Foreword This is the third in a series of stories about how Bobby Dalton
was transformed, from a normal teenage boy, into a man sought after by many
women.  His story starts with "The Making of a Gigolo - Tilly Johnson", and
there is much information in that first story that will be useful to you in
understanding what happens in this story.  Please read the stories in
order, for your fullest enjoyment.  Bob

   =================================

   The Making of a Gigolo - Sherry Winston by Beating Off Bob

   Sherry felt butterflies in her stomach when she opened the door and
looked at the young man standing there.  He had the strap of a bag of tools
over his shoulder, and the morning sun was bright behind him, so she
couldn't see his face.  His general form, though, was intensified by the
sunlight around him.

   He had broad shoulders.  The butterflies intensified.  She'd always had
a weakness for broad shoulders.  His waist was narrow, and his legs looked
slightly bowlegged, like he rode horses.  His shock of hair was wild and
unkempt, and the wind ruffled it as she stood there.

   "Mrs.  Winston?" said his soft, deep voice.

   She jerked.  She'd been staring at him, and standing there mute.  She
blushed.

   "Yes, of course.  Come in ...  Bobby ...  is it?"

   She blushed harder.  Of course he was Bobby.  Everyone in town knew him.
Everyone in town knew everyone else in town.

   "Yes, Ma'am," he said, no trace of laughter in his voice.  "Your
radiator is knocking?"

   Sherry got a grip on herself, and pushed away the thoughts she'd been
having for the last week, in anticipation of this moment.  She had admitted
to herself long ago that she'd married Sam only because he had asked her.
She'd been thin and boyish, at seventeen, and quite sure that no man would
ever take an interest in her as a woman.  Sam's interest was both
surprising and very welcome, even though he'd tried to move much too
quickly for her conservative nature.  By their third date, he'd been
running his hands over her flat breasts, and kissing her in ways that made
her head spin.  When, as she lost her virginity to him on a blanket under
the stars, out in old Mr.  Johanson's pasture, he'd professed his undying
love and asked her to marry him, she'd yipped "YES!" She now knew that part
of that "YES!" had been an outlet for the pain of him splitting her
maidenhead, and part frantic answer before he could take it back.

   Sam's ardor had cooled, somewhat, once they were married.  He was, in
his own mind, on the fast track toward becoming part owner in Haskins
Plumbing Supplies, where he had been employed part time, while he was in
school.  Once married, he went on the road as a salesman, often being gone
for three weeks at a time, and returning only for a few days between trips.
He covered four states, and was convinced that it was because he was the
best in the business.

   Sherry, being much closer to the headquarters of the business, knew
better.  Rupert Haskins couldn't find the four salesmen he needed to cover
all that territory, and with Sam working his ass off, he didn't need to try
all that hard.  Vague promises of better times ahead, when Sam would be
able to parlay his sales commissions into buying part of the business, kept
Sam away from home, building up his company bank account.  They got by all
right, on what money was actually paid to him, but Sherry was beginning to
worry.  Rupert was driving a brand new Mercury, and living high on the hog.
He'd lived the same simple lifestyle as everyone else in town, until Sam
went to work for him.  As the years passed, his lifestyle improved,
visibly, while Sam and Sherry lived in the same, frugal way.

   Even when he was home, Sam didn't take the kind of interest in her that
she thought he should.  A man, away from his woman for weeks on end, should
be wild with passion, when he returned to her.  Sam wasn't, though, and
seemed to have very little sex drive at all.  Her horror at having to seek
release with her fingers, while he was gone, turned to terror, as she had
to do the same thing, sometimes, when he was actually home.  She heard
stories about salesmen and farmer's daughters, and things like that, and
had a deep seated worry that, some day, Sam just wouldn't come home anymore
at all.  Part of that worry was that she hadn't given him a son yet.  Of
course that was hard to do, when you only tried to make a baby every three
weeks or so, and most of those times didn't happen at a point when she was
fertile.

   She had no proof that he was unfaithful to her, except for that time
when he came home and wouldn't touch her.  He'd gone to visit to the
doctor, saying he was feeling under the weather, and didn't want her to
catch whatever it was that was ailing him.  He didn't touch her the whole
week he was home, and was taking penicillin for an ailment that he wouldn't
tell her anything about.  She'd seen Doctor Grissom a week later, at the
butcher's, and he'd told her it was time for a checkup, even though she'd
been to his office only six months before.  His examination was much more
thorough than past ones, especially between her legs.  His smile, when he'd
given her a clean bill of health had been so brilliant that she worried,
thinking he'd expected to find something wrong with her, and was very
pleased that he had not.

   That had been six months ago, and Sam had made love to her only four
times since then.

   This was the frustrated, lonely, horny young woman who ushered Bobby
into her house, and to the radiator that had made horrible noises last
winter.  She was quite sure it would make the same noises this winter. 
That, and the fact that she had no idea how to start up the boiler, were
her excuses for taking Martha's advice to let this young man ...  brighten
her existence.

   Bobby surveyed the radiator ...  and the woman.

   The radiator took only a few seconds, to determine what its problem was.
He spent the rest of the five minutes that he "looked" at it examining the
woman.

   She was over thirty, in his estimation, but looked closer to being in
her mid twenties.  She was very short, with slight bulges under her
sweater, and slim hips, encased in slacks.  She had short, blond hair, cut
in a bob, and huge blue eyes that looked nervous.  She acted like Martha
had acted, the first time he returned to her house after tasting her
charms. Her eyes went everywhere in the room, but always returned to him,
moving up and down his body, and her hands fluttered, as if she didn't know
what to do with them.  She went from letting them hang, to folding her
arms, to putting them on her hips.  If she'd had pockets in the slacks, he
suspected she would have put them in those pockets.

   Her physical appearance reminded him of his sister, Susie, who had just
turned fourteen, and looked boyish, to her immense chagrin.  Bobby had gone
to some lengths to "accidentally" see Susie naked, at which time he had
whistled, and grinned, telling her she was going to be a heart breaker. 
Her beaming smile had made him feel good, because he knew he'd made her
feel good.  She'd been much less modest around him ever since.

   In truth, he found his sister's spare charms exciting.  Perhaps it was
the promise of maturity to come, or the smooth clean lines of her youthful
figure.  Whatever it was, he'd had to make a special visit to Martha's
house, to work off the passion that had stiffened him.  This woman affected
him in a similar way, and he felt his cock move in his pants.

   "Can you fix it?" asked Sherry, trying to concentrate on the matter at
hand.  She was embarrassed that just being in the same room with this man
made her want to masturbate.

   "It's out of level," said Bobby.  "See here?  The floor has settled, and
this end of the radiator is lower than the other end.  That traps water
there, and then steam flows in and makes it boil.  It's the boiling that
makes the noise."

   "We can't raise the whole floor!" gasped Sherry.

   "No, but we can put a shim under this end of the radiator, and level it
back out." He made it sound so simple.

   "It's embarrassing ...  having to call you here ...  when my husband
sells plumbing things," she said, trying to remind herself that she was
married, and shouldn't have listened to Martha at all.

   "He's busy, and I have the time," said Bobby.

   Yes.  That was the problem.  Sam was busy ...  too busy to take care of
her ...  and this handsome young man had the time.  She felt a tightness
between her legs, and bent forward slightly.  She hadn't felt like this
since the second time she'd had sex.  Her face flamed red.

   "I ...  I feel a little tired," she said, her voice breathy.  "Do you
need me to help you?"

   "No, I can do this by myself."

   "I think I'll just go lie down for a little bit then," she said, keeping
her hands away from her loins.

   "That's fine," he said.  "I'll try not to make too much noise."

   Sherry all but ran to her bedroom, taking time to push the door closed,
and then flopped on her bed.  She undid the hook on her slacks, and groaned
as she slid her hand into the front of them, going beneath her panties, to
hook a finger into her sex.  She closed her eyes, which was why she didn't
see the door, on its sagging hinges, slowly swing open a foot.

   Bobby couldn't help but hear the moans coming from the bedroom.  He had
seen in Sherry some of the signs he had learned to look for in Martha and
Tilly, but had ignored them.  He'd been very lucky with both of his lovers,
and he knew that.  He went to the bedroom door, but only to make sure she
wasn't sick, and didn't need help.  Seeing her hand moving furiously in her
pants convinced him that she was all right, and he moved back, to give her
privacy.  He had no idea what would happen, but thought he should just do
what he had been called here to do.  Then he would see what else needed ...
doing.

   ======================================

   He was lucky.  The pipe that came from under the floor, in the
crawlspace under the house, had some flex in it, so that he was able to
make and drive home a shim, and didn't have to disassemble the connection.
He was actually finished making the repair, before Sherry was finished
taking the insane edge off her sudden sexual need.  She rubbed herself
through three orgasms, remembering that black hair, and those gorgeous blue
eyes, above those strong, wide shoulders, before she felt relaxed enough to
take her hand out of her slacks and lie there.  She wasn't sleepy, though.
Sexual release seemed to give her energy, rather than sap it.  She lay
there long enough to get her breath back, and then bounded up off the bed.
She found Bobby, sitting on the floor.  He had removed the pressure release
valve from the end of the radiator and was cleaning it.

   "Feeling better?" he asked, his attention on the valve in his hands.

   Sherry's breath caught in her chest.  Something in his voice made it
sound like he knew, somehow, what she'd been doing.  She looked at her
watch.  She realized she'd only been gone for fifteen minutes ...  not
nearly long enough to have "gotten better", or taken much of a nap.

   "I was just feeling strange," she said, nervously.  "I guess it passed."


   "That's good," he said, looking up long enough to smile.  "As soon as I
take care of this, you'll be all fixed up."

   "That's wonderful!" she said, happy to change the subject.  "Can you
start the boiler for me too?"

   "Sure," he said, looking up again, with that beautiful smile.  "Whatever
you need."

   Sherry stared into his blue eyes, and felt the urge come back.  How
could he DO this to her?  She'd had fleeting moments, when she noticed this
man, or that, and had a little fantasy ...  almost always banished
immediately, as she had clamped down on her imagination.

   He went back to working on the valve, and she watched his fingers work.
She realized suddenly what it was that was so troubling about him.  She
knew that he had lain with Martha ...  many times, if Martha's less than
complete confession were true.  Looking at him was different than looking
at just any old man.  This man had made Martha happy ...  in bed ...  and
she couldn't ignore his sexuality, because she KNEW he had made Martha
happy ...  in bed.  Her nipples tightened on her small mounds.  That hadn't
happened in a long time.

   His fingers were long ...  longer than hers.  She shuddered at the
thought of those long fingers probing inside her.  She felt faint,
suddenly, and went to the couch and plopped down.

   "Are you all right?" he asked, concern in his voice.

   "I feel so strange," she said, leaning her head back, as the room seemed
to spin.  She felt weak, and realized she was panting.

   "Do you need to go lie down again?" he asked.

