant it?”

She sniffed.  “Some people like pretty boys.”

I guess she meant me.  “But not you?”

“Pretty is as —”  Her words faded out as she stared at me.  She turned partly away, bending over her notepad.  After a moment she got up and left the room.

Hazel arrived with a bowl of … peach cobbler, I guess.  Peach slices were recognizable in brown and white mush.  I chanced a spoonful on my tongue and fell in love.  “Oh, golly!” I cried.

Hazel hovered.  “You like it, do you?”

“Oh, golly!”  The next spoonful filled my mouth with the rich fruity aroma in my nose.

She nodded knowingly.  “That’s why I didn’t let it get too hot.”  She laughed.  “At least one male around here is easy to please.”

I nodded vigorously, chewing madly.

She returned to the stove, still laughing.  When my eating slowed, she brought me a glass of cold milk.  Heaven!  I caught her hand and kissed it.

She tousled my hair and sat down beside me.  “I hope your mother likes it here, Frank, so you’ll stick around.  I like having an active boy in the house.”  She added thoughtfully, “Although Tate probably didn’t tell her much.”

Here was my chance.  “Tate said she could make extra by doing personal service.  What’s that, Hazel?”

She looked at me thoughtfully.  “Do you think your mother understood it?”

“She … she said she didn’t know if she could do it.  Then she said my father never complained.  And she was grinning.”

Hazel nodded.  “She understood it.”

“I guess I’m the only one who didn’t.”

Hazel grinned.  “But you won’t be asked.”  Her face went solemn.  “Not until Rev. Grant spies you.”  Her eyes were serious.  “And watch out for Jimpson.”

“What about him?”

“He was thick with the son that went in the army.”  She took my bowl and glass, both empty.  “You don’t have anywhere to go, come here and talk to me.  I’m not worried about you being a nuisance.”

What I actually did for most of the afternoon, of course, was stay in my room and jack off over those two photographs.  My school protractor had an eight-inch scale along one side of it.  The girl’s face — twenty is still a girl, I decided — measured about three and 1/2 inches from chin to hairline.  My face was about seven in the mirror.  The cock head half-way out of her mouth in the second picture was over 3/4 inch thick from bottom string to back flap edge.  Seven divided by three and a half is two.  I wondered, whipping it like mad, if my knob, measured vertically, could ever grow to match the picture’s one and a half inches!

* * *

Mom, driving the ’41 Ford not nearly so smoothly as Jimpson, dropped me off in front of the church Monday at eight a.m.  She said, “Tell Miss Grant to thank the reverend for his offer but I’ve made other arrangements.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It was still raining, actually more of a drizzle, so I felt a little better about not seeing Joy that afternoon.  What could we do on wet grass anyway?

The preacher’s sister only nodded when I gave her the message but later, when school was out, she stopped me at the door with a slip of paper.  “Your mother wants you to call.  Here’s the number.  You can use the phone in the office.”

It only rang twice before a woman answered, “Hello.”

“This is Frank.  Mom left a message for me to call her.”

“I know about that.”  It was Tate.  “Jimpson was sent on an errand in the work car.  She can’t pick you up until after three.”

“Could I speak to her?”

The woman made a strange sound, almost a giggle.  “She’s busy right now with Cole’s breakfast.”

“Cole who?” I demanded.

“Laville, of course, the mistress’s stepson.  She should get there by three-thirty.  Or maybe Jimpson will pick you up.”

“Okay.  Thank you, ma’am.”

“At least you’re polite.”

We both hung up.  I couldn’t imagine someone eating breakfast at noon.  “Must be sick,” I said aloud.  I wondered if he was much older than I.

“Who’s sick?” asked a voice behind me.

It was Rev. Grant, a bulky man in a gray suit standing in the office doorway.  He came around me and dropped into the chair behind the desk.  “Not your mother, one hopes.”

“No, sir.  Wouldn’t you have to be sick not to eat breakfast until noon?”

He grinned at me.  “Many people have a temporary sickness called a hangover.  Certainly we’re not speaking of your mother.”

“No.”

“So who’s sleeping till noon?”

“Cole Laville.”  I regretted telling him as soon as I said it.

“Poor Cole!  I can just imagine his condition right now.  Ah, yes.  I understand you’ve moved in with the Lavilles.”  He patted the desk top to his right.  “Come here, take a seat and tell me how that’s working out.”

This was a large man who was always sweating.  Water flew off his head when he got worked up in a sermon.  Now beads of it stood on his forehead.  He liked to hug Mom and me when he came to visit us.  He had even kissed my forehead not so long ago.

I held my ground across the desk beside the telephone.  “We only moved in yesterday morning.”

For a moment he frowned at me before his face smoothed out.  “Have you met any of the family yet?”

“No, sir.  Only some servants.”

He looked me up and down.  “I’m sure you’ve met Jimpson, the chauffeur.  He’s an interesting man who loves to show boys how to really have fun.”

“He offered to teach me about cars.”

