intellectualizing a little too far...” she said. Paused.
And leaned over and kissed me on the lips. My mouth was caught closed. Her mouth was open. She opened my lips with hers and jammed her tongue into my mouth, moved it around powerfully, almost athletically. Our tongues met for a moment, disputed the territory. Our lips parted. We looked into each other’s eyes.
It had been a very clumsy kiss, but coming from this girl at this time, in this situation, I appreciated it for the brave and magnificent gesture it was, and in the brief moment when our lips parted, I loved her for it.
“Arlene Cooper,” I said, “there’s a woman inside you.”
She smiled a sweet little girl smile, took off her glasses, and placed them on the table. Somehow, in context, it was a terrifically sexy thing to do, turned me on better than a fullscale strip.
We reached for each other, our lips met, and again her tongue forced itself into my mouth, huge and stiff and awkward. I forced it back with my own; she resisted for a moment, then understood. All at once, her mouth went nice and woman-soft, and her lips welcomed my tongue in, and my arms were tight around her, and her hands moved slightly over my back. I ran a hand over her breasts: full and sighing but constricted by her brassiere. I caressed her tongue with mine and stroked her outer thigh. She was wearing a girdle. She moved liquidly against me, moaned softly into my mouth. I pulled my lips slowly from hers and the kiss ended with the tips of our tongues touching outside our mouths.
We faced each other inches apart. Her green eyes had gone soft. I had gone hard. Electricity at last in the air between us. She smiled shyly. I smiled back, squeezed her hands.
“We could go into the bedroom...” I suggested softly.
She looked down, squeezed my hands back and, without looking at me, nodded yes.
“I’ve got a ten o’clock class tomorrow,” she said as we stood before the bed. “Could you set the alarm for 8:30....”
A mood-breaker, but necessary, I suppose. “I’ve got to be at work by nine,” I said. “It’s already set for eight, okay?”
She nodded, reached to turn out the light on the night table. I grabbed her hand before she could reach the switch. Our eyes met in argument. I won.
I pulled back the covers and sat down on the bed. She turned her back on me and kicked off her shoes. I took off my shoes and socks. Still with her back to me, she unbuttoned her blouse, took it off, and tossed it over her shoulder onto the night table. Her brassiere was white and faded and cut deep into the pale flesh of her back. I took off my shirt and undershirt and threw them over her blouse. She undid her skirt, stepped through it and put it on the night table. I took off my pants and sat on the bed in my shorts digging her as she detached the tops of here stockings from her girdle and rolled them off her legs functionally and unsensually. She unhooked her bra, took it off. I could see the red marks across her back. I took off my shorts and enjoyed my nakedness as she struggled out of her girdle. More red welts above her soft, full ass.
She paused, then turned, and I saw her nakedness for a moment: heavy full breasts with pale pink nipples, the slightest concavity to her belly, smooth firm thighs, whispy red pubic hair, an uptight smile as she looked at my body stretched out on the bed, a tremor in her lower lip as her eyes passed briefly across my hard-on.
Then she threw herself on top of me, flipped off the light, tangled my hair in her hands and whispered with a forced throatiness: “Let’s fuck!”
In the darkness, I felt her body moving on mine in jerky, exaggerated rhythms. She kissed me, started to push her tongue inside my mouth—I clamped my arms around her, rolled her over and beneath me, pulled my mouth away from hers and flicked my tongue inside her ear. I felt her shudder.
Quickly, I began stroking the inside of her thighs with one hand, kissed her and
And leaned over and kissed me on the lips. My mouth was caught closed. Her mouth was open. She opened my lips with hers and jammed her tongue into my mouth, moved it around powerfully, almost athletically. Our tongues met for a moment, disputed the territory. Our lips parted. We looked into each other’s eyes.
It had been a very clumsy kiss, but coming from this girl at this time, in this situation, I appreciated it for the brave and magnificent gesture it was, and in the brief moment when our lips parted, I loved her for it.
“Arlene Cooper,” I said, “there’s a woman inside you.”
She smiled a sweet little girl smile, took off her glasses, and placed them on the table. Somehow, in context, it was a terrifically sexy thing to do, turned me on better than a fullscale strip.
We reached for each other, our lips met, and again her tongue forced itself into my mouth, huge and stiff and awkward. I forced it back with my own; she resisted for a moment, then understood. All at once, her mouth went nice and woman-soft, and her lips welcomed my tongue in, and my arms were tight around her, and her hands moved slightly over my back. I ran a hand over her breasts: full and sighing but constricted by her brassiere. I caressed her tongue with mine and stroked her outer thigh. She was wearing a girdle. She moved liquidly against me, moaned softly into my mouth. I pulled my lips slowly from hers and the kiss ended with the tips of our tongues touching outside our mouths.
We faced each other inches apart. Her green eyes had gone soft. I had gone hard. Electricity at last in the air between us. She smiled shyly. I smiled back, squeezed her hands.
“We could go into the bedroom...” I suggested softly.
She looked down, squeezed my hands back and, without looking at me, nodded yes.
“I’ve got a ten o’clock class tomorrow,” she said as we stood before the bed. “Could you set the alarm for 8:30....”
A mood-breaker, but necessary, I suppose. “I’ve got to be at work by nine,” I said. “It’s already set for eight, okay?”
She nodded, reached to turn out the light on the night table. I grabbed her hand before she could reach the switch. Our eyes met in argument. I won.
I pulled back the covers and sat down on the bed. She turned her back on me and kicked off her shoes. I took off my shoes and socks. Still with her back to me, she unbuttoned her blouse, took it off, and tossed it over her shoulder onto the night table. Her brassiere was white and faded and cut deep into the pale flesh of her back. I took off my shirt and undershirt and threw them over her blouse. She undid her skirt, stepped through it and put it on the night table. I took off my pants and sat on the bed in my shorts digging her as she detached the tops of here stockings from her girdle and rolled them off her legs functionally and unsensually. She unhooked her bra, took it off. I could see the red marks across her back. I took off my shorts and enjoyed my nakedness as she struggled out of her girdle. More red welts above her soft, full ass.
She paused, then turned, and I saw her nakedness for a moment: heavy full breasts with pale pink nipples, the slightest concavity to her belly, smooth firm thighs, whispy red pubic hair, an uptight smile as she looked at my body stretched out on the bed, a tremor in her lower lip as her eyes passed briefly across my hard-on.
Then she threw herself on top of me, flipped off the light, tangled my hair in her hands and whispered with a forced throatiness: “Let’s fuck!”
In the darkness, I felt her body moving on mine in jerky, exaggerated rhythms. She kissed me, started to push her tongue inside my mouth—I clamped my arms around her, rolled her over and beneath me, pulled my mouth away from hers and flicked my tongue inside her ear. I felt her shudder.
Quickly, I began stroking the inside of her thighs with one hand, kissed her and
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