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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2009.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
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Mr. Olson
by Petthara (petthara@hotmail.com)

***

A teen feels challenged by an old but superior man. The 
first part of the story of Ellen, Christian - and Mr. 
Olson. (M/F-teen, size, cuck, voy, huml)

***

Author Note: My native language is not English. Please 
bear over with mistakes and clumsy sentences.

***

When Ellen and I met six months ago we were still 17. 

I hadn't really been watching girls much. Ellen had 
been watching me for a long time, though. She later 
told me I was the nicest, smartest and best looking guy 
in school. "You are such a beautiful couple", my 
grandma used to tell us. I suppose that's true. I knew 
the girls found me handsome. And I knew that most 
people think I am a very nice guy.

Ellen is a feminist - by birth so to speak. Her mother 
was a leading feminist in the 80s and 90s. A very 
decent woman but quite dominating. Her views on child-
raising were in accordance with her feminist views. She 
sent her two daughters to learn self-defense from a 
very early age.

Ellen's personality is the opposite of her mother's. 
She is shy but her shyness is graced with a unique, 
gentle charm. Her irresistible giggle is reason enough 
to fall in love with her. Her face would best be 
described with the old cliché "angelic." Perfect 
features, doe-like eyes, a face that shows class and 
kindheartedness, the cutest dimples. Her medium blonde 
hair thick and delicious. 

Neither of us are confident persons. I am sure this is 
one of the reasons we get on so well. We are quiet and 
patient personalities.

We are also both bookish. And very serious students. We 
love discussing good books and films (no, not 
Hollywood!) and we go to the theatre. We are young 
intellectuals and I guess we are proud of it...

And we are both extremely interested in human 
behaviour. Which is the reason why both of us have 
already marked out our careers. We will start our 
psychology studies next year.

In her early teens Ellen was a talented swimmer and 
gymnast. Her body is very toned and extremely 
attractive. Her current sport is kickboxing. She is not 
boxing competitively but they say she is very talented. 
Ellen says that martial arts training helps her build 
confidence.

Her interest in the martial arts may seem odd. But her 
family background has left some marks. Her jocular - 
and not very reliable - sister even jokingly claims 
that Ellen has a violent streak. She likes to tell 
stories from Ellen's "tomboy childhood." She likes to 
paint a picture of Ellen as "the street bully" - the 
little girl who beat older boys to subordination when 
she was harassed. 

I found her stories entertaining but also a little 
unnerving. What could be farther from Ellen's 
personality? In her flippant way, her sister also likes 
to give more present-day hints of Ellen's "streak." 
Once when she was quite tipsy she claimed that Ellen 
last year badly thrashed a big jerk who had made a 
crude pass at her.

Ellen laughed it off. "All fabrications and 
exaggerations." Her sister simply had the most twisted 
sense of humour.

Our backgrounds are very different. My family is 
religious and my faith is important to me. Sadly, most 
people in this part of the world don't have a faith. 
But I would claim that our different backgrounds never 
was a problem in our relationship. Equality, sharing of 
domestic work... this is self-evident for me. And both 
Ellen and I are disgusted with the promiscuous 
lifestyle of many people our age. Nothing is more 
obvious to us than life long faithfulness. And 
sex...well it's overrated, isn't it? We agree that many 
aspects are way more important in a relationship.

My goal had been to stay a virgin until I married. It 
was the only logical thing for me. My vow of being a 
virgin groom was broken exactly one hour after Ellen 
and I saw into each other's eyes for the first time. I 
can't say the sex was great but I never regretted what 
we did.

Ellen had had boyfriends. That never bothered me. At 
least not much. Except... there was this one rumour I 
found bothersome. I heard it a couple of months ago. 
From a drunken idiot that no doubt wanted to bully me.

In school my physical education teacher was a Mr. Holm. 
A muscle-bound hunk in his fifties. Quite a tyrant. I 
hated him. 

The drunken idiots' story went: About a year ago 
"someone he knew" had went for a walk in the woods. At 
some point he had left the path and bumped into a 
couple making love. "Holm and your chick were going at 
it like rabbits", my enemy claimed. "They were on a 
blanket. She had her legs around his head and was 
squealing like a pig as he hammered her. My friend was 
maybe 5 meters away but they didn't even notice him." 

He kept silent for a couple of seconds to relish my 
shocked reaction. Then added: "Have you seen Holms 
cock?"

Everyone in school had heard of Mr. Holms' penis. He 
always showered with us boys after class. The unabashed 
way he showed off his huge member repulsed me. I wasn't 
very accomplished in physical education and he often 
ridiculed my efforts. To make things even worse he had 
this habit of picking the shower next to mine. Maybe it 
was all in my head but I often felt he looked at me 
with a smirk as he cleaned his big thing and seemed to 
peek at my much smaller equipment.

Of course I never mentioned this incident from the 
woods to Ellen. Why should I? This idiot's story could 
be a mix-up of persons, it could be a vicious lie, it 
could be... I really don't care. Only thing that 
matters is that the story is untrue. It is simply 
unthinkable that my Ellen - at 17 - would have an 
affair with a bully old enough to be her grandfather. 

Mr. Holm moved from town just before Ellen and I became 
a couple.

A Saturday in June we were at Ellen's place.

I had just come back from two days out of town. My 
parents and I had attended to the household contents of 
my dear grandma who just died. Three full large 
containers of rubbish. Ellen had stayed in town to sit 
for her final exam. 

She had met me at the train station an hour before. We 
had her house for ourselves.

Her mom had divorced the summer before. And this summer 
she had decided to stay in Italy with her new 
boyfriend. For eight long weeks.

