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Subject: {ASSM} Bernoulli's Christmas {Xmas, Rom} <*>  2/2
Date: Fri, 15 Dec 2000 20:10:02 -0500
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Bernoulli's Christmas {Xmas, Rom} <*>  2/2
By Chuck Waggin
(c) December 2000
Comments welcome at cwaggin@hotmail.com                              


Disclaimer: This is my entry in Celeste's Christmas Story Contest for 
the year 2000. I have lurked and enjoyed long enough, and this 
contest gave me an excuse to delurk and share the joy. I will 
appreciate your comments. 

Do not read this story if you are too young or if it is otherwise 
illegal in the jurisdiction in which you reside. Also keep in mind 
that this story is a Christmas fantasy. Much of what happens in this 
story is illegal, immoral, depraved, or otherwise unwise. But I think 
it's still a great fantasy. And remember, Santa's a fantasy as well. 

Please respect my copyright. 

                           @---}---}-----

<<continued from Part 1>> 

CHAPTER 3: 'Twas Five Days Before Christmas 

I did well in the speech and debate tournament the next day -- a gold 
medal and two silvers. The next Wednesday, Mrs. Ritigliotti asked me 
to see her after Honors English class. This was not unusual. I was 
the captain of the speech and debate team, and she was the moderator. 
She told me she needed to see me after school. She said I should 
arrange to skip my bus ride and that she would bring me home 
afterwards. This was not at all unusual. What WAS unusual was that 
she pulled the car into her own driveway and said to me, "I have to 
get something. Why don't you come inside and have some Christmas 
cookies?" I thought possibly she had a Christmas present for me. I 
was somewhat embarrassed that I would have no gift to give her in 
return. Little did I know! 

Mrs. Ritigliotti gave me some milk and cookies and left me sitting in 
her living room, while she went into another room to get whatever she 
had to get. While I munched on the cookies, I looked around. On the 
coffee table was my red notebook with a yellow post-it note attached 
to it that read, "Charlie -- I found this and thought you might like 
it back." I wondered where it had gone. The last time I was sure it 
was in my possession had been when I was leaving the library before 
my encounter with the Vestal Vixens. I was glad to get it back. 

When I picked the notebook up, out fell a tattered lingerie catalog 
from a company called Intimate Affairs. I had not yet missed it, but 
I would have. I regarded it as a full-color masturbation leaflet. 
This was getting embarrassing. I wondered if Mrs. Ritigliotti had 
noticed the catalog or had recognized the discoloration or the sticky 
dried substances that held some of the pages together. 

Then the photograph fell to the floor, and I was busted. It was an 
enlargement of my already enlarged member, at the moment it sprayed 
its contents onto the Vestal Vixens the previous Friday. I was torn 
between trying to figure out how Mrs. Ritigliotti had obtained the 
picture and admiring the quality of the photograph. I mean, you could 
see clear droplets shooting through the air as well as golden globs 
already pooling on the girls' cheeks. 

Then I realized that Mrs. Ritigliotti was watching me from the 
doorway behind me. 

                           @---}---}-----

Mrs. Ritigliotti was sporting a Lace Deluxe Teddy Bear outfit. I knew 
it well from the catalog. It was the lined lace teddiette with lycra 
back, underwired cups, boning, adjustable straps, snap bottom, and 
adjustable garters from the dog-eared page 21 of the catalog that had 
recently changed possession. She also wore red fishnet stockings that 
matched the teddy. An equally red stretch lace robe completed her 
ensemble. These were also familiar catalog items. She wore nothing 
else, except a broad grin. As the catalog itself said, WOW! 

My mind raced even faster than my cock began to rise. That had been 
Mrs. Mrs. Ritigliotti in the sexy black body suit at the orgy the 
previous night! The mask and dominatrix suit had disguised her 
completely, and the Vestal Vixens had also done a pretty good job of 
distracting me. At the blow job ritual Mrs. Ritigliotti had been 
dressed in an extremely sexy long-sleeve bodysuit that had been 
unzipped provocatively down between her breasts far enough to keep me 
from looking closely at the face behind the mask. I should have 
recognized the body suit from page 14 of my catalog. Holy Cow, 
Batman! I used to make fun of the notion that Superman could disguise 
himself as the mild mannered Clark Kent simply by removing his cape 
and donning a pair of glasses. And yet I myself had been fooled by a 
sex goddess who disguised herself by putting on a simple mask and 
blinding me with hormones. Could this be possible? 

"Do you like what you see?" she asked. 

"You're beautiful," I replied. "That was you the other night, wasn't 
it?" 

"Yes, and you were a virgin, weren't you?" she replied. 

I was a little embarrassed. "Was it that obvious?" I asked. 

"Not really," she replied. "I think I was the only one to notice. If 
it's any comfort, you were every bit as experienced as the two girls 
with whom you were engaged." 