“None better for that — and another subject you’ll love.  Get him to show you what he keeps in his little room behind the garage.”

The thought made me curious.  “Like what?”

He grinned.  “Oh, Jimpson’s a collector.  I think you’ll find his art works to be very interesting.”  He glanced at his wristwatch.  “When you meet her, give my regards to the mistress.”

“Yes, sir.”

I turned away, took some books from my desk and left the church.  To my surprise the sun was shining and the street was actually dry.  The rain must have stopped right after I arrived.  I realized I was free until 3:30.  Joy had a wristwatch and could warn me to return in time.

I set off straightaway to climb Cardiff Hill.

* * *

She was waiting for me.  As soon as my head cleared the bushes I saw her sitting on an oilcloth about as big as the tablecloth in the Laville kitchen, leaning back on her picnic basket.  Both our faces blossomed with big smiles.

“Oh, Narcy,” she cried, “I wondered if you would come!”

I hurried to her, threw down my books and fell upon her breast.  When we finally broke from our kiss, I said, “I had to come when I saw it had quit raining.  I didn’t think you would.”

“You didn’t?  I said I would.  You haven’t seen me in four days.  Did you miss me?”

I had and I hadn’t.  Life had got busier.

“You have to think about it, do you?”

“We moved this weekend.”

“Which put something else on your mind, did it?  Well, I missed you, especially when I was alone.  You have a winsome face, Narcy, a face to dream on.  And that’s not all by any means!”  Her hand undid the top button of my shirt.  “What are you waiting for?”

 Again she had worn only a long housecoat.  She lay back naked, pulled me down atop her and put my hands on her big tits.  She let me play for a minute then pulled my butt up over them and caught my stiff dick in her mouth.  I had jacked off over the photos so much that I went straight to sleep last night and had lots of spunk for her today.  She stopped with my entire dick in her mouth and swallowed as fast as I squirted.

Out came the cold cream.  Into her quim went my hand and wrist.  She moaned and shuddered today as much as she had Thursday before she finally flopped, gasping for breath.

“You learn fast, Narcy,” she said after we kissed.

“You teach fast, Joy,” I said and we laughed.

“Hungry?”

“I didn’t bring any lunch today.  Mom’s late picking me up.”

“Late?”

“She’s coming at 3:30.  Will you let me know when it’s three o’clock?”

She glanced at her wristwatch.  “That gives us a good hour.  Unload the lunch basket.”

As we ate, she said, “You said you moved?  To a house not too far away, I gather.”

“Ten miles from our old one.  Joy, can I ask you a personal question?”

“Ten miles!  You can ask me anything.”

“Did you suck a cock here before mine?”

She smiled slightly.  “Well, yes.  I sucked my first one right here when I was about your age.  I nearly puked.”

“You did?  But I thought …”

“I told you: spunk is an acquired taste.  In fact, though, I don’t think it was the taste that disgusted me.  It was the idea of taking it from where a boy pisses.  And the whole act.  Even at twelve I understood the world thinks fucking is a dark and dirty business.”

I blinked.  “Is that why nobody talks about it?”

“Almost right.  We all think everyone else hates it, though in fact just about everyone loves it for herself and hates it for others.”

“Does that make sense?”

“Very few of our sex customs make sense.  Why should they?  It’s not a sensible act.”

“It isn’t?”

“Come now, Narcy.  What do you gain by shooting my mouth full of spunk?  Yet I know very well you love it to death.  What do I gain by letting you?  Or by having you fist my womb till it whimpers?  I love both acts as much as you do squirting in my mouth.  But neither is sensible.”  She cocked her head at me.  “Why do you care where I sucked my first cock?”

“I was trying to find out … how young a girl could be and like it.”

“Well, a girl does it first to please her boyfriend and to imply he should return the favor, not for the taste.  Ha!  Do you have hopes for one of your schoolmates?”

“No.  I …  I ran across a couple photos of a girl sucking.”

Her eyes twinkled.  “Did you indeed!  In your new hacienda?  Was the girl familiar?”

“She was familiar with that big dick!”

“A big one, was it?  Was she very young?”

I shrugged.  “Pretty old.  I guess twenty.”

“Oh, yes, ancient!”  She laughed loudly.

“And her eyes were smiling up at the man.”

“I’m sure she was proud of herself.”

That hadn’t occurred to me but it was reasonable.

Joy asked, “Where did you find the photos?”

“They were in a brown envelope stuffed in a magazine.”

“That sounds like a dangerous place to hide them.”

“I guess it was.  I found them.”

As we sipped the coffee, she said, “So you’ve moved.  Will that interfere with our hilltop pleasure, Narcy?”

My eyes fell.  “I was wondering how to tell you.”

“Your mother picks you up — is supposed to pick you up — when school’s out?”

“At noon.”

“And takes you ten miles away.  I won’t ask you where.  But that does create a problem for us.”

“I don’t see how …”  My voice trailed away.

“How you can get here every afternoon?”

