Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 This never happened.  I wish it had, but it's all fiction.  Yulia never
existed -- at least not in my world.  So, read and enjoy but remember, it's
MY fantasy, not yours.  Please don't steal my fantasy without my
permission.

   Secondly, no one ever writes to tell me they liked my story.  Well,
ALMOST no one.  I get maybe one acknowledgement for every 1,000 people who
read my stories.  PLEASE write to tell me what you liked or didn't like and
help me become better at this.  Besides, I like to have my ego stroked.  A
REALLY nice letter from a really sexy girl might even get me off.  Wanna
try?

   ------------------Yulia Part 3 --------------

   read Parts 1&2 first at: /files/Authors/cyberguy

   This was going to be tricky, I thought -- being with Yulia AND her
mother.  When Yulia and I are together at my place we can't seem to keep
our hands off each other.  The math tutoring has become just an excuse; she
has completely caught up and is now working ahead of her class.  We spend
more time on her english.  She's young enough that, with help, she will
ultimately speak without an accent.  But more and more of our limited time
together I spend "tutoring" her in the art of making out, as she calls it.

   I suppose it is just that - making out.  We're touching and kissing. 
Kid stuff.  I want so badly to fuck her, though.  My groin is roiled with
sexual feelings whenever I think of her, which is often.  Like now.

   I have to move slowly with her, not to frighten her, confuse her or, God
forbid, hurt her.  Every advance we make must be when SHE wants it, when
she is frustrated with sexual appetite, when her body and mind crave more,
when she can't stand NOT having more.  It feels soooo good, I get such
pleasure when she prods me forward.  I can't imagine that her pleasure is
any greater than mine.

   The tricky part, of course, was going to be creating a plausible and
acceptable relationship between a 13 year-old girl and a guy 20 years her
senior.  Rumors have been started with a lot less.  It would be different
if I was her older brother or uncle or priest.  So, here's a girl who has
no uncle or brother (or willing priest).  Her tutor?  Yeah, right.  Call a
cop!

   Even if I was only her tutor and not actively trying to get her into my
bed, it would be a stretch.  But, shit, you work with what you're given. 
Right?  So, this tutor of hers would be Mr.  Clean at the party.  Ramrod
straight, suave and friendly, just plain Joe.  I could do that.

   I timed my arrival at the hotel for about 7:15 to 7:30.  I had no idea
what to expect and didn't want to be the first person in the door nor did I
want to arrive as everyone was halfway through dinner.  I assumed there
would be dinner.  I was happy to see several other cars pulling up and men,
women, boys and girls alighting, wearing what must have been traditional
Ukranian special-occasion dress.  Lots of white.  Men in dark pants and
white full-sleeved shirts, open at the neck with large, wide plaques of
intricate embroidery, mostly red, running halfway down the fronts.  Some
older men dressed all in black with shiny black riding boots -- and more
embroidery.  Probably cavalry officers' uniforms, I guessed.

   Girls were wearing all white, skirts and blouses, with more of the same
embroidery -- wide strips at the hem, yoke and, sometimes, sleeves.  They
also wore wide embroidered headbands of red cloth embroidered with yellow
and white designs.  Older women had the same white blouses but wore dark
skirts or aprons.  Very old women, those with white hair, wore plain
shirt-waist dresses in black, dark blue or dark blue with tiny white polka
dots.  The theme seemed to be virgins, young married and grandmas wearing
descending amounts of white.

   There were maybe 50 people in the hall as I entered, all in costume.  I
was definitely going to be the "sore thumb" that stuck out all evening in
my blue suit and tie.  The black sheep.  But at least the all-black
horsemen would help me hide in my dark suit.

   Yulia noticed me soon after I entered the room, running to greet me,
dragging another girl her age by the hand.  "Teacher!" she shouted as she
drew near.  She was stunning in her costume, like it had been designed
especially for her.  What's more, she had on low heels and makeup --
lipstick, eye liner, shadow, rouge -- the full Monty.  She wore the soft
calf-high boots, long full skirt and embroidered white blouse most of the
other girls wore.  The seemingly obligatory headband made her look like one
of the matryoshka dolls the russians make, although I'm certain she
wouldn't like the russian reference.  And she was a lot thinner and more
beautiful than a matryoshka.  Her eyes were level with mine when she stood
before me in her heels.  Oh, God, please.  No erection now!!  She was
gorgeous and looked like she was 20.