I gaped at her and said nothing. She continued, "I found evidence 
that this was your favorite outfit in the catalog, and so I bought it 
for you." I gaped and said nothing. She came close to me and put her 
arms gently around my neck. I could easily see down her cleavage. 
Hell, I could feel my breath rebounding off her cleavage. She 
continued, "If you don't mind, I think I'll keep the teddy for you, 
but I'm going to let you play with it." I gaped and said nothing. 
Finally she asked, "Why are you gaping and saying nothing, Charlie?" 

"You're beautiful," I said, as I continued to gape. 

"You're going to shoot your load, and we haven't even started," she 
said. She knelt down in front of me, unzipped my pants, extracted my 
penis, and gave it a gentle lick on the tip. "I'll stop anytime you 
want me to," she said. 

"New Years Day would be a fine time to stop," I replied. That would 
allow even days of exquisite pleasure. And then I shot my cum right 
into her throat. She didn't even try to dodge the jism. Instead she 
embraced my cock more solidly and gently sucked me dry. I was very 
happy, but a little embarrassed. 

She pushed me back on the couch, and as I fell back, she began to 
remove my pants and said, "When a young stud like you cums that fast, 
I take that as a compliment." This was good news, because I thought I 
had just disgraced myself. "I'll bet we can do that again," she said. 
"A little more slowly this time." 

                           @---}---}-----

She took me by the hand and led me into her bedroom, where she 
invited me to join her on her king-size bed. I'm sure I looked 
awestruck. 

"Relax and be my friend," she said. Then we talked. She told me that 
when the gang of girls that I called the Vestal Vixens had molested 
me the other night, she had realized that I might have been in over 
my head. "If I thought we would have hurt you, I would have stopped 
them. But you were obviously as thrilled as the girls were. But by 
the way you acted, I knew you were a virgin. Even though you wanted 
what you were getting, I thought maybe you were being deprived of the 
chance to lose your virginity in a really good way." 

"No problem," I replied. "You're forgiven." 

"That's easy for you to say," she answered. "But I correct my 
mistakes. Now that you're turned on to sex, I don't want you to 
settle for a cheap first time when you eventually go all the way with 
a real live girl." She smiled, "And so I'm going to let you fuck my 
brains out right now." 

I was startled. Was this the bright and ethical teacher that led my 
speech and debate team to victory? "Do you do this sort of thing 
often?" I asked. 

"Not very often at all with people who know me. It could be 
dangerous, but I have a feeling you're not going to expose me." Then 
she smiled wickedly. "It will be even better than this for you after 
you win the regional competition." 

I nodded. My lips were sealed. 

"But what about all the girls in that mob?" I asked. "What about your 
husband?" 

"My husband often swings with me. We like sex and don't think it's 
wrong to share our pleasure with willing partners. But we often 
conceal our identities. You didn't recognize me in my costume, and 
neither did any of those college girls. I don't know who they are 
either. We have an agreement not to try to discover one another's 
identities. It would ruin the fun. We're sort of like Carousers 
Anonymous -- only more fun and no immediate plans to reform." 

"Can I join?" 

"Nope, it's an all girl group. However, you did so well that you may 
be approached again." 

"How did they choose me? Are you the one who picked me out?" 

"Nope. You just got lucky. It was a random act of hedonism." 

                           @---}---}-----

Then she deflowered me. 

She started by turning me onto my back and removing my clothes, while 
she remained clothed in her teddy outfit. I guess she wanted to get 
her money's worth out of it. 

"Let's work on your kissing techniques," she said. And we did. Next 
we worked on what I could do with my hands, places to kiss besides 
lips, and how to stimulate a partner by breathing intensely on parts 
of her anatomy. She's an excellent teacher -- I already knew that, 
but not in this context. She taught me these skills first in 
isolation and then in combination with one another. She demonstrated 
them to me and then made me practice until I got each skill right. 
She oughta receive an award for teaching so well. 

When we got to cunnilingus, she was impressed by my skill. I told her 
about Al Steiner and the Blowjob Principle, and reminded her that the 
Vestal Vixens had already supplied considerable instruction. She told 
me to shut up and said we could go straight to the final exam for 
muff diving. 

After about ten minutes of letting me play her furry fiddle with my 
lips and tongue, she raised off and turned me onto my back. She 
lowered her body over me, so that her wetness poised over my rod, as 
she grasped it and pointed it into the air with her trembling hand. I 
closed my eyes to concentrate on the feeling, as she let herself 
slide slowly over me, the moisture and the heat enveloping the length 
of my cock. 

As she began to rock back and forth on top of me, I lay back and 
relaxed, marveling at the red-clad nakedness of her body, which was 
somehow simultaneously pleasantly cool and very hot, as my own pelvis 
rocked in a sensual rhythm with hers. Then she rode me, while I lay 
back with a huge smile on my face, fondling her tits. I took each of 
her breasts in my hands as she eased up and down on me. I marveled at 
how perfectly they fit. She moaned in delight as I flicked my thumbs 
over her nipples. I couldn't believe how much pleasure we were 
sharing. Within a couple of minutes I exploded inside her, and my 
cowgirl was bucking uncontrollably and collapsed on my chest in 
orgasm. 