   "No," she sighed.  "I just need ...  I don't know what I need," she said
helplessly.  She felt like she was in a dream world.  Her pussy itched, but
she couldn't touch it.  Not with him right there in the room.  Somehow she
knew that even if she did go back to her room, and shove her hand in her
slacks again ...  it wouldn't be enough.

   She felt better with her eyes closed.  Not looking at him helped.  She
heard the sound of metal on metal ...  him using tools ...  those long
fingers ...  gripping ...  twisting ...  manipulating...

   She felt, rather than saw him rise, and come to stand in front of her.
She realized that her knees were a foot apart, slack in her weakness, and
closed them, automatically.

   "You look pale," he said softly.

   "I'm fine," she said, knowing she wasn't.  "Can you start the boiler?"

   "Whatever you need," he said.

   She wanted to moan.  What she needed was those fingers, stroking her,
bringing her to a point where she didn't feel like she was going to waste
away into nothingness.  She brought a hand up to cover her eyes, so she
couldn't open them and look at him.

   She lay there limply for long minutes as she wrestled with her emotions,
until she realized he wasn't in the room any longer.  Opening her eyes, she
lifted her head.  Her knees had fallen apart again, and she closed them,
feeling the need still in her.  Wasn't this why she'd called him here?  Why
was she fighting this so hard?  He was obviously willing, according to
Martha's veiled admissions.  Another part of her mind railed at her,
calling her a slut, and reminding her that only one penis had ever entered
her body ...  that of her husband.  The warring factions created energy,
and she stood.

   She found him in the boiler room, bent over, lighting the burner.  His
buttocks were tightly encased in the jeans he was wearing.  She found
herself comparing him to Sam, who was about the same height, but much
heavier, with much more flesh on his body, from eating in restaurants every
day.  Sam was portly ...  almost fat.  She suddenly wondered what Bobby's
penis looked like.  Sam's was, usually, a short pile of flesh, with a shiny
head, that stuck up out of his nest of pubic hair.  When it was hard it
stuck up further, but she'd never really had time to examine it.  When Sam
had taken her virginity, it had been dark.  Since then, whenever they made
love, he was quick and efficient about it, climbing on top of her as soon
as he was ready, and, occasionally, lasting long enough that she could
reach for the orgasm she'd learned she could have by using her fingers. 
She'd never had an orgasm with him for the first two years, but, once she'd
learned how ...  without him ...  she was able to move and rub against him
in such a way that, if he went long enough, she could squeeze one out,
before he sighed and collapsed on top of her.  By the time she got to see
his penis again, it had returned to its normal, short, shiny appearance. 
She'd never seen another one.

   He leaned back, turned a knob, and there was a whoosh and bright light,
as the burner caught.  He closed the door, and walked past her as if she
weren't there, going out the back door.  She followed him, and saw him
looking into the oil tank.

   "The tank's about a third full," he said, coming back toward her, wiping
his hands on a rag he took from his pocket.

   "I'll call to get it filled," she said, feeling her knees weaken as her
eyes slid down to his hips, and then back up to his broad shoulders.

   "Need anything else?" he asked, smiling.

   "YES!" her mind shrieked.

   "I suppose that's about it," her voice said.  It sounded sad, even to
her.

   "Maybe I should check the other radiators," he suggested.

   "Yes!" she blurted.

   Everything went well, until they got to her bedroom.  As soon as she
followed him into it, she knew she was lost.  HE was in her bedroom.  The
bed was RIGHT THERE!

   "This one is close," he said, examining the metal object.  "If it
rattles, it should be easy to fix."

   "All right," she said weakly.

   He turned around.

   "You look pale again." There was concern in his eyes.

   "I don't feel too good," she moaned.

   "You'd better lie down," he cautioned, as he saw her lean to one side.
She had to take a staggering step to keep herself upright.

   She felt his hands on her elbows, and let herself be steered to the bed,
where she sat heavily, and then flopped backwards.  Then his hands were on
her thighs, just above her knees, as he lifted her lower body,
effortlessly, and moved her until she was lying on the bed.  She felt him
press his palm to her head.

   "You feel hot," he commented.

   "I'm fine," she moaned.

   "Be right back," he said.

   She lay there, wondering what was happening to her, and he returned with
a wash cloth.  It was cool and wet as he applied it to her head.  His
fingers were gentle.  Martha had said he was gentle.  He'd been gentle with
Martha too ...  when he...

   Her eyes opened to see his face above hers.

   "Better now?" he asked.

   Her mouth started saying things, and her mind listened to her voice,
astonished.

   "Martha said that you could make me feel better."

   "She did, did she?" said his soft voice.

   "She said you'd be gentle."

   "Do you want me to be gentle?" he asked.

   She stared into those glorious, deep blue eyes.

   "Yes," she sighed.

   "Then I'll be gentle," he said.

   "What are you going to do?" she panted.

   "What do you want me to do?" he asked, stroking her forehead with the
cool cloth.

   "I can't say it," she moaned.

   "I see," he said.  He dropped the cloth, and stroked her short hair. 
She pressed her head into his fingers.  "When you're overheated like this,
sometimes it helps if you loosen your clothing.  Would you like me to do
that for you?"

   "Yes," she whispered.

   She closed her eyes as his fingers went to the buttons of the sweater.
She did feel cooler, as he flipped the halves of the sweater apart,
exposing her bra.  When his fingers touched the closure of her slacks, she
sucked in her belly, instinctively.

   "Do you have to do that?" she asked.

   "Yes," he said.

   She lifted her hips, as he pulled her slacks down.

   "You smell good," he said, casually.

   She realized he smelled the results of her previous attempt to satisfy
her aching pussy, and felt heat suffuse her chest and cheeks.  She realized
she was lying in front of a strange man, in only her underwear, and felt
completely naked.

   "I shouldn't be doing this," she whispered.

   "It's all right," he said.

   She flinched, at the feel of the cool cloth, on her upper chest, but
then sighed as he swabbed her exposed skin with it.  It felt wonderful.  It
had been cool in the house, but it didn't feel cool now, for some reason.
He had just lit the boiler.  It hadn't had time to produce heat yet, but
this felt so wonderful.  She felt him roll her to the side, and his fingers
went to the catch of her bra.  She wanted to stop him, but only because she
was ashamed that she didn't look like a woman.

   When she rolled back, she covered her bra, pressing the cups to her
spare mounds.

   "Let me take that off," he urged.

   "I'm so small," she moaned.

   "You're beautiful," he said.

   Her eyes snapped open, and searched for his.  In them, she saw that he
was telling the truth!  He DID think she was beautiful.

   "How can you say that?" she asked, in wonder.

   "It's easy," he said.  He tugged, and she let him remove the bra,
sliding it out from under her hands.  Gently, but with firm pressure, she
let him move her hands, slowly, away from her breasts.  He picked up the
cloth, and she held her breath, watching, as his hand brought it to her
left breast.

   Her breath whooshed out as he scraped the cloth, which suddenly felt
rough, over her nipple, and then dragged in another breath to moan as he
did the same thing to her right nipple.

   "Beautiful," he sighed.  He dropped the cloth, and used his hand, to
slide over them again, bending her stiff nipples, until they fell sideways
under the pressure of his palm.  His fingers traced around them, pulling,
but not gripping, as if he were coaxing them out of her breast flesh,
trying to get them to get even longer.

   "I know what you need," he said, leaning over to kiss her breast mound,
right beside the nipple.

   "I shouldn't need this," she moaned.

   "You do," he said firmly.

   "I knoooowww," she whined.

   "I can make you feel better," he said, kissing her breast again.

   "Like you did Martha?" she panted.

   "She told you?" he asked.

   "Not in so many words," she gasped, arching her chest against his lips.

   He finally captured the nipple he had been kissing all around, and
sucked gently.  She spasmed instantly.  Sam never did this ...  never
teased her ...  never made her want to scream.  Her hand flew to her
panty-covered mound.  She had just pressed there, when his fingers gripped
her wrist firmly, and moved it to her stomach.

   "Let me do that," he whispered.

   He kissed slowly up her throat, and she arched her neck, giving him more
room, as his lips moved up over her jaw, to the corner of her mouth.  She
closed her eyes again, feeling his hand, flat on her abdomen, those long
fingers sliding inexorably downward, slipping under the waistband of her
panties.  As his finger slid between her slick labia, his lips moved to
hers.

   Her mouth and legs opened at the same time.  She didn't intend to open
her mouth to him.  That was something she'd heard of ...  kissing open
mouthed ...  but she'd never done it.  Sam didn't kiss her much at all,
except when he was leaving, or getting back.  As Bobby's impossibly long
finger slid into her, touching her where it seemed as if nothing had ever
touched her so deeply, her knees came up and she arched her hips up into
his hand.  His tongue, touching hers, was electric, and an orgasm thundered
through her body as she let out an agonized groan into his open mouth.  Her
body went rigid and, for an instant, only her head and heels were in
contact with the bed, as her gyrations snatched her lips away from his, and
he switched to kissing her throat again.

   Then she was limp again, as she crashed back down on the bed.  She
groaned with frustration as his finger slid out of her, and his hand left
her body.  She looked over, about to object, and saw him taking his shirt
off his upper body.  She stared at rippling muscles, and her breath caught
in her throat as he worked at pushing his jeans down, kicking his shoes
off, and pulling the legs off his feet.  When he stood, her breath stayed
stuck, and she felt faint, at the bulge that was visible under his jockey
shorts.

   Unceremoniously he pushed them down, to expose himself to her.  He was
ready.

   She gaped.  Never in her wildest imagination could she have envisioned
something like what jutted from his loins.  It was huge!  It had to be six
inches long, and as thick as three of her fingers pressed together.  She
felt another spasm in her loins, at the thought of this thing being forced
inside her.

   "You can't!" she gasped, knowing this thing would split her apart.

   He stopped.  His hand came to the thing she was staring at, and stroked
it.  What she had thought was deformed, took on the look of Sam's, as the
shiny head was exposed.  Even that looked bigger than Sam's, what little
she had seen of it.

   "I can use my hand, if that's what you want," he said, his voice
breathy.

   "It would never fit!" she whined.

   "Oh, I assure you, it would fit perfectly," he said.  "It always has."

   "How many ..." she started.  "Were there others?  Besides Martha?" she
gasped.

   "Yes," he said, not wanting, for some reason, to tell her there was only
one other than Martha.

   "I'm afraid," she moaned.

   "It's all right," he said.  "I'd never hurt you.  I only want what you
want."

   She watched as he stroked.  She saw a drip of something clear, forming
on the tip.

   "Would you like to do this for me?" he asked.

   "Could I?" She voiced the question, but it was more to herself, than to
him.

   "Of course," he said, not knowing she was talking to herself.  He
stepped within reach.

   She reached, tentatively, and he took his hand away.  Her first
impression was of heat, and then the velvety feel of it.  She realized she
had never touched Sam's.  It had touched her, but she had never touched it.
She was instantly amazed at the conflicting sensations of soft and hard,
all at once.

   "That feels good," he sighed.  "I want to touch you again."

