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Subject: {ASSM} Counselor 7,8, 9
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<1st attachment, "C 7.txt" begin>
{ASSM}
Title: Counselor Part 7 (MF, rom, oral, anal, feet) Author: One Gallus,
<OneGallus@yahoo.com>
Disclaimer Not to be read: by anyone under the age of 18, or if it
violates the standards or laws of your community, or if adult erotica
offends you.
Not to be posted on any other site, or changed, or used in any way
without author's permission.
THE COUNSELOR
Part 7
By Thursday my back was almost perfect, the energy level was high again,
and fortunately, the caseload was down. I told Emily there might be
another seminar tonight, so the evening was clear. I had my notebook and
textbook with me, planning on a quick sandwich at Wendy's after work, then
on to class. In spite of the testosterone that was sloshing around inside
me, I was genuinely interested in the class, aside from my interest in its
teacher.
My understanding of our text, Gabriele Rico's "Writing the Natural Way,"
was that the brain's left hemisphere is a censor, (straight and logical),
and the right hemisphere is a playful child (inventive and adventuresome),
the one always in tension with the other. As a counselor, I meet people
everyday that bully the little child inside of themselves, scolding,
kicking, frustrating at every opportunity. Not only do they do it to
themselves, they do it to others. I was surprised how close this thesis
was tracking to the sad realities I frequently deal with. On the other
hand, I meet those who let the child get away with anything and everything.
It was here that I felt an undercurrent of uncertainty about Reilly's
one-sidedness, a feeling that she was almost hostile to the left side of
the brain. I personally didn't find Rico taking so extreme a position as
my darling, the writing instructor.
During the slack times of the day, I would take out the book and snatch
a quick read, then go back to work. At 5:00 PM I was out the door and
headed for the Maumee Campus. I ate at the Wendy's on Detroit Avenue
across from the school, reading and taking notes in between bites.
In class, Reilly wore jeans, a gold colored, loose-fitting sweatshirt
with the legend, "Ireland" in olive green letters across her breasts. The
cross was there in green tonight. Her shoes were a solid olive color, and
there were no socks at all. I took a desk, second from the front, somewhat
blocked from view by a big guy in front of me. Reilly had a pile of print
outs on her desk, and several students were going up, handing her some
printed papers.
"Thank you class," she said, "I think everyone here has done his
assignment, which has got to be some kind of record. It also kept me
slaving away for hours, and as I said, I will be identifying several
assistants to help me, (with their permission of course). This basically
will be a sorting job, but it can't be done without making some judgments
as to the level at which you come to this class. And the assistant can't
make the judgment unless there is careful reading of your papers.
Now, one of these potential assistants turned in an interesting poem,
which I now propose to read to you. This student will remain anonymous,
but I want you to know that this is the sort of helper I want. The title
is `Pagan Grass.'"
As she read the first three lines, the small movements in the room
gradually quieted. By the time she reached the "dusty thighs," the room
was totally stilled. Of course the blush was creeping up my neck and well
into my ears by that time. When the "glistening gut" was tasted, all the
class seemed to exhale at once.
"Well, what do you think?" she asked.
"Pretty sickening," said the big guy in front of me, very quickly.
"The little blonde who had knocked my book out of my hand last Tuesday
said, "I thought it was creamy."
"Dreamy?" asked the big guy.
"No, Ca-reamy," she said, taking in a deep breath through her nose and
giggling.
"I'd like to see the cluster that resulted in that poem!" said a
dark-haired woman, about my age. She looked at me and winked. I smiled
and looked away.
Several offered to share how the poem made them feel. Reilly said,
"Your feelings, and the author's feelings may be quite different from each
other, but that's OK. We are interested in how this stimulates you to
write. It could even be revulsion, like you experienced, Norman," looking
at the big guy. "Revulsion is a profound feeling, and it could result in a
very powerful written piece. Now I'd want you to take three words from the
poem, and do a cluster. Or, if you like, you can select words from Yeats'
poem in the book called, "Deep Sworn Vow" on page 108. I will give you
fifteen minutes to cluster."
Of course, I chose Yeats' verses:
Others, because you did not keep That deep sworn vow, have been friends
of mine; Yet always when I look death in the face, When I clamber to the
heights of sleep, Or when I grow excited with wine, Suddenly I meet your
face.
After ten minutes, she said, "OK everyone, look at your three clusters,
see if you see a relationship between them. If not between all three, then
go with two, or even one. You are looking for recurring or related words
and thoughts. Study them and let a dominant impression rise in your mind.