All in all, it had been a very nice afternoon. 

                           @---}---}-----

CHAPTER 4: Caroling 

On the Saturday night before Christmas I went over to Carol 
Gonzalez's house. Our families have been friends for years. Her 
mother teaches at the university with my Dad. My little brother often 
sleeps over with Carol's little brother. Carol is a year younger than 
me. I realize she is really "a year younger than I," but that's an 
awful thing for a guy to say, especially when he's trying to shed his 
nerd image. This is one of those classical dilemmas I learned about 
in Mrs. Ritigliotti's class -- back before she presented me with the 
less classical but more intimate moral dilemma, which I have 
discussed earlier in this story. In this case, I have to decide 
whether to be grammatically correct and perhaps win the Pulitzer 
prize or talk like a normal person -- er, as a normal person talks. 
What do you want? Good grammar or good sex? 

But I digress. 

As I stood at the counter between the Gonzalez kitchen and their 
living room and conversed with my old friend, I knew that Carol was 
not what anyone would call a beautiful girl. She was a scruffy kid 
whom I had known all my life. I used to wrestle with her when we were 
kids. Now she's into sports and I'm not. She plays striker on the 
girls soccer team and point guard in basketball. I understand 
basketball but not soccer, except that soccer girls are supposed to 
give good head, but that's just a stupid pun. So we've pretty much 
gone our own separate ways, except that we still talk to each other 
almost every day. 

As a Christmas present I brought Carol a CD by a group called 
Alabama, with which I was not familiar. That's an interesting thing 
about Carol. She resists peer pressure. Most of her friends listen to 
albums by groups like Toad and the Wet Sprocket, the Smashing 
Pumpkins, or the Butt Naked Whores, but Carol listens to music that 
she actually enjoys. She was pleased with the album. She gave me a 
Swiss Army Tool -- sort of like a Swiss Army knife, except that it 
has all kinds of tools instead of knife blades. 

Carol had been watching replays of a women's soccer game on TV. A 
woman kicked the ball into the field from the upper right corner of 
the screen, and the ball curved in a slow arc as it crossed the goal 
mouth. "That's Bernoulli's Principle, you know," she said. Who would 
have thought that a simple statement like that could change my life? 

"You know about Bernoulli's Principle?" I asked, trying to conceal my 
surprise. 

"Sure," she said. "That's why planes fly and balls curve. Do you want 
me to explain it to you?" She paused and glanced at the school books 
I had placed on the coffee table. "Here. It's probably in your 
physics book." 

Carol reached over and grabbed my physics book. Something fell from 
the book onto the floor. "What's this?" she asked, bending down to 
pick up the papers that had scattered on the floor. 

Ooops! I was busted, I had stuffed my Christmas Story inside my 
physics book. By "my Christmas Story" I mean the first three chapters 
of this very story that you are now reading. Imagine that. In a 
sense, you are very much like Carol, who is going to read the same 
story that you have just been reading. I hope this has turned you on 
as much as it's going to turn Carol on. If you're a female, you can 
even fantasize about me while you finish this story. That's what I 
think Carol did. However, if you're a guy, I'd appreciate it if you 
would just think of this as a real good locker room conversation -- 
or a barroom story, if you're of legal age in the state where you 
reside. 

But I digress. 

What the hell, I thought. I'll just be honest. Carol has been my 
friend all my life, and if she's going to dump me or rat me out over 
a story I wrote --well, then I didn't need a friend like that. 

"It's a story I'm writing for a contest," I said. 

"Cool," she said. "Can I read it?" 

Like I said, what the hell.... 

                           @---}---}-----

So Carol read my story. I pretended to be busy watching what was on 
TV, which by this time was an advertisement for a sports bra that a 
skinny soccer player was wearing while she waved her jersey over her 
head. I found it really hard -- er, difficult -- to try to ignore 
Carol while she was reading my story. Maybe Hemingway or Uther 
Pendragon can ignore people reading their stories, but I certainly 
could not. Especially when I noticed that her nipples were growing 
visibly harder. 

Oh, sure, Randy and Mandy had gotten turned on by my little stories. 
Hell, they had cum virtually via every conceivable orifice -- as well 
as via some inconceivable orifices. But having this effect on a real 
live girl was different. I was getting turned on. 

The other thing that I noticed was that Carol was beautiful. 

My father has what he calls the Jenny McCarthy theory. This theory 
states that within certain broad parameters it makes no difference 
whether your sex partner is Jenny McCarthy or someone else. My father 
first expressed this theory to me two years ago, on the day my mother 
was diagnosed with breast cancer and was told she would have to 
undergo a radical mastectomy. Actually, he expressed the theory to my 
mother at a time when I happened to be present. My mother was 
bewailing the fact that she would be "half a woman," and Dad 
explained to her about the Jenny McCarthy theory. His point was that 
there was a lot more of her to love than her breasts and that these 
other parts -- which included her personality and their history 
together --were a lot sexier than her specific body parts. 

