My First Time

My First Time

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My First Time episodes

  • Stacey’s Breastgasms: Part 1
    Stacey’s Breastgasms: Part 1.
    A high school reunion brings back fond mammories.

    Based on

    a post by Many Feathers. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.



    It had been

    a very long time since I'd seen many of my old high school friends and buddies.
    The last time had been at the ten year reunion, this would be the thirty year
    reunion, and I knew that most of us would have changed between now and then;
    dramatically.

    Although I

    was still in reasonably good shape, even without working out specifically, I
    had still put on a few pounds, but with the exception of a few perhaps, I
    figured everyone would be in the same boat as I was. I still had a full head of
    dark hair, though I had noticed just a sprinkle of gray had begun at the
    temples. The one thing about myself I had always considered my best feature
    however, were my eyes, bright blue with just a hint of gray in them. There was
    a caption in the yearbook next to my photo, it read: "Bedroom eyes".

    Though my

    wife Marsha hadn't attended the same school I had, nor would know any of my old
    friends, she was looking forward to going almost as much as I was. And I for
    one was looking forward to showing her off. Marsha had a great body, though a
    few years younger than me, and certainly my graduating class, giving her a bit
    of an edge perhaps in the looks department. Fairly large breasted, a tight
    waist and firm well rounded ass, I had no doubt she would be the envy of many
    women there. And though she knew I was secretly entertaining those very
    thoughts, she was looking forward to going for no other reason than to perhaps
    meet a few of my old high school girlfriends that I had shared erotic naughty
    stories about with her over the past few weeks.

    And one in

    particular came to mind, wondering if she would in fact, be there, though she
    hadn't come to the ten year reunion, so it had been at least thirty years since
    I had even seen Stacy. I had shared the story of our dating experiences with my
    wife, which had excited Marsha tremendously. Mainly because of the somewhat
    unusual circumstances, and very erotic nature of my old girlfriend, which was
    far different than anyone, I had ever known, including now.

    The thing

    about Stacy that was so unusual, was the fact she could climax simply by having
    her tits played with. Maybe there were other women who could do this, but I'd
    never met anyone else, not like Stacy anyway. Even my own wife Marsha, who
    loved it when I played with her tits, as much as I wanted to, in fact; She
    didn't climax simply from my playing with her the way Stacy did. And not that I
    minded, certainly not. The fact that Marsha enjoyed as much attention as I gave
    her in that regard was something I relished, enjoyed and was more than pleased
    with. Marsha has fairly large tits with extremely sensitive nipples, though not
    too sensitive as to detract from the enjoyment of being able to play with them
    to my heart's content.

    I've

    actually known a couple of women who were exact opposites. One girl allowed my
    fondling of her with indifference. She had even forewarned me before hand that
    she felt virtually nothing when I, or anyone else for that matter played with
    her boobs. Basically, she got nothing out of it beyond seeing me becoming
    aroused myself. Unfortunately, part of my arousal and excitement has always
    come from seeing the woman become aroused or excited by whatever I was doing.
    So in this instance at least, it was a bit of a letdown, and thus took away
    from the pleasure I would normally have received.

    On the other

    side of that same coin, I had also known a woman who's nipples were simply too
    sensitive. Once aroused, she could hardly stand to have anyone even touch them.
    Even just looking at them sent her into giggling fits, super sensitivity once
    again taking away from, rather than adding to, the enjoyment and sensuality of
    that particular form of foreplay. Which was a crying shame too, as Gayle; as I
    recall her name being, had a really nice looking set of tits too. But once she
    was truly aroused, it was always "hands off", after that.

    Now the

    thing about Stacy was, she didn't have really large tits either. She was the
    type of girl that a well-known saying was written for, "More than a
    (good-sized) handful is wasted!"

    I guess if

    you were to classify her, her tits would be considered on the small side.
    Certainly not flat chested, not by any means, and yes, when I held them within
    my hands, they filled them more than adequately with still a bit left over for
    good measure. But the thing was, Stacy literally could climax, and very often
    did, just by my playing with them.

    We had

    started dating, had been going out for well over a month with nothing more than
    a few deep soulful kisses being shared between us. With her tits being not
    quite so large, she very often didn't wear a bra, her pert nipples poking
    through and pressing against the material of whatever tee shirt or tank top she
    was wearing. But I always found it interesting that she only did that, going
    without a bra, whenever it was an activity or an event that virtually made it
    impossible for me to even think about trying anything. Both times we'd gone to
    the drive in theatre, she had worn a bra, making it obvious by her suddenly
    hidden and protected nipples that she was. (I later learned she even went so
    far as to wear a nipple cover beneath her bra, much like protective pasties, on
    those evenings when we'd gone out where the temptation might have been too much
    for either one of us to adhere too.)

    Like I said,

    up until now, I hadn't even touched her, though I also hadn't made any real
    attempt in doing so either, not wanting her to feel like that was all I wanted
    from her; sex.

     I mean I

    did, but not purely just for that either. I really liked her. Stacy was the
    first girl I felt like I could have real feelings for, and because of it, I was
    content to take my time and see how things went.

    It was

    perhaps our seventh or eighth real date. We had gone to the drive-in movie,
    which was now becoming a weekly event for us, and something we both looked
    forward to. As was usually the case, it was a double feature with the movie we
    really wanted to see coming on second. Some twenty or thirty minutes before
    intermission, with each of us bored with the first movie already, we'd quite
    naturally gravitated to kissing and cuddling, as we'd been doing every time we
    came to the drive in, waiting for the second feature to start. And not that I
    minded that either, Stacy was fun as hell to kiss, and it never failed to get
    either one of us all hot and bothered, though we very often had to force
    ourselves to take a break whenever that happened, before things got too carried
    away. Intermission was always great for that it seemed, giving each of us an
    excuse, though I daresay, it was Stacy who used it as one. I'd have been
    content to continue on with what we were doing, even with the lights lit up on
    the blank screen in front of us. Needless to say, I was pretty much expecting
    that to happen as we sat there, necking in the front seat of my car, wondering
    how much longer we had before the movie finally ended.

    Now maybe

    this was typical of the times back then, perhaps many can relate to this. But
    there was a sort of a non-spoken game that I think was quite often played in
    the front seat of every car with a pair of young teens in it. Whether it be at
    a drive-in, or parked on some lover's lane some place, or even on the couch in
    the den at her parent's house. We all played it, and we all went home with
    smiles on our faces afterwards if we (in our minds) made any sort of progress
    since the last time we played it.

    I think the

    unofficial name of the game was, "How close did you come?" And not
    meaning "cum" per say...but how close did you get to actually
    touching her tits?" I know for a good many of my friends, it was very
    often the topic of conversation, come Monday afternoon during gym class.
    "How far did you get? What happened? What did you do to get that
    far?" We all shared... techniques that seemed to work, more importantly,
    the attempts that failed so that no one else would make the same mistakes.

    I was in

    fact at that very moment, running through my own mind the advice one of my
    closest buds had given me that past Monday afternoon. He was the first amongst
    us to actually succeed in the titty-department, now a God as far as the rest of
    us were concerned, and now armed with invaluable information, though I was
    scared to death to actually try it. As was most everyone else I could only guess.

     

     

    "Just

    touch it!" He's said simply. Could it honestly be that easy? I mean you
    didn't just get in the car, reach over and grab her boob, certainly not.
    But...once the real kissing had gotten started and had been going on for a
    while, and then it was time to try that. "No tentative, creeping up on
    it," he'd informed us. Which some few of us had tried, and had failed at.
    It gave the girls far too much advanced warning, as we soon after learned.
    Allowing them too much time to think about it before it happened, most then
    chickening out, or deciding in that brief moment it was either far too soon for
    that, or they simply weren't ready for it even if it wasn't.

    According to

    Jim "The God" of booby fondling, you simply lifted your hand and
    placed it directly over your girlfriends boob, and then softly caressed it.
    With luck, she let you keep your hand there for a few seconds at the very
    least. And even if she eventually did decide to make you move it off her, you
    had still gotten to "cop a feel of her tit," as we called it. And
    that was better than running your fingers off to the side, never quite actually
    touching it, before being told "No...don't," or feeling her hand
    moving yours away.

    A little

    booby was better than no booby. And so far, I was still on the "no booby
    at all" side of things.

    Our kissing

    had finally reached the tongue fencing stage, which never failed to arouse the
    two of us, but it was also the first sign that we'd be taking a much needed
    (not wanted)break soon, especially with the music informing the two of us that
    the first movie was coming to an end. It was now or never the way I saw it. And
    in the next instant, my hand was resting directly on her tit, through her tee
    shirt of course, but on her tit! I think that moment surprised both of us for a
    number of reasons. She wasn't expecting it for one, but she didn't haul off and
    deck me either. Only seconds had passed, but my hand remained as I kneaded the
    softness of her tit like a contented cat. For me at least, it felt like an
    eternity, and I was already rehearsing my speech for the guys come Monday, when
    I felt Stacy's hand suddenly covering mine.

    "Damn!"

    I thought to myself. "Here it comes, the gentle, but firm pull away. The
    unspoken "No," though the barrier had been crossed, even if the barriers
    were about to be put up again. Still...I'd actually touched titty, real titty.
    So even if it was a two or perhaps three second fondling, I'd finally achieved
    the penultimate in front seat groping with one's girlfriend.

    What I

    didn't expect, was when her hand remained on mine, and my hand remained on her
    tit, the sound of my name being sung ever so softly as I sat there.
    "Oh...David!"

    Even with

    her bra on, I now felt the sudden emergence of her hard extended little nipple.
    But even more surprisingly, her gasp, the audible sigh of pleasure that escaped
    her lips in a long drawn out pleasured sound, unlike any I had ever heard
    before. But that nipple! Oh my god, that nipple! I swear it had burned an
    impression within the palm of my hand, half tempted to check, though fearful of
    doing so, which would mean taking my hand away. Something I didn't dare do, as
    I was already well into the twenty or thirty second mark of booby fondling,
    which I felt had to be some sort of a new worlds record at the very least for
    first time tit fondlers.

    The second

    the lights came on, on the screen just a few rows in front of us, Stacy
    suddenly took my hand and gently moved it off and away from her. Even though
    she did, I was floating on cloud nine, not even aware of the massive erection
    in my pants, the short-circuiting of my own arousal not as yet registering in
    my head as Stacy slid over a few inches, putting distance between us.

    "I'll

    be right back," she said reaching for the door. "Get us some popcorn,
    and something to drink," she then added smiling at me. Which was a big
    relief in a way, I'd gotten to finally fondle her boob, and she wasn't mad at
    me for doing it either!

    I sat for

    several long moment's willing my cock to go down, watching as several single
    girls all seemed to pile out of their cars one by one, heading back towards the
    restrooms. It was obvious I wasn't the only guy waiting patiently for his
    erection to go down before making their way inside the refreshment stand
    either. When it had gone down to sufficiently allow me to go inside, though
    wickedly smiling to myself that perhaps there would still be enough of a
    noticeable bulge showing without being obscene, and thus serving an entirely
    different purpose, I climbed out of the car and went inside to grab our drinks
    and the popcorn. In doing so, I also scanned the crowd to see if there were any
    of my buddies there. If there were, then sharing secret signals on how well
    we'd done. Unfortunately, there was no one there I hung out with, so my
    achievement would have to wait until the following Monday.

    I was still

    reliving the experience second by second, running it over and over again inside
    my head when Stacy returned to the car. I handed her, her drink, and sat the
    bucket of popcorn on the seat between us. As I did so, I happened to glance
    over and saw that her nipples, both of them were still pressing even more
    firmly, more obviously than I ever remembered seeing them before against the
    material of her shirt. And then I knew why...Stacy had removed her bra
    entirely!

    Minutes

    later as the lights came down again, and the second feature started, Stacy and
    I came together like a pair of magnets. I remember the tub of popcorn being
    knocked over, spilling onto the floor of my freshly cleaned and vacuumed
    carpeting. I could have cared less. And like magnets, my hand, or rather both
    of them actually, found each of Stacy's tits, (braless tits mind you)
    simultaneously. Now I was touching both boobs (well sort of anyway) but the
    fact she was no longer wearing a bra, essentially giving me the so called
    "green light", once again a never-before reached level of
    achievement, (not even by John the God himself). I think every hair on my
    entire body was standing on end. Goose bumps galore racing up and down my
    entire body, along with my rock-hard cock, that was now almost painfully
    uncomfortable as I sat half twisted in my seat, both hands caressing Stacy's
    soft full tits. But the best was yet to come.

    I had within

    a short span of time, graduated from booby fondling, to nipple pinching. It was
    like graduating from high school early, and going on to college. The fact I was
    actually thumbing and exploring those hard little nubbins of flesh (even if it
    was still through her thin tee shirt) was well beyond my wildest imaginings. (Well
    ok...maybe that's going a little too far), but...it was certainly more than I'd
    expected to happen during the course of the evening.

    Once again,

    she placed her hands over both of mine, and then I thought, "Okay, so now she's
    bringing things to a screeching halt," perfectly content with that if she
    had. Already I had blown the roof off anything any of the other guys had
    achieved, including John, who in my mind no longer warranted "God
    status", a title I couldn't claim myself either as it had to be given you
    by the others. But already I was imagining the official ceremony taking place
    come Monday.

    With Stacy's

    hands now covering mine, I felt her lift them, still holding mine, almost
    pulling away, though she held each of mine in hers tighter still. In the next
    instant, I felt the touch of skin on skin, her hands now guiding each of mine
    beneath her tee shirt! I seriously couldn't believe this was happening. Within
    seconds, I now had twin impressions permanently burned within the palms of each
    hand, as I now covered those extended nipples of hers directly, palming and
    again kneading them at first, before delicately locating each within my finger
    tips.

     Once again

    Stacy moaned, her cry of pleasure easily heard as the couple sitting in the car
    next to us suddenly looked over. I felt prouder than hell as I saw the guy
    suddenly smile, giving me the thumbs up. I'd seen him around at school, though
    I didn't know him. But I also knew now that the story would spread, giving
    confirmation to my coronation come Monday.

    I lost all

    sense of my surroundings along with my newfound status when I heard Stacy say,
    "Suck them."

    Everything

    else became a blur after that. As my mouth actually surrounded one of her hard
    little points, gathering it between my lips as I gently suckled her tit, three
    things seemed to happen at once.

    One, I came

    in my pants. It was quite unexpected and unplanned for. And though embarrassed
    that I had, I still had the secret advantage of her not knowing that.

    Secondly, it

    did at least alleviate the ever growing pressure I was feeling.

    And three,

    it made it a hell of a lot more comfortable to sit there, even if I could feel
    the sticky moisture of my climax bathing my rapidly deflating cock. Which
    surprisingly, didn't stay that way for as nearly long as I might have expected.

    The only

    thing that really mattered now, was the fact I was going back and forth between
    each one of her tits, sucking them, flicking them with my tongue, while my
    fingers played ‘follow the leader’ on her other tit. It was only a few moments
    later when Stacy did the one thing I would never have expected her to do in a
    million, trillion years. She came.

     

     

    My orgasm

    had been a silent, secret, though messy one. I think I may have grimaced with
    my lips surrounding her nipple, but that was about as much as I gave away.
    Stacy on the other hand, simply cried out, unabashedly, unashamedly, and
    uninhibitedly. I wish now I had looked over to our companions sitting on either
    side of us, I'd loved to have seen the expression on their faces then. But I
    was simply too busy still sucking and fondling Stacy's tits to bother looking,
    tempted as I may have been.

    Now, as

    stupid as this may sound, (and probably does) I still didn't know, or grasp the
    fact she'd just had an orgasm. I wasn't so naive as to believe girls didn't; however,
    the mechanics I knew involved other things needing to take place before that
    could be achieved. And unless she'd been secretly fondling herself in some way
    that I wasn't aware of, her cry of pleasure simply signaled to me that she was
    enjoying whatever the hell it was I was doing. So imagine my surprise when
    Stacy finally pushed me away. Talk about confused. One second I'm thinking
    she's hotter than she's ever been, certainly hotter than any girl I've ever
    known or been with, and the next second, she's calling a sudden screeching halt
    to the proceedings.

    "Maybe

    you'd better take me home," she says quietly, readjusting herself, and
    sliding over closer to her own door, the crunch of popcorn beneath her feet as
    she does so. I knew better than to question her, or complain about the fact the
    movie we'd come to see wasn't even half over yet, though for the moment at
    least, I'd forgotten which one it was. I quickly, and carefully replaced the
    speaker back on the pole outside the window, started the car, much to the
    dismay of our neighbors, and then with lights off, backed out and exited the
    drive in theatre.

    I don't know

    if the handful of honks from nearby cars were in tribute, or annoyance as we
    drove out, I didn't really think about it at the time. It was Stacy's sudden
    silence that worried me far more.

    She lived

    less than twenty minutes away, but I purposely drove well below the posted
    speed-limit. What was worrying me now, was we were headed back to her place, a
    good hour or more earlier than normal. Something that would no doubt raise
    suspicious questions from her parents upon our arrival. And like I said
    earlier, I was still confused, very much so, and did the only thing I could
    think of to do under the circumstances. I apologized.

    "I'm

    sorry."

    She looked

    at me like I'd just turned inside out. "What the hell for?" She
    asked.

    "I

    don't know," I said honestly, even more confused now than before. "I
    just am."

    "You're

    sorry for making me cum?"

    I know there

    were words in my mouth, they wanted to come out, but for some reason, I
    couldn't make any sense of them or arrange them in the proper order. "I
    didn't, you ah...you, I mean, you ah..." Luckily for me, she kept talking,
    effectively shutting me up.

    "I'm

    the one that should be sorry," she continued on, before I could make any
    sense of what was happening here. "I should have warned you," she
    then added. "But I couldn't help myself."

    I purposely

    turned down the wrong street, taking the long way around. By the expression on
    her face, she actually appreciated the fact that I had. I knew then we were
    both stalling for time, and I wasn't about to pull up in front of her house
    until I'd at least made some sense of whatever the hell it was we were talking
    about here.

    "Warned

    me about what?" I asked honestly finally finding the correct words to say,
    though the look in her eyes told me she wasn't quite buying my naiveté.

    "That I

    can climax simply by having my boobs played with, even when I do it," she
    told me. She looked up, "The lights green," she said..."Not
    red." I had stopped the car at the light, not even bothering to notice
    what color it was when I did. It was red when I started up again, going through
    the intersection. Luckily it was just late enough that there were few cars on
    the road, luckier still there weren't any cops around to witness my stupidity.
    But thankfully, Stacy laughed, snickering at my obvious confusion, breaking the
    tension in the air. "Does that....shock you?" she then asked.

    "Shock

    me? No. Surprise me? Yes." I answered her truthfully. Then asking,
    "So...you really do? Cum I mean, just by playing with your tits?"

    "Yes,"

    she said softly, obviously embarrassed by the revelation, though I found her
    courageous in her acknowledgement of that. And perhaps her courage, boldness,
    and openness gave me courage as I pursued this interesting conversation we were
    suddenly having.

    "So...do

    you, I mean, if you can...ah, you know, do you still..."

    "Masturbate?"

    she finished for me. So much for my own courage. "Yes I do that too. Don't
    you?"

    "Well

    yeah sure," I freely admitted, glad my voice didn't go up an octave or two
    when answering her. "Sure...yeah...of course." She smiled at that.

    "Ditto,"

    she said quickly. "But...I don't have to always do that to have an orgasm
    either," she now confessed. "I can actually get off, just by playing
    with my tits."

    I mean she

    had, or at least I had seen it first hand, even then I still asked.
    "Seriously...you really do?"

    "You

    saw it...felt it, heard it," she exclaimed growing more and more agitated
    by the second. "Like I said, I can't help it...it just happens.

    Maybe I

    shouldn't have let you do what you did, but...I couldn't help myself David. It
    would have been no different if I'd been sitting there jacking you off, and
    then at the last moment taking my hand away, letting you just hang there. When
    I placed your hands directly on my tits, I knew damn good and well, what was
    going to happen."

    I thought

    briefly about telling her I'd come in my pants, perhaps by way of easing her
    personal discomfort, sharing something of an equally embarrassing nature with
    her. Quite naturally, I decided against it.

    I'm glad you

    did," I told her, just as we turned onto her street. "I think that's
    hot as hell...I then told her."

    "You do?

    That doesn't freak or weird you out knowing that? Because the truth is David, I
    like doing it. I like the way I feel, the way my orgasms feel just by having my
    tits played with. And to be perfectly honest...it felt far more enjoyable when
    you did it, than when I do it myself!" she now added.

    We were

    approaching her house, I had slowed the car down to a crawl...hoping.

    "Pull

    over!" she suddenly exclaimed, and I did so, cutting the lights off as I
    did, basically coasting up next to the curb, engine off. We'd stopped two
    houses up the street from where she lived, the tall hedgerow next to her
    driveway effectively cutting off anyone's being able to see us parked there.
    Luckily, in addition to that, the lights were off in each of the two houses we
    were parked in front of. The house next to Stacy's currently vacant, and the
    other lived in by an older woman who retired early as she quickly informed me.
    In a flash, she had lifted her tee shirt once again, her beautiful bare tits a
    feast for my eyes, nipples once again hard and extended. Even before I could
    reach for them, her hand was already fumbling with the belt on my jeans.

    "Ah

    Stacy? There's something I should tell you," I began nervously.

    "I

    already know," she giggled. "That sort of triggered it when I
    did," she then added laughing. "So the question is...can you do it
    again?"

    "Can

    you?" I answered back. And then we both proved to one another that we
    could.

    **

    That night

    was only the beginning of one of the wildest periods in my entire life.
    Something that lasted well on into the summer after we had graduated just a few
    short weeks later. The only downside to anything, was the following Monday when
    I had quite stupidly boasted of my miraculous success. Had I left it at
    actually touching bare tit, there would have been feasting and
    celebration...for days perhaps. Instead, I was looked upon as being a liar,
    exaggerating and at best, trying to one up my status in trying to claim John's
    throne, by claiming something that was totally unheard of, exaggerated, and
    totally unbelievable. And even dumber now having shared it, it was a newfound
    status, or an attempted one rather, I no longer wanted. In hindsight, I was
    glad no one believed my story, though I was now fearful that my telling it
    would get back to Stacy, and thus end what was to become one of the wildest
    periods of my entire life. Thankfully...it didn't. Not yet anyway. That
    wouldn't happen for some time yet, though when it did, my earlier stupidity
    came back to haunt me.

    But until

    that actually happened...

    To be

    continued. Based on a post by Many Feathers, for Literotica.

    27 min
  • The Librarian: Part 2
    About Last Night

     by horn pixy. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.



    Well,
    she thought almost bitterly as she got dressed in sweatpants and a
    plain black sweater that was soft and a little loose after her latest,
    and to date most successful, weight-loss plan. She considered shoes, but
    settled for her fluffy pink slippers instead. So much for her brilliant
    theory. She had sat there for hours and hours on the most uncomfortable
    stool ever, drinking glass after glass of whiskey because she didn’t
    know what else to order and was too shy to ask. And nobody; not even one
    man; had shown any interest in her. The only one who talked at her at
    all was the hot bartender, who…

    The bartender! Of course! That’s
    why the man had looked familiar to her in her bathroom. His features had
    been blurry without her glasses, of course, but she was reasonably sure
    it was him. She was almost a hundred percent certain of it. The only
    question was; what was he doing in her apartment?

    “It’s a long
    story,” he said when she asked him later, in her kitchen, her hair
    wrapped up in a towel and perched on her head. His eyes followed her
    movements around the kitchen as she got milk from the fridge for the
    coffee and put bread in the toaster. The irony of the
    morning-after-nothing-happened breakfast didn’t escape his notice.
    “I have time,” she said carefully, closing the blinds to avoid all possible sources of light. “Give me the quick version.”

    “Fine,”
    he said with a sigh. “You were drunk, I helped you home. My keys are
    locked in my car and I couldn’t get a cab to come get me. That’s it, in a
    nutshell. And because I know you’re still wondering, I spent the night
    on your couch, shivering a little. Ok, shivering a lot. It was damn
    cold. Plus I have a crick in my neck now.”
    She winced. “I’m sorry. I wish you’d waken me up, I would at least have helped you with a blanket.”
    “I
    could have used your hairdryer to build a nuclear bomb right next to
    your bed and you wouldn’t have woken up. You were out cold.”
    Another wince.
    “I’m really sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never been that drunk before. I’m really not the type.”

    “I know,” he said, not bothering to hide his grin. “You told me last night.”
    She
    chewed her bottom lip nervously. Brandon wanted to take that hot little
    task over for her. He imagined nibbling on those petal soft lips and
    cleared his throat a little.
    “What else did I tell you?” she wanted to know apprehensively.
    “Well, you work in a library, and you can’t lie even to telephone salespeople.”
    “Is that all?”
    “Not by a long shot. By the way, what does technically mean?”
    She frowned and cocked her head in a ‘what do you mean?’ way. “Technically?”
    “Yes. When is something technically and when is it; I don’t know, untechnically? Physically? Literally?”
    “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” she said and smeared a thin strip of margarine over her dry toast.

    He cupped his hands around the plain white cup filled to the brim with coffee and leaned forward.
    “Tell
    me,” he said conversationally, sadistically waiting for her to take a
    bite of toast. “How does one remain a virgin, but only technically?”
    She started choking as he’d expected, coughing and wheezing and grabbing her coffee to help the dry bread down the right pipe.
    “What?”

    “Apparently,
    if you were speaking the truth last night which drunk people seem prone
    to do for some reason, you are technically still a virgin, but not in a
    physical sense. I was just wondering how that happens.”
    “I told you that? Oh my; I’m so sorry!”
    He laughed at the red flush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks.
    “Relax,” he said. “Its fine. I would just love to hear that story. Because there has to be a story.”
    “Not really,” she muttered, and then, as an afterthought, “I’m never drinking again.”
    “Wise words that has been spoken by many, many people over the years.”
    “I mean it,” she insisted. “I honestly can’t believe I told you that.”
    “Virginity is nothing to be ashamed of,” Brandon said, stroking one finger down her arm.
    “It kind of is, when you’re twenty nine.”
    He gaped. “You’re twenty nine and you’ve never had sex? How the hell had that happen?”
    “I don’t know, it just; happened,” she muttered. “Or more to the point, it just never happened.”
    “There must be a reason,” he prompted.

    “There
    isn’t one specific reason, it’s more like a series of non-sexual
    incidents, strung together by everything from dating sites to
    five-minute dating games and more blind dates than I can count.”
    “I take it none of that worked for you?”
    “I
    met the most interesting people. Like Mike, who was seventy two at the
    time, and told me he had a granddaughter fantasy he wanted to play out
    with me.”
    “He wanted you to pretend to be his granddaughter?”
    She
    shook her head. “If only. I’m not sure how this would have played out
    since I didn’t stick around to find out, but I had to play the
    grandfather. And he was one of the better options.”
    Brandon sat back, stunned. “No way,” he said disbelievingly.

    She
    nodded. “I’m serious. After him was a series of serial losers; men who
    couldn’t hold on to jobs and girls and had to borrow money from one loan
    shark to pay off the next. The type of guys whose idea of cleaning out
    the trailer means letting a stray dog in to lick the stains from the
    floor and to put all the porn in one box.”
    Oh, he was in deep shit,
    Brandon thought as he roared with laughter. She had a sense of humor.
    There was, to his mind, nothing sexier in a girl than a sense of humor.
    “And after them?”

    She
    frowned. “I met this guy, his name is Stanley, online. We went on a few
    dates and it didn’t go too bad, till his parole officer contacted me to
    let me know he was back in jail for harassing little kids at a park.”
    She winced. “It was messy. The police went through my house, looking for
    signs of kiddie-porn. Apparently he was part of a child-prostitution
    and trafficking ring. I had no idea. I got off with a warning, since
    there was no evidence that I was involved, and he told them that I knew
    nothing. I suspect they still monitor my internet history every once in a
    while.”

    Helpless laughter rocked through him. No wonder she was
    still a virgin, if these were the kind of men she stumbled across during
    her search.
    “What about high school?” he asked. “And college?”
    She
    looked down at her hands. “I wasn’t exactly Miss Popular in school,”
    she said simply. “I wasn’t even that shy girl that nobody talks to
    except when they need help with math, because I sucked at math. Still
    do, as a matter of fact. I didn’t fit in with any of the clicks. I
    wasn't pretty and I wasn't clever, and I didn’t have any secret talents.
    The only thing I was good at was reading, and I did a lot of that. But
    nobody makes friends in the school library, right? Especially not if the
    girl is chubby and have the fashion sense of a blind nun.”
    “Now that
    part I can help you with,” he said. “Why don’t I go shopping with you
    and help you pick out a few outfits that will make the, uh, best of your
    figure?”

    She looked down at herself. True, she was wearing
    sweatpants, but they were new and still neat. And her sweater might be a
    bit too big after her diet, but it was of a good material and had been
    expensive and it didn’t lose shape in the wash. But his words made her
    feel downright dowdy.

    “Do you remember what I told you last night?” he asked.
    “I barely remember you, never mind anything you told me,” she said, stung.
    He
    frowned a little and gazed at her with an intent look on his face that
    made her wonder if he could see more than what she revealed.
    “You
    expressed the wish to... how to put this delicately? find somebody to
    enjoy yourself with, but you were concerned that you don’t have the
    right look and personality to attract men. I merely offered my advice to
    help you if you wanted an objective opinion.”

    “Oh,” she said, pushing her plate away from her with one finger.
    Actually,
    what he’d promised was to help her learn to fake it, but Brandon was
    strangely reluctant to hurt her feelings by telling her that. She was
    female, after all, and would immediately conclude that he thought she
    wasn’t good enough or pretty enough, or didn’t have what it takes to
    attract men like ants to a syrup bottle.
    And that was just bull.
    Even if he had had almost those exact same thoughts not twelve hours ago.

    “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked after a few semi-awkward moments of silence.
    He shrugged. “Maybe I’m just a nice guy.”
    “Men are never nice unless they have an agenda.”
    He winced. “Ouch. True, but ouch.”
    She gave him a small smile. “So what’s your agenda?”
    Getting in your pants.
    “Maybe I want library privileges.”
    She snorted. “Like what?”
    Showing you what the reference section should really be used for.
    “Maybe I have a fine for a book that’s late. Think you can help me make it disappear?”
    Her smile was like the sunrise.
    “Are you trying to bribe me?”

    He leaned forward with a grin. “Maybe I am. Are you corruptible?”
    “Certainly
    not. I’m a good girl, you know.” She was trying hard to look prim and
    proper, and failing miserably. Her eyes; those bluer-than-the-sky eyes
    of hers; were filled with laughter behind her pretty glasses, despite
    the way she was pursing her lips and trying to look chastising.
    “All
    right. So I’ll have to pay the fine, then. How about this? There’s a
    book I want to read, but it’s on a waiting list. I would love to be
    moved to the top of the list.”
    She pretended to think about it. “That depends,” she decided. “What book is it?”

    He couldn’t help it, couldn’t resist the invitation their flirting was issuing.
    “The Art of Pleasuring Women,” he said, wondering if she would accept the unvoiced challenge.
    She
    did, though her eyes widened slightly in scandalous provocation. “Well,
    now,” she said, clearing her throat a little. “I guess I can be
    convinced. Wouldn’t want your girlfriend to be dissatisfied by your
    prowess. It would be sad for the poor girl if you didn’t know how to;
    get things done. You might even say it’s my civic duty to let you have
    the necessary instruction.”
    His throat was a little dry and he lifted
    his cup to his lips, surprised to realize there wasn’t another drop.
    “Yeah,” he said. “Education is important. Speaking of education, I think
    it’s time for lesson one.”
    “Lesson one in what?”
    He grinned. “Making you irresistible.”

    Emily
    twisted her hair into a clip with a practiced movement. Brandon had
    given her couple of hours while he got a cab to take him home and get
    his spare keys, promising to be back for her first lesson. She felt
    awkward when he left, sure it would be the last time she saw him. She
    knew he thought her plain and uninteresting– he’d basically said it
    himself in so many words; and he had absolutely no reason to waste his
    Saturday on her. She was surprised at the desolation she had felt when
    she stood at her window, watching his cab pull off. He was the first man
    in a long time to be nice to her. Not many guys would go to the trouble
    he’d gone too to get her home safely. He’d looked after her as if they
    were friends, and this morning he’d joked with her and put her at ease,
    making her forget about the humiliation of her alcohol-loosened tongue
    of the previous evening. For goodness’ sake, she had told him she was
    still a virgin. Why on earth had she felt the need to share that with
    him? Now he would always remember her as that crazy girl who couldn’t
    handle a few drinks and had no taste in clothes. He was nice, and
    talking to him had been very nice and seeing him again would be even
    nicer, but she was not naïve enough to believe he would be back. Still,
    she couldn’t help taking extra care when she dried her hair and did her
    make-up. The result was less than satisfactory, to her own eyes. No
    matter what she did, she would be plain. Nothing could change that. She
    had never been pretty, nor would she ever be.

    “And you’d best
    make peace with it,” she muttered to her slightly depressed image in the
    mirror. She threw open her closet and looked at the piles of clothes
    that had been arranged with military precision, according to color and
    styles.
    It was a bit sad, watching her cupboard. Most of what she
    owned was either white or beige or cream, or any variation of that.
    There were blacks and navy blues, and a few browns and greys. Some dowdy
    shades of maroon and a mourning, drab purple, but that was it.

    Was
    this really what her life had whittled down to? Her job was going
    nowhere, fast, she had no relationships outside her head, and her closet
    looked like she let her grandmother do her shopping. Why on earth had
    she bought that grey and brown coat hanging in the back? It was
    horrible. It was hideous, even if it was made of the finest wool she’d
    ever touched.

    Emily pulled it off the hanger and dumped it on the
    bed unceremoniously. She grabbed another jacket, a few skirts she was
    ashamed to say she’d worn more than twice. The heap on her bed piled
    high as she emptied her closet almost completely. She was feeling
    slightly frantic by the time she was done with the coats and jackets and
    started on slacks and trousers. Had she been blind her entire life, to
    wear this?
    “What are you doing?” a voice suddenly said, disturbing
    her. Emily dropped a faded charcoal blouse on the floor in surprise. Her
    sort-of friend and downstairs neighbor was staring at the bed, which
    was covered with clothes, with an expression of revulsion. She must have
    used the spare key Emily had left with her, because Emily had locked
    the door behind Brandon. Usually Judith knocked, but Emily hadn’t heard
    anything.
    “You!” said Emily accusingly, bending down to pick up the shirt and holding it out in front of her. “I blame you!”
    “For what?” Judith asked, clearly not sure what to expect.
    “This
    is partly your fault,” Emily scolded, shaking and accusing finger at
    Judith. “How could you let me wear this crap? In public?”