Give it a name. In Norman's case, he is clustering `Pagan Grass.' His
dominant impression might be `Revulsion.'" She wrote it on the board and
drew a circle around it, "Revulsion."
Now, let your mind roam back over your clusters. Is there a second
dominant impression? Give it a name. Let's say Norman thinks of
`Sexual.'" She wrote it and circled it.
"This is your second focus. Now, look at both of them. `Revulsion' and
`Sexual.' She wrote them on the board. Which is the stronger impression to
you? You could cluster it. Or maybe you could combine the two into one,
`Sexual Revulsion.' If you do, get a new sheet of paper (she erased the
board) and write in the middle. She wrote "Sexual Revulsion" on the blank
board. Now, do YOUR thing, and start clustering! Your writing subject may
take you far away from source; in this case, it may not have anything at
all to do with "Pagan Grass." Norman, you can use this if you want to. Or,
anyone can, but I'd like to see you with your own impressions. Start
clustering for ten minutes if it takes that long, and when you are through,
start writing."
When ten minutes were gone, she said, "If you are not already writing,
go to it now. I will give you fifteen more minutes to write; during this
time, try to complete your piece. Go ahead, write!"
With that word, Reilly put her left shoe in back of her right shoe,
which she stripped from her lovely foot, then stretched her naked toes up,
then turned them under, then looked at me and slid her shoe back on. I
smiled, and looked down to my desk.
Most people were on their way with their assignment, a few frowned and
were still stuck with the cluster. After reading the "Deep Sworn Vow," I
became was transfixed by it's profound implications. I clustered around
three individual words or phrases. "Friends, Vow, Not keep." I chose,
"Vow" and "Not Keep." I combined it into "Unkept Vows." I took a blank
paper wrote the statement in the middle, and circled it. When I was
finished, there were several circles clustering around the one. Inside of
them were these words: "Emily, Reilly, Love, Mother, Fidelity, Wrong, Sin,
Vengeance, Dare." I felt my heart plummet, and here is what I wrote in my
notebook:
"I swore love and fidelity to you, and you to me. You broke the love; I
broke the fidelity, Which of us committed the greater offense?"
I could write no more than that. What I wrote made me very
uncomfortable, but I was incapable of writing anything else. I shifted
about and looked up, and Reilly was staring at me, unsmiling. After the
writing, she had students voluntarily read their papers. I did not read
mine. There were some fine short pieces written that night. Then there
was the break, then more discussion.
During the discussion Reilly said, "So, that's good; I can see it's
becoming clearer to everyone. Now, I could tell some of you were rather
frustrated. Something was making you feel embarrassed or ashamed. I could
see it in your faces. I won't tell you who you are, you know; but I ask
you, why were you feeling so embarrassed?"
She answered her own question. "Because, you had an iron-faced tyrant
ranting at you! We, couldn't hear him," her hands indicated the class, but
you could!" She pointed at me. "Your tyrant was saying `You really
shouldn't be wasting your time like this. Respectable people don't write
about such things! What if your husband, or your wife, or your boss reads
this? Besides, there is no organization whatsoever about your paper!
Can't you be logical?'" Several students grinned or nodded. "Do you know
where this tyrant lives?" Reilly asked, her eyes wide.
The lady with the dark hair said, "He lives in your left brain!"
"Exactly!" shouted Reilly flexing her knees and pointing and the woman.
"And he had his hand over your mouth, or your pen, or whatever, trying to
muzzle you, censor you, not letting you express feelings!
"Now, we are here to put this censor in his place. And we will always
do it by starting the writing process by clustering. He has no place in a
cluster. He likes straight lines, not circles!"
She came down from the dais. "As you continue, you will eventually be
able to do it this more smoothly, and I guarantee, it will work! Draw that
nucleus circle. Be completely free, and spontaneous. If you are
clustering the word "Wide," don't be afraid to put down, `Aunt Sally's
ass,' or `Between my brother's eyes'" (Laughter). "If you are afraid, hide
your notebook from others, but for goodness sake, don't hide it from
yourself!"
It was one quip after another that night, and the class was snickering
in all the appropriate places. Obviously, she was well liked; a popular
teacher, a good teacher, but I sensed again an uneasiness in my self about
her extreme position on the tyranny of the left brain. Sure, it could be a
tyrant, but after all, the left brain was there. It must be there for
something useful!
After class, she was again inundated with admirers. I slowly gathered
my things, pulled on my jacket, and traipsed lazily through the classroom,
and on through the door, making sure she could see me. I was sure she
would know I would be waiting.