“I have to ride with her.”  I looked up hopefully.  “Maybe not every day.  Ten miles isn’t too far to walk.”  My voice rose.  “She’s making more money now.  Maybe she’ll buy me a bicycle.”

“Maybe you could borrow one.  Would you really pedal ten miles and back so you could meet me, Narcy?”

“Oh, yes!”

“But why?  You’ll soon get tired of blowjobs.  Even men do.”

I put down my coffee cup, sidled against her and cupped a big nipple.  “Joy, you’re the greatest person I ever met.  Who else would let me do this?  Who else would tell me how young she was when she started sucking dicks?  Who else would answer all my questions and tell me about fucking?  I haven’t met many people yet, but I can still guess how … one of a kind you are.”

She smiled.  Her eyes glistened.  “You’re a very perceptive lad, Narcy, in addition to which you have a sweet little cock.”  Her eyes brightened.  “I’ve figured out a way for my quim to enjoy it.  Want to see?”

“Sure!”

“It takes work to get into the position.  I suspect any man without a hard-on would find it ludicrous.  Yours is quite hard, isn’t it?”

“Almost always, when it’s near you.”  I pumped it a couple times.

“Well, give me room.”

I backed off a couple steps, but I think she was just being stagy.  She lay flat on the ground.  Her heels came up and up and up.  Her back arched, raising her broad butt.  First her hands then her arms and finally her shoulders wiggled out on top of her back-drawn thighs.  She locked her ankles behind her head, holding her red  face forward, and grinned at me.  Forefingers pulled her quim lips open, exposing the bright red gash.

“What do you think?”

I could never imagine a quim so exposed!  “Golly!  It looks … uncomfortable.”

“Well, it’s better in a soft bed, but the grass under the oilcloth isn’t bad.  This position is called the Viennese Oyster, presumably because it was invented in Vienna and because you’re supposed to slurp the juice.  I’ll never understand why some people think quims smell like seafood!  But you can check that out the next time.  Right now I want you to lean over me and stick your cock where it belongs.”

Getting in position to do that was tricky, but I managed with one hand on her shoulder to keep my balance.  I couldn’t believe how tight she was all over, from her big belly to her grip on my dick.  Soon as I was well in, her finger came between us to rub her nub.  No longer needing a hand to guide my dick, I used it to squeeze a nipple.

“That’s better,” she said, eyes glittering.  “What do you think?”

“It’s really tight.  Makes me want to squi— to come.”

“Then you hold still.  I’m not quite ready.”

I obeyed while her finger jiggled faster.  I could feel the vibration in my dick, which felt good too.  I was lying on a whole lot of woman, a tangled hill of white flesh.  Her turned-up bottom with her thighs bent back beside her belly was about three times wider than my little butt.  I had a whimsical idea of falling into her, butt and all, and giggled.

“Oh, god!” she cried and began to shiver.  I started pumping into her again.  She began screaming.  I came with a strong, sharp pang.  In just a moment I couldn’t stand the tightness any longer and fell back away from her.

She sort of unraveled.  Her heels came down and her legs spread around me where I was sitting on my feet.  She raised a red face and grinned at me.  “Well, Narcy, I finally got you to squirt where it belongs.”

“Can anyone do that?” I asked.

“You mean the Viennese Oyster?  You have to be limber.  At my age you need to have been doing it a lot.”

I wondered who else she had done it for.

“Why don’t you try it?” she asked, rising on an elbow with an interested expression.  “It should be easy for you.”

I lay down beside her and brought my heels up.  She put a hand behind them and helped me get them beyond my head.  “Now bring out your arms and shoulders.  That’s it.  Ah, what a sweet display!  Believe me, Narcy, with it all hanging out a hairless boy looks a lot better than a man or even a woman.”  She chuckled whimsically.  “I guess we should call this the Viennese Lollipop.”

She sat up, bent over me and slurped up my balls and cock all together into her mouth.  Without letting them go, she scurried her hips around until she could look at my face.  It was a strange sight: her green eyes twinkling at me, holding everything in her mouth that makes me a boy.  She giggled nasally and tickled my ribs, which made me unwind in a hurry.

“What was funny?” I asked.

“I told you: it’s ludicrous to anybody without a hard-on.  You thought so even with one.”

 “I did?”

“You giggled when I was the oyster.”

“I thought of falling into you,” I said, giggling again.

“Don’t you think you’ve returned to the womb enough?” she asked dryly.

“Oh, no.”

“In fact you’re right.”  She pulled me into her big breasts and murmured in my ear, “Narcy, Narcy, I don’t think I can get enough of you.”

My mouth found hers and we traded tongues for a while.  I’ve learned to love that.  It’s so much more interesting than a dry peck.  I almost kissed Mom that way last night.  Would she have liked it too?

Joy had asked me why.  I wanted to understand her motives also.  I asked, “What makes you like me so much?”

She chuckled.  “I told you: I’m reliving my youth.  You have the sweet body and adventurous spirit of my first boyfriend.”

