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“Smell…you could smell me because I was in the room when

it was happening.”

“Bullshit! Bullshit!”

“I was there to make sure nothing went wrong; to make sure he

didn’t mess with you.”

“You were in the room all those times? Then if you’re not a

rapist you’re a goddam voyeuristic creep! But it was you; I know it

was you, and I’m calling the goddam cops on you, you fucking rapist

loser.”

She hung up the phone. I dug the bottle of bourbon out of my

closet, drank half a glass, then walked slowly to her dorm room. A

sheet of lined paper was tacked to her door with large, sloppy letters

commanding, “Go Away!”

I stared at the note for about half a minute, then walked

back to my room.

* * *

The next morning I found a note from her slipped under my

door:

“Dear Creep — I just wanted you to be fully aware of how

much you fucked up my life and ruined my sense of self-esteem.

You have made my sex life the subject of grotesque rumors all over

campus; you have made my vagina public intellectual property. Every

moment that I endure this hellish existence, the knowledge of

how you cheapened and hurt me grows stronger, more painful, like a

cancer devouring my conscience. You horrify me. Your former friend,

Jeanine. PS: Rotting in hell for eternity would be far, far too

gentle a fate for you. PPS: Don’t ever talk to me again.”

* * *

Peggy told me that Jeanine had initiated a series of telephone

sessions with a psychic in order to figure out who the guy was.

“Madame Horowitz is really a fantastic woman. Really empowered

by the purity of nature and the spirit earth. She lives in Los Angeles,

reads Tarot cards, tea leaves, astrology charts, palms, crystal balls.

Actually I think it’s all nonsense. Expensive nonsense. But Jeanine’s

pretty desperate.”

“She’s threatened to go to the cops,” I said.

“I know. But I think she’s afraid of her parents getting

involved. Her program of rigorous debauchery has given her a profound

sense of guilt.”

“She’s not so bad. Not nearly as bad as she wants to be.”

“She says the feeling of having fucked someone she can’t

identify by name or sight or anything else robs her of the feeling of

sexual accomplishment and makes her feel deeply violated.”

“She really enjoyed it for a while. She told me she was in

love with the guy.”

“Sounds like a normal relationship, the way her attitude

changed so drastically.”

“If she’d just screwed some guy at a bar she wouldn’t really

know much more about him than she knows about her Invisible Man. Not

really.”

“Yeah. Welcome to blind labyrinth of human sexuality. Here’s

a cast for your heart.”

Peggy stared at me, beaming with joyous sarcasm, her features

bearing a sinister slant. I wanted very much to kiss her.

* * *

Jeanine began wearing hats, sunglasses, and clothing made from

hemp. She changed her hair: once the color of maple syrup penetrated by

sunlight, she dyed it jet black. I sometimes saw her striding quickly

down corridors with a kleenex held over her mouth and nose. She stopped

painting her nails and wearing make-up. She stopped eating in the

cafeteria, preferring dried fruit and nuts she purchased from an

organic mail-order company. She stopped saying “Hi,” “How are you,”

or “What’s up,” but instead leapt instantly into the substance of the

few conversations she found necessary to have. She stopped inviting

people into her dorm room.

“She says she’s very chemically sensitive,” Peggy said while

we ate spaghetti with clam sauce at the cafeteria. “She threw away her

microwave, dumped her television, and now she’s trying to get rid of

everything made of plastic. She’s disciplining her environment.”

“What’s wrong with plastic?”

“She doesn’t ride in cars anymore.”

“What’s wrong with cars?”

“The fumes disrupt her bodily equilibrium. And plastics, she

thinks they emit toxic waves that distort her thoughts. She considers

it a form of chemical rape. She only listens to chants, and writes

everything in runes.”

“Does she ever talk about that guy anymore?”

“She doesn’t think that men are psychically evolved enough to

register in her world.”

“Does she still want to know who it was?”

“She claims she’s still a virgin, and plans to stay that

way.”

“Jesus Christ. She’s delusional.”

“She thinks people shape their own reality. What you decide,

what you focus on, that’s what’s real.”

* * *

About two weeks later Peggy discovered that Jeanine was

pregnant. Jeanine still denied having had intercourse, believing

instead that she had been procreatively enslaved by environmentally

reckless corporations.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Peggy said with an air

of investigative triumph, “But she thinks that toxic emissions from

the paint on her walls triggered spontaneous life-formation in her

uterus.”