It was chilly outside, portending the winter ahead. My light jacket
felt good. I put a Totes crushable cap with a snap-brim on my head, and
tugged it down close to my eyes. I waited by the door nearest the faculty
lot, spotting her Cherokee nearby. Soon she was there, heavy brief case in
hand, no one behind her. She burst out the door, and grabbed me around the
neck and kissed me hard, closed-mouthed, hurting me to the point I pulled
back, "Ow!" I yelled. I laughed in pain, "You know, every time I get
around you, I get injured!"
"Injured? How?"
"My back, Tuesday night, and I think you just gave me a fat lip
tonight." I said, dabbing it with my handkerchief.
"Your back?"
"Yeah, I twisted it running out your garage door."
"Ahh! She laughed. Why didn't you just back your car out, close the
garage door, and let yourself out through the front door?"
"That is left brain stuff, and I was cruising on the right brain all the
way on Tuesday."
Low laugh. "It's cold, let's get something hot this time."
"Your place?"
"Not unless you want to meet Delbert," she smiled.
Disappointed, but trying to hide it I said, "OK then, we'll go to Maumee
Coffee House."
I ordered coffee and chocolate chip cookies, and she ordered hot
chocolate. The coffeehouse was dim; a jazz trio was playing easy and quiet
nearby. About half the tables were taken, mostly by young people. We sat
across from each other in a booth. She immediately put a bare foot into my
lap and said, "Rub it, please?"
"You know, Reilly, you are a very special teacher," I said, as I kneaded
her foot.
"Thank you Clifford! I can really get excited about this stuff."
"The foot rub?" I asked.
Her giggle was a high-range cello. She said, "You already know that; I
mean, the teaching." "I love the way you shoot from the hip."
"That, of course, would be my left hip," she cracked.
"You know, I think I studied that in freshman biology, but I forgot till
recently"
"You mean shooting from the hip?" she smiled, and I laughed.
"I mean about your right brain controlling the left side of your body.
Mom had a stroke in her left brain, and it stiffened her right arm and leg,
and her speech was affected.
"Motor functions, language skills, left brain." Reilly said seriously.
"Did it get better?"
"No she died, two months ago." I said.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Clifford."
"Thanks," I changed directions, "However, I think I did see you write on
the chalk board with the left hand!"
"You did. But you're a righty, aren't you?"
"Well, yes and no" I said tentatively.
Ignoring me, she said, "Did you know that in ancient times, a
left-handed boy or girl was eyed with suspicion, possibly with a view to
being a witch, or even child of the Devil?"
"I'll bet I know why." I said.
"Why?" she said, waggling her foot.
I massaged each of the toes, running my fingers between them. "Because,
the great majority of people are right handed, and it was not "normal" to
be a lefty. We set great store by normality."
"Yeah, I'm, not normal, that's for sure," she said, " I think the world
likes to bully us lefties. Did you notice that all the student desks in my
room were right-sided?"
"When I was a kid my teacher tried to force the lefties to become
righties," I said.
"That's horrible!" she grimaced. "Did they force you to write
right-handed."
"No, but I am a strange concoction."
"How is that?"
"Well, I am different from both groups" I said. "I hold my fork with my
left hand, I kick with my left foot; I shoot a rifle from my left
shoulder." I squeezed her foot and leaned close. "But I shoot a pistol
with my right hand, bat a ball with my right hand, and fondle breasts
right-handed. I wonder what Dr. Rico would say to that?"
"What I want to know is what Clifford Allan is going to do about that."
she responded.
They brought our drinks and cookies. I let go of her foot in my lap,
and picked up my cookie with the same hand.
"Aren't you going to wash your hands?" she smiled.
I put down the cookie, raised my fingers to my lips and licked them,
sucking them into my mouth, my eyes on hers.
"You really do have a foot fetish don't you Clifford?" she smiled.
"Well, I do like the rest of you; besides, who are you to talk? You
enjoyed my size thirteens as I remember!"
She teetered her foot on my crotch, "That's not size thirteen."
"No, but it might grow a little more if you continue."
She laughed, and took her foot away, and sat up, and leaned on her
elbows.
"Delbert has been away ever since I last saw you in your office. He
came home last night, and asked how the counseling was going."
"And, how is the counseling going?" I asked.
"It's not. I didn't use your list."
"Reilly!"
"Well, I really think Delbert is changing, and we've reached an
understanding," she said, her hazel eyes on mine.
"An understanding?"
"Yeah, well, we are still trying to work out the details, and we talk
about it from time to time. He wants me, even if I do what I do. He is
free to pursue his interests, but he must also grant me the same privilege,
none of this "Visceral Insistence" stuff for him, or me."
