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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of o
o stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the o
o world. Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no o
o particular order other than offering them to you in alpha- o
o betical directories. o
o I don’t believe in categorizing things. "I don’t want to o
o be typed therefore I don’t type things myself." I think it’s o
o a lot more fun to browse around and find 'little' surprises o
o that you might not have even thought of looking for. o
o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult en- o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors. Kristen o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Eighteen (MF, affair)
by nautilus@acm.rpi.edu
*
Here's another story -- please send constructive criticism and
marriage proposals as well as beer and pizza to nautilus@acm.rpi.edu.
Busy working on the weekend, I neglected to keep track of the time. I
pulled up to the reception just in time. "And now for the first time,
may I present to you Mr. and Mrs...." The bride, a friend from work
named Monica, looked marvelous as usual, but I was surprised to see
her daughter Paulina standing behind her, as beautiful as the day I
met her. I thought back to the previous fall, when I first ran across
this amazing girl.
Monica and I were managing a political campaign for a guy running for
the state legislature, and it was about midnight. We were working
late and trying to thrash out our latest set of propaganda, when I
heard a familiar voice, one heard only over the phone until now.
Intrigued at meeting the woman behind that terribly sexy voice, I
looked up. I saw a young girl, about five foot six and a hundred
pounds, with deep slate-grey eyes and soft, lustrous brown hair
falling over her shoulders. The rest of her was quite pleasing as
well, with well-developed curves and a smart mind for clothes. "This
is my daughter, Paulina. Paulina, this is Jack."
Monica smiled at our mutual reactions. I heard Paulina's voice again,
this time saying, "I thought you were thirty!" My spontaneous reply
of "I thought you were _legal_!" caused both mother and daughter to
laugh. Paulina bounced dutifully (and distractingly) off to bed, and
I must have looked at her a little too hungrily, for Monica sternly
ordered me to remove any seductive thoughts from my mind. "She's only
eighteen, Jack. You remember that next time you look at her.
eighteen." _Dear God_, I thought, _what will she be like when she's
twenty?_
Fast forward to late October -- the campaign in full swing, lots of
people bustling around. I give backrubs to release tension, and
everyone took me up on my offer -- including Paulina. We were sitting
in front of a computer watching a particularly impressive Emacs macro
(if I do say so myself....) process a mailing list, when she asked for
a shoulder rub. Monica had gone to sleep hours before, and I was to
leave as soon as the job finished. So, I figured it was harmless to
massage the girl. I worked on her shoulders, neck, scalp and lower
back, when she asked me, "Do you think I'm pretty?" I stopped and
looked at her. "I think you're dangerously attractive for your age."
Her eyes glittered, and I went back to rubbing her. She spoke softly,
and I leaned over her shoulder to ask her to repeat herself, and she
turned her face towards me and kissed me...
The kiss was exquisite, and for several blissful seconds I forgot whom
I was kissing and lost myself in the feelings. When reality struck, I
withdrew from the kiss with a scared look. My first thought was, _I
just shared a passionate kiss from the eighteen-year-old daughter of a
woman who knows the town police chief and my boss on a first-name
basis_. My comment of "Your mother will kill me if she ever finds
out" was returned by a devastating pout and "You didn't like kissing
me?" What could I say to that? "I really liked kissing you -- it's
just that we're so different in age." The pout intensified with "Did
I do something wrong?" _She's only eighteen, Jack,_ I said to myself,
_remember that. eighteen_. "You did just fine. Some boy is going to
be really lucky." I hugged her friendily, and got out of there before
anything else could happen. As I reached my car, I realized my body
was shaking, and I was far more aroused than I had any legal right to
be.
Fast forward again, to late January -- for her birthday, her mother
allowed me to 'chaperone' her daughter and five of her friends to a
high school basketball game. I was charged by Monica with the
protection of her daughter, and I took Monica seriously, to the point
of escorting Paulina to and from the bathroom. Her friends wanted to
know why her mom had hired a bodyguard, and Paulina glared at me with
this grin of hers every once in a while. She wallowed in all the
attention, but all I cared about was getting her home safe and sound.
Monica, for all her attractiveness and charm, was not a woman to
upset. Sometimes when I took the time to visit, Monica appeared to be
mildly jealous of her daughter's ability to steal my attention away
from her. Through conversations with Monica's mother (who lives with
Monica and Paulina), I learned that Monica was quite the looker when
she was younger, and was more than just a little bit envious of her
daughter. Fun. For some reason, though, Monica never really pulled
any of my strings like Paulina did. There is an attraction to the
forbidden like no other, and boy, it had an effect on me that night.
I don't recall anything of the game except the brightness of her eyes,
and the blush that filled her cheeks every time I caught her looking
my way, and how that blush made me shiver inside...
After the game, I told her that I had some paperwork I wanted to pick
up at my office and asked when she had to be home. "Oh, any time
around eleven," she replied, and I missed the faint warning bells. We
went to my office, and I gave her the tour, showing her all the nice
machines and all, and then handed her her birthday present -- a copy
of my first story, "Cold Winter's Morning". She read it slowly start
to finish, and I watched her face eagerly for some reaction. She
looked up at me, and those deep eyes bored into me. "That's
interesting," she told me, as she got up and grabbed her coat. I got
all my files and prepared to leave, when she called my name. I
whirled around, and she kissed me again, with her arms suddenly around
me and her warm body pressing into mine. I'm only human. I held her
and kissed her back for a minute or two, enjoying every forbidden
moment. My heart racing, I extricated myself from her grasp and
dragged her out the door, trying desperately to forget about things
like coffee lounge couches and conference room tables. The whole ride
home, with the feel of her warm hand resting high on my thigh burning
through my cotton slacks, I swear I thought I was going to bust a blood
vessel. When we got back to her place, Monica was standing in the
doorway silhouetted in the light, looking pissed as all hell. "Tell
your mom I said hi", I whispered, and she squeezed my hand on her way
out of the car. The whole ride home, I tried to put her out of my
mind and swear her off for good. _eighteen. God, when she's twenty,
she'll be fatal_.