"Do you expect me to believe that I'm actually as beautiful and sexy 
as Jenny McCarthy?" said my mother, who was weeping profusely. 

"No!" said my father. "I mean yes." Now he was getting flustered. 
"No, not as beautiful; yes, just as sexy." My mother was so 
dumbfounded that she stopped crying. My father took her by the hands 
and said, "Listen, if somebody wants a person for a great pin-up 
poster or for a centerfold or for a picture on a swimsuit calendar, 
Jenny McCarthy has the edge on you. But being sexy is a lot more than 
that. Your body is important to me; but what I'm saying is that 
there's a lot of leeway in the features that let a body be really 
sexy. And a person's personality and the history between two people 
are what really make a person sexy." He kissed her on the forehead 
and added, "I can buy a picture of Jenny McCarthy, and I can even 
rent a woman with a really great body for several hundred dollars an 
hour. But nobody can buy or rent you. You're mine and I'm yours." 

They didn't know I had been watching. I thought they were going to 
get mushy and copulate or something, and I wasn't ready for that. I 
respected their privacy, and so I slunk away to my bedroom and 
thought about what my father had said. My mother was deeply impressed 
by this theory. Indeed, my father's stock as a neighborhood stud 
skyrocketed, as every woman to whom my mother expressed Dad's theory 
wanted one just like him. My father was amused. He thought all he had 
done was state the obvious. 

Anyway, the Jenny McCarthy theory validated itself again, as Carol 
trransmuted into a beautiful woman right before my eyes. Where the 
hell had she been all my life? God, how I would love to have those 
legs that ran up and down soccer fields wrapped around my horny 
little buttocks. And I could just imagine the thrill of cupping those 
tight little asscheeks of hers within my hands. No sooner had I begun 
to notice her cute little tits pressing against her tee shirt, than I 
saw her nipples growing hard and firm right before my eyes. Her mouth 
was quivering as she turned to what was then the final page, and I 
could imagine those lips wrapped around my rapidly engorging cock. 
Yes, Carol was beautiful. 

Carol glanced from the papers toward me. "You had sex with Mrs. 
Ritigliotti?" she asked. 

"Yes," I said. "I did." I would eventually change Mrs. Ritigliotti's 
name to something else to hide her identity. In fact, I have changed 
her name to Ritigliotti from something else, but I can't tell you 
what it really is. I searched for the words to explain to Carol what 
had happened. 

"So did I," Carol said. "And with her husband too." She saw the 
surprise in my eyes and the tent in my pants. "Mrs. Ritigliotti's 
Italian you know," she added. I think she said this to distract me 
and put me at ease. 

"I know," I replied. "Lots of people with names like Ritigliotti are 
Italian." 

Carol was a little flustered, and so she was trying to redirect our 
conversation into more sterile channels. "Did you ever hear the joke 
about Ginny Pipilini?" asked Carol. When I shook my head, she 
continued: "There were these three guys in a bar -- a German, a 
Canadian, and an Italian -arguing about who was the sexiest woman in 
the world. The Irishman cast his vote for Kathy Ireland. 'Kathy 
Ireland has to be the sexiest woman in the world,' he said. 'Her 
picture is on more calendars and posters than any other woman I have 
ever seen.' 

"'Not true,' said the Canadian, who also loved country western music. 
'Shania Twain is the sexiest woman in the world. When she sings on 
the juke box down at the Twist and Shout, the men just shut up and 
cum in their pants. She has to be the sexiest woman in the world.' 

"'You're both wrong,' said the Italian. 'Ginny Pipilini is the 
sexiest woman in the world.' 

"The other two men stared at the Italian blankly. Finally, the German 
said, 'Who the hell is Ginni Pipilini? We never heard of her.' 

"'Virginia Pippilini,' said the Italian, 'is a virtual sexual dynamo. 
She has satisfied more men sexually than any other woman in the 
entire world.' 

"'How can you say that?' asked the Canadian. 'What proof do you 
have?' 

"Triumphantly, the Italian slammed his newspaper down on the bar and 
pointed to the headline. The other two men looked, and read this 
headline." Carol stopped talking and scribbled a headline on a sheet 
of paper. When she handed it to me, I read it: "Four Hundred Men Lay 
Virginia Pipeline in Two Weeks." 

It really was a pretty good joke. But it was especially sexy to hear 
a nice girl tell a dirty joke. But if I thought having her read my 
story and listening to her tell a dirty joke was sexy, what came next 
blew me away. "Do you want to hear about the time I had sex with the 
Ritigliottis?" 

"Yeah," I said, and I nodded toward the couch. "But maybe we ought to 
sit down first." 

We sat down on the couch, and Carol took my hand. It wasn't a come-
on. She seemed shy about what she was going to say, and playing with 
my hand was going to make it easier for her to talk. 