"And that's all right with you?"
"Not everything." She admitted.
"I want to talk about it, you know, the sex. I want him to tell me
about his encounters with other women. He doesn't want to tell me, nor me
to tell him. I'd like to tell him all about what I do. I think it would
drive me into a sexual frenzy to share that with Delbert. Lord knows we
need a little frenzy." Her eyes flashed, and a grin spread across her face.
"Wouldn't that turn you on?"
"Yes, I think it would, but I've never experienced what you have."
"Clifford, what if you could go home and tell your wife about what we
did last Tuesday? What would that do for your sexually?"
"If I could do that--I would say--it would build a fire where there has
been a long, cold winter."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I mean there is not much going on at home," I said.
"Is it OK if I ask you why?
"Well, it's hard to be interested when she is not."
"Why do you think she isn't interested?"
"Now that's the thing of it! I'm giving her a bad rap, in a way. It's
true, she'd be glad to receive a certain limited kind of pleasure. I
really believe that with a bit more aggression on her part, maybe some oral
sex, that it could have been good. But she wasn't willing, and now-I'm not
sure I want anything from her now."
"You don't love her?"
"In many ways I love her more than ever, and she loves me on a certain
domestic level, but I don't think she loves me on a sexual level anymore,
she just chalks it up to age," I said, sipping my coffee and finding it
cold.
"An that's why you've pulled back from her?
"That, and another complicated problem that has to do with her and my
family." I stared into my coffee.
"Clifford, what did you write in your notebook tonight? You didn't say
anything in class."
"Ahh, let's see if I can quote it. I clustered words from `Deep Sworn
Vow.'"
"Yes, I could see that," she said.
"It was something like: `We both vowed love and fidelity. You broke the
love, I broke the fidelity. Which of us committed the greater sin?' That's
not exact, but it's close enough."
"Clifford, you looked as if you were going to cry when you were
writing," she said.
"I did? Well, it's a complicated problem."
"That's what your piece was about?"
"In a way," I said. "Reilly, could we not talk about this now?"
"Sure Clifford. I'm not your counselor," she said, a bit too quickly.
"No, but if you were, you'd probably see that I've been worn ragged on
that subject long before tonight, and you'd cut me a little slack before we
talk about it."
"I'm sorry Clifford, I just want to be a good friend." She put her other
foot in my lap, and said, "Would you do that one too?"
I took her foot and hugged it to myself, pulling it into me. "Reilly,
could we go somewhere?"
"I know just the place!" she smiled.
END OF PART 7
<1st attachment end>
<2nd attachment, "C 8.txt" begin>
{ASSM}
Title: Counselor Part 8 (MF, rom, oral, anal, feet) Author: One Gallus,
<OneGallus@yahoo.com>
Disclaimer Not to be read: by anyone under the age of 18, or if it
violates the standards or laws of your community, or if adult erotica
offends you.
Not to be posted on any other site, or changed, or used in any way
without author's permission.
THE COUNSELOR
Part 8
I followed her in my Escort to a small two-story brown brick building,
only two blocks from campus. We rode up in a small elevator to the second
floor and walked past several numbered doors to door 205. She used a key
with a plastic tag on it, and we walked into a small room. The leading
impression was dormitory-collegiate. The twin bed headboard on the left,
the Danish loveseat on the right, a small desk straight ahead under the
window; it was all dark Formica. In back of the desk, at waist-level were
two connective jacks. One accommodated a black phone, the other was empty
but was labeled, "Internet Access." There was a small window to the street,
with venetian blinds, closed, no curtains. The bathroom door, standing
halfway open was behind the entry door.
"I thought Maumee Community didn't have residential students," I said.
"This isn't a dorm room; we instructors do have little perks to make up
for the low pay. This is a faculty accommodation center for teachers who
may have split morning and afternoon classes. It gives them a place to
relax between early and late, without going home; keeps them close to the
students. There is a three-hour limit on the room. During the daytime,
this place is buzzing, they close up shop at midnight."
This whole conversation took place in the few square feet that composed
the middle of the room. Reilly had dropped her brief case on the floor and
had clasped her hands around the back of my neck. Her breasts were
pressing into me for my hands were around her waist and pulling her close.
"You know, Reilly, you are wide across the eyes, just like my brother."
