From: Daegga <dagley@soho.ios.com>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: 2nd coming: The Anatomy Lesson
Date: Sat, 10 Aug 1996 07:10:16 -0700

[Copyright 1996 by Michael Dagley. Permission is hereby granted to
repost it electronically, provided that it is posted in its entirety.
Any deletion or alteration without the express written permission of
the owner is a violation of domestic and international copyright law.
All other rights reserved.]

			  The Anatomy Lesson
				  by
			    Michael Dagley

	I could not concentrate on the lesson at first. I'd been put
off by the subject: Anatomy. As a small child, I'd been forced by my
father to memorize all of the bones in the body. And all of the veins
and organs, the parts of the heart, the areas of the brain. I'd
learned well, and at the age of seven could perform flawlessly for him
at the dinner table. I learned everything he made me learn, but I
hated it. I hadn't yet felt the stir of my own hormones, so that while
I could explain completely the process of sexual arousal, I had no
practical idea what it was all about. To me it was boring rote memory,
reinforced by strong whacks upon my hand when I failed to live up to
my father's very high standards.

	No, I went into the arrangement with reluctance. I was trapped
in my bed, victim of asthma so fierce that I could not be allowed
outside the house. So said my doctor, and my nurse agreed, and my
mother agreed. I had hoped to be left to my own devices completely,
allowed to read and listen to music all day, but my mother insisted I
carry on my education.

	"What would your father think?" she asked, once again forcing
her point by raising his specter like a sword. "You know he went to
great lengths to make sure would get a complete education. And you
know, without my education, I wouldn't have been able to get a job at
all, and then where would we be?"

	I'd heard this particular line too many times to pay it close
attention. True, she'd had a fine education, and her skill managing
people made her climb up the corporate ladder easily enough, but she
never had time to spend with me. Instead, I was left to be raised by
my old nurse, Moni Bruner. I was very happy being raised by Moni, who
insisted I call her by her first name even though she was sixty years
older than I when she began taking care of me. She taught me to read,
to write, to play the piano, to speak German (her birthplace was
Munich, and she only came to this country at the age of twelve). She
insisted I have "frische luft" every day, which made me wonder why I
wasn't allowed outside.

	Sadly, Moni could not live forever, and though she'd given me
many wonderful years and an even more wonderful education, she
contracted pneumonia at the age of seventy-seven and before I could
adjust to not having "frische luft" every morning, I was allowed to
leave the house and attend her funeral.

	Though I'd attended my father's funeral, I cannot in all
honesty say that I'd been moved by it. I'd been only eight years old
at the time, he'd never been close to me (I'd considered him nothing
more than the evening meal tutor), and his passing seemed to mean only
that I would be able from then on to eat in peace. I regret the
cruelty of my childish heart, but I'd be lying if I pretended it had
been otherwise.

	Moni's funeral, however, aroused great emotion in me. She'd
been my closest friend and for many years my only companion. When I
was allowed to venture forward and view the casket, the calm lines of
her kind face caused a pain in my throat that could only be relieved
by a sob. The sob led to tears, and soon I was being led away from my
best friend, back into my pew. I noticed, however, that the young lady
leading me away - she, too, was crying - was the most beautiful
creature I'd ever seen. She remained at my side during the remainder
of the service, and afterwards I was introduced to her formally.

	Her name was Rafaela, and she was Moni's granddaughter. As I
gave her my hand, I raised my eyes to hers and was suddenly moved by
their liquid blueness, by the long, damp, auburn lashes. I could feel
a strange sensation in my belly and below. These sensations, though
puzzling, were not unpleasant. She looked directly into my eyes as
well, and I felt as if I were viewing someone I'd always known. I
could hear my heart beating in my ears, and for a moment I feared I
would suffer an attack of asthma. What a curious response!

	I had no small talk at the time, so I contented myself with
the observation that I'd just lost my best friend. She smiled to hear
it and confided that she, too, had just lost her best, her only,
friend. Later in the day, I felt the same strange sensations in my
belly when, following the internment, following a round of visits to
relatives I hardly knew of (and didn't know), I was told that Rafaela
would be Moni's replacement.

	"What?"

	"I thought it would be good for you to continue your study of
the German language, son," my mother explained, "and Miss Traum is
best fit to help you. Not only that, it's time you learned Spanish."

	"Spanish? But what about Greek? Latin?"

	"Better to learn something useful, Gordon. Next to English,
Spanish is the world's most important language."

	"What about Russian?"

	"Spanish."

	I would have continued to argue, but I'd learned long ago that
there is no winning an argument with Mother. She's always right, and
when she's wrong, she'll win by force.

	"Besides," she added, "it's time you had a some experience of
people your own age."

	The opposite sex, as well, I thought.