                           @---}---}-----

"Mrs. Ritigliotti is interested in sports," Carol began. "She played 
basketball and soccer herself when she was in high school, and she 
lettered in soccer in college. This year she started coming to our 
girls' soccer games, and she gave me some real good pointers. One day 
we had an afternoon game, and neither of my parents was able to come. 
She offered me a ride home, and I accepted. Just like with you, we 
stopped at her house, and she asked me to come inside for a minute. 
She offered me a snack to eat, while she went to get something from 
elsewhere in the house. 

"I heard her come back into the room, and she said, 'You're a 
beautiful young athlete, Carol.' I turned around and was stunned by 
what I saw. She was standing there topless in front of me. At first I 
just stared stupidly. Then I lost my inhibitions. I had considered 
the possibility of flirting with or making love to a woman, and why 
not start at the top? I put my arms around her neck and pulled her 
close and pressed my lips against hers. I think the kiss took her by 
surprise at first, but she adjusted quickly. God, she kissed better 
than any boy I had ever necked with. 

"She gently pushed me away from her and said, 'I heard the other 
girls making fun of the girls on the other team. You looked 
uncomfortable when the other girls made fun of them as dykes. I want 
to show you that a sexy woman who is good in bed with a man can also 
exchange sexual pleasure with another woman.' Then she resumed our 
kiss. I melted in her arms as she pressed her tongue between my open 
lips. 

"She brought her hands up and cupped my breasts, which were still 
completely covered. I could feel my nipples growing hard in her 
hands, while her fingers circled my nipples. 

"'Why don't you get a little more comfortable?' she asked. Then she 
pulled my tee shirt over my head. I was wearing an ordinary white 
bra, and she reached around back and loosened it. The bra just fell 
to the floor, and we stood there, both topless, looking in each 
other's eyes. 

"Then I became aware that her husband was behind me. 'Don't worry,' 
she said. 'He's just going to help. Anytime you want him to leave, 
he'll leave. But I think you'll want him to stay.' I felt his cock 
caress my asscheeks, while he kissed my neck. I had never had sex 
with more than one person at a time before, and that person had 
always been a boy around my own age. This was sort of scary, but I 
didn't want it to stop. I nuzzled my breasts against Mrs. 
Ritigliotti, while her husband blended into me from behind. 

"Mrs. Ritigliotti knelt and ran her tongue around my left areola." 
While she said this, Carol placed her hand on the area she was 
describing. "She engulfed my nipple with her warm, wet lips; and the 
nipple became unbelievably hard." Carol's description was having the 
same effect on both the nipple she was caressing and my own cock. I 
just listened in wonder. "Then her husband reached around from behind 
and diddled my other breast." I shifted slightly, hoping Carol would 
not be embarrassed by the evidence of my arousal. 

"I closed my eyes and just enjoyed the feelings. I probably could 
have passed out, but I was sandwiched between them and supported in 
that position. I had previously fondled my own breasts, and a few 
guys had felt me up, but these two were geniuses at what they were 
doing. I suppose I must have started having an orgasm right then, but 
it kept getting better and better. All I cared about at the moment 
was that they wouldn't stop what they were doing. 

"They eventually did stop fondling me, but the pleasure didn't stop. 
Mrs. Ritigliotti led me into their bedroom and lowered me onto their 
bed. She followed, lowering herself on top of me, constantly 
caressing my breasts with hers. Her ass was extended into the air, 
and her husband was kneeling naked behind her, removing her pants. 
She was wearing black bikini underpants, and he removed them with his 
teeth. I could feel her shudder as he edged forward and began to 
caress her asscheeks with his cock. God! Normally just watching a guy 
do that to a woman would be enough to make my day. 

"Then Mrs. Ritigliotti moved back and removed my jeans and my 
underpants, while her husband removed my shoes and socks. I hadn't 
had anyone undress me since I was a little kid. They did it so 
tenderly. I could get used to something like that. 

"Then they sandwiched me between them and must have spent fifteen 
minutes kissing and caressing me. It seemed that their whole goal was 
to make me as happy as possible. Mrs. Ritigliotti was so good at her 
chore that I almost forgot that her husband was there. Can you 
imagine that? A guy who looks almost as good as Brad Pitt was doing 
good things to my backside, and I hardly noticed, because a sex 
goddess was doing even better things to my front side. 'Relax and 
enjoy it,' Mrs. Ritigliotti said. I closed my eyes and did just that. 

"When I opened my eyes, her husband was fucking Mrs. Ritigliotti 
doggie style, and she was burrowing her face gently into my pussy. I 
must have smiled, and he winked at me. 'Do you like to see me fucking 
your teacher?' he asked. 'Oh, yes!' I said. He reamed his wife in and 
out about a dozen more times, and with each thrust I could feel 
increased excitement in the lips that were caressing my cunt lips. 

"'Would you like me to fuck you?' her husband asked. 

"'Oh, yes,' I murmured. I couldn't imagine how things could get any 
better, but the idea of that throbbing cock inside me sounded like 
the most wonderful thing in the world. 

"'Ask your teacher if I can fuck you,' he said. 

"'Can he?' I asked. 