“What happened to him?”

She sighed.  “As usual, we grew up and found other lovers.  And you will too, Narcy.”

“I wish I could buy this hill and build you a house on it.”

“Why, Narcy!  That sounds a lot like a proposal.”

“Would you marry me, Joy?”

“No, silly, but I love the idea.”  She palmed both my cheeks and tongued me again.  Her hands dropped to my butt and lifted me up to where she could kiss my hard little dick and suck it for a few strokes.  Then she sat me down, sighed heavily and stared into my eyes.  “What shall we do, Narcy?”

“I’ll find a bike.”

“Aren’t you getting tired of me even a little bit?”

I blinked.  “No!”

She chuckled fondly.  “I guess not in only three meetings.”  Glancing at her wristwatch, she sighed again.  “Better get dressed, my dear.  It’s almost three.”

I helped her fold the oilcloth and stuff our leavings back into the basket.  Standing fully clothed and shod, we took the time for a long last kiss.  Somehow water got in my eyes.

“Good-bye for now, sweet Narcissus,” she told me as she turned away.

I dared to say, “I love you, Joy.”

She paused but didn’t turn back.  In a moment she was over the crest.

On my way down the hill I finally realized we hadn’t arranged a next meeting nor even a way to get in touch.  Dropping my books, I ran back up to the crest, but of course she was nowhere in sight.

The black Ford was parked in front of the school.  Jimpson was driving.  “You’re late,” he groused as I plopped into the passenger seat.

“Only a little.  Where’s Mom?”

“Still with Cole, I expect.”

“Three hours to eat breakfast?”

“When you get personal service.”  He made a face.

I started to ask him what that meant but he looked too unhappy today.  We rode to the estate without another word.  He didn’t mention teaching me about cars.

* * *

Mom wasn’t in her room so I went down to the kitchen.  As always, Hazel was stirring something on the stove.  She looked up and smiled.

“Ah, Frank!  Just now back from school?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Have you had lunch?”

I knew better than to admit it.  “I was supposed to eat when I got back here.”

“All right.  I can feed you lunch but now it’ll spoil your supper.  How about some more peach cobbler?”

“Oh, yeah!”

She smiled and went to the refrigerator.  “I saved you the last serving.”

I hovered while she dumped congealed glop into a saucepan, set it on the stove and stirred it languidly.  “It will take awhile for everyone to include you in their plans, Frank.  No one your age has lived here in several years.”

“Who does live here, Hazel?”

“Besides the mistress?  No one, really, except us servants.  She moved her base here from Chicago only last fall.  Before that we had me, one housemaid and Jimpson.  Now the place is humming.  She brought several of her Chicago staff, though a lot of them have quit.  Too quiet around here.  Because they quit is why your mother was hired.  She just reopened the landing field north of the town, but the airplane mechanics don’t stay here.  The pilots do sometimes.”

“Are there many servants?”

“Your mother is the fifth maid.”  She said maid funny and added dryly, “Though I doubt she’ll be dusting shelves very long.  What was her old job?”

I shrugged.  “I don’t think she had a job.  She stayed home.  Do you mean she won’t pass the probation?”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that.  Your father’s dead, isn’t he?”

“He was killed in the war.”

“I’m sorry.”  She took a breath.  “Frank, you may have trouble here with no father.  Pay attention to me: you don’t have to do anything personal you don’t want to.  No matter who asks you, but especially not Jimpson or Rev. Grant.  Do you understand?”

“Nothing personal?”

She poured the stuff out of the saucepan into a bowl, set it on the table along with a spoon, poured a glass of milk from the fridge and sat across the corner from me while I ate.  It was just as tasty as yesterday, but I wondered if she would explain.

She did after thinking about it.  “What I mean is you don’t have to let anybody touch you, and you don’t have to touch them.”

No one had touched me except Mom.  Well, Vernon and Joy.  I liked their touch.  Then I remembered.  “Rev. Grant hugs me sometimes.”

“You know him?  Oh, yes, you have to go to his school since the so-called town is too cheap for one.  Has he done more than hug you?”

“Kissed me.”

She nodded.  “I’m sure.  He thinks he can get away with it.  Do you like his hugging and kissing?”

“No!” I declared definitely.

“Then don’t let him get close.  You’re at the dangerous age.  I’m surprised he hasn’t …  Well, if he hasn’t, best let it lie.”

“Hasn’t what?”

She smiled and shook her head.  “Let it lie.”  I resolved to ask Joy.

Then I remembered another question.  “Hazel, what’s happened to my mother?”

“Happened?  Nothing she didn’t like, I’m sure.”

“I mean where is she?”

“Still with Cole, last I heard.”  Hazel got up and started back to the stove.

“Giving personal service?”

She stopped and turned back around.  Her eyes were thoughtful.  After a moment she said, “I expect so … after this long.  Molly is in there with her.”

“Molly?”

“One of the girls from Chicago.  I don’t suppose you’ve met her.”

