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LoveThe Taste, The Smell Of It

10/4/2009

It was winter, near the beginning of a new semester, and
Julie Lindsey loved both cold weather and new semesters.
Cold weather meant cuddling, and she loved to cuddle. As
a literature professor, she had a fondness not only for
cuddling with a man, or occasionally with a woman, she loved
curling up with a good book or writing erotic stories on
her laptop.


Although she loved cuddling, Julie wasn't a person
who jumped into bed with just anyone. She loved being single
since getting out of an unsatisfying marriage when she
was in her early forties. From that time, she had explored
and indulged her fantasies with both men and women, but
was choosy and discreet ‒ not secretive, but discreet.



The other thing she loved was new semesters. It was nice
to know that the past semester was over and buried, no more
keeping up with each student's grades and having to
decide whether to pass or fail, give an A, B, or C for those
folks on the borderline. She especially disliked graduate
students coming to her office at the end of a semester, whining
about needing a B in the course. She usually told them that
she didn't give grades; students earned them.


Today was the beginning of the third week of the semester,
and she was heading to her first class for the day. The air
tasted crisp as she sucked it into her lungs, expanding
her chest. She grinned, thinking about another faculty
member, a religious nut, upbraiding her for doing that
very thing, telling her that she was showing off her breasts
by doing so.


Julie knew she had nice breasts and in fact felt very comfortable
with her body. She had been told that her air of being at ease
with herself was one of the things that made her sexually
attractive. And she knew she was; she enjoyed the glances,
sometimes appreciative, sometimes lustful, from both
faculty members and students.


As she walked across campus toward the Liberal Arts building,
Julie pictured herself standing in front of the mirror
after showering that morning. She had turned around, examining
her nude body, front, back, and sides. Looking back at her
was an older ‒ she preferred the word mature ‒ woman, a woman
who was neither tall nor short, neither skinny nor heavy.
She knew she looked good to be in her fifties. Her breasts
were not as firm as they had been when she was twenty, but
she had been told that there was a sensuousness about them
that rivaled or surpassed those of many younger women.
The woman looking back at her had graying hair, something
she was proud of. She refused to color her hair, thinking
that it would be a sign that she was unhappy with who she was.



As Julie entered the building, nodding and smiling at people
around her, she realized she needed to pee before going
to class. She hurried to her office to lay the book she was
carrying on her desk before heading to the restroom, leaving
her door open. When she returned, she noticed an envelope
lying on the book. Opening it, she found a sheet of paper
inside with the words:


She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies;


"George Gordon, more commonly known as Lord Byron."
Julie thought, smiling her herself. Then she began to wonder
who had put it there. She thought about looking out the door,
but realized that the person was likely long gone. She tried
to remember, with no success who she had seen in the hall
when she was leaving and entering her office. Dropping
the paper into one of her desk drawers, she soon dismissed
the question and left for her class, this time locking her
door.


It was Monday, and her first class went well. Lots of discussion.
At one point, Julie caught herself looking over the class,
wondering if one of them had left the note, but quickly dismissed
the question and concentrated on her teaching.


The rest of Julie's week was uneventful and by the next
Monday, she had all but put the question of the source of
the note to rest. Perhaps just a prank. But then, as she opened
her office door in the morning, there was another envelope
on the floor. The sheet inside contained the words:


Had I the heavens embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.


Yeats. She recognized the poem immediately. Very nice
to receive such poems, Julie thought, but from whom? Faculty
member or student? She dropped the sheet in the drawer with
the second one.


The question lingered in her mind during the entire week
and when she found no envelope on her office floor the next
Monday, she felt both relieved and disappointed ‒ until
she arrived back at her car in the evening to find one under
her windshield wiper.


The envelope was damp and it had misted briefly that morning,
leading Julie to think that it had been left shortly after
she had gotten to school. She waited till she got into her
car before opening the envelope and reading:


See the chariot at hand here of Love, Wherein my lady rideth! Each that draws is a swan or a dove, And well the car Love guideth. And as she goes, all hearts do duty Unto her beauty;


Julie recognized the words but couldn't place the
author. Going immediately back into her office, she opened
the ladder to reach the upper shelves of the built-in bookcase.
The language gave her a clue and in about five minutes, she
held a collection of Ben Jonson's works in which she
found her newest poem.


She sat contemplating for a few moments. Was it an admirer?
Someone courting her or too shy to approach her? Was it a
stalker? The thought set shivers through her, and then
she dismissed it. Not a stalker; not with that choice of
poems. But who? A student in one of her classes? The new,
playful professor who was about her age? She grinned, picturing
herself having sex with him, as she intended to one day.
As she thought, she slid one of her hands between her legs,
inside her panties, playing lightly at first, then faster.
The office door was locked, and she felt safe, but knew she
would have to muffle her sounds when she came ‒ and she soon
did, her body stiffening, arching.


When she had finished cuming, Julie wiped her fingers on
a tissue as she looked around her office. She loved it almost
as much as she loved her home. The Liberal Arts building
was older ‒ new buildings on campus seemed reserved for
athletics and hard sciences. The school had offered to
remodel her office when they refurbished the rest of the
building, but she refused. She loved the high ceiling with
a ceiling fan, the oak trim, the built-in oak cabinets with
book shelves on top of them reaching to the ceiling. She
had settled instead for a ladder to reach the top shelves
of the bookcases.


The next Monday, there was an envelope in her faculty mail
slot. It had evidently been dropped in the campus mail the
Friday before. Another poem:


Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove, That valleys, groves, hills and fields, Woods or steepy mountains yields.