"'No,' she said. When I looked crestfallen, she continued, 'Not 
unless you say, 'Please let your husband fuck me, Mrs. Ritigliotti, 
ma'am.' 

"'Please let your husband fuck me, Mrs. Ritigliotti, ma'am,' I said 
immediately. And just as quickly she moved away from my pussy and he 
replaced her at my entrance. He kissed his way up from my mons to my 
lips, and in almost no time I felt his member throbbing deep inside 
me. I have no idea what his wife was doing at this time, but it 
seemed to excite him, and within just a few seconds I was being 
filled with his jism. He came and came and came. I have never felt 
anything like it." 

Carol stopped talking, and just smiled for a long time. Finally, I 
said, "Then what happened?" 

"We cuddled for a while, and then I got dressed and went home." 

"Did you ever do it again?" 

"No. They were pretty clear that this was not going to be a regular 
exercise. They said it had been a beautiful experience, but they said 
I should keep quiet about it and share the joy with other kids my own 
age." 

"Have you?" I asked. 

"Have I what?" Carol looked puzzled. 

"Have you shared the joy with other kids your own age?" 

"I'd sure like to right now," she said. 

I put my arms around Carol and drew her to me. 

                           @---}---}-----

Her face was soft looking, childish, and slightly round, but her eyes 
glistened with a spirit of sexy playfulness. Although her hair was 
short, almost in what my mother referred to as a "pixie cut," it gave 
the appearance that it hadn't been cut for a while. Up to that very 
moment I had never liked girls with short hair. I just knew that all 
beautiful women had long hair. Where had my head been to draw a 
conclusion like that? I also believed that all beautiful women had 
really full tits that oozed forth out of tight-fitting bathing suits. 
Evidence to the contrary was staring me in the face. Millions of men 
all over the world lust after the innocent girl next door with the 
warm and friendly look, and I had been ignoring the perfect specimen. 
Except that right now she looked like a wet dream in heat. 

I could think of nothing to say to her, and I realized she was having 
the same problem. Within a few seconds, her mouth found mine, and 
there was something like an explosion of surprise in my head, as I 
returned her kiss. The kiss started slow and tender, but it lasted 
for an eternity. Our tongues came out to play, and I felt her body 
blend with mine. 

I held her close to me. Her breath was warm and slightly sweet, and 
her lips tasted softly of the chocolate she had just eaten. Her 
tongue kept gently pressing its way into my mouth, tasting my lips 
and exploring the warm wetness of my mouth. I could imagine her small 
pink tongue as it brushed over my own tongue. 

Suddenly, I was scared. As much as I was enjoying what was happening, 
I wasn't prepared for it. As much as I had enjoyed my sexual 
experiences and as much as I thought I had grown up in the past few 
days I had never thought I'd be put in this position. I was falling 
madly in love with Carol. 

When I had stopped to breathe and to think, Carol had taken the 
opportunity to whip her shirt over her head and to begin to open my 
zipper. I stammered. "Are... are you sure?  I mean..." 

Carol only brushed my hair aside and looked directly into my eyes. I 
could see the depth and warmth in those eyes, and also the desire and 
the youthful passion. 

"Of course, I'm sure," she said. "I've always wanted you. I just 
didn't realize it until now. I want you to fuck me right now." 

"But..." 

"I want you," she said, pushing me back onto the couch. "And from the 
looks of your little soldier, you're happy to see me too." 

She was right. I pulled her into a deep kiss. She held me tightly, 
but with a softness, too. I put my hand around her waist and guided 
her body against mine, while we both lowered her jeans and underpants 
down to her ankles. She fell back onto the couch, and I followed her. 
With no hesitation whatsoever, my penis went through the openings in 
my pants and underpants straight into her vagina. I could feel her 
nipples press through her white bra, which still covered the top of 
her body, while her jeans and panties still clustered around one leg. 
I felt the heat from her body as it pressed against mine. And then I 
exploded inside her body, filling her pussy with so much force that 
she would certainly be unable to walk like a normal person for at 
least a week. 

Her orgasm arrived as quickly and solidly as my own. We witnessed 
exploding fireworks and listened to a chorus of angels while the 
earth moved under our feet. 

Talk about a quickie! It had probably taken us less than a minute 
from the descent of my zipper to the culmination of our orgasms. But 
our worlds had changed. We lay gasping for breath on the couch, 
cuddling in each other's embrace. When I opened my eyes, I found 
Carol gazing sort of sappily into my eyes, "Come on, Buster," she 
said. She took me by the hand and led me into her bedroom. 

At first we just cuddled. We had shared a special experience, and I 
think we were both a little scared about the sheer explosiveness of 
what had happened between us. Our younger brothers were busy 
downstairs in the recreation room with their own VCR, Play Station, 
and refrigerator. They were good kids who cared nothing about our 
existence and would not bother us. My parents were out that evening 
with Carol's parents. In fact, they were attending the policeman's 
ball together and would not be home until 2:00 a.m. I forgot to 
mention that Carol's father is a cop. There are lots of good jokes 
about policemen's balls. We didn't mention those jokes at all. Nor 
did we discuss the fact that Carol's dad was licensed to kill me for 
fucking his little girl. We just made love and cuddled and made love. 