She started to speak, and I kissed her, a soft touch on the lips. I
felt her breath tickling against my nose. My lips had a mind of their own
and they moved to her eye. I rested them there gently, and felt the
movement under them, the slight tremble of her lid. I breathed in and
smelled her scent as it rose from her body. I brushed her eyelash with the
tip of my tongue. She moved her face up and my lips felt hers. They were
open and her tongue was alive, plunging and rolling into my mouth. She was
fully embracing me now, her hands sliding down and around my arms, trapping
them, then pressing me from the back. I wanted to kiss her other eye, but
she would not allow me leave her mouth, groaning when I tried to pull away.
She let me slide my lips around to her ear and I felt the metallic edge of
an earring. I sucked the lobe into my mouth with its stud, then reached
behind and under it with my tongue. She tried to turn her face back to my
lips, but I continued to press the side of her face with my mouth, forcing
her head to remain turned. I moved up level with her eye and yielded a
bit, and as her face turned back toward me, her eye slid under my lips and
there I held her, feeling the quiver. I touched the softness there with my
tongue.
My hands moved under her sweatshirt, my palms flat against her smooth
back, feeling its expanse. I released the hooks on her bra and felt it
fall away, dangling loosely.
Her tongue was back on my mouth, licking my parted lips. She pulled her
head back and looked at me. "I taste your fat lip," she said, "I'm sorry."
"It's getting better," I said.
"Do you have condoms?" she asked.
"Noooo! I'm sorry Reilly," I said, releasing her, shaking my head.
She pulled me back immediately, kissed me again, and said, "It's OK, I
brought some. Pull my shirt off, Clifford." She raised her hands above her
head.
I brought the shirt up over them, then pulled her bra off her shoulders.
I now saw her full breasts for the first time. I weighed them in my hands,
pressing them together. I moved her against the bed, and she sat down.
Then I fell to my knees, and pulled her chest to my lips, moving my face
between her breasts, and pressing them in from the sides. I then moved
toward her right nipple, flicking with my tongue as I went, and sucked its
nub into my mouth. My left hand was gently pulling and pressing the left
nipple. I heard her soft, low voice, now more husky. "Ooooo. Ooooo."
When she quieted, I stood up, and she lay back on her elbows, looking at
me. Her breasts were parted leaving a wide space between them. I kicked
out of my shoes, and opened my pants and pulled them down."
"Same kind of underwear, I see. Oh Baby!" she laughed.
"What do mean, `kind?' These are the very same shorts from last Tuesday.
I refused to change them!" I teased.
"Mmmmm!" she murmured, her eyes, bright.
I laughed and pull them down. I was extremely hard, and she sat up and
grasped me with her right hand, and stroked the length of me, then put her
mouth over me, and then slowly sucked herself away from my penis, smacking
her lips as they left me. She lay back on the bed, put her hand into her
pocket and brought out a foil packet, which she tore open. She sat back up
and lifted my penis close to her face and lightly blew against the moisture
she'd left there, drying it. Then she rolled the condom on carefully,
staring at my sex, seemingly enthralled with it. She slid my penis between
her lips again, and wet it with a long movement, in and out. She lay back
again, and said, "Clifford, pull my jeans off, please."
I unzipped them, and found plain white panties underneath. I grasped
the waistbands and pulled both jeans and panties down as she lifted her
hips. I saw her white belly, her sparse red hairs, like separate wisps
lying close to her skin. I held it in my eyes, as I slid off her shoes and
then pulled her pants all the way off. She then moved to lay her head on
the pillow, lifting her completely naked body to the length of the bed, her
right shoulder, close to the wall, her legs open, and her sex sparkling
with moisture. "God, I want you!" she said, in her lowest voice.
I started to remove my shirt and said, "You aren't going to see a
specimen of svelte young manhood, Reilly."
"Shut up Clifford, I want you, now."
I moved to the foot of the bed and got in, kneeling now in front of her.
"Fuck me," she said.
"I ignored her, and put my mouth quickly and directly on her vulva,
feeling the wetness, and savoring her grassy taste. I licked up to her
clitoris and ran my tongue over it, feeling her lift a little. Then I
moved to her outside lips and tasted there. "You taste like wild flowers,
Reilly," I said, raising myself with my hands.
"Clifford," she said, lifting her hips a little, "Please?"
I lowered my face to her belly, putting my tongue into her navel,
smothering my whole face there, rooting and tasting. I slid over to her
right groin, and traced my working tongue along the bend of her thigh, all
the way around to the center of her sex. I plunged in once with my tongue,
then traced slowly up the left groin. I cupped my right hand over her
vagina and brought my head up level with hers, staring at her lovely eyes.
