Chapter Ten

   Principle gives way to hormones.  It's the way of nature.  Once she got
him to kiss her, he was lost.  She worked his pants loose and, once they
were around his knees, he either had to pull them back up or take them off.
Her face was serious as she pushed him down on the bed.  She grunted as she
pulled at his boots and then giggled as she tugged his pants legs off each
leg.  Her newfound comfort with all this allowed her to move forward,
between his legs, and reach for the waistband of his jockeys.  She could
see the long lump that she knew was his stiff penis under them and her
heart thudded in her chest as she uncovered it.

   It was probably her obvious comfort level that was the straw that
finally broke the proverbial camel's back.  Bob's thighs and legs were
hanging off the bed, so he couldn't raise his hips, but he rolled from one
side to the other so that she could pull his briefs down over each butt
cheek.  Almost reverently she exposed his stiff prick, forgetting to
completely remove his underwear as her curiosity claimed all her conscious
thought.  She just stared, at first.

   "It's b-beautiful," she sighed, finally.

   "Not as beautiful as you," said Bob.  Her eyes flicked up to his, and he
got a small smile, but then all her attention went back to his manhood.

   "Y-y-you'll have t-to t-teach m-me," she said, examining the thing in
front of her.  It looked vaguely different than the ones in the pay per
view movie.  She couldn't decide why, but it was different, somehow.

   "Let me get on the bed," he suggested.

   She stepped back and he moved up next to where she'd been lying earlier.

   "All you have to do is this," he said, reaching for his cock and
stroking it slowly.

   Jennifer understood then why his looked different.  His had some kind of
skin that covered the knob and moved out of the way when he made his hand
go down.  The men in the movie didn't have that.  She knew there was a name
for it.  It had been mentioned in her sex ed class in school, but she
couldn't remember what it was called.

   She crawled on the bed and reached for him, remembering the feel of it
that morning in her hand.  All she'd done was squeeze it then.  Now her
hand replaced his and she was amazed when the skin under her hand moved
easily, like it wasn't even attached to the hardness beneath.  The big
purple head was exposed, looking smoother and harder, somehow, than the
rest of it.  She licked her lips and, almost eagerly, leaned down to take
that hard, shiny knob in her mouth.

   "Ohhhh shiiit," groaned Bob.  He sounded like someone was killing him
and she pulled right back off.

   "Am I h-h-hurting you?" she asked anxiously.

   Bob wanted to laugh insanely, but held it in.  "No," he gasped.  "It
just feels so good...and I wasn't expecting it."

   "Oh," she said.

   Within five minutes, Jennifer decided this was quite possibly the most
fun thing she'd ever done in her life.  She loved the feel of the tight
skin against her tongue, and the sounds Bob was making made her feel both
powerful and successful.  The shaft, gripped firmly in her hand, felt bumpy
and interesting as the loose skin let her hand move back and forth a little
while she sucked and licked and kissed her new plaything.

   She knew, though, that it was supposed to spurt, but it wasn't doing
that.  She asked Bob why not and he explained that, while it felt perfectly
wonderful, with her mouth alone, it was unlikely that would happen.  He
instructed her in the art of masturbating him.  That, she decided, was a
lot of work, because she had to hold him just so tightly, and move in just
this manner, and at just that speed, before he pronounced she was doing it
perfectly.  Her arm was getting tired and she was about to give up when he
groaned and the thing in her hand began spurting wildly.

   She was delighted, and the ache in her arm was forgotten as she jerked
furiously, watching with delight as thick white drops flew all over the
place.  She felt them hitting her skin and noted the heat in them.  It
never occurred to her to be put off by his fluid hitting her body.  It was
part of him, and she loved him, so she loved his sperm on her, too.

   Then he had to make her stop, because she just kept going.  Her delight
made her go to his face for kisses and she writhed on top of him, letting
his sperm make a slick surface for her to wiggle around on.

   Within a minute she was splayed on her back, like she'd been the
previous night, and was delightedly humping her hips up as his thick finger
pressed deeply into to her and his lips sent delicious thrills from her
nipples to where that finger was sliding in and out of her.

   "Wait!" he said, and she complained loudly when his finger vanished from
her pussy.

   She raised her head to see him getting ready to do what one of the men
had done to Bambi, and then she felt like she'd died and gone to heaven as
his tongue replaced his finger.