				 ###

	I was surprised again to find that Rafaela did not open our
studies with Spanish vocabulary. Instead, she gave me a copy of Grey's
Anatomy and told me to master the parts of the body by 9 AM the
following Monday, when our formal studies would begin. I reviewed the
text idly, knowing that I could learn little from it, and as I
mentioned earlier, I was decidedly bored by it. Still, I looked
forward to our first lesson, and I thought Monday would never arrive.

	Arrive it did, however, and with it Rafaela. My mother was
away
 - attending a convention or something, always something - and she'd
left me in Rafi's care, not that I should have needed any care at the
age of seventeen. Monday, also, was the maid's day off, and the cook
wasn't expected until late afternoon.

	When Rafaela rang the bell, I jumped up to greet her. Earlier
in the morning, I'd showered and shaved, paying extra attention to my
toilet for a change. Afterwards I'd put on a pair of red silk pajamas
over which I wore a black silk robe. A pair of black silk socks and
leather house shoes completed my attire. I hoped I would please my new
teacher.

	When I opened the door, I was again bothered by that strange
mixture of distress and longing - I would have said "desire" had I any
idea what object I could have desired. Rafaela stood before me, her
auburn hair swept back from her forehead, her lips a full rich pink, a
pair of small dimples dancing on her cheeks as she smiled and offered
me her hand. I gave her mine and invited her in. As she went ahead, I
felt a distinctly unusual sensation in my penis as she walked ahead of
me. She was wearing a dress of blue with a full skirt that allowed me
to see her legs to the knee. Her legs were long and strangely
arousing. My inquisitive eyes followed them from the blue pumps that
made her ankles look longer and more beautiful up to the hem of her
skirt as she walked ahead of me. She wore stockings of a darker shade
than her skin, and I could hear them rubbing together as she walked.
Her skirt flicked back and forth as she walked, and the movement
seemed most significant, though I could never have said why.

	I led her into the study and sat down on the couch with my
Gray's on my lap. I expected her to take a place behind the desk, as
Moni had always done; instead, she sat down on an ox blood leather
wing chair that had once been my father's. She crossed her legs, and
for an instant I thought I could see above her stockings to her pale
thighs.

	I felt unaccountably nervous, and when I looked up into her
eyes, they seemed to be smiling at me. She crossed her hands behind
her head and stared at the ceiling. This caused me to notice the
collar of her dress, made of white lace, and its cut, which allowed me
to see the delicacy of her collar bones and the smooth curve of skin
beneath her neck.

	She began quizzing me about anatomy. For the first time in my
life, I was thankful to my father for having quizzed me so carefully
when I was younger. Even so, I several times became flustered and had
to pause to catch my breath before continuing.

	I couldn't know at the time whether it was intentional or not,
but I wondered then if Rafaela had any idea how distracting her person
was to me. Several times she bent forward to smooth or straighten her
stockings, and though I knew I should look away, I found my eyes drawn
to her long fingers, to the jewel-like tips (painted the same shade of
pink she wore on her lips), as they travelled slowly up her legs. Once
she stood and smoothed her stockings from the ankles clear to the dark
bands that topped them, unclasped and then again clasped some kind of
a hook I'd never seen or imagined before. By the time she was
finished, I felt myself turning to stone and mush at once. That is, my
penis felt like stone, my stomach mush. I feared she might notice and
felt gratitude to the Gray's that sat as an unopened shield in my lap.

	Even when she was not readjusting her stockings, she was
damned distracting. I noticed as she lay her head back on the top of
the chair with her hands behind her head that her breasts became more
prominent. As she quizzed me on the reproductive process, I noticed a
provocative point, an eraser's tip, grow upon the center of each
breast. It seemed to strain against the thin fabric of her dress. I
felt a completely foreign desire to reach over and sooth these
pleasant little points with the tips of my fingers, but I contented
myself with the stroking I could do only with my eyes.

	As we discussed further the reproductive organs, all of which
I could name and roughly explain (though I could not imagine them in
action), she suddenly sat forward, leaned down and stroked both of her
legs with her hands, running them upwards until they reached the hem
of her skirt. I may as well have been hypnotized; I could not look
away. She did not stop when she reached the skirt, and the stiffness
in my crotch began to ache. I felt my face growing hot, and I chose
that moment to look up into hers. It, too, was flushed and pink.

	"You're so beautiful," I heard myself exclaim suddenly.

	"Why thank you, Gordon."

	"Could I... I mean... "

	"Yes?"

	Steadily she stared into my eyes. I found my eyes darting from
hers to her rich lips (she let her tongue graze the surface of her
lower lip for a second) to her hands, which continued slowly moving
towards her center.

	"I don't know why, but I'm experiencing the strangest
sensations."

	"Can you explain them using what we've just discussed in
anatomy?"

	"I'm not sure I can. I've never read of such symptoms."

	"What are they."

	"I couldn't say, Ma'am."

	"I'm not your ma'am. Call me Rafaela."

	I swallowed, trying to keep my throat from feeling so dry.

	"Rafaela."