“What’s hard to believe about that?”

“I’m serious. She said that.”

“Her walls are blue and green and red. Paisely slop she

threw up when she was going through her hippy thing. Does she think the

baby will be paisely-colored?”

“Christ, Bobby, I don’t know what she’s going to do. I asked

if I could take her in for an abortion, but she hasn’t gotten

permission from the foetus’ spirit yet.”

“If she doesn’t abort it, is she going to insist that the paint

company marry her?”

* * *

Shortly after Peggy persuaded her to get an abortion,

Jeanine escaped the narrow definition of “human being.” Humans were

creatures of wreckage, exploitation, environmental poisoning. She had

become part of the earth, a silent, passive, but resilient force

that adjusts to each new vile liberty people take with it. She had lain

on her bed blindfolded like a pristine grassy hill tunneled into by

callous metal miners, helplessly allowing, torn open, subjugated.

Ultimately, like the earth being stripped of its minerals, she lost her

child, but eventually endured the awful loss with an amnesiac

forgiveness. She seemed not to realize that any of it happened.

Events came to completion, but the play of natural forces went on.

In the months before I graduated I saw her regularly in the

agriculture department buildings, entering the greenhouses,

transporting tools and pushing wheelbarrows of soil and fertilizer.

She was learning the creativity of the earth.

One afternoon I saw her chatting with Paul outside a lecture

hall. She was gesturing excitedly as he smiled and nodded. I watched

from a cautious distance, half-shielded in a doorway, wondering if at

some level, perhaps unconsciously, she realized that he was the man who

had made love to her and impregnated her. After about three minutes

they walked to one of the campus coffee shops. I kept staring at the

shop they’d gone into, wondering about the quality of their interaction

with each other, the emotional atmosphere of their togetherness. And I

was consumed with sadness for her.

I walked to her dorm room. Standing in the corridor, I tore

a blank page from one of my binders, scribbled a brief note to her,

then slipped it under her door:

forests whose wildlife, I had no doubt, was far more daring and

vigorous than that on campus. It was a conservative school in a

sleepy, often cold environment conducive to huddling and conserving

energy. The academic tone was one of intellectual diffidence,

cultural muting, religious mainstreaming. Students gazed somberly out

library windows, rested their heads on their desks, gathered

in the cafeteria to consume starches. The surrounding roads disappeared

into dense woods, vanished under snowdrifts, and probably didn’t lead

anywhere anyway.

When Jeanine graduated high school at the precocious age of

sixteen and began attending the university, rather than finding it

stimulating she found it insufferably dull. But at least she was

away from her parents, and, after pursuing her studies with such

commendable diligence, she was now determined to spend her time in

pursuit of nearly life-threatening debauchery: to finally cave in to

her roaring lust, to shatter her disciplined mind with a dizzying

variety of controlled substances, to betray friends, to tear couples

apart in torrid trists, to…well, to really live.

This was a lot harder than she imagined; this was the

University of Montana. One of the most popular majors was agriculture,

and Jeanine soon concluded that the future farmers of America had

as much of a capacity for hedonism as the vegetables they harvested.

“You look at these torpid bastards and you get the sense that

all they fantasize about is planting row after row of goddam corn.

These are people whose livelihood depends on fertility, for chrissake,

but do you think that even suggests sexuality to them? Hell, no. I’d

like to run the fuckers over with their goddam tractors.”

Jeanine began buying stacks of pornographic magazines in

convenience stores, tearing out photographs of nude women, then

inserting these in library books in hopes of stimulating a massive

outbreak of libido.

But it didn’t work. In her first semester, Jeanine was asked

out once: to a country music festival benefitting farmers.

“The guy wears nothing but flannel. Imagining him in leather

is like imagining a cow riding a motorcycle.”

“You’re too young,” her friend Peggy assured her. “They’re

afraid of being charged with statutory rape, or something. Once you

get older you’ll get more action.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.”

“How many guys have asked you out this semester?”

Peggy was silent for a moment. “Well, everyone knows that

I’m looking for a husband, not a roll in the hay.”

