My hot teacher fantasy. A 3-part series.

By Androgynous other. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

 

I

got a temp job a few months later with a firm near to my old college

and I still popped in to see Amy for lunch and the occasional meal, and I

started to date more seriously. I'd had a few girlfriends, nothing that

ever reached the 'serious relationship' status.

Other Ladies.

I

moved back home and got into the same rut. Nothing long term but I made

sure that I did what Amy told me and gave more than I got. I got some

of my dates into bed, and I always tried to give them an orgasm, several

if they'd let me, but nothing serious; or that lasted over a few

months.

Three

years on and I'd just broken up with the last one without even

noticing; she'd gone on holiday to the Mediterranean with some mates and

never contacted me again after that. She came to my place the first

morning back while I was at work, took the few things she'd left there

and that was that. Unfriended and locked out on Facebook, never answered

my texts, end of story.

She'd

been the girl that wanted to 'be in a relationship' and sex was only as

small part of it. Right up to the point that we started to make love.

From our first night in bed and the crazy morning after, she became a

sex beast overnight. I was the first bloke to go down on her it seems,

and she was dead against it at first. But we'd done a couple of bottles

of wine over dinner, and she got daring.

To

get us past the whole 'dirty' concept, we stripped naked and jumped in

the shower and we just played with each other; the excess of wine meant

she let me run wet hands across her cunt, I found her clit and stroked

it working her to high anxiety, then slipped wet fingers inside her and

scrubbed her G-spot. She came, she cried, right there in the shower,

pulling my face into her cunt and grinding herself against me, like some

kind of porn star.

I

was her first on many things it seemed. Not the first shag but the

first person to make her come. She then had me repeat the procedure -

often. In bed we fucked and sucked, almost non-stop. I would wake up in

the night to find her pumping my cock to erection, then climb across me

and bounce us both to orgasm. She read the 'Fifty Shades' trilogy that

she left at my house so her parents wouldn't find them, and soon I was

pulling on the pony tail she started to wear and smacking her fine arse

as I took her on her hands and knees.

Seems

that in the Med she just got worse, and pissed with her mates she met

someone that apparently was much more in to her than I was. In fact my

best mate's girlfriend told me that the new bloke had gotten into her on

the first night of her holiday, in the car park of the hotel complex to

be exact.

I felt a bit slighted and somewhat lonely for a few weeks, but not like I was going to weep about it or anything.

A

month or so later I went off on a guys’ stag weekend for that best

mate, and we spent the weekend in the country, driving quad bikes on the

Saturday morning, trap shooting in the afternoon, a huge piss-up in the

evening, followed by a rather hung-over paintball session Sunday

morning, and a hysterical drag hunt with the hen party in the afternoon,

trying hard to stay on horses that almost none of us were used to

riding, that didn't want to behave and wanted to jump over low fences

and for us to fall off them.

Miss White.

As

we trotted across the countryside on rather uncomfortable saddles I saw

a face I thought I recognized, and it wasn't until the barbecue of

fantastic steaks, farm sausages and burgers served to us in whole

baguettes that I looked across the marquee we were in and I finally

remembered where I knew her from.

It was Miss White, class tutor of my final year at secondary school.

Okay,

I'm a bloke right; I should have looked longer at her face, but my eyes

went straight at the body of the hottest girl in the place in tight

jeans and a linen shirt half buttoned over a tailored vest top that

showed a narrow waist and perfect stomach, a fantastic bosom with a fine

cleavage, and hips in perfect proportion was an arse to match.

I appreciated that great rack I'd only ever seen swamped in suit jackets and baggy white shapeless blouses.

Back

in the day, Miss White was a bit of a hard arse and extremely tough on

her classes. With the benefit of hindsight she was, in the scheme of

things, an extremely young teacher, and the secondary school I was at

ten years back was a tough place for a twenty three year old straight

out of education herself.

"Fit

as fuck isn't she," said my mate the groom snapping me out of my

reverie. "That's Jo, Melanie's cousin, but they're close like sisters,

even though she's a bit older. She's a school teacher, she can teach me

whenever she feels like it."

"She

did teach me," I said, sipping at my umpteenth bottle of beer from that

weekend, "and I swear she never looked like that when she taught me

history and sociology in my last year."

"You lucky bastard," he grinned, "do I have the greatest idea!"

"Dave!" I shouted after him as he backed away from me.

"Mellie!" he called across the room, "minor change of plan;"

I

called after him again but was ignored, so not wanting the same

response from some of my other mates who were also groomsmen or ushers

and the like I went back to the barbecue for more steak.

What

I didn't notice was Jo White looking across the room at me, her cousin

Melanie telling her that the fine looking guy she had been making eyes

at across the room from her was a guy that worked on the same contract

as her Fiancé - his mate Terry.

A young man, in praise of the older woman, well two actually. A 3-part series.

By Androgynous other. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

My Virginity Therapist.

I can't say that my schooling was exceptional, over and above some reasonable exam results I did Okay and wasn't in too much shit with either teachers or other pupils. I had a couple of girlfriends, none of which went past the making out in the park after school.

I went to college, on the basis of those results I got a good job in Engineering which would sponsor me through University and after a few years was looking for the right girl, or at least the wrong girl in the right place.

Don't get me wrong, I was no stud but I'd had a fantastic introduction to sex. Like all the best porn films I'd been led astray by an older woman. During my second year at University I couldn't get a place in the halls of residence and hadn't been able to get cheap rooms on campus and had to go out and rent a room. I was put on to a family member that lived on the outskirts of town, some way off from my University but my landlady worked in town and would drop me off as often as possible.

My landlady Amy was in late forties, extremely attractive, positive and vivacious and was nursing her husband Tom who was in the last stages of Parkinson's. Her husband was ten or more years older than her, and had been a high level non-medical manager in the health service who'd gradually succumbed to his illness. I'd met them a couple of times at family parties and weddings and the like but didn't know them that well.

Husband Tom was a 'work-hard play hard' type of guy that 'lived life in top gear' or at least gave that impression and liked to show off about his latest golf club, new running shoes and male menopause car, and my Dad confessed that he'd never liked him that much and he'd always seemed a bit 'up himself considering he was just a pushy clerk' but we were all saddened to learn of his illness.

Working with medics and knowing that his prognosis for Parkinson's was not good, when he reached a certain point in his condition he'd requested that he could stop eating and drinking, . While his doctors had said that he probably had a couple of years of 'quite reasonable' health he wanted none of it and could not, would not be 'a healthy brain trapped in a twitching, twisted, helpless, dribbling, doubly incontinent body slowly shutting down'.

And so with a wildly twitching head and hand he searched the internet on his laptop computer and impressed with what he found, he concentrated as hard as he could to read what was on the screen. It was simple, he decided he would decline food and drink.

He asked Amy for his favorite meal that he could still manage and she went to their regular Indian restaurant and remembering him and his sad decline they cooked him a special chicken biryani along with all of his favorite sides.

She propped him up in his bed and gave him his tablets, and he took them with his beer. They laughed and joked and he reminded her of their life together. She shed a few tears and he said that with her support, this was to be his final meal and his final drink, and that by his best guess his life should end in a week to ten days.

Having watched her wonderful, bright, active husband become this bed-bound twitching wreck had broken her heart and she wasn't sure that she could watch him undertake this final journey and said so.

Huge tears slipped down his face and that was enough. When the nurse came to help with his bed time routine he announced his decision. The nurse said that she would have to tell the doctor, but they helped him upstairs and into his own bed where he'd asked that he could spend his final days. His doctor called around the next morning and he knew his patient well; after some pointless discussion he agreed and contacted his staff to that effect.

That was that; when the dehydration began to cause him pain, the district nurses put him on to morphine and after 15 long days he finally slipped away.

I arrived ten days after his death and a week before his funeral. Amy was a first or second cousin of my Mum - extended family - and much as my Mum had said that I should give everyone time to get over the death and not move in until after, perhaps sleep on a mate's floor or a local B&B. Amy said that I was most welcome and would help to take everyone's minds off of the next few days so I moved in.

Amy was curvy and sexy but amazingly sad. I made myself as useful as I could, loading the washing machine, packing the dishwasher, vacuuming etc. I made tea and coffee and tried to help seeing as both of her children were due back from University for their father's funeral, both Tom and Amy had insisted that they should continue studying.

They came home the night before and I offered to move out of the spare room to give everyone time to grieve, but none of them would have it. On the day of the funeral I got up at six and threw myself into whatever needed doing, including making breakfast toast, gallons of tea and coffee, greeting the caterers, the funeral directors, mourners and generally making myself indispensable. Being close but not too close the funeral director kind of used me as the sensible family member that could be relied on not to break down in tears.

"You're a treasure Terry," Amy said on that and so many other occasions.