	"Or, just... " she said as her hands reached the tops of her
stockings, "Rafi."

	"Just Rafi."

	"And the symptoms?"

	"It's too embarrassing. People don't discuss such things."

	She stood up, her hands still clutching the hem of her dress.
Her eyes never left mine, though mine left hers to look at the
terribly disturbing curves of her legs, their muscular calves, the
long slender ankles. And above, most unsettling of all, the whiteness
of her thighs above her stockings.

	"What are you doing?" I asked.

	"Teaching you more about anatomy than you could ever learn
from Gray's."

	"Oh," I said and gulped. I was excited but afraid, but I
couldn't say what, exactly, caused either emotion. It had something to
do with the way her legs came together, with the way her eyes seemed
to invite me to come closer, with the perfect idea of two such legs
coming together, with the plump beauty of her thighs, with the
nearness of her hem to the place where her legs came together.

	"You won't need the book for this part of the lesson."

	"Huh?"

	"I said you can put the book aside."

	"Oh no, I can't.

	"Why not?"

	"Why? Well, you know those symptoms I was telling you about?"

	"Yes."

	"I mean... "She came closer slowly. She let her skirt fall and
leaned forward. I could see the swelling of her breasts where her
dress fell forward. I had the distinct impression that she wore no
brassiere, and this thought caused my aching penis to twitch and grow
even harder. She reached down to the book, pulled my hands from it,
and lifted it slowly. I tried to put my hands over my bulge, but she
slapped my hands and told me to put them behind my head. I did as she
demanded. She reached down to the belt of my robe and tugged gently.
The knot came undone. She dropped it and put her right hand to my
cheek.

	"You're very handsome, Gordon. Has anyone ever told you that
before?"

	"No, not really... " I stammered. "Isn't it time, uh, for... "

	"It's time," she said as her cool hand made its way down the
left side of my neck and took hold of my robe. By now I was in a
painful agony, and she seemed determined to complete my shame by
pulling my robe completely open. I closed my eyes, embarrassed deeply,
feeling the coolness of the air against my thin pajamas as she pulled
both sides of my robe open.

	I heard a quick intake of breath and opened my eyes to see her
leaning forward, her lips moist, staring directly at the obvious bulge
showing through the thin silk of my pajamas. I was lucky the swollen
head hadn't peeked through the fly.

	"How fine a specimen we have here," she said.

	I looked into her eyes and again saw a hint of a smile there.
Her face had not lost any of its flushed look, and the way she licked
her lips made my erection tingle and ache.

	"Tell me what you are feeling," she said.

	"I feel embarrassed."

	She stepped back, placed her foot on the coffee table, and
began smoothing her stockings.

	"What else do you feel?"

	"Pain."

	Her hands made their way past the knee to the top of the
stocking. I felt I could watch her repeat the movement endlessly. I
also wanted her to do whatever came next.

	"Pain?" she said, gazing at me from the corner of her eyes.
What a beautiful sight she was, her leg exposed almost to the crotch,
her hair pulled back behind her ear but falling forward behind onto
her nearly bare shoulders, her eyes staring at me with a look I'd
never seen before.

	"Yes, my penis seems to have swollen."

	"Yes," she said as she raised up, leaving her leg exposed, and
stretched, pushing her hair up from behind and then lifting her arms
towards the ceiling. "And that's painful?"

	"Yes."

	"Is that all? Does it not feel pleasurable?" She fanned her
face with her hands for a moment. She then let her hands fall to a
button beneath the lace of her collar. She kept her eyes on mine as
she slowly undid it.

	"The pleasure is almost too intense. I feel I should do
something, but I have no idea what."

	"And your breathing?"

	"My breathing?"

	"You're having no symptoms of asthma?"

	"None whatsoever."

	"I thought as much."

	I began to remove my hands from the back of my head.

	"Don't move. I want you to learn desire."

	She began a series of movements that left me almost weak with
what I was learning. First she stretched. Then she moved her pelvis in
a circular motion - again, it was suggestive of something most
important that I couldn't name exactly - then she undid another
button.

	"Do you like what you see?"

	"Oh, yes, very much."

	In fact, I'd never been so excited by anything in my entire
life.

	She went to the stereo on the bookshelf and put on a jazz
channel. She began moving to the soft sound of saxophone. Occasionally
she'd bend forward, and I could swear I could see her breasts, though
the light was dim within the blouse of her dress. I did notice the
points I'd noticed earlier remained, growing even more turgid if
anything.

	She came towards me. I instinctively began to lower my arms,
but she still would not permit it. She began unbuttoning my pajama
top, and as she leaned forward to do so, I could see her breasts
rising and falling beneath her dress. I couldn't quite see their
nipples, but I could see their fullness, their whiteness, and they
moved me. She noticed and smiled, continuing to undo the buttons until
she could pull the shirt completely open. Then, without warning, she
began kissing my chest, beginning at the neck and slowly making her
way down towards my navel. She complimented this with her hands,
slowly stroking my arms as she pushed the sleeves of the pajamas
aside. She pulled my arms forward and stripped it from me completely.
Then she placed each of my hands back beneath my head.