    Judith stared at the bed, her mouth working a little as she processed the situation.
    “I thought you liked it.”
    “You should have told me I look about ninety! What sort of friend are you?”
    “Em, you always look neat. I thought…”
    “Neat! I looked neat. And how many guys want to have sex with neatness, I ask you?”
    “Uhm…” Judith cleared her throat. “Clearly, not as many as you’d like.”
    Emily
    threw another armful of blouses; a mustardy floral, a khaki-with-frills
    and a navy box neck that looked like the wrong end of the fifties; on
    the bed.
    “None, that’s how many,” she said grimly. “How am I supposed
    to get somebody to marry if I can’t even find a man to have sex with
    me? What’s wrong with me?”
    “There is not a thing wrong with you,”
    Judith said immediately and loyally. “You just; appeal to a different
    demographic than the men you meet.”
    “Yeah,” Emily muttered. “The men
    at the senior citizen really enjoy chatting to me on Library Tuesday.
    They show up by the busloads to come see me.”

    Judith stifled a laugh. “Why are you taking all of your clothes out of your closet?”
    Emily sank down on her bead and glanced at the pile of ugly materials and styles.
    “I’m
    getting rid of it,” she said darkly. “All of it. And I’m going to buy
    new things. Pretty things. Color, Judith, I need color. Pink and green
    and yellow. Red! I don’t even have a red dress. Why don’t I have a hot
    red dress?”

    “Red’s really not your color,” Judith said. “Or
    yellow, to be honest. You need to stay away from red and yellow, and
    definitely no orange.”
    “See? Why haven’t you told me this before? Look at me, Judith, I’m a mess.”
    Judith
    sat down next to her. “I guess you always seem so content, so at peace
    with your life. I used to envy you that. I’m the most unstable person I
    know, and you just never cared what people thought about you. I had no
    idea you were dissatisfied. I’m sorry I let you wear ugly clothes.”
    Emily
    gave a small laugh and glanced at the empty hangers in the closet.
    There were two coats that had passed her test; a truly timeless black
    cashmere and a really warm, snowy white one she’d bought on sale but
    hadn’t worn yet because it would get dirty the second she ventured out
    of her bedroom.
    “It’s ok. It’s not your fault. I should have realized I need help long before now.”
    “What
    brought this on?” Judith asked, picking up the mustard shirt looking at
    it shrewdly. “This would make an excellent floor rag, by the way.”

    Emily
    laughed slightly. “Nothing brought it on. I’m just; I’m tired of being
    part of the scenery in my own life, you know? When is it my turn to have
    some fun? I’ve been waiting so patiently for my life to begin, and look
    where it’s brought me. I’m twenty nine, I’ve never had sex, and I’m too
    scared to venture outside this comfort zone I’ve been digging for
    myself with serviceable clothing and comfortable shoes and not enough
    friends.”
    “Your shoes are really ugly,” Judith said, honestly. “And I
    promise I’ll tell you from now on if you wear something that doesn’t
    work.”
    Emily looked at her nearly empty cupboard. “Thanks,” she said.
    “I guess I’ll take this stuff to the Salvation Army, if they want it.”

    “Let
    me help with that,” Judith said. “I have a car, so it’ll be much easier
    for me. I know a great homeless shelter that needs donations
    desperately.”
    “I’d appreciate that,” Emily said. “Why did you come here today? Did they drop my mail off in your box again?”
    “No,
    I wanted to ask about that really hot guy I saw coming out of your
    apartment a while ago. Was he the cable repair man or something?”

    “No,”
    Emily said, blushing a little. “He; actually, he spent the night here.
    On my couch,” she added quickly. “Nothing happened. I was so drunk he
    had to bring me home from the bar.”
    Judith’s eyes widened. “But you never drink,” she said.
    “I did last night.”
    “Never mind that, then. Oh my word, Emily, you let a stranger sleep over at your house? And you didn’t jump him?”

    “He wasn’t interested in being jumped,” Emily said. “He’s just; a nice guy I’m never going to see again.”
    Judith chewed the inside of her lip. “Leave this stuff,” she said, “and bring your credit card. We’re going to go shopping.”

    Brandon
    paced the hallway outside Emily’s apartment. He’d been there for an
    hour and she still wasn't opening the door. She was either avoiding him
    on purpose, or incapable of answering the damn bell, or, most probably,
    not home.
    Which just plain pissed him off. Hadn’t he told her he would be back? She had no business being out when he wanted to see her!

    He
    kept walking, following the generic grey carpeting with the navy
    pattern with his eyes. This was ridiculous. He should be at home,
    watching sport or having an afternoon nap. He should not be pacing
    around, waiting for Emily to show up. What was he, a horny teenager who
    mistakes lust for love?

    He forced himself to leave after another
    half hour. No girl was worth waiting for like this. It was pathetic and
    sad and told him, more than anything else, how much he needed to get
    laid. These; feelings he seemed to have caught, were like a disease. Or a
    virus. And the best cure for unwanted feelings is a good old-fashioned
    boink fest. He knew plenty of girls who would be more than happy to
    oblige. It was just such a pity he wasn't interested in anybody except
    Emily.
    Brandon scowled.

    “Are you sure about the dress?” Emily
    asked for the third time, loading the last of the shopping bags into
    Judith’s car. They’d spent almost five hours straight in the shops, with
    Judith dragging her from the one shop to the next, picking out clothes
    and smelling discounts from miles away. Her arms were sore from carrying
    the bags around, and her credit card had given up screaming in pain ten
    purchases ago. Instead, she imagined it making small little whimpers as
    it lay in her wallet, trying to curl itself up against the agony and
    torture she’d put it through.

    But oh, she loved the clothes! The
    colors; Emily had never thought there were so many shades of pink, or
    that she could look so good in pastel and bright colors alike. For the
    first time in years, she didn’t feel dowdy. She felt pretty, since
    Judith had made her go to a bathroom and change from frumpy and dumpy to
    smart and sexy. She was wearing a short skirt, teetering around on
    high-heeled boots that could not possible be good for her insteps. She
    felt deliciously slutty, even though the skirt wasn't that short. But
    the tight black sweater she wore with it dipped low enough to make men
    take a second look, and the jacket she had on over it was hot-pink and
    attention grabbing. Added to that the new jewelry and a sexy little
    scarf, and she felt like a million dollars.

    Judith didn’t need to
    ask what dress she was talking about. It was a slinky black number with
    very flattering, very seductive lines. It was shorter than sin, and
    with the right bra, would show off more cleavage than a centerfold
    Playboy Bunny. It was completely backless and basically said, ‘take me
    to bed and tear me off her body.’
    “I’m sure,” she said. “Em, you look
    so hot in that dress, even I wanted to jump you in the fitting room.
    Brandon’s gonna eat his heart out.”
    “I don’t want Brandon to eat his
    heart out,” Emily muttered, but she grinned a little. “I wouldn’t mind
    him eating something else out, though.”
    Judith gasped in shock. “Why, Emily Brown," she said. “You’re positively slutty!”
    “What,” Emily said defensively, “just because I’m a virgin, I need to be prudish?”
    “I created a monster,” Judith said, shaking her head as she backed out.

    Brandon
    couldn’t stop scowling as he rolled out of bed the next morning. It was
    still snowing outside, and he had spent the entire evening stomping
    around in his house. That bloody librarian had him all tied up. He was
    angry, and horny, and annoyed all at the same time. After waiting around
    for three hours outside her apartment the previous day, he’d gone home,
    only to keep thinking about her. And now it was Sunday, and it was
    still snowing, and he was damned if he would spend another day
    frustrated as hell.
    The lady needed lessons, and he was damned well going to be the one to teach them to her.
    Starting today.

    Emily
    brushed her hair, marveling at the lightness of the layered and
    highlighted strands. The swelling on her eyebrows had finally gone down,
    after the waxing and tinting she’d agreed to the previous day. And the
    new eyeliner made all the difference in the world. She experimented at
    leisure with the new make-up Judith had helped her choose, and loving
    the outfit she had decided on that morning; a pair of surprisingly
    comfortable jeans with the boots of the previous day, an amethyst-color
    sweater that hugged her body and showed off the curves she had always
    kept hidden for some reason. She fixed the silver hoops in her ears and
    wondered how she was going to settle the bills on her credit card. She
    almost had more debt now than right after she finished her degree at the
    university.

    But oh, it was worth every cent. Every time she
    opened her cupboard doors and saw the cornucopia of colors adorning her
    pretty white shelves, she wanted to hug herself and dance a little jig.
    She had the weirdest urge to grab her hairbrush and sing along to the
    mixed CD she was listening to while she got dressed, but she figured it
    was unacceptable behavior to anybody over the age of oh, say, fourteen.

    But
    then she got a what-the-hell feeling and grabbed her brush. She might
    have missed out on the dance-like-you’re a teenager phase when she
    actually was a teenager, but there was no reason not to catch up on that
    now, was there? She spun around her room, ignoring the unmade bed and
    singing along to the newest teen-sensation swooning about a boy and what
    he did to her.

    “And you make me want you like a grown-up…” she crooned along to the singer.
    Emily
    could relate. She had never been passionate, to say the least. She had a
    vibrator in her bedside table, and she used it occasionally, but she
    suspected there was something wrong with her that she didn’t enjoy it
    much. It made her feel pathetic, the way she’d felt at twenty-five when
    she finally decided to end her virginal status on her own, if she
    couldn’t get a man to help her with the pesky little task. She cried
    when she broke through the barrier, so lonely and depressed that she
    just took out the vibrator; a pretty pink one with different settings;
    and went to go clean up in the bathroom. There had been no pleasure,
    none of the ecstasy she’d read about in books and seen in movies. It had
    felt humiliating and like giving up, and she had hated herself for it.

    She
    tried using the vibrator again, and after a few times she actually had
    an orgasm. Which was great while it lasted, but afterwards she felt
    stupid and tainted and like such a loser. She still used it
    occasionally, though the orgasms seemed to be getting smaller every
    time. Maybe she was getting too old to enjoy sex. Maybe her body was
    tricked into thinking it was time to go through menopause, since it
    wasn’t being used the way nature intended for it to be used. And she had
    never, with one exception, looked at a man and gotten turned on. Men
    were from Mars, and she didn’t speak Martian. She was tongue tied and
    avoided them like a second-grade girl, at the same time wishing one of
    them would just look at her once, fall head over heels and coax her out
    of her shell. But Brandon; Brandon made her want him in a way she had
    never thought it was possible to want somebody. Maybe it was because he
    was the first man to take the time to talk to her, or maybe it was
    because he’d hit her at a vulnerable stage with that smile of his, but
    when she had looked out of her shower to see him standing there, she’d
    felt the heat low in her belly, unfurling and moving to her nether
    regions. He was hot. He made her want things, like one-night stands and
    short flings and naked bodies writhing together.

    He made her feel like a women, even if he wasn't interested.
    And that was more pathetic than anything else.

    Her
    doorbell rang, several times shortly after each other, indicating
    irritation on the other side of the door. It was probably Judith, so she
    slicked one last coat of gloss over her lips and headed to the sitting
    room, eager to show her friend what she looked like. Only it wasn't
    Judith.
    It was Brandon.

    Brandon swallowed once. Was he at the
    wrong apartment? Because there was a really, really hot girl standing
    where he had expected to see Emily. And maybe his cock was finally ready
    to get down and dirty with somebody else, because it was stirring
    subtly, reminding Brandon that he hadn’t had sex in about five months.
    At least not with somebody else in the room.
    “Hey,” the girl said.
    Brandon’s eyes were glued to the plump, shiny lips the color of ripe
    cherries and he swallowed convulsively.

    She was wearing Emily’s
    glasses, and she was standing in Emily’s doorway, but there was no way
    Emily could be wearing clothes that made him want to take her right
    there, against the wall in the hallway.
    “Hi,” he croaked, feeling as
    if he was in high school again and trying to talk to pretty girl who
    owned the locker next to his. All tongue-tied and awkward. The pretty
    girl cleared her throat and gave a step back. “Would you like to come
    inside?”
    “Sure,’ he said, but he couldn’t seem to move. It felt as if
    the connection between his feet and his brain had been severed (best
    guess put the cut-off point somewhere near his groin) and he was unable
    to do anything but stare.

    At her tits. Those previously thought
    plain, nondescript tits. They were perfect. Not too big, not too small.
    Full and high, soft and plump. He itched to have them in his hands and
    do something; anything; with them. To them. On them. For them.

    “Brandon?”
    Her
    voice sounded like it had been made to say his name, preferably in
    different tones of passion. He could imagine her crying it out as the
    orgasm hit her, and he swallowed again, trying to force his brain to get
    rid of the lust-driven haze so he could function like a normal human
    being.
    “Sorry,” he said quickly. “You look…”
    “Different?” she
    guessed and looked down at the soft, form-fitting sweater that made her
    skin seem all healthy and glowing and; stuff. Or something.
    “Really beautiful,” he amended. “Really, really beautiful.”
    “Thanks,”
    she said, glancing down uncomfortably, reminding him that she was a
    very shy girl, despite the fact that she set fire to his fantasies.

    “Where did you disappear to yesterday?” he asked when the awkward silence stretched out too long.
    She smiled, a surprised, delighted smile that brought forth a little dimple he hadn’t noticed before.
    “You came back,” she said. “I didn’t think you would.”
    He just looked at her. “I said I would,” he said quietly. “Why didn’t you believe me?”
    She
    blushed, and damn if it wasn't cute. “Well, I didn’t think I would see
    you again. I know I’m not the kind of girl men comes back to, especially
    not men like you.”
    “Men like me?”

    “I know what I am and what I
    am not; you don’t need to pretend anything to spare my feelings. But
    anyway, I went shopping. For clothes. With my friend Judith.”
    “I’m glad you went shopping,” he said. “But to come back to the men like me remark…”
    “Hot
    men,” she muttered, shamefacedly. “But like I said, I know what I see
    in the mirror so you don’t have to pretend to be attracted to me or
    whatever. I won’t blame you if you don’t want me, or don’t want to help
    me. Only…” she paused for a second. “Just don’t pity me, okay? I don’t
    need anybody’s pity. I’m fine with who I am.”

    Brandon didn’t
    think; he simply acted. He gave one step and then he was flush up
    against her. He twisted their bodies skillfully so that her back was
    pressed against the doorway. He didn’t take the time he’d imagined he
    would when he cupped her face between his palms, took off her glasses
    and dropped it on the floor behind her, bent his head, and kissed her.

    It
    was an electric thing, the kiss. Their lips were barely touching, and
    there was not enough pressure to satisfy him, but it still sent chills
    racing up and down his body. He rubbed his lips over hers, getting some
    of that cherry-red gloss on his own mouth and not minding one bit. He
    sucked her bottom lip between his and enjoyed her surprised little gasp.
    He licked over that softest skin on the inside of her lip and then
    nibbled lightly with his teeth. He pulled back, stretching her lip a
    little before letting go. He didn’t move away; not yet. Instead, he
    pressed a chaste kiss on the one corner of her mouth, and another on the
    other side. She smelled fantastic. No heavy, seductive perfume that
    made him want to sneeze and drink allergy medicine. She carried the
    scent of her innocence, and it smelled like some light sort of flower.
    Clean, and fresh, and young, like a rose covered with early morning dew,
    and could he possibly get any cornier? If he didn’t stop thinking, he
    was going to start spouting poetry soon.

    So he stopped thinking
    and touched her lips again, a bit firmer this time, just to remind her
    who was in charge. He felt the natural softness that indicated her
    femininity, felt the way they gave and molded under his, shaping around
    his in a warm, strangely familiar way. He touched his tongue to the
    Cupid ’s bow, following the line of her lips with the tip of his tongue,
    knowing that it would intoxicate her as much as it did him. When he
    reached the plump bottom lip, he slipped his tongue to taste the seam of
    her closed mouth, sliding it first in one direction and then the next.
    He pressed lightly, asking her wordlessly for permission, for access.
    She softened her lips further and he slid his tongue in a little
    further.

    Her taste blossomed and he groaned as it assaulted his
    senses. He couldn’t wait to taste the rest of her, to taste all of her.
    He could feel his breathing picking up speed as he explored her mouth
    relentlessly. Her arms slipped around his neck and she rose on her toes
    to press herself closer to him. He could feel and taste and sense her
    inexperience in her hesitation. She was a little bit clumsy, and it was
    endearingly sweet to him, knowing that this girl-woman trusted him
    enough to let him kiss her like this.

    He deepened the kiss, one
    of his hands sliding achingly slowly down her back to press her against
    him even more. He wanted to move his hand to the more interesting
    terrain of her front, but he was oddly content just to hold her like
    this while he taught her more about the art of kissing with infinite
    patience. He pressed a little harder, hungry for just a little more, and
    coaxed her tongue from her mouth with his own. She didn’t understand
    what he wanted, and he knew she was confused by the change in the angle
    of his mouth as it slanted over hers.

    “Give me your tongue,’ he whispered hoarsely against her lips.
    “What?” she asked dazedly.
    “Your
    tongue,” he said again, moving his hand lower to cup her deliciously
    soft ass in his palm. She was all feminine curves; firm, but not overly
    muscled, like too many women nowadays who spent more time in a gym than
    at home. She felt so different from him, and he reveled in the way their
    bodies fit together, hard against soft, muscles against curves. She
    wasn't fat, not even chubby, but she wasn’t a stick figure either.
    She was so; absolutely; perfect.

    To be continued, by horn pixy.

    36 min
  • Michigan Weather and Women: Part 4
    Michigan Weather and Women: Part 4
    Finding real love, at last.

    Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the

    Podcast at Connected.



    Driving home the next day felt like waking up from some kind

    of dream until I pulled into our driveway and Munchkin came running out to
    greet me. As I was getting out to reassure him that he hadn't been abandoned,
    the reality of my life settled right back in. I went inside, and Lane and Mary
    grunted their hellos without looking up.

    Ah, home.

    I texted Erin that I made it back safely, and she replied

    almost immediately saying what a great night she had, and how much she missed
    me already. It was going to be a long three weeks until she rotated back to the
    hospital in Petoskey. Luckily, life was as busy as always, and time flew by.
    For the first time since I was a child, I could honestly say that I was happy.

    My happiness lasted until the day before Erin was scheduled

    to return.

    I got my first inkling that something might be wrong when I

    called to see if Wilma wanted me to pick up any groceries for her from town.
    She didn't answer, which was strange, and the call went to voicemail. Even if
    she was napping, she was a very light sleeper and would normally answer by the
    third ring. I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, so I went straight to
    Wilma's to make sure she was alright.

    Everything seemed fine when I pulled into the yard, but

    there was no answer when I knocked on her door. I tried again, but there was
    nothing but an eerie silence. Fearing the worst, I grabbed the spare key from
    its hiding place and went inside. I called Wilma's name and, hearing no reply,
    went quickly through the house trying to find her. When I got to her bedroom, I
    could hear a low moaning sound from the attached washroom. I ran in and found
    Wilma collapsed by the bathtub. She had slipped and hit her head, injuring her
    hip and arm in the process. She didn't have her phone with her when she fell
    and had been unable to move, so who knows how long she had been lying there.

    I called 911 for an ambulance and then called Erin and

    suggested that she meet us at the hospital. It took forever for the paramedics
    to arrive, and longer still to get Wilma loaded into the ambulance. By the time
    I got to the hospital, she was already being triaged by their emergency team.

    I took a few minutes while I waited for an update on Wilma's

    condition to call the rest of the family and give them the news. Alison came
    directly to the hospital after class, and Sharon brought Mary and Lane as soon
    as they got home from school. Erin arrived a few hours later and broke down
    when she saw me. Finally, just after nine, the doctors gave Erin an update.
    Wilma was in rough shape; she was badly dehydrated and had a moderate
    concussion, a fractured wrist, and a bone bruise on her hip. It would take her
    weeks to recover in the hospital. The good news was that she would make a
    recovery, given enough time and support.

    Erin and Mary decided to stay with Wilma in the hospital

    while Sharon dropped Alison at her dorm and drove Lane back to the house. By
    midnight, Mary had nodded off in a chair in the corner of Wilma's room, while I
    waited outside with Erin.

    "You should go home, Davis. There's nothing else you

    can do tonight. Thank God, you found her; I am not sure what I would have done
    if you hadn't. I already lost Grampy; I am not ready to lose Gran as well. They
    are all I have."

    I wrapped her in my arms and pulled her close.

    "You have me, now, too. And the girls. And you know

    Lane would do anything for you, you just need to ask. I was serious about what
    I said in Grand Rapids, Erin. I love you."

    Erin pulled me closer but didn't reply.

    The following week was a rollercoaster of emotions. Wilma

    was improving far quicker than the doctors had anticipated, but she would still
    be in rehab for at least another two weeks. It was impossible to hide Wilma's
    accident from the rest of the family, and they descended on the hospital like
    vultures; or, more accurately, their lawyers descended on the hospital while,
    for the most part, they stayed far away where it was warm. The one exception
    was Erin's stepfather, who flew in the next day.

    "For Christ's sake, Erin. Haven't you done enough harm

    as it is? Do you want your Gran to die alone on the floor of that dingy old
    shack of hers? It's time for her to move into a care facility that can look
    after her. Be reasonable!"

    When he failed to persuade Erin to act on his behalf, his

    attorneys requested an emergency court order, alleging that Wilma lacked the
    capacity to make her own medical decisions, that Erin was not acting in her
    best interests, and that one of Wilma's children should be appointed as her
    legal guardian. Wilma was furious when she learned of his actions, but there
    was little she could do to stop him until she was discharged from the hospital.
    Both sides knew that her doctor's recommendation would hold a lot of weight
    with the judge, and it was not good news for Wilma when it came.

    "If Mrs. Anderson is to return home, she will require

    around-the-clock care and company. If such care can't be arranged, then I
    recommend that she be placed in a long-term assisted-living facility that can
    treat any lingering effects from her fall, and from her late-stage
    cancer."

    Erin took the news like a physical blow, and she staggered

    backward to a chair. We didn't have the resources for 24-hour nursing, and it
    would be impossible to arrange it with such short notice even if we did.

    "I'm sorry, Davis. I need to be alone for a while to

    think."

    She left without looking back or saying goodbye to Wilma, and

    I just let her go. I wanted to ease her pain, but I knew that there was nothing
    I could do. She had lost, and her family had won. I was despondent as I made my
    way towards the exit, so much so that I nearly ran into Alison who was
    finishing up her shift at the hospital.

    "You look terrible, Brother, what happened? Is Wilma

    alright?"

    I explained to her about the doctor's recommendation and

    Erin's reaction.

    "No one has had the heart to tell Wilma, yet. She's

    recovered from the fall, but this news is going to kill her."

    Alison looked at me for a minute, before her mouth quirked

    upwards in a smile.

    "I'll do it."

    "What do you mean?

    "I'll do it. I'll look after Wilma. I am wrapping up my

    clinical practicum tomorrow, and I was planning on working this summer. I will
    look after Wilma instead. Mary can move in with us as well, and I can teach her
    what she needs to know to care for her when I'm not there. Once her school year
    is done in June, she and I can spell each other off, and I can still pick up
    some shifts here and there."

    It was an amazing offer, but I couldn't let her do it.

    "Alison, I can't ask you to give up your job for the

    summer. You need that money for your living expenses at school."

    "You're not asking; I'm offering. And since you've paid

    for my tuition so far, I am debt-free and can take out a loan to cover my last
    term."

    "I didn't cover the tuition, it was your;"

    "Davis. Really? Our mother, who never met a five-dollar

    bill she couldn't snort or inject, left me a college fund? Please. I am not an
    idiot. I love you, Big Brother, and I love what you have done for me and the
    others, but it's my time to step up now as well. Let me do this."

    I felt a heaviness lift from my chest as I hugged Alison and

    lifted her off her feet.

    I tried to reach Erin to let her know about Alison's offer,

    but I drove to her apartment, and she wasn't there, and she must have turned
    her phone off. I figured she must have gone to Wilma's, so I headed that way. I
    pulled in just as the sun was setting and found her SUV parked in the laneway,
    crosshatched by the lengthening shadows of the trees.

    I parked and saw a lone figure at the end of the dock, still

    wearing her scrubs. I could see whitecaps on the waves as they smashed into the
    dock, and I knew she must be freezing, so I grabbed my jacket out of the back
    of the truck and went to join her. The footing was treacherous, with patches of
    ice hidden by the gloom and spray, but I made my way carefully to Erin and
    wrapped my jacket around her shoulders. She closed her eyes and leaned back
    against me.

    "Am I doing the right thing, Davis? Gran could have

    died. She would have died if not for you. Can we risk that happening again? Am
    I just holding on to the past?"

    When she was finished, Erin lapsed into silence.

    "You are doing what Wilma asked you to do. I know your

    stepfather says that she isn't mentally competent, but I tell you, if she's not
    mentally competent then none of us are."

    "But it doesn't make a difference anymore. You heard

    what the doctor said, and I can't go against her recommendation."

    "You don't have to, Erin. Alison has offered to move in

    with Wilma to look after her, and she will teach Mary to look after her as
    well. Between the two of them, Wilma can stay in the house until the fall, at
    least, and then we can see."

    Erin turned towards me in her excitement but lost her

    footing on the slippery dock and fell backward into the water, pulling me with
    her. Now, in the summer, that kind of accident might be cause for some laughter
    and an embarrassing story around the dinner table. In late April, however,
    spending any time in the frigid waters of Lake Michigan could rapidly prove
    fatal.

    The shock from the cold when Erin hit the water caused her

    to gasp involuntarily, and she took in a mouthful. I had a half-second longer
    to prepare myself and managed to keep my mouth closed as I submerged, but I
    could immediately feel the cold in my extremities. The ladder that would
    normally have been at the end of the dock had been taken out for the winter, so
    we had no choice but to make for shore.

    Time compressed as I struggled to pull us through the water

    while Erin coughed and vomited. Finally, we dragged ourselves onto the shore,
    wet and shivering. I felt clumsy and weak from the cold, and my clothes felt
    like they weighed a hundred pounds, but I wrapped my arm around Erin's waist,
    and we started stumbling toward the house. By the time we got there, we were
    both shivering uncontrollably and my hands were numb from the cold.

    I knew we needed to get warm, but it was like my brain was

    in a fog and I couldn't get my limbs to move the way they were supposed to. So,
    I did the first thing that came to mind, and started feeding paper and kindling
    into the fireplace, while Erin went to the linen closet and grabbed a stack of
    towels. She stripped off her wet scrubs while I got the fire started, and then
    she helped me get undressed as well.

    When I felt a little feeling return to my fingers, I fed a

    larger log onto the fire and then went and got a large comforter which I
    wrapped around us as we shivered in front of the fire. Eventually, our
    shivering subsided as our bodies warmed up, and Erin laid her head back against
    my chest.

    "I'm not ready for her to go. I'm not ready to be all

    alone again."

    "You're not alone anymore; not unless you want to be. I

    love you, Erin."

    I felt her relax back against me.

    "I love you too, Davis, and I'm sorry."

    "For what?"

    "For pulling you into the lake like a dumbass; fuck,

    that was cold."

    Chapter 6.

    Wilma's family insisted on taking their emergency petition

    to court, over Wilma's continued objections, but once the judge learned that
    Alison, a trained nurse, was going to be staying with her, their decision was
    an easy one. And let me tell you, Wilma's mind was still sharp as ever, and she
    made it clear both to her doctors and, eventually, to her family and the judge,
    that she wanted to go home. Erin's stepfather was beside himself with anger
    after they lost the hearing.

    "Why do you insist on delaying the inevitable like

    this? Wilma is dying. We know it, she knows it, the doctors know it. You're the
    only one who won't accept it. She would get better care in a facility with real
    nurses here in town, rather than relying on a student, a little girl, and
    whatever time you can give her at home. The next time she has a crisis maybe we
    won't get so lucky, and it will be on your head."

    Outwardly, Erin looked as smooth and unbothered as glass as

    her stepfather screamed at her, but her hand was squeezing mine so hard that I
    thought she might break a bone. Luckily, before I could say anything to make
    matters worse, Wilma intervened.

    "What is it that makes you so damn sure that you know

    what's best for everyone else? You're right, I'm dying. There is nothing that
    anyone can do about that. If I happen to fall again and speed the process along,
    so be it. But don't you dare pretend that you care one iota about my health or
    happiness, or your stepdaughter's happiness for that matter. The only thing you
    care about is getting your wife's inheritance faster. Is your business doing so
    badly that you can't wait until I die?

    It seemed like she had scored a direct hit, as his face

    turned solid red as he started to stammer out a response, but she dismissed him
    before he could even begin.

    "Now go away and leave us in peace. You will be back here

    for my funeral soon enough, and no one wants you hovering around, hoping to
    speed it up."

    A week later, Wilma was released from the hospital, and we

    brought her back home. Alison moved in right away, along with Munchkin, and
    Mary soon followed. On most days, James would come by to pick Mary up for
    school and then drop her back afterward. Alison stayed with Wilma during the
    day, and Mary covered most of the evenings. Erin came by to help whenever she
    could, and I did my best to keep them stocked with supplies.

    It wasn't perfect, but it worked and, more importantly, it

    made Wilma happy. She didn't talk much about her cancer, but it was clear that
    it was getting worse. Mary noticed that she was eating less and resting more
    and that she had begun to take her pain pills in the morning as well as in the
    evening before she went to bed. Wilma was still adamant that she wanted to stay
    in her home, however, and continued to teach Mary all she could about art and
    life.

    In early June, I had stopped by to visit Wilma and the girls

    late in the afternoon and I was still there when James dropped Mary off from
    school. He escorted her into the house but then stood awkwardly in the
    entranceway rather than leaving.

    "Mr. Crawford, could we talk for a minute, if you have

    the time?"

    I shook my head in amusement. No matter how many times I

    told him to just call me Davis, Mr. Crawford, I remained.

    "Sure, I was just finishing up with Wilma," I

    replied as I gave Wilma a gentle hug. She felt more like a bird at that point
    than a person, just skin hanging on fragile bones held together by her
    indomitable will. James looked worried as we went outside.

    "This may not be any of my business, but yesterday,

    when I got home from school, Calum and my dad were on a conference call with
    some officials from the county and Wilma's son and one of her granddaughters,
    the lawyer. I didn't mean to eavesdrop or anything, but they were on speaker,
    and it was loud enough that I could hear them in the kitchen.

    "They were saying that when Wilma dies, her estate is

    being divided up equally amongst all of the children and grandchildren, but
    there is a part of the will that states that the land by the lake can't be sold
    or developed. From the sounds of it, however, once Wilma is gone, the county is
    going to seize that land, using eminent domain, to create a public boat launch,
    since Wilma's dock is the only four-season dock for at least ten miles in
    either direction. They will fix it up and then sell the rest of the land to the
    McDougals for development.

    "So, Wilma's family will get their money when the

    county forces the sale, and the McDougals will get their land. The only person
    left who might make a fuss would be Erin, but they figure she will fall in line
    once she sees the big fat check from the county."

    Listening to James' story made my blood boil. I hated the

    kinds of rich pricks who used their money and their purchased politicians to
    run roughshod over the rest of us. I just wasn't sure if there was anything
    that we could do to stop them. I thanked James for the heads up and went to
    speak with Wilma once he left. I expected Wilma to be as filled with rage at
    her family's treachery as I was, but she seemed remarkably calm about the whole
    thing.

    "Thank you for sharing this with me and thank James for

    his candor. He must have been deeply conflicted between his loyalty to his
    family, and his desire to do the right thing. Now, as to what we are going to
    do about this, we are going to do nothing. I don't want you to mention this to
    Erin or Mary, it will just worry them and make them upset. And you have more
    important things to do than to rage against a bunch of duplicitous assholes.
    Leave this one with me.

    "Now, why don't you go outside, take that shirt off,

    and start chopping some wood or something equally manly? Erin will be here
    soon, and you know how she likes to see you when you have worked up a
    sweat."

    I didn't know exactly what Wilma had planned, but for the

    next few days, she spent a lot of time on the phone. Towards the end of June, a
    very well-dressed older man in a tailored suit was leaving her house just as I
    was pulling in. It was clear that he had been there before since Munchkin
    ignored him and came over to give me an enthusiastic greeting instead. The man
    gave me a friendly smile as he put his briefcase in his top-of-the-line Lexus
    SUV before walking over to introduce himself.

    "Brantford Sage," he said holding out his hand.

    "You must be Mr. Crawford. Wilma has told me a lot about you. With
    everything she said, I was kind of expecting you to be seven feet tall and
    wearing a cape."

    I laughed at the image.

    "It's nice that she thinks so highly of me, but she

    gives me too much credit. And please call me Davis."

    "Well, Davis, and please call me Brantford, I have

    known Wilma for more years than you have been alive, and I have never heard her
    talk about anyone the way that she talks about you, except for Phillip, of
    course. And we all know how she felt about Phillip."

    I knew that it was none of my business why Mr. Sage was

    visiting Wilma, but my desire to protect her overrode any hesitation on my part
    about speaking out.

    "I am sorry if it's rude of me to ask, Mr. Sage, but

    what is your business here with Wilma? As you may know, her own family, along
    with a local family of some prominence, have been waging a campaign to get
    Wilma to sell this land. You are not here on their behalf, are you?"

    "I can assure you, Davis, that I am only here as a

    favor to Wilma. I normally split my time between our offices in Detroit, New
    York, and London, but when Wilma calls, I make it a priority to answer. I am
    sorry that I can't say more about my business here, attorney-client privilege,
    but you can ask her yourself if you would like."

    "It's all good. Wilma is still sharp as a tack, and

    even if she has lost a step or two, she is still twice as smart and four times
    as wise as I will ever be."

    "Well, I should be going. But sadly, I am sure I will

    see you again, soon enough."

    By the end of the summer, it was clear that Wilma's

    adventures were almost done. When she worked with Mary, she would often fall
    asleep in the comfortable chair in the corner. She had never had a large
    appetite, but recently, it had dwindled almost to nothing. Erin was very
    worried and suggested that it was time to move her Gran into hospice, but Wilma
    wouldn't hear of it.

    "This house has been my home for more than 60 years; I

    am not going to leave it now. It would miss me too much, and I can't have my
    home pining away over me. There is nothing more depressing than a sad
    home."

    Even Munchkin, the dog with boundless energy, became more

    subdued and often sat a quiet watch over Wilma while she slept.

    Finally, on the last Sunday of August, I got the call I had

    been dreading. I could hear Mary's voice on the other end of the line, holding
    back tears.