   He gave her three orgasms with his tongue and she welcomed each one like
it was her long lost sister.  Because of the bike, she was fully aware that
she could have orgasm after orgasm.  Because of the bike, she was USED to
having orgasm after orgasm.  Half an hour later, Bob was wondering if he'd
bitten off more than he could chew...metaphorically speaking...because she
wasn't ready to quit after half a dozen orgasms.

   He moved back up to lick and suck at her nipples and dug his finger
deep, feeling for her cervix with the callused tip.  She squirmed and
moaned, jerking her pelvis frantically as another orgasm ripped through
her.

   "I l-love this!" she gasped.  "I l-love YOU!"

   It ended up taking two more to bring her to limp submission, and then,
as before, she wanted to be held.

   Bob turned out the light, got back in bed, and held her as they both
drifted off to sleep.  = Once again, the older man and the young woman
slept dreamlessly, though they stayed in contact this time.  And this time,
Bob woke first, to the inevitable mixture of sensations that were both
pleasant and not so pleasant.  Having her in his arms was pleasant.  The
feel of the dried residue of his spend gluing them together...not so much.
He also knew that, not having brushed his teeth the previous night, his
morning breath would be atrocious.  So he slipped out of bed and went
straight to the bathroom to take a shower.  He stopped at the commode long
enough to relieve the pain in his bladder, which also wilted his morning
wood.

   He shouldn't have been surprised when she pulled the shower curtain back
and stepped in with him.  He still wasn't used to her newfound lack of
modesty, though, and he jumped when the curtain moved.  Her taste of making
him do what she wanted had already developed into a much more assertive
attitude, as was made clear when she pushed him to the back of the tub and
got under the warm spray.

   He smiled as she grabbed the soap and slid it all over her front and
arms.  It hadn't felt good to him, but her first experience waking up with
dried cum on her skin apparently hadn't bothered her all that much, because
as soon as she was clean, she turned around, slid her arms around him, and
rubbed her naked front against his.

   "Morning," she sighed.

   He slid his hands down to cup and squeeze tight, round buttocks and felt
his cock wake up.  She lifted her face, obviously wanting a kiss, and he
gave her a quick peck on the lips.  She stepped back and looked down at
what she'd felt moving against her.

   "Is it a-a-always h-h-hard?" she looked back up at him and the look in
her eyes told him she was teasing.

   "Around you it is," he said.

   The teasing look left her eyes and was replaced by something he didn't
recognize until she spoke again.

   "Are y-y-you ever g-g-going to p-p-put it i-i-in m-me?"

   His hands were still on her waist and they pushed her back reflexively.

   "No!" he said.  Her expression changed subtly and presaged a shift in
attitude toward unhappiness.  "That's off limits, Jennifer.  Don't even
think about that!"

   She didn't move, other than to cock her head sideways just a little.

   "Wh-wh-why n-n-not?" she asked.

   "What HAPPENED to you?" he asked sternly.  "Where is the sweet, innocent
girl I've known all these years?"

   "YOU happened t-t-to m-m-me," she said firmly.  "I n-n-never
th-th-thought ab-b-bout this s-stuff, unt-t-til y-y-you b-b-brought me
h-here!"

   Bob was pretty sure it was the bike that had done it, and not him.  On
the other hand, he was responsible for the bike, so maybe it WAS his fault.
In any case, he had to quash this idea.  They'd already done way more than
was acceptable.  It had been wonderful.  There was no doubt about that, but
he'd already had a hard enough time facing Don.  He wouldn't be able to
face the man at all if he did what she was apparently suggesting she
wouldn't fight against all that much.

   "Well, regardless of that, you're moving way too fast, little girl," he
said firmly.  "You're not having sex with me or anybody else.  Not for a
few more years." = It must be explained here that when Jennifer asked her
original question, she asked it out of a queer combination of lust and
curiosity.  It's not fair to say she WANTED Bob to "put it in her." Not
then, anyway.  It was more of a hormone driven logical progression to her
thinking.  Everything he'd done to her had felt so wonderful and her
bursting heart loved him more and more each day.  It wasn't strange that
she'd be curious as to when things would move along...even if she wasn't
actually TRYING to move them along.