The evening hadn't been good. For the first time in our 
relationship there was something wrong with our 
chemistry. She hadn't asked me one single question 
about the funeral. Very unlike her. There was a 
tension, where did it come from? I tried to make a 
conversation. She delivered short yeses, no's, mhm's or 
no answer at all. Did I hear her happy laughter one 
single time that evening? Don't think I did. For some 
reason she seemed annoyed or bored with me. A few times 
her irritation was unconcealed. 

"You have told me that twenty times before!!"

"Mmm... very interesting..." (yawn).

"Aaah... knock it off!!"

She had never spoken to me like this. But most of the 
time Ellen's thoughts simply seemed to be somewhere 
else. She was playing with her hair and looking out the 
window with a dreamy look. I gave up to make a 
conversation. I looked at her from time to time. She 
was curling that hunk of hair around her finger, 
enigmatic look in her eye. A couple of times she let 
out a sweet little sigh. All the time she was rubbing 
her bare feet together, in a strikingly sensual way. 
Her body language told me that she was thinking of 
something - or someone - disconnected from the world we 
had together.

Then she abruptly said: "Christian, I'm horny. We 
haven't done it for a week!"

In matters of sex it was perfectly normal that Ellen 
was the one to take initiative. She did so the first 
time we met and most times since. Her sex drive 
appeared to be quite strong. I can't really say the 
same about my own need for sex.

But normally she would initiate sex by nibbling at my 
ear lobe or something. Now she sounded brusque, 
impatient.

I obliged.

"No worries. I will race you to bed."

But she was right of course. I had been neglecting her. 
I got up and kissed her. 

When we got to her room Ellen was quick in getting her 
clothes off. She was already on the sheets, her 
flawless body naked, when I peeled off my underpants 
and sat down on the bed. 

I stroked the nail of a big toe on one her perfect 
feet. I sat for a while and admired her body. It was 
spectacular. 177 cm (I was 189) and every centimeter 
was indeed worth worshipping. Long, strong legs, very 
womanly bum and hips, firm breasts that were 
surprisingly large for a trained body like hers.

I wasn't too proud of my own figure. I was somewhat 
scrawny, with a flabby rear end. A minimum of body 
hairs. There wasn't much tradition for sports in my 
family. Ellen encouraged me to go to the gym with her. 
And I did, sometimes. But I don't know... She was in 
much better shape than me. I prefer to go there on my 
own. But I usually lack the energy to go. So I don't 
visit there often.

I always feel a bit nervous when I am about to have 
sex. It bothers me that I don't get hard easily. The 
fact that I am on the small side does not make things 
easier. Ellen has assured me she doesn't care or 
notice. And that it suits the sweet, gentle way I make 
love. 

I suppose I am gentle. Normally Ellen is the active 
part. She likes to be on top. Or maybe I like her to be 
there. The purity of her features, her shining excited 
face when she makes love, it reminds me of a Madonna 
painting in my grandmother's house.

This evening I for once decided to be on top. Maybe 
challenged by her demanding tone. I kissed her and held 
her close the way I always do. Ellen responded with 
kisses that were unrestrained and wanton. She pulled at 
my penis a lot more roughly than she usually does. 

We never perform oral sex. In the beginning of our 
relationship she tried to go down on me a few times. 
She noticed of course that it made me uncomfortable so 
she stopped doing it. 

But now she suddenly ducked down to my penis and tried 
to put it in her mouth. I panicked and wriggled out of 
her grip. She sent me a scornful look. 

"Please Ellen... on your back." She obeyed, but her 
expression told me she was very displeased. To my 
surprise she suddenly opened her legs wide, gave her 
clitoris a massage and then held her vagina open with 
her fingers.

She gave me a provocative look. "See how wet I am. 
Looks good? Come eat me, Christian!" 

I was shocked. She had never asked me to do that. I 
couldn't do it. I didn't respond.

I wasn't fully hard but I felt hard enough to enter 
her. I quickly got on top and guided myself into her. I 
thought I heard her mumble "Phhh... jerk..." My penis 
slid in very easily. I was shocked by her wetness. Her 
vagina often was wet but today she was flooding. I 
started small in and out motions, all the while kissing 
her. She responded greedily and bumped violently 
upwards.

A few moments later, I felt the pressure building, and 
sped up my thrusts. Ellen moved her hips in time with 
me, her movements much stronger than mine, all the time 
making grunt noises. She broke her lips free from mine 
and said out load "I'm not ready!!... damnit! ... you 
little... you can't just..." But what happens, happens. 
I stiffened and ejaculated into her. I rolled off her 
and started to apologize.

Her reaction gave me a new shock. Normally she would 
have put her finger on my lips and told me that it 
didn't matter. That the important thing was that we 
were together and loved each other. Then we would hold 
each other close and talk a little. 

Not today. She looked at me with a look that was full 
of contempt. Then she turned away from me.

Ellen was lying at my side, fondling her hair, 
seemingly lost in thought. We said nothing for a long 
time. My hand tried to fondle her body. She didn't 
respond.

She then brushed my hand aside and said in a toneless 
voice, "I got myself a job this morning."

"You did? That's great! What kind of job?"

We had planned for a holiday in Greece in late August. 
My religious parents didn't like really that. But they 
loved Ellen and had come to respect our blooming 
relationship very much. I was the youngest of four, so 
my older siblings had no doubt paved way for me. "It's 
2009 after all", my mom said. My old folks surprised me 
and impressed me.

But the restaurant that had promised Ellen a summer job 
suddenly closed in. Her mother's economy was in a bad 
state. She had lost her job five months earlier and was 
still unemployed. I told Ellen that she could loan the 
money from me. I could even pay for both of us! 
("Please Christian, you know I could never. I wasn't 
brought up like that").

And jobs were scarce this summer. We almost had given 
up.

"It's a home help job, really."

"Good! Employed by the township?"

"No. Private."

"Really? Well, sounds good."

Few people have private home services here. She added, 
still brief and to the point:

"It's 15-20 hours a week. For 2 months, until his 
regular home help returns. The employer is very busy. 
He's got business connections all over the world. 