   "I'm so happy to see you here.  Please meet my friend Stasya.  Stasya is
the only other girl from Ukraine who goes to my school.  We are best
friends.  Stasya, this is mister Wells I tell you about." She pronouunced
Mister "Meester." We would have to work on that.

   "Hello Yulia..hello Stasya.  It's a pleasure to meet you." I kept my
cool.

   Stasya blushed deeply and said nothing as she curtsied.  "Now you must
meet Mama," Yulia fairly gushed.  She turned, taking me by the hand, and
dragged me across the floor to where a large stern-looking woman was
sitting by herself at a table.  Stasya was left standing where we had been
introduced.

   "Mama," Yulia said as we neared.  "Mama, this is Meester Wells, my
tutor." I had never seen her before.  My tutoring assignments had always
been arranged by Yulia's school.  She was nearing fifty, I'd guess, with
graying blonde hair, hefty but not fat and her eyes that fairly drilled
into me.

   Mama said something I didn't understand.  "She says 'hello'," Yulia
added.  I stuck out my hand to shake hers.  She looked down at my hand and
studied it for a few seconds before she grasped it lightly.  She held it as
she said something more -- a sentence this time.  Yuila blushed before
translating: "Mama says she has heard a lot about you."

   "I hope it has been positive, what you have heard."

   Yulia translated, mama spoke and Yulia said, "All of it has been good."
Yulia added, "Mama doesn't speak english.  She works in a shop with all
Ukrainian people, shops in stores run by Ukrainians.  She never has a need
for english."

   "I'm sorry to hear that," I said.

   "She is ok," Yulia responded.  "But Papa is never home and she is
lonely. Papa drives a truck everywhere in U.S.  and right now he is sick,"
she added.  "He has a problem with his liver, the doctors say.  Mama
doesn't drive so we go on the bus to see Papa in the hospital.

   "That must be difficult."

   "We do ok," said Yulia.

   Fortunately, someone came to say hello to momma and a very uncomfortable
situation for me ended.  Yulia said something to her mother and led me
again by the hand across the room.  We rejoined Stasya and several other
boys and girls her age.  They were spreaking Ukrainian as we arrived but
shifted smoothly into heavily accented english.  "These are my friends,"
Yulia said, "but I don't see them often.  They go to different schools. 
Only Stasya and I see each other every day." She introduced everyone in the
group but I didn't get their names as she went around the little circle.

   "We are going to dance later," Yulia said.  "We dance real Ukranian folk
dances like in old country.  Then we eat." I just followed Yulia wherever
she took me, shaking hands and smiling with everyone.  I swore some of the
women raised an eyebrow when I was introduced to them.  Maybe too much Joe
Cool and not enough Mr.  Clean.

   "You need drink.  You drink vodka?" she asked.

   "Not really.  I prefer beer or wine."

   "We have beer.  Later you drink vodka," she said.  She led me to an ice
chest that held several beers, some of which were clearly foreign, with
labels written in the cyrillic alphabet.  I chose Bud Lite, which I detest,
discreetly choosing a known discomfort while avoiding the unkown.  Yulia
poured a lemonade from the kids' punchbowl.  "I can't drink alcohol 'til
I'm 16," she whispered in my ear as she held my upper arm protectively (or
was it proprietarily).  "I cannot go out with boys until I'm 14 but I have
you," she continued with her lips only an inch or so from my ear.  She
pulled back and gave me a wide-eyed grin and gripped my arm even more
tightly with her free hand.

   The room had filled.  Maybe two hundred people milled around and then
started to find tables.  There were bottles of vodka in ice buckets on
every table and the men were pouring shots into tiny glasses and toasting
one another.  It looked like a drinking contest had started.  Yulia steered
me to her mother's table and sat me down on mama's right.  Mama looked up
and smiled.  Yes, she could smile "I go dance now," Yulia said to me.  She
kissed me quickly on the cheek and dashed off.

   Holy shit!  Right in front of her mother!  Not politic!  Not cool!  Mama
looked off across the room.  Had she noticed?  No idea, but my heart rate
was about 120.  All the young girls and some of the young men gathered in
the middle of the floor and waited for someone somewhere to put a CD on. 
Then it started: balalaika and trumpets.  The girls formed a line and
swirled demurely in and out of a formation while the guys watched.  Then
the guys moved to center and made cool, macho moves in unison, trying to
impress the girls.