   "All right," she said, her mind on the new, exciting thing in her hand.

   He pulled away from her, and she looked at him, confused, until she
realized he was going to take her panties off.

   "I feel so shy," she blurted.

   "You look so delicious," he said, smiling at her.

   She lifted her hips for him again, without even thinking about it, but
kept her legs tightly closed, as he dragged the panties down to her ankles,
and then off her feet.  He returned to where she could grip him, and
stroked her belly with the flat of his hand.  Her legs relaxed almost
instantly, and she took him in her hand again.

   "Like this?" she asked, stroking up and down lightly.

   "You can grip it tighter," he said, letting his fingers play in her
blond pubic hair.

   "I don't want to hurt it," she sighed.

   "I don't think you can hurt it," he said, grinning.  The fingers of the
hand that wasn't driving her to distraction in her pubic hair went to his
balls and hefted them.  "You could hurt me here, but not there."

   She looked at his balls, for the first time.  She immediately wondered
how she could have missed them.  They hung low and full, round and heavy,
not at all like Sam's, which always hugged his body tightly, looking like
walnuts, in a wrinkled flesh sack.  Bobby's looked ...  bigger, somehow.

   Her legs had relaxed to the point that he could slide his hand between
her legs.  He didn't go in her, this time, but just rubbed the outside of
her sex.  One finger searched for the bump she knew would send sparks
through her body.  Her hips lurched, when he found it, and slid slick
fingers along it, up and down.  Her legs sprang open.  She realized she had
stopped stroking him, and was just holding him.

   "I can't ...  do this ...  while you're ...  doing that," she panted,
squeezing the thing in her hand.

   He leaned over to kiss her, and that only made it worse.

   "You can do it later," he said, finally sliding a finger into her.

   He probed deep again, and she whined, as she felt the most delicious
pain, deep inside her, where his finger tip was pushing and pressing
against something that made her want to scream in joy.

   His lips lifted off of hers, and he whispered into her mouth.

   "Let me try ...  just a little."

   She knew what he meant, but she was on the verge of another of those
amazing orgasms, and couldn't talk.  She'd do anything to keep that feeling
happening, and she nodded.

   He was up on the bed in a flash, between her thighs.  She lifted her
head to see that enormous thing, in his hand, the tip pressed into her sex.
She felt terror, and took a breath to tell him to stop.  That breath
whooshed out of her as he slid half of his stalk into her ...  just like
that.

   It didn't hurt.

   She stared, with wide eyes, as she felt pressure, forcing her apart ...
but no pain.  None at all.  She watched as what was in her slid out, and
then back in, going fractionally deeper.  Her eyes bugged, as he did it
again, going almost all the way in.  She let out another tortured groan as,
on the third try, he socketed the monster all the way inside her.

   That place, deep inside her, that yelped with exquisite pain, sounded
off again, but this time, along with that exquisite pain, came a feeling
she had never felt in her life.

   It was the feeling of completeness ...  of rightness ...  that the world
was finally as it should be.  Sherry Winston, for the first time in her
life, was full of gloriously hard, warm prick.  As his loins pushed even
harder, and she felt her clit crushed, Sherry Winston realized, in that
split second, that she would need this again and again, for the rest of her
life.

   Bobby stayed deep and rotated his loins in three complete circles.  That
was all it took, and Sherry Winston's body exploded in streaks of
passionate joy that left her bawling, and laughing at the same time.

   She flopped beneath him.  She had no more control over her body than a
person enduring an epileptic seizure does.  Streaks of electricity jolted
her and made her thrash, as the orgasm went on and on.

   Then he fucked her.

   ======================================

   Half an hour later, Sherry's limp hands came up and she gasped, crying
"No more!  Please ...  no more ...  I can't ...  breathe!"

   "Just a little longer," he panted.

   "I can't ...  take it!" she whined.

   "Almost there," he gasped.

   She looked up, as his eyes stared into hers.

   "Your eyes ..." he panted.  "So beautiful."

   Then he stopped, deep inside her.  She felt his prick jump in her, and a
flood of warmth suffused her belly, as he gave tiny jerks into her.  She
had never felt anything like that in her life.  She felt like he was
pumping fire into her belly, and realized that what was happening was the
culmination of everything she hadn't known she wanted.  She welcomed that
warmth, as he sagged onto his stiff arms, and his eyelids fluttered with
the power of what was happening inside him.  She was so centered on the
feel of his spend, soaking into her, that she was taken by surprise when he
rolled, pulling her with him, to lie, side by side, his prick still firmly
planted inside her.  He felt even bigger, with her legs closed on his
penis, but that feeling soon left as he softened.  She closed her legs
tighter, now wanting his penis to leave her, but sighed as he rolled
further, to land on his back.

   Now she was on her side, lying against him, with one arm across his
chest, which was heaving from the exertion of their lovemaking.  She
watched his face, as his eyes closed, and realized that this ...  what had
just happened ...  really WAS lovemaking.

   She also realized that it had never happened to her before this day.

   Chapter two

   Sherry's emotional level stayed high ...  so high that it scared her. 
She'd grown more or less comfortable, with Sam, over the six years she'd
been married to him.  She'd thought she was in love with him.

   Now, though, she wasn't so sure.  She certainly never felt anything for
him like she felt for the naked man lying next to her.  She felt a tug from
him, on an emotional level, that screamed for her to be closer to him, even
though her sweating, naked body was pressed against his.

   "I think I love you," she whispered, not meaning to say it out loud.

   Bobby opened his eyes and turned his head, to stare into her big blue
eyes.

   "You don't love me," he said.  "You love this."

   "But it feels so strong!" she insisted.

   "We don't know each other," he said gently.  "You can't possibly love
me." He reached over to tweak the nipple that was exposed.  "You love
this."

   She shuddered, feeling her loins catch fire again, and was amazed.  Just
that one little touch made her want him in her again, and she had begged
him to stop, not ten minutes past!

   "Maybe you're right," she sighed.  "I don't know what to feel.  I should
feel bad ...  but I don't."

   "I'm glad," he said.  "What just happened was good, and shouldn't carry
any guilt with it."

   "But I cheated on Sam!" she moaned.  "I belong to him!"

   "You don't belong to anyone but yourself," corrected Bobby.  "All you
did was please yourself."

   "You make it sound so simple," she whined.

   "It is simple.  We made love.  It was good.  Making love is good."

   "If we made love, then why doesn't that mean I love you?" she asked,
clearly frustrated.

   "All right," he said, patiently.  "If you want to believe that because
we made love, some of that love will always be shared between us, then I
agree.  Even if we never do it again, we'll always have the memory of what
happened.  That kind of love, I'll admit to."

   "You don't love me?" she asked, her voice somewhere between sulky and
hopeful.

   "If I didn't care about you, I wouldn't have done that with you," he
said.  "If you want to believe that means love, then I can't argue with
you. But I think you know what I mean when I say we can't love each other.
Not yet.  It could happen later, as we get to know each other better."

   "We're going to keep doing this?" she asked.

   "I certainly hope so," he said, smiling.

   "Right now?" she asked, suddenly impatient.  That this man wanted her
made the fire in her belly burn brighter.

   "I have to wait," he laughed.  "It wouldn't do you any good right now."

   That caused her to look down at his groin.  Even soft, it was twice as
long as Sam's ...  maybe longer.  It was wilted, but still formed a tube.

   "Yours looks different," she said, again, not meaning to say it out
loud.

   "How many have you seen?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.

   "Two," she answered, automatically.

   "Do you think it would taste different too?" he asked.

   She reared back, shocked.  She'd heard of such things, of course, but
only whores did that.  He saw the shock on her face.

   "I'm told it's not that bad," he said softly.  "One woman even tells me
she loves the taste."

   "Who!?" she gasped.

   "A housewife ...  just like you," he said.

   "Oh!" she gasped, as it became clear to her that he was serious.  "I
could never do that!"

   "All right," he said.  "I just thought you wanted to go again."

   "I do!" she blurted.  Then she blushed.  She thought that was
astonishing, that she could blush, with her naked body pressed to his.

   "That would make it hard again," he said.

   "But that's ...  nasty!" she whispered.

   "You don't have to do it," he said.  "It was just an idea."

   "It's all ...  yucky," she said, staring at the white coating on his
organ.

   "All that is, is what I put inside you," he said.  "Did it feel yucky
then?"

   "No," she whispered.  "I loved it."

   "I loved putting it there," he said.

   "It felt so different," she said softly.  "Everything about you is
different."

   "That's the answer, then," he said, stretching.  "I'm interesting,
because I'm different ...  and you have that interest confused with love."

   Sherry marveled that she could be so disgusted with him, but be
completely unwilling to pull her skin away from his.  It confused her.

   "Have you ever taken a bath with a man?" he asked, suddenly.

   "Of course not!" she said, almost giggling.

   "Take a bath with me," he urged.

   =================================

   They did, and as soon as she settled into the water, and leaned back
against him, she knew she was a fool for thinking that this was, somehow,
perverted.  When his soapy hands slid around her body, she realized that
she had shut out many things in her life, because she didn't understand
them, and what she didn't understand, she was afraid of.  When his fingers
gave her an orgasm, right there in the water, she wanted to shout for joy,
but kept it to a groan of satisfaction instead, because the bathroom window
was right next to her neighbor's house.

   Her mind was further stretched, when he took her back to her bed, where
she eagerly spread her legs for him, shamelessly, as he stood at the foot
of the bed and drank in her nakedness.  She knew she should feel like a
slut, displaying herself for this man she'd only known for a morning, but
the look of appreciation in his eyes just kindled the fire in her belly
again.  Her eyes went to his prick, which was long and hard again, and she
held out her arms to him.

   "Be patient," he said, crawling onto the bed.  "We're not in a hurry."

   "I am," she panted.

   "I want to taste you," he said.

   Her mind grappled with what that meant, and then epiphany burst into her
consciousness like the sun exploding, as he leaned down and sucked at her
pussy lips.  Before she could breathe, he found her clit and sucked at it
too, biting it between his lips, and torturing it with the tip of his
tongue.  A violent jerk of her hips dislodged him, and she raised her head,
her mouth open in a silent scream, as she saw him dart in to capture her
stiff clitty again.  He slid his hands under her butt, and pulled, welding
his face to her pussy.

   Then she did scream hoarsely, as her body was wracked with more of that
delicious electricity as an orgasm burst in her loins, and flooded her
mind. She couldn't think, except to concentrate on the pleasure as it
jolted her body, making her arms fling to her sides, as if she were
welcoming the sun to touch her body all over.

   Before she could adjust to that, he was up and over her, and that
wonderful pressure was back as he slid deep into her.  She was helpless,
and even her stomach muscles deserted her as she lay and just felt him
slide in and out, and grind against her.  When his lips descended on hers,
it was while she was enduring another orgasm, and the tangy taste of her
own sex only added to the explosion of feelings that felt like it was
consuming her body in fire.