I will clean, cut the grass, wipe the windows, dust, do 
the laundries.... See that the fridge is full when he 
returns. Stuff like that.

And also, the reason why he chose me is that through my 
summer job in the restaurant I have some experience 
with organizing birthday parties, summer parties for 
offices etc. He will throw two or three parties this 
summer and he will give me the main responsibility."

"Sounds great! And the money?"

"This part time job pays more than a full time job with 
the township."

"Wow! A money man! Who is he? Anyone nearby?"

"Yes. He's named Olson."

She looked at me from the corner of her eye.

"Eric Olson."

"Ohh...him...."

I must have made a big frown.

I knew about him. Everyone around here did. He lived in 
our part of town. He was one of the few around here you 
would call "a national celebrity."
  
He was an extremely successful businessman. Ruthless, 
according to the press. He was nothing to look at, a 
runt really. A bit nerdy looking, almost bald, when I 
occasionally had seen him on TV he acted like some 
senior stand up comedian. But in business he seemed to 
win all the battles. 

It was only some half year ago that he became a 
household name. He was holidaying in the southern 
parts. Some young local newspaper guy recognized Mr. 
Olson and went for a scoop. Big mistake.

According to witnesses Mr. Olson (67-163 cm) got so mad 
at this naggy youth that he shouted "now your going to 
get it." And attacked the young newspaper guy (22-185 
cm).

"Mercilessly beating up a man 1/3 his age!" screamed a 
tabloid headline.

Reportedly the young man was left on the pavement with 
a broken jaw and an arm out of joint.

Reportedly too the local newspaper wanted to press 
charges. But the young man was so ashamed of being 
thrashed by an old man that he quit his job and refused 
them to go any further.

"Eric Olson?" I said. "But.. he's probably the most 
repulsive guy in the country. Haven't you said so 
yourself? More or less? Surely there must be other 
jobs. Ellen, I really don't want you to go to that 
place. Haven't you yourself called him a dirty old 
man!"

Ellen was still watching me from the corner of her eye. 
She replied matter-of-factly: "I may have said 
something to that effect. Well, I didn't mean it. I 
didn't know him. And getting a job this summer is 
really difficult. You know that as well as I do. This 
is our last chance of going to Greece."

Yes. I knew. That was the most important thing for both 
of us right now.

She continued in the same calm, sober way: "And he is 
not nearly as bad as the medias make him. I was to his 
house this morning and in fact he is a very nice 
person. His family was visiting, a daughter and two 
lovely grandchildren. He was very forthcoming and 
friendly. They were too. As busy as he is, he found 
time to have a long talk with me. 

"He's very relaxed, easy to talk to. And probably the 
funniest man I have ever met. Caring and sensitive too, 
loves his family. And probably to your surprise - 
artistic. His house is full of expensive original 
paintings. But also with his own paintings and wood 
carvings. He is talented. And he loves the theater, 
he's also into literature and film and music. He is 
very informal. When we introduced ourselves he insisted 
that I should call him Eric. I will start on Monday."

Ellen also had an interest in the arts. She definitely 
had a talent for painting herself..

"Sounds like he charmed your socks off."

She stroked her chin. Her voice still sounded quite 
cold.

"Well, if you really want to know we got on great, in 
spite of his commanding presence. He's very charming."

I fell silent. My mind started to wander. 

- to the Mr. Holm story. Some time ago I told Ellen 
some stories about him, my detested old teacher. I 
accused him of being a bully. She said "Why are you so 
critical? I have met him a few times. He is actually 
quite nice."

- to some cheerful remarks her unreliable sister had 
made. They indicated that Ellen since puberty has had a 
"thing for strong olden." 

- to a chat I overheard, between Ellen and a 
girlfriend. They were discussing a 60ish actor, known 
for his tough guy roles. I heard Ellen say: "That man 
is so HOT!"

Could it be that Ellen liked old macho men?

Then I recalled some headlines from some months back. 
Olson had given an interview to an erotic magazine. 
Parts of the interview were copied in the tabloids and 
made headlines there as well.

One tabloid headline: "Young women make my life tick."

Another: "I just gave him what he deserved."

I don't know why I went out and bought that magazine. I 
never buy stuff like that. I find magazines like that 
sickening. 

The interview was awful. Mr. Olson ranted on about the 
fate of being "an alpha male in a feminized 
society"(!). I can still remember quotes like:

"In business - as in life - the guy with the biggest 
balls wins."

"He got what he deserved - no less, no more." (about 
the young journalist)

"It's not about age, it's about mutual sexual 
attraction."

"I don't have much patience with people who behave like 
jerks."

"I am still one of the best martial arts fighters in 
this country."

"Real women can sense it if a man has got what it takes 
to please her."

"In many ways I am a freak of nature. Take my sex 
drive, it has been the same for more than 50 years."

"I happen to have what young women want - and I happen 
to know how to use it."

"Sexual ecstacy - what's wrong with that, isn't that we 
all crave?"

"I like to give pleasure to - and to take pleasure from 
- beautiful women... and that's abominable to many 
people in this immature puritan country."

The interview was a deliberate provocation and it was 
disgusting all through. I'm glad Ellen never read it.

I felt soaked when I finished reading it. I hadn't felt 
so embarrassed in my whole life. 

But somehow the shame also seemed to be on me. I read 
the interview over and over. The entire time I stroked 
the biggest hard-on of my life. For reasons I don't 
know - and don't wish to know - this stuff turned me on 
like crazy!

I stumbled to the bathroom that day (and many other 
days). I had conjured up some really hot fantasies of 
this geriatric stud giving beautiful young women some 
glorious samples of what his huge member could do. I 
came like never before in the toilet. If I hadn't held 
on to the wall I surely I would have fallen to my 
knees.