   They performed three or four similar dances, some fast, some slow on
much the same theme.  I followed Yulia as she maneuvered through the
sequences.  The others were there in my peripheral vision, fuzzy figures
gyrating but Yulia was centered in my field of view sharper and brighter
than any other girl.  She was either looking down at the floor or directly
at me.  She was dancing for me -- bending, turning, swirling, stamping her
feet.  A mating dance.

   Momma, sitting next to me, never moved.  She watched the dancers with
her body frozen in position.  I had no idea whether this was because she
was enjoying the scene, because she couldn't converse with me or because
she hated me.  Her stern expression never changed during the entertainment.
She would applaude politely, not too energetically, at the end of each
dance and, when the show ended and Yulia returned to the table and sat on
my right, putting me between herself and her mother, mama made a brief,
three or four word comment without looking to her right at me or Yulia. 
This was one tough broad who either detested me already or didn't want to
know what was happening.

   Yulia tried to make small talk but her mother's responses were one or
two words.  Geez.  Was it the kiss?  Was it because I was so much older
than Yulia?  Was it that I was not Ukranian?  Did I have spinach between my
teeth?

   While Yulia was facing across me, trying to involve her mother in
conversation I felt her hand on my leg.  She would lean across me to say
something in Ukranian and put her hand, hidden by the tablecloth, on my
thigh.  I looked at her questioningly and she just smiled sweetly.  First
the kiss and now she's playing chicken with her mom's eyes.  But I, the old
guy, was the one who'd be busted if mama saw what she was doing.

   Yulia's hand worked it's way higher when we returned to the table after
serving ourselves at the dinner buffet.  She removed it only to use knife
and fork together.  When she had almost reached my crotch and the
tablecloth wasn't hiding much I reached down to move her hand away only to
have her take mine and place it high on her thigh.  I started to sweat but
mama never looked over.  This was definitely not the place to start getting
frisky and, besides, I was having trouble eating left-handed, so I took my
hand away and gave Yulia a scowl when she looked at me beseechingly.  Ah,
the irrepressible teen.

   The music changed to modern dance music, mostly rock, and the kids
started dancing.  I don't do rock.  I don't like rock.  I dance to the slow
stuff where I can hold a girl in my arms and feel her warmth.  I don't like
to sweat when I'm dancing.  "We dance?" Yulia asked again and again.  I
finally said yes when the DJ put on a slow tune.

   Now the problem became how close to hold her as we danced.  Normally I
would get close enough to feel boobs against my chest but I could feel
mama's eyes on the back of my neck, so I held a respectful distance.  Yulia
wasn't a very good dancer but then neither was I.  I always prided myself
on being a good 'intermissioner' -- outside in the dark when the band took
a break.

   "Your mother hates me," I said as we were dancing.

   "No, she doesn't."

   "So why does she never look at me?"

   "She is sad tonight."

   "Why is that?"

   "Papa is very sick and she worries."

   "I'm sorry."

   "Doctors say he will die soon."

   "Oh, geez.  That's terrible!"

   "Yes.  Momma is very sad." She paused.  "But you and I will be happy
tonight.  Ok?"

   "I'm trying."

   I maneuvered across the floor until we were out of mama's sight.  I
pulled her closer.  To hell with mama, who probably wasn't watching anyway,
in her grief.  I could feel Yulia's breasts against my chest again, for the
first time since we stood kissing in my apartment.  I willed myself not to
get a hardon.

   "I like dancing with you," Julia said.

   "I like being close to you," I answered, whispering into her ear.

   "Me, too."

   We danced a couple more times and then sat at the table where Stasya was
sitting.  The three of us talked in english, the girls sometimes lapsing
into ukranian and giggling about whatever it was they were saying.  "Stasya
says she likes you, too," Yulia said at one point.

   "That's nice.  I like you, too," I said to Stasya.

   "Yulia says you are good teacher," Stasya said and both girls burst into
gales of laughter.

   "What's so funny?" I asked.

   "Stasya thinks I am very lucky to have a teacher for other things -- not
just math."

   "Sweet mother of God," I gasped.  "Have you been talking to her about
what we do?" I asked, ignoring the fact that Stasya was sitting right
there.

   "We talk about everything," Yulia said.  "We are best friends."