Forward another six or seven months -- Monica announces her wedding,
and I congratulate her. Needing to work the weekend of the wedding, I
decide that I can attend the reception, and that only if I rush it.
And, I got there in the nick of time to see the bride being upstaged
by her bride's-maid daughter. Soft deep blue crushed velvet caressed
Paulina's tanned and firm body, and her gorgeous hair was trapped in a
bun, with a teasing bang down the side of her face. We smiled and
greeted each other as if there wasn't a thing between us -- but the
telltale flush and her warm smile gave her away.
As usual at weddings, garters and bouquets are thrown. Need I say
more? *sigh* With garter in hand, I saw Paulina catch the bouquet.
Monica gave me a warning look -- she thrives on seeing me turn red, I
guess -- and I approached the dance floor for the ritual. She sat on
the chair set in the center of the dance floor, obviously enjoying the
attention. She crossed her legs, and the bawdy music began. I slid
the garter up her leg and over her knee -- her eyes dared me to go
further -- maybe six inches higher, and I stopped, wondering how many
people saw my state of arousal. The feel of her warm smooth pure skin
and the dress' satin lining was more than I really wanted to deal with
while on display in the center of a dance floor, so I went to the bar
for a glass of champagne. After two more, I was ready to dance. And
dance I did.
Now, I don't like to fast-dance unless I've had a drink or two -- it's
this embarrassment thing. She, however, danced like no one should be
allowed to dance. After the garter, she changed into a blue-and-white
checked sleeveless flannel shirt and a pair of tight jean cutoffs.
Legs to die for. Along came a slow song, and into my arms she
drifted. Light as a feather, we glided around the dance floor, her
warm hands resting on my neck and mine on her back. Surprising even
myself, I let loose a short purr, and she gleamed a smile fit to
weaken my knees. I looked into her eyes for some sign, and all there
was to see was honest lust. _Eighteen.
After the song ended, she and I went into the kitchen for glasses of
ice water. Sweat streamed down our faces, and her skin was flushed,
as mine must have been. She wandered upstairs to her room and I
followed, trying to fight down the low-level desires that had been
flaring so high out on the dance floor. We sat on her bed and talked,
sipping our icewater, and listening to the party outside. "Oh, I
almost forgot," she said as she got up and removed something from her
dresser. She turned around and handed me my tie-clip. She had
originally 'borrowed' it -- to be returned after I 'earned' it. A
foolish and playful game, I thought. "And what have I done to 'earn'
it back?" I asked, and received no reply save a teasing wink.
She turned around, and said, "It's hot up here, isn't it?" My eyes
were distracted by a blue-and-white checked garment flying across the
room. Reddening, I abruptly about-faced, and listened to her rustling
clothes. Presuming she was changing, I called out, "Are you done?"
"Not quite yet. Close your eyes and turn around", that impish voice
commanded. I performed as instructed, and her soft hands grasped
mine, and placed them on her surprisingly bare hips. "I've wanted
this for a long time, and I'm not taking no for an answer" was all I
heard, before she began disrobing me in a fast and efficient manner.
We leapt under her quilt (handmade by her battle-axe mother who would
probably kill us both for our unorthodox method of celebrating her
wedding with her less than fifty feet away!) and held each other. The
satiny feel of her skin was warm, and she wanted to be cuddled like
two spoons. I acquiesced and curled up with her, only to find she had
worked her hand around and was lazily teasing my spine. My growing
erection pressed against her lower back and she giggled. I rolled her
around and kissed her, hoping she would take the lead, and she didn't
disappoint me. Pushing me on my back, she let her fingers tease their
way down my body slowly while her other hand guided mine to all sorts
of mysterious places on her own body. When I finally cupped her
mound, I could feel her readiness in the warm pulsing of her genitals
and the freely-flowing liquid in my palm. I gently lifted her hips
and held them over my aroused hardness. She eased herself down onto
me, terribly slowly, until I was fully inside her. Easily the
tightest woman I'd ever made love to, she enjoyed every bit of it,
rocking and rolling her hips back and forth to her own rhythm My hands
moved around, and my thumbs took turns teasing her clit as she
shuddered her way through first one explosive orgasm, and then
another, before I began to lose control. I thrusted harder and deeper
into her, and she started to make noise. Swiftly I pulled her down to
me and clamped my lips down on hers -- the dual contact of dueling
tongues and thrusting pelvises was amazing. Her third orgasm was the
last straw -- I came inside her as she bit my shoulder hard enough to
draw blood.
It was nearing dusk when she and I awoke -- the party was winding
down. I shook her fully awake, and began to get dressed. "Be sure to
give your mother my best," I said, as I left, tie-clip in hand. An
impish smile, and "I'll keep your best to myself" were the last things
I remembered as I walked out the door. _eighteen_, I sighed to myself.
_Eighteen_.
--
John M. Twilley | nautilus@acm.rpi.edu | twilley@dewey.nl.nuwc.navy.mil
"Our passion is like a nuclear explosion: violent anticipation, a
brilliant blast of heat and light, and a beautiful sunset..." --me