The funeral was one of those 'celebrations of life' and I saw many of my relatives, including my Mum and Dad attending the crematorium and listening to the funnies that Tom's brother Hugh told of his older brother. It was upbeat, sweet but dreadful to the point of cringingly painful and Hugh was trying just too hard. It made the final closing of the curtain all the worse and Amy, the two grown up children, Tom's widowed mother and even comedian Hugh lost it as they slid shut.

There was a large wake afterwards in a local pub, and being the only sober one, I drove my landlady and her two children home, all three the worse for the booze they'd put away on that happy, awful day.

Amy's children went back to their universities and life carried on; never for one moment was there a suggestion anything at all 'naughty', sorry. We never passed on the upstairs landing with her in a filmy, flimsy see-through negligee, I never saw her in her underwear in the kitchen, had my own bathroom so there was none of that bumping into each other in the mornings.

However, she had phone calls from both of her children and seemed very upset one evening during my third month there. It turned out it was his birthday and then a few days after, her silver wedding anniversary and she was of course very upset. I was supportive and despite homework just stayed with her the whole evening.

At a little after ten she said I should go to bed, as I had to be up e

Four body-swapped teens have more sexual firsts.

Based on a post by shimm2, in 2 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.

Chris and his clit.

To

his surprise, Chris woke up in Mary's bedroom again. He had gone to

sleep on that bed, after fingering Mary's clit to one last orgasm,

thinking it was his last chance ever to experience a female orgasm.

Though he honestly wasn't very good at it yet, and nearly didn't get

there on his own. If only Mary had a dildo or a vibrator handy, but no,

she was a good Christian girl, or at least she had been when this whole

mix-up started.

At

first, when Chris woke up and saw the pillowy outlines of Mary's

breasts, he was distraught. They had recited the same spell again.

Surely it should have put Chris back into his own body, or at least one

of the others'. But no, somehow he'd ended up in Mary's body twice in a

row. He wondered if the spell had worked at all the second time, or if

it just hadn't worked for him. At the very least, it meant Mary wasn't

back to being herself yet either.

But

feeling those pillowy breasts with his hands, the nipples firming up

against the night shirt, Chris started to warm to the prospect of one

more day as a woman. Maybe yesterday he had woken up as a girl, but he

was a woman now, having been fucked twice in the school bathroom. Chris

knew he was going to be enjoying those memories for a long time to come,

even though through the bathroom door he had been able to hear the

other kids laughing about what was going on. Laughing that Mary was

actually having sex (even though it was actually Chris). Laughing that

Chris was fucking her (even though that had actually been Theresa).

One

more day, Chris thought. He could be okay with one more day in a female

body. Just one more, and then hopefully everything goes back to normal.

The longer he spent in Mary's body, the more normal it felt, and that

worried him. He was starting to see things the way she did, feel things

the way she did. Was he becoming more female? He wasn't sure where his

mind ended and her body began.

What

if he were stuck as Mary for the rest of his life? He'd already been

careless with her body the day before, letting two men cum inside Mary's

snatch. Letting wasn't the right word. He had encouraged it. He had

enjoyed it. But if this went on, if this body was going to be Chris's

long term, he had to be more responsible with it, or it'd be him pushing

out a baby at age 19. As it was, he might end up being the one telling

Mary to push.

When

he had woken up yesterday he had been a virgin. He had been a good

Christian boy, though at 18, "boy" didn't seem quite right. It was all

changing so fast. In a way, if Mary was pregnant with his baby, Chris

felt a little cheated. Yes he'd taken part in making that baby. Yes he'd

felt the seed when it entered into him. But he'd still feel cheated for

not being the one spilling that seed, even though the seed was his.

But

he'd also taken Paul's cock inside Mary's womb, because it had been

Mary behind Paul's eyes. He looked back on that now with a mix of

arousal and disbelief and disgust at the idea of feeling his brother's

erection move inside him, even if it had felt extraordinary.

"Mary!

Breakfast now or never!" Mary's mother shouted from the kitchen. Chris

startled, realizing he'd been getting himself worked up, when he should

have been getting dressed. Mary's mother hadn't noticed a thing the

previous day, but Chris had kept his mouth shut around her. Speaking of

mouths, his mind went back to that kiss with Mary; no, he had to focus

on getting dressed.

Again

he downed a glass of OJ and a buttered toast and ran for the bus,

slowed down by the bounce in Mary's cleavage. He spent his first class

of the day in a daze. He hadn't run into any of his friends yet, since

they all had different classes for first period. Mary was in a

higher-level physics class than Chris was, and it was all over his head

anyway, he had no hope of keeping up.

Between

classes, he ducked into the bathroom to relieve himself, since he had

forgotten to, when he had hurried out the door. This time he remembered

to go into the ladies' room.

Afterwards,

he couldn't help it, as soon as he started touching himself down there,

he got carried away, heedless of the little yelps escaping his clenched

teeth. He was trying to quickly reach an orgasm to get some relief, but

he was still figuring out how it all worked by trial and error, and

when he was impatient, his fingers tended to go too hard, too fast.

Then

he was interrupted by a knock on the stall door. Chris quickly pulled

up his sweatpants and opened the stall door. In front of him was

Theresa.

"Hey,

it's me, Mary," she said, with Theresa's voice. With Theresa's slightly

more slender build, and hair that gracefully curved at the shoulder.

Chris prided himself on still being attracted to women.

"I'm you again," Chris said, and then had to explain. "I'm Chris."

"Oh,"

Mary said, taking a second to think things through. "Look, that problem

you were dealing with. Maybe I could help?" Mary said with a sly smile.

"You would do that?" Chris asked. He wasn't sure where this was headed, but he was dying to find out.

"If

it'll keep you out of trouble, sure," Mary said. "But not here. Let's

go to the wrestling room. It's not being used during this period."

They

snuck through the halls together. As seniors on the verge of graduating

from this high school, no one would think twice about the two of them

cutting a class. When they got to the wrestling room, Mary flipped on

the lights, revealing the padded floor, the wall to wall mirror.

Fortunately the door had a lock on the inside.

Mary

stepped close to Chris, and leaned in. Theresa was slightly taller, her

neck a little longer, so Chris had to angle his head up to meet her

lips. It was Chris's first time kissing a girl actually, and even though

he had cherished when Mary had kissed him the day before, it had been

tainted because she had kissed him with Paul's lips.

Chris

started to take the initiative, slipping his hands up under Mary's

sweater, unclasping her bra. He was getting more practice with that.

Mary gasped as Chris's hands slid across her chest, and stomach,

reaching around her back and pulling her close. Hearing her gasp like

that was a thrill, a sign he was doing something right. But soon Mary

started undressing him. He tried to even the score, and got her to take

off that sweater at least, but soon Mary had him down to just panties.

And she slid those down off his hips without hesitation, because they

were in fact her hips, her panties, and nothing that lay underneath was

unfamiliar to her.

Chris

lay back on the wrestling mat, as Mary climbed over and around him,

kissing his neck, kissing those pillowy breasts, kissing a ticklish line

down his stomach, kissing those thick thighs. Chris paid attention as

closely as he could, knowing that Mary was showing him exactly what she

liked, knowing that in her body, Chris would like it too.

At

last Mary reached Chris's slit. Or it was really Mary's slit, though at

this point Chris had experienced things with it that Mary never had.

Chris felt her hot breath before he felt the teasing lick along his

swollen lips, and then between them

4 virgins  coeds end up in each others' bodies.

Based on a post by shimm2, in 2 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.

Wednesday night before Thanksgiving, 2010Challenging Mary

"But is every birth control pill a sin on its own?" Chris asked them.

It made Mary's head swim, to hear Christopher talk about sex like this. She was almost sure he was the one she wanted to give her virginity to. It would be a sin, sure. But she could settle up with God after. What she was more worried about was whether he was interested in her, or how he would act afterward, or what people would say, or the logistics of getting the two of them alone.

The four were sitting on the back patio of the boys’ home. Their parents were out for the evening. It was a warm Sunday night, early in May.

This wasn't a double date, at least not according to what Mary told her parents. And not according to what the four 18 year olds told each other. It was a group outing. The parish priests encouraged teens to organize these, rather than fall into sinful temptations by being paired off with someone.

Chris's brother Paul answered. "I asked Father George about that, and he said it was."

"Did he justify it with scripture though? You ask him if something's a sin, odds are he'll say yes," Chris argued. “Sometimes I wonder if priests would call anything a sin, if it violates their own celibacy vows.”

Theresa looked annoyed. "It's clear, okay? Every time you take a pill, you're doing that with the intent of having sex without having children. I don't know how we get onto this kind of topic. It's not like it applies to any of us, right? Sex before marriage might be something other people do, but we're Christians after all."

"Amen," Paul said, tenderly, with no irony.

“There are other medical conditions that are treated with the hormone pills.” Like the woman with the issue of blood;” Chris pointed out. “It can help a correct menstrual cycle problems, too.”