   "But don't you realize what trouble we would be in if someone knew?"

   "No trouble.  Stasya will keep secret, right Stasya?" Yulia asked,
turning to her friend.

   "I don't tell nobody," she answered.  "We are friends."

   "Stasya wants you to teach her, too, but I said 'No.' You are mine and I
don't share you." Yulia's hand found my thigh again, this time moving
higher until it was in my crotch.  She had to lean forward to find my
package and Stasya watched knowingly.  Yulia squeezed me gently and kissed
my cheek.

   I was astonished at her boldness and her casualness about something that
could land me in prison for years and brand me as a child molester for a
lifetime.  "We have to talk about this...  but not here," I told her.

   "You worry too much," she said.  She squeezed me again and looked up
into my eyes.

   "I worry because I could go to jail," I said, removing her hand. 
Stasya's brow furrowed and Yulia looked glassy-eyed.  "This is serious
stuff.  We need to talk about what's happening here, what we're doing.  I
think I should say goodnight now and we can talk on Monday."

   Fear crept into Yulia's eyes.  "Don't go yet.  Stay with me and dance
more."

   "I can't.  I'm very uncomfortable about holding you tight on the dance
floor or having you kiss me in front of your mother."

   "Why?" she asked as tears came to her eyes.

   "Because I'm so much older than you."

   "Why you worry about that?"

   "Men my age aren't supposed to 'do stuff' with girls your age."

   "Why?"

   "It's not right.  It's against the law."

   "I don't like that law."

   "It doesn't make any difference if you like it or not."

   "In my country, many girls marry older men."

   "Thirteen year-old girls?"

   "No, but maybe fifteen or sixteen."

   "Well, you're not fifteen yet."

   "But I will be fourteen soon and Mama says I can go out with boys when
I'm fourteen."

   "She's thinking of fourteen year-old boys at the movies, not grown men
in their apartments."

   A tear ran down Yulia's cheek.  "Sweetie," I said.  "I would love to hug
you right now but I can't.  What we do in private we can't do in public and
I need you to understand that.  I'm going to leave now but you must
understand that I'd rather be here dancing with you, holding you in my
arms. we'll talk more on Monday." I took her hand from my crotch and
squeezed it as I rose.  "Goodnight, Stasya.  Goodnight, Yulia.  Please stay
here and enjoy the dancing with the boys here."

   "I don't want the boys here.  I want you," Yulia said as tears burst
forth.  Stasya moved over to sit next to her and hug her as I pulled away
and moved toward the door.

   -------------------------------------

   Monday came much too slowly.  Yulia's tears bothered me greatly all day
Sunday and Monday morning.  I knew her teen hormones were churning away
inside and causing her to do things she normally wouldn't do -- like kiss a
guy twice her age in front of her mother.  I was interested to know what
the conversation was between Yulia and her mother later that night or the
next day.

   I was also worried how Yulia and I would be able to keep things between
us out of the public eye.  Yulia just didn't seem to know -- or care -- how
dangerous it was to have the world know what we were doing or, at least,
intended to do.  I was torn.  My head told me to run.  My dick, which has
always ruled my life, yearned to be between this lovely girl's lips and
then her legs.

   My mind saw her in the jersey she wore on Friday, her long pale legs
travelling miles between the hem and the floor.  But I saw her face with
the makeup she wore Saturday, her blue eyes framed with shadow and mascara,
her soft lips emphasized with lipstick, her clear complexion made even more
porcelain with foundation, her cheekbones contoured with rouge.  My heart
beat faster and I felt those familiar surges in my groin all day Sunday
whenever I imagined her.  But I dreaded the confrontation when we saw each
other on Monday.  IF we saw each other, ever again.

   Yulia's knock came at 3:15.  She burst through the door when I opened
it, threw her book bag on the floor and sat quickly on the sofa very much
out of breath.  She must have run without stopping from school.  "I want to
make love!" she shouted across the room from her seat on the sofa.

   "Sssshhh.  The neighbors will hear."

   "I don't care no damn about neighbors," she said, loudly again.  "I want
to make sex with you."

   "Wait a minute," I said, crossing to her.  "Let's talk about this."

   "I don't want talk," she insisted.  "I want to make love now."

   I sat next to her and she threw her arms around me and started to cry.
Through her tears she wailed, "Don't you want to make love with me?  Don't
you like me?"