“I haven’t met anybody but you and Jimpson.  And Tate.”

“You will.”

She went on to the stove.  I finished the food and carried bowl and glass to the sink before sidling up to the woman, now stirring her original pot.

“Thank you, Hazel.  That cobbler was really good!”

She smiled and tousled my hair.  I didn’t believe that was the kind of touching she meant, though what else was there?  Punching?  Hitting?  If that’s what she meant, why didn’t she say it?  Food for further thought.

I asked, “What is it you do when you give personal service?”

She turned to look at me again.  “Whatever the guests want.”

“What do they want?”

She took a deep breath.  “Frank, are you old enough …  Have you heard about the special thing that men and women do together?”

I was surprised and blurted, “That’s personal service?”  Though in the next second I realized I should have known.  Personal service — very personal — was exactly what Joy and I had been giving each other.

“Yes, it is,” she said solemnly.

“Golly!”  Mom was sucking Cole’s dick?  I wished I could see her do it.  Another picture struck my fancy: that dick sliding between her legs, big enough to fill her up and fuck her properly.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Hazel sternly.  “Keep one thing in mind: she’s still your mother.”

“But how can two women …” I began.  Fuck him together? I wanted to ask — but not with that word.

She said dryly, “I think you can guess how.  I sure hope you don’t plan to accuse her of anything.  She’s getting your living the best way she can.”

What could he do with two women?  Suddenly I wanted two women too but immediately knew it was silly: I couldn’t even fuck one properly.

“What are you going to say to her?” Hazel demanded.

I looked up.  “Say to her?  I’m going to tell her she ought to learn how to make peach cobbler.”

Hazel laughed and hugged me against her plump side.  “I think you’re smarter than you look.”  I agreed but wondered how she defined touch.

* * *

Back in my room I had thought to jack off over the photos again but the balcony beckoned.  The door was a little hard to unlock but when I finally figured it out, it opened easily.  The balcony held a glider with cushions: a nice place to rest, shaded by the north side of the big house.  Other rooms on the second floor had balconies, including Mom’s, but the third floor above me had none.  Bushes and lawn grew up to the house.  A thick stand of trees began 50 yards away.

I heard the whirr of a lawn mower and Jimpson came around the corner of the house pushing one, grass clippings flying behind him.  Maybe that’s why he was unhappy.  I didn’t like lawn mowing either.

I wanted to explore those woods and remembered an outside door at this end of the garage passageway.  They turned out to be just woods, nothing remarkable except being deeper than I wished to go.  The sun had nearly lowered to the western trees when I came back inside.  I had to pause and get beggar-lice off my britches.

In my room I heard Mom’s shower running.  Suddenly I wanted to see her naked again.  She had showered with me until I was about six but I had hardly paid attention to her body, except to note the round shape of her tits and the clump of hair between her legs.  I remember watching her shave under her arms and asking her why she didn’t shave the lower bush too.  I don’t recall her answer, but she never let me use the bathroom with her again.

So I went through the connecting door into her room and was surprised to find her bathroom door standing open.  I peeked in and saw the shower curtain bulge when she bumped against it.  My curiosity peaked, but the bathroom had no place to hide.

I looked around her bedroom.  The closet?  She would go there first.  The curtains at her balcony windows were pulled back.  That would do it!  I started to hurry back to my own balcony, having already determined you could jump from one rail to the next, which would avoid any questions about an unlocked door, when I realized what I was seeing.  Her maid’s dress and apron were thrown on the floor first, followed by shoes, panties, stockings, garter belt and brassiere, in a line to the bathroom.  They had an odor of whisky and something else I recognized from Joy’s breath: spunk.  Quickly I sniffed down the line.  The dress was strongest of whisky, the panties of spunk.  I snatched them up.  The crotch was soaking and smelled of spunk and woman, almost but not quite exactly like Joy’s quim after I fucked her oyster.  My dick was hard in an instant.

At that moment the shower quit.  I hurried back to my room, carrying Mom’s wet panties in my hand.  My instinct was to strip naked and jack off into them, but it was almost suppertime and I knew she’d come after me soon.  I dithered for a moment, finally stuffed the panties under my mattress and went back into her bedroom just as she came out of the bathroom.

I got a good glimpse of Mom’s body.  She was turned partly away so that I saw the curve of her breast, which though smaller rode a lot higher than Joy’s.  Mom’s waistline and hips were slimmer too, and the shape of her legs would have made my mouth water if I had time.  Her groin bush was the same dark brown as her hair.

She whirled around and snatched a housecoat out of her closet.  “Frank!”  Her eyes flashed.  “Why didn’t you knock?”

“You don’t knock when you come to my room.”

She sat down suddenly on the bed.  Her housecoat, which had only been draped before her, slid partly off her lap and exposed half her bush.  She didn’t seem to notice.  Slowly she smiled at me.  “Maybe we ought to start knocking.”  Her eyes had a strange look.  “My little Frank is beginning to grow up.”

“Yes, I am.  Where were you this afternoon?”