   And, because Jennifer's social maturity was lagging a bit, along with
her lack of real experience with men, it wasn't odd for his flat denial
that anything of the sort would happen to flip the switch that is in all
young women.  That switch seems to be associated with whatever it is in a
girl that brings out stubbornness and the desire to pout and get what she
wants...even if she isn't quite sure exactly what that is.

   In other words, when he said she couldn't have it...she suddenly wanted
it.

   It was most likely a product of the fact that Jennifer was, in fact,
younger emotionally than she was physically, that caused her to think that
she could manipulate him.  She'd often gotten what she wanted just by
pouting.  But now she'd had just a taste of the power most women learn they
have over men.  So it was probably normal, considering her limited
experience that she thought sinking to her knees and sucking his penis into
her mouth might get her what she thought she wanted.

   He disabused her of that notion immediately, when he pushed her head
back and pulled his penis out of her mouth.

   "Nice try, Princess," he said sternly.  "You're clean, and I'm clean. 
It's time to go eat so we can go see your parents again."

   He pulled her up, turned her around, pulled the shower curtain back, and
the room resounded with the wet crack of his hand on her right butt cheek.
With a startled and angry "EEEK!" she jumped out of the tub.  The only
thing that saved her from going down in a heap was the bath mat that Bob
had put down.  Bob turned off the water and stepped out.  He grabbed two
towels and threw one in her face while he used the other one to quickly
wipe down his body.

   "I DON'T L-L-LIKE Y-Y-YOU!" she shouted.

   "Good," he said.  "Maybe that will keep you a virgin, like you SHOULD
be!"

   She got so mad she just spluttered.  Bob simply left the bathroom and
got dressed.  = She was still pouting when she stalked out of the bathroom.
She was still naked, of course, and while she was mad--perhaps BECAUSE she
was mad--she made no effort to get dressed quickly.  Maybe she thought she
was tempting him.  He simply put his jacket on and said he had to check the
bike's oil and would wait for her there.

   She stayed mad.  He could tell because she didn't put her arms around
him when they left the parking lot.  Instead she put the palms of her hands
on the back of the king seat, which rose just high enough to provide some
lumbar support for the driver.  He could feel her pushing on the seat,
perhaps in an attempt to lessen the effect of the clitty whizzer.  He
grinned at the concept that she was avoiding things sexual this morning. 
If he could keep her in that frame of mind, the situation might become more
manageable.  She'd calm down eventually, and then maybe she'd listen to him
when he tried to reason with her.

   She spoke only one word during breakfast.  With food still on her plate,
she pushed it away and said, "D-done."

   She didn't speak to him at all at the hospital.  He followed her to her
father's room, where something almost magical seemed to take place as she
entered.  She was a completely different woman in the room, telling her
father how happy she was to see him and asking him how he felt.  She spent
half an hour talking to Don before telling him she was going to go see her
mother.  When she was leaving, Bob was feeling pretty good.

   Until she was gone and Don looked at him.

   "What's she all riled up about?"

   "Riled up?" Bob hadn't seen any indication she was unhappy at all, once
she went into Don's room.

   "She's pissed off about something," said Don.  "It's obvious."

   "I didn't see anything like that," said Bob.

   "Then she's pissed at YOU about something," said Don firmly.

   "Boy, you need to tell them to give you some cheaper drugs or
something," quipped Bob.

   "What did you do, Bob?" asked Don.  "She doesn't act like that unless
she's really pissed off."

   "I didn't do anything!" said Bob, feeling panic beginning to form in his
gut.  = I know you want to get on with the story, and I get mail all the
time about these little interludes where I tell you something I think you
need to know, while all you want to do is find out what happened next, but
sometimes, you just can't tell some parts of a story in narrative style. 
Believe me, it would be WAY more tedious than these little interludes. 
You'll understand in a minute.

   Most of you have probably never been interrogated.  At least not by a
professional.  In most situations, when someone begins probing into your
business, you can just get up and walk away.  But when you CAN'T leave, and
a pro goes to work on you, there is this phenomenon that takes place, which
is a little like a statue being created.  You start out as a block of stone
and when the interrogator is done with you, you're a fully formed statue
that tells the story.  I'll give you an example.

   When asked about a particular incident, you start out saying you weren't
there at all.

