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persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as public figures in
the background, are figments of my imagination.  Any resemblance to persons
living or dead is strictly coincidental.

   Tutelage Uther Pendragon nogardneprethu@gmail.com

   MF

   "They're so small."

   "The ideal shape.  Here, look in the mirror.  Do you see how beautiful
you are?  Like the Venus de Milo.  Not these, of course, although she
originally had arms.  But these are just the shape of her breasts.  Watch
yourself.  See?  She didn't look like this.  The place she posed must have
been warm.  Now, let's get these off."

   "But you're still dressed."

   "And look the better for it -- not good but better.  You, on the other
hand...  Beautiful and sexy -- rising out of your panties and jeans as if
from sea foam."

   "Only beautiful in your eyes.  Only sexy in your hands."

   "I saw you in the lecture hall.  The boys weren't ignoring you.  Come!
Lie down, and I'll strip and join you."

   "They don't know anything.  You know so much.  Not just about botany."

   "Well, I and the boys are both attracted to you.  If we are so
different, the common factor must be that you are attractive.  Quod erat
demonstrandum.  You are so smooth against me."

   "You are so warm.  Kiss me."

   "Always.  Mmmm.  Everywhere."

   "Oh, yes!  Oh, there."

   "Always there.  You are as smooth as the marble, but softer and warmer.
Mmmm.  And responsive."

   "Not there.  You can't enjoy kissing me there."

   "But I do!  And you enjoy it, too."

   "Well yes....  Oh yes! ...  Ah!"

   "Now, dear, relax and enjoy your afterglow.  You are so sweet, so
responsive....  Taste yourself."

   "You're so good to me."

   "Orgasm is the best foreplay....  Do you trust me?"

   "You know I do.  You know so much!"

   "Well, I should bring something to the table.  Knowledge doesn't compare
with what you offer.  You are so young, so lovely, so smooth,...  so snug!"

   "So full!"

   "Yes, my darling.  Tell me what you feel.  Your enjoyment is large part
of mine."

   "I feel you moving in me and your chest hair brushing over my nipples."

   "And I feel your stiff nipples rubbing my chest.  I feel your pussy
walls sliding over my cockhead and your entrance clasping my shaft."

   "Oh!  When you move there, it feels so hot."

   "There?"

   "Yes."

   "And here?"

   "There, too.  What are you doing?"

   "I'm moving deep in my darling.  Moving without coming out.  Showing my
love for the one who excites me by exciting her."

   "That's so romantic.  But why kiss my forehead when you can kiss my
lips?"

   "Because I love all of you.  And you, in turn, should raise your knees
and spread them so I can get as deep into you as I can."

   "Like this?"

   "Precisely.  Do you feel how deep I am within you?"

   "Oh yes....  Oh!"

   "That's it, my darling.  Take all of me.  Take my longest strokes."

   "Oh...  Oh!...  Aaah!"

   "The sweet clasp.  Moving through your warm grip....  Gah!"

   "Stay here."

   "Gladly.  Your arms, too, enfold me.  But not for too long....  Here,
now you lie in my embrace."

   "I wish I could stay like this forever."

   "Yes.  But we can't.  The world is too much with us.  But, since this is
so pleasant, we'd be fools to spend this time regretting that it's
temporary."

   "I'd like to spend my life with you."

   "Unless you develop a taste for necrophilia, that's biologically
unlikely.  Anyway, we have this year and next year.  That's subjectively
forever as long as we don't obsess about the later years."

   "But I love you."

   "And I love you.  I love all of you, and not just from your lovely hair
to your cute toes.  I love what you are, and you are -- in large part --
potentiality.  I'd not love you, the real you, if I imagined that you'd
stay like this forever, or even for a decade.  You'd not love the real me
if you thought me handsome."

   "You're distingue."

   "That's a beautiful term.  'Distingue' is love talk for 'grey-haired,'
and 'grey-haired' is a euphemism for 'old.' I am, indeed, distingue.  That
is to say I'm old.  And you, my dear, are young.  You're still growing,
intellectually and emotionally if no longer physically."

   "Now you're starting to sound like my father."

   "Why not, incest aside?  I'm not much older than he is.  And didn't you
grow beyond your parents?  They raised a chick, and then she flew out of
the nest.  In part, that's sad.  But your never flying out of the nest
would have been tragic.  And you'll outgrow me and leave.  I'll cry, and
maybe you will, too.  But I'd rather share parting tears than have you need
to rip yourself away in anger."

   "You make it all sound so tragic."

   "Life is tragic.  What we're doing is creating a tiny oasis of pleasure
within the tragedy.  You have brought me great joy and a taste of youth. 
If I'm not going to suffer a guilty conscience, you should carry away a bit
of wisdom."

   "I thought you didn't want to think about the future.  'Carry away'
sounds awfully like thinking about the end."

   "Well, dear, let's think about the immediate past.  That's really what
wisdom is, thinking about the past and believing the future will be like
it. And remember that I told you that orgasm is the best foreplay.  If you
meet a young man you're considering as a temporary partner -- and never
even think about permanence until after you've experienced and enjoyed the
temporary partnership.  When you're considering a young man as temporary
partner, then an early stage in that relationship is to let him bring you
to orgasm."

   "Nobody will do that as well as you do."

   "Perhaps.  But the future is long and uncertain.  Anyway, when he has --
if you consider the experience enjoyable if not up to the standard you
learned from me -- you offer him a condom.  It's nice that you trust me,
but you trust my statements that I've had a vasectomy and that my doctor
has ascertained that I carry no venereal disease.  A young man will be
unlikely to have either the operation or the habit of regular tests."

   "And why, really, not trying to distract me, were you kissing my
forehead?"

   "Well, if you want me to be prosaic, I was up high on your body to be
against your clit when I moved in and out."

   "You can be so poetic and then so cold-blooded."

   "Yes, though 'flowery' is more accurate than 'poetic.' Poets can be damn
cold-blooded.  'If they ask you why we died, tell them it's because our
fathers lied.' 'I cheer a dead man's sweetheart, never ask me whose.' But
it communicates two aspects of reality.  The one is a fact.  It's nice that
you trust me, sweet, but you shouldn't make a habit of trusting men that
way.  The other is an emotion.  This breast I'm holding is, indeed,
symmetrical.  My response to it, however, isn't that it's symmetrical but
that it's lovely and -- even when I'm in this state -- arousing."

   "This state?  Nude and lying with me in your arms?"

   "You, my dear, are nude.  I'm merely naked.  Although my nakedness
increases my pleasure in your nudity.  The state I meant was post-coital.
Come, have we talked enough?"

   "Yes, but we haven't touched enough."

   The end Tutelage Uther Pendragon nogardneprethu@gmail.com

   Another story of an older man with a younger woman, albeit in a
different time period: /~Uther_Pendragon/med/visit.htm
"The Viscount Visits"

   The index to almost all my stories:
/~Uther_Pendragon/index.htm