I returned to reality. I looked at Ellen. She was 
watching me with an inscrutable expression.

"But Ellen.. there is so much shit being written about 
this old guy. How can you trust someone whose moral 
standards..."

I struggled to be specific. I got nervous and stumbled 
over my words. I became diffuse. And I didn't want to 
talk about the stuff I had read - and that hopefully 
she hadn't. I became frustrated for not being able to 
explain in a rational way why working for Eric Olson 
was improper.

"He's just a creep!" I stupidly said. "Don't you see? I 
simply don't want you to work for him!!"

Ellen delivered a little snort. She now started 
speaking to me like a grown up woman to a boy.

"From the impression he made today I say you are wrong, 
Christian. Eric's conduct in public is probably some 
kind of business strategy. The tough guy who loves to 
scare his competitors shitless. Men like him behave in 
the same way if they're in a sports competition or want 
to conquer a woman. They show off their balls - to 
intimidate their opponent. No doubt he is a fiercely 
competitive man. What amazes me is that he has so much 
style - I had no idea.

Obviously too, he is focused on disclosing hypocritical 
structures in our society. Some people seem to be born 
to a mission of provoking others. For goals that I may 
not fully understand. But this is not a bad thing in 
itself. Probably the opposite. So many people in this 
country prefer to be part of a massive majority. People 
like you and me are so damned conventional and meek, 
Christian! He is the opposite. Eric is courageous and 
adventurous. And his manliness is so striking that you 
simply can't expect him to cover it up."

I gave her a puzzled and grumpy look. What kind of talk 
was this?

"You sound like you are impressed."

"He is impressive! Yet my main point is.. surely he 
knows that many people will find his stunts disgusting. 
It takes balls to challenge convention and go against 
public opinion like he does. It's so easy always to be 
politically correct. 

I'm impressed by him for his courage to stand out from 
the crowd. 

And probably a little impressed with his charismatic, 
strong personality. 

And maybe too with his masculinity and sexiness.

So, yes, I do look forward to working for him."

She had locked eyes with me and given me a provocative 
look when she uttered the last sentences.

I must have looked like I had fallen down from the 
moon. Had this old guy really turned her on?

Ellen's face had now turned scarlet. Her expression 
told me she had found my objections very irritating.

She tried to calm down herself down: "And anyway - if I 
want to become a psychologist... a good one, I need to 
deal with all sorts of people. Also people who - for 
some reason or other - behave in ways people find 
outrageous. Even people who are so confident and cocky 
that they don't give a shit about petit bourgeois 
morality. That's so far from us, Christian. You and I 
are so uptight and polite... and toothless... in 
everything we do. Sometimes I feel that you and I are 
the most boring couple in the world!. I really believe 
it's healthy for people like us to get to know vigorous 
men of action."

She went quiet.

I felt really bad. We said nothing for a long moment. 
My mind had continued to wander. To some pictures we 
saw last month. Ellen and I were waiting at a train 
station. Ellen had picked up a gossip magazine someone 
had left behind, a really vulgar one. We turned pages 
and made jokes at all that silly, meaningless stuff. 
How could people spend money on something like this?

And there... Eric Olson in my face again.

Mr. Olson had at this point become some sort of dirty 
old man celebrity. Paparazzi had found his holiday 
resort in Greece.

A beautiful young blonde was sitting in a tiny bikini 
by the seaside, toes in the sea. Beside her stood Eric 
Olson. She was caressing his calf. In spite of his age 
and diminutive height I had to admit to admit there was 
something very striking about him. His muscular chest 
was covered in dense salt and pepper coloured hairs. 
The hairs also covered his stomach all the way down to 
his speedo. 

The speedo had an outrageous bulge.

The photo had a really sleazy comment. "Toilet paper? 
Photoshop? We assure you: neither!"

Another picture showed Olson and his girlfriend 
climbing out of the water. They were both naked. We 
could see the woman's statuesque body from behind and 
Mr. Olson's back and muscular, hairy bottom. She was 
holding his arm, it seemed she was leaning over to give 
him a kiss.

The accompanying text gave more sleazy info. The 
paparazzi had apparently taken lots of pictures - "of a 
sort that could never be printed in a family friendly 
magazine."

The atmosphere on our bench in the station became 
tense. Why didn't I just turn the page? Why didn't she 
turn the page? Did she... like to look at these 
pictures? Did I like it? I guess I did. My penis was 
hard.

I heard Ellen say: "Mmmm... what an old dish."

She was in a teasing mood and tried to shock me by mock 
interest in Mr. Olson. But probably sensed that I froze 
on the bench. She gave me a mischievous smile. "Sorry. 
I meant: what an old jerk!"

But why did she look flush?

And why did I spend so much time on the net the 
following days, looking for the rest of these pictures? 
And why did I have all these stupid fantasies about Mr. 
Olson and this beautiful woman making love?

I came back to reality again. I stuttered: "And there 
was this shit from his resort in Greece. Flaunting his 
ugly old bum to everyone in that awful magazine."

She raised her voice. "Christ, will you cut that shit 
out? What kind of jealous sissy talk is this? It was 
the man's holiday, remember? He never asked to be 
ambush telephotoed by this idiot! Eric was on his own 
isolated holiday resort with his girlfriend. Two adult 
persons a kilometre from closest neighbour. Why 
shouldn't they be naked? Why shouldn't they kiss or 
fuck or do whatever they please without being abused 
like this?"

She fumed but tried to wind down again.

"Well, I guess they could have been more careful. 
Anyway, I learnt quite a bit about this issue today. 
His daughter and Eric were having a discussion about 
it. They were very candid and didn't mind me listening. 
This incident has been a huge strain on the entire 
family, not to speak of the young woman. Eric has a law 
suit going against the magazine. As for the paparazzi, 
Eric's lawyers came to an agreement yesterday. Seems 
that he has paid the little turd lots of money to 
obtain the legal rights to the photos. All of them.