   Her ears picked up the soft grunts he was making, and she realized that
he was spurting in her again.  This time, instead of heat, she felt like it
was a balm, that was soothing her overheated, burning body, and she clasped
him against her, finding the energy to wrap her legs around him.

   "Don't ever stop!" she gasped, with the last of her breath, as he poured
her full of soothing nectar.

   This time, he pulled her completely over, and on top of him.  She lay
like a wet rag, spread out on his body, her pussy still spasming.

   "I don't ...  believe this," she panted, her cheek on his chest, his
heartbeat pounding in her ear.

   He simply stroked her back, with the long fingers that felt wonderful,
wherever they touched her.

   =================================

   He told her he could only go twice more, before he had to leave.

   She whined and moaned that it wasn't enough, even before he had ridden
her to three more glorious orgasms.  She was quite sure, at one point, that
she would die from the pleasure, but she never did.

   Then, quite suddenly, she was satisfied.  It was the third offering of
his thick, rich seed that seemed to suddenly calm her.  This time, that
offering took on a deeper meaning, as, finally, she remembered that this
was how babies were made.  He had filled her with enough of that seed to
make ten thousand babies in her.  Her mind warred with her.  She had been
married for six years, and remained childless.  But Sam had never come
remotely close to doing what Bobby had done.  The thought that Bobby, in
one day, had given her more than Sam had given her in six years, was
sobering.  What would she do if this exciting man had gotten her with
child? She tried to think about the last time she'd bled.  She was so
regular that she didn't think about it much ...  didn't pay attention to
it, other than to get through the cramps, and pain of it all.

   She got up.  Her thighs were messy with his spend.  She looked down to
see a runnel of white, slipping down her inner thigh.  She imagined she
could feel the weight of what was left, inside her, weighting down her
belly.

   "You need another bath," he said, almost startling her, with his voice.

   "I need you to leave," she said.  "Before I want to do it again!"

   "You're feeling guilty," he said.

   She looked at him, so calm and relaxed on the bed.  His spermy penis was
lying there, as if to remind her that it had just spurted inside her.  She
might, at that very moment, have his baby growing inside her, and still,
all she could think about was crawling back in bed with him.

   "If I don't love you, I shouldn't feel like I do," she said, trying to
voice how strongly she felt.

   He bounded up off the bed, and started to get dressed.  She felt panic
seeping into her, at the thought that he'd leave and never come back.  In
almost self defense, she pulled on the panties he'd taken off of her, hours
ago.  She looked around for her bra, but couldn't see it, and pulled on her
sweater, buttoning the lower three buttons.  It felt cloying and hot
already, and she wanted to take it back off.

   She followed him back into the front room, where his tool bag was, and
stood, mutely, as he picked it up and slung it over his shoulder.  His hair
was mussed, but he still looked beautiful to her.

   It was bursting from inside her ...  demanding to be known.  "Will I
ever see you again?" she asked.

   "Of course," he said, and she felt a rush of both relief, and shame that
she could be so eager to cheat on Sam again.  "If you want to," he added.

   "What happened here today?" she asked, helplessly.

   He stepped toward her and took her in his arms so quickly that she was
shocked by it.

   "You needed something," he said into her lips, his nose touching hers.
"I did too.  We gave it to each other."

   He kissed her, lightly, gently, and pulled back.  "You're so beautiful,"
he sighed.

   She wanted to strip naked on the spot, but he left, before she could.

   So, she stripped naked after he left, throwing the sweater across the
room, and leaving her panties on the floor.  She went to the kitchen, and
got a glass of tea, feeling foolish, walking around the house naked.  She
felt wet on her thigh, and looked to see another runnel of thick, white
spunk, flowing down her thigh.  She stood stock still, trying to remember
when her last period had ended.  She couldn't, and went to the bathroom. 
Her box of feminine napkins had only one missing.  She went to dig into her
purse, and pulled out her checkbook, opening it to the register.  There! 
Sander's IGA.  It was the last time she'd shopped there, and that's where
she'd bought the box.  The date was exactly ten days previous to today's
date.

   She looked down at the sperm, running out of her pussy.  Sam never put
enough in her for any of it to run out, even if she went and sat on the
stool, afterwards.  His comment echoed in her mind: "One woman even tells
me she loves the taste."

   She reached and scooped, bringing the viscous fluid up to examine it. 
It had a pearly look, with streaks of clear and white in it, almost
artistic looking.  She sniffed, but smelled only musk.  Not believing what
she was doing, she stuck her tongue out, and touched it to the silvery
white stuff on her fingers.

   Nothing.

   She realized she hadn't actually gotten anything on her tongue, and
stared at it again.  This had come from him.  This was his essence.  This
was part of what had made her feel so gloriously alive and happy.

   She licked her fingers, and immediately wished she hadn't.  She'd gotten
too much!  Her mouth hung open, and she lurched toward the sink, to spit.
She stubbed her toe and, in the pain of it, closed her mouth.  Her stomach
gave a reflexive heave, before she actually tasted it.  She stood, leaning
over the sink, thinking about what was going on in her mouth.

   It didn't taste bad.  It wasn't the kind of thing she could say she
loved, or even liked ...  but it wasn't unpleasant at all.  She sat on the
toilet, because her knees were suddenly weak.  She had acted like a whore,
all day long.  She had put something in her mouth that she would have bet
the farm she'd never EVER put in her mouth.  She was sitting, stark naked,
with sperm dripping from her pussy.  She might be pregnant from a man she'd
met just this morning.  Her world had been turned completely on its head.

   She took a breath, still tasting him, and let it out slowly.  A thought
wiggled its way into her mind.  "When will you call him again?" She
giggled, and then started laughing.  It was just too ridiculous.

   Her world might have been turned upside down, but all she could think of
was when she could get it to happen again.

   ==================================

   They met for lunch, like they did every Wednesday.  Martha examined her
friend, who appeared to be quite normal in every way.

   "Well?" asked Martha.

   "Well what?" replied Sherry.

   "Did you call him?"

   "Call who?" asked Sherry, obviously feigning ignorance.

   "Did you!?" barked Martha, leaning forward.

   "I got my radiator fixed, if that's what you mean," said Sherry, her
voice airy.

   The baby fussed.  Martha couldn't feed him there, in the diner.  She got
out a pacifier and the baby sucked at it avidly, and then spit it out, in
disgust.

   "When was the first time he worked for you?" asked Sherry.

   "I don't know," said Martha, trying to get the baby to take the pacifier
again.  "About a year ago, I guess."

   "And little Andrew is what ...  three months old?" Sherry's voice was
still light, as if her comment meant nothing.

   Martha darted a look at her friend, and frowned, but didn't say
anything.

   "Come on," said Sherry petulantly.  "Tell me."

   "Tell you what?" said Martha, her voice careful.

   "Andrew is his ...  isn't he." It was a statement, and not a question.

   "That's ridiculous!" Martha tried to snort.

   "You sent him to me, Martha ...  you practically forced him into my
house."

   "I did no such thing!" said Martha defensively.

   "You knew how lonely I was ...  how much I needed ..." she paused, and
looked around, "a man," she whispered.  "You knew I'd call him, and you
knew what would happen."

   "So, it did happen?" Martha leaned forward, an eager look on her face.

   "Oh, it happened!" said Sherry, explosively.

   "I told you!" said Martha.  "Didn't I tell you?"

   "No, you did NOT tell me!" said Sherry.  "I was in no way, shape, or
form prepared for what happened to me, Martha Thompson!" Sherry sat back
and folded her arms.

   Martha couldn't tell for sure what was going on in her friend's mind. 
Her voice sounded almost angry, but she wasn't rigid, or hostile.  Her eyes
glazed over as she remembered how Bobby had made her feel, and then
cleared.

   "I suppose I should have been less circumspect," she admitted.  "He is a
handful, isn't he." That was also a comment, rather than a question.

   "My word," sighed Sherry.  "What am I going to do now, Martha?" She
unfolded her arms and leaned forward.  "I can hardly think of anything
else!"

   "He is good," said Martha, smiling for the first time, and feeling
better.

   "Good is not the word I would use," said Sherry.  "He went all DAY!"

   "I know, I know," said Martha, completely forgetting where they were, as
she unbuttoned her dress and opened her nursing bra, to give Andrew the
nipple he wanted so badly.  He made humming, gurgling noises as he drank
greedily.  Martha paled, looking around, and turned sideways, so her back
was to the rest of the diner.

   "Look what you made me do!" she hissed.

   "I think Bobby made you do that," said Sherry, grinning.  "Just look at
him ...  his hair ...  that chin ...  his shoulders ...  those blue eyes
... he's Bobby all over!"

   Martha looked helpless.  "You can't tell anyone!  Please!  Arthur knows,
and he's adjusted to it.  It's why he stopped drinking!"

   "I won't tell anyone," sighed Sherry.  "I may be in the same situation."

   "Already?!" gasped Martha.

   "I don't know," said Sherry, shrugging her shoulders.  "I know he left
me so soaked ..." She blushed at how ribald her comment was.

   "That's Bobby," sighed Martha.  "He always left me dripping."

   "I have to have him again," moaned Sherry.

   "Of course!" laughed Martha.  "Bobby's not the kind of man you have just
once."

   "I'll get pregnant for sure!" moaned Sherry.

   Martha disengaged Andrew from her nipple, and expertly flipped the bra
closed.  She handed the boy across the table to a startled Sherry, who took
him instinctively.  She cuddled the little boy as Martha repaired her
blouse.

   "Feels good in your arms ...  doesn't he?" commented Martha.

   "You know I've always wanted children," said Sherry, frowning.

   "Well ..." said Martha, reaching for her baby, "now you can have them."

   ==================================

   Sherry did a lot of thinking, in the week before she was forced, by her
own nervousness, to call Bobby.  His mother answered the phone.

   "Mirriam?  This is Sherry Winston," she said, into the phone.

   "Sherry, how nice to talk to you," said Mirriam.  "How have you been?"

   "Oh, fine, I suppose," said Sherry, dropping into her normal slightly
disgruntled persona.  She didn't feel nearly as disgruntled as she had a
week ago.  Now she was merely frantic to feel Bobby's body against hers ...
in hers.  "Um ...  Bobby fixed one of my radiators last week," she went on.
"Another one's started to knocking.  I wonder if he could come around and
do something with it too?"

   "I think so," said Mirriam.  Sherry's voice, when she said "Bobby" had
an overtone of something that pricked up Mirriam's ears.  It was almost a
note of hopefulness.  "I'll have to ask him.  He's out in the barn, doing
something to the tractor to get it ready to plow snow."

   "I can wait," said Sherry.

   Mirriam put the phone down.  Sherry had sounded almost eager to wait. 
Mirriam was no fool.  She'd seen Martha Thompson's baby, and it looked
nothing like Arthur.  She'd kept her peace, but her radar was pinging,
based on the note in Sherry's voice.  She went to the barn, where Bobby was
stripped to the waist, despite the cool autumn weather.  He was wrestling
with a big piece of metal, trying to get a bolt into it.