“True,” Mary conceded. “Jesus healed that woman, but it’s not inherently sinful to take medicine, either. We can’t assume others are sinning, if we don’t know their circumstances.”

Mary secretly hoped Paul & Theresa would pair off and leave her with Chris, but she knew it wasn't going to happen. While Mary might be willing to cross the line, no way would Theresa. She was really pious. Generally Mary liked that about her; it helped her stay strong.

Paul and Christopher were fraternal twins. Born the same day, but Paul was taller than Chris, and had sandy blonde hair, unlike Chris’s more muscular build and brown hair. Their parents often hosted church youth gatherings, so Mary’s parents assumed this evening was more structured than it actually was.

"Yeah, it's cool," Chris said. "Should we play a game?"

Paul took initiative and offered; "If you all are interested, I uh; found this spooky book in the downtown library," Paul said, placing it on the table. It looked really old, but it was in good condition for its age. He opened it up to a certain page. "Check it out. It has some kind of spell, I think?"

"What for?" Mary asked. "Do we get to make wishes, or talk to the dead?"

Paul shrugged. "I don't know. That part is written in code or something. Whatever it is, it's not English or Latin."

Chris slid the book over by him, interested. "Well, you know I couldn't make any heads or tails of this at all."

"So you're suggesting we hold some pagan ritual? That doesn't sound right," Theresa said.

"Just for the fun of it. It's not like any of us actually believe in the Greek gods or demons or whatever this is supposed to summon," Chris said. "What do you think, Mary?"

Mary gave him a small smile. "Yeah, I love this weird occult stuff. I mean it's all fake, but it's interesting anyway. What do we do?"

Paul got up and opened a cabinet. "Okay. We have to light a candle; and probably turn out the lights." He got the scene ready on the table in front of us.

Theresa was begrudgingly going along with it. She hadn't objected again. Paul turned out the light so it was just the candle illuminating the group sitting around the table. With the book in the middle, they started chanting the words together, though it took a couple tries.

When they reached the end of the poem or whatever it was, the candle went out. Mary gasped in surprise. This was a little too real. In the darkness she heard Chris burst out laughing.

"Hey, that wasn't funny, guys," Theresa complained. A moment later she turned the light back on. She was so confident they were all virtuous Christians, but she didn't want them to be in the dark together too long. "Which one of you blew out the candle?"

They got into a little argument about who it had been. No one wanted to take credit, but Mary suspected one of the boys had done it, and wanted to just leave it unexplained.

Theresa and Mary left not long after. Theresa dropped Mary off at home. "See you tomorrow," she called. Mary waved to her as she went inside. In just a few minutes Mar

Is it sinfulness; or desire for a blessing?

By cocteleo. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.

Wednesday night before Thanksgiving, 2010A London Parish Vicar

Reverend

William Seldon, vicar of a well-to-do church in London, was having a

hard time writing his next sermon. He was in the middle of wrestling

with the topic of the evils of lust when his housekeeper knocked on his

study door and came in bearing a tea tray.

As

the plump and comfortable middle-aged woman set it down on his desk,

she said, "Begging your pardon, sir, but I thought you might like a bite

or two."

"Ah yes, thank you, Mrs. Blandford." He set his pen down and rubbed at his tired eyes.

His

servant gave him a scolding look as she poured him a cup and handed him

a plate of biscuits. "You've been working too hard, sir. You need to

rest more!"

Mrs.

Blandford bustled around the small space, straightening and picking up

discarded handkerchiefs and odds and ends, and after once more

admonishing him to take a break, she left him alone again.

William

sighed as he distractedly ran his hands through his hair and stared

unseeing down at what he had written. The problem wasn't that he had

been working too hard. His church was not in the most fashionable part

of town, but nor was it in an impoverished part either. There were

plenty of middle-class Londoners among his flock, and they were a tame

lot who paid their tithes on time. No, he did not worry about their

everlasting souls, nor did he worry about his financial status, which

was quite comfortable.

One

paragraph of his sermon caught his eye. "To lust is to submit to the

Devil's will. It is a dark and twisted path to hell, and we must do all

that we can to maintain purity and innocence of mind. To live healthy

and clean is to gain the path of Heaven."

William

leaned back in his chair, looking at the wall where a portrait of his

deceased father hung. His father had also been a vicar and moreover, an

extremely moral, upright man. The grim face in the portrait was set in

lines of disapproval, as if he knew William's shameful, dark thoughts.

If

only his problems were as simple as material wealth and the salvation

of his congregants! No, his problem was worse, much worse. He struggled

mightily for a minute, trying to focus on his sermon, but there was no

helping it. With a shameful desperation, he sprang to his feet and

locked the door, quickly returning to his desk.

After

opening the bottom drawer, he easily found and pulled out a booklet

from its hiding place. The pages were worn and thin from many readings.

He flipped it open to his favorite part, a series of illustrations that

began with an extremely well-endowed woman fellating a man with a giant

cock. Just the sight of those beloved pages had him immediately hard and

ready, and he took his cock out of his breeches and began stroking it

with a sigh of pleasure as he gazed hungrily at the naughty pictures.

Instead

of the woman in the drawings, however, he imagined instead a young

woman with curly blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, kneeling before him

and wrapping her pink lips around his cock. She was voracious, sucking

and licking him with complete abandon and enthusiasm. William could

almost feel the moist heat, the sucking pull of her mouth.

It

had been a long time since he had felt a woman's touch. He and his

friend, Andrew Jennings, had gone to quite a few brothels during their

university days. There were also several willing barmaids in the local

taverns who were always ready for a tumble with randy young students in

exchange for a few coins. But ever since he had taken over his London

parish as vicar, he felt a heavy weight of responsibility, and could

always hear in his mind his father's sober remonstrances to lead his

flock by example.

Closing

his eyes, William focused again on the thought of the young woman's

luscious body. Just yesterday, as they were climbing the narrow stairs

of the Tower of London, he had allowed her to pass him and she had

squeezed by, inadvertently brushing her round arse against the front of

his trousers, where he was, as always around her, sporting a substantial

bulge. Then, on the way down, she had bumped her large, soft breasts

against his chest. He groaned now, remembering the feel of those plump,

bouncing orbs. Those simple, innocent touches had kept him hard during

the entire excursion, which made it damned difficult to go up and down

those stairs!

He

pumped his dripping member ever harder now, thinking of her ample

bosom. In his fantasy, she wrapped her fat tits around his cock, using

her tongue on the head as it appeared between the pale mounds with every

stroke. He fisted himself ever faster, nearing his release, panting

now. William turned the page again to see the woman laid out on her

back, taking that huge cock into her cunt. In his imaginings, her face

transformed into one of ripe, young innocence, trusting and loving as he

thrust into her tight, wet cunny. When she licked her lips and gave him

a sultry smile, William was done for.

"Oh

fuck!" he grunted as he came, his balls boiling with pleasure. He

caught his seed in his handkerchief before it could soil his shirt, and

gave his cock a few more slow strokes, savoring the echoes of his

blissful release.

Fleetingly,

he thought of the last time he had lain with a woman, during an orgy

that he and Andrew had attended as a last hurrah before being ordained a

few years ago. He had fucked so many women that night, his cock had

been slightly raw the next day. There was one busty woman that he had

pounded into from behind while she sucked on Andrew's shaft, moaning

lasciviously the whole time. Her cunny had felt so tight and hot and

wet, and her round ass had bounced appealingly with every thrust. Three

years was too long to go celibate, perhaps. It was as good as any reason

to blame for his recent insatiable sexual appetite.

As

soon as his lusty urges had been sated, he was again filled with the

same shame and self-admonishment that had been haunting him more and

more lately. Groaning, he crumpled the handkerchief into a ball and

buttoned himself back up. Mrs. Blandford must wonder why he went through

so many handkerchiefs every day.

With

a heavy sigh, tinged with guilt, he carefully put away the dirty

picture book and turned again to his sermon. Lust! He felt like such a

fraud. He couldn't even go one day without stroking himself off. In

fact, he often did it two or three times a day now.

The Chamberlains in London

The

clock on the mantel chimed the hour and William stood, both trepidation

and excitement filling him. It was time to call on the Chamberlains'.

Two

months ago, he had received a letter from another Oxford friend, Henry

Carter. Henry had gotten married two years ago to Miss Belinda

Chamberlain and already had one son. Andrew Jennings, on a visit to him

in Glenwood, had met and soon married the middle sister, Fiona.

In

the letter, Henry had explained that his father and mother-in-law were

in town with their youngest daughter, Jane, for the London season. Could

William be so kind as to pay a call? Without her two sisters, b

Reverend Henry is tempted by sin; or perhaps something else?

By cocteleo. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.

Wednesday night before Thanksgiving, 2010

It is the Regency era, in England. King George the 3rd is mentally ill and has lost the American colonies through his unstable rule. Prince George the 4th became the kingdom’s regent and restored calm and elevated culture, society, and piety. The social classes are clearly defined, but everyone lives in fear of descending to a lower class through poverty or lesser associations.