I pushed, then plucked at her vulva like finger picking a guitar. She
hummed in a low tense rumble, as I did.
I then moved up to her mouth and kissed her tenderly, putting my full
weight on her, pressing the top of my hardness against the length of her
opening. I knew I was heavy on her, and I felt her brace against my
weight, pulling hard for air. I held her there, knowing she was getting
uncomfortable, but before she spoke, I rolled to the side and brought her
with me, still looking into my eyes, breathing deeply now. Her left leg
was flexed, and the knee pressed against the bed under my side. I moved
quickly inside her softness, which was incredibly hot, and heard her
whisper an elongated, "Yeess."
My left hand was on her hip and sliding over her buttocks, feeling the
cleavage. I touched her anus lightly with the tip of my fingers, and
fucked her deeply and slowly. I lifted my weight on my right elbow and
felt her body begin to excite beneath me. Soon she was pounding at me, and
I could feel myself building toward the climax. She pumped to the crest of
whatever hill she was climbing, and exploded, her head rolling back and
forth against my arm; sharp, low sounds came from deep in her throat.
I followed her shortly after, jetting my fluid several times into the
rubber, desiring the feel of her naked insides against me instead. My
heart rose in my chest, right out through my throat and I sobbed
involuntarily. She held me close, her ankles locked at my back, my head
over her shoulder, my face against her soft face. "Oh Reilly!"
We lay, wrapped together for the next half-hour, dozing, kissing, and
moving slowly. When I felt the condom loosing, I slid out and removed it,
dropping it to the floor. I sat up, putting my feet on the cool tiles. "I
think I need a shower," I said.
"You have hair on your back," she said tenderly, brushing it lightly
with the back of her hand.
I looked at her. "So do you." I said.
She sat up quickly and pushed my shoulder, "I do not!"
"You do too, coarse, kinky, and springy. Look, it's all over the bed!"
I said.
She put her foot against my hip and pushed me off the bed into the
floor,
"Take your shower," she smiled. "Do you know what I just sat on?" I
asked.
<2nd attachment end>
<3rd attachment, "C 9.txt" begin>
{ASSM}
Title: Counselor Part 9 (MF, rom, oral, anal, feet) Author: One Gallus,
<OneGallus@yahoo.com>
Disclaimer Not to be read: by anyone under the age of 18, or if it
violates the standards or laws of your community, or if adult erotica
offends you.
Not to be posted on any other site, or changed, or used in any way
without author's permission.
THE COUNSELOR
Part 9
By the first of November, the class had become leaner, tighter, and more
rewarding. I had not anticipated that I would be putting so much time into
it. Of course, I could not turn down Reilly's request to be an assistant.
At first, it had taken an excessive bite out of my week, but the class had
shrunk to twenty-three students, and now there was time to enjoy and
evaluate the novice writers as they progressed. The fact that Norman,
Millie, and Loretta were employed with me helped immensely. It was amazing
what sensitivity Reilly was developing in some of students who seemed quite
dull in the beginning.
Loretta Goforth, the young blonde who thought my poem was "ca-reamy" had
rocketed to the the top of the class, and was herself producing poems and
vignettes worthy of publication. Norman, "The Hulk" Zaharski had written a
short story about a fragil-hearted, overgrown boy who had been browbeaten
by a demanding father. Reilly read it to the class, and when she had
finished, we all were so choked with tears we had to take an early break.
Millie Bradley, the dark haired lady, was a high school government
teacher. She emitted an air of supreme confidence and definitive control.
Several of her pieces were about professional women who were extremely
successful in their work, but vulnerable beneath the surface.
We assistants would meet after class on Tuesdays and do our reading and
sorting, each using the others as checks when we were overly confident, and
advisors when we were uncertain. We each received a $20.00 per month token
by the college. But since the work was not really work, and the company
was enjoyable, it was pay enough.
So it fell out that there were some weeks when Reilly and I had no time
at all together, but the periods we did share were a great satisfaction to
me. She, and the writing, pleasantly outweighed the flat time at home.
On Thursday, just a week before Thanksgiving, Reilly was lying on my
chest, quite still, her head over my left shoulder, my hand lightly tracing
circles over her naked bottom. I reached over and lazily caressed between
her thighs, brushing my fingers down across her vulva, feeling her moisture
, and mine, there. She had she straddled my face, pressing herself to
orgasm against my tongue. Then she bent her body over my face, and pushed
herself down with her hands, scooting along my chest, leaving a trail of
warm dampness as she slid. She finally collapsed where she now lay, flat
against me, unmoving, savoring her orgasm. Finally, she ventured,
"Clifford?"