She actually giggled.  I didn’t recall hearing her giggle before, not since Dad left the last time.  “I was busy, Frank.  You wouldn’t believe how busy I was.”

“Dusting the library?”

“Oh, no.”  She gave out a peal of laughter.  “Something a lot more fun.  God, I didn’t remember how much fun it could be!”  She flung out her arms, letting the housecoat fall into her lap.  Her titties were beautiful.  “Come and give me a hug, Frank.  I found out how much I need hugs.”

Why not?  She had just bathed herself.  I sat on the bed beside her and she pulled me tight against her naked body, smelling of soap, and kissed me on the mouth.  Now the whisky odor was overpowering.  I felt her tongue but after one touch she withdrew it.  “Oh, Frank, I love you so,” she declared when our lips parted.

“I love you too, Mom.”

“I know you do.”  She sighed and stood up.  “I have to get dressed.”  She glanced at the clock on her desk.  “I’m supposed to help Daphne serve Jeremy.  You’ll have to eat without me tonight.  Hazel will take care of you.”  Suddenly she clutched my shoulder.  “I made $50 this afternoon.  Can you believe it?”

My eyes widened.  “Fifty?  Are you sure?”

“Tate said so herself.”  Still naked, she sprang to her feet, tits bouncing, and gathered up the fallen garments.  “What happened to my panties?  That devil!  I’ll bet he kept them.”  But I heard pleasure in her voice.  Why would she believe Cole kept them?  Would he keep them any faster than I?

She stuffed the soiled clothing into the hamper and went to her dresser, pulling out underwear.  She started to step into her panties when, I guess, she finally realized the circumstances.

She looked at me.  “Frank, a boy your age shouldn’t watch his mother dress.”

“Why not?  I’ll bet Cole watched you.”

“But I’m not his mother.  How did you know about Cole?”

I shrugged.  “Everybody knows.”

She nodded slowly, as if the idea had just come to her, shook her head and said glumly, “Well, I certainly answered my question.”

“About whether you could really do it?”

Her eyes sharpened.  “Go to your room, please.”

So I did.  She followed me a little later and wearing a fresh maid’s uniform, regarded me solemnly from the doorway.

“Frank, I’m a little wobbly…  I’ve drunk too much to talk to you now.  I’ll explain when I take you to school tomorrow.”

“Okay, Mom.  Will you be serving late?”

“I don’t know.  Probably not.  Jeremy is over sixty.”

I didn’t know what that meant.  I thought of asking Hazel.

“Will you kiss me when you come ho— to your room?”

“If it’s not too late.”  She grinned wryly.  “If I can still walk.  Oh, I’m going to be so sore!”

I remembered Grant’s word.  “With a hangover?”

“That too.  Enjoy your supper.”

“I will.  Hazel’s a good cook.”  I wanted to say, Enjoy your fuck, but didn’t, of course.

* * *

I heard the voices as I went down to hall to the kitchen, so I paused at the doorway.  Several people sat at the long table.  Jimpson and Tate I knew.  Two men and a woman were strangers.  A second woman, also a stranger, was bent over the table head down, face turned toward me.  She had hair black as coal in a tangle about her head.

Hazel spotted me and beckoned to herself.  The conversation died away as I entered the room.

“Who’s this?” asked a tall, skinny guy with a crooked grin.  “Friend of yours, Jimpson?”

“Might be,” said Jimpson.  “His mother’s the new maid.”

“The one that went with Molly here?”

“Her name’s Ethel.”

“Then she must’ve fucked while Molly drank.”

Tate and the upright woman laughed but Jimpson glared.  “Watch your mouth!”

The lean man looked surprised but said no more.  He watched me cross the room.

Hazel put her arm around my shoulders and smiled reassuringly.  “Pay them no attention.”

She spoke softly, so I did too.  “Is one of them Molly?”

“Yeah.  The sleeping one.”

“She’s asleep?”

“In fact she’s drunk.”

I’d heard talk of people drinking so much whisky they couldn’t stay awake but never seen it before.

Hazel continued, “You were supposed to wait until I called you.  Did you see your mother?”

“Yeah.  She took a shower and changed clothes and went to … help somebody named Jeremy.  I don’t think she ate.”

“Don’t worry.  I sent supper up for her.”

“Who’s Jeremy?”

“Jeremy Banlon, the mistress’s uncle — uncle-in-law, maybe.  He flew in with her this morning.”

“Flew in?”

“Oh, yes.  We own two DC-3s, what my son calls fancy Gooney Birds.  Those two guys you don’t know are some of the pilots.  Uh, how did your mother seem?”

“Gay.  High spirited.  She said she was a little wobbly.”

“I guess so!  But she jumped on it when Tate offered her Jeremy.  She’s a strong one.”

Hazel spoke with conviction.  I had never thought of Mom as strong.

I recalled my question.  “I asked her if she’d be late and she said probably not, that Jeremy was over sixty.  What did she mean?”