   "Sherry Winston is on the phone," said Mirriam.  "Something about
another radiator that needs fixing."

   "Oh, OK," grunted Bobby, straining.  His muscles bulged, and Mirriam
watched as he shoved the metal, and the bolt popped into place.  He WAS
handsome.

   "When shall I tell her you'll be over?"

   "Tomorrow," said Bobby, reaching around the metal to thread a nut onto
the bolt he had just gotten in place.

   Mirriam went back to the house and picked up the phone.

   "Sherry?" she said.

   "Yes!  I'm here," said the woman.

   "He said he can get there tomorrow."

   "Tomorrow?" Sherry's voice sounded almost sad.  "What time?"

   "He didn't say, Sherry," said Mirriam.

   "All right," said the woman, now sounding disillusioned.  "I guess that
will have to do."

   "How's Sam?" asked Mirriam, acting on impulse.

   "Gone, as usual," said a miffed sounding Sherry.

   "That's too bad," said Mirriam.

   "I suppose so," said Sherry, having no idea that her response was much
less spirited than it might have been just a week or two ago.

   That, plus the rest of the conversation, which was lackluster, to be
polite, was what convinced Mirriam that the radiator at Sherry's house
wasn't the most important problem, in terms of how Sherry felt about
things. What seemed to be the most important thing on her mind was ... 
Bobby.

   ==================================

   Mirriam didn't get a chance to talk to Bobby alone until way after
bedtime.  What with Mary, Florence and Beverly being old enough to stay up
past eight, it was closer to ten before it was quiet enough ...  and
private enough ...  for Mirriam to talk to her son, who was reading a book.

   "Bobby?  I'd like a word with you," she said.

   He looked up.  "OK, Mamma.  I'm right here."

   "Close your book, baby," said his mother.

   "What's wrong?" he asked.

   "I'm worried about something," she said.

   "Maybe I can help," he offered.

   "Maybe you can," she said.

   "OK," he said.

   "Mrs.  Thompson's little boy, Andrew, is coming along right well," said
Mamma, as if she were just mentioning it.  Bobby knew better, though. 
Mamma rarely said anything that didn't have a purpose.

   "I suppose so," said Bobby, carefully.

   "And Tilly Johnson ...  her new baby is a healthy one." Mamma looked at
him, as if she expected an answer.

   "I guess that's true too," said Bobby, fully on guard now.

   "If Mrs.  Winston was to turn up pregnant ...  people might begin to
wonder about ...  things." Mamma leaned back in the chair.  The look on her
face was like she was just gossiping with her friends.

   "Now why would they do that, Mamma?" asked Bobby, putting a puzzled look
on his face.  "She's a married woman."

   "Yes, she is indeed, and she just hired you recently ...  just like
Tilly and Martha hired you."

   "I've done work for lots of people, Mamma," said Bobby, innocently.

   "Yes, you have," she agreed.  "But the women who have troubles at home
...  isn't it kind of funny how, when you've worked for them, things seem
to get better and they get in the family way?"

   "Mamma, I've heard about the birds and the bees in school, if that's
what you're getting at.  I'm a man, Mamma." Bobby sat back and waited.

   "Yes, you are a man," she agreed, again.  "That might be the problem,
honey.  Some women lose their heads when they're around a man."

   "I guess you'd know about that," said Bobby, nodding his head.  He
didn't smile.

   She blushed.  "Those were hard times for me, Bobby.  You were just a
toddler, and I had the whole farm to work, by myself.  I needed Joe."

   "I know that, Mamma," said Bobby.  "It's just natural for a woman to
need a man around."

   "They killed Joe, Bobby," said his mother.  She sat very stiffly,
suddenly.  "I don't want anything to happen to you."

   Bobby got up and went to his mother.  She looked up at him, her eyes
moist, and he pulled her up out of the chair.  When he hugged her, he
noticed her large breasts, pressing into his chest, but he hugged her
tightly anyway.

   "I learned a lot from Joe," he said, stroking her back.  "He taught me,
and I learned things from watching him.  I'm not going to get hurt."

   "You don't KNOW that!" she moaned.

   Bobby pushed her back, but didn't let go of her.

   "Arthur knows who Andrew's father is," he said.

   His mother's eyes widened.  She had been trying to be circumspect about
things, but this admission shocked her.

   "I told him myself," said Bobby.

   Mirriam felt her knees begin to give way, and felt his strong hands help
her stand.

   "I told him I'd do it again if he didn't straighten up and fly right."
He didn't mention his threat to kill the man.  There was only so much his
mother could take.  "He and I are mostly friends, now," Bobby finished. 
"Martha doesn't need me anymore."

   "You can't just go and dally with any woman you like," moaned Mirriam.
"It just can't be!  What if some poor woman is ruined?"

   "Were you ruined, Mamma?" asked Bobby.  "I don't remember much about my
father, but I don't miss him either.  He could have stayed.  He could have
stayed and run the farm, and raised my sisters.  Joe came back.  Joe always
came back, when you needed him.  Are you sorry you had them?"

   "Of course not," she moaned.  "They're the light of my life!  You're the
light of my life!  I couldn't take it if they took you, like they took
Joe."

   "I know you worry, but I really think you shouldn't.  Jake knows about
Tilly too.  In fact, he gave his permission."

   "Don't you lie to me Bobby Jordan!" gasped Mirriam.

   "I'm not lying.  I helped them too.  The first one was an accident, but
then they found out he can't get her pregnant.  They want one more too,
Mamma, but they want to space them out a bit."

   "What about the others?" moaned Mirriam.

   "There aren't any others," said Bobby, fibbing a little.  There had only
been that one day with Sherry Winston, though her calling him back made him
think there might be more.  Her husband was gone even more than Arthur had
been.  If the man was fool enough to neglect his woman, then he had no call
to complain, at least as far as Bobby was concerned.  If he came home, and
stayed there, and took care of Sherry, Bobby would be perfectly willing to
leave her to him.

   It was his hug that sidetracked Mirriam.  She hadn't been in the arms of
a strong man since Joe, and Bobby's arms reminded her of what that was
like. Not only that, he was the spitting image of his father, who she had
loved, but who was gone when she needed him most.  She knew it was a lost
cause to try to steer him away from women who needed a man, both because
Bobby was a man, and because she knew how it felt to be a neglected woman.
Nature would win out.

   "You must be careful, honey," she finally said.  "You must always
remember that jealousy causes rage, and sometimes that leads to killing.

   "I'll be careful, Mamma," said the young man, as young men always do. 
Like all young men, he felt invincible.  But he was also now aware of her
worry, and he knew she'd stay worried, or get worried at the slightest sign
of trouble, and that, more than anything else, is why he thought, from that
moment on, about being careful.

   Chapter Three

   Sherry met him at the door.  She was clothed, but that didn't last long.

   "I lied," she said, shyly, clasping him close.  "There's nothing wrong
with the radiator." She reached up for a kiss, and he gave her one,
squeezing her buttocks, too.

   Her eyes were slightly out of focus when he pulled away from her lips,
and they opened.  He slid his fingers up her back, and under her arms, to
caress her breasts, before beginning to unbutton her blouse.

   "No bra today," he said softly.

   "I need you so badly," she moaned.  "I'm a slut."

   "You're not a slut," he whispered, pulling her blouse apart and
squeezing her nipples.  "You're a woman who wants to be made love to,
that's all."

   She moved, as if her frozen body had suddenly thawed, and pulled him to
the bedroom.  Her blouse was off by the time they got there, and her shorts
were at mid thigh.  She let them drop and stepped out of them.  He caught
her hips as she tried to crawl onto the bed, and held her there, on her
hands and knees.

   She looked around, over her shoulder.

   "Stay there," he ordered.

   "Why?" she moaned.

   "I'll show you.  Be patient."

   "I don't want to be patient!" she whined.

   He slapped her right buttock, and she jumped.

   "Owwww," she complained, arching her back and trying to see her butt. 
"You left a hand print on me!"

   "Be patient," he said, removing his clothes.

   She watched, as his stiff prick came into view, and sighed.

   He moved up behind her, and put his hand between her legs, to rub her
already-wet pussy.

   "What are you doing?" she moaned, dropping her head.

   "Touching you," he said, sliding his other hand along the small of her
back.

   He rubbed, until she was panting, and had dropped her head to the bed as
she wiggled her hips.  Then he stepped in, and with no warning, slotted his
prick between her pussy lips and pushed into her, holding her hips firmly
with his hands.

   "Awwwwwww," she moaned.  "This is nasty!"

   "It's not nasty," he said, sliding out and then back in.

   "It's the way animals do it," she complained, pushing her butt back as
he slid in.

   "Human beings are part of the animal kingdom," he said, prodding her
again.

   He reached around and cupped her breasts, which were only fractionally
larger.  Even gravity didn't affect them.  But his prick in her pussy had
made her nipples long, and he squeezed them, and pulled at them.

   "I can't ...  believe," she panted, "I'm ...  going to cum ... 
already!"

   He pounded her, then, as her pussy squeezed and milked at him, rippling
along the length of his penis.  When her muscles relaxed, he pulled out of
her.

   "Nooooo," she whined.

   He pushed her sideways, and as she fell, manhandled her onto her back.
Her legs flew apart, and he lunged, to land on her, and she squealed as his
knees forced her thighs apart even more and he reached, to put himself in
her again.  He slammed home, hard, and she gasped.  Then he pounded her
again, until she cried out as her second release flooded her body. 
Immediately, he began going more slowly, just a leisurely stroking motion,
in and out, letting her tight pussy massage his prick.

   "That ...  was ...  amazing!" she gasped, dragging in lungfuls of air.

   "I didn't hurt you ...  did I?" he asked, going in deep and rotating.

   "Ohhhhhhhh," she groaned, as the tip of his prick pried at her cervix.
"I can't believe ...  how you make ...  me feel."

   "I have something for you," he said, leaning down to kiss her.

   "What?" she gasped.

   "This," he said, going deep.

   She felt his prick bulge inside her, and then the heat of his sperm as
it washed her, deep inside.  She was still amazed at how it felt, and
immediately envisioned his sperm surrounding a tiny egg ...  battering at
its defenses ...  until one wiggled its way inside.

   This was the reason she had called him again.  Lying in bed, alone at
night, she'd tossed and turned, remembering what it was like to be loved by
Bobby.  She wanted children.  At first she'd been horrified at her thoughts
of wanting Bobby to make her pregnant.  But, as the week passed, and she
felt the signs that always told her she was primed to become a mother, the
thought of that wonderful heat in her belly as he spurted, became something
she had to have again.

   And ...  here it was.  She wanted to laugh out loud, as he gave out a
tiny grunt, and another spurt rocketed into her.  Her arms and legs clamped
around his body, holding him there, as each spurt made her feel more and
more like she was going to explode with joy.

