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From: wyyrd@my-dejanews.com
Subject: (wyyrd) Lessons, part 1 - Self-Paced Course [MF, 1st time, humor]
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Explicit sexual content ahead, woo hoo. No one under the age of 18 permitted,
 although you can pick up a book off the checkout stands at the supermarket
with  worse stuff than you'll ever see here.  Reposting and archiving is
allowed provided the text, including this bit here,  are untouched and no one
makes any money off it. If you archive it let me know.	More of my and other
writers' silly sex stories are available at the Hoot Island EroticHa Archives
at http://www.hootisland.com. 
=========================================================

 Lessons, Part 1 - "Self-Paced Course"
  by Wyyrd

  I never knew getting a soda could be such a spiritual relief. Just opening
the door and feeling the cool, refrigerated air wash over my feet helped me
drift into a calm and serene state of mind and helped me clear my thoughts of
any unwelcome intrusions.

  Say, for example, the direction that the conversation in the living room
had taken. It wasn't the first dirty talk we had ever had, but I wasn't 
comfortable with current topic and my possible involvement in it so I fled,
discretely, to let my wife and my sister-in-law work it out amongst
themselves.

  No door-hanger I, I sat on my haunches and prepared myself mentally to 
select the one true cola from its brotherhood of six, all the while mildly
distracted by the rising, giggly voices in the other room and the fact that I
 hadn't the slightest idea what a "haunch" was. After an appropriate
appraisal I  made my choice, plucked it deftly from its plastic harness and
stood erect  bearing the Coke that proved me to be Vincent, rightful king of
all England!

  Through the walls, darkly, a sign that the back-and-forth had reached the
point I was hoping to avoid: "He won't?!?" I cringed slightly and decided to
make the heart grow fonder for awhile. It was a nice night for a walk.

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

  Nicole was sitting on the edge of the bed running a brush through her long
golden hair, over and over, when I sat next to her. "Where were you off to
tonight?" she asked.

  I gently took the brush away and began brushing her hair myself, letting
one hand caress her neck and shoulders while I groomed with the other. "It's
finally getting cooler, I thought I'd take a walk before the mosquitoes
realize  it." Beautiful hair. I've never met a woman yet who could resist
having her hair brushed or shampooed; Nicole's eyelids were drooping already.
"Are you as'eep?" I asked.

       "Mmmm hmm."

       "Should I stop?"

       "MM mmmm."

  I started using long strokes from the crown of her head to the ends of her
hair somewhere by her waist. As her eyes closed and her chin rose I let my
other hand stroke her face and throat, always changing direction just short
of her cleavage. This way I could tell what her plans were for the evening.
If she was sleepy she could enjoy my ministrations in a loving, tender way
and then hold me for a bit before we both dozed off. Or, she could... Without
opening her eyes she placed her hand over mine and squeezed gently, a little
hug, before drawing it down into her nightgown. I love her breasts.
Wonderfully round and full, they draw my touch like ripe fruit to a starving
man. I roamed over their surfaces, letting just my fingertips graze her skin.
On a downstroke I dropped the brush and continued to stroke her, both of us
luxuriating in the feel of her silky hair slipping through my fingers. She
leaned backwards as I supported the back of her head so that she ended up
lying in my arms. We work well together without really thinking about it,
much like longtime dance partners but with more moaning.

       "Sir, your hand appears to be invading my person," she informed me.

       "My most sincere apologies. I never know what my right hand is doing."

       "Well, right now it's ..ooh... stubbornly avoiding my nipple."

       "I understand you chicks are sensitive there, I thought I'd show some
 consideration before I slip you the weasel."

       "You sweet talker, you..." She slid her hand beneath my shorts and took
 firm possession of her play-toy.

       "Madam, please! Have a care!"

       "Got one. A big'un, too, don't you think?"