Hazel grinned wryly.  “Old men don’t have much stamina.  They talk a good show but can’t keep it up.”

“Keep what up?”

She cleaned close to my ear and whispered.  “Their willies.”  In a normal voice she added, “Of course you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“I think I do.”

She shook her head.  “Jeremy may surprise her if he doesn’t get drunk.”  She looked back at the table, where the conversation had resumed.  “Why don’t you come back when that crowd takes off?  I’ll give you a call.”

“They don’t scare me, Hazel.  Besides, I’m hungry.”

“O-kay,” she agreed reluctantly.  “I think Jimpson might take up for you.”

She set a plate, silverware and glass of milk on the table before an empty chair and motioned me into it.  Spooning stew onto my plate and glaring around at the other diners, she said, “You people understand the expression, tender ears?”

The skinny man grinned at me.  “Your ears tender, kid?”

Jimpson hit the table with the butt of his fork.  “Morrisey, do you know anything at all about polite company?”

Morrisey said coldly, “Yeah, a lot more than a worn out queer knows.”

“God damn it!” cried Jimpson, shoving back his chair.

“Boys!” warned Tate.

The skinny guy held up a peaceful hand.  “I’m just asking the lad a civil question.  What’s your name, son?”  Before I could answer he lowered his voice and said to Jimpson, “If you want to dispute what I called you, I’ll step outside with you anytime.”

He turned back to me.  Quickly I said, “Frank Cronin.”

“Okay, Frank.  I’m John Morrisey.”  He held out a big, bony hand which I shook gently.

“Pleased to meet you,” I said.

“Me too.  Your mother’s the new maid, right, named Ethel?”

“That’s her name.”

“Well, I’d really like to meet her.  Will you introduce us when you get the chance?”

Nobody would call him handsome, but I liked his manner.  “I sure will.”

He grinned at me.  “That all right with you, Jimpson?”

Jimpson looked away without answering.

Morrisey tilted his head toward the stocky guy beside him.  “This is my co-pilot, Al Flinders.  He and I help fly the mistress’s aircraft.  If you’ll come out to the field, I’ll take you up.”

“Don’t believe him,” interjected the upright woman.  “He told me that a month ago.”

Morrisey grinned.  “Notice I said, ‘Come out to the field.’  Daphne, I think you’re afraid to put anything in the air but your heels.”

She chuckled.  “You say the sweetest things sometimes.”

“Not that I could ever fault a woman for being chicken.”

Swallowing a half-chewed mouthful, I asked, “You’re Daphne?”

“That’s me, kid, raised heels and all.”

“Oh, she’s got a lot more than heels!” declared Morrisey with a big-eyed grin I later learned is called a leer.

“Hear, hear!” called stocky Flinders, raising a glass with a sudsy yellow liquid that splashed.  Beer, I realized.  They were all drinking beer, except for Tate.  She had a slender glass with a stem, half full of pale red liquid with a few bubbles in it.

But this was Daphne.  “Mom said she was going to help you,” I said to her.

Tate, sitting slightly apart, said, “The mistress overruled me.”

They were all silent, watching me.  I blinked.  “Is it any harder for just one?”

Now they all laughed.  Morrisey called over the sound, “What do you say, Jimpson?  Does it get harder for two than one?”

Jimpson glared but kept silent.  Flinders said, “Might stay hard longer for two.”  That drew a mild chuckle.

Tate said, “Jeremy is supposed to inspect a property in town first thing tomorrow.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Flinders.  “What’s the mistress up to now?”

Tate shook her head.

He added with a frown, “What’s she doing out here in the boondocks anyway?”

“Enjoying the fresh air,” muttered Jimpson grumpily.

“Did you ever see the place she left on Lakeshore Drive?  It was at least as big as this and in the city too.”

“You didn’t work for her there!” declared Tate.

“Well, no, but I went by her place to see who I was going to work for.”

Jimpson said, “We lived on Lakeshore Drive before the war, but I ain’t been there since it started.”

“I’m surprised to hear that,” said Morrisey with a sneer.  “Lot more chickens in Chicago.”

“Just keep on!” said Jimpson, gritting his teeth.

They argued back and forth, frowning and grimacing at each other, about chicken-hawks and other subjects that didn’t make a lot of sense to me, but even I could see they wouldn’t fight.  When I finished my stew, I went around the table and leaned next to Daphne.  “Will Molly be all right?”

The woman shrugged, leaned across the table and rocked the sleeper’s shoulder.  Molly struck feebly at the worrying hand.  “Lemme be!”

But Daphne pushed harder.  “Get up and go to bed, silly.  Sleeping on this hard table will give you a bruise over half your face.”

Mollie raised up and squinted at us blearily.  She was almost pretty.  I whispered to Daphne, “What’s that black stuff under her eyes?”

“Mascara.  Mollie, you’ll need help getting upstairs.  Here’s two pilots to fly you.”

“Been flown too much already.”

But the two men were instantly at her side.  “Ready to go, Mollie?” asked Flinders.