    "Gran says she's too tired and it's time to stop

    fighting. She told me to call you and Erin, and ask you to come;" I could
    hear the sobs building in her as she spoke, "to say goodbye."

    "Is James there with you, Mary?"

    "I called him. He's on his way."

    "I will call Erin and then go and pick her up. She

    won't be in any condition to drive."

    I figured the odds of there being a speed trap on the

    highway to Petoskey before 7 AM on a Sunday were slim to none, so I made it to
    Erin's apartment in record time. She must have been watching for me out of her
    window, as she threw herself into my arms before I was fully out of the truck.

    "I am so sorry, Honey," was all I could say, and I

    just held her in silence until the waves of grief that wracked her body had
    subsided.

    "We should get going," I said, not knowing what

    else to say. Maybe I should have told her that "Everything would be
    alright," but I suspected that it would be a while before that was true.
    But that was okay. People grieve in their own time. Erin held my hand tightly
    as we started the drive to Wilma's.

    "Why don't you tell me some of your favorite memories

    with your Gran and Grampy?"

    Erin remained silent for a few minutes, but once she started

    talking, the floodgates opened wide. She told me about the first time that her
    parents dropped her at the airport when she was only seven. How scared she was
    of these strange older people she didn't know. Phillip had seen her fear, and
    rather than trying to comfort her; how do you comfort a child whose parents
    have abandoned them; he had taken her for a long walk down by the lake. She
    remembered the sound of the wind blowing off the lake, as Phillip told her
    stories about their past.

    She remembered the summers she spent with Gran and Grampy as

    a teen. By that point, she had grown into a beautiful young woman, and her
    parents wanted to show her off to their important friends in Europe and places
    further afield. But she had already chosen to spend her time with the people
    that she loved.

    She spoke of coming to see them when she was in college. Of

    the awful year that Phillip got sick, and her grief at his passing. She said
    that her parents came to Good Hart for the funeral, but it felt like she and
    Gran were the only people to truly grieve his loss. She fell silent as we pulled
    into Wilma's laneway.

    "Go and see your Gran. Let me know what you need,

    Honey. I am here for you."

    Despite her grief, Erin looked at me as she took my hand.

    "What about you? What do you need, Davis? You love her

    too."

    "People show their love in different ways. I never

    really got the chance to give or receive love as a child, at least not in the
    way that most of us think of it. But being with you has made me realize
    something important about myself; I take care of the people I love. So, let me
    take care of you, Mary, and Wilma, one final time."

    By that point, Mary and Munchkin had come outside. Mary's

    eyes were red, and you could see the tracks that her tears had left on her
    cheeks. I got out of the truck and just held her for a minute. Erin came up
    behind me and enveloped her as well. Munchkin, mourning in his own way, stood
    watch for us, keeping us safe as we grieved.

    "Mary, you don't have to be here for the end if it's

    too hard. You can say goodbye, then take the truck and go and meet James. We
    can let you know when it's over."

    She just shook her head.

    "Where is she?"

    Mary led us into the living room. The wisp that remained of

    Wilma was in the comfortable chair by the fire. She had been a very small woman
    when we met less than a year before, but now she looked almost ethereal. Like
    the wind could slip right through her collecting her stories as it passed. She
    beckoned me over with one of her curled hands.

    "Davis, I am glad that you're here. I know I am a

    greedy old biddy, but I have three favors to ask, and I don't have a lot of
    time left to do the asking."

    "Of course, Wilma. You know I would do anything for you

    and Erin."

    She closed her eyes for a moment to collect her thoughts.

    "The first favor is that I need some time alone with my

    girls. I am sure James will be here in a minute; he is a good boy, don't hold
    those assholes in his family against him. He loves our Mary. Go outside, and
    when he arrives, I want you to go down to the lake and set up the five
    Adirondack chairs, so they are all together and facing out over the water. Then
    come back up to me."

    "Of course, Wilma."

    I went outside and sat on the front steps, scratching

    Munchkin's ears as I waited. James pulled up less than ten minutes later and I
    explained what had happened, and Wilma's request. When we were finished at the
    lake, we walked back up to the house, with Munchkin following quietly on our
    heels. We let ourselves in and saw Wilma, Erin, and Mary pulled together in an
    embrace. I was hesitant to interrupt, but Wilma saw us and called us over.

    "There's your big, strong men. Girls, could you get

    some of the outdoor blankets for James to carry down to the lake for us? And
    Davis, my second favor is for you to carry me down to the lake one last time.
    Would the rest of you give us a few minutes before you follow?"

    I picked Wilma up from the chair and wrapped her in my arms.

    She felt almost weightless, but I saw hints of her mischievous smile as we
    started walking.

    "You know, the last time a man carried me like this,

    the journey ended very differently."

    I couldn't help but smile, even at the end Wilma was still

    quick with the teasing and innuendo.

    "I bet you wish it was that other man carrying you

    now," I joked in return, but Wilma just rested her head against my chest.

    "No. No, I don't, Davis. I will see that other man soon

    enough. I am well content to be here with you. I am so proud of you. You are
    such a good and faithful man. It is a lot to ask of you, but for my third
    favor, will you look after my girls when I am gone?"

    By that point, we had reached the shore, and I set Wilma

    down in the middle chair of the five.

    "You don't need to ask, Wilma. Of course, I will look

    after them. Because you asked it of me, and because I love them just like you
    do."

    Wilma smiled and reached out to take my hand while she

    pressed three small objects into my palm. I looked down and saw that she had
    removed her engagement and wedding rings and given them to me. They were joined
    by an almost identical wedding band that must have belonged to Phillip before
    he passed.

    "You will know when the time is right for these. I

    would have liked to have been there to see it, though. Through these rings,
    maybe Phillip and I can continue to be a small part of your love for each
    other, even once we're gone."

    James and the girls had started down the path to the lake

    and would reach us in a minute. Before they arrived, Wilma gave me a final
    serious look.

    "All hell is going to break loose when they read my

    will after the funeral. Be there for Erin, please. The mistakes I made with my
    children are all my fault, but Erin will be left to bear that weight for a
    little while longer once I'm gone. It would mean a lot to a dying woman to know
    that she won't have to carry that weight alone."

    "I'll share that weight with her, for as long as she

    needs. For as long as she will let me."

    Wilma patted my hand.

    "That's good. I love you, Davis, but I think it's

    time."

    Mary and Erin arrived with James, and they made sure that

    Wilma was bundled in warm blankets as she looked out over the lake. Mary and
    Erin sat on either side of her and held her hands, while James and I sat at the
    ends. Munchkin settled against Wilma's feet, to keep them warm.

    After a while, Wilma started talking. She told stories about

    her life with Phillip; how they met, when they first came to this place,
    building a home, and raising their family. She spoke of their success as
    artists, and their failures as parents. She spoke of her regrets but also about
    her deep love for Erin and Mary, and how much she appreciated what they had
    done for her. She paused for a moment as the wind began to pick up, but we
    heard her last words before the wind carried the rest away.

    "You are all artists, and you are all worthy of

    love."

    She fell silent, and we sat for a long while listening to

    the wind off the lake.

    Epilogue.

    As always, Wilma was right. The reading of her will did

    indeed set off a firestorm, but she had made sure that we were ready for it.

    Do you remember Mr. Sage, that man in the suit who came to

    visit Wilma not too long before she passed? It turns out that he wasn't just an
    old friend, he was also a named partner at the largest law firm in the state
    and one of the most powerful firms in the country.

    It seems that Phillip didn't just paint portraits for the

    richest family in the state (you would recognize their name from the hospitals,
    museums, and other cultural institutions where it is featured prominently), but
    he also became a close family friend. You would never have known it, though,
    since Phillip refused to even acknowledge their friendship in public so that he
    didn't inadvertently trade on their name. Mr. Sage was also a good friend of
    that family and, over the years, became close with Wilma and Phillip, as well.

    After James told Wilma his story, she called those old

    family friends and, for the first time in their long friendship, asked for
    their help. She would never have done so for her own benefit, but she couldn't
    bear to think that Phillip's legacy would be lost because of the greed and
    treachery of his children. Within a day, Mr. Sage was working on a solution to
    Wilma's problem, and everything was signed and sealed well before Wilma passed
    on.

    The day of the reading of the will would have been comic if

    it hadn't also been so tragic. In the weeks after Wilma's death, her remaining
    children and grandchildren had gathered to express their deep sadness at her
    passing. Many black outfits were worn, and many sad faces were made.

    Not surprisingly, the entire McDougal family also showed up

    both to the funeral and to the smaller gathering at Wilma's house afterward.
    James stood with Mary, his arm around her shoulder, both to comfort her and to
    protect her from his own family, as best he could. The rest of the McDougal
    clan stood with Wilma's family and made sure to avail themselves of the free
    wine and hors d'oeuvres.

    As per her wishes, Wilma was cremated, and her ashes were

    scattered from the deck behind her house so that the wind could carry them
    towards the lake. Again, as per her wishes, the will was read immediately thereafter.

    The first surprise of the day came when Mr. Sage, who

    everyone thought was there merely to express his condolences at Wilma's
    passing, informed the family lawyers that the will in their possession had been
    revoked earlier that year. Both Wilma's family and their lawyers began to
    protest until the man formally introduced himself as a named partner at Sage,
    Bentley, and Carstairs, and as the new executor of Wilma's estate.

    The second surprise was the size and extent of that estate.

    The property by the lake was considerably larger than anyone had known and
    included a number of additional houses and cottages that Wilma and Phillip had
    acquired over the years. Unlike the previous will, however, that had left an
    equal share of the land to each of Wilma's descendants, the new one protected
    the entire property, in perpetuity, as part of a land trust that was
    established for the benefit and use of artists, local residents and even the
    Fudgies, when summer came to the lower peninsula.

    As part of the land trust, the dock was to be extended and

    reinforced and a public boat landing and park were to be built and maintained
    on the land, again, in perpetuity. Erin and I were named as trustees of the
    land trust, along with Mr. Sage and Mary, when she came of age. Given
    Michigan's strict laws around the use of eminent domain for private gain, there
    was no chance that the McDougals and the county would be able to move forward
    with their plans to seize the land.

    The third and final surprise was that Wilma and Phillip had

    done much better with the sale of their art and with their investments over the
    years than anyone had thought or expected. In addition to the property that was
    now in the trust, they had amassed a fortune in the low eight figures. Most of
    that money was left to manage the land trust, but a not inconsiderable amount
    was set aside to fund the college education of my brother and sisters and to
    pay off Erin's considerable student debt from medical school. The will also
    stipulated that the estate would pay for any costs that Wilma's family had
    incurred to attend the funeral (with receipts, of course.)

    Wilma's paintings were left to the public gallery in Grand

    Rapids and galleries further afield, with a few notable exceptions. Mary was
    given three paintings of her choice from the collection, that weren't otherwise
    named in the will. After much thought and consideration, she chose both the
    first and last works that Wilma had painted, both of which had been hanging in
    the living room, along with a small study of the house that Wilma kept in her
    bedroom beside a picture of Phillip and her on their wedding day.

    Erin was given Phillip's portrait of her as a young woman,

    and that portrait still hangs above our mantelpiece alongside his portrait of
    Wilma as a young woman, which she left to me. The only time they left our
    mantelpiece was when they were featured in a retrospective exhibit of their
    work at a museum in New York, but the house felt strangely empty when they were
    gone.

    Erin's family was furious at the changes in the new will.

    They threatened to fight it with every resource at their disposal. They tried
    every dirty trick they could think of, questioning Wilma's mental capacity in
    the months before her death, fighting the legality of the land trust, and
    trying to impugn our characters implying that we were gold diggers who wormed
    our way into Wilma's life to steal the family inheritance. In the end, though,
    the family's lawyers were no match for Brantford and his firm.

    When none of their ploys worked, Erin's family and the

    McDougals turned on each other, and the ensuing lawsuits are still ongoing to
    this day. I would love to say that that was the end of the McDougals, or that
    Erin's family came around in the end. Unfortunately, they are still just as
    terrible as ever. But at least their arrogance and corruption are now far
    enough away that we can safely ignore them.

    On a similar note, my mother is still absent from our lives.

    I don't honestly know if she is even still alive, although I assume that
    someone would have tried to find her next of kin if she had died. Sometimes, I
    am charitable and hope that she managed to face her demons and turn what's left
    of her life around. But most of the time, I am just glad that she is no longer
    able to hurt the people I love.

    After things settled down, Alison finished her schooling and

    became a nurse practitioner, as she had always dreamed of. In her last year of
    study, while she was doing a clinical practicum at a hospital in Detroit, she met
    a lovely internist who fell madly in love with her. Luckily for him, his
    feelings were reciprocated, and they are now married and living in Grand
    Rapids. They split their holidays between our family and her husband's family
    in Detroit, and they stay with us for a few weeks each summer. Their son is as
    thick as thieves with our daughter, and their imagination carries them through
    endless adventures together.

    Sharon was successful in her ambition to leave the peninsula

    and see more of the world. She finished her undergraduate degree in creative
    writing in Chicago before setting out to see the world, and she is still out
    there wandering. But she sends us lots of pictures when she gets the chance,
    and recently, Erin noticed that many of her pictures have the same very
    attractive woman smiling in the background. I think it was probably a
    coincidence, but Erin thinks otherwise. I sure hope Erin's right. There is
    nothing I want more than for my family to find love and happiness. When the
    spirit moves her to come home to us (with or without her friend), she will be
    very welcome.

    Mary spent months grieving her loss, but rather than turning

    inward, she channeled her emotions into a triptych of paintings that firmly
    established her as an upcoming talent in the world of art. She lived with us
    for several years until James proposed, at which point they moved into one of
    the cottages owned by the trust.

    Unfortunately, James' family found out that he told Wilma

    about their plans, and they disowned him. He had a few tough years, but Mary
    helped him through, and when he turned eighteen, I took him on as an
    apprentice. He now runs one of my crews. I used to worry that he loved Mary
    more than she loved him and that the imbalance would lead to heartache. My
    worries were put to rest when she painted her first portrait. James was her
    subject, and I have never seen a painting more suffused with love and desire. A
    few years later, a collector offered her an eye-watering amount of money for
    it, but she politely declined.

    As for Lane, well who knows what he will do with his life,

    but he is carrying a 4.0 GPA, and the world is his oyster. He was sure
    impressed by the lawyers who rained hellfire down on the McDougals, though, so
    I suspect that he might be leaning that way in the future. He is also building
    quite a following as a DJ, combining classics from the 40's and 50's with new
    beats.

    He recently started dating a new girl, and she is a real

    sweetheart. We haven't told her about the day that he met Erin for the first
    time; yet. But trust me, that time will come. But until it does, Lane is more
    than happy to keep up with his chores and help out around the house. But what
    he loves more than anything is to carry his rod out to the end of the dock and
    fish, while the wind off the lake plays through his hair.

    And then there is Erin and me. I have to say that things

    have worked out pretty well for us, in the end. It took less than a year for me
    to make use of Wilma's last gifts, and Erin and I were married the next summer
    in the new park down by the dock. Wilma left her house and a few acres of land
    to Erin, separate from the land trust, and we spent several years fixing it up
    and expanding it so that my brother and sisters know that there is always a
    place for them if they need it; for a day, a week, or a lifetime.

    I am still not the best at taking orders or following

    instructions; but gentle requests from the woman that I love, sealed with a
    kiss on my cheek? It turns out that I am more than fine with those. And I am
    still not always sure what a beautiful doctor sees in a plumber like me. But
    rather than let my insecurity get the better of me, I have learned to accept my
    good fortune with a smile.

    One tradition that we've adopted as our own is that we make

    time to dance together every Friday night. If we have guests, or family who are
    home, they know that they will be joining us as well; Wilma's 'no wallflowers'
    rule is still in full effect. Now that she is old enough, I am teaching our
    daughter to dance, and her favorite thing in the world is to twirl around the
    living room in her mommy and daddy's arms.

    Some nights, when it's just the three of us and our daughter

    has gone to bed, we let the soft crackle of Wilma's old 45s take us back. We
    dance together with the lights down low, the music threading through the quiet
    night like a whisper from the past. And when the music fades, we hold each
    other close and listen to the voices of those we have loved, as they linger in
    the wind off the lake.

    Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

    38 min
  • Michigan Weather and Women: Part 3
    Michigan Weather and Women: Part 3
    How did we ever get here?

    Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the

    Podcast at Connected.



    "When I was fourteen, Mr. Johnson introduced me to a

    friend of his, Henry White, who was a master plumber. Henry was a
    high-functioning alcoholic whose temper had driven away all his old apprentices
    and journeymen. Luckily, I was always big for my age, and Mr. Johnson assured
    Henry that I was seventeen, turning eighteen in the next few months, so he took
    me on with the promise to make me an apprentice as soon as I was old enough. By
    the time that Henry learned my actual age, he had come to rely on me so much
    that he kept me on."

    "But what about school? Don't you need a high school

    diploma to become an apprentice?"

    "One good thing about growing up in a small town is

    that most people know the score. I made it to school when I could, and Henry
    and I worked a lot on the weekends, while Alison watched the rest of my
    siblings. Most of my teachers let me through with C's and D's, even though I
    must have missed half of my classes. Everyone knew that I was working with
    Henry and that I would need my high school diploma to become an apprentice, so
    they just kind of let me slip through.

    "I had well over 6,000 hours of experience plumbing

    before I even turned 18 and could formally become an apprentice. By that point,
    Henry was a significantly less functional alcoholic, and I was doing everything
    for his business; all the plumbing and all of the invoicing. He just signed off
    on the work. If anyone had ever looked into it, he could have gotten into real
    trouble, but we did smaller jobs for folks who didn't have a lot of money, so
    no one ever noticed or cared.

    "Just about the last thing that Henry did before he

    passed was to swear out my application to become a master plumber. Then one day
    I showed up for work, and he had died in his sleep. He didn't own much of
    anything, other than his tools, and he didn't have any family that I knew of,
    so I just kept on working."

    After a few minutes spent lying together in silence, I

    thought that Erin might have drifted off, but she had one more question for me
    before she did.

    "When did your mom leave?"

    I had never told anyone that part of my story; even my

    brother and sisters thought that Mom had just left one day, leaving me in
    charge. The reality was so much worse.

    "By the time Lane started school, Mom had already left

    us. Not physically, but in all the other ways that matter. She didn't work, and
    she regularly brought her 'boyfriends' back to our house to trade sex for
    drugs. Any support she got from social services went straight into her arm or
    up her nose. I was working long hours by then, to pay the rent and put food on
    the table, so sometimes that meant that Mary or my brother would be at home
    with Mom when I wasn't there. I knew it was playing with fire, but there was
    nothing I could do about it other than pray.

    "Normally, when I got home, I would blow my horn as I

    pulled into our drive and Lane would come running out to hug me and tell me
    about his day. So, I knew something was wrong when I came home late one
    evening, turned off my truck, and he still hadn't come out. I went inside, and
    Mom was sitting stoned in the living room watching TV. I asked where Lane was,
    and she just waved toward the back of the house. Alison and Sharon were out, so
    Mary and Lane were home with her by themselves. I found him in the room that we
    shared, cowering in the corner, with little Mary guarding the door. She was
    only eight at the time.

    "After a few minutes, I got Lane to tell me what was

    wrong, and he showed me his arm. Earlier, he had been in the kitchen and had
    bumped into Mom while she was cooking something on the stove. In a burst of
    rage, or maybe just evil, she grabbed his arm and held it against the burner.
    You can still see the scar on his arm today.

    "That was the end of it. I asked Mary to stay with Lane

    in our room, I packed Mom's things into the one suitcase we owned, and I drove
    her to the bus station. I bought her a ticket to Grand Rapids, gave her all the
    cash in my wallet, and waited with her until she boarded. I told her I would
    call the police if she ever came back.

    "Before she left, she spat on me and told me she wished

    I had never been born."

    I marveled at how flat my voice sounded, but to my surprise,

    my cheeks felt wet. I thought I had lost the ability to cry long ago.

    "Can you imagine that, abandoning your own mother? I'll

    probably burn in hell, but it was the only way I could think of to keep my
    brother and sisters safe. I haven't seen her since, although she used to call a
    couple of times a year asking for money. I didn't feel too bad about hanging up
    on her when she did, though, since she was still collecting family benefits for
    us all. Lane barely remembers her, which is likely a blessing, so I made up the
    story about Mom going away for the weekend and never coming back.

    "Since then, I have done what was needed for us to

    survive. When Alison finished school, she wanted to stay home to help look
    after the others, but I convinced her to go to college. I said that Mom had put
    aside some money for her tuition, but of course, that was a lie. I have been
    making the payments for her, but I wanted her to have the chance to just be
    young, for once. To get away from all of this, at least for a while."

    "But what about you, Davis?"

    "I don't matter."

    "Well, you matter to me."

    While I was speaking, Erin had wrapped both arms around me

    and was now holding me tight against her body. When I finished, my body was
    wracked by waves of uncontrollable grief, but she held me through it all.
    Eventually, as I started to calm down, she gave me gentle kisses on the nape of
    my neck and whispered to me in a soft voice.

    I don't remember what she said, but I fell into a deep and

    dreamless sleep.

    The power came back on early the next morning, and Erin and

    I were the first people to wake up. She lay beside me with a small smile on her
    face.

    "You've had some hard times, Davis Crawford, but you

    have come out the other side. You're pretty amazing."

    I felt a sudden burst of both elation and fear as I returned

    her smile.

    "Thanks for listening and not judging me. I've never

    told anyone some of the things I shared with you."

    "It was my pleasure. Now let's get up and make some

    coffee."

    Looking out the window, the snowdrifts were over two feet

    high in places, but I knew they weren't going to get any lighter as the sun
    came out and they started to melt.

    "I am going to get started on the shoveling if you want

    to start on breakfast."

    Erin gave me a bemused look.

    "Or maybe, I am fully capable of shoveling snow, and we

    can get it done twice as fast by working together."

    A few minutes after we started, Lane came out to help. At

    one point, when Erin was on the other side of the yard, he started to speak.

    "I heard some of what you said to Erin last night. I

    never knew what Mom did to you, what you did to protect us. Thank you."

    "Ah, Bud. I never wanted you to worry. Mom wasn't well

    for a long time, and she made some terrible choices. But she's gone now, and
    you will always be safe with me."

    By the time we finished, we had worked ourselves into a

    lather, so I suggested to Wilma that she get a snow plowing service for the
    winter. She gave me a look that implied that somewhere there was a village
    searching for its idiot; and that idiot was me.

    "Oh, I have a service, but they take so long to come

    that they are useless if they bother to show up at all."

    Erin jumped into the conversation, looking pissed off.

    "It's part of my family and the McDougal's ongoing

    campaign to get Gran to move. I have told them how dangerous the game they are
    playing is, but they just don't seem to care."

    I thought for a minute, before walking a little ways away

    and making a call. When I returned, I had some good news for Wilma.

    "Go ahead and cancel your current service. If they

    aren't going to do the work, they shouldn't have a problem with not getting
    paid. I called an old friend of mine from school who runs a snow removal company
    out of Harbor Springs, who owes me a favor or nine. From now on, you will be at
    the top of his list."

    Erin and I texted just about every day between Thanksgiving

    and Christmas, and we talked most nights when she wasn't working. We were both
    insanely busy; Erin was providing pediatric coverage for two hospitals that
    were three hours apart, and I was working as much overtime as possible, to save
    up for Christmas. Some weeks, the only time we had to meet in person was Sunday
    afternoons at Wilma's.

    Mary, in turn, was flourishing under Wilma's guidance. It

    seemed like she was channeling her emotions into her art, and I began to see
    the kind and thoughtful sister reemerge that I thought I had lost forever. She
    wouldn't show me the painting she was working on, but Wilma said she was making
    good progress, and that was all I needed to know.

    As it got towards mid-December, our thoughts turned to

    Christmas. Since Wilma's family was still boycotting the holidays, we decided
    to have a joint celebration like at Thanksgiving. Erin was going to be working
    at the hospital in Petoskey on Christmas Day, but we promised to keep Wilma
    company and to bring her a Christmas meal that she could eat on her break. In
    typical fashion, she tried to convince us that she would be fine with cafeteria
    food, but we would hear nothing of it.

    When we got to Wilma's house for lunch on Christmas Day, she

    had stockings laid out by the fireplace with a present for each of us. Santa
    must have had a very healthy budget, because he brought Lane a new fishing rod,
    Mary a set of expensive paints and charcoals, Sharon a contribution to her
    college fund, and Alison a specialized nurse's bag with a personalized
    stethoscope.

    Rather than a present, my stocking came with a small

    envelope that contained a pair of tickets to the traveling production of
    "Moulin Rouge" that was playing in Grand Rapids in March. Although I
    was happy to get a present of any kind, Wilma must have seen my look of
    confusion at the choice.

    "I was talking to Santa, and he mentioned that Erin

    loves musicals. Phillip used to take her to them when she was younger. He would
    put on his best suit, and she would get all dolled up in a dress with some of
    my jewelry, and they would go out for a fancy dinner before the show and have a
    grand old time."

    I looked at her in amusement, before replying.

    "Well, it seems that Santa is about as subtle as a

    sledgehammer. But I will have to say thanks, next time I bump into him."

    Our present to Wilma came in three parts. First, we included

    her in our Christmas cookie exchange, and Mary even gave her a double portion
    of the chocolate chip cookies she had baked. Second, the five of us committed
    to helping her catch up on the yard work and house repairs that had fallen by
    the wayside since Phillip passed. And finally, we pledged to do everything in
    our power to make sure that she could stay in her house for as long as she was
    able.

    Wilma hugged and thanked each of us with tears in her eyes,

    then looked over at Mary.

    "Why don't you get your present for your brother."

    Mary went to the studio at the back of the house and brought

    back what looked like a small painting, wrapped in Christmas paper.

    "I wanted to make you something to say 'thank you' for

    everything you have done for us. And for not giving up on me."

    When I unwrapped the painting, I was stunned. It was very

    different from Phillip or Wilma's more realistic works and had vibrant streaks
    of paint that burst across the canvas, meeting, seemingly at random, in explosions
    of color. The entire piece was chaotic, except for a single corner that was
    shielded from the turmoil by a solid arc of paint that was the exact color of
    my eyes.

    After lunch, Mary and Sharon kept Wilma company while

    Alison, Lane, and I went to see Erin at the hospital. Things were pretty quiet,
    so she had time to sit and eat her dinner with us. While she ate, I showed her
    pictures from earlier in the day. She laughed at one, in particular, of Wilma
    with her arm around Mary while they were wearing festive paper hats from their
    Christmas crackers.

    "Thank you for taking such good care of Wilma, Davis.

    She would never admit it, but the holidays would have been very lonely for her
    this year without you. It means the world to me that you could be there for her."

    We chatted a bit longer before I pulled out my present for

    Erin. It was a small flat package which she opened slowly. Inside was a framed
    drawing of Wilma's house, as seen from the docks, as she looked out the picture
    window in her living room.

    "This is amazing, who made it?"

    "I used to draw quite a bit in school. Since Mary has

    been working with your Gran, I thought I might give it another try, and I
    particularly liked how this one turned out."

    "It's beautiful, Davis. Thank you."

    She started to blush as she glanced over at Lane, before she

    slid a card over to me, and whispered, "Maybe you should wait to open this
    until later when you're alone."

    Inside the card was Erin's two-part gift to me. First, an

    invitation to visit her in Grand Rapids, and second, a night for the two of us
    in a suite at a very nice hotel.

    New Year's Eve was even quieter than usual at our house.

    Erin was working in Grand Rapids and was on call that evening. I spoke with her
    earlier in the day, however, and wished her a Happy New Year, and we sent each
    other kissing emojis at midnight. The rest of us spent the night playing board
    games. The only real excitement came a few days earlier when Mary asked if she
    could invite a friend to join us.

    "And is this friend a boy, by chance?"

    As far as I knew, Mary had never had a boyfriend, so this

    was a new development. Mary didn't have to answer, since her blush did the
    talking for her.

    "Do we know this boy?"

    "It's; It's James McDougal. But he's not like his

    brothers. He's a good guy."

    I had my reservations about all of the McDougals, but I was

    willing to give him a chance. I had only met James that one time at his
    parent's house when I had gone to get Mary, and he seemed polite enough. But
    since he was a McDougal, he was starting with two strikes and was in danger of
    going down swinging.

    To give Mary credit, James passed the first boyfriend test

    before he even made it into the house. When he drove into the yard, Munchkin
    was the first to greet him. He wasn't growling or barking like he sometimes did,
    or showing his teeth, but he was plenty intimidating. James waited patiently
    for him to approach before carefully scratching behind his ears. After Mary
    came out to greet James, Munchkin decided he was alright and fell in behind
    them as they came inside. Just after midnight, as he was getting ready to
    leave, James took me aside.

    "I just wanted to say, sir, that I am sorry for what

    happened with Mary a few months back. I should never have brought her over to
    my house without your permission, and I should have brought her right back home
    once I saw that my brothers were home. I promise you, that despite my bad
    judgment, I would have made sure that nothing happened to her, and I won't ever
    make that mistake again."

    I had to admit that James was growing on me.

    Chapter 5.

    It wasn't long before Mary introduced James to Wilma. I had

    to work on a Sunday in early January, so he offered to drive her to Wilma's in
    my place. I could tell he was nervous, and he was wearing a nice, collared
    shirt with some clean jeans, under his winter jacket. By the time he brought
    Mary home, his shirt was soaked in sweat, and he looked a little like a young
    man returning from war. Later that week, I asked Wilma what she thought of him.

    "He seems like a nice, polite boy and he sure is

    besotted with our Mary. While Mary and I worked on her latest painting, he did
    some chores for me, including chopping and stacking the entire half cord of
    wood you dropped off last week. But he didn't complain, and he was still
    smiling at Mary when he was done, so I think he will do."

    Wilma's relationship with the rest of the McDougals,

    however, remained tense, and they made it clear to me that continuing to help
    her would come at a steep cost. I ran into Calum one evening at the grocery
    store and he made their position crystal clear.

    "We've got a big job coming up in Indian River that you

    might be interested in. Starts in a week, and it would keep you busy for the
    better part of the next year, solid. The job is yours if you want it."

    "What's this job going to cost me?"

    "It's yours, no strings attached. But you wouldn't have

    time to help old lady Anderson anymore. You know, and I know, that it's time
    for her to move on from that land. It's what her family wants and it's what's
    best for her. I am sure that doctor down in Petoskey would understand, I figure
    she must be tired of looking after that grandmother of hers all the time
    anyway. Think how much more time the two of you would have together if you were
    working a regular nine-to-five kind of job.

    "On the other hand, if you don't work with us on this

    project, my family is going to take it pretty hard. Hard enough that we might
    reach out to our friends and neighbors to let them know that you are not a team
    player and that they may not want to do business with you."

    There it was. They were threatening to ruin me if I didn't

    do what they wanted. I knew they couldn't cut off all of my business since
    there were too many people in the lower peninsula who had been screwed over by them
    in the past. But they could sure make things tough for me. I am really bad at
    taking orders, however, particularly from dickheads like Calum McDougal.

    Calum had a cynical smile as he walked away. He didn't value

    decency or loyalty, so I was sure he thought he had won me over. All he had
    done was harden my resolve. I felt honor-bound to reach out to my friend who
    was clearing Wilma's driveway, though, to let him know that he might get some
    heat from the McDougals. He was surprisingly poetic in his response.

    "Fuck those arrogant worm-drowners and the horses they

    rode in on."

    Valentine's Day was never a big deal for me. Over the years,

    I hadn't had time to date, and I wouldn't have had any money to do anything
    special if I did, so the Hallmark holiday passed me by without too much fuss or
    bother. I had hoped things might be different since I was with Erin, but she
    was on call at the hospital in Petoskey, and I was pushing hard on a large
    multi-unit build that was on a tight schedule, so I was working six or even
    seven days a week until it was done. My work hadn't completely dried up since
    my run-in with Calum, but it had certainly taken a hit, so I was not in a
    position to turn down jobs, no matter how inconvenient.

    My one consolation was I knew I would see Erin in a couple

    of weeks when I visited her in Grand Rapids for the show. I had some flowers
    delivered to her at the hospital anyway, to let her know that I was thinking of
    her. That earned me an emoji-filled text and an enthusiastic video call when
    she was done with her shift.

    As the date of the show got closer, I started to get

    anxious. I had never been to a live performance of anything, except the
    occasional high school assembly, and I worried that Erin would be disappointed
    in my lack of manners and refinement. Wilma noticed my growing nervousness and
    decided that I needed a pep talk.

    "Listen, Davis. Erin likes you for who you are. She

    doesn't need or want you to act like some slick yuppie from the big city."

    "I know, Wilma, but I don't even know what to wear. The

    nicest outfit I own is still just a collared shirt over a pair of jeans."

    "Hmm, I can help you with that. I still have some of

    Phillip's old suits and ties, let's take a look and see what might fit."

    Half an hour later, Wilma had picked out a heavier dark

    charcoal-colored suit, a lightweight linen suit suitable for warmer weather,
    and a dark grey suit with tight pinstripes for me to try on. She had some
    shirts for me, as well, from when Phillip was younger.

    "Phillip wore that pinstripe suit the first time that

    he took me to the movies. I'll never forget that night, he looked just like
    Cary Grant. If you bring these suits to the tailor in Indian River, he should
    be able to take in the jacket and hem the pants to fit you perfectly. A good
    tailor can make these suits look like they were cut just for you."

    I didn't want to seem ungrateful, but I couldn't help but

    wonder if I would look funny in a decades-old suit. Wilma dismissed my concerns
    out of hand.

    "Let me tell you a little secret. If you buy a cheap

    suit, it will quickly begin to look tacky and dated. If you invest in a quality
    suit, it will age gracefully and become a timeless classic."

    Finally, Wilma selected a half dozen ties for me to try on

    and spent an hour teaching me how to tie a half-Windsor knot.

    "Get these suits altered, grab yourself a pair of

    polished black leather shoes, and you'll have those snooty pricks at the
    theatre thinking they are underdressed. And try to have fun. Erin loves the
    theatre, so if the two of you continue to fall in love, you will be going with
    her at least a couple of times a year, so you might as well enjoy it."

    I stood there in shock for a moment.

    "Do you really think Erin is falling in love with

    me?"

    "Well, yes, I do. And it's clear as daylight that

    you're in love with her too. But don't overthink things. Just go to the show
    and have a great night together. And here, take this with you as well,"
    Wilma said handing me a navy blue pocket square with a distinctive paisley
    pattern.

    "Most men don't bother wearing a pocket square anymore,

    but I think they complete the look perfectly. You should wear this one on your
    date with Erin."

    Wilma took a final look at me and then slipped a

    twenty-dollar bill into my pocket.