  "I never thought so ...ah..., but who am I to ...oh, god.. fly in the face
of public opin... ...ah!... opinion?" The dratted wench knows 3 or 4 good 
strokes can drop my I.Q. 30 points and she always tries to keep a
conversation  going just to see how long I can answer coherently. I silently
vowed cruel  revenge and decided to up the ante by suddenly thrusting my hand
further down  the top of her nightgown and running my rigid middle finger
between her legs,  resting it on the furry ridges there. She gave an
indescribable squeak and eased her thighs slightly, just enough for my hand
to move freely. I gently stroked the soft rises and warm valleys as we moved
into an impromptu race. Who would break first? She took an early lead by
letting the head of my cock slip in and out of her hand as she stroked but I
closed the gap by opening hers, surrounding her clit with my first two
fingers and stroking back and forth. Under normal circumstances - a better
track, a lighter jockey - I could have taken it, but the position we were in
meant that as she stroked downwards my penis continued to rub up against her
wrist and arm and the movements crushed her tits around my own arm while my
own movements were limited by her nightgown. Obviously, something had to be
done.

  "Ha, wench!" I cried as I twisted away (carefully), sprang to my knees and
whipped her nightgown over her head, holding it there with one hand. Her body
was revealed to me from the waist down and I spent a few seconds admiring it.
Smooth, slightly rounded belly, a gentle slope to a light brown patch
surrounding full, pink lips. And wildly kicking legs. Ignoring her muffled
cries of indignation I managed to get past her defenses and place my hand
over her sex. The heat of it surprised me as it always does and I could feel
her heartbeat against the heel of my hand. I applied a bit of pressure and
moved my palm in large circles while my fingers probed and tickled. It was a
bit of a struggle holding her in place like that but it was working: my hand
was decidedly wet and she was pushing up to meet it on the upswing. I leaped
over her leg and, just as she yanked the nightgown away from her face, I
thrust into her in one long, fast rush, pushing my pubic bone against hers
and grinding.

  I was just congratulating myself on having gained the upper hand when she
gazed up lovingly into my eyes, smiled beatifically and, after abruptly
locking  her legs together around the small of my back, began hunching
against me in a  very unladylike and remarkably effective manner. No matter
that I was on top,  she was fucking me and no mistake. Within moments I felt
the rush begin and I  held perfectly still as she milked me to a pulsating
orgasm made all the more  powerful by her clasping pussy and the feel of her
strong thighs working back  and forth. Once I had finally subsided she
released her hold and let me relax.

 I rose up to slide out of her and she breathed a sweet sigh of lust at the
sensation. Clearly she was still very aroused. I let my hands trail down her
body, following her curves as she undulated. I sat back on my heels and
brought  my hands to rest framing her pussy, spreading it slightly. Her own
hands crept  slowly towards her breasts as she kept her eyes on me, waiting.

  I sat there for a full minute, looking at her, letting my thumbs meet at
the bottom of her slit and moving them up and down with a maddeningly gentle
touch. I was thinking hard. Finally I slid two fingers of my left hand into
her  and mashed her clit beneath my right thumb. She closed her eyes in
rapture (and  a bit of disappointment?) and squeezed her tits together as I
helped her to her  own shuddering release.  When the last bits had been
toweled dry and we were snuggled under the  blankets I held her close as she
drifted quickly off to her usual  dead-to-the-world slumber. I stayed awake
for awhile, thinking.

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

       Mondays are overrated. There's absolutely no reason you can't be every
bit as miserable at work on even a Thursday if you put your mind to it,
especially if your best friend pitches in to help.

  I had just opened the shop and was still turning the little "We're Open!"
sign over when Clary stormed in, stomped over to me and whipped her finger up
to accuse my nose. "What the HELL is WRONG with you?"

       "My shoulder aches a bit when it rains, but I never…"

       Her finger never wavered. "I've known you for 5 years, buddy boy, and I
never DREAMED you would treat my sister this way. I never dreamed you would
treat ANY woman this way!"

       "Could you give me my copy of the script? I'm not sure what the problem
is." I knew, I just wasn't sure what she knew. Never admit to anything before
you know what the crime is. No sense getting arrested for murder when they're
just asking you about littering.

       Mrs. Bentworth, a sweet silver-haired lady and one of my regulars, came
through the door holding her purse in both hands and gave me a puzzled smile.
Clary continued to glare at me. "Why the HELL won't you go DOWN on your own
WIFE? What, are you afraid the BIG BAD PUSSY will GET you?" she yelled.