The young woman is married with two children. She is 
named Cecilie. Imagine her situation! Eric's family 
accepts his - alternative lifestyle - but they blame 
him that his carelessness has caused Cecilie trouble. 
The situation is painful to him too.

He has now told Cecilie their relationship must come to 
an end. He tells her she must think of her children. 
But she doesn't want to end it. Her husband on the 
other hand is desperate to keep her. To me that sounds 
like a mature and likeable stand. It can't be easy for 
a young guy to be so cuckolded by a man who's two, 
maybe closer to three times, his own age."

She was looking at me intently all the time as she 
spoke.

"Seems that Eric's daughter and Cecilie have become 
girlfriends. They met at a café yesterday. Cecilie is 
very down. She is crazy about Eric. His daughter smiles 
a little at this. "The same old story", she says.

What surprised me most this morning was to see how 
close Eric and his daughter are. It's obvious that she 
adores and admires him. He seems to be very close to 
all his children.

Anyway, I really feel sorry for all of them. The 
situation is bad as it is. I know nothing about legal 
matters. Let's only hope this agreement is solid. 
Obviously these "unknown" pictures show Eric giving 
Cecilie a good fucking. It would be hell for a number 
of people if they should be published.."

She stopped. Suddenly she snorted again, and worked 
herself into a frenzy: "And what do you mean, 
'Flaunting his ugly old bum?'"

"Says who? A little boy who is envious of what this old 
man has got? I don't think I really need to spell this 
out for you but I will tell you anyway: that old man 
has got a HOT body! A certain boy would probably have 
given his little finger to have an ass like that! You 
are just disappointed that you will never get the 
chance to jerk off to the pictures that show him in 
action!"

I'd never wished for deafness before, but I would have 
given anything to have my ears damned instead of 
hearing her talk like this. I felt dizzy. Like I was 
about to faint. I made a pathetic attempt to hold my 
own:

"Why on earth would pictures of this woman and that 
ugly old geezer make me want to do that?"

She gave me a furious look. She really was full of 
disdain now. 

"Well you tell me, Christian! You know, I once found 
that dirty mag on your bed? The one where the "ugly old 
geezer" talks about his sex life? Yes, I did! And I 
tell you: that crumpled magazine had certainly been 
read! Lots of times! You are afraid of him! I don't 
need to be a future psychologist to see that. He 
fascinates you but he scares you. And I can kind of 
understand that. A man like him is fascinating and also 
a little scaring. A man like him takes what he wants. 
But you are 18 years old and he is 68! His oldest 
granddaughter is 23, damn it! Yet you're afraid of 
this, 'ugly old geezer'." 

"Afraid of what? That I won't be able to resist him? 
That this old buck will grab me and fuck my little 
pussy with his big bad boy cock? Or... "afraid of..." I 
suspect that's the wrong word...you maybe would like to 
watch some fuck action? You maybe would like to see 
what the "ugly old geezer" is capable of?. Well, maybe 
you are not the only one who is curious!"

I felt queasy. I would have taken serious corporal 
punishment to be spared from hearing this kind of talk.

"Ellen! How can you talk like that? He is a nasty man, 
a mean old man. I don't see how this woman - or anyone 
- can find him attractive"

She gave me a scornful look and imitated me 
mercilessly, jabbering like a child: "How anyone can 
find him attractive." Well, that I believe you are able 
to understand, you babbling little hypocrite. Even if 
the power of passion may be a mystery to you!"

Her eyes shone in very unfamiliar way. I was shocked by 
the things she had just said. By the content and by the 
words she used. That she had disclosed my jealousy... 
and admiration?... of this powerful old man. That she 
didn't bother to hide the fact that she found him 
sexually attractive.

And all these words she used... fuck...cock...pussy. 
Didn't we have an unspoken agreement not to use words 
like that? Didn't we both find them degrading? Our use 
of words was very puritan. Our old policy was obviously 
not in force anymore. I felt tears coming to my eyes.

I tried to raise my voice but it cracked, "But don't 
you understand that brutes like Olson..."

"Stop your whining!!! I have had enough! "Brute?" 
Because of the thrashing he gave that asshole? Don't 
tell me you didn't enjoy to read about that! You would 
have loved to be there, to watch little old Eric 
manhandle that big young jerk! You would! And maybe... 
just maybe...the best way to treat an idiot sometimes 
is to beat the shit out of him."

She gave me a scrutinizing look and continued, "As it 
happens I am so mad at you right now that I could have 
given you a good beating!" 

She looked menacingly at me. She let her beautiful hand 
drift up and down her right upper arm. 

"This is so disappointing, Christian. Why do you 
humiliate yourself like this? Why do you distrust me? 
Why do you force me to provoke you? Now, get out! Go 
home!"

She stared at me like some insect she wanted to trample 
on. I tried to hold her stare. She stared me down in a 
matter of three seconds.

She was at the footboard of the bed. Still naked. I was 
by the window. Also naked.

I bit my lip, scratched my knee and cowardly looked out 
the window. I didn't move.

"Well, Christian", Ellen said in a low voice. "I told 
you to leave. Or do you want me to wipe the floor with 
you?"

I felt paralyzed. Couldn't speak. Couldn't move. She 
started to move her naked body slowly towards me. I 
looked down at her strong, pretty feet and toned 
calves. She stopped right before me.

"Ellen, I will..."

Ellen had lifted her right arm. Slowly. Her eyes had an 
icy look. Suddenly she let her biceps make a bulge. The 
flexing of her arm muscle shocked me. The bulge she 
made was much bigger than I ever could have imagined. 
It looked mean. I realized she was ready to show me 
what her muscles could do.

"Last warning, Christian. I want your ass out of here. 
NOW!!!" 

I had never heard her scream before.

She made a move. I quickly threw myself down on the 
bed. 