“Bobby,” she turned to me, “How many girls have you asked

out this semester?”

“I’m too busy planting mental corn to bother with girls,” I

said. She shook her head disgustedly, then grabbed a copy of Penthouse

from her backpack and handed it to me.

I surmised the problem was that Jeanine came off as haughty. She

seemed to disdain all of the guys in school: men destined to spend a

substantial part of their lives shovelling manure, driving tractors.

Her arrogance, partly based on her stellar academic record, came

across as strongly as the Channel perfume she seemed to marinade

herself in. She reminded me of a slab of luminescent flesh yearning

to be ripped apart in someone’s teeth, but which everyone assumed was

lethally poisonous.

* * *

“Ted, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Bob, what’s up?”

I stepped closer to him, turning away discreetly, my gaze

settling on the window. Outside, snow swirled through the cone-shaped

orange beams of the parking lot floodlights.

“You know Jeanine?”

“Not really.”

“Do you think she’s pretty?”

He hesitated, as if somehow puzzled.

“Pretty what?”

“Pretty looking.”

“Well, sure.”

…End of the part1. To be continued..

I now realised that, apart from her panties, she was naked before the

two men.

“Black tits taste good, man!” laughed the smaller assailant as he

began to suck on Corina’s dark nipples. I had almost accepted the

situation now – I realised that the two men would take my wife in

front of me and that there was nothing I could do about it. I just

hoped that Corina wouldn’t struggle too much so they could finish

quickly and leave.

As his fellow attacker mauled and sucked on my wife’s tits, the big

guy began to strip. Obviously a farm worker, his body was tanned

through long hours working in the fields. But his skin was still much

paler than Corina’s and, as he sat on the sofa and pulled her towards

him, I was struck by the contrast that their two different coloured

bodies made.

“Let’s see if you like the taste of a real man’s cock!” he growled as

he proudly presented a large, straining erection to my wife’s face.

“Shit! My kid brother’s got a bigger dick than that! Is that the best

that you two can do?”

My mind reeled as I tried to comprehend the incredible words that

Corina had just voiced. I was stunned, I had never heard her use such

language before.

For a moment, the larger man also seemed to lose the plot and stared

down at her incredulously. But then a wide grin spread over his face

and he laughed loudly.

“Sure, bitch! I know all you blacks like to fuck your kin! Now suck on

this like a good little whore and we won’t have to smack your old man

up again!”

I looked on as Corina gazed straight into the man’s eyes and slowly

lowered her head towards his turgid penis. Her lips opened wide and

she drew the weapon deeply into her hot, wet mouth. The big guy moaned

as she began to fellate him slowly; licking up and down his shaft and

swallowing the bulbous knob deep into her throat.

While his buddy was getting the best blow-job of his miserable life,

the smaller guy wanted to get back in on the action as well. As I

watched, shamefully aware that I was now as hard as a rock, the wiry

little man kneeled down on the floor and quickly ripped Corina’s

panties off. My stomach churned over and my head swam as I saw the

moisture between my wife’s thighs. I hadn’t wanted her to resist, but

she actually looked like she was beginning to enjoy herself!

The small man pressed his face ap against her vagina from behind and I

looked on as his long, pink tongue darted out and swiped lavishly over

Corina’s wet labia. He used his fingers to peel the lips back and

laughed as her stiff little clitoris suddenly popped into view.

Corina moaned loudly around the hard cock in her mouth as she felt his

oral caresses and I saw her push herself back lewdly onto his face as

she tried to get as much contact with him as possible. Her face

contorted in a lustful grimace as she was eaten out so expertly from

behind. She was groaning almost constantly around the fat dick in her

mouth and this was causing the big man to buck his hips and ram his

throbbing weapon up into her mouth with every thrust. There was now no

doubt in my mind that no force or coercion was being used on her – her

face told the truth; she wasn’t just enjoying this, she was loving

every second. My belief’s were confirmed a few seconds later when,

letting the cock slip from between her lips, her head fell back and

she howled out in a high pitched squeal of lust as an obvious orgasm

thundered through her quivering body.

With a juice smeared face, the small guy quickly stood and stripped of

his clothes. As he removed his pants I was surprised to see that,

quite contrary to his body, his penis was long and thick. For a second

or two he massaged the shaft in his hand running his fingers up and

over his knob end and smearing the pre-cum that had leaked out over

his purple glans.