The Belle of Glenwood

Mr. Henry Carter, curate of the Anglican parish of Glenwood, was having a hard time adjusting to his new role. He had recently obtained his position several months ago, working under the rector, a stout man in his 50s, Mr. Niles Brewer.

Henry, being a very devout young person of age 24, was shocked when he had arrived in Glenwood and become aware of the indolent practice of Mr. Brewer. The rector did perhaps two hours of work every week, sending Henry to do the rest as he relaxed in his study with a novel and a plate of cookies.

It had been a stroke of luck, or so he had thought, when Henry had been offered the curacy at Glenwood. It was a prosperous parish, and his living now exceeded that of many of his friends at university. But the indifferent way in which Mr. Brewer conducted church business was, well, unholy! To counteract his employer's laziness, Henry threw himself into the community, working feverishly on sermons in between attending to all of the baptisms, marriages, and funerals, as well as visiting the poor.

Mr. Brewer just laughed. "Don't work too hard, my boy!" he would say in his jovial, booming voice. "The church will get along fine with just a Sunday sermon and a sacrament here and there. No need to go to all of that trouble."

His careless words just seemed to make the fervor in Henry grow even brighter. He had visions of glory in which the people of Glenwood would hail him as a stalwart leader of the community, when they would sit in rapturous silence and drink in his inspiring words from the pulpit every Sunday.

This afternoon, he walked along the village street, completely unaware of the attention his tall, broad-shouldered figure, clad all in black, generated among the women of Glenwood. Any eligible young man newly arrived to the neighborhood was a welcome sight; for him to be handsome, with a thick thatch of black hair and serious gray eyes, was an exciting bonus. Henry, his head full of romantic notions of the clergy, hardly noticed the teasing looks directed his way. He had sometimes thought the young ladies of the parish were a little more than attentive, but his brain was too much in an abstract fog to notice, which of course added to his mysterious appeal.

He was on his way to the house of Mr. and Mrs. Chamberlain, wealthy landowners with three young daughters. The oldest, Belinda, had just turned 18 and had come out the season before. She was generally recognized to be the belle of Glenwood, with beautiful, curling blonde hair and the face of an angel with wide, blue eyes. Her body had ripened becomingly into lush curves that stirred the fantasies of all the young men in the village. All the young men except for Henry, of course.

Henry arrived at the door and the unsmiling butler led him to Mr. Chamberlain's study. The older gentleman was of the round, red-faced variety and he waved Henry in. "Come in, come in, Mr. Carter. I must say, I'm very glad to see you." He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his sweaty brow.

"How may I be of service, Mr. Chamberlain? Your message sounded most urgent." Henry sat down across the desk.

"Well, well," Mr. Chamberlain coughed. He seemed to be having trouble with his words. Henry waited patiently. "You see, Mr. Carter, the trouble is with Belinda."

"Belinda?" Henry searched his memory. "Your eldest daughter, you mean?"

"Yes, her." For a few seconds, Mr. Chamberlain's face grew so red that Henry was alarmed. Should the old gentleman have sent for a doctor instead of a clergyman? But Mr. Chamberlain shook himself and started again.

"It has come to our attention-- That is, the missus and I have discovered-- Well, Belinda has been acting very strangely of late. Yesterday, the housekeeper found her--ahem--exhibiting herself to the gardener in the greenhouse. This was, unfortunately, not the first time." Mr. Chamberlain pulled at his collar and Henry cleared his throat, feeling suddenly discomfited as well. The small study seemed to grow close and hot.

"She has been giving us trouble for some time now. We have caught her with the butcher's boy in the shed. And there was that time our friend Mr. Allenby came to stay... He was absolutely shocked at her behavior. Shocked to his toes!" He harrumphed and opened a drawer in his desk, bringing out a long, thick object. Henry stared as Mr. Chamberlain dropped it on the desk with a loud, wooden thud. "And Mrs. Chamberlain found this in her bedchamber the other day."

Henry leaned forward to inspect it more closely. It was carved in the shape of a phallus. A rather large phallus, from Henry's experience in all of his years of boarding school and university.

"Who knows where she got this!" Mr. Chamberlain said in an explosive grunt. "She won't tell us, and we are at our wits' end. As you know, Mr. Carter, a young lady's reputation is all she has, and my wife and I are worried that Belinda's marriage prospects, not to mention those of her younger sisters, will be utterly ruined if word gets out of her wanton behavior."

Henry gazed at his host in utter bewilderment. "But sir, why am I here? What do you expect me to do?"

"How the hell should I know?" Mr. Chamberlain was gruff in his own ignorance of how to handle his lusty daughter. "You're the clergyman. Talk to her and fix this!"

He stood up and rang the bell and as Henry sputtered in his seat, the door opened and in walked Belinda.

For once, Henry did not have his head in the clouds, thinking of his next sermon. It was the first time he had really seen the girl without blindly passing his gaze over her, and the blonde's beauty stunned him into a brief stupor. Before he knew it, Mr. Chamberlain had slammed the door behind him, leaving them alone in the study, which all of a sudden felt suffocatingly small.

Belinda, for her part, took Henry in with a long glance. His strong jaw was taut and his gray eyes stormy. She curtsied and walked forward. He hastily jumped to his feet and bowed.

"Miss Belinda!" he said, in a slightly strangled voice.

Satisfying each other, on a daily basis.

Based on a post by sex4every1. Listen to the ► Podcast at Connected.

I had just divorced my husband after twenty-two years of marriage. It wasn't anyone's fault, there just was no more love, let alone lust, between us. I think we both gravitated to different interests and different activities. Sex was almost nonexistent, but I often saw semen stuck to the shower walls, after he left for work. Me? I had vibrators and erotic novels, keeping me sated.

We had decided to dispense with lawyers and all the red tape and to just part amicably; it helped, of course; that we were very wealthy and I was offered a very reasonable settlement. For that amount, I was able to buy an old house at the beach, which had been a dream of mine for many years.

My husband loved the busy city life while I was more of a country or seaside girl. I swiftly came across a fixer-upper, which had been deserted for years, mainly because of the steep asking price. As money was not an issue and because I didn't mind the prospect of a long-term renovation, I didn't need a lot of time to make up my mind. Although the place was an absolute dump, I insisted on moving in as soon as possible, before any of the repairs or modifications had even started.

One of the most appealing features of the house was a giant porch overlooking the coastline; at the left side of the house the porch ended in a wooden stair case, providing direct access to the beach below. From the very first day, that porch was my favorite part of the whole house. As I was sitting there on my porch that first evening, looking at the setting sun and listening to the ocean sounds, I began to unwind for the first time in many months (maybe even years) and an almost intoxicating tranquility took over my mind and body. I can't remember how long I just sat there, enjoying the serenity, but suddenly my attention was drawn to a man walking up to the house. He had a very confused look on his face; and the closer he came, the more puzzled he seemed to get; until he was right in front of the house, looking up at me. I nodded and smiled, greeting him and asked, "Can I help you with something?"

"I didn't know someone lived here." the elder gentleman replied.

"Well, I just moved in this morning." I said, getting up and leaning over the banister of the porch. “My name is Jill.”

"Oh, hello, Jill. Well, I see; it's been so many years, I guess I didn't even consider the possibility." he murmured, barely audible. He looked completely disoriented for a moment.

"Would you like to come up for a cup of tea?" I asked, taking pity on him.

"No, I wouldn't want to disturb you." he said, turning away and preparing to leave.

"Don't be silly. Come on up." I insisted.

Still reluctantly, he walked up the stairs and introduced himself; his name was Jack and he was 44 years old. After pouring him a cup of tea, I listened to his story.

He lived about half a mile away; and had done so for the better part of his life. Fate had taken his wife; Darla. His high school sweet heart; away from him only months after marrying her. He had never loved another woman since then. While life had not been particularly kind to him, he seemed very cheerful and happy, although a bit lonely, I sensed. When he started talking about his interests, it seemed that we both shared a passion for the opera. He struck me as a very intelligent, kind and lively man.

However, the longer we talked, the more restless he seemed to become. At first, I assumed he was just the nervous type and that was the reason why he was constantly fidgeting in his chair or checking the time, but when he started showing physical signs of stress; dry mouth, sweaty hands, foot tapping; I decided to call him on it.

"Jack, Is something wrong? You seem terribly nervous."

"Don't worry about it, Jill." he smiled.

"Jack, something is obviously bothering you. And I would very much like to know what that is." I replied sternly.

"But I don't want to ruin an otherwise lovely evening." he whispered, getting even more nervous now.

"Come on, whatever it is, it can't be that bad," I insisted, "Spit it out."

He took another sip from his tea, took a deep breath and then said, "For the past seventeen years, I've been coming to this stretch of beach, come rain or shine, every evening at dusk. It has been my memorial tradition, to remember my departed wife, and find relieve from my grieving. It includes an activity of a more intimate nature.”