"No! Please... Don't...I will leave."

I crawled to the other side to get my clothes. Ellen 
looked down at me threateningly for a few seconds, 
seemingly hesitant if she was to pull me out of the bed 
for a beating or not. Gradually I could sense from her 
body language that she had decided to spare me. 

I picked up my clothes. I dressed in tense silence. She 
all the time kept her hands on her hips, observing me 
coldly, still full of aggression.

I left without the two of us changing another word.

I started to weep quietly the moment I left her house. 
I had to sit down on a park bench before I could go 
home, head in my hands, crying. I suffered the worst 
night of my life. The evening had been totally surreal. 
The nasty words we used turned around and around in my 
brain. Hers were so shockingly harsh. How could they 
come from this graceful, gentle female, my innocent 
doe?

My beautiful young soul mate had told me that she was 
hot for a homely arrogant old man. Had she not? It was 
perverse!

My best friend and love of my life had threatened to 
beat me up. Obviously she was the stronger of us and 
was skilled in martial arts but.. how could she even 
suggest that she wanted to give me a licking? Perverse 
too!

And my own clumsy, miserable performance... I tried to 
act like I owned my girlfriend. How loathsome! Like I 
was some old patriarch.

The pain was increased by some really sick dreams. 

Ellen's biceps... In my dreams she used it to 
administer a sound beating of me, her boyfriend. I 
tried to defend myself but she handled me like a rag 
doll.

Words like "Well, maybe you are not the only one who is 
curious" stayed inside my head. I had horrid dreams in 
which Ellen and Mr. Olson were in hot embrace, they 
made love in all sorts of positions. He was giving 
Ellen incredible pleasure. His equipment was enormous 
and he seemed to be able to do it forever. She moaned 
that she loved him and how lucky she was to have met a 
super-stud like him.

I hadn't been so hard in my entire life. I had to get 
up to relieve myself three times.

Seven o'clock in the morning the phone called. I had 
tossed and turned all night. My body trembled.

"Hi..."

It was Ellen.

"Hi..."

"I have had a terrible night, Christian. I have never 
felt so bad. I don't know what has come over me now, I 
really don't. My mind is in a turmoil. There's so many 
conflicting emotions. I don't know what I want. And I 
let you suffer. It's unforgiveable. I wish that 
yesterday evening was just a bad dream. I acted like a 
hussy and a bully. Seems I got some sort of vicious 
adrenaline kick out of bullying you. All the terrible 
things I said - If you knew how ashamed I am! I 
wouldn't blame you for not wanting to talk to me ever 
again. I really hate myself. Maybe I should seek help?

And of course you are right about that summer job. I 
shouldn't take it. And I won't. I will call today and 
tell Eric I have changed my mind. I won't go. Even if 
you decide to end our relationship."

Her voice was little and she sounded like she wanted to 
cry.

"Oh Ellen.. No, no, no. I am the one who should ask you 
for forgiveness! I behaved like a child. Who am I to 
decide where you are going to work? And who you should 
be allowed to work for. I simply should be happy that 
you have gotten a job. And I am. I really am! This is 
our ticket too Greece.

So, of course you should keep the job. Of course I 
trust you. And forget my childish fits of jealousy. I 
am ashamed."

I felt like I crying too.

"You are too good to be true, Christian! But honestly, 
I shouldn't work in that house. It's not a good place 
for me. It feels morally wrong. I am so confused. I 
should stay away from him.."

"Nonsense. You know what's right and wrong better than 
anyone. You start tomorrow like you have agreed on. I 
insist!"

She hesitated, "Christian, you are the finest and most 
generous person I know. But I don't know... I kind of 
scare myself these days. I don't know if I trust 
myself."

She hesitated, "But...of course... I know...Shortly I 
will be the good old Ellen again. I'm sure I will. Yes, 
I will! I guarantee you of that! 

Do you really think I should take the job? Just say the 
word and I will call it off. I can't believe you have 
forgiven me. I really don't deserve this. And I want 
you to know: I love you so much."

When we laid our phones down it almost felt like 
yesterday was a bad dream. Almost...

If Saturday was the worst day of my life, the following 
Sunday was one of my best. We met at 10.00. Thirty 
degrees, full summer. We went to the beach. Normally we 
would talk, laugh, hug. That Sunday was different but 
even better. I thought to myself: "this Sunday lifts 
our relationship to a new - more mature - level." 

Ellen did not say a lot but repeatedly gave me tokens 
of her affection. Kissed my cheek, pinched my neck, 
rumpled my hair, held around my ring finger...And it 
was so good to hear that her giggle was back.

Mr. Olson was not mentioned with a word. Maybe Ellen 
had some sort of fetish about powerful old men? What 
if? Didn't most of us have fantasies that would seem a 
little odd to others? I knew I had a few skeletons in 
the closet myself. Fantasies that I wouldn't like to 
share with anyone. But fantasy is fantasy. Reality is 
reality. And reality was that Ellen loved me - 
Christian. 

I followed her home at 23.00. For once I felt really 
horny.

"Ellen, do you think we could..."

"Not now, Christian. It's late. Your parents will be 
waiting for you."

Yes, of course they would. They accepted my trip to 
Greece. But to let their son spend the night at his 
girlfriends' house a few streets away? Another matter. 
Ellen gave me a light kiss on the mouth. We said good 
night.

The next day was Monday. I turned up at Mr. Olson's 
mansion to pick her up.

"Hi, how are you doing, Ellen?"

"I'm so good!"

Ellen gave me a warm smile. She was finishing her first 
day at work.

"You think the job will be OK?"

She gave me that lovely smile again.

"Yes, Christian. I'm very certain of that."

The house was by far the biggest in our area. It was 
huge. Ellen had told me the interior decoration was 
classy. It was. The interiors reflected Mr. Olson's 
cultural interests, Ellen said. Seemed to be a correct 
observation. 