…End of the part3. To be continued..

“Enough talk,” she commanded and resumed her grip on his sheathed sword. She

pulled him to the entrance of her cunt, and he leaned down, placing his hands on

the bed at her sides. He shifted forward slightly and his head pressed its way

into her.

“Ahhhhh…I’d almost forgotten how good that feels.” “Oh, I hope you remember

that it gets better,” she hissed as she thrust her hips up to take him deeper

inside her. He reciprocated, and their groins met as they both exhaled loudly.

He began a slow, steady stroke, but was coaxed into a faster, harder rhythm.

“My! Don’t we heat up quickly?” he commented.

“Remember that it’s been a while for me as well – I’ve been saving myself for

you.”

“Tsk…tsk…tsk,” he replied in time with his thrusts,

“we’ll…have…to…remedy…that…won’t…we?” He moistened his thumb and

reached down to massage her rosebud. She sighed and pulled him down to her,

their mouths locking in an embrace as carnal as that of their lower bodies.

She stopped kissing and sucked his lower lip between her teeth, pressing harder

and harder as she approached her climax. He managed to pull free of her painful

grasp as she opened her mouth to gasp as the orgasm rolled over her. When she

relaxed, he stopped stroking, rolled them over with her on top, and started to

buck her body up as he resumed his activity.

She sat up on his hips, taking his lead and riding his prick. After a while, he

withdrew from her vaginal embrace and slid out from under her. He shifted around

behind her, raising her up onto her knees, and entered her pussy from the rear.

She braced her shoulders into the bed, and grasped the headboard as she met his

every thrust. She raised her head and asked, “You’re still not ready…to…”

“I guess it’s my gentlemanly restraint coming back to me!” He growled, voice

belying his words.

“Ahhhhhhh-but don’t you mean ‘NOT coming’?”

“Keep that up love, and I’ll leave right now!” Again contradictory to his

speech, his hand started to massage her mound, the pinkie finger running over her

clit.

“Oh, don’t leave! Keep doing that! Mmmmmmmm…”

“Whatever…you…ask…” he rejoined, his breath coming in gulps as his arousal

increased. Their gentle shifting accelerated into a heavy pace and they fucked

with abandon as they felt their passions rise to that pleasurable summit. A

sheen of perspiration glazed his face as he grabbed her hips in an attempt to

drive his cock even deeper into her cunt. Her hands gripped the rungs of the

antique headboard so tightly they squeaked as she shifted to fuck him back as

strongly as he was doing her. Her face and breasts flushed, and she stiffened

with rapture, her vaginal muscles clasping his cock and pushing him past the

brink. He continued to pump into her as he came, roaring with pleasure. As

their orgasms faded, they collapsed onto the bed. He rolled off of her back and

lay gasping his eyes squeezed shut. She shifted, sat up and took him in her

hand.

“Thank you, sweet prince,” she breathed and kissed the latex-clad head of his

cock. His entire body flinched, and his hand grasped her wrist. “*Please* don’t

do that – I’m really too sensitive right now, even the contact of the condom is

nearly painful.”

“Well, let’s get your little man out of his confining suit then,” she replied and

slipped the rubber from his manhood, making him shake on the bed. “There, all

done!” she exclaimed proudly as she lay down to kiss him on the cheek. “Thank

you – that was wonderful.”

“Oh, the pleasure wasn’t solely yours and I’m sure the credit doesn’t rest on my

shoulders alone, my darling beauty,” he responded and kissed her hair. He

appeared to remember something and shifted slightly toward the edge of the bed.

“Um, miss – I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.” He raised his hand up

to shake hers palm-up as its mate disappeared off the bed. “Mikel Torsson, my

dear lady.” She grasped his hand and answered “Nadine Sanders,” and sighed with

…End of the part6. To be continued..

He cleaned her other breast, and then began to work down her belly, stroking her

scar with his mouth – pausing only to murmur “beautiful”. He shifted his weight

back onto his knees, provoking a pair of loud clicks. Her eyes shot open. “Your

knees-” she began.