"Okay," I said, as he paused for a moment.

" to masturbate," he concluded.

I looked at him, waiting for a punch line, but none was coming.

"Excuse me?" I said, wanting to make sure I hadn't misunderstood him.

"Masturbate," he repeated, "What do you younger people call it? Jacking off, jerking off, wanking."

"I see," I said, unsure of what to do or say next.

"I am sorry, I have made you uncomfortable. I knew I shouldn't have said anything. I think it's best if I go now," Jack said as he was about to get up and leave.

"Every day for 17 years, in the same spot?" I asked, not wanting him to leave.

"It's not that I don't jack off in other places, but yes; I don't think I've missed three days in all those years," he replied as he sat back down.

"Why here?" I asked.

"There's no deeper meaning or romantic story behind this location, if that's w

Tough Guy.

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

“What

do you think?” he asked as she lifted the glass to her lips. She took a

sip and her tongue tasted a drop that was left behind on her bottom

lip.
“Not bad,’ she said. “Not bad at all, barman. Got any other surprises for me?”
“Sure do. Just come round back and step into my office for a minute or so.”
Ignoring

the looks of his staff as he abandoned them to the crush of too many

customers, he lifted the counter for her to follow him behind the bar.

His hand low on her back, he guided her into the back of the building,

to the room that housed his office. There was a solid wooden desk with a

chair on each side and a computer stand on the other side. He closed

and locked the door behind him and stood with his hands in his pockets

as she surveyed the room.

“I don’t see any hidden cameras,” she said, sounding almost disappointed.
His eyebrows shot into the air. “You want to be caught on camera?”
“Of

course not,” she said, letting her handbag drop negligently on the

couch that was stacked with papers and the other debris of running a

business. “I can’t afford any blackmail material. I have a very, very

possessive boyfriend.”
Her fingers stroked down his chest as she

spoke, and he shifted his body to get a little closer to her. “He would

kill you if he knew about tonight.”
Brandon’s eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch.
“Tough guy?”
“The toughest,” she purred as she started undoing the buttons on his white shirt. “Big, scary guy.”
“Are

you trying to make me jealous?” he asked as his hands found her ass and

pulled her tight against him, letting him feel the hard ridge between

their bodies.
“Maybe,” she said. “Is it working?”
“My girlfriend

would claw your eyes out,” he whispered against her temple. “She looks

tame, but she can be a real wild animal sometimes.”
“I can take her,”

the girl said, smiling confidently and tipping her face up for a kiss.

Brandon didn’t comply immediately, choosing to taste that spot under her

ear women always ruined with perfume.
Not this one. He could taste nothing but pure, unadulterated female skin as he touched the tip of his tongue to the spot.
“No marks,” he heard her husky murmur. “My boyfriend can’t find out.”
“I’ll

mark you if I want to,” he said, settling his lips tight over that

sweet spot and suckling hard, drawing the blood to the surface of her

perfect, unmarred skin for a proper hickey.
“You bastard,” she gasped

and tried to pull away. Brandon tightened his hold and laved the bruise

with his tongue before continuing down the line of her jaw. He found a

little beauty spot near the corner of her mouth and played with it for a

few seconds before settling his lips over hers with deliberate

possession.

Mine, he thought as his hands sought out the curves

of her ass and cupped them. He pulled her against him and lifted her

until her feet were no longer touching the ground. She put her arms

around his neck and pressed her body closer to his, her tits pressing

hot and soft against his chest. He pressed her back against the door of

his office, ignoring her hiss of pain as the handle bit into her hip.

She hitched her legs around his waist and he settled into the apex

between her thighs like he belonged there. His hands held her in place

as he started grinding against her with a slow, rocking motion, his hips

moving and his fingers clenching her ass cheeks.

“Oh,” she

gasped when his cock pressed hard and tight against her. Her hands were

busy with his buttons and his collar, trying to get rid of his shirt. He

pressed a hungry kiss against her lips, slipping his tongue over that

plump flesh and tasting the drink he’d made for her. She kept her lips

pressed closely together, making him work for it. He punished her by

nipping on her bottom lip, not hard enough to draw blood, but definitely

hard enough to make her gasp in shock and surprise. He took advantage

of that, slipping his tongue into her mouth and taking what he wanted,

branding her with his kiss. He angled his head and deepened the kiss and

there was something dark and desperate about the way their mouths and

bodies moved together. He drew her tongue out of her mouth and sucked on

it, swallowing her responsive moan. Her hands were moving restlessly,

testing the strength of his shoulders, one of them cupping the back of

his head and fisting in his hair. He broke the kiss when oxygen became a

problem, and they were both breathing heavily when he pressed his face

into the curve of her neck, pressing open-mouthed kissed to that meeting

of neck and shoulder. He pulled away and angled his hips closer to the

wall to brace her against the wall while his hands started pulling at

the straps holding the dress together like a corset. His fingers were

almost shaking with the strength of his need as he pulled at the tight

knots. She was pressing kisses everywhere she could touch him; his

forehead, cheeks, temples. He swore when he failed to loosen the ties

and she laughed, a low throaty sound that had his cock hardening. She

pushed herself away from him and he let her slide down to the floor

reluctantly.

“Why don’t you go sit and let me entertain you?” she

asked and he followed her instructions, settling himself down on the

brown leather chair behind his desk. She picked up the drink he’d mixed

for her and took a sip, her eyes smoky and seductively on his face as

the corner of her mouth tilted in a sensuous smile. She dipped her

finger into the drink and slipped it inside her mouth, sucking the

juice. Brandon cleared his throat and got rid of the shirt that was

still hanging off his shoulders. His hard-on was pressing uncomfortably

against zipper of his Levis. With one hand, the girls swept the desk

clean of papers. He watched in fascination as papers and ledgers hit the

floor. The framed photo of him and Emily at a ski-resort crashed onto

the floor, the glass shattering. He felt another tug of guilt as he

looked at her laughing, trusting face. But then the dark-haired vixen

walked around the desk, the shards of glass crunching under her shoes.

She sat on the edge of the desk, and crossed her legs, the drink still

in her hand.

The girl took the cherry he’d put in the drink with

the vague hope that she might do exactly what she clearly about to do.

She held it by the stem, just above her mouth. Brandon’s eyes were glued

on the drop of moisture caught on the bottom, hanging suspended in the

air. She held out the tip of her tongue and the drop landed on it. She

drew her tongue into her mouth, tasting it. And then she began the

seduction in earnest. Her tongue teased around the round bulbous head,

licking and tasting and flicking it skillfully. She sucked on it

lightly, not hard enough to crush it. She drew it over her lips, across

her chin and followed the line down to her cleavage. She slipped it into

the sweet valley between her tits and with a small movement of her

shoulders, dislodged it from the stem.
“Fuck,” Brandon breathed in an

awed voice as she put the stem inside her mouth. He could see the

movement of her tongue and it took only a few seconds to knot it.
He hoped fervently that she would use that skillful tongue on his cock soon.

“I seem to have lost the cherry,” she said. “Will you help me look for it?”
He

reached for her eagerly, but she leaned back and put one foot against

his chest, the heel of her shoe biting into his flesh a little.
“Not

yet, naughty boy,” she said and pushed her leg. The wheels of the chair

propelled him backwards a little and she smiled a little.
She tugged

at the strip of satin he had been struggling with and it came loose with

ease. Her tits pushed against the material and it shifted, allowing him

a glimpse of those soft globes of flesh. He thought he caught a flash

of red, but then she moved her arms to start getting rid of the dress.

He watched the line as the straps slid down her shoulders, baring her

more completely while framing her delectable body. Her fingers tugged

slowly and the string that held it all together slid from its hooks. The

material popped open, but the half-cup bra she was wearing was still

holding her tits pressed against each other. His hands itched to cup

them and test their weight and he couldn’t wait to bury his face between

them.

He touched her ankle and stroked it, knowing exactly where

to press his thumbs to make her squirm. His hands moved up her leg,

using it as leverage to pull his chair closer to the desk. He put both

hands on her legs and caressed the skin on the inside of her knees. He

pressed them slightly away from each other and slid his fingers higher,

marveling at the softness that covered her firm muscles. He reached the

edge of the dress and he pressed it higher, until it pooled in her lap.

She leaned back on her elbows and lifted her hips a little to help him

push the tight dress over her ass. The erotic sight of her hips lifting,

her legs opening wider nearly undid him, but he clamped down on his

desire and settled for stroking her thighs when she grabbed the hem of

her dress with both hands crossed in front of her and pulled it up and

over her head. It mussed up her hair a little and she dropped the

material on the floor behind the desk without a care.
“You’re so

beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes roaming hungrily over her body, taking

in the smooth, flat planes of her stomach, with only the smallest and

most natural rounding between her hipbones. Even those creepy dolls in

the shops had those bumps nowadays. He cupped it possessively with one

hand, his thumb stroking the line of the low-cut thong she was wearing.