We were in his library. Who would have expected to find 
all the classics in Eric Olson's library? Ellen was 
convinced that he had read them as well. 

I had to acknowledge that Olson's primitive bully image 
was a simplification.

"When will Mr. Olson be back?"

"Eric's back tomorrow. I will meet him here for further 
instructions. I will also receive keys for the car so 
that I can use his BMW for shopping. And he says I can 
use his gym and his pool anytime I want when he is 
away! See the paintings over there, Christian? They are 
Eric's and they are all from his resort. Must be a 
wonderful place. He uses that place a lot. For business 
and for pleasure. I would have loved to spend time at a 
place like that."

She sounded excited. 

In my nervous state yesterday I might have disliked the 
affectionate way in which she spoke of him. But today I 
was Ellen's generous mature boyfriend and wanted her to 
have a good relationship with her boss. 

"Where is he now?"

"In Germany for business. Tomorrow he also has an 
appointment with Cecilie. They are breaking up. But he 
wants to do it in a decent way. She's his editor at the 
publishing house that's publishing his memoirs. Spoke 
to mom on the phone this morning, by the way. Turns out 
she knows Cecilie from her involvement in feminism. 
Eric's girlfriend... or... ex-girlfriend... is an 
active feminist too. A very smart young woman, mom 
says. You have seen her picture of course. Well, now 
Eric has demanded that an ugly fifty year old spinster 
will be his new editorial contact. There has been far 
to many unprofessional disturbances, he says. Now the 
project needs to be finished!"

Ellen giggled.

"How old is Cecilie?"

She looked at me with a sly smile. "28."

"That's kind of gross."

"Why?" Something in her voice again.

"Never mind."

She gave me an ambiguous look and said, "OK. And 
speaking about his book, have you read the tabloids 
today? Some juicy stuff there I can tell you! Maybe a 
little too juicy to be to your liking... But if you 
want to have a read you are welcome. I will need 
another five minutes to finish the dusting."

She giggled again and pointed to the table. Of course I 
hadn't read them. We never bought those papers.

"These are not exactly papers you buy every day?"

"Nope, Eric called me from Germany today. You don't get 
them there of course and he wanted to read them."

"I see..."

I picked up one. They wrote about the upcoming book. 
Phony tabloid questions like. "New disclosures?" "More 
provocations?" "Who is the real Eric Olson?" There was 
an interview with a well-known and very outspoken 
actress. She was in her thirties. 

Headline: "A wonderful and misunderstood man."

I vaguely remembered that she and Olson had a well-
published affair some years back.

For some reason I felt nervous again.

She talked about Olson's life long fight against 
hypocrisy. Extremely important, she claimed. She also 
gave a review over - and a sort of evaluation of - his 
most famous provocations. She found most of them to be 
intelligent and meaningful.

She was also asked about their love life.

I felt uneasy by now and had started to walk around the 
room while reading the article. Ellen had left the 
room.

"Every woman who has been with Eric Olson has been 
given a life-altering experience. He's got it all. 
There is no one like him."

I felt sick again. I was standing by the book shelf. On 
top of some books my restless gaze discovered an 
envelope. 

I absent-mindedly took it out. It was from a law firm - 
Larson, Lund, Peterson & Ritter. Could it be...? My 
hand was trembling. I opened the envelope. There were 
some papers, probably a legal agreement. And some 30 
photos. I took them out.

They were remarkably sharp. The first one showed Mr. 
Olson and Cecilie sitting on some kind of sofa on a 
patio. She wore shorts and a sun top. He wore shorts 
only. She had lifted her bare legs across his thighs. 
She was kissing him hotly.

In the second picture they were on their feet. They 
were in close embrace, mouths locked in a deep kiss. 
Their right hands were at the inside of each others 
shorts, exploring the other's bottom.

The third picture caused me to make a strange sound. 
"Omphhh...." Like when someone punches you in the 
stomach.

Their clothes were now all off. They were still 
standing close together. His body was lean but very 
muscular. His arms looked out of proportion with the 
rest of his torso. His mat of grey and dark chest hairs 
went all the way down to his scrotum. 

Cecilie was a knockout. Large breasts, well-toned body, 
lovely face, fairly short blonde hair.

He was almost a head shorter than her. His left hand 
was behind her head. He had pressed it down so that her 
mouth could meet his. He held the back of her head so 
roughly that his biceps made a considerable bulge. His 
kiss radiated so much sexual aggression! It reminded me 
of a picture I saw of a small stout attacking a large 
capercaillie hen. The stout had just jumped up to meet 
her neck. A couple of Olson's right hand fingers were 
inside her genitals.

Cecilie's left hand seemed to tug hard at Olson's 
abundant chest hairs.

Her right was encircling his member at the base. Except 
that my usual naming of the male organ seemed 
meaningless. What Olson possessed was without any doubt 
a COCK. She wasn't close to getting her fingers around 
it. She would have needed another two of her small 
hands to cover its entire length. It was enormous, 
ending in a perfect-looking really huge half-dome, It 
looked steel hard. His cock was probably 2 1/2 times 
the length of my own member. Below hung a pair of 
nectarinesized testicles. His scrotum hung extremely 
low. The long and plentiful hairs that covered it made 
his ballsack look shaggy.

I stupidly wondered: how come this abundance of hairs 
in his crotch? The other old men I had seen naked had 
almost nothing left down there.

The next pictures showed Cecilie worshipping Olson's 
Kong sized dick. She was kissing, sucking and licking 
his awe-inspiring cock and balls. She looked like she 
was in a trance. She had stopped holding it. His cock 
needed no support, the old man's sex cannon pointed 
straight upward, reaching way past his navel. She used 
her tongue and lips only, trying desperately to 
accommodate this master loin, cheeks puffing. She 
seemed to be particularly set on stimulating him by 
teasing his pee-hole, two pictures showed her tonguing 
the top of his bulbous mushroom-like cockhead. His face 
showed his wantonness and how much he enjoyed the 
treatment he was given. In one of the pictures he had 
turned his back to her, bending slightly forward. She 
was fondling his huge boner from under his bum, her 
tongue deep inside his incredibly hairy ass cheeks.