   Before he left, that day, she'd felt it three more times.  She told him
she was too tired to get up and see him out, but that wasn't why she lay
there as he got dressed, and gave her one last kiss.  As soon as he was
gone, she grabbed Sam's pillow, and stuffed it under her hips, raising her
loins.  Then she dreamed of having a baby.  She felt no guilt at all.  Sam
should have made her feel like this, but all he was interested in was
toilets.

   ================================

   Mirriam's nerves had not been calmed by her talk with Bobby.  Perhaps
that was why, when he appeared again, hours after going to see Sherry
Winston, she hugged him.  When she did so, her eyes opened wide, and she
pushed him back.

   "You smell like ...  sex!" she gasped.

   Bobby would never understand why he felt the urge to kiss his mother. 
Perhaps it was because he was still feeling the glow of love making.  Maybe
it was just a way to shut her up, before she started in on him again.  It
was also possible that he just loved her.

   For whatever reason, he did kiss his mother, and he kissed her like he
had learned to kiss other women.

   Mirriam's surprise flashed to the kind of weakness that leaves a woman
helpless, as the part of her brain that recognizes a lover's kiss moved
much more quickly than the part that would soon tell her this was insanity.
Just for a few seconds, she kissed him back.  It had been years since she
had been kissed like that, and her body responded to it instantly.

   Then sanity took hold, and she pushed him away.

   "Why did you do that?" she gasped.

   "I don't' know," he answered, truthfully.  "Except that I love you."

   "You can't love me like that!" she gasped again.

   "OK," he said, his hands sliding from her back to her hips.

   "You had sex with Sherry Winston ...  didn't you?" she moaned.

   Bobby wouldn't lie to his mother.  He might withhold information, but he
wouldn't lie.

   "She needs me, Mamma," he said softly.  "Her husband is never home.  He
neglects her."

   "I thought we talked about this!" she said, distracted by the feel of
his hands on her hips.

   "I'm being careful," he said.  "I took tools with me.  Her radiators
work perfectly."

   Mirriam was further distracted by the fact that the penis that he freely
admitted had recently been inside Sherry Winston was pressed against her
loins, as their upper bodies leaned back, but their lower bodies stayed in
the hug she had initiated.

   "You can't ..." Her orders to him were interrupted by him kissing her
again.  He pulled away, grinning.

   "Now I know why I did it," he said.  "I like kissing you."

   She was shocked, not only by his calm acceptance that he liked kissing
her like that, but by her own flooding emotion at BEING kissed like that.

   "It's not proper!" she barked, pushing him away.

   "I love you, Mamma," he said.

   "Wow!" came a soprano voice, from the doorway between the kitchen and
living room.

   Mirriam and Bobby looked to see Mary, his eldest sister, standing there,
her eyes round as saucers.

   "It's not what you think!" yelped Mirriam.

   "What is it that I think?" asked Mary, a smile tugging at the corners of
her mouth.  She was now seventeen, almost eighteen.  She didn't date, but
only because the farm was so far from town and she spent so much time
working on it.  Bobby could pretty much come and go as he liked, but it
wasn't so easy for the girls.  Mamma always seemed to have something for
them to do that prevented lollygagging around in town.  Mary had noticed
boys for years, and they had noticed her too.  She had Mamma's full body,
but a pug nose and freckles that were her bane.  She had no idea boys
thought she looked cute.

   "Never you mind what you think!" spluttered her mother.  "Don't you have
chores to do?"

   "I've been waiting for Bobby," said the girl.  "He's supposed to help
me."

   Had Mirriam thought about it first, she might not have done what she
did. But the fact is she was so rattled by her feelings, and what Bobby had
done, and then Mary seeing them like that, that she just sank back into the
comfortable role of "mother".

   "Well get on with it then.  You too, Bobby Jordan!  Go help your sister!
And don't be taking too long either.  Supper will be ready in twenty
minutes!"

   ===================================

   Mary stared at Bobby sideways, as they walked to the chicken coop.  The
basket was hanging on a nail, inside the door, and Bobby grabbed it as he
entered.

   Mary hadn't seen the first kiss, but the second, though shorter, had
been just as obviously not the kind of kiss that a boy gives his mother. 
Bobby, being the only boy around, for most of her life, had become her de
facto example of manhood.  She remembered Joe, and the joy of sitting on
his lap, and listening to his stories, but Joe had been gone for years,
now, and Bobby had, in many ways, taken his place.

   "Why did you do that?" she finally asked, when it became obvious he
wasn't going to volunteer anything.

   "Do what?" asked Bobby, his voice innocent.

   "I saw that kiss," she said, putting her hands on her hips.

   "A boy can't kiss his Mamma, and tell her he loves her?"

   "You're no boy," she snorted.  "You're all grown up, and that was a
grown up kiss if I ever saw one."

   "So you know all about grown up kisses?" he asked, grinning at her.

   "No," she said, feeling like she had missed out on a holiday that
everybody else got to celebrate.  "I've seen some done, though."

   "It was just a kiss," said Bobby.  His voice made it clear that he was
finished talking about it.

   "So ..." said Mary, not finished at all.  "You could kiss me like that
too ...  if it was just a kiss." She looked down her pug nose at her big
brother.  "I'm your sister.  You love me too."

   Bobby grinned.  "You don't want me to kiss you like that," he said.

   "Who says?!" she bristled.

   "I say," he said, moving a hen to pull an egg from under her.  She
flapped her wings.

   "You're not the boss of me!" she said, feeling five years younger, and
angry because of it.

   "I don't have to be the boss of you to say I won't kiss you like that,"
said Bobby, smiling.

   "You kissed Mamma like that!" she insisted.

   "That was different," he said.

   "Why?" she almost danced with frustration.

   "You should be kissing Randy Thorton, or Jeff Wiggins," said Bobby.

   "Ewwww ...  THOSE turds?" gasped his sister.

   "They think you're cute," he said.

   "Well I think they're ...  turds!" she said, putting her hands on her
hips.

   "You better watch it, or Mamma will wash that pretty little mouth of
yours out with soap," said Bobby.

   "Come on, Bobby," she pleaded.  "If you can kiss Mamma like that ... 
I've never been kissed at ALL!  Please?"

   Bobby couldn't believe his sister was begging him for a kiss.  For the
first time, he began to wonder what it was about him that was so attractive
to women ...  those outside his family ...  and now, apparently, those
inside his family.  He hadn't missed how his mother had reacted to those
two kisses.  He had seen her chest moving faster, just like Tilly's, or
Martha's, or Sherry's did, when he kissed them.  He had felt her hands on
his shoulders, gripping, just like they gripped.  Her voice had been
outraged, but her body had been pleased.  He could tell.  And now, here was
Mary ...  begging him for a kiss.

   He looked at her, as a woman.  She was ripening like wheat, when it
turns from green to golden.  She WAS a woman, even if she was his sister.
He felt his prick move, and caution sprang into his mind.

   "When I think you're ready," he said.  "Now, we have eggs to gather, and
we've wasted ten minutes."

   "When will I be ready?" she moaned.

   "When will you be ready to have a baby?" he asked, leaning toward her.

   Her face showed her complete shock.

   "I just want a kiss!" she gasped.

   "Well, kisses lead to other things," he said.  "Trust me on that!"

   He ended up gathering the rest of the eggs by himself.

   That was because Mary ran, almost as if being chased by wild dogs, back
to the house.

   ======================================

   Sherry, like most of the women Bobby became involved with over time,
went through a period of insatiable need, followed by a mellowing that
resulted in less frequent visits, and longer, more sedate lovemaking
sessions.  Still, the hours she spent in his arms would remain her fondest
memories of that period of her life.  In years to come, she would remember
those hours under him, her loins heaving up against him, or on her hands
and knees, looking back over her shoulder at him as she ground her butt
against him, or on top of him, while his fingers twiddled her stiff nipples
as she let her weight push him as deep as she could get him.

   Her hunger to have a baby did not abate though, and she reveled each
time she felt him spurt in her.  On those rare occasions when Sam came
home, she demanded that he make love to her, because she knew, beyond
doubt, that Bobby was going to make her pregnant, if he hadn't already. 
Sam's protestations that he was tired were brushed aside, and she shocked
him by using her mouth on him, when he complained that he couldn't get
hard.

   Her thought processes about that were complicated.  She had never sucked
Bobby's penis.  He had never asked her to, after that first time, when she
reacted so negatively, but she had thought about it many times, and had
tasted the spend that seeped out of her, after he left her.  She considered
giving Sam her oral virginity the same thing as giving him her vaginal
virginity.  It wasn't that she felt guilty about the wild rutting she did
with Bobby.  But she WAS married to Sam, and she WAS going to have another
man's baby, so at a minimum, she felt like Sam deserved something special
from her.

   At the same time, as Sam heaved and groaned the short minutes he was
able to be in her before he came, and collapsed, to snore beside her, she
told herself that the baby might be his after all.  Who knew?

   Unfortunately, when she did use her mouth on Sam, the results only made
things worse between them.

   That was because, as Sherry tried oral sex for the first time in her
life, it became very clear to her, by his responses, that he had been on
the receiving end of something like this many times.  His instructions to
her on how to improve were specific, and his reactions to her following
those instructions were too ready.

   "Yeah," he sighed, as she followed one command.  "Just like that ...  I
love it like that."

   Another time, he groaned, about to cum, and said "Let me cum in your
mouth ...  I love to cum in your mouth."

   The problem was that he had never cum in her mouth before, and she knew
he was thinking of another woman somewhere, who had done this to him.

   She did not let him cum in her mouth.  Instead, she mounted him, getting
on top for the first time in their married life, and sank down on him as he
spurted.

   "When ...  did you ...  learn that?" he gasped, as his semen flowed into
her.

   "One of my friends told me she does this with her husband," she
answered.

   "Who?" he asked, panting.

   "Never you mind that," she said, climbing off and lying down, so his
spend would stay in her.  She propped her hips up on a pillow.

   "What are you doing that for?" he asked, already drowsy.

   "I'm trying to get pregnant, of course," she answered, quite truthfully.

   "It's still too early for kids," he mumbled.  "Need to wait."

   She didn't answer, and soon he was asleep.

   The next day he was gone again, on another sales trip, and that day,
when she put the pillow under her butt, it was Bobby's semen that soaked
in.

   ==================================

   Mary avoided Bobby for a few days, but then things seemed to return to
normal.  Bobby didn't kiss his mother, or stroke her.  His hugs were quick,
and light.  He didn't think of her as a potential sexual partner, exactly.
On the other hand, he was beginning to think of ALL women as potential
sexual partners.  Meals caused him to realize that he had been ignoring his
sisters for years, looking past them, due to familiarity.  All of them were
cute, each in her own way.  Some were more mature than others, of course,
but all had similar physical characteristics that could be viewed as coming
either from Mamma, or Joe.  All had different personalities, but all of
those personalities were engaging.

   Then, one night, as Bobby was reading in bed, getting sleepy enough to
turn off the light on his headboard, Mary opened the door and came into his
room.

   "Hi," he said.  "What's up?"