It was black lace and had clearly been designed to be as improper as

possible, because it didn’t hide any of her pretty female treasures from

his view.

He drank in the sight of her full, naturally rounded

hips, so perfect for holding onto, and her soft tits, pushing against

the bra that was doing a very poor job of keeping them contained. It

matched the panties and he found himself devouring her body with his

eyes. She was all female curves and seductress and feminine

vulnerability rolled up into one delicious package. He put his hands on

her knees and pushed her legs further apart to make way for his body. He

kissed her stomach, an open-mouthed, mindless kiss as his tongue traced

circles on her skin. She leaned back again when his hands found the

straps of her panties. She lifted her hips again to help him, but

Brandon had lost patience and gave a quick yank, tearing the delicate

lace. She gasped as he threw the scrap of material over his shoulder.

The scent of her arousal filled his senses and he leaned down to touch

his mouth to her hairless mound. She stroked her fingers through his

hair when he pushed her down onto her back with one hand. He trailed

kisses down her thigh, lifting her leg so he didn’t have to move away

from her warm, inviting body. He kissed the back of her knee and while

her attention was fixed on the things his tongue was doing to that

erotic spot, he slid a finger into her sweet wet folds. She gasped and

jerked in surprise, and her foot hit him against the side of his head,

the heel of her shoe nearly taking his eye out.
“Damn, woman,” he grumbled. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Not yet,’ she said remorselessly.

He

abandoned his idea of kissing every inch of her luscious legs and went

straight for desert. He hooked her knees over his shoulders and with

this thumbs, opened the petals that hid her flower from him. She was

perfect; puffy and pink and warm and wet and so damned pretty he could

stare at her all day. Her outer lips were full and succulent, swollen

with desire. The inner folds were delicate, like some lovely exotic

rose. Her little nub was swollen and begging for attention. He complied,

rubbing his finger over it a few times, softly, his touches light and

fleeting and designed to drive her out of her mind. He dipped his finger

in her moist entrance, gathering some of the juice pooled there and

bringing it to her clit. He smeared it like a painter, admiring the

glistening effect it had on her folds. She squirmed a little as he

started playing, touching her in different ways and testing her

reaction. He was surprised to find that her clit was more sensitive on

one side than the other, and tortured her by concentrating on that spot.

He felt like a little boy who had discovered a new toy and he had no

intention of stopping his game any time soon. He pushed two fingers

inside her opening, slowly to please them both and prolong the

sensations that made her hips jerk. She swore when he found her g-spot

and curled his fingers to linger there, stroking and pressing and

driving her as crazy with desire as he was.

He decided to up it a

notch, so to speak, and leaned down. He suckled one of her outer lips

into his mouth, then the other, before flicking his tongue over her clit

only once.
She used a word he didn’t think Emily had ever heard and

pressed her crotch up against his face. He slid his tongue inside her

entrance, tasting the sweet nectar and moaning at the taste of her

essence. He started working her over with deliberate slowness, licking

and tasting and cleaning her juices. She was begging him by the time he

sucked her clit into his mouth, shameless pleas and promises that made

him grin. He pulled at the little nub with his lips, nibbled it very

lightly with his teeth and sucked it. She was pushing her cunt into his

mouth, grinding his face helplessly as he tugged at her rhythmically.
“I’m going to come,” she warned when he started pumping his fingers in and out of her.
“Go

ahead,” he said, his mouth full of the wild taste of her and his hands

full of soft, straining curves. He kept her on the edge, knowing when to

ease of and when to speed up, to keep her balanced on the brink of a

shattering orgasm. Finally he relented and rubbed her clit with one

finger while his mouth settled over the mouth of her opening and,

sealing it tightly, started sucking hard and fast. She came on a keening

cry as she tumbled down that edge in to the blinding abyss of pure,

shattering pleasure. Her juices were warm as it poured out of her body

straight into his mouth. He curled his tongue almost like a straw and

sucked as much into his mouth as he could. It sounded peculiar; like a

symphony of undeniably sex-related noises, but neither of them cared at

that point. She was gasping for breath when he eased her legs of his

shoulders, and they fell over the edge of the desk inelegantly.

“Oh my…” she wheezed. “That was amazing!”
“Thanks,’ he said, grinning as he used his shirt to wipe his face clean. He was covered in her cum.
“Just give me a few minutes, cowboy, and I’ll return the favor.”
His

cock was likely to spurt the second he undid his pants at that point,

so a few minutes sounded good to him. He walked around the desk to the

mini-fridge behind the door. He took a bottle of beer and opened it,

gulping down half the bottle in a few swallows. She struggled to sit up

and he admired the way her tit jiggled when she moved, just the way he

liked a woman’s boobs to jiggle. He couldn’t wait to have them in his

hands, and couldn’t believe he hadn’t had them there yet.

She

drank down some of her warming drink and followed him with his eyes as

he undid the top button of his jeans to ease the pressure.
“Allow

me,” she said and pushed him down in the chair. A few seconds later, she

was kneeling between his legs. She teased him, drawing one white-tipped

nail down the steel zipper, rasping it playfully. He watched her as she

amused herself and bit back the impatience. He couldn’t afford to show

any weakness with this woman; she was likely to use it against him

shamelessly.
She opened his pants and helped his eager cock out of

the little prison of too many layers of clothing. Finally it sprung

free, hard as a rock and ready as an active volcano.
“Oh, yes,” she said, cupping both hands around his length. He hissed when she stroked him once, from base to tip.
“You are quite big, aren’t you?” she asked as she traced a bulging vein with her finger.
“I haven’t had any complaints yet,” he said from between his teeth.
“I can see why not. And so thick, too.”
She

tugged a little as she stroked upwards, and he could feel the moisture

of pre-cum leaking from his tip. Her thumb caught it and he looked as

she slipped that digit into her mouth and sucked it clean.
“Hm,” she said appreciatively. Her hands started working him over in earnest and he closed his eyes as sensations battered him.

He

felt the velvety wetness of her mouth and opened his eyes in time to

see the head of his cock disappear between those cherry-lips of hers.

She licked all around his bulbous head for a few seconds, getting him

wet and slippery. After a while, she pushed her head down over him and

Brandon groaned aloud. His hand curled around her head and fisted into

her curls as she started bobbing her head up and down slowly, taking him

deeper inch by inch, until he was buried as deep as she could take him.

She picked up her pace a little, sucking while she bobbed, and he

couldn’t help thrusting his hips to get deeper. She lifted her head and

his cock jutted up, lining itself up with his belly. She took one of his

balls into her mouth, cupping the other while she stroked him with her

tongue.

When both his balls were wet and slick, she took his cock

back into her mouth. This time she managed to deep throat him a few

lovely times. He stared into her eyes and stroked her face as she sucked

him off.
“I’m going to come soon, babe,’ he said. It was fair

warning, after all. She redoubled her efforts, sucking harder and

stroking with her hand to add to the pleasure. Her tongue was swirling

around him, pressing against that sensitive spot at the base of his

cock.
It undid him, and Brandon lost control for a few seconds,

cupping her face in both hands and plunging his cock into her hard and

fast until the cum spurted out of his cock and into her mouth. She

swallowed convulsively around him and gagged a little. He was past the

point of caring.

When it was over, he leaned back against the

chair, gasping and almost shaking. His hand was still stroking her silky

hair, which he had twined around his fingers at some point to hold her

face down against his cock as he went in too deep. He forced his fingers

to let go of her with some difficulty, as his brain struggled to send

the correct commands to his hand.

“Are you all right?” he asked,

concerned. She was using the same shirt he’d used to wipe her face. “I

was a little rough back there.”
“Only a little. I'm fine, thanks.”
He grabbed the beer bottle he’d put on the desk and guzzled the rest. “You sure know how to give head,” he said, impressed.
“Practice

makes perfect,’ she said and stood up, wincing as the movement made her

knee crack. He smiled as she drowned the last of her drink.
“How was the screaming orgasm?”
She stared at the empty glass. “Not bad. I’d like another one, actually.”
He pulled her down to straddle him on the chair.
“Your

wish is my command,” he said and kissed her. It was a tender kiss, but

it became hotter as their tongues tangled, mixing the tastes of their

respective cum and drinks. His fingers were combing through her dark

curls and hers were grasping his shoulders. Finally she pulled away and

his hands slid around her body to her back. He found the strap of her

bra and undid it deftly. She lifted her arms and got rid of it

impatiently. His hands rose to cup her tits.