He chuckled and silenced her with a kiss. “Relax – it sounds a LOT worse than it

is – it doesn’t hurt at all, in fact. It’s just a very unsettling thing to hear,

as I’m sure you’ll agree!” She acquiesced, but her face still showed signs of

concern.

“God, you really do care for me that much, don’t you?” he asked with a look of

admiration and wonderment.

“But of course, ‘I’m offended you even thought otherwise’,” she mimicked.

His arms encircled her and he hugged her tightly. “I love you, darling,” he

whispered in her ear. “And just to show you how much…” He resumed his

ministrations to her lower torso, untying the cord of the sweatpants she began to

loosen ten minutes and half a year ago. His hands massaged her hips, pushing the

waistband of the pants slowly down. She grabbed the post behind her and raised

her buttocks, permitting him to remove her last article of clothing. He paused

and regarded her mound, entranced.

“You’re not put-off by my c-section scar?” she asked with concern.

“Are you offended by my paunch?” He leaned back and puffed out his chest and

belly. “It’s not as bad as when I took my photo – gotten a lot of exercise – but

it’s FAR from a physique I used to have. Even so, I haven’t heard any

complaints…” he finished, as sly grin taking possession of his features.

“Well, now that you mention it -” she began. He laughed, and pulled her back

towards him, kissing her deeply and passionately to quell any criticism.

“ No – I don’t find it at all unattractive, love. It is part of what makes

you YOU. How could I not love it?” he said, brushing a lock of hair from her

forehead. “Besides,” he continued, holding her as he lay back and rolled their

bodies over on the bed, “it gives me a landmark to follow in the dark!” He

demonstrated what he meant by running his tongue down the ridge to her bush,

sliding off the bed. He paused and inhaled her musky scent, nuzzling her mound.

Grabbing a pillow, he raised her hips and adjusted the angle of her pelvis,

resting her legs on his shoulders. He kissed the insides of her thighs, his lips

a butterfly that alighted on her sensitive flesh every inch or so.

“You gonna mess around down there all morning or are you gonna DO something,

lover? I got the Phone Company coming by this afternoon,” she called in

frustration.

“Just for that, I think I’ll do a little more sight- seeing!” He felt fingers

entwine themselves in his curls and pull his head into the vertex of her legs.

He ran his tongue roughly across the length of her labia; it had the effect he

sought.

“Ooohhhhhhhhh.”

His lingual muscle traced around her labia, sampling the traces of moisture

already there. After some coaxing by his mouth, her lower lips opened like the

petals of a flower as they were engorged in blood, becoming warm to the touch.

As his hands locked with hers, he plunged into her slit and stroked the silky

insides with his taste buds. His efforts were awarded with a seeping of

honey-like fluid, which he lapped up eagerly. Satiated, he shifted his attention

to the apex of her cunt. Her ‘third nipple’ swelled as he flicked it with his

tongue, causing her to shiver and squeeze his hands. Then he returned to her

love nest, lancing his tongue deep within her depths. He began to fuck her

orally, the bristles of his moustache brushing her clitoris with every stroke.

“Oooo…nnnn…nnnnggggggghhhhh” was his partner’s only utterance. Taking this as

encouragement, the man increased his pace, only to have his eyes bug out as he

felt fingernails dig into the backs of his hands. Her hips lifted from the

cushion, her back bridging – supported by her shoulders and her thighs on his

shoulders. Her moans took a more urgent tone, and the flow of her honey

increased. He continued his assault on her nether regions, and was rewarded with

a cry of “NnnnnaaaaaAA-AA-AA-AA!” and a trickle of pearly essences over his mouth

…End of the part4. To be continued..

it successfully and see how she handled it. He ran a gloved hand over the

frosted intercom panel, stopping and pressing one labeled “9 – Sanders” and

cleared his throat.

“Yes?” It was the sound he’d fallen in love with – the voice of this woman he’d

never met, but knew as intimately as he knew himself.

He immediately assumed the lazy Southern drawl he’d been practicing, covering his

normally flat voice. “Phone company, miss. You a ‘Ms. Sanders’ who wants a

second line installed?” “Oh, yes; you’re early – the person at the office said

this afternoon-” the disembodied voice replied.

“Well, yer lucky; my first call was supposed to be a repair job that’d take all

morning, but they cancelled.” He was having trouble not adding small things like

“darling” or “my lovely lap-dancer”.