   She stood nervously, barefoot, in a long, cotton nightgown she had made
herself, as Mamma stood over her, at the sewing machine, giving her
instructions.

   "A boy has asked me on a date," she said.  "Mamma says I can go."

   "Who?" he asked.

   "You don't know him.  He's a year younger than me," she said.

   "That's nice," he said.

   "I don't know how to kiss," she said, her voice only a whisper.

   "You don't have to kiss him," said Bobby.

   "Of course I do," she said, a little louder.  "Please?"

   Her plea was obvious.

   When he put the book down and stood up, she was so surprised that she
backed up a step.

   "I'm not going to hurt you," he chided.

   "I know," she said, defensively.  "I just didn't think you'd do it."

   "I still don't think you're ready," he said.

   "How can you say that?" she asked, frowning.

   In answer, he stepped toward her, swept her into his arms, and kissed
her like he kissed Sherry Winston.

   Her arms made it halfway up, in surprised, automatic resistance, before
the power of that kiss made them drop again, limp at her sides.  His tongue
slipped into her mouth, and his lips moved on hers, hungrily.  His hands
slid up and down her back, and then cupped her buttocks, as her knees
weakened and she began to slide down his body.  Pulling her against his
loins, she felt her first male lump, pressing against her sexual organ, and
that sent sparks of fire through her, until she felt like there was no air
to breathe at all.

   He pulled back, and looked at her eyes, which were wide open and round
as saucers, and had been the entire time his lips had been against hers.

   "Are you ready for that?" he whispered, grinding his prick through her
nightgown.

   "N-n-no," she whimpered.

   "I didn't think so," he said.  Then he kissed her again, with just as
much intensity.  By the time that one was over, she felt sticky and wet
between her legs.  She staggered, as he let her go, and stepped back, and
his hand shot forward to her elbow, to help her stand.

   "Go on," he said.  "You got what you wanted.  Now, go to bed."

   "OK," she panted.

   She walked out feeling like her feet weren't touching the floor.  She
shared a room with Flo, who was already in bed, with the light off.  Mary
climbed into her own bed, and spread her legs, to let the air get to her
wet pussy.  She knew how to touch herself.  She'd done that many times,
since learning, and she did it again now.  Release came much more quickly
than it had in the past, and she had to bite the base of her thumb, to keep
from waking Flo.

   ==================================

   "I'm pregnant," said Sherry, as he stepped through her door, and she
hugged him.

   "I'm happy for you," he said.

   "It's yours, you know," she said, pressing her breasts to his chest.

   "What do you want me to do?" he asked.

   "Just love me a little," she said.  "Sam will think it's his."

   Later, as he stopped, and flushed her full of spunk again, he leaned
down to kiss her.

   "I loved making you pregnant," he whispered.

   "I loved it too," she panted back.

   Chapter Four

   A week later, Bobby was, again, reading in bed, when Mary slipped into
his room.

   "How'd it go?" he asked.  She'd been on her date that evening, and had
been home at the prescribed nine o'clock.

   "I let him kiss me," she said, standing there, with her hair down.

   "And?"

   "It wasn't like kissing you at all."

   "He's better?"

   She took a step towards him.  "No way," she said.

   "I'm sorry," said Bobby.  "Maybe he'll get better."

   "How did you learn to kiss like that?" she asked, taking another step
closer.  Her hands fluttered at her hips.

   "A gentleman doesn't talk about what he's done with women."

   "I expected to feel the same, when he kissed me," she said.  "But it
wasn't anything like kissing you."

   "So what do you want?" he asked, knowing, somehow, what she wanted, but
making her say it.

   "Um ...  I thought maybe ...  you'd kiss me again," she said, rushing
the last words.

   "I told you, you're not ready for that," he said softly.

   "It's just a kiss," she whispered.

   "OK, kiss me, then," he said, staying where he was.

   She came to bend over him, and, as her lips touched his, he raised his
hands to press them to her breasts.  She jerked back, her mouth open wide.

   "You can't do that!" she whispered urgently.

   "It's all part of kissing," he said, smiling at her.

   "No it's not!" she said.  "That's something else completely."

   "Not to me," he said.

   "I just want a kiss," she moaned.

   "Come lie beside me, and I'll kiss you," he offered.

   "I'm not getting in bed with you, Bobby Jordan!" she whispered.

   "I'm not going to have sex with you," he said, smiling.  "I'm just going
to kiss you."

   "You want to touch me too," she argued.

   "It's all part of kissing.  Last time I touched your butt."

   That was true.  She remembered that part.  She remembered his lump
pressing against where she'd had to rub too.  But her memory of that kiss
...  those two kisses ...  pulled at her.

   "Only a little," she said.

   "OK, only a little," he agreed.

   She crawled gingerly onto the bed, and lay stiffly beside him.  He
twisted until he was on his side, and laid his hand on her hip.  She
clamped her elbow down, as if to keep his hand there.  He leaned forward to
kiss her.

   This was, however, a different kind of kiss.  It was gentle, a fairly
quick pressing of loose lips against hers.  She opened her lips, to receive
his tongue, but he didn't do that.  Instead, he pulled back just enough to
let him slide his lips sideways a fraction, and he kissed her again.  He
kept doing that, giving her just quick, warm kisses, moving all around her
lips, until she felt like she was going to scream if he didn't KISS her!

   The pressure on his hand disappeared as she lifted the hand on that arm
to put behind his head ...  to pull him to her lips.

   He gave her what she wanted, and she went limp as he ravaged her mouth.
The feelings were so intense that she didn't even feel it, at first, when
his hand slid up her side, to mold her left breast, and feel for the nipple
on that breast, through her cotton nightgown.  She wore only panties under
her nightgown, and the cotton of her sleeping garment was thin.

   She felt like she was floating again, and then, a niggling little spark
of electricity wormed its way into her brain, and she realized he was
squeezing her nipple.  It added so much to the kiss that she felt like she
could cum without even touching herself.  Almost.

   She didn't need her hand on his head any more.  He had rolled toward
her, and she realized she was mostly on her back.  Her hand went to the
front of her nightgown, and she pressed hard, between her legs as the kiss
went on and on.

   She bucked and jerked spasmodically, as she came, feeling things with
her lips, at her nipple, and between her legs, all at the same time.  It
was so sweet that she thought she might drift away, never to return.

   Her mind came back, to find he had pulled back from her, and was just
staring at her face, a small smile on his lips.  His hand was just
smoothing over her breast now, rubbing gently, pushing the hard flesh to
one side, and then down, like he was rubbing on oil or something.

   "That was fantastic," she sighed.

   "It's really serious, though," he said, warning plain in his voice.  "It
makes me want to do other things ...  things we shouldn't ever do."

   "Not me," she said.

   "Not yet," he countered.  "You never wanted to kiss me like that either,
until you saw me kiss Mamma."

   "Have you touched her ...  like you touched me?" she asked.

   "No."

   "How many times have you kissed her?" asked Mary.

   "Once."

   "Just once!?"

   "Well, two times, but at the same time ...  when you were there.  I
kissed her once before you saw us."

   "But not since then?"

   "She knows better.  That's what I'm trying to teach you."

   "I love kissing you," she admitted.  "It makes me feel so special."

   "I love kissing you too," said her brother.  "It makes me want to have
sex with you, though."

   She was shocked, and sat up.

   "I would never do that!" she gasped.

   "I'm just telling you how it makes me feel," said Bobby, lying back
harmlessly.  "You need to understand that's how boys feel.  Kissing is fun,
but it leads to other things."

   She was quite aware of that, except that it somehow seemed safer with
Bobby, than thinking about doing any of those things with another boy.

   "So ...  you've done other things?" asked his sister, suddenly
interested.

   "I told you, I'm not going to talk about that," he said.

   "But you've done them," she insisted.

   "Yes," he said.  "Now, go to bed!"

   She got up, and started out.  Then she came back.

   "Good night," she said, leaning down to kiss him again.

   This time, when his hands molded themselves to her breasts, she didn't
jerk back.

   She just licked his tongue with her own.

   ===================================

   Months passed.  Sherry still needed him, though not quite as often. 
Being pregnant wasn't as much fun as she had thought it would be.  Her
stomach was upset a lot, and her ankles swelled.  Still, there was
something about sliding her hands over her swelling belly, and knowing that
a baby was in there, waiting to grow up enough to come out, where she could
hold it in her arms ...  that made up for the tedious parts of it.

   She spent hours trying to decide how she felt about Bobby, and how she
felt about Sam, and what her future should be, with both of them.  Sam, as
it turned out, got more interested in her, as her belly got larger, rather
than less.  He still complained that it was too soon for children, but,
when he came home, he stayed a day or two longer, and he had more energy
for making love.  He was particularly happy when all he had to do was lie
there, while she rode him, using muscles she'd trained with Bobby, to get
her husband to the point where he couldn't hold it in any longer.

   =================================

   Mary came to kiss him good night every night now ...  always after
everyone else had gone to bed.  She no longer waited to be told to lie
down. Based on his warnings, she expected him to touch her other places,
but his hands stayed on her breasts, outside her nightgown.  She knew he
was aware that she was touching herself, as they kissed, and that she was
having orgasms, but, despite his warnings, he didn't try to do anything
else to her.

   She was both happy and unhappy about that, in ways that were very
complicated.  She went on more dates, and kissed more boys, but none of
them made her feel like Bobby did.  It was fun, but it wasn't as exciting.
Not like Bobby.

   ===================================

   Bobby got a call from another potential customer.  Again, she was
referred to him by Martha.  Her name was Prudence Harris, and, of course,
Bobby knew a little about her.  He knew she was a widow, though he didn't
know anything about how she became one.  She had a daughter that was Flo's
age, and in the same class as Flo in school.  She worked at the bank, as a
teller and, as far as Bobby could remember, didn't ever attend the town
celebrations, or ice cream socials.

   He repaired her broken gate, and painted the rest of the pickets in the
fence.  A door in the back of the house had rotted, and needed to be
replaced, but they were waiting until warmer temperatures arrived, since
the open doorway would let expensive heat out until then.

   She seemed like a nice woman, and they talked a little, as she gave him
a piece of cake one time.  He rarely saw her daughter, Constance, who
seemed to stay in her room constantly.  He could tell Prudence was lonely,
even though she saw, and talked to people every day at the bank.  She made
no overtures toward him, the two times he'd been to her house, and he
behaved like the gentleman everyone in town was sure he was.

   She had lots of ideas for sprucing up the house, but was thinking about
them, prioritizing them.  She said she'd call him when she was firm about
what she wanted.

   ===================================

   It was coming on Spring, and Mary finally went out with a boy who was
interesting.  He touched her breasts, outside her shirt, and he kissed with
his tongue, like Bobby.  He still didn't make her tingle, and want to rub,
like Bobby always did, but he was interesting, and she agreed to keep going
out with him.

   On their fourth date, his hands wandered from her chest, to her belly,
plainly on their way somewhere lower.  She stopped him, but continued to
kiss him.  He relented, and went back to her breasts, which suited her just
fine.