"Yes?"
"I'm going on a trip over the Thanksgiving Holidays," she said.
"Yes?" I was disappointed, since I would be home alone during the
November holidays. I had counted on seeing Reilly several times.
"I'm going without Delbert. He'll be visiting his parents in Michigan."
"Uh-huh."
"You know, I told you once that I have relationships with other men."
"Yes," I said, "I remember." My disappointment was turning to a chill,
creeping into my belly. She lay there another moment and I realized I was
tensed, and she had sensed it.
Reilly then slid to my side, off the small bed, and onto the floor, onto
her knees. Her shoulders and breasts were above the bed. The Celtic cross
was hidden between her breasts. I doubled the pillow at the back of my
head, so I could look at her. She grasped my penis and began stroking it,
looking into my eyes. "You know that--I told you." and she took my penis
into her mouth, sliding down and touching the softness in her throat
against me, a sigh escaped my chest, and the tension eased.
"Yes," I sighed again.
Then bringing her head up, she continued, "I told you I want to talk
about my experiences with others."
"I remember, Reilly."
"Well, I can't do it with Delbert," she said, stroking me and kissing my
abdomen. In spite of my apprehension, a firmness spread the length of my
cock. The incongruity of her talking about being with another man, while
at the same time performing this sexual act on me, seemed foreign,
unnatural, and illicitly delicious.
"This guy, we haven't been together too many times, but he's a teacher
here at the school, and I see him on campus all the time." She buried her
mouth in my balls, and I felt her tongue flick me. Then she raised her
head and brought the fingers of her left hand to her mouth, then, as they
glistened with her saliva, she brought the hand under my knee and prompted
me to flex my leg. All the while, her right hand stroked me long and
slowly. Then her fingers of her left hand were at my anus, spreading and
wetting me, teasing the tip of a moist finger around the small hole. With
her finger probing the rim, her mouth traveled back on my penis, her right
hand below her lips. Grasping me firmly in her hand, she pushed my
foreskin back tightly. At the same time. and I felt her finger worm its
way deep into me.
"Haaaaaaa" I whispered.
Then, she lifted her eyes to me, bringing me out of her mouth, and moved
my glans around over her her slick chin in small circles. "You like this
don't you, Clifford?" I nodded once, breathing deeply through my mouth.
Once more her mouth came down around me, and my penis again probed the
soft place in the back of her throat. At that point, she began to hum, a
deep, a non-descript, melodeous buzz. The low pitched resonance completely
sheathed me, and I felt the pleasure backing up into my hips and thighs.
She raised her head again, and looked at me with hot eyes, moving her
finger inside me and massaging my wet penis. "I won't tell him who you
are, Clifford, but I want to tell him what I'm doing to you when I fuck
him."
Then her mouth was back on me, I could feel her finger tapping at my
prostate, a desire for immediate release was pushing at me from the inside.
Her head came up and she looked at me with her wild eyes. "Clifford, is
that all right with you?"
I began to buck my hips as she plunged her finger deeper into me and
pumped.
"Clifford, answer me, is it all right with you?"
"God yes, Reilly, tell him!"
"And when I come back, I want to tell you about him."
"Yes, baby, fuck him, and then tell me! Oh Reilly, Reilly!"
Her finger probed deeply and I felt as though I was going to pee, but
then I sensed the rush of seminal fluid against her finger, and my
ejaculate jetted high as she moved her mouth over me again.
On Tuesday night, only ten people showed up for class, including the
assistants. Reilly did not show. After waiting for fifteen minutes,
everyone but Norman, Loretta, Millie and I left. "I guess the class is a
wash out tonight," said Norman.
I felt an emptiness inside, and I suppose I looked it too.
Millie said, "Clifford, are you OK?"
"Yeah, I'm fine."
Loretta said, "You look like you just lost your best friend."
"I'm OK. Let's go get some coffee, I'm buying."
The Campus Coffee House was astir as usual. A folk group was performing
this time, and we all settled in, listening to the sweet sounds. The
cappuccino was good, the warm aroma seeping up into my head and resting
there.
"You got a big dinner planned Thursday?" Norman asked me.
"No, my wife and daughter have already gone to Nashville to visit my
inlaws," I answered. "I have to work tomorrow, and then I'm going to sleep
in on Thursday, catch up on some writing."
"Me too," said Millie.
"Your family away?" asked Loretta.
Millie smiled, "No, not really. Most of my family live in California,
too big a trip for a long weekend, I may go Christmas. But, I have plenty
of home work to do too."