   "Of course I like you," I said quietly, avoiding the BIG L word and
trying to calm her.  I think I did love her but, damn, how can you love
such a young, naive girl who gives you an erection every time you see her.
Is it love or lust?  Can lust lead to love or is it a dead end.  If love
can lead to lust why can't it work the other way around?  Who knows?  Maybe
lust ALWAYS comes first.  It certainly has in my life but I've never had it
turn into love.  Pleasure, yes; love, no.  Until now -- maybe.  Jesus. 
This was getting complicated.

   "Sweetie, why are you so upset.  We were doing just fine last week.  And
I enjoyed the party Saturday -- being with you and meeting your friends."

   "You ran away."

   "I didn't run away.  I was just worried that we were starting to do
things we shouldn't in public."

   "But I want everyone to know how much I love you!"

   Oops.  The BIG L word again.  I was flattered.  My mother was the only
woman who had ever told me she loved me.  I was four or five when she said
it for the first time and she still says it all the time.  But, geez, this
was something different.  Suddenly Yulia looked like a little girl -- an
eight year-old girl -- blubbering and wailing that she loved me.  I didn't
know what to do.

   Then she started to kiss me.  Wet kisses from her tears.  Hot kisses. 
Passionate kisses.  She held me by my shoulders and drove her lips against
mine, twisting and turning her head, shoving her tongue down my throat. 
Just as quickly, she released me and dashed into my bedroom, opening and
rummaging through drawers.  "What are you looking for?"

   "Where is the nightgown?"

   "What nightgown?" I asked.  I don't know why I asked.  There was only
one nightgown.

   "The one you showed me that I didn't wear."

   "Do you want it now?"

   "Yes, I want to wear it now -- for you."

   Holy shit!  What to do?  Well, the brain down there between my legs took
over again.  I went to the closet and took down the box it came in.  I
turned around and Yulia was out of her skirt and blouse and was undoing her
bra.  She stood there in panties, shoes and socks.  She tore the box out of
my hands, set it on the bed and resumed her undressing without a hint of
modesty.  Rather, she was showing off.  She was daring me to look.  She was
moving quickly so as not to lose her nerve.

   I stood dumbfounded but not much so that I didn't check out her body. 
God, it was everything I had fantasized about.  She had handful-sized knobs
on her chest, a slim waist, nice slim hips and long legs went on forever.
She slipped the baby-doll nightie over her head and stepped into the
panties.  I never did see if she had a bush or not.  If she did, it was as
blonde as the hair on her head.

   "Now we make love," she said, walking towards me.  I had no idea what to
say or do so I just stood still, mute.  God, she was beautiful!  She began
to unbutton my shirt as I stood there.  When she touched my belt I decided
it was "ON" for today.  I pushed her hands away and took over, dropping my
pants to the floor and shrugging the shirt off.  Yulia sat on the edge of
the bed watching me passively while I bent over to remove shoes and socks.

   "I don't know what to do," she said quietly as I stepped out of my
briefs.  My cock sprang forth and swayed in front of me, level with her
eyes.  She looked up at me, wide-eyed.  Now she looked scared and
vulnerable.  She also looked absolutely delectable, edible, which was just
what I had in mind.

   "First we get into bed," I said.

   "But if we're in bed you can't see me in my nightgown."

   "Right.  You take it off."

   "But I just put it on -- for you."

   "Yes, and you're beautiful in it."

   "So, why do I take it off.?"

   "Because we want to feel each other's bodies while we're lying together.
We want to touch each other with no clothes in the way." Yulia blinked her
eyes a few times, trying to work through all this.  In the end she just
said, "Ok," and stood up to pull the nightie up and over her head.  I think
she just gave up on trying to understand.  She stepped out of the panties.
Yes, she had a bush and it was beautiful..  She was beautiful, the day was
beautiful, everything was beautiful.

   She just stood there, naked, facing me, arms at her sides, a blank
expression on her pretty face.  She was telling me, wordlessly, to take her
right then and there.  Shivers ran through my body as I gazed at her
beauty, committing every curve and shadow to memory.  She didn't move.  Her
eyes were locked on mine as I stepped forward until our bodies touched.  My
cock was flattened against my stomach by her hips; her breasts pressed
against my chest.  She still made no move whatsoever.  Our noses were
almost touching.  And then I tilted my head and touched my lips to hers as
softly as I could and reached around to grasp her slim butt, a cheek in
each hand.