    "That's for you to get a haircut before the show. Your

    normal 'shaggy mutt lost in a forest' look is adorable but not for your big
    date."

    The day of the performance approached with both aching

    slowness and relentless speed. We hadn't discussed it, but I knew (or at least
    strongly suspected) that Erin would have some expectations about how we spent
    our time together after the show. Unfortunately, I had no experience when it
    came to women other than a single kiss with Brittany Johnson back in my
    sophomore year of high school. I was terrified that I would disappoint her.

    To make matters worse, I had the three-and-a-half-hour drive

    to Grand Rapids to overthink things. By the time I arrived at Erin's apartment
    complex, I was a bit of a mess. My nerves were somewhat allayed, however, when
    Erin came running out to greet me with a huge smile on her face.

    "You made it! How was the drive? Wow, I love the

    haircut! I hope you're not too tired. I can't wait for tonight. I have been
    telling the girls all about you, and they are dying to see if the man lives up
    to the legend!"

    I guess Erin could see the sudden swell of anxiety on my

    face, so she took my hand.

    "Don't worry, the girls will love you, Davis. Why don't

    you grab your bag and come inside? I thought we could get changed here and then
    check in to the hotel before dinner and the show."

    Erin's housemates were really sweet, and the three of us

    chatted for at least an hour while Erin got ready before I excused myself to do
    the same. I put on Phillip's charcoal grey suit along with the crisp white
    shirt that Wilma had recommended. It took me four tries to tie my navy blue
    tie, but even I could tell that it made the colors in my paisley pocket square
    pop.

    Despite my nerves, I was still ready before Erin, so I

    rejoined her housemates in the living room while I waited. They kept sneaking
    glances at me when they thought I wasn't looking, so much so that I thought I
    must have done something wrong. Rather than second-guessing myself, I decided
    to take the bull by the horns and ask; better to be embarrassed in front of
    Erin's housemates than in front of her.

    "It's; it's not that you did anything wrong. It's just

    that you look; well, amazing; like an old-time movie star or something. Erin is
    going to swoon when she sees you."

    "You really think so?" I asked, still not sure of

    myself.

    Just then, I heard Erin's voice from behind me.

    "I'm sorry I took so long; we should head out before

    we're;"

    Erin went silent as I turned to look at her. She was wearing

    a floor-length emerald-green dress, which seemed to flow around her and mold to
    her curves, gathering delicately at her neck while leaving her back bare. Her
    sandy-blonde hair was styled in an elegant updo, while a few strands floated
    loose, framing her face. But, as always, what captured and held my gaze were
    her amber eyes, which danced and sparkled as she moved. My hands began to
    tremble, and I didn't trust myself to speak.

    "Do I look alright, Davis?"

    I took a deep breath that sent oxygen coursing through my

    body, as I found my voice.

    "I had no idea that anyone could look as beautiful as you

    do right now."

    Apparently, she liked my response, since her face broke into

    a wide grin.

    "You look mighty handsome yourself, Mister," she

    said while making a small adjustment to the knot of my tie.

    "Is that one of Grampy's suits? It looks amazing on you,

    and I love the tie and the; Oh; Oh, Davis. Is that Grampy's pocket
    square?"

    I could see tears forming in her eyes.

    "Wilma thought you might like it; that it might remind

    you of Phillip and the times he took you to the theatre when you were younger.
    I don't have to wear it, though, if you don't like it," I said reaching up
    to take it out of my pocket. Erin stopped my hand with hers, however, and then
    lightly ran her fingertips over the colorful square.

    "Gran was right. It reminds me of Grampy and now it will

    remind me of you. Please, I want you to wear it. For me."

    I felt a bit self-conscious pulling up to a fancy hotel in

    my ratty old truck, but it didn't seem to faze Erin in the least, so I decided
    not to worry about it. The suite she had booked was by far the nicest room of
    any kind that I had ever been in, but I tried not to seem like a country rube
    as I looked around.

    "Do you like it?" Erin asked a bit nervously, as

    she tried to gauge my reaction.

    "Honestly, I thought that rooms like this were just for

    celebrities and movie stars, and folks like that."

    "Normally that's the case, I guess, but for one night;

    tonight; it's ours."

    Dinner was lovely. I kept expecting people to see past my

    suit and realize that I was an imposter; just a plumber from the peninsula; not
    the kind of man who should be spending the evening with a woman like Erin. But
    she seemed to be having a wonderful time, so I began to relax. My anxiety was
    further abated when she leaned over the table and said in a low voice.

    "Jesus, the women in this place can't stop checking you

    out. I'm kind of wishing I had brought my bear spray now to keep them away. I
    need to excuse myself for a minute, but I wouldn't be surprised to find one of
    them trying to take my place when I get back."

    "Erin, I would never;"

    "I know, Darling. And frankly, they can look all they

    want because I know who you're going home with tonight."

    After that, I looked around the room with a new eye and

    noticed the subtle glances in my direction, and the shy smiles and blushes. I
    guess Phillip really did have good taste in suits.

    After dinner, we walked arm-in-arm to the performance hall,

    which was very impressive, with its soaring ceilings and plush velvet
    upholstery. Our seats were in a box on the right-hand side of the hall, which
    gave us a commanding view of the stage. As the lights went down, Erin took my
    hand in eager anticipation. I don't remember much about the performance that
    night; I spent more time watching Erin's childlike wonder than what was
    happening on the stage.

    Erin was still holding my hand at the intermission, and I

    felt a warm sense of contentment wash over me.

    "Oh, I forgot to mention, some of the largest donors to

    the hospital are hosting a reception after the performance. Would it be alright
    if we put in an appearance before we head back to our hotel?"

    I agreed without hesitation; a decision I would second guess

    before the night was over.

    It was close to 10:30 by the time the performance ended, and

    Erin held my arm, while resting her head on my shoulder, as we made our way
    through the hall to the reception. We each grabbed a drink, and we drifted
    through the small crowd until Erin was greeted warmly by a
    distinguished-looking older couple. Erin introduced them to me as the hosts of
    the reception, Mr. and Mrs. Wendel.

    "Please, just call us Tom and Martha. And you two make

    such a lovely couple. What do you do, Davis?"

    "I am a plumber, Ma'am," I replied, wondering how

    that news would be received by this obviously well-to-do couple, but I needn't
    have worried.

    "What kind of plumbing do you do?" Tom asked with

    genuine interest.

    "Mainly residential at this point, since I just got my

    master's license last year. A lot of the larger builders want to see some gray
    hairs on the heads of their skilled tradesmen, so right now, I am just doing
    what I can to pay the bills."

    "Amen, to that brother. I remember those days well. I

    started out, over 30 years ago now, as a dry Waller, and I spent more years
    than I care to remember doing whatever jobs I could get, just to get a foot in
    the door. It paid off for me in the end, though. Say, I am working on a
    development on the south side of town and was wondering;"

    Before Martha could stop him, Tom launched into a long and

    technical question about a challenge he was having with the plumbing for his
    new development. When I started an equally long and technical response, Erin
    kissed me on the cheek and whispered that Martha and she were going to go to
    the bar to get another drink.

    A few minutes later, I was still talking with Tom when a movement

    at the bar caught my eye. I looked more closely and saw that Erin was speaking
    with a tall, arrogant-looking man who kept trying to put his hand on her lower
    back, while she forcefully pushed it away.

    "My apologies, Tom, but could you give me a minute?"

    Without waiting for a reply, I walked over to where Erin was

    standing and slipped my arm around her waist, just as the man reached for her
    for a third time.

    "Hey, now," I said, trying to defuse the situation

    with a bit of humor. "At least buy me a drink before you make a move on me
    like that."

    His hand recoiled like it had been scalded, and his cheeks

    colored in anger. I could smell the alcohol on his breath from where I was
    standing.

    "Well, if it isn't the plumber," he said in a

    mocking tone. He must have been eavesdropping on my conversation with Tom, and
    he clearly wasn't impressed.

    "What did you think of the show this evening? Actually,

    that's hardly a fair question since you've probably never been to the theatre
    before. So, how about something more your level? I wonder what you would think
    of the bathrooms in my new penthouse. I am sure you would find them very
    impressive. I will give you a call the next time my toilet gets clogged, and
    you can come and check them out."

    He seemed very pleased with his insults, so he continued, a

    condescending grin on his face.

    "Anyway, Dr. Anderson, as I was saying, it was

    charitable of you to let the help see how the rest of us live, and I am sure he
    is having a good time and all, but it's past time for him to bring his daddy's
    suit home, don't you think? Why don't you leave him to it, and you and I can go
    have a drink? And then; who knows?

    I had dealt with people like this prick for my entire life.

    When you grow up with one abusive parent and no money, you get used to just
    about everyone feeling like they are better than you. There was nothing I could
    do about that, but I learned to use humor as a shield to protect myself and
    deflect attention. But sometimes humor just wasn't enough. And when humor
    failed, a more direct approach was called for.

    "You know, if you're trying to insult me, you're going

    to have to work a whole lot harder than that. But I doubt that hard work is
    something that you're too familiar with. I have been working since I was twelve
    to put food on the table for my brother and sisters. I have been a plumber
    since I was fourteen; by the time I was fifteen, I am sure I had already spent
    more time ankle-deep in shit than you've spent doing honest work in your entire
    life.

    "I didn't borrow this suit from my father because I

    don't know who my father is; that's right, I'm a bastard. But I am a bastard by
    circumstance and not by choice. I was born this way, what's your excuse? And
    since you asked, the suit I'm wearing belonged to Erin's grandfather, and you're
    right, I would never be able to afford a suit like this myself. But it's an
    honor to wear a suit that belonged to a man who loved Erin more than anything
    in this world. If I am really lucky, maybe she will let me love her just as
    deeply one day.

    "I may not know that much about musicals or the

    theatre, but anything that brings that much joy to Erin is more than fine in my
    books. So, I am going to continue to have a wonderful time with Erin this
    evening. Why wouldn't I? I am here with the most beautiful woman in the place,
    or;" I swept my gaze over to Martha, who was still standing beside Erin,
    "tied for the most beautiful, anyway."

    The man's face was now distorted with anger, and he took a

    step towards me. I stepped forward to meet him, my eyes never leaving his.
    Before, I had been speaking loudly for the benefit of those around us, but now
    I was speaking in a controlled voice, pitched for his ears alone.

    "You can say what you want about me, you prick. I have

    no respect for arrogant shitheels like you, so I just don't care. But before
    you ever think about putting your hands on Erin again, without her consent, you
    would do well to remember the Pipe Wrench Incident.

    "When I was fourteen, two of the men my mother was

    having sex with, in exchange for drugs, decided that my sister Alison should
    join in their fun. She was just nine years old. Luckily, I was home at the
    time, but I was just a kid, and they were fully grown men. When it was over,
    they were in the hospital, and I was cleaning my pipe wrench with some WD-40
    and a rag."

    I looked him up and down once, dismissively.

    "Remember that story the next time you're tempted to

    touch someone I love."

    I turned to Tom who had come over to stand with Martha.

    "I'm sorry I interrupted your lovely event, and please

    don't hold my bad manners against Erin. I don't want to cause any more trouble,
    so maybe we should be on our way."

    Tom held up his hand indicating that we should stay.

    "Dr. Allen, you're drunk and making an ass of yourself.

    Please see yourself out. On your way home, please consider what you would like
    me to say at the next Board meeting regarding your behavior tonight."

    As a chastened Dr. Allen left the reception, Erin leaned

    over and whispered in my ear, "So, I'm someone you love, am I?"

    Before I could stammer a reply, Erin kissed my cheek and led

    me away to get a drink. We avoided the topic of Dr. Allen for the rest of the
    evening until we were on our way back to the hotel.

    "Did you really put two men in the hospital with a pipe

    wrench?"

    I chuckled softly before responding.

    "That part of the story is 100% true. What I didn't

    mention, though, was that they were both stoned at the time and facing the
    other direction. They would have killed me in a fair fight."

    It was close to midnight by the time we made it back to the

    hotel. We held each other's hands as we walked to the elevators, and Erin
    leaned against me as the doors closed.

    "Davis, how would you like this evening to end?"

    My heart started racing and my hands trembled.

    "I; I want to be with you. But, I have never;"

    "Are you still a virgin?"

    "I kissed a girl once, back in high school, but it was

    nothing like kissing you. I want you more than anything I have ever wanted in
    my life, but I don't want to disappoint you."

    Erin tried to stay calm as she replied.

    "So, you think that I am some kind of floozy who is

    going to compare you to all my past conquests?"

    "No, that's not it at all, I;"

    "Or do you think that I am so shallow that I will get

    mad at you if it takes a little while for you to learn what I like?"

    "No, I don't think that either;"

    "Okay, then. Here is what's going to happen. When we

    get to our room, you are going to move some of the furniture out of the way,
    while I put on some music. You still remember how to dance, right? And then we
    will take things slowly. I will let you know what makes me feel good, and you
    will let me know what makes you feel even better. And we will be together, and
    that's all that matters."

    And that is what happened. Erin started a playlist of songs

    that she liked, and we slowly danced together in our room. After the first song
    ended, she nuzzled into my chest as she loosened my tie and undid the first two
    buttons of my shirt. When the next song started, she started gently kissing and
    then licking my chest, causing my manhood to stiffen almost painfully.

    "Well, hello, my rather large friend. You need to be

    patient, for now. But if you're good, I may kiss you as well before the night
    is done."

    Her sensuous voice, and the image it evoked, were definitely

    not conducive to patience, and I let out a low moan of pleasure.

    "That's what I like to hear," she murmured as she

    untucked my shirt and continued to undo my buttons until she could run her
    tongue over my nipples and tweak them with her teeth. She looked up at me with
    sultry, half-lidded eyes.

    "It's okay for you to touch me as well if you

    want," she said, as she took one of my hands and slid it under the back of
    her dress and down to her silky-smooth cheeks. She slid my other hand under the
    front of her dress so that it cupped her tit, and she sucked in a breath as I
    stroked my callused thumb over her nipple.

    "Now some women like it when you;"

    I kissed her before she could finish her thought.

    "Erin, I don't care what some women like, the only

    woman I want is you."

    "Oh," she replied in a breathy voice. "Well,

    I like it when you're a bit rougher with my tits. Not right away, I need to be
    in the mood; like I am now;"

    She lost her train of thought as my hand enveloped and

    massaged her tit, squeezing her nipple lightly between my thumb and forefinger
    as I lifted it away from her body.

    "Mmmm, yes. Just like that, baby."

    I felt a wave of heat roll up the fingers on my other hand,

    so I slid it further down until I felt a small triangle of material, that was
    slick with liquid heat. I slipped my finger a little further and felt her long
    smooth cunt open at my touch.

    "Oh, Baby," Erin whispered huskily into my ear.

    "We are going to have so much fun tonight."

    It was strange going back to my regular life after my night

    with Erin. The time with her was so incredible, and so beyond anything I could
    ever have imagined, that it didn't seem real. To be continued in part 4.
    Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

    38 min
  • Michigan Weather and Women: Part 2
    Michigan Weather and Women: Part 2
    Dancing, and other forms of sentimentality.

    Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the

    Podcast at Connected.



     As we finished the prep work, I asked Wilma about her

    day with Mary.

    "She is a good kid but is carrying a lot of anger and

    shame. We spent most of the day getting in touch with that anger. It takes some
    people years before they can express their emotions through art; it took her
    about five minutes. But we had to take some breaks to clean up the paint
    splatters afterward before they stained."

    "Oh shit! Sorry about that. I can pay to replace

    anything that;"

    "Nothing to apologize for; I asked her to express how

    she felt, and she did it in the way that felt right to her."

    "Well, I appreciate your taking the time. I am just her

    big brother; I feel so lost when it comes to parenting."

    "Being a parent doesn't mean that you know any more

    than anyone else, and it certainly doesn't mean that you know any better. For
    what it's worth, I think you are doing a fine job with your family. I know that
    you don't have your parents around to say it, but this old woman is mighty
    proud of who you are and of how you have stepped up for your brother and
    sisters. They are very lucky to have you."

    I turned away so that Wilma wouldn't see me getting choked

    up. I couldn't remember the last time that someone had said they were proud of
    me. Soon enough, though, it was dinner time, and Erin came into the kitchen
    with that same look of amusement on her face.

    "Sorry to bother the chef, but Lane needs some help

    that only a big brother can provide."

    When I gave her a quizzical look, she blushed.

    "It seems like he is going through puberty, which can

    pose; some new challenges. When I was assessing his ankle, he; well, indicated
    his interest in me in a way that can be difficult to hide, particularly while
    wearing sweatpants. It's natural for his body to react that way at that age,
    and it's nothing for him to feel badly about, but he was mortified. I think he
    could use a bit of brotherly guidance and understanding."

    I went to the living room and saw that Lane was curled up on

    the couch and looked like he was fighting back tears.

    "How are you doing, Buddy?"

    He couldn't even look at me he was so embarrassed.

    "I am so sorry; I just couldn't help it. I don't know

    why it started to get bigger, and I wanted it to stop, and it wouldn't and then
    she saw me, and;" he continued as he fought back a sob. "Can we just
    go home?"

    "Erin is a doctor. She knows how the human body works

    and has seen that kind of thing a hundred times. She isn't mad at you or
    embarrassed. She just feels bad that you feel so bad. This is just part of
    getting older and growing up.

    "Did I ever tell you about what happened in Miss Iron's

    class when I was a freshman?

    Miss Iron was a bit of a legend among the male students at

    our local high school. She was the youngest and prettiest teacher, by far, and
    even though she always dressed professionally, the clothing style had yet to be
    invented that could fully conceal her bountiful natural endowment.

    "Well, I liked Miss Irons a lot. She was one of the few

    teachers who looked past my difficulty with reading and writing. So, I
    developed a little crush on her, which was fine until the inevitable; hmm,
    physical demonstration of my crush; happened in class one day, just before she
    asked me to collect everyone's quizzes. I tried to delay, I tried to ask a
    friend to do it instead, but eventually, I had to stand up. It took me until my
    junior year to live that one down."

    As Lane listened to my story, he turned to face me and his

    second-hand embarrassment for me helped to push his embarrassment to the side.

    "So, what happened?"

    "Miss Irons was lovely and kind like she always was,

    but I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me or to get hit by a bolt of
    lightning. Things would have been fine if she hadn't mentioned what happened to
    the principal, who called Mom. She didn't find the story funny at all."

    I hadn't thought of the aftermath when I started telling

    Lane this particular story, but as they say, might as well put it in four-wheel
    drive and keep going.

    "Mom was mad?"

    "By then, Mom was pretty much always angry. I did my

    best to keep her away from you and the girls when she got that way, but yeah;
    she was mad."

    "Are you mad at me?"

    "No, Bud, I'm not. In a few years, once your

    embarrassment has died down a little, I will tease you mercilessly about this
    because that's what brothers do; and maybe threaten to tell your girlfriend, if
    you fall behind on your chores or homework. But I will never get mad at you for
    something that you can't control. And I promise that Erin isn't mad at you
    either."

    Just then, Mary poked her head in to tell us that dinner was

    on the table.

    "Are you safe now, or do you need a few more

    minutes."

    "I'm good. Thanks, Dad."

    After I helped Lane hobble into the dining room, we got down

    to the business of eating and teasing each other, but not necessarily in that
    order. It felt good; almost like what I imagined a real family would feel like.
    Eventually, the conversation turned to more serious matters, though, and Erin
    led off the questions.

    "So, how do you know Gran, and why are you wearing

    Grampy's favorite sweater? And, for what it's worth, I don't remember him
    filling it out in quite the way that you do."

    I blushed a bit as Wilma jumped in.

    "If Phillip had filled out that sweater like young

    Davis here, it wouldn't have stayed on him for very long, I can tell you
    that."

    "Gran!" Erin exclaimed, laughing while sounding

    scandalized. "I didn't need that mental image. Heck, none of us needed
    that mental image."

    "Oh, don't you worry, Dear. He still filled it out well

    enough, and it looked equally good on our bedroom floor."

    We were pretty much all blushing at that point, which I think

    was Wilma's objective, so I quickly changed the topic.

    "I am just your mother's plumber. I came out to fix her

    boiler and then finished the job earlier this week when a couple of parts came
    in that I needed."

    Wilma jumped in at that point and added her two cents to my

    story.

    "He also brought me my groceries and we had a lovely

    conversation. He is a real Renaissance gentleman, a rarity these days."

    Erin looked grateful but concerned.

    "Did you have enough money to cover the bill, Gran? You

    know I can help if you need;"

    I tried to jump in before Wilma could reply.

    "No need to worry, the bill was paid in full;"

    "Hogwash," Wilma exclaimed as I tried to finish,

    turning to Mary before she continued.

    "Your brother wouldn't let me pay him a cent for the

    work that he did. Not even for the parts that needed to be replaced! He is a
    very nice boy but a terrible businessman."

    I turned to Erin for support.

    "I figured your Gran has enough going on right now with

    her health and all. It was the least I could do to help her out."

    Erin looked at me with a strange expression on her face. I

    didn't have much experience with women, so I figured I must have made her angry
    somehow. Most of my interactions with women, including my sisters, seemed to
    end with them being upset with me for one reason or another, but she didn't
    sound angry when she spoke.

    "Thank you, Davis, that was very sweet of you."

    "Yeah, well; you see, it's just; pass the fish,

    please."

    "That still doesn't explain why you're wearing Grampy's

    favorite sweater.

    When I was a little girl, I used to curl up in Grampy's lap

    and snuggle into that sweater as he read to me. He was wearing it when I danced
    my first dance with him in front of the fireplace. Do you remember that old
    record player, Gran? You used to bring it out and we would waltz around the
    living room to Moon River."

    "I still have that record player here somewhere, let me

    go see if I can find it."

    Erin started to protest, but it was too late.

    "To finish answering your question, Erin, we were here

    today because your Gran offered to mentor Mary. I tried to politely decline,
    but your Gran is pretty persistent when she wants to be."

    "That sounds like Gran. Most of the time when she makes

    a suggestion, it is really a command."

    "While we are asking questions, how is Lane's

    ankle?"

    "It's pretty badly sprained, and he will need to use

    crutches to walk for the next couple of weeks. You should bring him to the
    hospital to get some X-rays done as well, to make sure that he doesn't have any
    fractures."

    I could feel myself deflate as she mentioned X-rays.

    "I'm not trying to be cheap, but are the X-rays

    absolutely necessary? We don't have the best insurance; we got it through the
    exchange. I guess it's better than nothing, but the deductible is pretty high,
    and my other sister, Alison, her college tuition is due soon. But if you say
    it's important, I will put in some extra hours to make it work."

    It didn't usually bother me that we were poor. Heck, most

    everyone we knew, except the McDougals, was poor. But it hit home when you had
    to tell a beautiful doctor with bright amber eyes that you couldn't afford an
    X-ray for your little brother unless it was urgent.

    "Tell you what. I will be working at the hospital in

    Petoskey tomorrow, so why don't you bring Lane by, and I will take care of him?
    I will make sure that he gets a pair of loaner crutches for as long as he needs
    them."

    "You don't need to do that for us."

    Erin gave me another one of her looks, this one I was more

    familiar with; I was pretty sure it was annoyance.

    "So, just to be clear, you can look after my Gran, fix

    her boiler for free, and bring her groceries whenever you feel like it, but I
    can't look after your brother and make sure that his ankle is treated
    properly?"

    "Well, when you put it that way, I sound like a bit of

    a jackass. I'm sorry."

    "Apology accepted. Come by the hospital at 11 AM

    tomorrow."

    Before we could continue, the sound of a 45 playing on an

    old record player filled the house. You could hear the hisses and pops before
    Ella Fitzgerald's voice began to sing "Dream a Little Dream of Me."

    Chapter 3.

    We got up from the table and followed the music back to the

    living room. I helped Lane out of his chair while he half-hobbled and
    half-hopped along beside me. Wilma had set her ancient record player up in the
    corner beside a stack of old 45s, and she had a faraway look in her eyes as she
    looked out the picture window toward the lake.

    "I think it's time for me to ask the prettiest girl in

    the place to dance," I said, as my eyes swept across the room.

    "But unfortunately, it's a three-way tie. So, will you

    do me the honor?" I said as I held out my hand to Wilma.

    "I haven't danced since Phillip passed. You know, we

    used to dance together every Friday night. It didn't matter where we were or
    what we were doing, we would always make time to dance at least one song
    together, even if the music was only in our heads."

    "I imagine I will be a pretty poor partner compared to

    Phillip, but I will try not to step on your toes."

    Wilma and I ended up dancing a slow foxtrot to

    "Unforgettable" by Nat King Cole. She smiled at me as we slowly
    circled the living room.

    "You're a very good dancer, young man."

    "Our mother taught me when I was very young."

    Before she began with the drugs and men, our mother had been

    a showgirl in New York and then Las Vegas. When she got pregnant with me, she
    moved back to Mackinaw City and started teaching ballroom dancing at a local
    studio. By the time I was five, I was her practice partner of choice, and she
    always insisted that I lead, despite being only half her size.

    "The man always leads, Darling, that's just the way of

    the world."

    I was hardly a man at the time, but I never disagreed with

    my mother when she was in a good mood, because I knew it could shift in an
    instant. So, I learned to dance, and I learned to lead. The memories came
    flooding back as I guided Wilma into a soft over-sway, and she smiled with
    delight.

    "Oh my, you do know how to dance!"

    I couldn't help but smile back.

    "I can't take all the credit. I think Phillip must have

    infused this sweater with his fancy footwork."

    As the song ended, I took a step back and did my best to

    give Wilma a gracious bow.

    "It was a pleasure dancing with you, my lady."

    "The pleasure was all mine, good sir."

    I turned toward Mary and held out my hand. She hesitated

    before Wilma declared, "There are no wallflowers in this house."

    Mary slowly stood but looked anxious as I took her hand.

    "Davis, I don't know how to dance. Mom was; she was too

    far gone to teach me by the time I was old enough to learn."

    "That's okay," I reassured her. "If there is

    anything that Mom made sure of, it's that I know how to lead. Just relax, and I
    will guide you through it."

    Wilma helped Lane, who had taken over as DJ, to choose a

    slower song so that Mary would feel more comfortable, and I heard the opening
    bars of "What a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong. I started to
    lead Mary through a slow rumba, and she picked up the steps very quickly. She
    was a natural. I felt a sudden stab of regret as we moved together across the
    floor.

    "I'm sorry. I should have made time to teach you to

    dance. But the last few years, it has just taken everything I have to keep
    us;"

    "It's alright. You've had other things on your mind.

    And look; you are teaching me how to dance, now."

    As Mary grew more confident, I guided her through a simple

    underarm turn, and we ended with a dip, which made her giggle and earned a
    round of applause from the others. Finally, I turned to Erin, who was sitting
    on the couch beside Lane. I suddenly felt very shy and, for the first time that
    evening, she looked nervous as well.

    "Would you dance with me, Erin?"

    She didn't reply but stood and took my hand. We waited for a

    moment while Wilma and Lane chose a new 45 and then listened to the pop and
    hiss as it started to play. Soon, an alto saxophone introduced the Henri
    Mancini version of "Moon River," and we started a slow waltz.
    Although there was space between us, it was bridged by an electric charge that
    connected and drew us together.

    Even though I spent most of the dance looking over Erin's

    shoulder, every detail of her beauty was etched in my memory, and I felt a warm
    breeze pass between us, raising goosebumps on my skin. We barely noticed the
    pause as the song ended, and a new one began until Etta James began to sing.

    At last, my love has come along

    My lonely days are over

    And life is like a song

    The song was in 4/4 time, so I switched to a foxtrot and

    Erin followed as we glided across the smooth wood of the living room floor. I
    was so caught up in the moment, and in Erin, that I led her through a turn that
    transitioned into an over sway, before I stepped backward, allowing her to
    gently pivot into me. Our eyes met and I was lost in them again. Before we
    could break the spell, a heavy gust of wind shook the house, and the power
    flickered out.

    The room went dark, which sharpened my remaining senses.

    Suddenly, the warmth of Erin's breath on my neck felt like wildfire across my
    skin. We were motionless for a three-heartbeat eternity before the lights
    flickered and came back on. I let go of Erin and felt all of my longing and
    awkwardness rush back in.

    "Thank you, Erin. That was;" I couldn't finish;

    words didn't seem enough to express how I felt.

    "I should check the breakers and make sure that

    everything is alright, and then we should go. Why don't I wash these clothes
    and drop them back for you later."

    Wilma just smiled and shook her head.

    "If you like them, please keep them. Otherwise, they

    will just grow old and musty like me."

    A little while later, we said our goodbyes, but I promised

    to bring Lane to the hospital the next morning. Wilma told Mary that she would
    see her on Wednesday after school and again the next Sunday. I was expecting
    Mary to protest, but she just gave a meek, "Yes, Wilma."

    I was nervous when I took Lane to the hospital the next day.

    The deductible on our insurance was high enough that we paid for pretty much
    anything less serious than a severed limb out of pocket. Erin, however, was as
    good as her word. After the X-ray confirmed that there were no breaks or
    fractures in the bones around his ankle, she re-wrapped it and arranged for a
    pair of loaner crutches that he could use for as long as he needed them. Before
    we left, Erin asked me if I wanted to grab a coffee in the cafeteria, to which
    I readily agreed. I gave my phone to Lane so he could amuse himself while Erin
    and I talked.

    "I just wanted to say how much I appreciate what you

    did for Gran. I do what I can, but I spend half my time at the Children's
    Hospital down in Grand Rapids right now and I am often on call while I am here.
    I just don't have the time to give her the help that she needs."

    "Honestly, it's no big deal. I do a lot of work around

    Good Hart since the bigger plumbing companies don't like to travel that far, so
    I don't mind looking in on her while I am there. And she seems to have taken a
    real interest in Mary, so the least I can do is to bring her some groceries and
    help around the place a bit."

    Erin pursed her lips and looked like she had just bitten

    into a lemon.

    "The 'least you can do' is more than the rest of our

    family can be bothered to do put together, so thank you."

    "I meant to ask you about that. What did your Gran do

    to end up so isolated from the rest of your family?"

    "The rest of my family is; there is no nice way to put

    it, they're snobs. None of them have any interest in spending time 'up north'
    as they call it, and they can't wait for Gran to move into a retirement home
    and die so they can get their money and forget about this place. That's why no
    one comes to visit Gran anymore, even for Thanksgiving; it's part of their
    campaign to convince her to sell her land to the McDougals. Before you came
    along, I thought they were going to succeed."

    "Well, excuse my language, but fuck them. I don't know

    Wilma that well, but I will do what I can to make sure that she gets to spend
    her remaining days in the place that she loves."

    "That's easy to say, but harder to do once the

    McDougals and their minions start coming by your place, offering you money and
    making threats unless you back off."

    "Well, if they do, they will find out what every

    teacher who ever taught me learned the hard way. I am bad at taking orders and
    even worse at following instructions. I am not afraid of the McDougal
    boys."

    My exclamation brought a smile to Erin's pretty face. I

    decided that I would be willing to do quite a lot to see that smile on her face
    again. But there was one thing I still didn't understand.

    "Why aren't you on board with the rest of your family?

    You must be under a lot of pressure to abandon your Gran like the rest of
    them."

    "My father, Gran's youngest son, Max, died shortly

    after I was born, and my mother moved the family to California where she
    remarried into a family that had a little money but a great deal of pretension
    and ambition. My mother picked up that insatiable need for money and status
    like it was a virus.

    "When I was a child, my mother and stepfather spent

    summers and holidays traveling the world, staying in places where children
    weren't welcome. Although they wanted nothing to do with Gran and Grampy and
    their 'vermin-filled shack in the middle of nowhere', they were more than happy
    to leave me with them while they were away.

    "They would put me on a plane to Grand Rapids while

    they jetted off to their spas and their fine dining. Gran and Grampy were the
    only people who cared for me, and they became my whole world.

    "When I was 14, I was staying with Gran and Grampy, and

    I caught a fever that was so bad that I nearly died. It was a pretty grim time.
    My parents even thought about flying home from Monaco to be with me. They
    didn't, but it was the only time in my entire childhood that they considered
    it. But I will always remember how kind the doctors and nurses were to me when
    I was sick. That's why I became a pediatrician and moved home."

    "Isn't California home?"

    "Home is where the people that you love are, and so

    this will always be my home. Or it will be until Gran passes on, anyway."

    We sat in silence for a while, sipping our coffee. Before

    long, it was time for me to go.

    "This might sound crazy, but since the rest of your

    family aren't going to be here to celebrate Thanksgiving with your Gran, how
    about you and I try to give her one more Thanksgiving to remember."

    Erin brightened at the idea, and the smile returned to her

    face.

    "That would be amazing! Why don't I give you my number,

    and we can figure out how to make it happen!"

    Chapter 4.

    For the next few weeks, Mary continued to meet with Wilma on

    Wednesdays and Sundays. I would often take the opportunity to bring her
    groceries or other supplies while I dropped Mary off and, if the weather was
    agreeable, do some fishing. Once he could walk without crutches, Lane came
    along as well, in quest of another monster steelhead. Unfortunately, all he
    caught was some yellow perch and rock bass, but it was nice to spend the day
    with him down on the dock.

    I saw Erin a few times at Wilma's as we made plans for

    Thanksgiving. She seemed to particularly enjoy talking with me while I split
    firewood out by the shed. It was hard work, and I was often drenched with sweat
    by the time I was done, but she didn't seem to mind. And she worked while we
    talked, helping to stack the larger pieces and collecting the smaller ones for
    kindling.

    The one point of contention in our plan was how Erin would

    get to Wilma's on Thanksgiving Day. She was slated to work a 12-hour shift the
    evening before, ending at seven in the morning, and she worried that if she
    went home to rest, she would sleep through the entire day. Her solution was to drive
    out to Wilma's after her shift and catch a few hours of sleep when she got
    there. I thought that driving that far after working all night seemed like a
    terrible idea, so I offered to give her a ride instead. She did not like that
    one bit.

    "I don't want you to make an extra trip when I am

    perfectly capable of driving myself."

    It sounded like she was digging in for a fight, so I tried a

    different tactic to convince her.

    "I need to stop at the hospital anyway, to return

    Lane's crutches. I can kill two birds with one stone and pick you up at the
    same time."

    She didn't buy that rationale either so, reluctantly, I

    resorted to the truth.

    "I am sure you're a great driver, but if you drive

    yourself, I will be up that morning anyway, worrying that you are safe. I know
    it doesn't make sense, but I have been looking after my siblings for so long
    its second nature for me to worry, and I can't seem to turn it off. So please,
    let me pick you up. But for me, not for you. And do you know how rarely I get
    to be gallant these days? I will feel like your knight in shining armor."