  Never losing her smile, Mrs. Bentworth performed an abrupt about-face and
quickly made her way back outside.

       I backed away from the finger and sat down on a stack of Tom Clancy
books. "Can we talk about this some other time?"

  "NO! Give it up, Vince. The taste? The SMELL? Some psychological BULLSHIT
about performing a submissive act and undermining your essential MASCULINITY?
Because if that's it then it's not working, cuz I've never noticed much
masculinity coming from your direction…"

       Other customers were starting to come in, either for books or the free
entertainment. "Look, meet me for lunch and we can talk then, all right?
Nothing's going to change in four hours." She didn't respond right away, then
she nodded once and left without another word. I breathed a sigh of relief and
regret before standing back up, straightening the stack and heading behind the
counter. An elderly gentleman stepped up.

       Deep breath. "Can I help you, sir?" I asked.

       'So why won't you go down on her? You some kinda fag?"

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

  Unfortunately when you work in a mall, lunch usually means the Food Court.
Privacy was not an essential feature in its design, although apparently
uncomfortable seats and colors not found in nature were. Clary got away from
her shop in time to meet me in front of Chick-Fil-A. Clarisse is Nicole's
sister. Darker blonde hair, pixie nose, evil mind. I met her first, as luck
would have it, but as she was paired off with a friend of mine at the time we
settled into buddihood. We went through some harrowing times together,
watching each other's lovers come and go with accompanying sarcastic comments
until the day her sister came home from school overseas and was introduced to
me by her giggling, whipped-cream-covered sibling (we had been battling). She
worked in the terribly trendy lotions shop across the way, a horrible waste
of her talents but I'm hardly one to talk and at least the constant
aromatherapy seemed to help calm her down. By the time she joined me she was
able to converse in a rational manner.

      "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

       I sipped my tea slowly. "I don't know."

       "Oh, no, I need a better answer than that, you…"

  "I said I don't know. Doesn't mean I've never thought about it, I've
thought about it a lot, I just don't know." I sat back and looked up at the
Plexiglas dome over us, then back at the fountain in the middle, anywhere but
at Clary. "For some reason, whenever I start to do that I get all nervous."

       "Nervous."

       "Yeah. Almost like stage fright, my stomach gets all fluttery and I'm
afraid I'll vomit."

       "Vomit."

  "Look, it's not that I think it's wrong or unnatural or anything, or even
that I don't want to do everything I can to make her feel good, and I know
it's not really fair since she'll go down on me without a qualm, or not much
of one anyway, unless she's been…"

       Clary grabbed my chin and swiveled my head around to face her. "You're
babbling."

       "Sorry."

       She sat back and looked at me, either in sympathy or scorn. "Have you
ever gone down on a woman?"

       "No."

       "Never even tried?"

       "No."

  "Were you, like, frightened by a taco or something when you were young?"

       I stood up, mad. "Dammit, this isn't easy for me."

  She stood up herself and touched me on the arm. "I'm sorry, it's just so
hard for me to accept. I mean," she said as we both sat back down. "you're
one of the nicest guys I ever knew. Real considerate, easy to talk to,
y'know. If Nicci hadn't grabbed you I might've eventually, although I'd have
gotten you some better clothes. And I know you're not shy or closed up
sexually, so I always assumed that you, you know, munched the muffin. What's
holding you back?"

       I sat still for a few long minutes before I answered. "I think… I think
I'm afraid I won't be able to do it right."

       "You mean like…"

  "Wait, let me finish. Remember when you tried out for "Emilio" that one
summer and were all excited about it until you went out on stage in front of
real people? I think that I'm afraid, deep inside, that I'll get down there
and not know what to know and feel like a fool, and disappoint her. I mean,
when we started fu… I can't talk to you about this, you're her sister for
God's sake."

  "And I'm your best friend and we always used to talk about this stuff
before so shut up and keep talking. Look, you know what to do with your
hands, right?" I nodded. "So do that with your tongue. Use your hands a lot,
pay attention to what she likes, I just can't believe I'm having to tell you
this. You've been together since high school, you've been in each other's
pants every time you turn around, how could you not know…?" She saw the
mournful look on my face and subsided. "All right. We can fix this."