	"No touching," she said, and I heard myself begin to object,
but she placed a finger to my lip - I kissed it for some reason - and
said, "Not yet, anyway."

	That caused another thrill to race through my belly and fill
me with even greater longing. I knew then what I'd wanted most of all,
which was to touch her, to touch her everywhere.

	She again moved back and began dancing, slowly unbuttoning the
final buttons on her dress. It buttoned all the way up the front, so
that when she finished, she had to hold it together to keep from
showing me everything.

	I wondered how far this would go. I'd never before experienced
the strange mixture of emotion and longing that I experienced then.
Nor had I ever seen a woman disrobe. I hadn't even seen a picture. I
tried to understand it. I wanted to see her. I wanted to touch her. I
wanted to kiss her all over her body. I couldn't imagine what any of
that had to do with the reproductive process. At the moment, I was
only sure that I couldn't have been more excited.

	"Have you ever seen a woman's breasts before?"

	"Not really. Only in anatomy books."

	"And did they move you?"

	"No. I viewed them simply in their biological or anatomical
aspects. I had no idea they could be so... "

	"So what?" She had the edges of her dress in her hands. She
put them together and began to lean forward so that I could see almost
all of her breasts. She leaned forward and back in time to the music.

	"So arousing."

	"Ah, yes," she answered, putting her hands into her dress and
touching herself. "Yes, they are quite aroused. Would you like to... "

	Not believing she'd actually show me, I assumed she wanted to
know if I'd like to touch them. I bolted forward and put my hands out,
but she stepped back out of my reach and warned me not to leave the
couch or remove my hands from behind my head.

	"No touching, as I told you already."

	"You said, 'Not yet.'"

	"I could say, 'Not ever.'"

	"Please don't."

	She contented herself with dancing for a few moments, still
teasing me by showing me much of her breasts, all but the nipples.
Once she turned her back to me and leaned forward to adjust one of the
straps of her shoes. As she did so, the dress fell open in front. Just
imagining her nakedness made me wild. She seemed so vulnerable and
beautiful. How I longed to be able to see her, to touch her, to
protect her.

	She shifted a bit, and I noticed that I could see all of the
backs of her legs, all gleaming with the silk of her stockings, from
the slim ankles to the muscled calves to the dimpled knees to the
bands of black at the top of her stockings, to the swell of her white
thighs. I could almost see the juncture above the thighs. Then she
leaned forward a bit more, pulling the dress up from in front, showing
me the white lace of her panties, stretched tightly across the
roundness of her bottom. I could see through the lace, could see the
flare of her hips, the groove of her bottom. How I longed to remove
the panties, to place my aching hard penis along that groove, to feel
her movements in that most private place.

	Before I could complete the fantasy, even in my imagination,
she raised back up and stretched again. I could see her dress fall
back into place and cover her from behind completely. I noticed,
however, that the light from the window made it almost transparent,
and I could see how perfect her figure was as she continued her
sensuous movements from side to side. She gripped the dress again and
pulled it to its widest extreme, allowing me to see how willowy was
her waist, how suggestive the flare of her hips, how long and fine her
legs.

	As she began to turn around, I hoped she would continue to
hold her dress wide, but I was disappointed. She pulled it back
together and continued dancing. She raised the dress almost to her
crotch, danced a bit while staring me in the eye, then raised it a bit
more so that, just for a few seconds, I could see the dark triangle of
her pubic hair showing through the whiteness of her panties. Her
movements forced my attention on that special spot as she moved her
hips from side to side and even hunched them forward and backward in a
motion that suggested much that I wished to know. As suddenly as she'd
begun, she let her dress fall again and began coming closer.

	She bent forward and blew against my chest, sending shivers
through my blood to my brain. I could feel my penis twitching. I was,
indeed, learning desire.

	"Are you going to come?" she asked in a whisper.

	"Come?" I'd never heard the term before.

	"Oh you sweet wonder. I've never dreamed of such innocence. I
think you actually could shoot off without being touched."

	"I'm not sure I know what you mean."

	"Ejaculate," she said, laughing as my face became very hot.
"Have you never done so?"

	"Only in my sleep."

	"And what did you dream?"

	"I wish I could remember. I only know that I awoke each time
with a dreamy memory of this same painful ache and a sticky liquid
splashed against the insides of my pajamas."

	"Would you like to do it now?"

	I couldn't answer, my blushes were so intense. Until she'd
mentioned it, I hadn't myself realized that I wanted to do exactly
that. But I dare not confess a dreaded secret, one I was sure would
spoil this amazing morning: I wanted to stick my penis into her from
behind and ejaculate there.

	"You would, wouldn't you?"

