This is subject to all the usual provisos:
Graphic sex follows.
I'm not responsible for you reading this if you are underage.
The contents are purely fiction and all characters are figments of my
imagination.
This story is copyrighted and any reproduction requires the explicit consent of
the author; i.e. me.
AIDS/HIV and other STD do not exist in my fiction but do in reality-if you
attempt to live the lifestyle depicted please take precautions.
"If you lack the maturity to grasp this disclaimer, then
under no circumstances read this story without guidance of someone more mature
(to quote Deirdre)."
© 2007: This work may not be reproduced in any format or
medium without the permission of the author.
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It became
pretty clear that the regret wasn’t an either or question. June Evans generally
was cold around me. I still called her “Mrs. Evans” and didn’t attempt any
intimacy when Zarah was there—I wasn’t that stupid. On the hand I still thought
about the sex we’d had and having more of it in the future. The first time, in
One time
when Zarah wasn’t around I did make a move. Some of the lads had gone down the
pub at lunch and I’d been with them, so I was a little tipsy when I got home. June
was washing dishes and stood in front of the sink and kitchen window. It was a
bright day and the line shone through her frilly white shirt and I could see
the straps of her bra and her heavy breast. I touched her shoulder and said I
wanted to make love to her.
Hey, I was
a teenager and there were a lot of different emotions swirling around in me.
June
turned me around and sat me down at the kitchen table.
“That
wasn’t love,” she said bluntly. “I needed a shag. We shagged. If it weren’t you
it would have been some other bloke. There’s no love in it.
“If you
don’t grow up and see that I’ll have to put you out. I’m not having you mope
around here. We fucked. Be thankful it was you and not someone else I picked
up. You were just what I needed. Physically. I needed a shag. There’s no
emotion in that. I shouldn’t have fucked you because you’re just a boy. You’re
just half-a-man. If you think anything else you’re dead wrong.”
I sat
there devastated. She went upstairs. I thought about packing up my stuff and moving
to the academy dorms, but then she would still be around there. It was also in
my teenage addled brain that I would have more chance of convincing her
otherwise if I stuck about. So I played it cool. I was polite and helpful, kept
a low profile, and didn’t try anything.
But that
wasn’t the end of it. A couple of months later I was lying in bed late at
night. I couldn’t get to sleep and heard some commotion downstairs. Carefully I
went down. June was reeling in the front door hall trying to get her coat off.
She was pretty trashed and had lipstick smeared on one cheek. I helped take the
coat off her and hung it up in the closet.
She
couldn’t walk straight so I took her by the elbow and guided her up the stairs
to her bedroom. Zarah was over at a friend's that night. June collapsed on her
bed. I was just going to leave her there but then thought to take off her
shoes.
“You’re
such a sweet boy,” she whispered, “taking care of an old woman. Give us a
kiss.”
Her
smeared lips pressed against mine. There was the galvanic reaction when our
tongues met in my groin. My hard-on poked through the fly of my pajamas but
June didn’t seem to notice. I could smell the alcohol and cigarettes on her
breath.
We locked
lips for a few minutes. Impulsively I cupped one her tits and it felt meaty in
my hand. Finally she saw my swollen cockhead and her eyes lit up.
“Why don’t
you take me for a ride,” she slurred, “for old times sake.”
I didn’t
have to think twice. As I pulled the chord of pajamas June wriggled out of her
dress and tossed her panties on top of it on the floor. We sat next to each
other the bed, kissing deeply while fondling each other’s genitals. I could
feel the moistness oozing from her slit over my fingers.
“Come on,”
she said. She got up on the bed on her hands and knees, presenting her big
round ass to me. I could see the pink bud of her arsehole and below it the open
crests of her sex. I thought about trying for the higher target—what would it
be like?—but stood behind her and positioned the head of my prick against the
mouth of her vagina.
“Fuck me,”
she ordered and pushed her face into the blankets.
Automatically
I shoved my hard cock into her. Still tipsy her body rocked forward with the
motion. I started pumping in-and-out. It felt good be to back in there….
spelunking, I thought to myself. She lost her balance after a couple of minutes
and I fell on top of her, still fucking and picked up rhythm as she clenched
around my meat. After a minute or so she struggled back onto all-fours.
“Do me
doggie-style. I like that,” she cooed. “Shag me like a dog.”
I was
standing again. June was leaning to far forward for me to clasp her tits.
Anyways, they were still strapped in her bra, which was the only thing she was
wearing. I rested the palms of my hands on her buttocks with my fingers
clenching her hips. Our fucking was making the squelching sound again. My
thumbs hovered over her anus and I began to stroke the puffy opening. June
squealed into the bedding and her cunt clenched me hard.
She was
orgasming and panting. I could feel her quiver with each high and the grip on
my muscle change. And each time I touched the rosebud of her arsehole the grip
got tighter. I felt like I was playing an instrument. I redoubled my effort,
shagging her faster and playing with her ass. She collapsed when she came
pulling me out of her. I was about there too. My prick fell between her ass
cheeks and I just kept pumping. My come gushed over the small of her back,
thick sticky globs of it.
She
quickly fell asleep and started snoring. I thought about what to do. Obviously
fucking me wasn’t something June would do in her right mind. I picked up my
pants and wiped the hardening come off her, threw the duvet on her prostrate
body, and went to my own bed.
The next
morning I couldn’t tell if she even remembered. It was all “Mrs. Evans” and
cold demeanor. That was the last time we had sex. Looking back I think of it
fondly. It wasn’t my first real fuck but it was the first times I knew what I
was doing. She was an older woman who knew what she wanted and communicated
that to me. And I was bright enough to understand and respond. At the time I
was a little obsessed and confused physical attraction with emotional
investment, but she also taught something about how to distinguish between the
two.
And that
was something I needed to know when I started fucking around with Zarah.