   I pulled her to me and increased the passion of my kiss, opening enough
to probe with my tongue.  She stood absolutely still, her arms remaining at
her sides.  My hands roamed up and down her back.  I could feel the little
indentation, a line across her back, where her bra strap had been moments
earlier.  I ran my finger along it.  Then I found her butt, her slim, firm
little butt, and took a cheek in each hand, massaging it, kneading it as we
kissed.

   I took her hand and led her the couple of steps to the bed.  I turned
the covers back for her.  "Where are the special sheets?" she asked.

   "I hadn't planned on having you see the bed today."

   "It's ok.  Doesn't matter," she said as she slid into bed and scooted
over to make room for me.

   I lay beside her, both of us on our sides facing one another.  I slowly
brushed a wisp of hair from her eyes.  Our noses were maybe six inches
apart.

   "I love you, Steven," she said quietly.

   "I ..." I wasn't sure what to say.  "I know that," I answered.  "I know
you do and that means a lot to me." How was I going to do this?  I couldn't
tell her I loved her, too, even if I did, and I wasn't sure whether I did
or not at this point.  I knew I wanted her but love is another thing
entirely.  "I like you a lot, more than any other girl I've known.  And
maybe it will grow into love but, for now, I just want to be with you,
kissing and touching like we are now.  I look forward to seeing you each
day and I am sad and nervous on the days when we are not together.  But
this is for pleasure right now.  This is to feel good and to make you feel
good in ways you have never known before.  Perhaps the pleasure I give you
-- and myself -- are making you think you love me."

   "No.  I love you.  I think of you all the time and I want to be with you
all the time.  I want to make love all day and then cook for you and sit
with you and watch TV and do everything with you."

   "That's very sweet." I rested my hand on her waist and leaned forward to
kiss her eyelids softly.  I brought my hand up to brush my fingertips along
her neck as I kissed her nose, her forehead, both cheeks and her chin
before arriving at her lips.  My hand, meanwhile, stroked slowly lower
until I was rubbing the backs of my fingers along the tops of her breasts.
She craned her neck forward so that her breasts were still available to my
hand as we kissed more and more passionately.

   I brushed my hand downward, back and forth across her breasts feeling
the soft, warm satiny skin against my fingers, until I found the rubbery
tip, the nipple.  I circled one and then the other slowly.  Yulia's body
stiffened slightly before relaxing again at the first touch of each.  She
drew one leg up, forcing her knee in between my legs.  Her breaths were
becoming more rapid and insistent, her nostrils flared as we continued to
kiss, our mouths locked together.  I felt her thigh against my balls as her
leg pushed higher and higher.

   Now I used the palm of my hand to cup her breasts.  I would draw my hand
up from underneath, lifting her little mounds until the nipple would slide
downward across my palm.  Then I would roll it gently between my thumb and
first finger.  The kisses got hotter.

   Even though I was enjoying the sensation of Yulia's thigh rubbing
against my balls, I was yearning to taste her titties so I slid down far
enough to take one in my mouth.  She gasped as I sucked her nipple, aureole
and much of her breast into my mouth.  I sucked hard.  Yulia arched her
back and uttered a long "Aaaaaaaahhhhhh." I felt her body shake.  This
couldn't be an orgasm, could it?  Too soon for that but I didn't have
another explanation.

   When I moved to the other titty Yulia put her hands on the back of my
head and pulled my face hard against it.  I sucked again and Yulia squirmed
and continued to pull me tight.  My nose was crushed against the soft
pillow of her breast so that I was having trouble breathing.  I held my
breath as long as I could while my tongue flicked back and forth across her
hard little nipple.  It tasted so sweet with no recognizable flavor; not
soap or perfume, just Yulia, and it was intoxicating.

   When I finally came up for air Yulia smiled and said, "I like that."

   "Me, too," I said.

   "Does it feel good if I kiss you there?" she asked as she touched a
fingertip to my nipple.

   "Yes, it does."

   She pulled me back up and then slid down until she could put her mouth
on my little nipple.  She kissed it softly and looked up for my reaction. I
smiled.  She covered it with her mouth and ran her tongue around in
circles. She looked up again for approval.  Seeing my smile she sucked on
it as she tongued it.  "Mmmmm," I groaned.