	I blushed as she smiled at me. I felt certain she could read
my mind. She ran the tips of her fingers across my chest. I could
barely stifle an urge to laugh, though she wasn't tickling me exactly.

	Then I noticed that her dress, no longer held together by her
hands, had fallen open. I could see the nipples of her breasts clearly
through a tiny little kind of shirt (a chemise, I now know they call
it) with tiny little straps. It was so thin, so soft, that I could
clearly see the outline of her nipples against it. It was of the same
white as her panties, and I could see the darkness of each nipple
clearly. Not only that, but as she leaned forward, I could see it fall
forward allowing me to see the soft swell of breast, the whiteness of
her skin, almost the very nipple itself, though I don't think she was
quite ready to show me that. How I wanted to take my hands from behind
my head and caress each of her breasts. It almost seemed imperative
that I do so, but I knew she wouldn't allow it.

	While I was gazing at her, I almost forgot what she was doing,
but I was brought back abruptly when she placed her hands on the first
button of my fly.

	"Oh, don't, please. I couldn't stand it."

	"But don't you want to come?"

	I did, but I couldn't have begun to admit it.

	"You'll have very painful balls if you don't," she said,
licking her lips and giving me another of her sexy smiles.

	"Balls?"

	"Testicles."

	"They throb already," I said.

	"Poor baby." She pulled open one button.

	"Oh please don't," I said, my shame speaking and contradicting
my real desires.

	"Don't you want to see me?" She stood up and began to stretch
again, allowing me to see the dress fall aside, to see the chemise
rise up to show her belly button and the graceful swell of her lower
belly, the plumpness of her crotch, the dark suggestive shadow between
her legs. Again she let her pelvis rotate in that most delightful
manner.

	"Yes, I would, but... "

	"Then don't you think I'd be just as eager to see you?"

	I hadn't thought any such thing possible, but clearly she did,
if the gaze she allowed to linger on the bulging pajama bottoms was
any indication. I saw her again licking her lips and had an absurd
thought for a moment, thinking she might actually like to touch it
with her tongue. That couldn't be, I reasoned, but her look certainly
reminded me of a deep hunger to taste something. I looked myself and
noticed that the painfully rigid flesh now had left a damp spot above
its head, a spot that seemed to be spreading. I pulled my hands down
in front of me, to cover myself.

	"Don't move," she commanded, and I could do nothing other than
obey. "Put your hands back behind your head." I did, feeling
completely vulnerable and exposed. She leaned forward again, allowing
her dress to fall open, allowing me to see all that could be seen
through the chemise and panties and stockings.

	She looked straight into my eyes and smiled again. I wish I
could translate that smile into words: more arousing poetry could not
be written. I returned the smile with one of my own, one that was so
painfully filled with desire that she closed her eyes for a moment and
let her face take on a look of quiet ecstasy.

	Again she straightened and began to sway with the music, using
its rhythm to tease me again as she let the dress fall from her
shoulders, then from her back, and finally into the floor. She put her
hands together above her head and let the rhythm of the music mover
her body in slow, subtle gyrations. How beautiful she was!

	She came forward, and this time I made no objection as she
undid the second of the buttons on my fly. Now my dark pubic hair was
visible. I could scarcely believe my eyes when I saw her lean forward
and take a bit of it into her teeth, tugging at it for a moment. When
she unbuttoned the next button, she could see the base of my penis. It
lay, stiff and twitching, to her right, still shielded by the pajama
flap. She finished undoing the last button and slowly pulled aside the
material.

	"How perfect!" she said as soon as she could see it from its
root to its head. I'd been circumcised as an infant, so the head
showed itself smooth and purple, engorged, I knew, with blood. She
leaned forward and very lightly let her lips touch it, giving it the
briefest of kisses. I was shocked to find it jump at her touch and rub
itself against her face. She did not back off. Instead, she moved her
head from side to side, very gently allowing her cheeks and lips and
nose to brush against it.

	"Be careful!" I heard myself cry.

	"Are you about to shoot?"

	"I don't know, but I feel an unbearable pressure from below."

	She took this as an invitation to take each of my testicles
into her hands and squeeze and pull and massage them, again with a
fine gentleness that did not hurt (as I'd expected).

	"Oh, God, how good it feels!" Again I was surprised to hear
myself cry out.

	"You have a fine set of balls, Gordie."

	For some reason, her use of my name made me feel another jolt
of desire.

	"And you cock is perfect."

	"My what?"

	"Do you only know the latin terms for things, Gordie?" As she
said this, she took my penis in her hand and began a very slow
movement up and down. I felt a jumping inside, but she quelled it by
gripping me tightly at the base and holding me until the urge dropped
a bit.

	"For some reason, we act as if words of English or Germanic
origin are dirty, while we allow the same subjects to be discussed
assuming we use Latin."

	"Isn't that proper?"

	"What do you mean by proper?"

	"I don't know."