“Good; the sooner I get the line installed, the sooner I can log-on and-” The

rest of her plans were drowned out by a harsh metallic buzz. He grabbed his

toolbox and reached to open the door, unable to suppress a grin at the irony of

her statement. He breathed deeply as he mounted the half-flight of stairs,

shaking his head to rid himself of any stage fright. He’d always worried about

the wrong things before – surely this meant that all would go well? The hard

part was getting his body to believe it.

He concentrated on projecting the image of an American phone technician on his

first job of the day. A coil of cable was over his left shoulder, a large

tool-case in his right hand and blue, insulated coveralls obscuring his body from

neck to ankle. A hard hat covered his dark hair – ’she’d spot that right away

after what she said upon getting my picture’ he thought – and to complete the

facade a worn, weathered clipboard in his left hand.

He stepped to the correct door, stuck his gloves in a pocket, placed his toolbox

on the floor, and rapped on the door. To add to the illusion, he stood on his

toes – adding to his apparent height. He also grabbed a pen from his chest

pocket and started ‘writing’ on the clipboard held *just* in between the fish-eye

and his face – right-handed to further lull his prey from detecting her

“Grammar-Checker”.

He was rewarded with a series of clicks and the door opened. “I’d like the plug

near the table over there-” she said as she pointed back into the apartment, and

gasped as the ‘phone technician’ dropped his things and hugged her, surprising

her with a deep, passionate kiss. She felt the bristle of his moustache,

myopically saw the small scar on his cheek, and stopped resisting. When they ran

out of breath, they separated and she cried out his name with a child-like look

of delight on her face. “What ARE you doing here?”

“Gee, what do you THINK, lover? We’ve both been champing at the bit to meet

finally.”

“How’d you do all this?”

“Simple – you mentioned that you were finally getting an ISP and extra phone

line. I stayed at that motel just outside Geneva and waited to see a phone

company van to go by – handy thing, you living in a small town. I was lucky

enough for it to pull into a gas station on the way. When the driver went in to

pay, I slipped up and took a peek at the work orders.”

“But what if I’d have been the first client of the day, or if he hadn’t stopped?”

“Just lucky I guess – there’s only so much planning you can do. Anyway, happy

birthday.”

They kissed again. “Thank you; it’s not ’til Wednesday, but I think this is a

wonderful gift. One question remains – how could you even afford a plane ticket?

You never got that work term in Kansas City!”

“Well, there’s an interesting story that will explain my ability to be with the

one I love…but that will wait for lunch; right now we’ve got some things to

attend to.” His mouth curled into a salacious, wolf-like grin – showing her what

he’d meant every time he added “” to an email comment. He turned to grab his

things in the hall and was rewarded with a slap on the buttocks.

…End of the part1. To be continued..

sufficiently warped that one had to lean on it in the last inches. She had

simply pushed it toward closed as she walked in. I knew that she would

see the door ajar by inches if she were to sit on the toilet. I waited for her

to come back and push it the remainder of the way, but she didn’t. Instead,

she continued to talk to me as if the door just cracked open was a

convenience and not an embarrassment.

For all our openness, she’d not been this relaxed with me at home.

I strained to hear her intimate sounds. I needn’t have, for when she began

to pee, it was remarkably loud. I could hear her initial tinkle followed by

the characteristic hissing sound of female urination, pee splashing against

the porcelain, ending with the less forceful last squirts dribbling into the

water. I was enthralled with the sounds, for it called to my mind vivid

mental imagery.

As she pulled toilet tissue from the roll, I was suddenly aware that

she’d been talking the entire time and I’d not heard a word. Oh, Lord, I

hope she hadn’t asked me a question.

My heart sank when she said, “Will you?” in a tone that indicated

that this was the second time she’d asked it.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I missed that. Would you say it again, please?”

She laughed and flushed the toilet and as she came out of the

bathroom belting her robe, she smiled and said, “I asked if you had any of

that promised chilled Champaign, and if so, could I have some?”

We spent the next few hours catching up, first one then the other

talking, sipping inexpensive Champaign and once again, sinking into the

easy familiarity we’d discovered. I shared with her the intense

competitiveness I’d experienced in school, the long hours I’d been putting

in, trying desperately to maintain the pace and the feeling of isolation in a

crowd. “Christ, Mom, I haven’t even kissed a girl in months!”