“Oh, yeah,’ he breathed.
“What is it with men and boobs?” she asked, amused. “I’ve never had sex with a man who weren’t obsessed with them.”
He stared at her chest.
“They’re; boobs,” he said as if that explained everything. “Hey, I found the cherry.”
She

laughed as he popped into his mouth. He bit into it and it burst open,

filling his mouth with the ripe taste of cherry and vodka and woman. He

kissed her again, sharing bits of the flesh and juices with her.
She

was grinning in a playful manner and he wished he had a jar of cherries

to share with her. His hands were stroking and weighing her boobs and

she leaned back slightly, pressing them into his hands more firmly. He

played with the nipples and they hardened under his touch, delighting

him. They were rosy tips; a soft, delicate coral pink that he wanted to

ta

Explorations Commence.

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

“My tongue?” she said, sounding a little squeaky.
“Yes, Emily. Slip it in my mouth.”
There was a moment of silence, and then she asked, “why?”

“I

want to show you something delicious,” he said, and instead of the pity

he might have expected when he realized that she had never done this,

he only felt a primal, primitive male pride to be the one to teach her,

to show her.

He felt her warm little tongue pressing hesitatingly against his lips and opened them, sucking it hard inside his mouth.
“Oh my,” she gasped; or tried to, anyway; and he grinned a little in pure satisfaction.
“Good, huh?” he asked after he let go.
“Uhm,” she muttered.
“Want to do it again?”

“Uhm,”

she managed again. He slanted his mouth over hers and lapped at her

tongue again, this time drawing it into his mouth. He suckled, hard, and

she made a small, helpless little sound as both his hands started

kneading her ass, covered with the stiff material of new jeans. He

pressed her body harder against the door frame, desperate to have more

of her. The kiss became urgent, and he realized the exact moment she

stopped worrying about what to do and just let her body react, because

suddenly it was even more perfect; her lips moving with his, her tongue

meeting and thrusting against his, tasting and feeling and exploring.

The sounds they were generating were loud in the stillness of the

hallway; her moans, his groans, her sighs, his murmurs. Her accelerated

breathing, his satisfied growls when she tested and tried something new,

something that worked. They kept at it for a few more minutes; it might

have been hours for, all he knew; and he dragged one hand up and into

her hair.

“Ouch,” she gasped, and the fog lifted a little from

his brain, enough to clear his mind for a few seconds, enough to make

him realize that he was mauling her in the hallway.
“What?” he asked, and this time he was the one who felt dazed.
“Nothing,”

she said quickly. “Just my head, against the doorframe. Please,

continue with what you were doing. Don’t let me interrupt you…”

He

laughed a little and pressed his forehead against hers, his eyes closed

tightly as he tried to get a grip over his hormones. His cock was

rock-hard by now, straining against the fly of his jeans. He wanted her

so badly, wanted to sink into the softness that was Emily, the

gentleness of her embrace. Wanted to teach her everything he knew about

lovemaking, demonstrating over and over until she knew exactly what was

the best way to fit tab B into slot A.

But she was new, and

innocent, and as appealing as the idea was, the small part of his mind

that was still capable of rational thought knew that taking her right

now, braced against the doorway was not only incredibly stupid (due to

the whole public aspect of the milieu) but also extremely selfish. She

deserved to be taken slowly, gently, preferably with somebody who would

take the time to show her everything she needed to know. And also, a bed

would be nice.

“Just give me a minute,” he said, taking deep breaths.
“No! No, no, no! Don’t take a minute; you’re going to change your mind if you do!”
He laughed again. “Not bloody likely,” he said. “Just; just hold on a bit, okay?”
“Okay,”

she murmured, circling her arms around his body and leaning against

him. Her soft hair tickled his chin as she tucked her head in the crook

of his neck. He pulled her inside the apartment and closed the door

behind them, almost stepping on her glasses in the process. He picked

them up and put them on a little table in the corner, and then turned to

look at her.

She was standing with her hands folded in front of her, head bent down so that he couldn’t see her face.
She

was radiating shyness, and uncertainty, and just a little bit

rejection. Tenderness swirled in him again and he stepped closer to her,

allowing himself one swift, hard kiss.
“Look at me,” he said. She lifted her head slowly and he smiled at her.
“You’re

beautiful,” he said. “don’t even think of arguing with me, not even in

your mind. Especially not in your mind. I won’t have anybody, least of

all you, think otherwise. I won’t put up with that. You are lovely, and I

want you so much it aches. But I want to do what’s right.”

“What would that be?” she whispered, and he cupped her neck, his thumb playing in the hollow of her throat.
“I don’t know,” he admitted ruefully. “Right now I just want to take you to bed, so my judgement is a little cloudy.”
“Do

it,” she said. “Please, Brandon. Take me to bed. I’m so tired of

wondering, of not knowing what sex is like. I want; I want to know, and I

want to learn.” She was quiet for a second. “I want to feel.”

He

searched her eyes. “Your first time should be with somebody special,”

he objected, knowing that he wouldn’t leave unless she asked him to.

Knowing exactly what would happen if he stayed. His beautiful, shy

little librarian was about to ask him to make love to her, and he was

powerless to deny her anything, least of all what she was offering. He

was human, and male, after all.

Emily looked at him with her

heart in his eyes. “You are special,’ she said after a few seconds. “You

make me feel wanted. Wanton. You make me want to take you to the

library and do something in the non-fiction section where nobody ever

goes.”

He laughed, a raw sound that was being torn from him as

his throat closed up. Had he really thought she would be unresponsive

and boring?
“You have to be sure,” he said. “I’m not doing this if you’re not sure.
“I was sure the first time I saw you. I didn’t know what to say except, ‘a glass of whiskey, please’.”
“I’ve

never seen a woman drink whiskey like you did before,’ he said with a

little smile. “You just sat there, sipping glass after glass of Jameson

without making a face, though I’m pretty sure you thought it was

disgusting.”

“I hated it,” she admitted.” But I didn’t know what else to order, and I was too shy to ask your advice.”
He

made a vow to himself to take her back to the bar one evening and let

her have a sip of every single drink he had in stock, until she found

something she likes. And then he would mix some cocktails, and teach her

about shaken and stirred, and she would never have to drink whiskey

alone in a bar again.

He kissed her then, a sweet kiss that

wasn’t about passion as much as compassion. He had feelings for her.

They were undeveloped yet, but he wasn't about to deny their existence

like some footloose bachelor, afraid of commitment. He didn’t know if it

was the right thing, making love to her without giving her the chance

to get to know him better, but he knew that he could no more let her go

right now than he could cut off his own arm. So he stroked her hair,

marveling at the silky feel as his lips taught her a few more secrets

and his tongue tasted her again. He slid the strands through his fingers

and pulled her head back to taste the skin on her neck.

She

tipped her head willingly, giving him better access. He teased her

earlobe, nibbling lightly and flicking it with his tongue before sucking

it into his mouth. The silver hoop she was wearing was in his way, so

he used his fingers to get rid of it. He tickled the sensitive area

behind her earlobe and tasted the dryness of perfume she had dabbed

there. It was bitter, and though it smelled like heaven, he wanted to

taste Emily, so he traced a line down her neck and across her

collarbone, following the line of an imaginary necklace with his tongue,

until the last of the perfume had rubbed off on her skin and all he

could taste was Emily. Sweet and unique and still a little bit scared.

He

explored the hollow between her collarbones, taking his time over it.

Her skin was like satin; smooth, silky, and so completely feminine. She

moaned, a small sound in the back of her throat as she leaned helplessly

against him, her hands around his head and her fingers tangled in his

hair. She pulled at his head and he went willingly back to her mouth, to

kiss and taste and take.
He was never going to get enough of her mouth, he though as he toyed with her lips and let her do the same to him.

She

stepped away for a second and crossed her arms in front of her, pulling

her sweater over her head in one smooth move. Brandon felt his breath

catch in her throat when she stood in front of him in only her thin

white chemise-like top and a lacy white bra that pushed her boobs

together in the most perfect way imaginable. He stopped her hands when

she wanted to take the top off and slid his hands over her body

reverently. She was so warm, but despite the heat in the room her

nipples were hard, beaded little nubs, straining against the honeyed

fabric of her thin top.

He pulled one strap over her shoulder and

tasted the skin he unveiled before reaching down and getting rid of the

blasted thing completely. And then his hands were in the skin of her

softly rounded, perfectly proportioned hips, and her skin was softer and

smoother than the silk of the top that had fluttered to the ground and

was now lying there, like a pool of sex, on the floor. Brandon looked

her in the eyes, and she gazed back unflinchingly, despite the blush

that stained her cheeks a delicious shade of pink. Her tits were

spilling a little over the lace edge of her bra, something that the

designer had undoubtedly taken great pains to accomplish. It was like...

froth, he decided as he traced the edge of the material. Or the white

foam on top of a wave as it rolled to shore.

He reached behind

her, holding her gaze as he undid the clasp of her bra, the movement

bringing their bodies together. She made a small sound when he stepped

back deliberately and let the bra join the other clothes on the floor.