	"It's just a bias we inherited from the Normans after their
invasion. Nothing more. The words themselves are not evil. I find them
suggestive. Cock. Cunt. Don't you?"

	"I... "

	"You... You're prick is so ready to gush."

	"Is it?" I'd never heard the term "prick" before, but it was
only one of many she would be teaching me soon.

	"It makes me thirsty."

	I couldn't believe my ears. She leaned forward, lifted my
"prick" to her lips and gave it another short kiss. I could see the
proud flesh brush against her thick pink lips. She looked me in the
eye as she did so, and I could see desire in her eyes. She moved it
slowly back and forth against her lips, slowly opening her mouth and
letting a bit of it slip inside, always keeping her eyes trained on
mine. She opened her mouth and began to lick the head of my penis,
gently, gently, occasionally putting the entire head into her mouth.
And always, her eyes were on mine, making a very beautiful picture:
framed by the auburn hair which spilled over her shoulders, the bulb
of the head against her lips, the wetness of her lips, the slick
movement of her mouth back and forth across the swollen head, her eyes
locked on mine, telling me with her eyes what words could never say of
the desire we shared.

	"Oh, Rafaela, I can't tell you what I feel."

	"Show me."

	"May I touch you?"

	"Briefly. But don't touch yourself."

	She pushed me back before I could lean forward too much. She
placed her hands against the back of the couch on either side of my
head. I placed my hands on her face, looking into her eyes and feeling
whole for the first time in my life. She cocked her head to the side,
and soon she had placed her lips on mine, giving me a soft kiss, lips
on lips, nothing moving. I put pressure against her, and soon I felt
her mouth open a bit. I let mine open as well, and soon I felt another
thrill in my stomach as her tongue touched mine.

	I placed my hands against her ribs, wishing I had the courage
to touch her breasts. Our kiss lengthened. I felt her tongue thrust
deep into my mouth, and before long, she'd coaxed mine deep into hers.
I let my hands slide closer to her breasts, continuing to kiss her.
Finally I let my palms surround her breasts. How full and firm and yet
soft they felt, how fine the nipples felt against my palms, so fine
that I could do nothing else but take them between my fingers and
touch them, squeeze them as gently as she'd squeezed my balls before.
As I squeezed and played with them, our kiss broke and she sighed.

	She straightened. I followed, kneading her breasts and feeling
I would explode at any instant. She put her hands behind her head and
gave herself up to the enjoyment of my touch. Guided by her sighs and
her eyes, I learned how to touch her there, how to cause a little
pain, how to grab, how to push and pull and search every inch of her,
how to take her breasts in my hands, to massage them singly and
squeeze them together. I even wished I could put my mouth against her
nipples and kiss her in the same manner she'd used with my cock
before.

	I tried to lift the garment so that I could bare her breasts,
see them, touch their naked flesh, but she suddenly stood, stepped
back and looked at me.

	"Would you like to fuck me?" she asked.

	I'd never heard the term before, but I knew instantly, and I
knew the answer was yes.

	"I do, that is, I don't know for sure, I think, I mean."

	"Don't you understand English? Does it make you nervous when I
use simple English terms?"

	"What do you mean?"

	"Do you want me to suck your cock?"

	"Oh!. Yes."

	"Do you want me to milk it with my cunt?"

	"Yes."

	"Do you want to rub your cock against my tits?"

	"Yes."

	"Do you want to stick your cock up my ass?"

	"What? That is, yes, I think."

	"Do you want to spill your cream all over my face?"

	"Yes."

	"Do you want me to sit on your face? Do you want to lick my
pussy?"

	"Yes."

	"Do you want to taste my clit, to put it into your mouth and
make me come?"

	"Yes."

	"Do you understand desire?"

	"As never before."

	"Do you want to strip me?"

	"Yes."

	"Slowly."

	"Very slowly."

	"Stand up."

	I did as she desired. I couldn't move well because of my
fallen pajama bottoms. She came forward, took them by the waist, and
began pulling them to the ground, kneeling herself as she did so. I
stepped out of them. My cock waved in the air, almost turned back
against my belly with craving. She slowly began to rise, letting the
very tip of her tongue glide along the underside of my hard prick. I
shivered.

	"What are you doing?"

	"Measuring you."

	"And?"

	"A little over seven inches, I'd say." She'd reached the head
by now, and again she took it in her hands, pulling it towards her so
she could brush it against her lips and look at me. I looked down into
her eyes and saw a look of satisfaction on her face.

	"How does that compare with other men you've known?" I asked,
already feeling a bit jealous of her.

	"I couldn't tell you. I haven't known any others."

	"Then where did you learn... "

	"Some is instinct, some from observation."

	"Observation?"

	"I'll tell you about it some time."

	I was content with that answer for the moment, for she
continued rising, allowing her hands to roam all over my body, from my
thighs to my bottom to my back, finally arriving at my shoulders, from
which she pushed the pajama top, leaving me completely naked.