“Poor Uncle Wiggly,” she said. The origin of that expression was

lost to me, but I knew it to be a tongue-in-cheek sympathy.

“Yeah, poor me,” I agreed, smiling. She’d never let me sit on the

pity pot long.

Looking at my watch, I whistled and said, “Even if we rush, we’re

going to be more than fashionably late. You want the shower first or shall

I?”

“You go first. You know how I like to fuss. I’ve got some

primping to do if I’m going to impress your friends.”

“You spend more time doing less making up than anyone I know,”

I complained, not for the first time.

She laughed and reasoned, “You’ll like the result. Now, get

going!”

An hour later, near-record time for her, we were off to the dance,

having given up on the notion of dinner entirely. Our entrance might have

been choreographed, for there was an apparent brief lull in the music as we

entered and people were mostly standing around the edges of the floor, I

thought, just to watch us come in.

My chest was puffed up with pride and self importance, having this

knock-out woman on my arm. She was wearing a dark green, partially

iridescent dress with a flowing, full skirt and a tight bodice, cut shockingly

low. The full upper portions of her breasts were visible and they seemed to

sway and bounce with her step. I kept reminding myself not to stare.

Sometimes it even worked.

“I must look good,” Mother said, “you’ve been staring at me all

night. Thanks.” Suddenly changing the subject, she asked, “Have you

smelled my new perfume?”

I shook my head and leaned toward her neck, as if to smell the

scent behind her ear but she surprised me by pulling the bodice of her dress

away from her breasts and leaning toward me. Suddenly I had an almost

…End of the part9. To be continued..

blind. Yes, I could tell. It’s tough isn’t it, trying to be subtle and look at

my tits at the same time!”

All pretense had vanished. Any thought I might have had for a

negotiated seduction was out the window. This wasn’t going as I’d

planned and it was wonderful. I couldn’t believe what was happening. My

beautiful mother was sitting on my lap with her breast exposed, the nipple

shining with the wetness of my saliva, groaning as she ground her bottom

into me.

“God, Mom,” I rasped, “I love you so much. I can’t tell you.”

“Yes, yes . . . I know Billy. Just love me. Hold me tight. Kiss

me.”

I couldn’t keep my hands off her body. She’d been squirming

around so much that her dress had ridden up on her thighs, exposing a

good expanse of leg. Holding her skirt-covered buttock with my left hand,

I ran my right hand up and down her body, then down to her left knee and

up under the hem of the dress to the top of her thigh, above her hose. She

scrunched down farther, helping me to lift the dress. Suddenly she was

bared to her pelvis.

“Jesus, Mom! You have such beautiful legs.”

Her only reply was to kiss me again and open her legs. I flashed

back to the afternoon I was looking up her dress. Now, however, I wasn’t

peeping. She was showing herself to me. It was clear that I couldn’t be

content just looking. Still I hesitated. Could I *touch* her there? Could I

cusp her mound in my hand? Actually feel her pussy? What the hell! In

for a penny . . .

I ran my hand up and down the soft inside of her thigh, moving

closer each time to her panties. She moaned and pushed her pelvis at me.

The side of my hand pushed against the cushy bulge of her panty crotch.

She grunted and lurched, snapping her legs shut, trapping my hand. I tried

to pull my hand out but she suddenly reached down and with surprising

strength, grabbed my wrist, I thought to pull me away from her pussy.

Instead, she opened her legs a little and pulled my hand into her crotch

even tighter, sawing me up and down against her cunt, moaning constantly.

“Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. Shit. Shit, Shit. Yes. There! Do it!”

I scrabbled my fingers, trying to get in under a pant leg edge. She

let go of my hand, lifting her hips as if to help me. I gave up and grabbed

the lacy crotch of her panties and pulled downward. Again, she heaved up,

and with her free hand, helped me pull them down, first to her low thighs

and then in a tangle of limbs, off, muttering the whole time, “Get ‘em off,

get ‘em off.”

What happened to my sedate and dignified mother? Where’d she

go and where did this lusty woman come from?

Freed of her feet, I pulled her silky panties to my nose, inhaling the

essence of her as she was groping in my lap, fruitlessly trying to pull down

my fly zipper.