In the rest of the pictures Olson was in charge. He had 
penetrated his girlfriend as deep as her body allowed 
him. How could she take all that man-meat? But, again, 
my use of words makes no sense. He was FUCKING her. 
Indeed he was. He was fucking her the way an 
exceptionally virile man fucks a woman. There were some 
16-18 pictures of them copulating, many of them 
conveyed the violent energy of their mating. In almost 
all of them he was riding her from behind. In a few of 
them Cecilie seemed to have - or to recover from - an 
orgasm.

Because of their size differential he didn't cover her 
enough to hide her voluptuous body. 

It reminded me of an experienced jockey using the 
strength of his small frame and his huge cock to tame a 
bucking young filly. 

One of the pictures showed him riding her while pulling 
her head roughly backwards by the hair.

In another he was grinding her head violently to the 
ground, her beautiful face twisted in pain while he 
took her from the rear.

His favourite position seemed to be to squat behind 
her, pounding her with tremendous force with his 
massive cock. 

In a couple of pictures she was kneeling towards the 
back of an armchair on the patio. The chair was against 
the wall. Olson was acrobatically squatting on the 
armrest, his cock deep inside her pussy. I felt I could 
almost hear the sound of his hairy bull-sized balls 
slapping against her bum...

In the next few pictures he had taken his cock out of 
her pussy. They were on the ground. She was on her back 
and he had lowered his crotch to her face, facing her 
feet. He had pulled her flexible body so far back that 
her toes almost touched the ground. They were greedily 
eating each others private parts.

In another picture he was holding her upside down. She 
was eating his monster, his face between her buttocks, 
eating her pussy, or maybe her ass.

I admit that I found this sequence of pictures - 
Cecillie and Olson randily eating each other's 
unmentionable body parts - even more arousing than the 
pictures of him fucking her.

In the last pictures they had moved to the sofa. She 
was on all fours. He still rode her from behind. He 
supported his body on his left knee. His right foot was 
placed against the end of the sofa, where her head also 
was. In one picture she seemed to have the big toe of 
his disproportionally large foot in her mouth.

Their passion-distorted faces looked almost scary. His 
colossal manhood looked like it was covered in froth.

In the two last pictures Olson had finished with his 
woman. The second last must have gone off right after 
he had emptied himself inside her. She was on her 
stomach, in the sofa. He was resting on her back, his 
mighty penis still deep inside. She looked like she was 
unconscious. His face still radiating intense pleasure.

In the very last picture the two of them were entwined 
on the sofa, cuddling. She was facing the camera. She 
seemed to be caressing his ear lobe with her left hand 
while his hairy calf got some loving touch from the 
toes on her left foot. Her satisfaction must have been 
complete, she looks at her man with the glazed, adoring 
look of a woman helplessly in love.

I was trembling like a leaf. Was this man for real? 
What a freak of nature he was! What a MAN this little 
old bastard was! The photos of him sexually dominating 
this young beauty, a declared feminist, was the most 
exciting thing I had seen in my life. And she had loved 
every second of his raw fucking...

The pictures had made me so humiliatingly aroused that 
my own penis was straining like never before against my 
fly. I knew that the slightest touch would make me 
come. The thought of this old guy and his fabulously 
superior cock. The thought of my own puny peepee. The 
thought of his ability to please and control a woman 
like no other man could. 

I also knew this: the sight of this old wonder-stud's 
erection was profoundly mortifying, I knew then and 
there that my life now would be forever changed.

I had never met this guy, but the emotions he brought 
upon me made my whole body shiver. I felt disgust, I 
felt awe, I felt envy, I felt fear, I felt randiness - 
I felt burning, painful jealousy. 

This last six months this old guy and his masculine 
excess had invaded my fantasies and then my real life. 
I so badly wanted to stop him.

Or did I? Did I really want to?

"Is anything the matter?"

Ellen had come up at my side and put her hand on my 
shoulder. She was ready to go. I did an awkward attempt 
to put the photos back in the envelope. She must have 
felt my nervousness and excitement.

"What are you looking at? Where did you find this? Why 
are you reading Eric's private correspondence?"

She had raised her voice again, annoyed. She had taken 
the envelope from me. She took the photos out again. 
They were still in the same order. I heard her draw her 
breath. Deeply. 

We stood silent all the time it took her to finish 
looking at the pictures. And she really took her time. 

When she saw the first picture that showed Mr. Olson in 
all his aroused old man glory, Ellen gave a soft little 
whimper. 

The succeeding - and very expressive - proofs of Mr. 
Olson's overwhelming manliness also seemed to be very 
much to Ellen's liking. She did no attempt to hide the 
fact that this evidence of the old man's exceptional 
sexual prowess made her horny. Her nostrils seemed to 
flare. Her breath was ragged. She gave small sighs. She 
was fingering her hair all the time. A couple of times 
her hand was between her legs.

When she was done she put the envelope back in the 
shelf.

She looked into the air for a long moment. Her eyes 
half-shut. Eventually she turned her face to lock eyes 
with me. She had the most peculiar look. It was a look 
of great pity. She had a tear in the corner of her eye. 
She patted me on the cheek. Over and over. She said, 
looking me deep in the eyes:

"Oh my God, Christian." Then she whispered it again, 
like underlining every word: "Oh... My... God..."

Without uttering another sound we left the house.

***

Our story does not end here. If people want to read 
more, I will finish the story.

Comments to petthara@hotmail.com.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world 
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per 
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 64