       "'We'?"

  "Yup, 'we'. No sister of mine is going to be deprived if I can help it. She
still have her classes on Thursdays? Good, I'll be over around 7. Don't look
at me like that, Deep Throat, this'll be a training mission. My pants stay
on."

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

  I have to admit some interesting thoughts went through my mind as I tried
to concentrate on business. I've never been unfaithful to Nicole, never
wanted to be, and I've always thought of Clary as a buddy. Okay, a buddy with
a nice ass, but I never thought of her sexually, honest. Not more than once
or twice. But now while my wife was away she was coming over to my house for
the sole purpose of talking about sex. I wouldn't be human if I didn't
entertain a few stray fantasies.

       Boy, was I human, all afternoon.

  By 7:20 I was still trying to decide whether aftershave would be pushing
it, especially when I knew nothing would happen but I wanted to be
sweet-smelling if it did, when she barged in carrying 2 huge bags. She
brushed past me and dropped them on the kitchen counter while I went to close
the doors before the cats made a break for it. When I looked back at her any
niggling thoughts I may have had about the evenings' activities shriveled and
died; she was digging into one of the bags with the same expression I
remembered from the night she decided to pierce her own nipples, that
"this-is-going-to-be-great-wait-til-you-see-what-I'm-going-to-do-with-YOU"
look that I'm sure was the first thing Frankenstein's monster ever saw. I
recognized the Hustler right off, but I wasn't sure about the fist-sized
package. "Um, what are you doing?" I asked.

       She kept digging and said, "Props. Gotta get you comfortable with the
little critter before you can kiss it."

  "I'm very comfortable with the organ in question. Are you paying me back
for that avocado thing?"

       "As you long as you think of it as an 'organ', you still need help. And
no, my vengeance for that will be drawn out and terrible." She started yanking
at the package wrapping.

  "Gives me something to live for. Give me that," I said, taking the package
away and easily removing the brown paper. It was a sex aid, half a pound of
polyvinyl cunningly shaped into a familiar shape, with a reservoir. The
package promised Real Hair and The Time of My Life. I stared at it stupidly,
then looked up at her grinnng face. "You bought me a vagina?"

  "Everyone should have one," she agreed happily. "It's a "Pocket Pud". If
you can't practice on the real thing, we'll run you through the simulator."

       "I'm afraid to ask what's in the other bag."

       "Tacos. In case I get hungry, too."

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

  We repaired to the bedroom and sprawled on the bed, surrounded by her gear.
I stalled by flipping through the Hustler. "Why do they insist on showing
nude women on the beach, with sand all over their butts? I grew up by a
beach, I can tell you there's nothing in the world more uncomfortable than
rubbing frantically against someone covered in beach sand, and I'm reliably
informed it's a bitch to get out of you."

  She grabbed it away from me and opened it to the centerfold. "First off, I
want you to understand that nothing you can do will bother Nicci. She will be
pleased and flattered and honored that you are willing to fight your fears
and face the fur, and the most inconsequential, timid little lick you can
offer will be orgasmic to her because she loves you, you asshole. But," she
continued confidently, "I'm going to teach you how to do it proper." She
picked up a Magic Marker and began drawing game plans on the centerfold.
"Okay, this is the target in question. Do you jump at it, slavering?"

       "Hell no, I'd get the staple stuck in my teeth!"

  "Actually there are times of passion when you do just that," she said,
obviously ignoring my answer. "But for the most part you need to sneak up on
it. Use anticipation to get her going before you even get there, sort of like
letting you car warm up first on cold days." She pointed out the vulva and
drew little arrows towards the inner thighs. "Stroke her here and here, and
keep your hands moving all the time. Light touches are usually best, they get
the goosebumps going. You can let the back of your hand or your knuckles
brush against her puss but don't try anything funny yet. When she starts
moving her hips back and forth it's time to go for the groceries, but go down
slow. Maintain eye contact as you do, it's killer. When you get close,
breathe on it first, soft and hot."