Our clothes had disappeared on the way to Carol's bed. While she 
placed herself in the crook of my shoulder and lay her head against 
my chest, my hand almost automatically began to caress her ass. Her 
wonderfully formed breasts were small only in comparison to Mrs. 
Ritigliotti's or to the huge bazookas that showed up on calendars, 
posters, and lingerie advertisements. Her tits were slightly 
upraised, almost as if to look at me, and were covered with small 
goose bumps. The breast that I could see most easily was topped by a 
nipple that pointed ever so slightly toward her chin, like a slightly 
askew gumdrop on a mound of ice cream. 

When Carol saw me staring at her breast, she self-consciously covered 
it with her hand. "Mrs. Ritigliotti has really great breasts," she 
said. "I wish I had breasts like that." 

"You have wonderful breasts yourself, Carol," I said. I then went on 
to explain the Jenny McCarthy theory, only I presented it as if it 
were my own idea and without mentioning my Dad's or Jenny's name. 
This is a trick we use in speech and debate: plagiarize and try not 
to get caught. When I paused, Carol said, "You know, that's just what 
I heard my father telling my mother once. Only he called it the 
Cameron Diaz theory." 

I was busted. So I took a truthful and direct approach: "Listen, 
Carol. If I just say that I honestly think you have a wonderful body, 
will you accept that as a truthful statement or will you hold it 
against me?" 

"Both!" she smiled, as she rolled over on top of me, kissed me on my 
lips, and held that wonderful body against me. This was all very 
arousing, but it was also extremely informative. I was discovering 
that it was really pleasant to get naked and make small talk with a 
cute girl that really liked me. While I was digesting this 
information, Carol went on to the next chapter in my sex education. 

"Don't you wish we had been each other's first and only love?" she 
asked. 

OK, I thought. The shit could hit the fan here, but honesty has 
served me really well so far tonight. "Not really," I replied. "I 
truly enjoyed my time with the Vestal Vixens and with Mrs. 
Ritigliotti. Can you honestly say that you wish you had never had 
that roll in the sack with Mr. and Mrs. Ritigliotti?" 

She thought for a few moments. "I guess maybe you're right." 

Being a speech and debate expert, I played my trump card. "It would 
have been nice for you to have been my first," I said; "but it's 
better for you to have been my best." 

I had scored major points, which registered indirectly on my peter 
meter. "Do you mean I was better than the Sorority Twins?" she asked 
with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. 

"Do you think I was better than Mrs. Ritigliotti?" I countered. Did 
you know that it's often a good strategy to answer a question with 
another question? 

"No," said Carol with a sharp smile. "The Ritigliottis were better 
than you. We're going to have to work on that." She rolled off me and 
spread her legs. "Let's see how you are at cunnilingus." 

I moved to comply. "I'll do my best to try to improve my 
performance." Then I nodded toward the door. "First let's take a 
shower to wash the smell of me off of you." Then I added, "I may not 
be the most sophisticated or experienced lover you've ever had, but I 
can make up for it in enthusiasm." 

"No problem," she said, tossing me a towel and leading me toward the 
bathroom. "We'll learn together." She turned abruptly and planted a 
deep kiss on my lips, letting her tongue play with mine while her 
magnificent nipples pressed against my residual tits. When she broke 
the kiss, she added, "I have a feeling that really soon you are going 
to set the record as my most frequent lover." 

                           @---}---}-----

I wanted to fuck her in the shower, but Carol said that would be 
stupid. "Why take the chance?" she said. 

"Because it would be sexy as hell," I said. 

"I'll show you sexy as hell," she replied; and we returned to her 
bedroom, where she put into her CD player the Alabama album I had 
given her. "Besides," she added, "it's not really all that easy for 
two beginners to make love standing up in a shower without waking 
little brothers who are sleeping downstairs." At the time it didn't 
occur to me to wonder how she knew this. 

My lack of curiosity arose at least partly from the fact that as soon 
as we hit the bed, Carol began a gentle scheme to "bring my little 
soldier back into action." Exactly why she thought this required 
special effort I did not know, but I decided not to ask. She began to 
make slow strokes with her tongue, bringing more of me into her mouth 
with each stroke. 

Having her tongue lazily glide up and down the length of my shaft 
brought back memories of the Vestal Vixens and of Mrs. Ritigliotti I 
wondered if this was some other principle my father had not yet 
explained to me: perhaps every time I get head, the memories of every 
previous great blowjob will float before my mind's eye. The fact that 
this new principle could be called the Second Blowjob Principle, 
reminded me of Celeste's First Blowjob Principle. I gently shoved 
Carol aside. When she looked surprised, I said, "Let's try the 69 
position." She smiled, I moved, and we resumed. She moaned. I 
discovered that moaning has an accelerating impact on fellatio, which 
has a reciprocal impact on cunnilingus. I suppose that's why the 
missionaries invented their position instead of this one: too much 
fun. 