    That finally got a laugh from Erin.

    "Alright, you win. Why don't you pick me up at 7:15 at

    the hospital? You can sweep me up onto your trusty steed and carry me away to
    Gran's house."

    "If by trusty steed you mean rusty old GMC truck, then

    it's a deal."

    The morning of Thanksgiving dawned chilly and gray, with a

    cold wind blowing in off the lake. I was up early to make sure that I made it
    to the hospital on time, and I was listening to the local AM country station as
    I drove when the DJ started his break.

    "A happy Thanksgiving to all our listeners. If you're

    on the roads today, be aware that there is a severe weather warning in effect
    for the area north of Cadillac and into the upper peninsula. We're expecting a
    combination of high winds and lake-effect snow to make driving hazardous, and
    you should be prepared for possible power interruptions and outages."

    I was relieved that Erin had agreed to let me pick her up

    and that I had invested in good snow tires for my pickup. The snow had already
    started by the time I reached the hospital, and I pulled my jacket tightly
    around me as I went inside. I dropped Lane's crutches with the duty nurse and
    waited for several minutes before Erin arrived. She looked exhausted, and the
    gentle smile that I loved was nowhere in evidence.

    "Hey, Erin. Are you okay?"

    "I'm fine. I just had a long shift, but I am ready to

    head out."

    She came up to me and gave me a hesitant look.

    "Actually, I could really use a hug if that's alright."

    Without a word, I wrapped my arms around her, and she buried

    her face in my sweater. Hidden from the world by the folds of my jacket, I felt
    her body start to shake. The tremors lasted for a minute before they gentled
    and then finally stopped. I looked out the window at the falling snow to give
    her a moment to compose herself.

    "Let's head to Gran's house. This weather isn't going

    to get better any time soon."

    With that, we got in my truck and started the drive up to

    Good Hart. Erin sat in silence and looked out the window.

    "If you want to talk, I probably can't help with doctor

    problems; but I am a good listener."

    It took Erin a minute before she opened up.

    "Most of the time, I love being a pediatrician. Kids come

    to me scared and in pain, and I help them to get better. But sometimes, it's
    just too much. Around midnight last night, an ambulance brought in a mother and
    daughter. Her boyfriend had been drinking; and he got violent. The little girl
    tried to protect her mother and; and;

    "It's one thing to treat a grown woman, you know. I

    mean it's still pretty bad, but; that little girl. Fuck. One thing I've learned
    from this job is that monsters are real."

    I wanted to give Erin another hug, but since I was driving,

    I just reached over to take her hand.

    "I'm sorry."

    My words seemed so incredibly inadequate; considering what

    she had just dealt with; but she squeezed my hand.

    "Thanks for listening."

    We drove on in silence, and by the time we pulled into

    Wilma's laneway, Erin was gently snoring with her head against the window. I
    stopped as close as I could to the house before lifting her out of the cab. She
    tucked her head into my shoulder, and I carried her inside, where Wilma was
    already busy in the kitchen. She came out to greet us, and I spoke to her in a
    low voice.

    "Erin had a very tough night. I think some rest will do

    her a world of good."

    Wilma helped Erin out of her boots and coat and then showed

    us through to the guest bedroom, where I laid Erin on the bed. The room was
    filled with pictures of Erin from when she was younger; standing on the dock
    with an older but handsome man who I guessed must be Phillip, curled up in a
    ball on the sofa, book in hand, and smiling in her cap and gown as she
    graduated. In each picture, I could see hints of the beautiful woman she would
    become.

    By the time I returned with the rest of my family, the storm

    had begun to pick up. Snow drifts were accumulating against the house and shed,
    so we brought everything with us into the house that we might need for the
    evening. It took some convincing, but Sharon and I took over in the kitchen
    while Wilma, Alison, Mary, and Lane started a game of Scrabble in the living
    room.

    Once the preparations were well underway, I laid in as much

    wood for the fireplace as I could. With the high winds and heavy snow, I was
    worried that we might lose power, and I wanted to make sure that we prepared,
    just in case. The radiators and boiler would provide almost no heat if there
    was a prolonged power outage, but the fireplace had a high-efficiency insert
    that would keep the house warm, as long as we built up a good bed of coals.

    Lane insisted on helping me with the firewood, and after a

    half dozen trips to the woodshed and back, we both looked like live-action versions
    of the abominable snowman. Wilma showed some sympathy for our plight, while our
    sisters had a good-natured laugh at our expense.

    By the early afternoon, dinner was almost ready, and Wilma

    sent me to wake Erin. She had barely moved since I had tucked her in and seemed
    so peaceful in her sleep. I leaned over and spoke softly to her until she
    opened her eyes. After a moment of confusion, she broke into a shy smile.

    "I guess we made it to Gran's."

    "That we did, we got here close to six hours ago."

    Her eyes flew open, and she tried to get up until I

    reassured her.

    "We've got things under control. Dinner will be ready

    in about twenty minutes. Take your time; and maybe give yourself a few minutes
    for that pillow line on your cheek to fade."

    I turned to leave, so she could have some privacy, but she

    reached out and took my hand.

    "I just wanted to say thank you again for earlier. I am

    not used to having someone I can talk to; someone I can trust. It's only been
    Gran and Grampy, and me for so long, and I didn't want to burden them. But I
    shouldn't have dumped my troubles on you like that, we barely know each
    other."

    "I was just glad that you felt comfortable enough to

    share how you felt with me. Today was probably the worst day of that little
    girl's life. I am sure she was terrified, confused, and in a lot of pain. But
    what she'll remember is the angel who comforted her and treated her with
    kindness and love.

    "I need to get back to the kitchen, or I will burn

    something. Fair warning, this is my first time cooking a Thanksgiving turkey,
    so you may want to load your plate up with fixings and sides, just in
    case."

    As it turned out, the turkey wasn't perfect, but it wasn't

    that bad, and the gravy was tasty as heck (probably because Wilma made it.) We
    had mashed potatoes, stuffing, corn, and peas as sides, with the obligatory
    cranberry sauce (from a can). The conversation at dinner was a chaotic mixture
    of laughter, stories, and the kind of teasing that you only get when you bring
    five siblings together over a hearty meal.

    It didn't take Erin long to choose a side in the battle of

    the siblings, and soon, it was the four girls against Lane and me, with Wilma
    as our impartial referee. I don't know how Lane felt, but for me, it was worth
    being ganged up on just to see Erin and my sisters smiling and laughing.
    Although he tried to hide it, it was clear that Lane still had a bit of a crush
    on Erin, so I imagined that he was just fine with making her smile as well.

    For dessert, Erin brought pumpkin and apple pies that she

    had bought at the bakery in Petoskey, which we ate with some vanilla ice cream
    from the local creamery. I was sure there would be some dessert left over,
    given the amount that we all ate for dinner, but somehow, we finished it all.
    Everyone pitched in with the dishes and then we moved to the living room where
    we played cards and some more board games.

    As we played, Mary asked Wilma about some of her more

    memorable Thanksgivings, and she got a faraway smile. For the next hour, she
    regaled us with stories of humble times with the kids by the lake and, in later
    days, fancier celebrations with some of the families that Phillip befriended
    while they sat for portraits. As our last game of Scrabble ended, Sharon looked
    at Wilma with a mischievous grin.

    "Mary was telling me about the dance party that you had

    a few weeks ago here in your living room. Rumor has it that my big brother can
    dance! I was hoping, if you asked him nicely, that we could all see him in
    action."

    Wilma got up from her chair and started to move toward the

    hall closet.

    "Lane, come along and help, please. I am far too old to

    be carting around a heavy record player."

    Lane hopped up and went to help Wilma, while the rest of us

    began to move the furniture out of the way. As Lane set up, Wilma admonished the
    rest of us.

    "Remember, there is only one rule about dancing in my

    house: no wallflowers."

    With that, Lane started the first song, and I asked Wilma to

    dance. Alison followed suit, asking Lane to dance, and soon she was teaching
    him how to lead. Finally, Erin stood as well and gave a deep bow to Mary.

    "It would be my honor, enchanting lady, if I could have

    this dance."

    With a laugh, Mary stood, and soon we were all moving around

    the room, trying not to bump into each other or step on each other's toes. For
    the next hour, we danced, laughed, and pretty much forgot about the world
    outside. Lane even got up the courage to dance with Erin, although he stayed so
    far away from her that you would have thought she was radioactive.

    I took a couple of turns with Erin and was amazed at the way

    she melted into my arms. When we danced, there was a wave of knowing smirks
    from my sisters and a pleased smile from Wilma, but I didn't care. I could have
    danced with her all night. Unfortunately, during my third dance with Erin, the
    real world decided to interrupt our festivities.

    Erin and I had just started a turn when the power went out.

    I instinctively pulled Erin into my arms to protect her, and then I leaned in
    through the darkness and kissed her. She returned the kiss, ran her hand
    through my hair, and let out a small moan.

    "Do you think the power will come back on?"

    Lane's question cut through the fog of my lust and longing.

    "Probably not until sometime after the storm has

    passed. So, we should all plan on spending the night here and then figuring
    things out in the morning."

    With Wilma's agreement, we got settled in for the evening.

    After some protest, Wilma agreed to sleep in the guest room since it had a
    direct line of sight to the thermoelectric stove fan that helped circulate the
    heat from the fireplace. My three sisters slept in Wilma's bed, both to share
    body heat and because it was the larger of the two beds in the house. Lane
    slept on the couch, while Erin and I slept on the floor in front of the
    fireplace.

    Erin laid out an older sleeping bag, for comfort, with some

    bedding and blankets on top. In deference to Lane, she waited until she was
    under the blankets before she shimmied off her pants, while I stoked the
    fireplace. I made one more pass through the house, to check on Wilma and my
    sisters, but it seemed they had already fallen asleep. Even Lane had passed
    right out, despite his proximity to the pants-less Erin.

    I set a quiet alarm on my phone for two-hour intervals so

    that I could get up and add wood to the fire, ensuring that it would last all
    night. Looking down at the makeshift bed where Erin was watching me, I suddenly
    felt incredibly shy and anxious. I took my sweater and pants off as quickly as
    I could and set them on a chair before crawling under the blankets next to her.
    I didn't want to be presumptuous, so I stayed as far over to one side as I
    could. I had just settled in when I heard Erin's soft voice from behind me.

    "You can come a little closer. I won't bite, you

    know."

    My brain froze with indecision, but my heart knew the score

    and it started beating at a furious rate. I heard her shifting behind me, and I
    felt an arm wrap itself around my chest. My senses were on fire. The faint
    scent of lavender from her hair washed over me like a field of wildflowers.

    "Was everyone safe when you made your patrol?"

    I slowly rolled over so that my forehead was lightly

    touching hers, and I could see the flickering of the fire reflected in her
    eyes.

    "I know it's silly, but I can't sleep until I know that

    everyone I love is safe. Even when she is away at college, Alison texts me each
    night to let me know she is okay. I will make another round later after I stoke
    the fire."

    "It's not silly at all; I feel safe when I'm with you

    too.

     Why don't you tell me your story, Davis

    Crawford."

    She must have felt me stiffen, and she started to lightly

    brush her fingertips through the hair on the back of my neck.

    "You don't have to if you're not comfortable with me

    yet, but I would like to hear it someday when you're ready."

    We sat in silence for another few minutes, while the tension

    slowly drained from my body. It had been over 15 years; since before the drugs
    and alcohol got too bad with my mother; since someone had touched me with
    kindness and love, and I was helpless before the gentle onslaught of Erin's
    fingers. Eventually, I started talking.

    "Things weren't always bad with Mom; I remember there

    being more laughter than anger when I was little. She was very beautiful, and
    there was a procession of men in her life, even back then, but most of them
    treated me well. I guess they wanted to make a good impression on her. When I
    was four or five, though, she took up with a man from a rougher crowd. She
    started in with the drinking and drugs, and they never really stopped. She got
    pregnant with that man, and Alison was born. From there, it was like a rock
    sliding down the side of a hill. It starts slowly, but soon it's rolling
    downhill in leaps and bounds.

    "After Sharon was born, fewer men came around. My mom

    was still beautiful, but how many guys are interested in a single mother who
    has three kids from three different men? I had just turned ten when she left me
    in charge for the weekend and flew down to Vegas with some friends from the
    club where she waitressed and danced. A bit more than nine months later, she
    had Mary.

    "The one thing I can say for my mom is that she mostly

    managed to stay clean while she was pregnant. But once Mary arrived, the hill
    got steeper, and the rock started plummeting downwards. As fewer men showed an
    interest in her, Mom had to blame someone, and we kids were handy targets.
    That's when the hitting started. I learned pretty quickly that she didn't much
    care who she hit, so I made sure that I was always close at hand, to try and
    spare the little ones. If she was going to throw plates at someone, I figured
    it had better be me.

    "By the time I was 12, I was the only one caring for my

    siblings. When Mom came home drunk or stoned after her shift at the bar, I
    would steal enough of her tip money to buy food for my sisters' lunches. That
    was the worst of it, and I didn't think that we would make it through. I am not
    sure we would have without our landlord, Mr. Johnson.

    "He lived in the apartment below us and would take us

    in on the weekends when my mother was out with her boyfriends, feed us dinner,
    and let us watch a little television. I never found out why he lived such a
    lonely life, but he helped me keep our family together until I was old enough
    to handle things myself, so I will always be grateful to him."

    I could see tears starting to pool in the corner of Erin's

    eyes.

    "You don't need to hear the rest of this;"

    Erin stopped me mid-sentence by kissing my lips.

    "You never got to be a kid, Davis. My whole life I felt

    sorry for myself because my parents didn't want or care for me, but at least I
    had Gran and Grampy. You had no one."

    Even though we were lying on an old lumpy sleeping bag on a

    rough hardwood floor with only a fireplace for heat, I had never felt safer in
    my life than I did with her right then.

    To be continued in part 3. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

    38 min
  • Michigan Weather and Women: Part 1
    Michigan Weather and Women: Part 1
    Love, bastards, and what we leave behind.

    Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the

    Podcast at Connected.



    The Plumber, The Painter, and the Wind off the Lake
    Prologue

    I have never been much for

    following instructions or doing what I'm told.

    In eighth grade, we were assigned

    to make a volcano in science class. I figured that if the eruption looked good
    with a couple of tablespoons of baking soda, then it would look even better
    with the whole container! And what better place for a natural disaster than the
    teacher's desk at the front of the class. I was right; the whole container of
    baking soda produced an impressive explosion. What I didn't count on, however,
    was it producing a week-long suspension from school and a beating from my
    mother.

    In high school, we had to take an

    art class to graduate. Our teacher loved still life drawing and would ramble
    endlessly about how it revealed the beauty that is in the everyday objects that
    surround us. I guess he wanted us to reveal the beauty in the bowl of fruit
    that he had put in the middle of the classroom, but the most beautiful things
    that I could see were Brittany Johnson's D-cups which filled out her sweater
    gloriously. At the end of the class, there were 29 drawings of a bowl of fruit
    and one drawing of a beautiful girl's smile (amongst other details). Although I
    was suspended for two days, I got a date with Brittany who loved my drawing, so
    I feel like I came out ahead on that one.

    In my last year of school, the

    final mathematics exam asked the following question:

    Determine

    the points of intersection between the following parabolas and lines.
    Illustrate fully.

    While the other students slaved

    away to solve the listed problems in the allotted time, I fully illustrated a
    drawing of our math teacher, Mr. Aaronson, dancing a slow waltz in a field of
    sunflowers with Mrs. Stevens, the geography teacher. It was the worst-kept
    secret in the school that our two shyest teachers had massive crushes on each
    other, and after four years of watching them pine away, I thought they could
    use a little push.

    I failed the test, but Mr. Aaronson

    showed my drawing to Mrs. Stevens during a particularly dull staff meeting, and
    when it made her blush and smile, he finally got up the courage to ask her out.
    They are now married and have a little girl who is as cute as a button. At the
    end of the year, Mr. Aaronson asked me if I planned to pursue math in the
    future, and when I assured him that I did not, he gave me a passing grade.

    So, what was my problem, you might

    ask? Was I just one of those kids who didn't give a shit and was destined for
    mediocrity or failure in life? Like many things, the answer is more complicated
    than it might first appear, but I am getting ahead of myself. Our story starts
    on an unusually cold and blustery afternoon in late October, on the north-eastern
    shore of Lake Michigan about a half hour's drive north of Petoskey, just
    outside a village called Good Hart.

    Chapter 1.

    It had been a busy day. The perfect storm of an early season

    snap freeze, strong winds, and lake-effect snow meant that there was a couple
    of inches of snow on the still soggy ground, along with a number of leaky or
    burst pipes, malfunctioning valves, and boiler issues as people cranked their
    heating systems up to full for the first time that year. As a plumber, though,
    I didn't mind. It just meant more work for me, which was always a good thing.

    At only 25 years of age, and despite being a master plumber,

    I was generally the last choice for folks to call, even in an emergency. Anyone
    with money chose one of the larger and more established plumbing contractors,
    leaving me with the jobs that they didn't feel were worth their time or effort.
    That's how I found myself pulling into the laneway of an older house, just off
    Lamkin Road down by the lake, late that Friday afternoon. It was my last job of
    the day, but I would be working over the weekend to catch up on my backlog, so
    I wanted to get it done.

    The house looked like it hadn't been updated since it was

    built, likely in the late fifties or early sixties, other than a couple of
    coats of paint and a new roof when the original finally gave up the ghost. The
    front gardens were neatly tended, however, and the property itself was
    stunning, with panoramic views in three directions out over the lake. The sun
    was just beginning to dip toward the western horizon as I drove up, so the
    trees cast long shadows across the laneway.

    The house was owned by Mrs. Wilma C. Anderson, who had

    called me earlier in the day to say that some of her radiators weren't working
    and that her boiler was making one hell of a racket when she turned it on. I
    told her to shut the system down and that I would look at it by the end of the
    day. She sounded quite elderly, and I didn't like the idea of her going without
    heat for a night during a cold snap.

    I rang the doorbell and waited until a tiny wisp of a woman

    answered. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall and looked older than
    the hills, but her face was full of life, and her eyes had a twinkle that spoke
    of humor and mischief.

    "Hi, Mrs. Anderson, I'm Davis Crawford. You called

    earlier about some issues with your boiler and heating system. How can I
    help?"

    Mrs. Anderson gave me an appraising look.

    "I wasn't expecting you to be such a handsome young

    man. If I were fifty years younger, I would tell you exactly how you could help
    me, and then I'd teach you a trick or two I learned over the years. But I am
    too old for that kind of foolishness these days, so I will just have to make
    use of your plumbing expertise instead. And please, call me Wilma."

    I couldn't help but laugh and blush at Wilma's surprisingly

    raunchy sense of humor. I liked her immediately.

    "Let's try that again. What seems to be the

    problem?"

    "Well, the biggest problem is that I am 91 years old

    and dying of cancer. The doctors give me less than a year to live. But aside
    from that, I really can't complain. I have had a good run of it."

    I cocked my head to one side and gave her a bemused look.

    "Oh, you were wondering what the problem is with my

    heating system. Well, I turned it on this morning when I got up, and the boiler
    sounded like there was someone trapped inside of it trying to hammer their way
    out. There was a worrisome hissing from some of the radiators, as well, and
    they weren't heating up worth a damn.

    "My husband, Phillip, used to take care of those things

    for us, but he has been gone for almost five years now, so I hate to think what
    you will find when you look around."

    "I'm sure I can help you, Mrs. Anderson,;"

    "Wilma, please."

    "Sorry, Wilma. Why don't you show me to the basement,

    and I will try to figure out what's wrong. Then I can get started on fixing
    it."

    On the way to the basement stairs, Wilma led me through her

    crowded but orderly living room. I couldn't help but notice the paintings on
    just about every surface of its walls.

    "You have a real eye for art, Wilma. Those paintings

    are beautiful."

    Wilma smiled wistfully at me and got a faraway look in her

    eyes as she replied.

    "Phillip and I were artists. I guess I still am, but I

    haven't felt much like painting since he passed on. Phillip painted portraits.
    He made a surprisingly good living at it; you would be amazed at what rich
    people will pay to see their lives immortalized in oil on canvas. I never had
    the knack. Phillip could make even the most corpulent and corrupt industrialist
    appear regal and wise. I could only ever capture what I actually saw in them,
    and I quickly discovered that they did not enjoy, or pay for, that kind of
    introspection.

    "So, I painted landscapes, and there is always a market

    for those. But I kept some of my favorite pieces, over the years, as you can
    see."

    As Wilma spoke, I took a closer look at the paintings. One,

    in particular, was striking; a portrait of a beautiful young woman, in her late
    teens or early twenties, with a stethoscope around her neck and her blonde hair
    pulled back into a tight ponytail. She was wearing a loose hoodie and was
    curled up in an Adirondack chair, reading a book. It was not what you would
    expect from a formal portrait, but it seemed to capture her essence in a way
    that no photograph could match. I must have stopped moving as I was drawn into
    the image, so Wilma gave me a minute before she continued.

    "That's the last painting that Phillip worked on before

    he passed. He didn't get the chance to finish it, but I still think it's his
    finest work."

    I couldn't help but agree.

    "Who's the model? She's beautiful."

    "That's my granddaughter, Erin. You can't tell from the

    portrait, but she's a real firecracker. As a grandparent, you're not supposed
    to play favorites, but she was very special to Phillip, and it hit her hard
    when he passed. There is more love in that one painting than in all the other
    portraits that he painted over his lifetime. Except for his first, of course,
    of me."

    "Where are Phillips' other works? Surely, they weren't

    all commissions that are now locked away in some dusty millionaire's
    palace."

    Wilma's expression turned bleak as she contemplated her

    response.

    "All of his other paintings were sold after he died.

    The kids said they would fetch a better price while there was an upswing of
    interest in his work after his death, so they insisted that they all go to
    auction as quickly as possible. They were probably right, I guess, although I
    loved his art more than I needed the money. But how do you argue with your kids
    when they have just lost their father?"

    "Do any of your children live nearby?"

    "They all moved far away. Phillip and I chose a

    wonderful spot to live and make our art, but a challenging place to raise a
    family. It's not so bad now, what with the internet, highways, and the like,
    but when we first moved here sixty-some years ago, it was very isolated. We
    were young and selfish, and our selfishness cost us dearly.

    "We thought that our children would grow to love this

    area over time, like we did. But they never did, and they left as soon as they
    could get away. My daughter, Samantha, is a retired lawyer and she and her
    third husband split their time between their loft in Manhattan and their beach
    house in the Bahamas. My son, Robert, is an oil executive down in Texas.
    Neither of them has been here in more than a decade, except for Phillip's
    funeral.

    "My baby, Max, passed away more than twenty years ago

    now of cancer. Erin is his granddaughter. She is a pediatrician, and she splits
    her time between the hospital in Petoskey and the children's hospital down in
    Grand Rapids. She comes to see me when she can, but she is very busy. My other
    relatives all live busy lives far away from here. We chose to live here,
    though, so I can't be too upset that the rest of the family chose to live far
    away.

    "But enough about me. What about you, Mr. Crawford? Do

    you have any children?"

    "It's just me and my siblings, I'm afraid, and it's

    been that way for quite some time. My oldest sister, Alison, is 20, and she
    goes to college at North Central Michigan, in Petoskey. She is planning to
    become a nurse practitioner. The rest of the gang still lives at home with me.
    Sharon is 17 now, so she kind of runs the show while I am working; Mary is 15
    but going on 30, if you know what I mean; and Lane is the baby of the family at
    12."

    "Where are your parents?"

    "I don't honestly know. We each have a different

    father, or at least we think we do. Sharon, Lane, and I have no idea who our
    fathers are, so there's a chance that we might be full siblings, but I doubt
    it. My mother never kept the same man around for long. Alison's father has been
    in and out of jail since before she was born and is currently serving a stint
    in federal prison. But Mary has it the worst of all of us.

    "My mother met Mary's dad on a weekend bender in Vegas,

    and he is a pretty big deal. Rich, famous, the kind of guy you see on TV and
    the cover of magazines. A real family man, except when it comes to Mary, whom
    he refuses to even acknowledge. He bought my mom's silence with a lump sum
    payment and a non-disclosure agreement. That money was supposed to be put in a
    trust for Mary, but my mom snorted and injected it all in less than a year.
    Mary has written to her father dozens of times and reached out to him on social
    media countless more, but he wants nothing to do with his bastard daughter.

    "As for my mom, she went away for the weekend almost

    seven years ago now and left me in charge. And I am still in charge, I guess.
    So, no time for dating or romance for me, and I think that I will be just about
    done with raising kids by the time that Lane goes off to college."

    Wilma gave me a look filled with more empathy than I had

    felt in a long time, maybe ever.

    "Anyway, I should take a look at your boiler and see

    what I can do about getting you some heat."

    I would have called the boiler in Wilma's basement old, but

    that wouldn't have done it justice. Frankly, it wouldn't have seemed out of
    place in a museum of heating and plumbing, and it was hanging on to life by the
    barest of threads. With only a year to live, however, I wasn't going to
    recommend to Wilma that she replace the whole system with something more modern
    and efficient.

    "I think I can fix your boiler so that it will hold on

    for another year or two, and I can patch a couple of leaks in the lines to the
    main radiators as well. One line to a radiator at the back of the house is
    completely shot, so I will shut that one off and be back to replace it later
    this week."

    "What's all that going to cost?"

    "It's free of charge, Ma'am. You've got enough to look

    after with your health and all, without having to worry about your heating
    system. I never had a grandma to spoil, at least not one that I know of, so it
    would be my pleasure to do this for you."

    "Please, it's Wilma. And it's a grandmother's

    prerogative to spoil her grandchildren, and not the other way around. But your
    kindness is mighty appreciated, Davis."

    It took me a couple of hours to shore up the boiler and

    repair the lines that were still in reasonable condition before I was finished
    for the day. As I got ready to leave, I found Wilma sitting alone in the living
    room reading an old paperback.

    "I'll call you later this week, once the replacement

    line for your radiator comes in."

    Wilma got a mischievous smile on her face.

    "Why, Davis, are you getting fresh with me?"

    "If I were older and more experienced, I would in an

    instant. But I hardly think I can compete with the memory of your
    Phillip."

    "Too true, too true. Alright young man, well thank you

    for taking the time to look after a foolish old woman on a cold October
    night."

    "I hardly think you're foolish, Wilma, but it's been my

    pleasure."

    I didn't get home from Wilma's until well after nine that

    night, and by the time I pulled into our gravel driveway, I was beat. The
    dilapidated old yard light mounted on the roof of the garage shone weakly down
    on the sloppy mix of gravel and mud that was our yard, and I could hear the
    excited barks of Munchkin, our rescue puppy. He was a mix of German Shepherd
    and Cane Corso, with some variety of northern dog thrown in, and he was mighty
    pleased to see me.

    I'm glad that someone was.

    I came into our small three-bedroom rental to find Sharon

    and Lane sitting at the dining room table working on his math homework. I wish
    that they reacted like Munchkin when they saw me, but Lane just grunted a
    hello, while Sharon looked up at me with a mixture of sadness and worry.

    "Mary is out with the McDougal brothers again. They

    showed up here a half hour ago, I told her not to go with them, but she
    wouldn't listen."

    "The McDougal brothers are assholes," was Lane's

    addition to the conversation, without even looking up from the table. He wasn't
    wrong. The oldest McDougall brother, Calum, was a couple of years ahead of me
    at school and was a bully and a braggart. Two of his three brothers had
    followed in his esteemed footsteps, while the jury was still out on the
    youngest, James.

    "I'm going to go get her. Next time that those boys

    turn up in our yard, let Munchkin lose on them."

    "Alright, dinner will be in the oven when you get back.

    Given 'em hell, Bro."

    The McDougal brothers lived just outside Pellston in the

    closest thing to a mansion that you could find in our neck of the woods. Their
    family owned the largest construction and maintenance company in the area and
    had most of the Public Works contracts sown up, along with a not inconsiderable
    portion of the private construction in our region as well. Their parents spent
    most of their time in Sarasota, Florida, though, and the brothers had free rein
    while they were gone.

    As I drove up their long, paved driveway, automatic

    floodlights came on, illuminating the ostentatious columns that flanked the
    entrance to their house. I parked in front of the nearest bay of their four-car
    attached garage while noting that there was another three-car garage further
    off to the right. I idly wondered who got to park in which garage. Rich people
    problems, I guess.

    I walked to the front door and let myself in. From the

    foyer, I could hear the loud thump of music coming from the back of the house,
    so I headed that way. As I passed through the kitchen, I nearly bumped into
    James, who was holding a couple of empty serving bowls. He stopped dead when he
    saw me, looking nervous, clearly not expecting anyone else to be in their house.
    Certainly not me, anyway.

    "Hey James, I am here to get my sister. Where is

    she?"

    He hesitated a moment before pointing toward the back of the

    house.

    "She's in the game room playing pool with the guys. We

    didn't force her to come here or anything, if that's what you're worried
    about."

    "Maybe that's true, James. But you know she is still a

    minor, and I am her guardian, so I'm going to fetch her and bring her
    home."

    James didn't like the sound of that, but I turned my back on

    him and followed the music to a large, sunken room at the back of the house,
    which had an expensive-looking pool table in the middle. The remaining McDougal
    brothers were either playing pool or smoking up on one of the couches that were
    scattered around the outside of the room. Calum was presiding over the
    festivities, while the Pistons game was playing on a wall-mounted TV that was
    bigger than some movie screens. Despite his family's blue-collar roots, Calum
    looked like an overgrown frat boy, with his preppy clothes and fifty-dollar haircut.

    Mary was sitting in the middle of one of the couches, with a

    McDougal brother on one side and one of their hangers-on on the other. She
    looked somewhere between uncomfortable and scared, but she gave me a defiant
    scowl. The music stopped, and everyone looked to Calum and then back at me.
    There was a nervous tension in the air.

    "Hi Calum, I'm here for my sister."

    Calum was now in a bit of a spot; he couldn't just let me

    come into his home and give him orders without losing face with his brothers and
    their cronies. But he also knew, or at least suspected, that my sister was
    underage. And then there was always the Pipe Wrench Incident. That always made
    people nervous to be around me.

    "That's not my problem. She told my brother that she

    wanted to party, so she's here to party. No one forced her to come, and she
    seems to be having a good time."

    I wondered if all of Calum's dates looked as scared and

    uncomfortable as Mary did at that moment when they were having a 'good time'.

    "Well, since she is still a minor and I'm her guardian,

    it's a bit of a problem. Or it could be. But I don't want to put a damper on
    your evening, so I'll just bring Mary home with me and we'll call it a
    night."

    Calum looked toward James who had just come back into the

    room with bowls now filled with potato chips.

    "Is that true, Limp dick? Did you bring an underage

    girl home to party with us?"

    James began to sputter before Calum shook his head in

    disgust. He pointed over at Mary.

    "Get the fuck out of here, and don't come back until you're

    sixteen," he said before turning back to me.

    "And you. Just get the fuck out of our house."

    It was a silent drive home. Mary refused to even look at me,

    staring out the window instead. When we pulled into our yard, Munchkin came
    running up to greet us, and Mary finally spoke.

    "You didn't need to embarrass me like that. I'm old

    enough to make my own choices, you know."

    "The law says you're still a minor. And you'll always

    be my sister. Those guys are no good, Mary. You know that."

    "James is different. He isn't like the rest of

    them."

    "Maybe that's true, or maybe not. But you don't hang

    out in a nest of rattlesnakes, just because there is a garter snake in there
    with them that you think is cute."

    After a pause and some continued barking from Munchkin, Mary

    finally looked over at me.

    "You're not my dad, you know. You can't tell me what to

    do."

    And there it was. It always came down to the same thing with

    Mary; her father's rejection of her. Over the years, it had undermined her
    self-esteem and destroyed her self-worth to the point where I wondered if they
    would ever recover. Unfortunately, I was just smart enough to see the problem,
    but I had no idea how to fix it. A brother's love can only go so far, I guess.

    "I know, Mary. I know. But I love you, and I am so

    proud of you, and I just wish that was enough."

    We sat in silence for another minute before she replied.

    "I wish it was too."

    Chapter 2.

    It took a couple of days for Mrs. Anderson's new radiator

    line to arrive, and I gave her a call when I went to pick it up.

    "Hi, Mrs. And; Wilma. I was just picking up the

    replacement line for your radiator, and I was wondering if you needed anything
    else from town, while I'm here. I was going to come by and install the line
    later this afternoon if that works for you."

    "That's very kind of you, Davis. Would you mind picking

    up a few groceries for me? I can send the store a list, so they will be ready
    for you when you get there."

    A couple of my calls that day took longer than expected, so

    it was late in the afternoon again by the time I made it to Wilma's place. The
    early season snow had mostly melted away, and her yard was now a combination of
    gravel and thick soupy mud that could swallow a tire as easily as it could
    swallow a boot.

    "Thank you for picking the groceries up for me, you're

    too kind."

    "It was no trouble at all, especially since I was

    coming out this way anyway. If you don't mind me asking, how do you usually get
    them?"

    "I used to have a young man up the way who would help

    me with groceries and yard work, and other small things, but now I am pretty
    much on my own."

    "What happened to him? Did he move away?"

    "No, he still lives in the same place that he always

    has, but I am pretty sure that my family paid him more not to help me than I was
    paying for his assistance."

    "What? That seems like a crappy thing for them to do to

    you."

    Wilma gave a resigned sigh and then offered me a coffee

    while she told me her story.

    "I think I told you the last time you were here, that

    most of my family has moved on from this place, except my granddaughter Erin.
    The rest of them already have an agreement in place with a developer, the
    McDougals, to turn this property into a high-end resort for the Fudgies, so
    they have someplace to spend their money after visiting Mackinac Island."

    "Fudgies," was what the locals called the tourists

    from down south who descended on the upper peninsula in the summer.

    "If you don't mind me asking, just how much land do you

    own?"

    "Well, Phillip and I didn't have much to spend our money

    on over the years, so we bought up many of the nearby properties when they went
    up for sale. We ended up with at least a quarter mile of land that fronts onto
    the lake, without even really trying."

    I let out a low whistle.

    "That must be worth a small fortune. I can understand

    your family's interest."

    "At first, they didn't care if I stayed in the house

    after Phillip died. They figured that I would follow soon enough. After a few
    years, however, they started to get impatient, and it's fair to say that they
    are now actively encouraging me to leave, by foot, by car, or in a box. They
    have generously offered to put me out to pasture in a warehouse for the old and
    infirm, though, to await my impending doom.