“Christ! And I thought *guys* had a hard time with girls’ bras!”

she complained. “Help me, dammit.”

“Jesus, I can’t open my pants much less pull them down if you’re

sitting on me, can I?”

She laughed and said, “This isn’t going smoothly at this moment, is

it?”

Heaving her off my lap, dumping her on the couch, I replied, “No,

but it’s sure as hell is GOING . . . and right now!”

I shucked my trousers and briefs, my hard cock sticking up

obscenely. Mother’s dress and bra quickly joined the frantic pile of

clothing on the floor. Suddenly, we were both nude, or nearly so. I was

stunned at this out-of-control passion that had overwhelmed us.

A very small, detached part of my mind was observing the blind

…End of the part13. To be continued..

years before it – are wrapped in some soft-focus, cotton-candy memory,

but that day snaps into sharp focus with a clarity that is the result of

moments of great impact long remembered. For all those years, my mother

was my Mom. Then one day she became a woman. More importantly, she

suddenly became a sexy woman. An extremely desirable woman.

I didn’t – that day at any rate – suddenly become a profligate. It

was to take a certain determinism and some considerable time before I

might aspire to that description. No, the severest criticism one could bring

to bear back then might be that I was a horny kid, one who appeared to be

a touch more aware than his peers and maybe too curious for his own

good.

I was home alone with my mother and my father was away. That

was the case a good bit of the time it seemed. I had a father, but we didn’t

know each other very well. On some level, I’d come to accept his absence,

for that’s the way it was. I suspect my mother, who didn’t complain, was

experiencing less acceptance.

I’d been coerced into wearing a sport jacket that day – in place of

my usual, more casual attire – and attending some ho-hum, boring cocktail

party at the university president’s home. I don’t recall the strong-arm

tactics that brought me to bay, but I do recall the suffering. It seemed like

endless hours of mindless chatter where everyone but me got to have

champaign or white wine. Oh, it wasn’t forbidden, but my mother had

made it clear that she was going to have “some wine” and I was the

designated driver. We both knew that champaign had more effect on my

mother than it appeared at first glance. If she didn’t try to walk, or drive,

she did quite well, at least at holding a conversation. However, those who

knew her well were aware of a characteristic scattered thought process, a

type of clang association which, when coupled with an alcoholic gaiety,

turned her into a different woman. Almost daring and perhaps borderline

loose.

Anyway, we’d returned home in the late afternoon from that well-

supplied party and we’d both fallen into facing couches in our large living

room, each of us with a welcome sigh as we put our feet up. That’s when

it happened. I don’t recall that anything had occurred to set me up for this;

it just came out of nowhere. Blind sided as it were. Out of nowhere, this

sexy woman appeared!

The late afternoon sun shone toward my mother while I sat

opposite her in deeper shadow. She’d drawn up her knees to push her

pumps off and suddenly I was looking directly up her dress at a well-lit and

unobstructed view of my mother’s thighs all the way to her undergarments.

It was no flash, for she’d placed both stockinged feet on the coffee table,

knees still up and fallen back to the cushions, head up and eyes closed with

her skirt around her mid thighs in the front and completely dropped away in

the rear.

“Oh, that feels so good.” she exclaimed, wriggling her stocking-

clad toes. “Christ, I wish I could meet someone interesting at those

parties, someone with some life in them!”

It was the type of comment that needed no reply. I suspect that I

couldn’t have replied coherently in any case, for my attention was riveted

on the view under her dress.

Even though I’d lived with this woman all my life, I suppose I had

had no interest and no awareness of her as a *woman* and even less for

her clothes. After all, she was my mother for crying out loud. So, it was

with some surprise that I realized for the very first time that she wore

stockings and garters and not what I thought all women wore, pantyhose.

I was fascinated with the stretch of her hose by the garters running down

each thigh. But her panties held even greater fascination for me.

I don’t think that I’d given it any previous thought, but had I been

grilled on what type of underwear my mother wore, I might have guessed

something white, conservative, and certainly thick. Clearly not what she

had on. Illuminated by the long rays of the afternoon sun, the pale yellow

of her panties, pooched out by a thick cushion of pubic hair faintly seen

…End of the part1. To be continued..