   That night, though, when she climbed onto the bed to kiss her brother
good night, and she told him about it, her kisses were a little more
urgent. Bobby's hand slid down her back, during one long kiss, and then
slid up the back of her naked leg, dragging her nightgown up.  His hand, on
the outside of her panties, didn't feel that much different to her, than it
did outside her nightgown.  She reached down to rub, and tensed as Bobby's
hand slid around, up, over her hip.  She tried to say "No!" into his mouth,
but he was sucking her tongue, and all she got out was a strangled "Mpfh!"

   But then his hand came on top of hers, and pressed.  He was ...  helping
her rub ...  but not rubbing himself.  This wasn't so scary, and, with his
hand on top of hers, one of his fingers occasionally slipping between hers,
to touch her panties, her orgasm was, if anything, more intense.

   As she relaxed from her orgasm, still kissing him, and his hand slid up
her naked belly, to her naked breast, it just seemed natural, to her.  Skin
on skin felt so much better!  When he found her nipple, and rolled it
between his thumb and fingers, she moaned, and sucked his tongue.

   "These are all things he'll want to do," he whispered, when they stopped
to catch their breath.

   "I won't let him," she sighed.

   "You wouldn't let me either ...  when we started," he reminded her.

   "Why do you always do that to me?" she whined.  "I'm having such a good
time, and then you go and ruin it for me."

   "I know what men want," he said.  "I worry about you."

   "If you're so worried about me, why is your hand inside my nightgown?"
She looked steadily at him.

   "If I had my way, you wouldn't be wearing your nightgown," he said.

   The thought of lying there with him, like this ...  naked ...  caused an
upwelling of something in her that was frightening, and she disengaged, and
got up.

   "Sometimes I don't like you very much," she said softly.

   "I always love you, Mary," he said, folding his hands behind his head.

   Her eyes glanced down at his underwear, which were tented with what she
now loved to rub against, while they kissed.

   She had to rub again, when she got to bed.

   ===================================

   "What shall I name our baby?" asked Sherry.  She was lying on her back,
naked, legs spread.  Bobby had just finished rubbing oil all over her
belly, and was preparing to lick her to orgasm.  She found it too
uncomfortable to have him in her now.  Her due date was only a week away,
in August.  Sam had actually said he'd come home and stay for two whole
weeks, when it was time for her to have the baby.

   "That's up to you," said Bobby, sliding his hands under her butt.

   "Oooooh, I just love that," she moaned, as he sucked at her vulva.  They
had grown, for some reason, as her pregnancy progressed.

   When she had cum, and he was just licking her with the flat of his
tongue, lapping up her juices, she sighed in contentment.

   "I could name it something crazy, like Frank Zappa did.  Moon Unit!  Can
you believe that?"

   "You and Sam should decide together," said Bobby.

   "He is getting a little better," said Sherry.  "He's been more attentive
to me since I got pregnant."

   "Pregnant women are the most beautiful women in the world," said Bobby,
getting to his knees.

   Sherry looked at her swollen abdomen doubtfully.

   "I don't know about that," she said.  "I'll be glad to be able to see my
toes again."

   Bobby picked up one of her feet, and held it where she could see her
toes.  He sucked on the big one, and she squealed, trying to jerk it out of
his hands.  The baby moved, jerking inside her, and she winced.  She saw a
heel, slide across her belly, as the baby inside her turned.

   Bobby leaned forward and kissed her belly.

   "Calm down, little one," he said to her stomach.  "You'll be out soon
enough."

   "I'm so happy, Bobby," said Sherry, tears coming into her eyes.  "You've
given me so much."

   "I'm glad you're happy," he said, looking up.  "You deserve to be
happy."

   "Lie down," she said, struggling to get up.  She had to roll sideways,
and then onto her hands and knees to get off the bed.  "I want to do
something special for you."

   He lay down and watched; only mildly surprised as she prepared to suck
him.  When she stayed on, as he sprayed his seed into her mouth, he WAS
surprised, but accepted her gift, as he gave her his own.  The look on her
face, when she stood back up, made him feel almost as good.

   "I can't believe I waited so long to do that," she said, wiping a
dribble of cum from the corner of her mouth, where it had leaked.  "You
taste good!"

   "There's always time for that," he said.

   ================================

   Bobby knew that another boundary had been crossed, when, as he slid his
hand up the back of Mary's leg, he found she wasn't wearing panties.  She
didn't say anything to him, but she left her hand on his cheek as they
kissed, and rolled back, to give him room to move to her breasts.  He had
been stroking her naked breasts, now, for several weeks.

   It was probably because Sherry had gone into labor, and had their baby,
that he did something he might not, otherwise, have done.  Sam was home,
and Sherry was in no condition to relieve his sexual urges anyway.  Jake
still let him see Tilly, but only infrequently.  They still wanted to wait
a little longer before she got pregnant again.  Martha and he didn't have
that kind of relationship any more, now that Arthur had stayed clean for a
whole year.

   At any rate, when his hand slid down, across her flat belly, and his
fingertips ran onto a soft patch of pubic hair ...  she didn't stop him.

   He was good at this ...  very good, by now ...  having learned with
three women, how to get them off.  True, she did jerk, as his fingers slid
onto her slick vulva, but the energy of that jerk was channeled into her
upper leg, which bent at the knee and sprang upwards, to give his hand more
room.

   Her lips slid off of his, and into his neck, as he probed, gently,
feeling the barrier that proved she had never put anything inside her. 
This was something he had no experience with, and his tentative exploration
caused her to tense up and wince.

   "Should I stop?" he asked.

   "Shhhhh," she said into his neck, her breath hot.

   He settled for working on her clit, and she went off like a bomb.  Her
leg slammed closed and she squealed into his neck as she came hard.

   She kept her face buried in his neck, even when he removed his hand, and
stroked her back on the outside of her nightgown.

   "I need your help," he whispered.

   Her cheeks were still stained with the red of her blushing, when she
finally pulled it out of his neck.

   "Would you touch me?" he asked.

   Every time she had gotten up to leave ...  to go to her bedroom ... 
Mary had looked, however briefly at the proof that her brother found her
sexually desirable.  She had wondered, fleetingly, what it might feel like
to her touch, but had always chased that errant thought away.

   "I shouldn't," she whispered.

   "We shouldn't be doing any of the things we do," he said, maddeningly.

   "We always seem to do a little more," she said, uncertainly.  "All I
ever wanted was a kiss."

   "I'll stop touching you, if you want me to," he said.

   She frowned.  "I don't WANT you to stop!  That's the problem."

   "I tried to tell you all this," he said.

   "I KNOW THAT!" she hissed.  "That's part of why I feel so ...  " She
threw up her hands.  "I don't KNOW how I feel!"

   "It's OK," he said.  "I can do it myself, after you leave."

   "Do you do that a lot ...  after I leave?" she asked, instantly curious.

   "Every time," he said.

   "Really?  Because of me?"

   "What have I been trying to tell you for most of a year?" he asked
patiently.

   She stood there for a long time, staring at the lump in his underwear.

   "Show it to me," she said, finally, her voice tentative.

   Without ceremony, he pushed his briefs down, and his stiff prick slapped
against his stomach.

   Her breath caught in her throat.

   "It's ...  huge!" she gasped.

   "I don't think so," he said.  "Looks like it always has, since I grew
hair."

   "How can that possibly go in a woman?" she asked.

   "It does," he said, not thinking.

   "I KNEW it!" she pounced, like a cat.  "You HAVE done it!"

   "Millions of men have done it," he said, carelessly.  "That's how babies
are made, and there have always been babies.  It has to fit.  That's all I
meant."

   "What will happen if I touch it?" asked Mary, staring at the tube of
flesh.

   "I think you know what will happen," said her brother.

   Looking at this amazing thing was making her pussy hot again.  She had
already stayed longer than she usually did.  The house was quiet, though.

   "How long will it take?" she asked.  "If I touch it, I mean."

   "Not long," he said, "especially if you kiss me while you're doing it.
You're a very good kisser, Mary."

   She felt inordinately proud that he considered her to be a good kisser.
As far as she was concerned, he was the best possible kisser ever born.

   "I don't know how," she said.

   "I'll teach you."

   ======================================

   Mary eased into her room quietly.  It certainly wouldn't do for Flo to
wake up now.  She held her hand out, away from her body.  It was wet with
what had come spurting, impossibly high into the air, from that beautiful,
soft-yet-hard thing she had loved stroking.  She couldn't go to the
bathroom and wash her hands.  The pipes knocked in there.  And, if she went
to the kitchen, someone might hear that and get up to investigate.

   She was so horny she could hardly stand it.  She knew she needed to rub,
but the hand she rubbed with was all wet with his stuff.  Her body felt
hot, and she shrugged her way out of her nightgown.  She was careful not to
get any of his stuff on it.  Mamma might notice, when she did the wash. 
Unless it was either her or Flo's turn to do the wash.  She couldn't
remember right now.  Better not to take chances.

   She lay down on top of her sheets and spread her legs, so the cool air
could reach her steamy pussy.  Her mind went back to watching her hand, on
his stalk, sliding up and down, the slick, bulbous head being covered, and
then uncovered, over and over again, until a stream of thick white shot
upwards.  She was so intent on remembering every detail, that she didn't
realize she had relaxed her hand, until she felt cool wet on her belly,
where it had fallen.  Now his stuff was on her body.  What would it look
like when it dried?  Would anyone be able to tell it was there?  Was it
really any different than when her hand was wet with her own juices?

   Her hand drifted down.  She got some of his stuff in her hair.  She
liked the way he rubbed her, with three fingers.  She usually only used
one, but his way felt better.  Soon she was mixing his thick white residue,
with her own clear emissions, as she rubbed her pussy lips, and strummed
her clitty to orgasm.

   =================================

   Sherry's story went on, but the time it takes to cover includes other
women's stories as well.  A few of the details will be related, in later
stories in this series but, suffice it to say that, Sherry and Sam stayed
together.  Unknown to either of them, Sam's fetish turned out to be one for
pregnant women.  Once his wife was pregnant, his interest in other women,
out on his sales route, began to wane.  Life was a lot easier, not having
to sneak around with those women, too, and he found that, by not having
affairs, his work went much more quickly, and he could get back home to his
pregnant wife.  Then, when she wasn't pregnant any more, he was fascinated
with the baby girl she had, named Jessica.  That was because he had no idea
how to be a parent, which was a big part of his resistance to ending up
that way.  Now, with the memory of his wife's big, beautiful belly, which
he fully intended to make big and beautiful again, and the darling bundle
of joy she presented him, he was much more inclined to spend time at home,
rather than on the road.

   That transition took some months, as he finally figured things out, but
the fact is, his life was made much better by the man who cheated with his
wife, and got her pregnant.  It was good that he didn't know about that.

   As they say ...  what you don't know ...  probably won't hurt you.

   ============================

   The End
   


  
gigolo3_sherry_all