    "With my cancer, their wish is finally going to come

    true. By this time next year, I will be sipping coffee with Phillip in whatever
    afterlife we atheists get to enjoy. Actually, who am I kidding? If there is an
    afterlife for Phillip and me, the first thing I'm going to do when I get there
    is get on my knees, undo his belt buckle, and then show him just how much I've
    missed him these past five years.

    Wilma looked a bit startled as if she had just remembered

    that I was still there.

    "I'm sorry, Davis. You probably didn't need to hear

    that last part. I just miss him so much. I still see him in the trees and along
    the shore, and I sometimes hear his voice in the wind off the lake."

    "It's all good, Wilma. I just hope that my brother and

    sisters get to experience the kind of love that you and Phillip had
    someday."

    "What about you, Davis? Don't you deserve to experience

    that kind of love as well?"

    "Maybe I deserve it, Wilma, but I don't think I am

    going to find it. It's been tough; real tough, looking after my family all
    these years. I have done things that I am not proud of, but that needed to be
    done. I don't regret them; I would do anything to protect the people I love.
    But I doubt that anyone would be able to love me, once they found out what I've
    done."

    "I think you are selling yourself short, Davis. We are

    all artists, and we are all worthy of love."

    With that, Wilma offered to top up my coffee before I

    started replacing the broken line. As the evening's shadows deepened, I saw her
    watching me with compassion and concern in her eyes. Once I was finished, I
    felt her hand on my shoulder, and she gave it an empathetic squeeze.

    "A penny for your thoughts?"

    I stopped what I was doing and turned to look at her.

    "It's my sister, Mary. I am losing her. She is so hurt

    and angry that she is beginning to make bad choices, and I don't know how to
    help her. I've tried to be her brother, parent, and friend, but I'm failing at
    all three."

    Wilma offered no judgment, good or bad. She just listened,

    and when I finished, she spoke.

    "Bring her over this Sunday around noon. Tell her to

    wear some old clothes that she doesn't mind getting dirty. You can come too if
    you would like and bring your little brother to do some fishing, but Mary will
    be spending her time with me."

    It wasn't easy convincing Mary to come to Wilma's. If you

    have spent time dealing with teenage girls, you know that they can be as
    stubborn as late-season ice on the lake. In the end, I resorted to threats and
    bribery to get her onboard, but she assured me that she would hate every minute
    she was there. Lane came with us as well, with the promise that we could spend
    the afternoon fishing off the end of Wilma's dock.

    By the time we arrived, Mary was sullenly glued to the

    passenger seat and wouldn't look up from her phone. Wilma waited a few minutes
    for Mary, but she stubbornly refused to leave the truck. Eventually, Wilma
    pulled on her rubber boots and walked over to the truck. She looked up at Mary
    and started speaking.

    "There are three things that I know are true.

    "The first, I've already shared with your brother. We

    are all artists because we are all worthy of love. But many of us lose our way.
    We are hurt and abandoned, and we are buried in shame. I was like that for many
    years. But my husband, Phillip, found me and taught me what it is to be loved.
    Not just the physical act; although he taught me about that as well; but the
    certainty that I was seen, known, and cherished. He showed me that I am an
    artist.

    You are an artist too.

    "Second, I am old, I have cancer, and I will die. Not

    today, and hopefully not tomorrow, but soon. And that is okay; we all die. I
    have lived a good life. And when I do, I hope that Phillip will be waiting for
    me with a glass of chilled white wine and his beautiful smile. My art may
    linger for a while once I am gone but, eventually, it too will be lost.

    "Third, the world is full of bastards. Your brother

    tells me that you and he are both bastards. I will tell you a secret that I
    have shared with very few people; I am a bastard too.

    "My mother was beautiful but poor. Her parents lost everything

    during the Great Depression, and she worked as a housemaid for a rich and
    powerful man to support her family. When she fell pregnant, he put her out on
    the street and refused to recognize her child, his daughter; me. Because of his
    rejection, I spent too many years steeped in shame and self-loathing. But
    eventually, I learned a hard truth; my father was a bastard by choice, while I
    was a bastard by birth. And those of us who are bastards by birth must never
    let the bastards by choice win.

    "Come inside when you're ready. I'm too old and it's

    too cold for me to stand here waiting for you."

    With that, Wilma turned and slowly made her way back to the

    house. Surprisingly, after a minute, Mary followed. When they reached the door,
    Wilma turned to look back at me.

    "It's time for you boys to go fishing. There is a warm

    breeze off the lake that will bring you good luck."

    Lane and I made our way down the hill to the dock in

    silence, our fishing rods, ice chest, and tackle box in hand. Unlike a seasonal
    dock that would be taken out of the lake each fall, Wilma's dock could be used
    year-round and was built with heavy timbers and steel bracing, so it could
    withstand the crushing force of the winter's ice. When we reached the dock, we
    felt the warm wind that Wilma had promised, and we chose our lures and began to
    cast. After a half hour of fishing, Lane broke the silence.

    "Do you think it's my fault?"

    "Do I think what's your fault, Bud?"

    "That mom left us. That she never came back. Do you

    think it's my fault?"

    I sighed as I thought about my answer.

    "No. It's not your fault. It's no one's fault, really,

    maybe not even hers. It's funny though, she brought some amazing people into
    this world. I wish she could have seen how incredible you and your sisters have
    turned out. But she made her choice, and that's on her, not you."

    Lane thought about my answer before he continued.

    "But you would be better off without me. Sharon would

    have more time to study for the scholarship she will need to get away from
    here. I try to be nice to Mary, to make her feel better, but I just seem to
    make things worse for her as well. And I see how hard you work to keep our
    family together. I feel like you would all be better off without me. If I
    weren't here, maybe Mom would come back home."

    I took a deep breath and tried to push down the anger that

    threatened to overwhelm me; anger at my mother for abandoning us, anger at
    myself for never being enough, and anger at a world that would leave my brother
    feeling like it would be better off if he didn't exist. I felt the wind off the
    lake as it blew across my face, drying my unshed tears before they were formed.
    As I was wondering how to unbreak my brother's heart, a particularly strong
    gust of wind blew through and Lane's fishing rod bent into a deep arc, the tip
    dancing wildly as a fish fought against the line.

    "Dad! Help;"

    The drag clicked furiously as the fish pulled line, as Lane

    fought to keep his rod tip up. I quickly set my rod aside and braced him, my
    hands held loosely beside his as he fought to reel in his catch. We worked
    together for what seemed like an eternity before he finally fought his fish to
    the side of the dock. I grabbed the net and saw that he had hooked a steelhead
    trout that was easily two feet long and must have weighed at least eight pounds
    if not more. It was a wonder the drag held steady, and his line didn't break
    during the fight.

    As I scooped up his catch, the steelhead's silver sides

    shimmered like polished chrome in the fading light, and it was so big that it
    took up over half the ice chest I had brought along to store our catch. Lane
    was flushed with excitement at landing such an impressive fish, and I was so
    proud of him that my heart almost ached.

    "Nice work, Son."

    He just looked up at me for a moment before throwing his

    arms around me in a hug. In the time since our mother left, he had never called
    me by anything other than my name. I never tried to be his dad; I didn't think
    I was qualified, but I guess that all of us need someone in our lives who will
    love us without conditions or end.

    "Never think that you're a burden on me or the family.

    Maybe you need a bit more from us right now than you can give back, but that's
    alright. Because sixty years from now, when I am old and can't wipe my ass
    anymore, you are going to be paying me back in spades, alright?"

    With that, we went back to fishing in companionable silence.

    I pulled in a few smaller ones, but nothing to match Lane's steelhead.

    A few hours later, the wind had picked up and it was getting

    colder, so we packed up our equipment and made our way back toward the house.
    Halfway down the dock, however, a huge gust of wind swept through, and I heard
    a cry followed by a loud splash. Turning back, I saw that Lane's foot had
    slipped through a broken slat, and he had fallen off the dock. Without
    thinking, I dropped the ice box and rods and jumped into the water to help him.

    When I got him to shore, he couldn't put any weight on his

    ankle, and any efforts to do so were met with cries of pain. I quickly
    collected our discarded fishing gear and set it to one side, before helping him
    to slowly make his way back up the hill. The November chill quickly took hold
    of us as we walked, plastering our damp clothing to our skin, and we were
    shivering uncontrollably by the time we reached the house. I knocked but it
    took a minute for Wilma and Mary to come out from the studio at the back of the
    house.

    "I am sorry to cut things short, but Lane had an

    accident down at the dock and he sprained or maybe even broke his ankle. I am
    going to have to take him to the hospital in Petoskey to get it looked at
    before it swells up any further."

    Wilma looked at me with concern.

    "Maybe you should hold off at least for a little while.

    My granddaughter, Erin, the pediatrician, is coming for dinner tonight and should
    be here any minute. Why don't we let her take a look at it before you head into
    town? And let's get you out of those clothes; you must be freezing. I still
    have some of Phillip's things in the closet that might fit you."

    A few minutes later, I had changed into a pair of

    comfortable but slightly musty-smelling pants, with a warm sweater over a
    well-worn collared shirt. I was both taller and wider than Phillip had been, at
    least in the twilight of his years, so the pants were a bit short, while the sweater
    was tight across my shoulders. While I changed, Mary and Wilma had set Lane up
    on the couch with his ankle elevated on some pillows. I helped him change out
    of his wet clothing and into an old sweatshirt and shorts that fit over his
    swollen ankle. Once Lane was settled, Wilma and I talked quietly in the
    kitchen.

    "It's getting late, and you must be getting hungry, but

    I don't think I have enough to feed everyone."

    I thought for a moment.

    "We may be in luck. Lane caught the biggest steelhead I

    have ever seen earlier this afternoon, but I left it down by the dock after the
    accident. If you have a few potatoes and maybe a veg or two, I am sure I can
    whip something up that would feed us all."

    Wilma looked at me with a sly smile.

    "He cooks, he plumbs, and he cares for his family, all

    while cutting a dashing figure in my late husband's favorite sweater. You, Mr.
    Crawford, are a catch."

    "I am not sure about that, Wilma," I replied with

    a laugh, "But either way, this catch had better go and get our earlier
    catch, so I can get started on dinner."

    It took me almost half an hour to collect our fishing gear

    and bring it back up to the truck. By the time I was done, an older SUV was
    parked behind my truck, which meant that Erin had arrived. After I loaded the
    gear, I used the fishing knife and stained plastic cutting board that I kept in
    a bin under the back seat to clean and filet the steelhead before heading
    inside.

    From the doorway, I could see a head of sandy-blonde hair

    pulled back into a loose ponytail sticking up from the far side of the couch,
    and I heard a calm and melodic voice talking to Lane while Wilma and Mary
    looked on. I was so lost in that voice that I almost jumped when the latch on
    the door caught behind me. The head of sandy-blonde hair looked up at the
    sound, revealing a pair of amber, almost golden eyes.

    "You must be the father," said that same melodic

    voice, as those eyes bore their way into my soul.

    "It's Davis Crawford, and I'm the older brother."

    "Erin Anderson, nice to meet you. Can you get hold of

    your parents? We might need to take Lane to the hospital for some X-rays."

    "No," I replied more harshly than I intended.

    "No," I tried again, more gently but with an edge

    to my voice. "Our parents aren't around; I am as close as you're going to
    get. I am Lane's legal guardian if that helps."

    There was a slight pause as her amber eyes shifted from

    surprise to curiosity.

    "That helps a lot. Why don't you give me 15 minutes or

    so to take a look at this brave dude's ankle, then we can talk over some
    options, once I have a better sense of what's going on."

    "That okay with you, Bud?" I asked as I walked

    over to the couch.

    "Yeah, that should be fine," he replied, but his

    eyes were wide, and his cheeks were flushed. For a moment, I was worried that
    he might be running a fever, but then I got my first look at Erin, and I
    understood.

    Maybe she wasn't classically beautiful like a movie star or

    swimsuit model, but she was lean and fit, and from what I could see, had more
    than enough curves in all the right places. It was her face, however, that
    captured me. She had delicate features accentuated by her high cheekbones, and
    there was a softness to her expression that spoke of empathy and kindness. Her
    eyes, though intense, had a warmth that put me instantly at ease.

    I realized much too late that I had been staring at Erin for

    an uncomfortably long time while holding the bag of steelhead filets out like
    some kind of sacrificial offering. While I stood frozen, the look in Erin's
    beautiful eyes had shifted from curiosity to amusement; I would assume at the
    fish-carrying simpleton standing in front of her.

    "Thanks, Dr. Anderson; err, Erin. I appreciate your

    taking a look at him and; I am going to go cook us up some fish before I make
    an even bigger ass of myself."

    Wilma joined me in the kitchen, while Erin continued to

    assess Lane's injured ankle. We spent the next few minutes dicing the potatoes
    and veggies and tossing them with some olive oil, salt, and pepper before
    sprinkling the filets of steelhead with a mixture of herbs. I topped the fish
    with some slices of a less-than-fresh, but still edible, lemon I found in the
    fridge, before putting the whole thing in the oven.

    To be continued in part 2. Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

    38 min
  • Geekz And Freakz: Part 4
    Geekz And Freakz: Part 4
    Thomas finds intimacy.

    Based on a post by mi

    woodsman, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at My First Time.



    I watched Kelly walk away, buck naked, down the hall towards

    the bedroom. She was back in less than a minute, with a small box in her hand,
    which she tossed on the coffee table. She knelt in front of me, looked me over,
    and gently pushed me onto my back.

    "The second time you'll last much longer. Now lie back

    and enjoy," she said as she lay next to me.

    She kissed me, deep and long, as her hand played over my

    chest and stomach. One leg draped over my thigh, forcing my legs slightly
    apart. Her touch moved lower, tracing an outline on my abdomen of my semi-hard
    cock. A fingertip dragged lightly down my shaft, flooding my body with
    electricity. Kelly looked down and watched as I became more erect under the
    gentle touch of her thumb and forefinger, sliding up and down the length of my
    cock.

    Maneuvering between my legs, she kissed the base of my thick

    shaft. My cock twitched sharply as her tongue slid up the underside of the
    head. She smiled and took me in her mouth. I swelled even more until her lips
    stretched around my girth. When she was satisfied, she sat up, still firmly
    holding my pulsating phallus. With her other hand, she flipped open the little
    box and pulled out a little sealed pack. She bit the seal and tugged. Spitting
    the plastic, she simultaneously shook the contents from the packet and
    retrieved the latex wreath.

    Kelly placed the wreath on my scepter s head, then

    skillfully rolled it down my fat cock, and repositioned, straddled me. Reaching
    down she rubbed the head in small circles against her cunt until her eyes
    rolled back into her head. She paused for a long time, only breathing heavily
    and intensely concentrating on an invisible tide which carried her to the
    shores of Nirvana. Coming back to lucid coherence, She let her weight settled
    on me and I slid in, up to the hilt. With the condom, the sensation was
    slightly muted, but still intense with her firm rippled cunt walls embracing my
    thick rod. She rode me, slowly and confidently, her body moving in this fluid dance
    of sex. My stamina was again overestimated. Her active spasming cunt would not
    tolerate my best efforts to resist. Two weeks of abstinence was not abated by
    just one eruption. The second blast was more euphoric than the first, just20
    minutes ago. When I finished, she sank slowly to the floor.

    I pulled the condom off and covered us with a blanket. The

    rest of the night we alternated between resting and fucking until the 3-pack of
    condoms were exhausted. When those were gone, we used our mouths and hands until
    the gray morning light crawled in through the window. Eventually we slept on
    the floor.

    I dreamed I was lying with Kelly in my arms and I opened my

    eyes to find Nico standing over me, glaring at me. I jerked awake to a sunlit
    living room. Kelly smiled wearily up at me and kissed my sore lips. She stood
    and pulled me to the bathroom.

    We showered, taking our time to wash and massage each

    other's achy body, under the hot spray. Unable to contain ourselves, we fucked
    up against the tile wall, as the water changed, from hot, to warm, to cool, to
    cold. I was shivering as Kelly finished me off with well-soaped hands. Little
    Tommy was now totally spent, cold, and more anti-social than my first
    semester. Kelly lovingly dried me off and looked with surprise and pity on my
    shriveled hero.

    Finishing with a gentle kiss, she said; Oh, my hero. You

    will rise again; and I am proud to know you; You mighty king!

    By the time I left, every part of me felt raw. For once I

    was glad Nico wasn't around for a post-game encounter.

    Back to isolation.

    I didn't see, or hear from Nico for another two weeks.

    Normally this would have sunk me emotionally, but I was initially buoyed by my
    night with Kelly. I was dying to talk to Kelly; but, once again, I didn't have
    her number or last name. Whenever possible, I took detours through her
    neighborhood but never spotted her. I suspected that the apartment we used, was
    borrowed from one of her friends. I wasn't even sure Kelley was her real name.

    Whenever I thought of Nico, though; I fell into a sour mood.

    It was odd that someone who initially made me so happy was now the root of my
    pain. Her silence cut me deeply, and I eventually came to the conclusion it had
    to end. That was it, I was done. I sent a text to Nico, telling her I quit, or
    was retiring, or whatever she wanted to call it; because I was through. I
    couldn't do it anymore.

    Nico s New Personality.

    A few days later, Nico showed up at the computing lab;

    stomping past the long line of students waiting for a computer. End of semester
    projects were coming due, and finals were just around the corner; so the lab
    was packed. Nico looked pale and tired and agitated.

    "Can I talk to you?"

    I told a coworker I was taking my break, and led I Nico to

    an empty conference room.

     "How have you been?" I asked her.

    My question must have caught her off guard because she

    looked surprised and a little confused. "Okay, I guess. You?"

    I shrugged. She went on. "This might be the last chance

    I get to see you, you know, this semester. Sorry I've been such a bitch, it's
    not fair to you." She was silent for a long time before she asked,
    "How did it go with Kelly?"

    That was the question I was dreading most. I didn't want to

    lie to Nico but I didn't want to tell the truth, either. At least, not the
    whole truth. "It went pretty well. She seemed happy when I left."
    Nico nodded thoughtfully. Finally I asked, "Do you want to hear about
    it?"

    She shook her head. "No, I don't think so." She

    frowned at the floor. "You really want to quit?"

    "This whole thing has grown out of control. I can't do

    it anymore. It's not what I want."

    Nico nodded but didn't argue with me like I had expected.

    "I guess that's that." She grew quiet, as if having an internal
    debate, before she asked, "How long is your break?"

    "At least another ten minutes. Why?"

    "I was thinking we could have one last time together

    before the school year ended. What do you say?"

    I thought of Kelly and my immediate thought was, no. But

    then I realized that for the first time Nico was asking me, not telling me, and
    I glimpsed a hint of pleading in her eyes so I relented. "Okay. What do
    you want to do?"

    She smiled and sat on the edge of the table. "Let's do

    what you want."

    Another first, I stepped between her legs, then slipped my

    hand under her skirt, and wasn't surprised to find she wasn't wearing panties.
    She was swollen and wet and ready, as if she had been working herself over just
    before she got to the lab.

    Nico undid my pants and pushed them down. I expected she was

    going to give me a blowjob or handjob, but instead she scooted to the edge of
    the table, grabbed my turgid cock, and rubbed it against her wet slit. After
    some initial resistance I eased in. Just like that, I was fucking Nico, and it
    was then, I realized nothing bad was going to happen to her. It was incredibly
    liberating to let go of the irrational fear.

    She was tight, incredibly tight. Nico lay back on the big

    table, pulled up her skirt and fingered her clit. I watched my cock sink into
    her swollen cunt. It reappeared, wet and shiny, stretching and pulling her
    nether lips. I paused with the tip barely inside her and held it there. Her
    strumming fingers flashed over her clit. When I couldn't wait any longer, I
    plunged back into her.

    All those months of anxious frustration, I poured into

    fucking her, channeling it through my cock. Nico fucked me back with equal
    abandon, her feet locked together behind my ass; spurring me on, her fingers
    flying, her cunt squeezing and convulsing.

    She sat up suddenly. Then she climbed onto me, wrapping her

    arms around my neck, and wrapping her legs around my waist; and bounced her
    petite body on my cock.

    I grabbed her ass with both hands to support her and

    marveled for a moment how light she was. Nico hungrily met every one of my
    thrusts, her breath hitching with every stroke, until I grunted, "I'm
    going to come."

    "Then do it," she hissed through clenched teeth.

    Her body moved desperately against mine and our rhythm became fractured and
    erratic as I erupted. I stumbled back against the wall and waited as her
    bobbing slowed to stop.

    She slipped off and adjusted her skirt while I dressed.

    "Goodbye, Thomas," she said a bit sadly, turning away quickly towards
    the exit. That's when I noticed she was wearing the same exact outfit as the
    first night we met. Before I could call to her, she was gone.

    A Summer of Change.

    I didn't hear from Nico until the end of July. I was living

    at my parents' for the summer and received a small padded envelope in the mail.
    Inside were a USB stick and a brief note from Nico:

    Thomas,

    There's a video message for you on the stick.

    The

    video is for you and only you and it requires a password for you to access.

    The

    password is a simple one-syllable word I taught you this past year.

    Nico.

    In the relative seclusion of my room, I plugged the USB

    stick into my laptop. When the dialogue box appeared, asking for the password.
    I hesitated momentarily, before typing in: cunt.

    The video player started up and there was Nico looking out

    at me from my screen. I couldn't help but smile when I saw those green eyes but
    the smile was short-lived as I noticed Nico was pale and drawn, she wasn't
    wearing any makeup, and her hair was now a more natural auburn color and rather
    unkempt. The wall behind her bed was plain white with no decorations. The vibe
    was definitely institutional. Frowning, I clicked Play.

    "Hi, Thomas. There's no easy

    way to say this, so here it is: The reason you've received this video is that I
    am dead."

    My vision darkened, the walls and ceiling closed in on me. I

    forced myself to take deep slow breaths, until the pressure lifted.

     On-screen, Nico was blinking back tears, and looking

    away from the camera. After a minute she took a shaky breath, and went on.

    "There's so much I want to

    tell you and there's so much I need to tell you. I owe you the truth and more.

    "I have a type of brain

    tumor known as a glioblastoma multiforme that is rather malignant and was
    rather advanced when it was found over a year ago. The location of the tumor
    made surgical treatment impossible. I did have radiative therapy but it was
    ineffective. Even if that did work it was only going to buy me a few extra
    months. The prognosis was grim: Most people in my condition die within six
    months; a small percentage make it to twelve. I'm on month fourteen and
    counting so I feel like I've won some sort of cosmic sweepstakes.

    "After I was diagnosed I had

    a choice. I could either spend my remaining time at home with my family,
    enduring countless trips to the hospital for treatment that might buy me a
    short amount of time or I could go back to school and try and live a normal
    life.

    "I chose life. I was

    nineteen and I wanted to be normal or, at least, pretend to be for the little
    time I had left.

    "Knowing when I was going to

    die, changed me. I saw how much pain my condition was causing my family and I
    wanted to spare others from ever feeling that. So I decided I wouldn't let
    anyone new get close to me. Turns out, that wasn't so easy.

    "I also began experiencing

    all these dark urges. I didn't want to get involved with anyone, but I began to
    have sexual cravings. I was able to resist them for a while, but then they
    overwhelmed me. They still do, but now I don't have the strength to act on
    them."

    I noticed, as she spoke, her left eyelid was blinking

    slightly slower than her right. There was also a slurring of her words but I
    didn't know if that was from the tumor or possibly from medication.

    "Maybe I was feeling lonely.

    Maybe it was the fact that you treated me decently in spite of my appearance.
    Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was chemistry. Maybe it was everything.
    Maybe it was nothing. Whatever it was, when I caught you checking out my body I
    had the undeniable urge to suck your cock. I figured I would jump you, have a
    good time and we would go our separate ways. But you really surprised me. I
    tried to forget about you afterwards but it was impossible. You once called me
    your drug. Well, you were my drug and I was hooked after only one time.

    "Despite my vow I went back

    to see if you were really that special. You were. God help me, I was falling
    for you but I still didn't want you to fall for me. That's why I treated you
    like shit. Since I couldn't stay away from you I hoped I could drive you away.
    And while a little piece of me died every time I mistreated you, I simply can't
    imagine how I made you feel. For that I am truly sorry.

    "My fucking project was a

    ploy for you to see there are better people out there than me. I was careful to
    set you up with girls I knew you would like and who would treat you well. With
    each new girl I was afraid you would leave me, but you proved to be loyal to a
    fault and that made me love you even more.

    "Thomas, I love you. I think

    you love me, too, or at least, you once loved me. I'm sorry I never got to hear
    you say it."

    "I love you, Nico," I said to the screen. Nico

    started to say something but stumbled over her words and started swearing. She
    got stuck on the word fuck, repeating it over and over for more than a minute
    before there was a break in the video. When the video resumed night had fallen
    in Nico's room.

    "The seizures are growing

    more frequent and getting worse. I have headaches and I'm so tired all time.
    All I want to do is sleep. My short-term memory doesn't work so well nowadays
    so I had to go back and watch what I had recorded.

    "So, I wanted you and I

    didn't want to hurt you, but I did hurt you. That day in the coffee shop you
    were incredibly brave in trying to tell me how you felt. In my panic I lashed
    out and I'm afraid I may have permanently damaged our relationship. The next
    several weeks were especially bad for seizures and tremors. I ignored your
    calls and texts because I couldn't think coherently and I didn't want you to
    see me like that.

    "When I felt better I went

    to the computing center, saw the pain etched on your face and I knew I had
    finally succeeded in driving you away. I couldn't let you go, though, and I had
    to have you one last time. Maybe a more accurate way to say it would be 'one
    first time.' Despite all my blunt talk about sex I was no more experienced than
    you, in anything. I learned as I went along, just like you. In the end, you
    were my first and my last. You were my only."

    Nico's head began jerking slightly to the side, her eyes

    unfocused. The jerking continued unabated until the video cut to a sunlit room.
    Now there was a soft beeping of a monitor in the background. Nico's left eye
    was filled with blood and the pupil fixed and dilated.

    "There's so much I want to

    say but I don't have time for. I'm afraid if I don't wrap this up soon I won't
    be able to edit it and then you'll have to watch long stretches of me swearing
    and twitching.

    "I wish I had done so much

    differently. I should have treated you better. I should have loved you openly
    and, if you loved me in return, I should have spent every possible moment with
    you. My intentions were to fully live what remained of my life and I failed in
    the worst possible way. I denied you. I denied love. I denied life."

    Tears brimmed in her eyes once more. Several minutes passed

    before she composed herself. 

    "This is my last will and

    testament to you, Thomas. I want you to find love and happiness. I know I can't
    guarantee it, but I might be able to give you a push in the right direction.
    Kelly told me about that night, so I know how it touched her. You two shared a
    beautiful moment; and I have to admit I'm jealous. Promise me you'll see her
    again, if only just to talk with her. She'll be living at this address in the
    fall so she should be easy to find." 

    Kelly's name and address appeared on the screen.

    "Find her, talk to her and

    see where it goes from there. Maybe you're right for each other. Maybe not. But
    you have to find out.

    "I don't know what lies ahead for me besides Death.

    Even though I've spent the past year mentally preparing I'm suddenly scared.
    Death is a chasm bigger than the Grand Canyon but instead of being filled with
    beauty it's filled only with darkness. Death is a black void stretching out
    before me. I'm at the edge now and about to step off into the abyss. Will there
    be a bottom? Will there be another side?

    "Is there a soul after

    Death? I hope; certainly hope so, because I want to keep watch over you. If I
    can, I'll come back and haunt you, but in a nice way. I'll come to you in your
    dreams, and fuck your brains out. I swear I will."

     Her lower lip was trembling now. With a shaky voice she

    finished with, 

    "Goodbye, Thomas. I love

    you."

    Seasons In The Sun.

     Goodbye my friend, it's hard to die.

    When all the birds are singing in the sky.

    Now that the spring is in the air.

    Pretty girls are everywhere.

    Think of me and I'll be there.

    We had joy, we had fun.

    We had seasons in the sun.

    But the hills that we climbed.

    Were just seasons out of time.

    The video ended. I closed the lid of the laptop, pulled the

    USB stick out and hugged it to my chest. I curled up on my bed and wept for a
    very long time.

    Back on campus.

    At the end of August I was back on campus sitting on a low

    brick wall outside a modest apartment building. It was only ten in the morning
    but the sun was already beating down and baking the pavement. I sat in the
    shade of a maple tree and waited. Eventually Kelly emerged from the building,
    wearing a white t-shirt and bright orange shorts. Her hair was pulled back in a
    ponytail, and her summer tan gave her a healthy glow. She was as lovely as I
    remembered.

    When she saw me, she did a double take and a smile broke out

    on her face. "Hey, Thomas. Good to see you. What are you doing here?"

    "Waiting for you, actually."  I said with

    confident honesty.

    Her smile grew.

    "Do you have a minute? Kelly, I need to tell you

    something."

     She sat next to me on the wall, her thigh lightly

    touching mine.

    "I don't know if you heard but Nico passed away this

    summer."

    Kelly's face clouded and she nodded slowly. "Yeah, I

    know. Brain tumor."

    "How well did you know her?"

    "I guess about as well as anybody did, outside of her

    family. We lived together the past two years. She was my best friend."

    I blinked in surprise and took a moment to digest that.

    "You were best friends and lived together at Mary Hall?"

    "Our first year, yeah. That's how we met. We rented an

    apartment last year. That's where you and I met."

    I closed my eyes for a moment and thought about how much I

    didn't know about Nico. Finally I said, "Nico told me she lived at Mother
    Mary."

    "Um, yeah, that was so that guys couldn't find her

    after, you know."

    "Were there many guys?" I asked quietly.

    Kelly shook her head emphatically. "No, only you. It's

    funny: She claimed she wanted to sleep around a bit but she never did. Meeting
    you screwed that up, but in a good way. How did you hear about Nico's
    passing?"

    I stared down at my hands, shook my head and sighed.

    "She sent me a video."

    "She wanted to write you but couldn't hold a pen. I

    offered to write it for her, like dictation, but she said it was only for
    you." Kelly explained, pausing to hook an errant lock of hair behind her
    ear.

     "So I suggested she record a video. Nico liked the

    idea that she could speak directly to you, but hated that you would be able to
    see what she was going through."

    "Actually, seeing that made me understand where she was

    coming from," I admitted. "It somehow made it more real. Were you
    with her at the end?"

    Kelly nodded. "I saw her about a week before she died.

    It was so hard saying goodbye to her, not knowing if I was going to see her
    again."

    I asked the question that had been gnawing at me the past

    couple of weeks. "The Nico in the video seemed very different from the
    Nico I knew. Which one is the real her?"

    Kelly exhaled slowly and looked around. "I would have

    to say both complete the picture. The Nico you saw in the video is likely the
    Nicole I knew our first year at school. She was funny and smart but modest and
    reserved when it came to guys. Nicole was interested in guys and guys were
    interested in her;  but she never dated or hooked up with anyone. That
    spring she started getting these blinding headaches and would have fits of
    swearing, as if she had developed Tourette's. That's when the tumor was found.
    She also became impulsive, getting tattoos and piercings over the summer. When
    Nico came back the following fall she was a different person, much more
    grim."

    "Knowing you're going to die soon will do that to a

    person," I offered.

    "True, but it was more than that. I honestly think the

    tumor pressing on her brain changed her personality. She said horrible and
    wildly inappropriate things at times. She had dyed her hair and changed how she
    dressed and wanted to be called 'Nico.' I was afraid she was becoming more
    violent and bent on self-destruction. Maybe the piercings and the tattoos were
    an outlet for that." Kelly paused and shook her head. "I feared I was
    going to lose her even before she died. But then the most amazing thing
    happened." Kelly looked at me and smiled. "She met you; and that
    somehow righted her ship. The old Nicole would come out after she had seen you
    and when she talked about you."

    "How much did she tell you?"

    "A lot. She told me about how you're quiet, caring,

    considerate, and intelligent, and about your anxiety issues." Kelly paused
    and blushed. "Nico also told me about what you did together. I had a
    boyfriend I was sleeping with, but we didn't do anything like you and Nico did.
    I was, a bit green with envy, of you two."

    My anxiety cranked up another notch, and part of my mind

    began counting sidewalk panels. "Did she tell you everything? Did she,
    tell you about her project to get me out into the world?"

    "Yeah. Nico ran the idea by me first, but I thought it

    was ridiculous, and risky. I tried to talk her out of it, but it was no use.
    That whole thing was so unlike her, I sometimes wonder if that also was the
    tumor."

    We sat for a minute in silence. "So, you know I was a

    gigolo."

    "No, you weren't. You're a nice guy who did what Nico

    told him."

    Another question gnawed on my conscience. "How did you

    become a client?"

    Kelly s story.

    Kelly raised her eyebrows and tilted her head. "My

    boyfriend dumped me in February. He said I was getting too clingy and too fat.
    Turns out, he had been cheating on me with some skinny-ass sorority girl for a
    few weeks before he got up the nerve to break up with me.

     Then Kelly snickered and added; The punch line is

    that she dumped him a month later. Then he started coming around, trying to
    patch things up, but I refused. By spring though, my resolve was almost gone
    and I asked Nico what I should do. She told me I should spend an evening with
    you, and then I would know how much of a louse my ex is."

    "Nico told you to have sex with me?"

    "God, no! That was something that just happened. Nico

    wanted me to see what it could be like, to spend time with someone who was
    gentle and caring. I was so nervous at first I didn't want to do anything. But
    sitting and talking with you was great; and then we spent that hour simply
    kissing. By then I knew I wanted to experience more of you, and you were so
    tender and loving when we were on the floor. I couldn't help myself. I had to
    have you."

    "Was she there that night? I dreamt she was watching us

    sleep."

    "No, she had a really bad episode earlier that week and

    was back home, being cared for by her parents."

    Silence fell over us as waves of heat radiated from every

    direction. There was so much I wanted to ask Kelly; I didn't know where to
    begin. It was evident it would take time to hear the full story about Nico. I
    took seven deep breaths and plunged in. "Listen, I don't want to keep you
    from wherever you're going but I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me,
    some time."

    Kelly smiled. "What did you have in mind?"

    "I don't know, dinner maybe, perhaps this

    weekend."

    "Tell you what. I'm on my way to buy my textbooks. If

    you don't have plans, why don't you come with me. We can go to lunch
    afterwards, and then..." She let the sentence trail off.

    "And then what?"

    She shrugged and leaned in, bumping a shoulder into mine;

    "Then we'll see."

    That was a year and a half ago.

    Epilogue.

    Kelly and I have been living together for the past year and

    we're graduating this spring. Kelly's been accepted at State for their
    Veterinarian Medicine program, and I have a job lined up with their Computing
    Resources Department. We plan on getting married next summer. I've never been
    happier.