"Gee, I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't spend Thanksgiving with my
family," said Loretta, "We have aunts and uncles and grandparents and
counsins all coming in!" she beamed.
Millie asked, "What about you Norman?
Norman grinned sheepishly. "I'm spending Thanksgiving with Loretta."
Remembering the story Norman wrote about his sad childhood, I said, "Way
to go, Norman!" and gave him a high five. The blonde girl beamed.
"I'm a little nervous," Norman said.
"Why?" I asked him.
"Norman says he doesn't know how to act around a family that loves one
another," said Loretta. "But, I told him, `you don't have to act, Norman,
just be yourself, that's good enough for me." Then she seemed to realize
what she had just confessed, and blushed. "It's good enough for anybody!"
she smiled nevously, trying to cover it.
"She's right Norman, you'll have a great time!" Millie said.
"No doubt!" I said.
After the song ended, Loretta stood up. "Norman, I need to go, are you
ready?"
"Yep," Norman stood. "Thanks for the coffee, Clifford."
"Yes! Thank you Clifford, it was great! Loretta said.
"Happy Thanksgiving, you guys." I said.
"Happy Thanksgiving," Millie joined in.
Millie and I were sitting on the same side of the booth. She said,
"Yes, Clifford, thanks for the cappuccino."
"You are mighty welcome, Mil-what Millicent?" I shifted, looking at her.
"No, I hate my name, just call me Millie," she said.
"Nope" I said, happily. "It's confession time. Norman and Loretta
confessed their secret, now you confess yours!"
"Norman please?" she entreated.
I looked into her face. Deep lines were etched at the corners of her
smiling mouth. Three vertical lines showed themselves between her eyebrows
as she implored me. There was a slight cording of her neck, some of it
hidden by her rust-colored turtleneck blouse, which fit her closely, but
still did not emphasize her breasts, which were obviously small. Her
facial skin was beginning to coarsen a a tiny bit with age; nevertheless,
all of these lines were stretched over delicate, well cut features. Her
neck was small and rather long. She wore dark chocolate colored pants over
thin, but well shaped legs. I would discribe her as a pretty, petite lady,
she might have been slightly younger than I.
"Millie, tell me, and I will keep it as our secret. I swear solemnly,
no one will find it out from me." I sounded more serious than I really was.
"It's `Mildred," she said, unsmiling.
"Mildred?"
"Yes, MILL DREAD!" she said, very loudly, angry.
"Millie, I'm so sorry," I said, trying to carry it off as a jest.
Millie began crying. I was mortified. I thought she was as facetious
about this little game as I was.
"Oh Millie, I'm truly sorry. I was just funning with you, just playing
a game." She sobbed quietly, and I was silent, watching her. She dabbed at
her eyes with her napkin. I reached up and took her hands with their
napkin, into mine. "I am so terribly embarassed, Millie, I didn't know you
were serious. Please forgive me."
She smiled through her tears, glancing at me. "It's not that,
altogether, Clifford. It's not even that mostly. It's just this whole
scene." She pulled her hands back to her eyes again. Against the white
napkin, I could see the prominent veins in her mottled hand.
"What, Millie? What scene?"
"Clifford, I'm 59 years old. I've been divorced since I was 45. Even
my son doesn't come around that often. I live alone, I have no one to whom
I am dear in this life."
"Millie, you probably don't realize how precious you are to some."
She cut in sharply, "Don't patronize me, Clifford. Why do you think I
live here in Toledo, and my family is in Long Beach, California?"
I closed my open mouth quickly and looked down, and nodded. I signed
deeply, and said.
"Millie, believe me, I am not patronizing you, surely, as charming as
you are, men have asked you out, befriended you, want to be with you."
"Yes, till they got what they wanted, then they shit on me!" She spat
the words out through clenched teeth.
"Well, Millie," I said, hesitating a long moment. "I think you know--I
am a counselor. I think you need to see one, I know you could use the
help. Loneliness is a terrible thing. But let me ask you truthfully." her
dark eyes were clear and bright, staring out over her tear-tracked cheeks,
straight into mine, "Millie, do you want me to be your counselor, or your
friend?"
"Why, my friend, of course," she said.
"Then let me say this, you're not the only one who is lonesome this
Thanksgiving," I said. She stared back blankly.
"Thursday, let's you and I have Thanksgiving dinner together."
"But, I--I'm a terrible cook."
"Millie, I don't want to spend time with a turkey."
We both laughed, and her eyes teared again; she dried them with her
napkin.
"Now," I said, let me have you address and phone."
END OF PART 9
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