                           @---}---}-----

The third time was with her on her back and me crouched over her, 
supporting my weight with my arms. As I began to move slowly inside 
her, I felt her nipple press lightly against my own tiny nipples. She 
moaned and rocked, the muscles of her vagina slowly pulsating, 
caressing me with the slippery warmth of the walls of her tunnel. 

Thrusting inside her, I kissed her in rhythm with each of my thrusts, 
which were timed to her rocking. She had a delicious way of 
alternating between my upper and lower lips, as her tongue and lips 
caressed my own. I guess it would be a good metaphor to say we 
climbed together the plateau of pleasure, and stayed there. We 
delighted in the slow pleasure and heat of our fucking, the warmth 
and the wet and the smell of our arousal, and the impassioned noises 
of heavy breathing and slippery body parts. 

I felt the walls of Carol's pussy constrict and heard her breath 
become ragged. By now I had enough experience to know what this 
meant. My thrusts became deeper and quicker, reaching far down inside 
her, engulfing my pulsating penis in the wonderful wetness of her 
cunt. 

My own breathing became as ragged as hers, and the muscles in my 
lower body worked hard but pleasantly. Just as I could restrain 
myself no longer, I heard her whisper an almost prayerful "Oh God" 
into my chest, and her inner muscles played a gentle rhythm with her 
wetness. I exploded inside her body, as her muscles repeatedly 
contracted and released in spasms, her vagina fluttering around my 
penis as I filled her body with my warm essence. 

As this explosion of pleasure subsided, my weight dropped alongside 
her. I watched as she continued to undulate gently for several 
seconds after I had withdrawn from her body. My own breathing was 
deep but regular now, and I felt that old pleasant drowsiness begin 
to overtake me. 

I woke up before Carol did and lay there quietly, gazing at the 
subtle perfection of her body, from the almost shaggy hair around her 
beautiful face, over the graceful mounds of her breasts, down across 
the curve of her belly, to the dark wetness hiding behind the silky 
hair at the junction between her legs. This was nice. 

Finally, around 1:30 I realized I had better go home. Carol had 
remained asleep under my gaze, but she awakened when she felt me 
stir. She looked at me dreamily. "A penny for your thoughts," she 
said. 

"I was just thinking," I replied. "That Bernoulli guy -- he was 
Italian, wasn't he?" 

Carol smiled and kissed me on the lips. "Merry Christmas," she said. 

"You too," I said. "This has been the best Christmas ever." 

                           @---}---}-----

EPILOGUE: 

I don't know what is going to happen next in my life. Now that I've 
found Carol, I'm not going to let her go. We really opened each 
other's eyes. I think we're going sort of steady. "Sort of steady" 
means that I love her more than anything I can imagine, but I'm still 
not going to decline if the Vestal Vixens approach me again. And I'm 
also going to do my best to win that regional and get at least one 
more reward from Mrs. Ritigliotti. I figure if I'm good enough to win 
a speech contest, maybe I can persuade my favorite teacher to expand 
my reward to include her husband and my favorite soccer player. 

It's going to be weird when people find out about me and Carol being 
"an item." It would be just plain impossible to keep our romance 
secret. My parents would see us looking at each other at church on 
Christmas, and Mom would poke Dad in the ribs and say, "Did you 
notice the way those two have been looking at each other?" And my Dad 
would wink knowingly. It's going to be a lot easier to just hold 
hands and act like normal teenagers. 

I'm not sure where I'm going to find time for my new life. For 
obvious reasons I have to keep up my schoolwork; I can't bear to 
disappoint Mrs. Ritigliotti. I suspect that if I discussed the matter 
with my father he would expound to me the Nookie Theory, which 
probably states that if everybody got a good piece of ass everyday 
the world would be a lot happier place and people would get more work 
done. But if I'm going to start attending girls' soccer games, I'm 
going to have to cut back somewhere. Maybe I'll tell Randy that I 
can't talk to her anymore because I have been thrown into prison for 
violations on the stock exchange and my cellmate Bubba is jealous of 
my time. 

Life just doesn't make sense anymore. Today my mother asked me for 
suggestions for a last minute present my aunt could give me for 
Christmas. I told her I'd like a CD of Alabama's "Roll On." She 
looked at me real funny. That was the album I gave Carol for 
Christmas, and it's the one she had on continuous play while we made 
love. When I woke up and watched Carol sleep, I locked into my mind 
an image of her that I'll always associate with "Carolina Mountain 
Dewe," which was the song that was playing at the time. The song fits 
us perfectly, even though she's not from Alabama, I'm not from 
Tennessee, and I've never been a trucker driving home across a 
Mississippi Highway to meet my lady with the green eyes that Carol 
doesn't have. But no matter what happens now, 

She will always be the lady..... That I dream of holding tight..... 
That I kiss and tell goodnight..... Carolina....... mountain dewe 

As the other song says, "She's close enough to perfect for me." 

<fin> 

-- 
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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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