   "You taste good," she said.  Then she started to kiss my stomach and
bellybutton.  "Does that tickle?" she asked with an impish grin.

   "A little." She continued to work her way lower with little kisses.

   "You have lots of hair," she said when her kisses reached the top of my
hairy triangle.  She lay her head on my stomach and ran her fingers through
the curly black hair on which my erect cock was lying.  Then she moved her
head down far enough to kiss the tip.  Just a quick peck before she shot
back up and kissed my mouth again.  "Do you like that?"

   "Yes, I do," I whispered.  "Guys like to be kissed there," I went on. 
"Guys like to have a girl kiss it and lick it and then put it their mouth
and suck it."

   "Some girls talk about that but it sounds all icky to me."

   "Was it icky when you kissed it just now?"

   "No.  It was ok."

   "Try it again.  It will give me pleasure." Yulia slid back down and I
turned onto my back.  She looked at it for a few seconds, then at me.  I
smiled.  She stretched forward and kissed the tip, right on the glans. 
"Oooh." It jumped.

   Yulia jpulled back quickly, startled.  "Hey.  It jumped."

   "Yeah."

   She was bewildered.  "Why did it do that?"

   "It's very sensitive there.  You kissed the most sensitive part.  It
felt good."

   "Oh.  Ok.  Should I do it again"

   "If you like."

   "Would you like it?"

   "Yes.  It's one of the ways a girl can give her lover pleasure."

   "Are you my lover?"

   "I guess I am."

   "Then I must be your lover."

   "Hehe.  I guess you are."

   "But I can't tell anybody."

   "That's right."

   "Darn.  I want to tell Stasya that I kissed your ...  umm..."

   "Cock."

   "Yeah.  Cock." She giggled.  "That sounds really nasty.  Lemme kiss it
again," she said as she bent forward again and kissed it.  It jumped agan.
"Hehe.  That's fun." She kissed it several more times, making it move every
time.

   "Take it in your hand and hold it," I said.  And she did.  She studied
it, looking at it from every angle, while holding it with her fingers
wrapped around the shaft.  She kissed the tip and smiled at me.  "Now put
it in your mouth." She thought for a minute, considered it, then opened her
mouth and put the head in.  She looked up at me as she closed her lips
around it.  "Suck it," I commanded.  "Imagine it's a very tasty lollipop.
Pull it deep into your mouth and rub your tongue against it."

   She followed my instructions and, even though she had no idea what she
was doing, it felt great.  "Move your head up and down so it goes in and
out." Her eyes got wide as she tried to do what I asked.  "Ouch!  Sweetie,
make sure your teeth don't scrape it.  It hurts when you do."

   "Mpffhh," she said.  Now she was getting the hang of it.  She figured
out she had to move her hand as well, jacking my cock as she fucked my cock
with her mouth.  God, it was great.  She was kneeling beside me now,
bobbing up and down.  I watched her concentrating on what she was doing. 
"Suck harder," I said.  I saw her cheeks draw in as she applied more
suction to my cock, never stopping her up and down motion.  Mmmmmm.  She
was a quick study, I learned.

   I was watching her small breasts hanging from her chest, not big enough
to sway but maddenly sexy.  I wanted to suck them again but that meant
pulling her mouth off my cock.  What a decision!  Oh, fuck it, I thought. I
really liked her mouth on my cock.  Mmmmm.  I was getting close.

   "Do you know about 'cum'?" I asked her?

   "No," she said, raising her head off my cock.  Her face was red.  I
don't know if it was from exertion, from holding her breath or from
excitement.

   "When a man cums he shoots white stuff out of his cock.  It's the stuff
that makes babies."

   "I heard about that in school.  What did you call it?"

   "It's called cum and when it happens it called cumming."

   "Ok."

   "Well, you're doing a great job down there and you're getting me all
excited."

   "Good.  I want to do that for you."

   "So, when you do that and I'm ready to cum I warn you so you know."

   "And then what?"

   "Then you either take my cock out of your mouth and just continue with
your hand until I cum or some girls like to keep on sucking until a guy
cums in their mouth."

   "Hmm.  I don't know."

   "Well, I'd suggest you take your mouth off and just use your hand this
time.  You can see what it looks like and how it happens.  Then, later, you
can try letting me cum in your mouth if you want."

   "Ok.  You want me to do it some more?"