  I was starting to experience some difficulty in lying comfortably myself,
but I listened carefully, trying to ignore the gloss that was making her lips
sparkle in the lamplight.

  Quickly sketching in some up and down arrows, she turned the centerfold
into a winning play. "Lick up and down the lips on the outside, until they
start to open up. You can run a finger or two through them to speed things
up, but don't go inside."

  "So far this sounds like what I do to her anyway," I said, trying to be a
good student. Damn, this bed was lumpy.

  She beamed at me. "There you go, exactly. Here, try this." She offered the
Pocket Pud. I looked it hesitantly. "What, should I rub it with tuna fish or
something? Try it."

  I held it up to my mouth but the situation was just impossible. Did she
really expect me to… Looking up I finally noticed the suppressed laughter in
her eyes and so I bit the thing, hard, and shook it like a terrier with a
kitten. She burst out laughing and rolled on the bed, uncontrollable. I added
appropriate growling noises and her hilarity redoubled. I gave in myself and
joined her for a long and painful belly laugh. At times our plastic friend
became a hairpiece, an armpit, an especially wide grin and a hand puppet. She
grabbed it away from me and gave it a few overly-sensuous licks herself, to
my appreciative hoots. Then, eyes shining, she placed it between her legs,
held it in place and leaned back.

      "Try it, Vince," she said. Her eyes were very large.

      I was afraid to say anything so I rolled over her leg until my face was
just above her bonus bits and looked up at her. She grinned down at me and
wiggled my Pud. "'We'll take the foreplay as read, dear.'"

  I leaned in and carefully touched the tip of my tongue to her new clit
which was apparently the wrong move since she whacked me on the side of my
head. It was a bit disconcerting to see her pussy slide sideways when she let
go of one side, but she fixed it quickly. "Not so fast, she hates that. Work
the lips some." I shrugged mentally and ran my tongue up and down the rubbery
ridges. At this point I would have paid cash money for a picture of this.
"Now you can lick up towards the clit, but don't lick hard on the underside
of it, it'll still be too sensitive." She raised her hips up and down in
counterpoint to my strokes and to make me work to keep up with her, but I
began my own game by pushing harder with my tongue and soon noticed a
definite heat in the area and a familiar, maddening scent. She didn't seem to
be instructing as much anymore and she seemed to be holding her genital mask
much more tightly against herself than was strictly necessary. "Now… now lick
it harder, and harder, keep circling around it and …ahhh… graze it a bit with
your teeth. Oh, Jesus…" I wasn't quite following her orders anymore, I had
gone on to post-graduate work. I took the rubbery knob representing the
button of love and bit hard, grinding the whole thing into Clary. She let go
of it abruptly and grabbed the tops of both thighs as she pushed hard against
my jaws. "Ohhhhhhh, god, I'm gonna…"

  She did, and I discovered what it was like to ride the bull by grabbing its
tail in my mouth. She clutched at my hair and ground her quasi-cunt into my
face, nearly snapping my neck over and over until she finished. She pushed me
away roughly and rolled over on her front, breathing heavily. I stayed face
down too, since I had more to hide. Finally she lifted her head up and
smiled, a bit raggedly, at me. "By George, I think you've got it."

  I rolled over and rubbed at the back of my neck. "It doesn't half wear out
your neck muscles and your jaw, does it," I said. My erection was extremely
obvious to both of us, we both ignored it.

  "Try giving a blowjob in the front seat of a Corolla sometime. I'd say
you're ready, kid." She jumped off the bed and gathered up her visual aids,
finally laying her store-bought twat carefully on the bulging ridge of my
pants. "In case you need it after I leave."

  I called out to her before she left the room. "You kept saying 'she'd like
that, she hates that'. How do you know?"

  Clary smiled a wickedly sensuous smile at me. "You know how you just can't
keep your hands off her?" I nodded. "Well, hell, I grew up in the same room
with her. She's a screamer, ain't she?" And she left.

      I laid back, hurridly jumped up, hid my Pud in my sock drawer, then laid
down again, thinking furiously. Let's see, Nicci's class is over in ten more
minutes…

      To be continued, if anyone reports any interest.

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

       Copyright 1998 Hoot Island, all rights reserved.

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