   Eventually, you admit, "Well, OK, I was there, but I didn't see
anything."

   A while later that changes to, "OK, OK, I was there and I saw some
stuff. I saw the guy start something with Joe, and Joe popped him one.  But
that's all, I swear!"

   The interrogator sweats you some more, pointing out inconsistencies or
impossibilities in your story, and you change to, "Well, the guy was
sitting on Joe's stool, you know?  It was Joe's favorite stool, and the
fucker wouldn't move when Joe told him to.  So Joe pushed him.  And the
fucker decided to get smart and he pushed Joe back.  So he HAD to be taught
a lesson, right?  But we only hit him a few times, I swear to God!"

   And then you have to come up with some explanation as to why the victim
has broken ribs, missing teeth and was unconscious on the floor, bleeding
like a stuck pig, when the paramedics got there.  And eventually, a
complete confession just leaks out of you about how some poor schmuck said
he could sit wherever he wanted, so you and three of your drunken friends
worked him over, basically for the fun of it.

   That's how it works when you can't duck the issue and somebody who knows
what he's doing is asking the questions -- like Don, who was a trained
interrogator, who had worked on subjects much tougher than Bob.  And he'd
never had to use torture either.  = "So let me get this straight," said
Don, an hour later.  "Basically, what you're telling me is that you brought
my baby girl here on the Babe Bike and got her addicted to orgasms, and
then you had her sleep with you in the same bed, and got her naked in that
bed, and then you did everything except fuck her brains out." His voice had
recovered from the effects of the breathing tube, and was clear and heavy.

   "Come on, man," Bob moaned.  "It wasn't like that at all.  Shit just
happened.  I tried to stop it, but it just happened!"

   "Sure it did," said Don.  "Shit just happened and it was all sweetness
and light.  That's why she's so pissed off at you." He smiled, but it was
obviously a false smile.  "That makes perfect sense, Snake."

   It was Don's use of Bob's old SEAL call sign that caused things to
practically freeze up inside of the big man.  In their SEAL days, Bob had
been given the name because the men said he was like the serpent, who
conned Eve into eating the apple, and who could con any woman out of her
clothes.

   "It wasn't like that," Bob said heavily.  "I wouldn't do that to you.  I
wouldn't do it to Susan either, and I wouldn't do it to Jennifer.  I love
her, Don.  You're wrong."

   "Am I?" asked Don, thinking like a father.  "I know you pretty well, you
know.  You built the Babe Bike for a reason.  And the fact that you didn't
just drive her here in her car proves you did it on purpose!"

   Bob took a breath to deny it and stopped.  "Car?  What car?"

   "Don't even try that with me," Don sneered.  "We gave her a Beetle for
her birthday.  I should have remembered that the first time the Babe Bike
came up, but I had a lot on my mind."

   "I didn't see any car," said Bob.

   "And she didn't tell you about it.  Right.  I can't believe you'd do
this to me!  I trusted you!"

   Bob's frustration was boiling over, which is never a good time to speak.

   "You want me out of here?" he asked.

   "Maybe that's not such a bad idea," replied the girl's father.

   Bob's stomach felt like he'd swallowed a bowling ball.  He stood up.

   "I'll pay for the room for two more weeks and give her some money for
food.  It's not so far she can't walk here, and she can take the bus back
home or whatever.  That's the best I can do.  I'll go take care of all that
right now and then I'll leave.  I've got shit to do anyway."

   Don didn't say anything.  There was nothing more for Bob to do but walk
out and start getting things in order like he'd said he would.  = In the
ICU Jennifer sat next to her mother's bed, the book open in her lap.  There
hadn't been any nurses in sight when she'd walked onto the ward, so she'd
just put on a gown and mask, like usual, and gone on into her mother's
room.

   Because she hadn't seen a nurse, she wasn't aware that the drugs being
administered to her mother had been tapered off and she was now only on
pain killers.  She was expected to come out of the coma sometime that day.

   Jennifer had been reading, but at some point had stopped and just begun
to talk.  Staring at the open book, she poured her heart out to her
unconscious and unresponsive mother.  She told her everything that had
happened, just like it had happened.  Perhaps because she WASN'T being
interrogated, it all came out in a much more natural and logical stream of
information.