    Nico has stayed with me, haunting my memories. She did come

    to me in my dreams once, and did as she promised. When I awoke, I was making
    love to Kelly. I don't know if that really was Nico's ghost; or just the memory
    of her, but quite frankly, it doesn't matter to me.

    All I know is, I owe her so much.

    For Nico. I love you and I miss you.

    Based on a post by mi

    woodsman, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

    28 min
  • Geekz And Freakz: Part 3
    Geekz And Freakz: Part 3
    A Weakness Becomes A Strength..

    Based on a post by mi

    woodsman, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at My First Time.



    The intervening weeks had done nothing make it fade the way

    dreams do.

    The unceasing obsessing took a toll on me and my thoughts

    started spiraling uncontrollably. I became desperate enough to take my
    anti-anxiety pills out of the medicine cabinet and hold the bottle in my hand
    for close to an hour, staring at it. I hated those pills as they made me see
    the world through a sort of veil and I always had the distinct feeling I was missing
    something. I never felt like I was all there when I was on my meds. What saved
    me in the end was I thought of Nico's eyes and a calming peace came over me.
    The pressure slowly lifted off my chest and I put the bottle back without
    taking one pill.

    I finally received a short text from her just after

    midnight: Happy fucking new year. Short and to the point, just
    like Nico.

    On my second night back at school I was working the

    graveyard shift at the computer lab and since classes didn't start until the next
    day I was the only one working. I surfed the web aimlessly, trying to ward off
    sleep. It was after two in the morning when Nico came in wearing a leather
    miniskirt and matching leather jacket, her hair was spiked into a Mohawk.
    Fishnet stockings, black fingernail polish, heavy eyeliner and black lipstick
    completed her outfit. Whenever she moved a dozen zippers on her jacket jangled
    softly.

    "I'd like to apply for a job," she said as she

    leaned over the counter. I smiled at her and handed her the form which she
    filled out in a matter of seconds. "How about an interview?" she
    asked as she gave back the application.

    I shook my head. "Can't. I'm the only one working and I

    have to stay at the desk. You'll have to come back some other time."

    "Ok then, let me back there, I want to sit with

    you."

    "Sorry, you know the rules."

    "Come on, there's only one fucking' guy here. Who's he

    going to tell? Let me back there and you can pretend to be training me on how
    to turn on a computer or something." I frowned at her, trying to think of
    a good reason not to. Nico shrugged, sat up on the counter, swung her legs over
    and hopped down into the workstation before I could stop her. I shot a glance
    at the student sitting at the far side of the room but he hadn't noticed.

    Nico sat in a chair next to mine and lazily spun back and

    forth. "How was your break?" she asked. "Did you miss me?"

    I felt my ears burn. "It was ok and, yes, I missed

    you."

    "That's sweet. How much cunt did you eat?"

    "I had none."

    "Sounds kinky. Who was the nun?" I shook my head

    in mock frustration trying to mask the laughter I felt inside. Nico leaned back
    in the chair. "When do you get off?" The question sounded mostly
    innocent.

    "Not until six."

    She frowned and looked around the lab. "I can see why

    you'd like working a shift like this, what with your condition and all."
    There was a bit of venom behind that last bit and it stung a little. Her face
    suddenly brightened. "Hey, it looks like we may have another client, a
    friend of Amanda's. I'll try to set it up where there aren't a whole lot of
    people so you won't, you know, freak out."

    "I don't know," I said, "I'm not sure I want

    to."

    "This is about helping you meet other women and sharing

    your gift with them. Don't you know how it made Amanda feel? She's still
    walking around a smile glued to her face and she has you to thank for it.
    Doesn't that make you feel good inside, knowing how you helped someone?"

    "Yeah, I guess so," I admitted.

    "Look, we're starting to build some buzz. We need to

    strike while the iron's hot. There's been some of word of mouth about
    you."

    "Word of mouth," I repeated. I turned the phrase

    over and over in my head, liking it more each time. "Good one."

    "Besides, didn't you like the post-game between

    us?" I couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, I know you enjoyed that. So,
    why not do it again?"

    I could think of one big reason why I didn't want to but I

    was afraid to say it loud. Instead I swallowed it down and said, "Ok, I'm
    in."

    Her smile lit up her green eyes. "Cool. Show me your

    right hand."

    Slightly thrown by her sudden change in subject, I did as

    she asked, although in retrospect it was more of a command than a question. I
    held out my hand, my palm towards her. She leaned in, studying my hand closely
    before delicately folding in three of my fingers and my thumb until just my
    index finger was pointing up. This she took in her mouth, wetting it with her
    saliva.

    I watched, fascinated, as she slowly extracted my finger,

    her teeth dragging lightly over the whole length. With her hand she guided mine
    up under her skirt and my moistened finger slid easily into her. I could hear
    how wet she was and I could feel how hot she was. Nico moved my hand back
    forth, silently masturbating for the next several minutes with a wicked grin on
    her face.

    When she finally withdrew it I could see her juices

    glistening in the cold fluorescent lights. I started to bring it up to my mouth
    but she stopped my hand and sucked my finger into her mouth. With great gusto
    she fellated my finger in the same manner she had used on another part of my
    body. My cock strained against my jeans as I watched my finger disappear and
    reappear between those black lips. With a smile and a light kiss she let my
    hand fall into my lap.

    The lone student had gathered his things and was approaching

    the counter. With my erection I was in no condition to stand but fortunately
    Nico jumped up and handed him his ID. "Thanks for coming in. Have a good
    night," she said pleasantly. He murmured a goodnight and left.

    Nico leaned back against the desk. "Now, when do you get

    off?" This time, the question was definitely loaded.

    "Six," I teased, pretending to be clueless.

    "No fucking imagination," she muttered, shaking

    her head. The next instant she was kneeling before me, unbuckling my belt and
    undoing my zipper. As it turns out, it was only a matter of minutes before I
    got off.

    Nico, on the other hand, got off repeatedly over the next

    hour. I have to admit it was the best shift I have ever worked in my life.

    Sara.

    Our second client was a petite, mousy girl with dirty blond

    hair. We met at her apartment where she was waiting with Amanda. Amanda hugged
    me tightly when we walked in and introduced me to her friend Sara who only
    managed a barely audible greeting. Sara took me to her bedroom while Amanda and
    Nico talked in the living room.

    Sara and I faced each other for several awkward moments in

    the darkness. She stood suddenly on her tiptoes and gave me a brief, nervous
    kiss before shoving me hard onto the bed. Quick as a cat she was on me,
    peppering my face and neck with hard kisses. I tried to slow her down and
    assume control but her movements were frantic and unpredictable. Before I knew
    it she had my shirt off and was wriggling out of her clothes.

    Sara crawled up my body and settled her crotch on my head.

    She ground her sex against my mouth, the pressure so great it felt like my jaw
    was going to dislocate. In desperation I tongued her clit hard and she came
    with a shudder, drenching me in her juices. I bathed her with long licks from
    the very bottom of her cunt up to the hard nub of her clit. Sara relaxed and
    gently rode my face to several more orgasms. When she was finished she knelt
    beside me and licked my face.

    "Can I touch you?" Sara asked meekly as I stood by

    the bed tucking in my shirt.

    I nodded, and she reached out with a tentative hand to feel

    my crotch. She rubbed and squeezed me for a minute before asking, "Can I
    see it?"

    I shrugged and undid my pants, exposing myself. She stared

    at it, wide-eyed, and made several attempts to reach for it but always pulled
    her hand back. "It's ok," I reassured her.

    Sara steeled herself before taking me in her hand, running

    her fingers up and down the length before lingering for several minutes over
    the tip. Her thumb and forefinger rubbed the head, smearing the pre-cum and
    making it slick. She tugged on my cock, her pace increasing with each passing
    minute until her hand was a blur. Her head swayed towards me, her lips open and
    I thought she was going to take me in her mouth. Instead, she gave me a firm
    squeeze and turned away to gather her jeans. I was so close to orgasm.

    When we rejoined the others in the living room, Nico and I

    made our goodbyes. Sara whispered something to Amanda who raised her eyebrows
    in surprise. Amanda hugged me goodbye, this time pressing her thigh firmly
    against my crotch for several long seconds. As soon as the door was closed
    behind us shrieks of laughter emanated from the apartment. Nico nudged me and
    said, "You did that. You created that joy." I smiled and stuffed my
    hands in my pockets to hide my erection. "Come on," Nico said,
    "let's go back to your room and you can tell me all about it."

    Spring Breakout.

    We had a few more clients in January and February and by

    early March we were averaging almost one a week. Each girl was different and
    each girl was special in their own way. My favorites were the introverts like
    Sara who couldn't speak in an audible voice or look me in the eye but once we
    were alone transformed into a feral ball of lust. These encounters were
    exciting, unpredictable, terrifying, and draining. Their energy and enthusiasm
    was always matched and sometimes exceeded by Nico, as if she was somehow
    competing against them.

    Only once did I back out; and that was because the girl was

    falling down drunk when we showed up at her place. Three days later we met
    again, and everything worked out great. By late March, I had been with more
    girls than any guy I knew. Nico's plan was working just like she planned: The
    girls were happy, I was meeting new people, and Nico and I both enjoyed what we
    had termed 'the debriefing.' The only problem was that although I enjoyed being
    with these girls, I began to feel hollow.

    I wanted the emptiness to be filled by Nico but,

    emotionally, she was still keeping me at arm's length. In the afterglow of her
    orgasms her defenses would sometimes break down and she would let me in a
    little but those moments were rare and fleeting.

    Nico s Oral Exam.

    One spring day we were deep in the bowels of the main

    library where I told her about the latest client. Without warning two slickened
    fingers were forced between my lips. The taste of her made me hard in an
    instant. Unable to control myself, I dropped to my knees and reached under her
    skirt. In my haste to remove her panties I tore them, making Nico gasp. I
    lifted her skirt and saw her nectar welling up along her slit.

    When I parted her sex, a large drop rolled slowly down. When

    I plunged my tongue into her, she moaned and cradled my head. When she came,
    she screamed quietly through pursed lips.

    I stood and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Our

    part of the library was as quiet as a tomb; apart from Nico's panting. She
    stood there and took a moment to look around, to be sure we were still alone;
    then reached out to squeeze the bulge in my pants, as she kissed me.

    Squeezing turned to rubbing, rubbing turned to unfastening,

    unfastening turned to stroking. By the time the kiss ended her hand was deep
    down the front of my briefs.

    Nico pushed my jeans and briefs down past my buttocks, and

    let gravity pull them slowly to the floor. We both looked down and watched as
    she stroked me, the deep-red head of my cock appearing and disappearing in her
    pale fist. She kissed me again, her tongue probing my mouth before running
    lightly over my lips. She smiled and we both looked down again to see clear fluid
    seeping from the tip. There was now a quiet wet sound keeping time with each
    pass of her hand over the head. I swelled in her hand.

    She knelt and kissed just the tip, rubbing the head lightly

    over her lips like an obscene lip gloss. I shivered. Kiss followed kiss, on my
    fleshy head; each kiss longer and more sensual than the last.

    I watched her make out with my cock; her eyes closed, her

    lips shiny with my precum, her tongue now integral to the kisses, and wetting
    my head with her saliva; and a heaviness grew in my balls. She had not yet
    taken me in her mouth and I was close to coming.

    As my body tensed, her kisses grew more frequent, and more

    open mouth; teasing my orgasm to the surface. Occasionally the tip would slip
    into her mouth, and her tongue would suckle. Nico toyed with me; the way a cat
    toys with a mouse, making me tremble. When I was at the limit of self-control,
    she paused and looked up.

    The pleading and desperation, etched on my face, made her

    smile. Her eyes locked on mine, she slowly and deliberately kissed the tip. A
    tremor ran through me. With the next kiss, her lips wrapped around the head and
    her tongue flicked. A second tremor ran through me. The light in her eyes told
    me how much she enjoyed inflicting this exquisite agony upon me. Nico took me a
    little deeper, and dragged her teeth gently over the ridge of the head, sending
    yet another tremor through my body.

    My cock slowly reemerged until she was again kissing just

    the tip with slow, deliberate, and exaggerated motions. Her full lips opened
    wider and closed slower until the head of my cock rested on her lower lip
    pointing at her waiting, wanting mouth. Her tongue danced over my knob, and I
    hissed through gritted teeth. My cock twitched and I saw my creamy jizz, jet
    into her mouth. Her lips wrapped around my crown, locking tight to the shaft,
    just beyond the ridge of my swollen glans; and sucked gently, massaging the
    frenulum; slowly, until I was spent.

    She reached down and secured the waistbands of my shorts and

    pants. As she stood, she pulled up my pants, tucked me in and zipped me up.
    Nico gave a little shrug and practically skipped away. I followed, at a
    slightly slower pace.

    The Harsh Coffee Confrontation.

    We ended up at a nearby coffee shop. She ordered an herbal

    tea for her and a large orange juice for me. We sat at a corner table, looking
    out at the street, while enjoying our drinks. Nico sipped her tea, and I
     just shook my head at her.

    "What?"

    "Our 'behavior' was a little too public and

    risky," I said.

    "Perhaps, but didn't the risk add to the

    enjoyment?" she countered.

    "Yes," I admitted, reluctantly; "but we

    should have been more cautious. We could have been arrested."

    "You were a willing participant," she observed.

    "You could have stopped."

    I stared out at the people passing by on the sidewalk,

    mostly students laden with heavy backpacks. Could I have stopped? I thought
    back, to moment she stuck her fingers in my mouth; and realized that, no, I
    wasn't able to. Once I had tasted her, I had to have more. Just thinking about
    it was making me hard again.

    "You could have stopped, right?" she repeated. She

    watched me over the rim of her cup. As she sipped, I could see she already knew
    the answer, by the way her mouth was curling up at the corners. I shook my head
    in response, and drank down the rest of my juice. "Yeah, I thought so.
    I've seen the way your eyes glaze over, once you know you're going down on me.
    A part of you goes off to some faraway place, until you're finished."

    "So, does that make me an addict?"

    "Yeah. And I guess that would make me your drug,"

    she added with a devious grin.

    I thought for a moment. Drug wasn't the word I would have

    used but it would do for now. "More like, you're my drug and my
    pusher."

    Her grin faded and an odd look came over her. I couldn't

    tell if she was disturbed by my comment. I don't think she knew, either. I
    watched her bite her lip as she mulled it over before I said what had been
    weighing on me the past couple of months.

    "I like being with you." I bravely blurted out.

    "No shit. I can tell by the way you come in my

    mouth." Two chairs away, a spoon clattered noisily to the table. The girl
    who dropped it was straining to watch us, out of the corner of her eye. Nico
    turned to the girl and confided, "You know how it is, when you're sucking
    a guy off, and you can feel his body tense as he tries to hold back, and that
    moment, just as he explodes, you feel momentarily afraid that he'll never stop.
    With Thomas, I never want it to stop. I want to drown in his creamy seed. And
    his cock is so big I can barely wrap my lips around it."

    Nico turned to me. "Thomas, show her how big your cock

    is." The girl gave a squeak, picked up her backpack and hurried away.

    "Why do you have to be mean like that?" I said,

    feeling empathy for the timid freshman lass.

    "Oh, please," Nico said rolling her eyes. "I

    did her a favor. She's hurrying back to her apartment or dorm, and when she
    gets there, she's going to lock her bedroom door, jump into bed, and jam as
    many fingers as possible, up her tight little cunt. And as she's frigging
    herself to a glorious climax, she'll be thinking about your big, fat cock; and
    how it would feel in her mouth; or maybe her cunt. Come to think of it, I also
    did you a favor."

    I shifted nervously and leaned in, lowering my voice.

    "Anyways, what I mean is, I like being with you, more than anyone else. I
    want to be with you, and only you."

    Her green eyes became hard ice in an instant. The dagger of

    her stare pierced me through the heart, and I died a little inside. "I
    can't have a boyfriend," she recited her mantra.

    "This is absurd. Considering our situation, we're

    practically boyfriend and girlfriend, just not in a traditional sense." I
    tried appealing to social norms.

    Nico glowered at me from across the table.

    I continued pleading; "Is it your parents? If so, I'm

    willing to meet them right now; and you know how I am around new people."

    "I'm not going to discuss it!" Her words had

    acquired a razor's edge, and I knew her next words were going to cut me deeply.
    We sat in stony silence, as she finished her tea. Then Nico slammed her cup
    hard on the table, whispered, "Fuck you!" and grabbed her backpack
    and stalked out.

    I didn't bother to follow, because I knew she didn't want to

    talk to me. I waited a few minutes before leaving, turning in the direction opposite
    of Nico's. My insides were roiling with doubt and despair. Had I ruined a good
    thing, something so strange and unique that if I told anyone they wouldn't
    believe me? Was the damage irreversible?

    Nico punished me by not returning my calls and texts for

    almost a week. When she did finally contact me; she made no mention of what I
    had said. Instead, she had set me up with another client for the following
    Saturday. Nico also told me she wouldn't be there, as she had to go home for
    the weekend.

     I took it to mean she was still mad. The lead weight

    in my stomach grew heavier and sank lower. I wasn't interested in seeing a
    client, but I really didn't have a choice. Nico expected me to go, and of
    course, I always did what she said.

    Kelly.

    Promptly at nine, I put my game face on and knocked on the

    door of an off-campus apartment on the south side of town. The client, Kelly,
    had wavy, shoulder-length strawberry-blond hair, a round face, and large blue
    eyes. Grey sweatpants and a hooded sweatshirt masked the shape of her body. All
    I knew was that she was only a few inches shorter than me. Kelly smiled
    nervously, biting her lower lip, as she invited me in. I kicked off my shoes
    and followed her down a long narrow hallway to the living room, furnished with
    the typical cheap rental unit furniture.

    "Have a seat," she said pointing to the couch.

    "Would you like a drink?"

    Normally, I would have declined but since I was in a sour

    mood I figured a drink or two might help. "Yeah, sure."

    Kelly stood on her tiptoes and looked in a kitchen cabinet.

    "Looks like we have tequila; or tequila."

    She pulled out a bottle and held it up. "I recommend

    the tequila." She returned with the bottle, a couple of glasses, a small
    bowl of lemon wedges, and a salt shaker; and knelt at the coffee table opposite
    of me. "Have you done tequila shots before?" I shook my head.
    "It's simple. Wet the back of your hand here," she licked the skin
    between her thumb and forefinger, "sprinkle on some salt, lick the salt
    off, throw the shot back and suck on the lemon." She did the last three in
    rapid succession. "The trick is to do it quickly."

    I did as she showed me, although I was a bit clumsy at it.

    The tequila burned on the way down, and ignited a fire in my belly. The alcohol
    itself tasted awful but since my taste buds were confused by the salty and sour
    flavors it was not altogether unpleasant. Kelly moved onto the couch beside me
    and we spent the next half hour talking and doing a few more shots each. My
    thinking was starting to get fuzzy, and I realized we were both laughing way
    too easily. I also discovered that we were holding hands, our fingers
    interlaced.

    I stopped laughing, and so did Kelly. Suddenly she looked

    very serious and very kissable. We stared at each other; the moment frozen in
    time. I could feel the tug of gravity her mouth exerted on mine. I submitted to
    the pull and, at last, our lips met. She tasted like spring, of sunshine and
    flowers and new growth. Our arms were wrapped around each other and I pulled
    her sideways onto my lap. Her vibrant tongue tangoed slowly with mine. The heat
    in my belly was now matched by the ache of longing in my groin. Kisses crashed
    on top of kisses, some slow and tender, some sudden and violent, with the role
    of aggressor swapped repeatedly and freely. Eventually, a noise from the
    bedroom broke the kiss.

    "Is someone here?"

    "No," Kelly said, "my roommate's gone for the

    weekend. It must be the cat. I would introduce you, but he's extremely
    territorial and vicious to new people."

    I excused myself and used the bathroom. I stared at my

    reflection for a long time, wanting this evening to last forever and wondering
    how to do it. My reflection had no answers.

    When I returned, over a dozen candles illuminated the living

    room. Blankets were spread out over the thick shag rug, in the middle of the
    floor, with Kelly standing in the middle.

    Wordlessly she peeled off her sweats. The light of the

    flickering flames danced over her curves, accentuating the hills and deepening
    the valleys. Shadows hid her sex, and the candlelight only offered brief hints
    when she turned. I was mesmerized. She smiled and held out her arms, breaking
    the spell.

    I reached out with a tentative hand, to the swell of her tit.

    The nipple stiffened beneath my touch. My thumb gently swirled, caressing and
    teasing it, to full height, and freeing a soft mewing from Kelly.

     She knelt and lay back on the blanket. I followed,

    pulling just my shirt off and lying next to her. While we kissed my hand roamed
    her naked body, tracing her contours, until delving into wet heat between her
    legs. Her thighs clamped hard around my hand, holding it there as she twisted
    beneath me. Her hand pressed hard over my hand, assuring me that I was doing a
    wonderful thing.

    Soon my mouth was exploring her, starting at her ears. There

    was a sudden and urgent need to taste every part of her body. I forced myself
    to go slow, to relish each inch, as I was afraid that once I had satisfied her,
    our evening together would end. I lingered at her tits, the soft flesh filling
    my hands and my mouth. Her tall erect nipples became rigid and demanding
    attention. My kisses trailed down her belly, and with each breath, her flesh
    rose to meet me. Pubic hair tickled my lips. I was almost to her secret place,
    when I diverted my attention to her thigh; travelling down one leg and slowly
    back up the other.

    Kelly was panting as I kissed up her inner thigh. Her smell

    was intoxicating, a siren song, an invitation to crash on her shore. I was
    dizzy with desire when my tongue first parted her swollen pussy lips and tasted
    her succulent nectar. I dove in and drowned in her sea, her distant cries
    encouraging me; until her body thudded and quaked, with an orgasm. I rested my
    head on her stomach and was sorry it was over so soon.

    Hands tugged tenderly at my hair, pulling me up until our

    lips met again. She worked at my fly while we kissed, using her feet to push my
    jeans and briefs down past my knees, until I was able to kick them off. My cock
    pulsated between us. I could feel the heat of her twaut on mine, the down of
    her pubic hair against my shaft.

    Kelly reached down and gripped my cock and her eyes widened

    in surprise. She lifted her head and peeked between us. All she said was,
    "Oh!"

    With her hand, she guided me to her cunt. The tip slipped in

    and a shudder ran through me. After a moment's hesitation, I slid deliciously
    into her. A tight, hot velvet glove had a hold of me, and the slightest
    movement sent jolts of pleasure down my shaft, to my balls. They felt heavy and
    full, like ripe fruit about to burst. The neglected balls had gone more than a
    week without relief.

    I held still, vainly attempting to hold off my orgasm, but

    Kelly moved beneath me, driving me towards the cliff. With a groan, I pulled
    out in the nick of time, and sudden, slick heat pooled between us. When I was
    finished I retrieved a washcloth from the bathroom.

    "Sorry about that," I mumbled as I cleaned her up.

    "That was rather quick."

    Kelly propped herself up on her elbows and watched as I

    cleaned myself. "Was that your first time?"

     I nodded.

    "Then it's not surprising. I mean, I didn't give you

    much of a chance. I got caught up in the moment and took it too fast. I didn't
    mean for us to fuck just then." She gently explained.

    "Sorry," I said again.

    "Stop saying that," she chided. "You did

    nothing you have to apologize for."

    "Do you want me to leave now?"

    "God, no! I want you to stay. We're not done yet."

    To be continued in part 4. Based on a post by mi

    woodsman, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

    28 min
  • Geekz And Freakz: Part 2
    Geekz And Freakz: Part 2
    His Obsessive Dedication Gets Tapped Into.

    Based on a post by mi

    woodsman, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at My First Time.



    Nico stared at me as I finished my coffee. It had grown cold

    but I couldn't bear to leave it unfinished. Finally, she said, "Back in a
    moment," and walked off to the restrooms. A minute later she was back and
    dropped a ball of green material in my lap as she sat back down. "Feel
    it," she said, "Feel how wet you've made me."

    The crotch of her panties was soaked and I fought the urge

    to bring them up to my nose so I could breathe her in. I smiled, checked the
    time on my cell and said, "Come on, I'll walk you back."

    A silence enveloped us as walked across campus. She was

    obviously deep in thought and I couldn't get any words out of my mouth. At her
    lobby I tried to give her panties back but she stuffed them in my front pants
    pocket, her fingers brushing lightly along my semi-rigid cock. Without a word
    she went inside.

    I was walking up the steps of my dorm when I received a text

    from her: It s your fault I m masterb8ing now.

    I laughed and sent back, Hope your roomie doesn't

    mind.

    By the time I climbed the stairs to my floor I got

    back, She s studying w back to me. Now shut up I m trying to concentr8.

    Over the next several weeks we saw each other quite a bit,

    although somewhat randomly. Nico would drop by unannounced and I was never
    quite able to predict when she would visit. I could see her three or four
    consecutive nights and then there would be up to five days before she showed up
    again. Our trysts were brief and to the point, consisting of oral sex and
    handjobs. Nico was always in charge.

    Once she walked into my room and shut the door. I looked up

    from my homework and started to speak but she stopped me with an upraised hand.
    Her hair was sporting a bright purple streak on the right side. Nico unbuttoned
    the raincoat that came down to her knees and let it drop to the floor. Of
    course, she was naked underneath. Her pubic hair had a matching purple streak.

    I watched, breathless, as her hand delved between her legs.

    I could hear the squelching as her fingers penetrated her sex. I could see the
    glistening flesh as she parted the outer lips. I swear I could smell her from
    across the room. Her other hand tugged mercilessly on her nipples making them red
    and swollen. The entire time she masturbated she kept her eyes on me. After she
    came, she pulled her coat on, buttoned it up and left. She never said a word.

    The following visit she taught me how to pleasure her with

    just my fingers.

    I thought I was the luckiest guy on campus. Nico was an

    incredibly sexual creature who was teaching me so much. I was amazed at how
    much pleasure she could provide with just her hands and mouth. More
    importantly, she wanted me to please her with my mouth and fingers. I fed off
    her orgasms.

    I don't mean to sound ungrateful but I wanted more. Even

    though I very much wanted to have sex with her, the topic of intercourse never
    came up. I assumed she never suggested it because it was some sort of line that
    couldn't be crossed; If we fucked I would be her boyfriend and she couldn't
    have that. I never brought up the topic, because I had the idea that if we had
    sex, Nico would become seriously ill and die.

    I know that sounds crazy, but I can't help these kinds of

    thoughts from occurring. Once I have them, I obsess over them, making the fear
    palpable. So in order to protect Nico, we couldn't have sex. I never told her
    this. I wish I had, but I never did.

    Employment.

    One Saturday night I was working a shift at the central

    campus computing lab. A handful of students were well spread out in the lab,
    making for a rather dull night. That's the way I liked it as I could get my
    homework done and get paid for it. My coworker and I sat in the Pit, an ironic
    name for the raised circular workspace overlooking the lab. The Pit was also a
    convenient barrier between me and the students. Nico walked up and leaned over
    the counter at me. "How late you working tonight?" she asked in a
    hushed tone. The purple streak in her hair was now bright green. I wondered
    briefly if her pubic hair matched.

    "Until 2am. Sorry."

    She frowned and looked around the mostly empty lab before

    asking, "How many of them do you think are watching porn right now and
    mentally frigging themselves?" I shot a look at my coworker but he had
    headphones on and was engrossed in a movie. I moved away from him and Nico
    followed along the outer perimeter. "There aren't that many people here
    but I bet at least one," she persisted.

    I shook my head. "Doubtful. People tend to do that when

    they're alone in their room."

    She pointed at a monitor in front of me. "Can you use

    that computer to see what they're doing?"

    "Yeah, but it's our policy not to."

    "Let me back there, I want to take a look."

    "Sorry, employees only. They have a very strict rule

    about that."

    "Then I'd like an application, please," she

    pestered. I sighed and pulled an application from a file and handed it to her
    along with a pen; I figured it would be easier than arguing with her. She
    looked it over and asked, "Who does the interview?"

    "Tonight I would do the pre-interview but a full-time

    staffer would do the final."

    Nico smiled wickedly, put the pen to her lips and sucked

    lightly on it. "I think there is at least one person here watching porn
    this very moment but you think not. We should bet on it," she suggested.

    "What would we bet?"

    "If I win, I want you to seriously consider a proposal.

    If you win --"

    "You have to tell me why you can't have a

    boyfriend," I finished.

    She frowned. "Not very imaginative. Alright, if that's

    what you want." We shook hands and she pointed at the computer. "You
    do whatever typing you need to do while I fill this out." I took me less
    than a minute to launch a program and click a few parameters to get the answer.
    In less than that time Nico had completed the application and was holding it
    out to me. I checked to see if anyone was watching before I turned the monitor
    towards her, defeated. "Ha!" she exclaimed. "I knew it!"

    Shaking my head, I turned the monitor back and closed the

    program. Three people were surfing porn sites. I took the application and
    asked, "So, what's your proposal?"

    "I'd like my pre-interview first, then we can

    talk."

    "Alright." I started to read over her application

    but she protested.

    "I believe I have an expectation of privacy during an

    interview. Is there a room we can use?"

    I let my coworker know I was doing a pre-interview. He

    nodded without ever looking up from his movie. Nico and I went to a small
    conference room and sat at the table. I started through the prepared list of b.
    s. questions.

    "So, Miss Dewpot," I read the name she wrote on

    the application, "why do you want to work at this lab?"

    "Well, I've always found computers sexy, what with all

    those big hard drives and such."

    I made a check mark. "And what are your best

    qualities?"

    She looked up at the ceiling. "I'm loyal, punctual, and

    I don't take shit from anybody. Also, I give a pretty mean blowjob and have
    been told my cunt tastes like the nectar of the gods. Your words, not
    mine," she reminded me.

    "All admirable qualities," I agreed. "What's

    you're greatest weakness?"

    "If someone gives me shit I hurt them. Sometimes I end

    up in jail." I laughed and shook my head. "Did I pass the first
    round?" she asked.

    "I'm afraid we can't hire you, Miss Dewpot. According

    to your application you have a PhD so you're over-qualified." I added,
    "And you've been convicted of a felony but you neglected to say what
    for."

    "I always knew I would make it someday," she

    smirked. She stood and came around the table and sat on the edge right in front
    of me. She took the application from my hands and tore it up, letting the
    pieces fall one by one from her fingers. Then Nico fixed me with those green
    eyes of hers. "I'm going to propose something that I want you to take your
    time thinking about before giving me an answer and I'd like you to not
    interrupt me with any questions until I'm done."

    She waited a moment. I sat silently so she continued.

    "You love to lick my cunt." It was a statement and not a question but
    I nodded anyway. "Now I've been eaten out by half a dozen people and it is
    my unbiased opinion you are far better than any of them and that includes a
    couple of lesbians." I opened my mouth to comment but shut it quickly.
    "It was a phase," she explained.

    "Anyway, the other night I was having a pow-wow with

    several girls, and the topic invariably turned to sex. You may not know this,
    but sometimes when women talk to other women about sex, it can be in a very
    explicit manner. Anyway, the talk came around to oral, and listening to these
    girls, I realized they've never experienced anything like I have with you. It
    made me a little sad for them and made me feel a bit selfish.

    Self Employment.

    "As I've said before, I can't have a boyfriend but I

    feel like I've effectively taken you off the market. You should be out there
    meeting girls and going to town, or more to the point, downtown, but you spend
    a lot of your free time with me." A dark look must have passed over my
    face because she added quickly, "Don't worry, I still want to hang out
    with you and suck that beautiful cock of yours. And I want you to keep on
    sticking your tongue up my love hole," she added. I relaxed and waited for
    her to go on.

    "The other problem is that you're anti-social. Maybe

    that's what attracted me to you, initially, since I'm a fellow outcast. So, add
    all that up and it's a dilemma. I want to keep hanging out with you, I want to
    help you, and I want to help my fellow woman. So, what's the solution?"

    I shrugged as I didn't have the slightest clue as to where

    she was going with this. "To be honest, I didn't know either until last
    night when I was lying in bed, masturbating while imagining your face buried in
    my crotch. The answer was right there, staring me in the cunt." She paused
    and smiled. "I propose that I set you up with girls who are in dire need
    of a good licking!"

    I sat and stared at her for a very long time. My mouth was

    possibly hanging open. Finally, I asked, "Can I talk now?" She
    nodded. "You want to pimp me out?"

    Nico shook her head vigorously. "No, of course not, no

    money will change hands, although I will get a piece of the action."

    "What do you mean?"

    "Afterwards, you tell me, in glorious Technicolor, all

    the sordid details. It's a win-win-win for everyone. You meet new girls, they
    have the best orgasms of their lives, your fame spreads and I get off
    afterwards."

    "Sounds like everyone will get off. Will I?"

    She smiled and placed her hand on my shoulder. "Silly

    boy! Of course you do. It's part of the 'after.' Now," she slid off the
    table and stood up, "I want you to think about this and tell me your
    answer tomorrow night. Pick me up at six and take me out to dinner."

    "Why should I take you to dinner?"

    "It's only fair," she said over her shoulder as

    she walked out. "I'm a convicted felon with a doctorate. I can't get a job
    in this economy."

    I sat in that room for a long time and pondered on what kind

    of sociopath I had gotten mixed up with.

    I didn't get any sleep that night. I simply lay there and

    thought about her proposal. It was both terrifying and titillating. I would
    have to put myself out there and meet new people. On the other hand I longed to
    know how other girls tasted. Would they be like Nico or does each woman have
    their own unique flavor? From the porn I've seen I knew vaginas came in all
    shapes and shades but would they taste different? Would some girls be clean
    shaven? I oscillated between panic and arousal all night.

    Of course I said yes, because that's what Nico wanted. I

    told her the next night as we were finishing up our meal at a nice Italian
    place near the edge of campus. But I also had some concerns. "Will there
    be any ground rules?" I asked.

    "Like what."

    "I don't know." I looked around to see if anyone

    was eavesdropping. All the closest tables were engrossed in their own
    conversations. "Do I get right of refusal?"

    Nico nodded. "Of course. If you feel uncomfortable or

    get some weird vibe off a client you can call it off."

    I was appalled. "Did you just say client?"

    "Maybe trick is a better term?" She watched with

    amusement as my face turned crimson red. Our waitress dropped off the check and
    was about to say something but hustled away when she saw me. It took me a
    minute to realize Nico was toying with me. "Yeah," she said,
    finishing the last of her soda, "I'm just fucking with you."

    "Someday I'll learn," I muttered as I left enough

    cash to cover the check and the tip. I looked across the table at her.
    "Walk you back to your dorm?" I offered.