She eyed them.  “Long as you keep your peckers in your pockets.”

“But Mollie,” protested the skinny one, “your pockets are so much nicer!”

The woman’s eyes softened.  “Now I remember.  Last month.  Both of you!  Hey, can we do that again?”

“You bet!” they declared in chorus, grinning at each other.

They helped her stand up but Daphne caught her hand.  “This time don’t forget your Vaseline.”

“We’ll grease her up,” Morrisey said reassuringly.

“It’s in the bathroom.”

The three figures pivoted together and left the kitchen, laughing and lurching.

I asked Daphne, “What are they going to do to her?”

She sniffed.  “If you don’t know, I’m not the one to tell you.”

“I know they mean to … do her.  But … how?”  I almost said fuck.  I needn’t have worried.

“‘Do her?’  They’re gonna fuck the shit out of her, kid: all the way to the brown.”

I blinked in shock.  “In her … bum?”

“Along with her pussy, both at the same time.  That’s Mollie’s weakness.  She was trained to it by queer brothers and cousins.  It’s hard to find two regular guys who’ll do it.  Of course, those pilots may not be as regular as they look.”  Daphne gave me a lopsided grin.  “We all come from corkscrewed families, kid.”

“Yours too?”

“You know it.  My mother had me out on the street corner sucking up the bacon when I was fourteen.  You mark my words: every gal that takes up whoring was showed how at a very early age.”  She blinked.  “My dear old mother!  She caught me fucking the priest and said I might as well get paid for it.”

Suddenly her hand dropped to the front of my pants and squeezed my dick.  She laughed.  “For sure you know what I mean.  Go to bed, kid, while you still can.”

Her eyes were harder than my dick.  I left after thanking Hazel and returning her hug.  While climbing the stairs I tried pronouncing under my breath all the new words I had heard.  I pitied the man who tried to fuck Mollie’s cat.

And then I had the greatest shock of my life.

* * *

My first surprise was the lamp on my desk, which I’d left turned off.  Now it was pitch dark outside and the lamp was on.  A big woman in a housecoat sat at the desk, scanning the magazines.  She looked up.  I caught my breath, completely flabbergasted.

It was Joy!

She had started to smile but her face went solemn.  “Aren’t you pleased to see me, Narcy?”

I’m sure my chin was sagging toward my belly.  But I knew the answer was yes, whatever hazard she faced.

“Joy!” I cried, dashing to her.  She pivoted toward me as I ran.  I fell into her lap and threw my arms around her.  We kissed long and deeply as she had taught me.

When we broke her fingers pressed my dick through the pants.  A smile formed on her wet lips.  “Isn’t a bedroom as exciting as a hilltop, Narcy?  Oho!  Already I can tell it’s feeling better.”

I stared at her with great concern.  “What’ll Tate say when she finds you here?  How’d you get in here anyway?”

She pointed to the door that wouldn’t open, now thrown wide.  A dark space with different carpet was beyond it.  “Through there.  As to what Miss Tate says, I’d like to hear that myself.”

“But … but …”

She laughed.  “Oh, Narcy, I wish you could’ve seen your face.”

I got up and stood beside her.  “I don’t understand.”

“But you can guess, can’t you?”

“Are you the fifth maid?  How do you get from here to the hilltop?”

“By car, of course.  The Braswells own Cardiff Hill nowadays.  They know I love the view and let me park next to their tennis court.”  Her green eyes twinkled.  “You look so deliciously puzzled.  Let’s see if we can figure it out.”

I waited while she grinned at my expression.

She said, “I couldn’t believe it when I saw you in the party room with your mother.  Though I’d seen you dressed and in the buff, you’d never worn a jacket, white shirt and necktie before.  And Miss Tate was about to let that delectable vision get away!”

I suddenly made the connection.  “You were on the balcony over the pictures!”

She looked surprised.  “You saw me?”

“I heard the door click when you left.”

“For a moment I was afraid you’re a better actor than I!  Anyway, that’s why your mother got an offer she wouldn’t refuse.”

“You mean …”

“This afternoon who do you think sent Jimpson to Akron on an errand that would keep the Ford missing till three o’clock?  I hoped it would quit raining and it did.  Then I wondered if you’d come up the hill and you did, you sweetheart.  And tonight: who would make one girl alone serve old hard-to-pop Jeremy so as to tie her up most of the evening?”

“You’re the mistress.”

Her eyes were searching.  “Did you expect gray hair and lots of wrinkles?  Well, I’m starting to get them.  What have they told you about me?”

I blinked and shook my head.  “Everyone talks about what you do, not the way you look.”

“Doing is the important part.  I am Mary Laville, a very wealthy woman who was careful in her choice of husbands, at your service, Frank.  You might want to consider what that can mean to you.”

I blinked.  “What?”

She chuckled softly.  “Because in private you’re Narcy, my fister and young love reborn, and I’m Joy, your cocksucker and first love.  Now give me another kiss, this time like you really mean it.”

END
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