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From: sweets1140@aol.com (Sweets1140)
Subject: Sweets at School, part five (M/f, ws, ped, mc)
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Sweets at School, part five

Sweets remembered the heft of it days later during class. 

Looking out the window when the mowing sound came,
she conjured the tree he splashed on and saw the pattern.

The arc it made amazed her; his words into her ears like
buzzing of bees who would not sting, but sing of things she
could not see.  She recalled the smell of his sweat and the
dampness of his chest and back; a wondrous sight returned.

She was holding him while he performed for her.  Her smile
caused Sister Alphonsa to say, daydreaming are we? which
woke her with a start.  She looked down at the history book
and the letters danced in a foreign language of some sort.

After class, she headed straight for the gardener's cottage.

Setting down her book bag on the porch, she knocked softly.
No answer.  She knocked again and heard, who is it? from
a voice not his, then realized his father who he had mentioned
was here--the one to be quiet for when she came here before.

She said, my name is Sweets and I am here to see... It dawned
on her she did not know his name!  Good heavens, what could
she say?  "The gardener" came out of her mouth as the door
opened. 

He was shorter than his son, compact and sturdy-strong.  His large
hands were darker than his son's hands, but shaped the same.

His eyes were blue to her surprise, his whiskers white, but golden
as if the sun stuck there before he went inside his house to welcome
her.  His hair seemed to be softer than his son's appeared.  Backlit
in the doorway, he seemed to have a halo like the holy card guys.

He smiled and she felt at ease at once for some odd reason. Sweets,
he said slowly, please, come in.  She hesitated then crossed the 
threshold saying, I left my bag outside.  That's fine, said he.  Would
you like some tea or do you prefer lemonade?  Tea's good, said she.

She followed him to the kitchen where he put another cup on the table.
He took the glazed pot from the back of the stove and set it on a tile
in the middle, then asked, how do you take your tea, Sweets?

Milk and sugar in the first cup, if it is strong, then plain after hot water
is added to what's steeped, she said.  Good, he said, it's the same for
me. The clock ticked and the pendulum swung slowly back and forth
as he poured and mixed their tea.  It was very quiet here.  No sound
broke the silence until they sipped and slurped, then laughed together.

"My son's mother was Greek, you know" he began speaking as if he
read her mind while she looked at his ruddy complexion graced with
fine lines and capped with his silver-gold halo. "She died when he
was young and I raised him alone" he continued.  I have taken a fall
and he is here to help me until I recover, he said.  The cast came off
last week and here we are, Sweets, just the two of us while I heal.

How is your tea, Sweets?  Just the way I like it, she said.  What broke? 

My ankle, the left one, would you like to see it? Yes, said Sweets, I would.

He raised his pant leg and pushed down his sock, then hoisted his foot
from the floor. Sweets studied the pink-purple scar then touched it.

You have the touch of a feather, Sweets, did you know that? 

Is it sore, she asked, does it hurt?  No, darlin' it does not hurt, that feels
good, please do it again, he said in a voice so like his son's that she paused.

Sweets felt something seeping as she reached her fingers to stroke the scar.
This was good, it had an edge and a puckered part that reminded her of...

He spoke almost in a whisper, yes, it does, doesn't it?  She knew he read her
mind and pulled her hand back too fast, but not fast enough, he caught it and
moved it toward his scar with strength she sensed she liked.  I saw you,
Sweets,
he said, I watched.  Sweets blushed and felt the squirt before she wriggled
on the seat she thought would be wet when she stood up.  It felt nice.  He felt
nice, she wanted to pour and trickle for the pleasure of it.  She wanted to sit
on his lap, she wanted...  I know, I know, he said, I can tell, I know about
you.

Sweets mouth went dry.  You know, you know about me?

Yes, I do.  Come sit on my lap, he said as his foot fell to the floor.  He
patted
his thighs as he slid back his chair. Come here, Sweets, come, right here.

As Sweets rose from her chair, she felt her skirt sticking and hoped she had
not leaked on the plastic.  She turned and backed up onto his lap so easily
she forgot she could be wet, then said, maybe, I am wet or something....

He said, that is all right, Sweets, as his arms went around her. Seated, she
leaned back and felt his soft hair near her face.  The clock ticked, the room
was very quiet as his hands lifted her dress and his fingers found her damp
panties and patted them. You have a pretty bottom, here, Sweets, don't you?

Yes, she said, I think so, but I leak sometimes...  That's good, he said, I
like
bottoms that leak.  You do, she asked and half turned to face him, you do?

Of course, Sweets, all older men do.  Does your father touch you here?

Oh, no, said Sweets, even when I sit on his lap which he does not let me
do anymore. Do you want him to, he asked, do you want him to feel this?
His fingers stroked the plump cushions he found around the wet spot and 
Sweets groaned... if you do that then, I will have to go... Sweets leaned
into the stroking fingers because she could not help herself, it felt so good.

His fingers grew firm somehow and as he pressed and rubbed. She pressed
and rubbed them back.  He whispered, good girl, you like that? You want 
some more?  Sweets nodded because she could not speak, it was like being
suspended in mid-air by his finger tips moving and rubbing the swelling 
and calling out for her to wet on them and she did.  She felt the flow from
bubbles bursting where her buttom touched his legs.  He stroked and pressed
and she stroked and pressed against his fingers while he cooed into her ear.

The phone rang.  He did not move to answer it.  It rang again and again.

Sweets said, don't you have to answer that?  He said, no, Sweets, not now--
let it ring.  I want some more of this, let it ring.  Sweets slid off his lap
and
looked at him.  His mouth was open, his eyes seemed glazed.  Fingers still
curled looked so empty that she almost hopped back onto his lap.  Instead
she said, I can come back another day, if you want.  I want, he said, I want.

He looked so pretty, almost like a golden Santa Claus, she felt an urge to kiss
him.  She did.  Her kiss on his cheek made him smile.  She liked that smile.

I have to go, now, but I will come back.  You promise?  Yes, I promise.

With that she left, her school bag over one shoulder, her thighs sliding past
each other as she walked fast across the clearing so her dress would dry.

Sweets at School, part five
swe399c.txt  
  

  

 


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