	"Put your hands behind your back," she commanded, and I gladly
obeyed. I was left with my prick standing tall and stiff, its head wet
with a mixture of its own juices and her saliva. It glistened in front
of her, jerking now and then as she moved in front of me.

	She again was following the rhythm of the music, moving her
hands all over her own body, touching her breasts, stretching, moving
her hips in a circular motion that made me ache to put her onto the
ground and push myself against her. Finally she began to raise the
chemise, nearly reaching her breasts, then dropping it, raising it,
dropping it. Each time a short gasp would escape my lips, and my cock
would jerk. It felt strong, powerful, very hard, almost like a rod of
iron. She began lowering one of the straps from her shoulders, then
the other, until I could see all of her breasts except the nipples.
These she squeezed and massaged through the thin material of the
chemise. Finally she put her hands together above her head and began
to stretch, allowing the garment to fall lower and lower until it
dropped to the floor.

	She stepped forward from it. How beautiful her breasts were!
They were neither too large nor too small, a bit bigger than I could
contain in one of my hands. Her nipples were a pale pink, the areoles
looking rough, the nipples thrust rudely forward, begging to be
sucked. I leaned forward and took one into my mouth, sucking and
licking and playing with it using my teeth. She kept her hands above
her head, leaning back, enjoying the sensation of my mouth on her.

	I grew a bit bolder, brought my hands around, and grabbed her
breasts, massaging one while I sucked the other, pushing them together
and licking first one of the nipples then the other. She sighed, her
breath seemed to grab, she moved against me, all communicating a
blazing desire to me. I let my hands fall to her hips, encircled her
waist, drew her to me. I kissed her again, feeling the slick stiffness
of my cock against her naked belly. My hands ventured down, taking her
bottom in my hands.

	"Oh yes, baby, feel my ass."

	I slipped my fingers beneath the material of her panties,
gently stroking her cheeks with my palms, not grabbing, but gently. I
could feel her movements in response. I grabbed a bit harder and
puller her closer. She moaned. I felt her hand between my legs,
brushing against my thigh. I slid my fingers along the crack of her
bottom, and she squirmed in my arms. I pushed a bit further, and she
groaned. I let my finger touch her tight little anus - she later
taught me to call it her rosebud - surprised to find her wet even
there. She pulled back and took my cock into her hand, holding my
balls in the other, turning her side to me and leaning forward to I'd
have better access to her behind. I allowed my finger to slip inside,
then be squeezed back out. She was so wet I could hardly prevent it. I
continued moving it in and out until she screamed.

	"You have to fuck me, I am mad for your prick, you must give
it to me!"

	"It's yours, Rafi."

	I began pulling at her panties. Now there was no resistance. I
eased them down past her waist, past the lacy belt that held her
stockings - she'd seen far enough ahead to put the panties on last, I
noticed - until they were bunched about her knees. I tried to spread
her legs to have a look, but the panties prevented it.

	"Don't you want to lick me there?"

	"Yes," I answered as I finished pulling them to her ankles.
She put her hand upon my back for support and stepped out of her
panties, first her right foot, then the left. I smoothed her stockings
as I let my hands travel up her legs until I'd reached her thighs. I
looked up and saw a smile of great contentment on her face. I toyed
with the wet flesh of her thighs as I stood. Again she grabbed my
penis and began pulling on it. I put my arms around her, feeling her
behind again, finally sticking my fingers below. She was soaking wet,
and before I realized what I was doing, I'd slipped my fingers inside.

	"Wait!"

	"Yes?"

	She broke away for a moment and backed towards the couch,
pulling me with her. She lay back.

	"May I look?" I asked.

	"Yes, oh yes, please do."

	I put one of her legs on the floor and hung the other across
the back of the couch. I backed away and looked at her from a few
paces. She sucked on one of her fingers as she looked back at me, a
smile in her eyes. She was the vision of desire and of its cause. Her
breasts were flushed, as was her face. Her nipples were still rigid,
one pointing towards the ceiling, the other at me. She still wore the
pumps, and her legs looked even more beautiful now than before.

	I came closer and kissed her ankles, and from there I made my
way up slowly towards her cunt. I paused to look at it. From a
distance it seemed to be a small strip of coral surrounded by auburn
hairs the exact color of the hair on her head. Closer I could see the
wetness of the lips, could see each one turned back as if the petal of
a flower. I could see a small bud above the lips, could see it
glisten. I leaned forward and touched it with my tongue. A shiver went
through her.

	"Oh baby, yes."

	I kissed her thighs again, happy to find them so wet and slick
with her yearning. I rubbed my nose against her cunt, feeling the damp
hairs with my cheeks, tasting the bud again with my tongue, amazed at
her response. I took it between my lips and sucked gently. I licked
it, holding it in place with my teeth, gently. I continued to lick.

	"Yes, yes, that's it."