“You

are so lovely,” he said, gazing at her body. She was so completely

female, so gloriously, radiantly beautiful, and he couldn’t believe she

was standing there, allowing him to desecrate her innocence. He cupped

one of her tits, enjoying the way it spilled over his palm just a

little. The tip was pale pink, like a very young rose just ready to bud

open. He weighed a tit in each hand and was fascinated by the softness

and fullness. His thumbs skated over the tips until they were even

harder. He wanted to devour her, but this first time was not for him. It

was for her, to feel and learn, and experience. To understand, to know,

and to enjoy.

“Oh,” she gasped when he bent down and took one

nipple into his mouth. Just for a second did he allow himself to be

selfish and suckle on it, but then he pulled back and pressed a kiss

right in the middle of her cleavage. She moaned a little and moved

restlessly, but he didn’t relent. He kissed all over her tit, spiraling

teasingly toward the nipple, knowing it would drive her crazy. He rubbed

his cheek over the sensitive nub, abrading it lightly with his

stubble-roughened skin and laving it unexpectedly with his tongue. He

nipped lightly with his teeth, and she moaned again, slightly louder

this time as he took his time nibbling it.

“Do what you did again,” she begged him breathlessly.
“And what was that?” he asked, teasing her by drawing his tongue round her nipple without touching it.
“What you did before,” she said incoherently.
“This?” he asked, licking over it once with his tongue flat.
“No,” she said, her head thrown back and her eyes closed.
“This, then?” he wanted to know, flicking it quickly.
“No! you know what I mean!”
He

took pity on her. “Is this what you want?” he asked, drawing her into

his mouth and suckling hard and sure, playing with his tongue around the

tip as he did so.
“Oh, yes,” she moaned; a long, drawn out sound that grabbed at his control.

He

picked the pace up after that, forgoing the torture on her other tit

and going straight for the good part, sucking the nipple relentlessly

until she let go of his hair and put her hands behind her own head,

increasing both her vulnerability and her pleasure as she arched her

body into his hands and mouth.

She felt something hit the back of

her knees and opened her eyes, surprised to find that he had carried

her into her bedroom without her noticing it. She was lost in sensations

as his mouth travelled across her skin, insistently licking and

nibbling, stopping every now and then to explore some new place he

wanted to get to know intimately.

She heard him unzipping her pants and lifted her body instinctively to help him get rid of it.
“Brandon,”

she sighed when she was laying naked except for her panties; pretty

white lace that matched the bra she had been wearing; on her bed, and

Brandon was kneeling at the feet of the bed, trying to get rid of her

shoes so he could undress her completely.
“Yeah?” His voice was strained with the effort of holding back his passion.
“Come

up here for a second,” she whispered. He got rid of her shoe and when

he had pulled off her jeans he leaned over her, bracing himself on one

knee and both arms immediately.

“Everything okay?” he asked

gently, his face showing no sign of the storm raging inside him. He

wanted to rush, wanted to hurry, wanted to burry himself in her body,

but he was determined not to. This was for her. For Emily. He would have

time later to show her unbridled passion. But right now he wanted her

to have the most perfect first time any girl has ever had, anywhere.
“It’s perfect,” she smiled up at him, her hair flaring out over her pillows.
“This is a lot better than the last time I undressed you,” he said, grinning.
“What last time?”
“Well,

you were fairly drunk, so I’m not surprised you don’t remember,” he

said, tracing a pattern on her tit with his finger; lazy circles and

shapes that made her arch a little. “I only took off your coat and your

shoes,” he added. “Like I said. This is much better.”

She laughed a little. “I’m still sorry you spent the night on the couch.”
“Yeah,” he said. “You’re going to need to get a bigger couch if I’m going to spend the night again.”
She

licked over her lips, a small gesture he recognized by now as a sign of

nerves, so he waited for her to speak, trying to ignore the throbbing

in his cock.
“Why don’t you just use the bed next time?” she asked

tentatively. “If you want there to be a next time, that is. I don’t want

you to feel I expect anything, or that I presume this, right here,

right now, that it means I…”
He cut her off. “What are you talking

about, woman?” he asked, but he thought he knew, and he didn’t like the

direction of her thoughts.

“I don’t want you to think I expect

the fact that you’re making love to me means I will expect more than

just that,” she said carefully. “I’m not naïve enough to think this

means happy-ever-after.”
“Okay,” he said. “With that cleared up, can we go back to the love-making?”
“By

all means,’ she said. He kissed her then, letting her taste a bit of

his anger because, damn her, had the thought ever crossed her mind that

he might want more? That once might not be enough for him?

She

sank back into the fluffy duvet, her arms around him pulling him down

with her. She pressed her tit against his upper body. He moaned at the

feel of her naked body against his clothed one, especially when she

rubbed herself against him.
“You’re overdressed,” she said and he

gave a bark of laughter, hurrying to remedy just that. He was out of his

shirt in record time, and she leaned up to watch as he struggled a

little with his jeans. Getting it past his raging hard-on was a delicate

operation, but he managed not to injure himself.

“Let me,” she said when the jean was around his ankles and he started on his black boxer briefs.
She scooted closer to him, dressed only in her lacy white panties, the scent of her arousal wafting through the air.
She

was very careful when she slid one hand into the waistband and pulled

it away from his body and down. It kept getting stuck on his cock, so

she used her other hand to hold his cock out of the way. They both

gasped when her fingers touched him. Finally the boxers was around his

ankles, so he kicked it and the jeans off and out of the way.

She stared at his cock for a few seconds, her hand hovering as if she wanted to touch it.
“’Can

I …” she indicated and he nodded, his throat dry. She touched one

finger to his shaft, running it up and down his thick length.
“It’s so hard,” she said, marveling. “and at the same time, it’s so soft. Why is that?”
He moaned something in response as she made a fist around him, testing the thickness and pressing lightly.
“Harder,” he gasped. She did just that, and he groaned. Emily yanked her hand away.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked, wide-eyed. “I’m sorry! I’ve never, you know, seen one. In real life. Tell me what to do.”

“Later,”

he gasped and pressed her down on the bed, kissing her senseless as he

roamed over her body with one hand. “I’ll let you do whatever you want

later. But now I want to show you; do you trust me?”
She blinked up at him.
“Yes,”

she said, and the simple word tore through his last resistance. He

kissed her with all the passion he’d been holding back, letting her know

how much he wanted this, wanted her as he slid one hand down and into

her panties.

“You’re shaved,” he said, surprised.
“When I was

in my early twenties, I went for permanent hair removal,” she said.

“Each time I tried shaving, I wound up cutting myself, so I just

decided, screw that. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he said as he

stroked his finger over her hairless mound, testing the softness of her

skin before dipping lower.
And then he groaned as his finger was instantly coated in wetness. She was soaking.

She

moaned at the strangeness of having somebody else’s finger inside her.

He explored the lips, the petals, her clit, before dipping his fingertip

inside her and dabbling a little while he kissed her again. She opened

her legs wider instinctively, unaware of the eroticism of the movement.

He rushed a little as he pulled her panties off and threw them over his

shoulder. He knelt between her legs, spreading her knees further as he

wedged his shoulders between her thighs.

“Emily, may I go down on you?” he asked formally. Just to be sure.
“You mean; you want to; Yes, all right. You don’t have to, though.”
“It’s not ‘have to’ as much as ‘want to’,” he said. “I want to taste you.”
“Well, don’t let me stop you,’ she said, still a little shy.

He

used the fingers of one hand to spread her lips and the middle finger

of his other hand to dibble inside her again, coating his finger in her

juice and spreading it around her cunt. She wriggled a little and gave a

small moan. Brandon knew he wasn't going to last a hell of a lot

longer, and he needed to get her off so he could get off. So he honed in

on her clit with his finger, rubbing it fast and light, and then hard,

and then in tight little circles, trying to find out what she liked

best.

Emily closed her eyes and fisted her hands in the duvet as

Brandon’s finger did things to her nobody else has ever done. She gave a

gasp when he hit just the right spot, and he must have noticed, because

he focused on it then, rubbing and tapping at it. A strange need was

building inside her. She knew what orgasms feel like; and it was nothing

like this. This was an urgency she couldn’t stop, a tidal wave rising

from every nerve-end in her body.

“Brandon,” she gasped, clawing

at his back to get him to stop. There was something wrong with her; this

wasn't normal. But he didn’t seem to realize her urgency, because then,

oh mercy, his mouth was on her pussy, and he was sucking first the one

lip and then the other into his mouth before getting to her clit. He

moaned a little and muttered something about how good she tasted, but

Emily was still fighting the feelings building up inside her and didn’t

respond beyond little mewling sounds as she tried to get away from the

sensations the way an inexperienced swimmer tries to escape an enormous

wave. Brandon growled and flicked his tongue over her clit for a second,

before rubbing it hard with his tongue. He nibbled lightly and drew it

into his mouth, suckling like he did on her nipple.

“Let go,” he whispered against her, his breath warm on her wet skin. “Stop fig

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.