   She spoke of the feelings she'd been experiencing, and what had caused
them.  She spoke of Bob's infuriating refusal to help her explore those
feelings.  She talked about the mixture of joy and awe she'd experienced as
she'd discovered how her body could be coaxed into making her feel as fully
alive as she'd ever felt.  She relived, verbally, waking in the night, in
bed with Bob, and realizing that the love she had for this man had changed
somehow, deepening into something she didn't understand that he wouldn't
let her examine in detail.  She talked about the feel of his skin against
hers and how, when he finally touched her, she'd thought she'd burst with
happiness.

   She had just finished talking about how when she'd asked him a simple
question -- if he'd ever make love to her -- he'd been mean to her.  He'd
practically SPANKED her!  He'd called her a BABY!  The frustration of it
all had brought tears to her eyes and she reached a hand up to wipe them
away.

   "Don't cry, baby," came a dry, cracked voice from the bed.

   Jennifer's eyes flashed to her mother's face, and the eyes that were
OPEN in that face, which was turned toward her daughter.

   "MOMMY!" squealed Jennifer.

   Susan winced, a result of the suddenly loud voice and the aches and
pains that seemed to have taken the place of her entire body.

   "Mommy!" whispered Jennifer.  "You're alive!"

   Susan smiled weakly.  "Of course I'm alive.  How's your father?"

   "H-h-he's doing r-r-really g-good," stuttered Jennifer.

   "You want to know something interesting?" asked her mother.

   "W-wh-what?"

   "The whole time you were telling me what happened between you and Bob,
you only stuttered a couple of times."

   Jennifer sat straight up.  The book slid off her lap and plopped onto
the floor.

   "Y-y-you h-h-heard th-th-that?" she gasped weakly.

   "Every word," said her mother.

   "Ohhhhhhhh," moaned the girl.  = Of course Susan left a few things out
during her first conversation with her daughter after she woke from the
coma.  She remembered other things than Jennifer's impassioned description
of events.

   There was the stark remembrance of headlights coming at the car and the
terrible grinding crunch of metal being torn and twisted.  Susan had been
conscious throughout the entire crash and the aftermath.  At one point,
she'd wished for death, so she could escape the unimaginable pain that had
wracked her body while people came and shouted and moved things and
eventually dragged her out of the car.

   It had been at that point that she'd lost consciousness.  The pain had
overwhelmed her like an ocean wave.

   She had eventually become aware of herself again, but it had been
horrifying.  She'd been in complete darkness and unable to see.  She'd
heard strange noises and unfamiliar voices, but could see nothing at all.
At first, she'd thought she was blind, and then that she was paralyzed,
because she was aware of the events taking place around her, but could do
nothing about them.

   Then there were the dreams, as she thought of them, when Jennifer's
sweet voice had appeared in her head, talking to her and reading.  She had
worried about Don, there in the dark, but Jennifer's voice had said he was
going to be all right.

   The dreams had both soothed her and frustrated her, because she'd tried
and tried to wake, as Jennifer read to her, but couldn't.  Then something
had changed and she'd begun moving slowly toward being awake.  Her mind had
flooded with sensations, at that point, that made her existence seem
fragmented.  There had been pain, and odors, and the sound of Jennifer's
voice.

   She'd centered on that voice, ignoring all other distractions, and
listened intently.

   Some of what Jennifer had said struck a chord in Susan's memory.  Susan
had gone through rites of passage similar to what Jennifer was talking
about.  Ever since her daughter had entered puberty, Susan had mourned for
her, believing that Jennifer would never have the opportunity to go through
the same rites of passage, because of her persistent speech impediment.

   As such, when Susan had opened her eyes and looked once more upon her
daughter's form, she'd felt an overflowing of both love and relief, rather
than what a typical mother might have felt after hearing that her daughter
had become sexually active.

   Of course, part of that feeling of relief was a result of the right man,
as Susan thought of him, being there when Jennifer's sexuality had clawed
its way into the light.  Basically, as far as Susan was concerned, Jennifer
could do a lot worse than Bob.  A LOT worse.  Even if he was old enough to
be her father.

   And so, as it turned out, on that day in the lives of the Brazeltons,
Jennifer's "confession" took a back seat, in a way, to other issues.  In
short, Susan was more worried about her husband's future than she was about
her daughter's.


  
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