	Her hips began to buck. I could feel the muscles of her legs
quivering. I continued licking. She was moaning, her head turning from
side to side. She took her breasts in her hand, squeezing the nipples.
I licked and nipped with my lips and sucked. I paused and stuck my
tongue as deeply as I could put it between the lips of her pussy. I
returned to my licking, again causing her to moan and move and jerk.
Suddenly she tried to push me away, but I took her ass in my hands and
wouldn't let her. She jerked, her legs quivering, her belly moving
with spasms of ecstasy. She tried again to push me away, but I
wouldn't let her. Suddenly she screamed.

	"Oh yes, Gordie, I'm coming, oh God, how I'm coming."

	I wouldn't let her loose until the spasms began to subside,
her breath slowing to pants, her hips jerking with sudden force now
and then.

	"Did you come?" I asked. She smiled at me and nodded.

	"I'm still floating."

	"I see."

	"Did you get a good look?"

	"The best." I began to touch her again, this time with my
fingers. I let them get wet with her fluids and slowly rubbed them up
and down against her clit. She began to move again, but before I could
make her come, she stopped me.

	"Not yet. It's my turn."

	She sat up and pulled me to the couch. She took my prick in
her hands and began to move.

	"I want you to fuck me," she said. She stood and pulled me up
by my cock. I was aching and as hard as I could imagine being.

	"Wait here," she said. She went to the desk, cleared the
papers, and placed a pillow from the chair on it. Then she leaned
across it. I could see her stockings drawn tight against her legs,
could see the plump swell of her rear. She leaned further forward, and
I could see her cunt lips peaking through the nest of soft red hairs
below her ass. She turned around and smiled at me.

	"Do you like what you see?"

	"Very much."

	"What does it make you want to do?"

	I moved forward and allowed my rock hard prick to nestle in
between the crack of her ass. She began moving, rotating her hips just
slightly. It felt very good. She was wet all over, and I couldn't
resist feeling her thighs and her breasts from behind. Finally I slid
my cock down below and allowed the head of it to rest against the lips
of her sex. She moaned again.

	"Put it in."

	I moved a bit.

	"Slowly. Very slowly."

	I did as she asked, slowly allowing the head to be sucked in
by the desire of her cunt. When it was in, she said to be still. She
began rotating her hips. The feeling was exquisite. I pushed again,
just a bit. She moved. I pushed. Before long, I could feel her ass
cheeks against my belly.

	"Now, baby, I want you to fuck me."

	I tried to get a better position, allowing myself to slip out
and then back in.

	"That's it. Fuck me."

	I again tried to reposition. It felt very good.

	"Oh fuck me, baby."

	I move out as slowly as possible again and then pushed myself
back in. She sighed and ground her ass against me. I reached around
her with one hand and began squeezing her breasts. With the other, I
reached down below and felt among the curls of her pussy until my hand
was wet. I found her clit. I gently rubbed it.

	"Oh, yes, I'm going to come. Fuck me. Let's come together."

	I began to move, timing my thrusts with the movement of my
finger. I could feel the jerking in her legs again, and that
communicated itself to me, making me move faster, making me feel a
growing pressure building inside.

	"Oh baby, I'm going to come. Aren't you?"

	"I don't know. I think I'm going to explode!"

	"Let your cock burst inside of me. Let me feel it spill that
hot juice."

	I could do little else, allowing myself to move in and out
with increasing speed until I could tell by the jerking of her legs
that she'd be coming again soon. I felt as if I'd melt and erupt at
the same time. I did, spewing my cream inside of her as my cock
tingled and burned as never before. I pushed and pushed, each time
squirting the liquid into her.

	"Yes, fuck me, fuck me baby." She was coming too, grinding her
hips against me with each down stroke, her ass stuck up in the air to
receive me. I came and came until I fell forward, still jerking with
after-spasms, completely drained.

	Yet when we'd lay for a few moments that way, when my cock had
shriveled and been pushed out of her cunt, when she'd finished drying
herself a bit with a tissue, when we'd returned to the couch, when I'd
assured her I understood the nature of desire much more completely now
than I'd ever imagined I could, when she'd once again put on her
panties and her chemise and I my pajamas and robe, when all seemed to
be over, she stretched a moment, sighing with deep satisfaction and
showing again the shape of her breasts, the slight swell of her
nipples, her flat belly and its perfect little button, I felt again
the swelling of my cock. Nor did it go unnoticed. She reached down and
took it in her hand through the pajamas. I felt it twitch to life. She
kissed me, all the while fondling my cock and feeling it grow. I
touched her breasts, tugged at her nipples, noticed again how perfect
everything felt. I put my hand into her panties. She was wet again.

	"You make me feel so deliciously full of desire," she sighed.
I pulled her into my arms and tried to kiss her. She pushed me back.
"You understand desire. That's physical. Next week we study love.
That's emotional. Do you know any poetry?" Before I could say
anything, she'd spun around and shown herself to the door. I went to
the library. I would most certainly be ready for the next lesson.