    On the walk back she veered us through a graveyard, saying

    it was a shortcut. The sun had set minutes before but we still had enough light
    to pick our way along the paths. There, deep in the middle of the graveyard,
    she sucked me off as I leaned against a huge headstone. When I was finished she
    forced me onto the ground and straddled my face. The dry, dormant grass
    scratched the back of my neck as she writhed above me. And, yes, her pubic hair
    was streaked with green.

    Open For Business.

    Over two weeks went by before we got our first bite. In the

    meantime, I had my doubts but Nico kept reassuring me her project was on track
    and that she was carefully baiting the water. She didn't want to be too pushy
    and scare potential clients away. Instead, she casually dropped little morsels
    and waited for them to come to her. Even then, she was demure and gave scant
    details, feeding them just enough scraps to whet their appetite. She knew she
    had one hooked when a normally reserved girl came to her room and asked
    explicit questions. The girl's eyes became bigger and bigger with each answer
    until she broke and asked if Nico could set her up with me.

    Nico told me all this while sitting on my lap one night and

    grinding her crotch against mine. I was naked and she was fully clothed.
    "I've arranged for you two to meet Saturday night at a house party down on
    Oak Street." The pleasure I had been experiencing was offset suddenly by
    the sick churning of my stomach and my whole body stiffened. "Relax,"
    she said, rolling her hips in slow, delicious circles. "I'll be there to
    introduce the two of you. You'll meet, say hi, and then you'll take her somewhere
    quiet where you'll shove your tongue into her cunt until she comes."

    The feel of her body rubbing against mine made me relax bit

    by bit until I began to thrust back. Our bodies rocked in time. Those beautiful
    green eyes watched me intently as my breath started catching in my throat. I
    reached between us and unsnapped her jeans but she shook her head. "I need
    you hungry and on you're A-game Saturday night. You're on a diet until
    then." She buried her head in my neck and continued dry humping me.

    Her hips ground against me in short, sharp, rapid thrusts,

    the intense friction building to a breaking point. My body trembled and tensed
    and I grunted with every thrust. Sudden warmth flooded my crotch as I came.
    Nico drove on, trying in vain to reach orgasm but eventually slowing to a stop
    as I softened under her.

    She stood up and fingered the wet spot on her jeans,

    satisfied. "I'm going back to my room to masturbate. Maybe this time I'll
    get my whole fist in. I'll see you Saturday night." Before I could say
    goodnight she was gone. I spent the next hour touching things on my desk to
    ensure Nico's safety.

    Amanda.

    By the weekend I was a nervous wreck and could hardly keep

    any food down. The anxiety of meeting someone new and the pressure I felt to
    perform were wreaking havoc on my body. On Saturday evening Nico found me
    curled up on my bed. She stroked my head and slowly coaxed me first to a
    sitting, then to a standing position until she had me walking out the door. We
    held hands all the way there, me gripping hers the way a drowning man grips a
    lifeline. At the steps to the house she pried her hand from mine, smiled and
    said, "Relax. You'll do great."

    The party wasn't as crowded as I feared although it was

    relatively early. Nico approached a conservatively dressed woman and introduced
    me to Amanda who was as tall as me. Her white blouse was buttoned all the way
    up to the top and her black knee-length skirt had nary a speck of lint on it.
    She was decently attractive in spite of the stern look on her face. We shook
    hands, which I found oddly formal for the circumstances. Nico excused herself
    to go find a drink.

    Amanda and I looked at each other for a moment before we

    both turned away. I could see the embarrassment etched on her face and I knew
    exactly how she felt. Nico caught my eye from across the room and she made a
    shooing motion with her hand. I swallowed hard and said, "Well, this has
    to be the most awkward introduction I've ever had." Amanda smiled briefly
    and her face softened. I leaned forward and said softly, "Maybe we should find
    someplace quiet to talk."

    Amanda nodded and led on, threading our way through the

    gathering crowd and up the staircase. The second floor was nearly deserted and
    we found a bathroom with a working lock on the door. Amanda leaned against the
    counter, her body rigid. I stood in front of her and a little off to the side.
    I held up my right hand for her to see then I slowly brought it down to her
    hip. She stiffened slightly at the touch but then relaxed.

    "I'll stop any time you want; Just tell me," I

    said quietly. She nodded as I caressed her hip through her knit skirt. As she
    relaxed my hand traveled down her leg and low across the front of her thigh. I
    stopped there, gathering her skirt in my fingers and slowly hiking it up until
    I touched skin.

    I watched her closely. She was very still, with her eyes

    closed and her breaths shallow, looking fragile and delicate. My palm pressed
    against her skin and I thought I heard the slightest hitch in her breath. With
    a slow, deliberate movement I ran my hand around to her inner thigh and up. Her
    body rose with my hand until she was on her tip-toes and couldn't go any
    higher. She was biting her lip now and when my hand brushed over her panties
    there was a sharp intake of breath.

    With one finger I lightly stroked her sex through the cotton

    material. I could feel her swell beneath my touch, the subtle ridges and
    valleys becoming more pronounced with each passing minute. Amanda lowered her
    body until her feet were flat on the floor, pressing her cunt into my hand. My
    touch grew bolder and her face grew flushed. A glow was starting to shine from
    within her, a luster that brought out her beauty.

    She gripped the edge of the counter now, the muscles of her

    arms tight bands of pent up frustration. I used all the skills Nico had taught
    me. My fingers danced, drawing a low moan from her. The swell of her clit was
    pronounced and I strummed it rapidly. She bit back another moan and took in two
    great hitches of breath before the dam burst. I watched as the orgasm rolled
    through her and in that moment she was the most beautiful creature I had seen.
    When she finally opened her eyes she smiled at me.

    "Thank you," she whispered, her words barely

    audible. She started to smooth out her skirt but I turned her and backed her up
    to the wall opposite the counter. "What-," she began to ask but
    stopped when I crouched before her. I looked her in the eyes as I pushed her
    skirt up. Amanda watched wide-eyed as I kissed her mound through her panties.
    Her scent made me instantly hard, drawing my face into her sex. I hooked my
    fingers in the elastic waistband and pulled her panties off.

    Blondish-brown pubic hair, thick and curly, greeted me.

    Swollen labia called to me. I kissed her and she shuddered. My tongue parted
    her with ease and I tasted her. I plunged in and left the world behind until
    the joyous sound of her orgasm filled my ears and brought me back to earth. I
    looked up and saw she was watching our reflection in the mirror. Her body
    sagged from the intense release, prompting me to halt.

    She smiled tiredly at me, her face glowing. Her lips brushed

    my cheek in thanks. After she was gone I waited a few minutes and washed up.

    When I returned to the party I searched for Nico but

    couldn't find her among the throngs of people now tightly packed in the living
    room. The noise of the crowd and the music assaulted my ears. The walls and
    ceiling suddenly pressed in and I broke out in a cold sweat, fear gripping my
    chest in a giant bear hug. There wasn't enough air in the room and panic washed
    over me. I staggered blindly through the crowd until I found the kitchen.
    Pushing through the group gathered around a keg I stumbled out a door and onto
    the back porch. Only when the door was closed tightly behind me did my chest
    finally loosen.

    I sat on the railing with my back against the house, safely

    keeping the wall between me and the party, the chill December air discouraging
    most people, aside from a few hardy smokers, from using the back porch. By the
    time Nico found me my limbs were stiff with cold and my cheeks were raw. One
    look at my face and she understood immediately and retrieved our coats from
    inside. Not even my coat and her arm draped around me on the walk home could
    stop me from shivering.

    The Debriefing.

    Not a word was spoken as she walked me back to room, undressed

    me and forced me into bed. Nico turned out the light and after a brief rustling
    of clothing she joined me under the covers. Her body pressed up against my back
    and her arms wrapped protectively around me. Little by little my shakes
    subsided.

    "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked when I

    was finally still.

    "Which: Amanda or the crowd?"

    I could feel her shrug against me. "Tell me about the

    crowd. What happened?"

    "I'm not sure. I've never had it so bad. I felt like I

    was drowning in air and I was going to die if I didn't get out of the
    house." A shudder ran through me as I spoke and Nico hugged me tightly.

    After several minutes she said, "I spoke with Amanda

    afterwards and she was one happy girl. It was almost as if she's a whole new
    person."

    I nodded numbly. "That's nice. So, what's next?"

    "We wait," she said. "Amanda will tell one of

    her close friends. Maybe not right away but I bet that after the New Year I'll
    be hearing from someone who wants to meet you and we'll take it from
    there." I lay there, quiet, wondering if I could go through that again. I
    know I could easily be with another girl but I didn't think I could go to
    another party. Nico ran her hand lightly over my chest and abdomen. "Tell
    me about Amanda."

    So I told her. And as the words tumbled out Nico's hand

    moved down to my crotch, her pulls becoming bolder as I became fully erect. She
    took me in her mouth as I described how beautiful Amanda looked when she first
    came and Nico swallowed my seed when I told her how Amanda's thighs squeezed my
    head.

    Nico lay back and forced my head down between her legs. I

    teased and tortured her with my lips, tongue, and fingers, her orgasms becoming
    more and more frequent until they merged into one long, sustained orgasm. With
    tired arms she pulled me up to her and rolled on her side. I wrapped an arm
    around her and we slept.

    Sometime later I dreamed Nico was straddling me, facing

    away. She was rubbing the tip of my cock slowly back and forth along her slit
    until it slid slowly inside. Her hips moved slowly up and down, soft grunts
    punctuating every downward stroke. In my dream I was immobile, unable to use my
    hands to clutch at her flesh. I'm not sure if I wanted to stop her in order to
    protect her or to help her body move against mine. Nico leaned forward and
    raised her hips until just the tip of my cock remained inside her. Her body
    bounced lightly in short strokes, her cunt gripping the ridge of my head. Wave
    after wave of pleasure flooded my body.

    I awoke to find my tongue buried in her cunt and my cock buried

    in her mouth. Her body shuddered above me, driving her sex hard against my
    mouth. I came long and hard, my fingers digging into her buttocks. Moments
    later she came, my seed spilling from her mouth as she cried out, pooling on my
    stomach. Her body slipped off mine and we slept again.

    In the grey dawn light I awoke to find Nico quietly getting

    dressed. "I had the most amazing dream," was all I could say. She
    smiled and kissed me lightly on the lips. Her fingers toyed with the dried cum
    encrusting my stomach.

    "I know," and she was gone.

    Final exams consumed me for the next week and a half and

    then came the two week holiday break. I didn't speak to Nico during that time
    but we did text some, mostly just light banter about having to spend Christmas
    with our families. On New Year's Eve I started to text "miss u" but
    deleted it without sending. I did miss her and I wanted more than anything to
    be with her but her words still rang in my head: I can't have a boyfriend.

    After almost three months of knowing her, I still didn't

    know the reason behind her declaration. I was afraid that if I brought it up it
    might make her angry or scare her away. What I had with Nico was still a
    relationship, albeit a twisted one, one I didn't want to risk by being overly
    forward or presumptuous.

    Still, I couldn't stop thinking of her, wondering what she

    was doing right at that moment and practically pouncing on my phone every time
    a new text came in, hoping it was her and being crushed when it wasn't. I spent
    the holidays quieter than usual, even with a house full of relatives. In my mind
    I was constantly replaying our last time together and the more I dwelled on it
    the more uncertain I became.

    Was it a dream or did Nico really have sex with me, however

    briefly? There was an unnatural clarity to all of the sights and sounds and
    sensations, almost as if they had been amplified. I couldn't trust my memories
    as my psyche had been significantly bruised earlier that evening by my panic
    attack. The sequence of events was disjointed in places the way dreams are but
    I could still feel clearly the way her cunt had enveloped my cock and the
    beautiful friction when she rode me.

    To be continued in part 3. Based on a post by mi

    woodsman, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

    28 min
  • Geekz And Freakz: Part 1
    Geekz And Freakz: Part 1
    Thomas finds an improbable connection.

    Based on a post by mi

    woodsman, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at My First Time.



    Everyone

    has a story about their first time. Some are sweet and romantic, some are
    incredible, some are bizarre and some are disasters. My story may be all those
    things rolled into one. When I think back even I have a hard time believing
    what happened. I do know that I wouldn't be where I am today without the
    incredible woman who dropped so suddenly into my life, a woman I met the fall
    of my second year at college. I owe her so much.
    Thomas.

    Social Disabilities.

    I was getting that familiar buggy feeling I get when I'm in

    a crowd and my anxiety starts to crank up, but I kept it in check by looking
    down and avoiding everyone's gaze. The party was in full swing with music
    blaring from the lounge halfway down the dorm hall. Eager drinkers pressed in
    around me as I pumped the keg. There was not one familiar face in the crowd.
    Everyone there was with my roommate or his circle of friends. Normally, I
    wouldn't have associated with my roommate and would have preferred the quiet
    solitude of the library but the thought of strangers touching my things had
    been too much, so I volunteered to man the keg. This way, I could keep an eye
    on my stuff and get free beer.

    Black leather combat boots appeared on the floor before me,

    a change from all the tennis shoes, sandals, and flip-flops I had been seeing.
    My eyes followed the boots up to a black and green plaid kilt, up to an ancient
    black Joan Jett t-shirt tattered around the edges, up to a thin face framed by
    spiked jet-black hair, up until my eyes locked onto brilliant green eyes
    outlined in heavy mascara. She half-sneered at me, as if in challenge. I just
    nodded in greeting and passed her a beer. She gave me a little crooked smile
    and melted into the crowd, leaving me slightly flushed. I continued pouring but
    kept thinking about her green eyes and how they seemed to bore into me.

    Later those boots and those eyes were back, looking for more

    beer. Her hands were empty, though, and the supply of plastic cups had run out
    several minutes before. "Sorry," I said. "What happened to your
    cup?"

    She scowled. "I put it down to send a text and it must

    have been picked up by one these ass-hat frat boys." Pointing to a
    half-full mug on the shelf next me she asked, "Whose is that?"

    "Mine," I explained and she picked it up and

    downed the rest before smirking and holding it out. I refilled it and she took
    a long sip off the top before handing it back.

    A Freak named Nico.

    "I'm Nico," she volunteered as I took a drink.

    "Thomas," I said as she took the mug from my hands.

    A black widow tattoo decorated the inside of her left wrist and another tattoo,
    green vines twisting and choking a broken clockwork, adorned her right bicep. I
    counted at least nine different piercings in her ears and eyebrow. She was
    short, almost a foot shorter than me, with a slight build. At first glance she
    appeared frail but I noticed the way the cords stood out on her arms as she
    randomly plucked textbooks off my shelf and thumbed through them before
    replacing them in the wrong location. "Nico's a unique name," I said,
    attempting conversation. I winced inwardly at the awkward rhyming of my
    statement.

    "Short for Nicole," she explained without looking

    up from my Physics text.

    I stole a sidelong glance at her body. Her legs were pale

    and smooth and looked soft to the touch. On her left thigh I could see just the
    bottom of another tattoo and wondered what it could be. When I looked up she
    was watching me intently. Attempting to cover my embarrassment I joked,
    "Did you just come from the Young Republicans meeting?"

    "Church? I'm an altar girl," she said without

    missing a beat. She looked me over critically. "You don't fit in,
    either."

    I was wearing a t-shirt and jeans but I knew what she meant.

    My body language was all wrong. I nodded. "My roommate's party, my
    roommate's friends, his friends' friends, and so on. You know anyone
    here?"

    She shook her head. "No one. I walked a friend back to

    her room after a movie, heard the music and decided to crash."

    We talked as I continued pouring beers. Nico told me she was

    majoring in sociology and I said I was studying computer science and
    engineering. The fact that she didn't run away after I told her was
    encouraging. The music down the hall was cranked even higher and drinkers
    crowded in around us, forcing us closer together. Nicole shouted one-sided
    conversation in my ear as I pumped the keg. To be honest, I don't recall too
    much of what she said but I clearly remember the feel of her breath on my ear
    and the five times her body rubbed against my arm as the crowd pressed in.

    Eventually the keg ran dry and I had the unenviable task of

    turning away drunk but thirsty souls, their collective mood turning darker by
    the moment. All of my attempts to get them out the door failed, the crowd grew
    more surly. In the end it was Nico who drove them from the room with pushes and
    kicks, swearing at them the whole time. I taped a sign on the door, closed it
    and locked it.

    "Thanks. I thought we were going to be overrun."

    "The only thing a mob will understand is force,"

    she explained. It sounded like she was disappointed in me in some way.
    "You need to be more forceful and not let them walk all over you." I
    nodded mutely, thoroughly chastised. Then she smiled slightly. "Anyway, I
    owed you for sharing your mug."

    Nico sat cross-legged on my bed, sipping what was left of

    the beer, watching me shuffle around the room picking up trash. Her skirt had
    ridden up a bit exposing more of her thighs. I pretended not to notice and
    concentrated on stacking discarded plastic cups and tossing them in the
    wastebasket. I finally got to my bookshelf and was, at last, able to reshuffle
    the textbooks into the correct order. The urge to touch them seven times almost
    overwhelmed me but I fought it successfully. Only crazy people touch things
    like that. When I looked at her I saw she had a curious expression on her face.

    "What?"

    Her eyes narrowed and her lips twisted thoughtfully.

    Finally, she asked, "Are you gay?"

    "No," I said, completely unoffended. It was not

    the first time that question had been asked of me.

    "Didn't think so." She patted the mattress next to

    her. "Come here and take a break."

    Stretching his comfort zone.

    I sat on the bed with my back against the wall. I tried to

    look relaxed on the outside but I doubt I succeeded. Every nerve in my body was
    jangling and my body felt stiff as a board. Nico didn't seem to notice. Instead
    she rubbed at a mark on her skirt before turning and looking at me closely. I
    started to wither under her stare.

    "What?" I asked again, afraid she had noticed my

    right ear lobe was slightly larger than my left.

    She shook her head, a frown on her face. "You're not

    like other guys, are you?"

    "No, I suppose not."

    She nodded, absently picking at the scuff mark. Without

    warning she kissed me, hard, pinning me against the wall. Once I recovered from
    the initial shock I began to return the kiss but I was always a step behind.
    Her tongue forced its way past my lips, so alive and electric. My hand went to
    her back; her hand went to my crotch as she drove me down onto the bed.
    Tentatively I moved my hand down to her ass and she boldly shoved her hand down
    the front of my jeans.

    She stopped kissing and stared at my crotch, her hand

    squeezing up and down my length. Her hands scrabbled at my jeans, tugging them
    down to my thighs until I was exposed and erect before her. Nico muttered,
    "No fucking way!"

    Before I had a chance to speak she had me in her mouth.

    Someone was pounding on the door, jiggling the handle and demanding beer. The
    shouting and pounding and sucking continued unabated for several minutes until
    the knocker finally took the hint and went away. All I could hear, aside from
    the thudding of my heart, were the soft wet sounds of her mouth sliding over my
    cock.

    The feel of her tongue was too much and my whole body

    tensed. With a groan I came, eliciting a muted whimper from Nico. She continued
    bobbing for another minute, the sensations intensifying with each bob, drawing
    out more groans from deep within me body. Finally, she ceased and let me slide
    from her lips. She sat back against the wall and dabbed at the corners of her
    mouth before sucking on her finger.

    I lay there, stunned and pleased and vulnerable and

    invincible all rolled into one. The feeling of invincibility faded, though, and
    I gradually became aware I was lying naked in front of a girl with my now-limp
    cock on full display. Embarrassed, I started to pull my pants up but her hand
    stopped me.

    "Don't; seeing it pleases me," she said.

    "Your very first blowjob?" I nodded dumbly and she smiled.
    "Thought so. What did you think?"

    I tried to put it into words but my vocabulary failed me.

    "It was amazing. I-" How could I describe something made me feel so
    many different emotions all at one time? Instead, I shrugged and shook my head.

    She nodded in agreement. "Kneel on the floor in front

    of me." I did and she scooted to the edge of the bed. Nico gathered her
    kilt in her hands, slowly revealing the pale flesh of her thighs, the serpent
    tattoo that started on her left hip and rose towards her abdomen, and the black
    cotton of her panties. She pulled my face to her crotch and I stared at it.
    "Kiss it," she commanded.

    I pressed my lips against the dry fabric. Nico shifted and I

    felt soft yielding flesh under the panties. Her musk filled my nose and I
    became light-headed. I kissed her again, my mouth open slightly and her hips
    rose slightly to meet me. Without hesitation I licked her and the cotton turned
    from dry to damp to wet and then I could faintly taste her. I tongued her
    roughly through her panties, wanting, needing more until she pushed my head
    back with one hand.

    Those green eyes, punctuated by black eyeliner, stared at me

    intently. I couldn't tell if she was pleased or angry but I did recognize her
    surprise. I don't know how long she held me there but with each passing moment
    I became more desperate to taste her again. Finally, her eyes narrowed and with
    her free hand she pushed her panties down her thighs, leaving me to pull them
    the rest of the way off. The hand holding my hair slowly relaxed and dropped
    away.

    I bent down and softly kissed her inner thigh. She tasted

    like fall, of rain and the sweet smell of slowly decaying leaves. I kissed
    higher and now I could truly smell her. I paused and, for the first time in my
    life, gazed at a woman's sex. Neatly trimmed black pubic hair framed her
    glistening folds. The swollen clit bulged slightly under its hood, calling to
    me. I could feel her heat on my face, drawing me in. My tongue parted her,
    delved into her, and dipped into her nectar. A guttural moan filled my ears and
    my soul fell into her, drowning happily in the pool of her wet heat.

    With slow and tender licks and kisses, I explored every nook

    and cranny of her, liberating her juices, coating my mouth and chin. Low,
    primal sounds filled the room only to be muted by the sudden pressure of her
    thighs against my head. I pushed on, my tongue darting and flicking and she
    trembled and shook beneath me. Her thighs hugged my face, each squeeze more
    powerful than the last, cutting off the blood to my brain until the world
    dimmed.

    When I came to my senses Nico had me by my hair and was

    twisting my head painfully to the side. Tremors rolled through her body and she
    looked down at me triumphantly. Her face was flush and sweat beaded on her
    forehead. With a crooked smile she pushed me away playfully in an odd display
    of affection. I wiped my face with my shirt and realized my erection was back.

    Nico looked at the clock and bolted from the bed.

    "Shit! My curfew is in ten minutes!"

    I couldn't believe my ears. "You live in Mother

    Mary?" I teased. She shot me a dangerous look as she smoothed down her
    skirt. To make up for the slight I offered to walk her back.

    We hustled across campus to Mary Hall, the lone all-women

    dorm on campus. Also known as Mother Mary, the Nunnery, or, more crudely, the
    Virgin Vault, it was the only dorm that had a curfew. A favorite of
    over-protective parents to guard their daughters against all the evils of
    college life, it was also the only dorm with a waiting list. We got to the
    front doors with two minutes to spare according to the large antique clock over
    the entrance. Nico kissed me lightly on the lips before disappearing inside. I
    was walking on air on my way home before realization set in.

    I had forgotten to get her number and I didn't know her last

    name. I'm such an idiot.

    Vanished.

    The following week I walked slowly past Mary Hall on the way

    to and from class hoping I'd run into Nico, even walking out of my way whenever
    I had time. I had her panties which I had found balled up under the edge of my
    bed and I carried them with me like I was the prince in a perverted version of
    Cinderella. Not once did I get a glimpse of her. I slept with the shirt I had
    worn that night. I hadn't washed it and I could still smell her on it.

    After two weeks I had almost given up seeing her again. I

    was in my room catching up on homework when I heard a voice. "Hey." I
    looked up at those brilliant green eyes. Nico was standing in my open door
    wearing a t-shirt and ripped jeans, a lock of jet black hair covering one eye.
    She flashed that crooked smile and asked, "Am I bothering you?"

    "Nope," I said, quickly closing my Advanced

    Calculus textbook. She shut the door and sat on the edge of my bed.

    "Is your roommate around?"

    "No, he rarely sleeps here. He usually stays with

    friends who belong to the frat he's rushing so I basically get the room to
    myself."

    "About that night," she began but stopped. She

    gave me a cold, hard stare. "You haven't told anyone about it, have
    you?" I swore I hadn't. "Good, keep it that way. You tell anyone and
    I'll hurt you."

    "I swear, I won't say anything," I said meekly,

    withering under her gaze. She was starting to scare the absolute shit out of
    me.

    Anxiety clashes with boldness.

    "Okay, I believe you." She looked at me for a long

    moment then said, "Take off your clothes."

    "What?"

    "Take off your clothes. I want to see you naked."

    "Why?" I asked before I could stop myself.

    Nico stood up, tilted her head and looked curiously at me.

    "Are you a virgin?"

    I swallowed and avoided her eyes. I finally shrugged and

    confessed, "I've never done those things before."

    "What? Kiss a girl? Feel another person's tongue on

    your own? Touch a girl's ass?" I stared at the floor under the desk. I was
    too embarrassed to look her in the eyes. "Or was it something else?"
    she persisted.

    "You know, like what you did to me," I bumbled.

    "You mean when I put your erect cock in my mouth and

    sucked on it until you ejaculated your sperm down my throat. That's called a
    blowjob."

    "Right. That." I swallowed nervously and went on.

    "And what I did to you."

    "Ah, you mean cunnilingus, more commonly known as

    eating me out or licking my cunt."

    "Yeah, licking your, you know, pussy."

    Nico shook her head. "You didn't lick my cat, you

    licked my cunt."

    "Ok."

    "Did you like licking my cunt?"

    "Yeah."

    "Say it."

    "I liked licking you."

    "I want you to say the word." She waited, an

    amused expression on her face. She was thoroughly enjoying how uncomfortable I
    was. "Say, cunt."

    "Cunt," I said quietly, flinching as I did so. All

    my life I had been taught that was the worst word one could ever say.

    She laughed. "My God, you really are a virgin, in more

    ways than one." Her laughter shamed me and my ears burned. I felt so
    small. "Well, at least I know you're clean. Tell me, Thomas, are you one
    of those types who save themselves for marriage? Did you swear a promise to
    your God you would remain pure and chaste until your wedding night?" she
    mocked.

    "Not that it's any of your business, but no," I

    said a bit defensively.

    "Do you believe in God, Thomas?"

    "No, do you?"

    Nico snorted with derision. "I have don't have time to

    waste on that nonsense." She unsnapped her jeans and pulled the zipper
    down. "I don't have time to waste, period. Do you want to lick my cunt
    again, Thomas?" She reached into her panties. "I'm so wet and I'm so
    willing. Do you want to taste me, Thomas?" She pulled her hand out and
    held it up in front of me. Two of her fingers glistened and shone. I was
    already salivating. I nodded. "Then take off your goddamn clothes."
    There was a menace behind those words even though they were said neutrally.

    I stood and peeled off my shirt then my jeans. After a

    moment's hesitation I kicked off my boxers. Nico shook her head and pointed at
    my feet. I understood and pulled off my socks. I stood there in the middle of
    my room naked and semi-aroused as Nico walked slowly around me appraising my
    body. I silently prayed she wouldn't notice my earlobes or that my rib cage was
    a little asymmetrical. She stopped in front of me and raised an eyebrow as she
    looked at my cock.

    "Utterly fucking amazing," she said softly.

    "How big is it?"

    Like most guys, I had been curious with the length of my cock.

    I had measured it and done my research but for some reason I was embarrassed to
    admit that to her. Instead, I simply said, "Bigger than average, I
    suppose."

    She shook her head. "Indeed it is. I thought my mind

    was playing tricks on me again and my memory was fucked up. But there it
    is." She sighed. "On your knees," she commanded.

    I obeyed. Nico kicked off her jeans and stood before me.

    "I can't have a boyfriend," she said, as I tasted her. I didn't care.
    I just nodded and drank her in.

    In the end, she was sitting naked in the desk chair with one

    leg draped over the armrest and me kneeling on the floor in front of her, my
    head buried between her legs as orgasm chased orgasm. When she finally pushed
    me away almost a half an hour had passed.

    Brief explosions of pain blossomed in my knees as I stood,

    my joints stiff. I rubbed my neck to work out the kinks and looked down at
    Nico. She lay there, draped over the chair, wasted with exhaustion but with a
    satisfied look on her face. Her small, pert tits rose and fell, her nipple ring
    catching the light with each breath. The tattoo of a serpent wrapped around an
    apple covered her left hip, up her abdomen, to just below her left tit.

    She motioned me over until I was standing next to her.

    "Masturbate on me," she said, tipping her head back, closing her eyes
    and opening her mouth. Her voice was tired and strained and for a brief moment,
    she looked sickly. When I hesitated she said emphatically, "Thomas, I want
    you to jerk off, until your cum sprays over my face!"

    I stood over her and masturbated as Nico's hands played

    lightly over her body, her fingers teasing her nipples and tracing random
    patterns over her stomach. The room was silent except for the rhythmic
    whispering of skin rubbing skin. She still had her eyes closed, and her mouth
    half-open and inviting. I watched her drive her middle finger deep into her
    cunt. With her other hand she caressed my sac, pulling me closer to her expectant
    mouth until the tip of my cock rubbed against her lips.

    She sucked it momentarily then whispered, "I can't have

    a boyfriend."

    I continued stroking, my orgasm nearing. Her lips nuzzled

    the underside of the fleshy tip, sending jolts of electricity directly down my
    shaft, through my balls and up my spine. With a groan the dam burst. White
    lines of cum jetted across the bridge of her nose and caught in her heavy
    lashes. She pulled me into her mouth and I came some more. When I was finished
    my knees felt weak.

    "I can't have a boyfriend," she repeated as my

    seed dribbled slowly from the corner of her mouth.

    I offered her a towel to clean up. Nico climbed wearily into

    my bed and pulled the covers over her. I watched her sleep for a while before I
    got dressed and went back to my desk. I touched every item on the desktop
    exactly seven times in the proper order before I could resume my calculus
    homework, letting her sleep for an hour before I woke her gently.

    "Nico, you have to get back before curfew," I said

    softly. She mumbled an acknowledgement and pulled me into bed, her buttocks
    pressing up against my growing erection. We lay there for several minutes, me
    lightly stroking her hair. At last she rose from the bed and dressed.

    She looked me steadily in the eye. "I can't have a

    boyfriend."

    "I know," I said. "Come on, I'll walk you

    back to your dorm."

    This time, I remembered to get her phone number.

    The next evening we were sitting in a booth at a busy coffee

    shop. Alternative music played overhead as students studied and writers
    pretended to write the great American novel on their laptops. I'm not the type
    to go out in public but Nico had succeeded in dragging me out of my room. I
    surreptitiously tapped the handle of my mug the correct number of times before
    I drank. Nico took a sip of her coffee and carefully set it down.

    "How come you don't have a girlfriend?"

    The question caught me off guard. I thought for a minute

    then shrugged. It couldn't hurt to tell her the truth. "I have an anxiety
    disorder that makes it hard for me to meet people, especially girls."

    She frowned. "You didn't have any problems talking to

    me that first night."

    "That's partly because of the beer," I explained,

    "and mostly that you talked to me first. You broke the ice and you carried
    the conversation. If you think back, I just went along for the ride."

    "So," she shrugged, "why don't you meet girls

    at parties or bars?"

    I fidgeted with a stirring straw, twisting it into knots.

    "Crowds make me anxious, I mean, really anxious. There's a reason I'm sitting
    with my back to the rest of the room, so I don't know how many people are here.
    I can't go to any athletic events, and if a campus bus is crowded I'll wait for
    the next one which sometimes makes me late for class. Even big lectures give me
    a buggy feeling." The straw finally snapped between my fingers on the
    forty-third twist.

    There's a name for what I have: Obsessive Compulsive

    Disorder. Why I didn't tell Nico I have OCD I'll never know. Maybe it's because
    I'm keenly aware of how crazy I am. My main obsession is numbers. I count
    everything, how many twists it takes to break a straw or how many steps I take
    to and from class. My compulsion is having to touch things seven times to make
    everything all right. The anxiety on top of OCD was just a perk.

    "Oh my God, you've never been to a football game?"

    she asked incredulously. "That's a sacrilege at this school."

    I shook my head. "Just the thought of a hundred

    thousand people all in one place makes me nauseous."

    "Do you get full-blown panic attacks?" I nodded.

    "Ever tried medication?"

    I chewed on my lower lip. The subject was a touchy one

    because of the stigma of taking prescribed meds. It had been my experience that
    once someone found out they treated me differently. But Nico wasn't like other
    people. "Yeah, but I haven't found one I like. They do help alleviate the
    anxiety but they all have drawbacks. Some made me feel like a zombie, some are
    better but everything is still a tad foggy, and some have undesirable side
    effects."

    "Such as?"

    I fidgeted in my seat. I hated talking about it but Nico's

    piercing gaze wouldn't let me go. "This one particular drug gave me a
    raging erection."

    "Sounds like fun," she said mischievously,

    "what with all that meat you're packing."

    "It wasn't. I was sixteen and already a typical horny

    teenager. I got plenty of erections all on my own. When I was on the med I was
    hard all the time and not only was it embarrassing it was also very
    painful."

    "Do you have any of those pills left?" she asked,

    her voice full of hope.

    "No, I flushed them a long time ago." Nico pouted

    at me across the table.

    We sipped our coffee in silence until Nico declared,

    "You are a fucking enigma." I couldn't decide if I should be insulted
    by that. "You're a virgin who can barely go out in public, let alone talk
    to women, but you have a cock any girl would kill to suck or fuck. And there's
    no way you should be that good at eating me out. How can you be that
    good?" I shrugged as I had no clue. "Did someone teach you?"

    "No, but I do like watching it in videos," I admitted.

    "In fact, it's the only kind of porn I like. I really enjoy seeing a woman
    get off." That wasn't the whole truth, though. A more accurate statement
    is that I always have a feeling something bad will happen if the woman doesn't
    orgasm. Watching a video for the first time always fills me with trepidation as
    I don't know if they will show the woman climaxing.

    "What's it like for you, what's going through your mind

    when you have your tongue buried in my cunt?"

    "I don't know." I paused. "It's like I'm in

    some sort of trance and it's the only thing in the world. Nothing else exists.
    Maybe I blackout or something, you know, the way an alcoholic will blackout
    when they've been drinking."

    Nico nodded at me. "Try to describe what it's like to

    lick me."

    I thought about it for a long time before I said, "It's

    kind of like eating a perfectly ripe peach. You know, there's that window of
    two or three weeks in August when Michigan Red Haven peaches are the perfect
    ripeness. You bite into the fuzzy skin and the sweet juice rolls down your chin
    and you can't help but to slurp it up and the flesh is soft yet firm under your
    tongue. That's the closest I can come to describing it."

     To be continued in part 2. Based on a post by mi

    woodsman, in 4 parts, for Literotica.

    28 min

About My First Time

From the publisher's feed

Tales of experiencing that first time. Some of them may be true.