   "Please." So she bent down again and began pumping with hand and mouth.
She watched me warily until I said, "Ok, take it out, sweetie." She
straightened up but kept her hand working my cock.  "Faster, baby." She
pumped for another ten seconds or so before the first spurt gushed out and
splashed onto my chest.  She stopped.  "Keep going, baby," I said. 
"There's more."

   She started again, gripping my cock hard and stroking the full length of
it as three, four, five shots of sperm spurted forth.  "Keep going," I said
as more drooled down her hand.  Finally, I was spent.  "That's enough," I
said.  "I'm empty."

   "That's so cool," she said.

   "You have no idea how good that feels," I told her.

   "I'm glad.  So, that's what makes babies, she added."

   "Yes."

   "Can I touch it?"

   "Like I said, some girls like to swallow it."

   "Oh, wow." She reached out with one finger and thumb and pinched a
little bit.  She rubbed it and said, "It's kinda gooey."

   "Yeah."

   "Maybe I could taste it -- just a little."

   "Go ahead.  It tastes kinda different.  A little salty, but it's ok."
She put her finger into her mouth and sucked some off.

   "Yeah.  It's wierd tasting but it's ok, I guess.  Do girls really let a
guy cum in their mouths?"

   "Yeah."

   "Why?"

   "Because they know it feels really, really good to a guy when they do.
Guys get very sensitive right when they cum and if a girl keeps on sucking
and rubbing her tongue on the underside of a guy's cock while he's cumming
it makes him absolutely crazy with pleasure."

   "Oh." She thought for a while, absently stirring her finger through
several bobs of cum on my stomach and chest.  "Would you like me to do
that?"

   "Only if you want to."

   "I want to make you happy.  I want to be your lover.  Can I be your
lover?"

   "You are now."

   "I like that." She leaned down again and kissed me softly on the lips.
Then she noticed how my cock had shrunk and gone limp.

   "It's all soft now." She reached out to grasp it once more.  "Can we
make it hard again?"

   "Probably.  But right now, sweetie, could you go into the bathroom and
wet a washcloth with warm water and bring it here?"

   "Sure," she said.  She hopped over me and ran to get the washcloth.  I
watched her butt and those long, luscious legs as she went.  Shit.  Much
more of that and I'd be hard again.  she returned quickly and I watched
those same gorgeous legs from the front.  Oh, man!  Take me now!  This is
too much.  Her titties were staring at me like headlights, moving side to
side, as she came toward me.  She sat on the edge of the bed.

   "Can I wipe it off for you?"

   "Thank you."

   The warm rag felt good as she gently wiped off the splashes of cum.  I
felt like I was getting a sponge bath from a very sexy nude nurse.  It
doesn't get any better than this, I thought.

   "Oh, shit," she said.

   "What?"

   "It's 5:30."

   "Geez, sweetie.  I forgot.  Let's get you dressed and outta here before
your mother gets home."

   We both hurriedly dressed.  Yulia kissed me at the door.  "'Bye, lover,"
she said as she opened the door and left.

   I sank into the big chair I use to watch TV.  But the TV was off and I
sat there for an hour pondering things.

   -----------more to come --------

   Read all my stories at: /files/Authors/cyberguy

   (Copy and paste this address into the address window at the top of your
browser window.)

   Needless to say, this story belongs to me.  You can share it with
friends but son't rip it off for any kind of personal gain without my
written authorization.

   -------------------------

   I write, usually about a young girl and an older man, for my own
pleasure.  My stories usually have a kernel of an actual event in them but
they are sheer fantasy.  I will sometimes see a young girl at the market or
riding a bicycle or waiting in line with friends for a movie and my body
will literally twitch with excitement.  Not just ANY girl; some girls. 
There is no way I would ever approach one of these girls but I do fix an
image in my mind of their faces, figures, clothes and body language.  I
then dream, like a perverted Walter Mitty, about what might have happened
had we actually met.

   Sometimes true stories are better than what you can imagine.  Several
readers have emailed me to tell me their own true stories, just like this
one.  If YOU would like me to turn your true story into a peice of erotic
fiction, let me know.  I'll write it if I think I can do it justice.

   I always enjoy comments, good or bad.  Nice things encourage me to write
more.  Critical things encourage me to write better.  Please encourage me,
one way or another, by emailing me at:

   CYBERGUY20038@YAHOO.COM Thanks.