Julie smiled. Christopher Marlowe ‒ one of her favorite
authors. The poem kept a smile on her face all day as she bounced
lightly from one place to another. She decided she was being
courted ‒ willed herself to believe that because she enjoyed
the feeling of romance.


As the semester progressed, Julie found herself thinking
more about the identity of her possible suitor, both at
home and in her office, fantasizing about one possibility
then another. Was it the graduate student with jet black
hair whose eyes, she had noticed, frequently settled on
her breasts? The graduate assistant who worked for one
of her male colleagues? The red headed female librarian
whom she knew preferred other women?


Julie's mind turned to the new assistant coach that
the women referred to as "The Hunk?" No, she
giggled at the thought, not him. Not with the poems. Anything
sent by him would more likely start with "There was
a young lady from . . . ."


As she moved through the semester, receiving poems one
way or another every Monday: Shakespeare, Elizabeth Barrett
Browning, Robert Browning, and others, she found herself
not only thinking and fantasizing, but masturbating more
‒ every evening in her home and not infrequently in the daytime
in her office with the door shut and locked. She grinned
one day as she thought that her office tissue expense was
going up, wiping her juices from her fingers. Perhaps she
would have to begin sucking them instead.


As the end of the semester approached, Julie was no nearer
to discovering the identity of her suitor ‒ at least that's
what she preferred to think of the person as. It was not that
she hadn't tired, but that she hadn't been successful.
And then things took a turn.


Monday, three weeks before semester's end came the
deadline for students to hand in term papers. They could
either hand them in during class, or give them to her during
her office hours. Since it was the last day, Julie made it a point to be in her
office when she wasn't in class ‒ until she felt the
strong desire for a cup of coffee. She left the door open
just in case as she headed for the teachers' lounge.
When she arrived, she found that the pot contained only
stale lukewarm liquid. Sighing, she turned and headed
back to her office, deciding to wait until she got home.



As Julie reached her hall, she noticed someone just turning
the corner at the other end and recognized Joe, a student
in her first Monday morning class. He must have turned in
his term paper, she thought. But as she entered her office,
Julie realized that Joe had handed her his term paper two
weeks ago ‒ he had been one of the first to do so.


Quickly, Julie scanned her office, looking for an envelope,
but saw none. Next, she moved to the term paper folders stacked
neatly on a table near her desk. The top paper was the same
one that had been there when she left her office, but there
was something about the stack. It was not as neat as she had
left it ‒ something had been moved. Her hands trembled with
the anticipation of possible discovery as she looked through
the stack, until she found one folder that was much too thin.
Opening it, she read:


I ne're was struck before that hour With love so sudden and so sweet. Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower And stole my heart away complete.


Below the verse, centered on the page were the words, "I
Love You."


Clutching the folder, Julie sat, stunned. Joe was her secret
admirer. In one way, it made sense. Joe was both bright and
knowledgeable, one of her best students. If she had thought
about it, she would have realized that he was one of the few
students with the breadth to be familiar with the poems
she had received.


But she was still surprised. Joe was a senior who would graduate
at the end of the semester, and although he was bold during
class discussions, seeming to have good self esteem when
it came to academics, he was very shy otherwise. Julie had
felt for him when she saw him blush when a female student
addressed him after class one day.


As Julie contemplated the situation, she realized that
she had to do something. She also wanted to be gentle as he
was a good student and she didn't want to hurt his feelings.
Making up her mind, she picked up the telephone and called
the Registrar's office to find out more about her young,
secret admirer.


At five o'clock, Julie left her office and headed for
the cafeteria, having found out that Joe fulfilled part
of his work-study program there. She went through the serving
line, paying at the end, and all the while looking around
for Joe. It wasn't until she was almost finished eating
that she finally discovered him in the window where trays
and dishes were taken. He was one of the dishwashers.


Julie waited until no one was at the window before taking
her tray. As she pushed her tray though the opening, she
said, "Hello, Joe, " watching his look of surprise
turn to embarrassment.


He nodded and mumbled something and Julie continued. "I
need to see you at nine o'clock tomorrow morning in
my office, Joe. I checked and you don't have any classes
in the morning."


"Yes, Ma'am." Joe replied softly, then
looked down at the dishes in front of him.


The next morning was warm, and Julie dressed as she usually
did on warm, spring days. She wore a half bra that accentuated
her cleavage and a blouse that fit snugly. It wasn't
especially designed to be sexy, but on her body, it was.
Her skirt wasn't short, but came about three inches
above her knee. No pantyhose ‒ she hated pantyhose, except
in the winter when they helped keep her warm.


Panties? Panties were a choice. When she wore longer skirts,
she sometimes wore no panties, enjoying the stimulating
feel of air on her pussy (she loved the word, "pussy"
‒ loved saying and hearing it.) But with this skirt, she
chose to wear panties, because if she sat the wrong way .
. . .


Arriving at her office, Julie remembered the poem of the
day before. It was not familiar to her and she sat at the computer,
typing in the first line. The name, John Clare came up. John
Clare. She had something with his stuff in it, somewhere.



After looking on the lower shelves, Julie moved to the higher
ones, finally opening the ladder. There, on the very top
shelf was the book she was looking for. As she reached for
it, she heard a knock on the door and without turning, responded,
"Come in."


"Yes, Ma'am." Joe's shy voice respond.



As Julie turned to look down at the young man, her hand inadvertently
knocked a book off the top shelf. The book hit the built-in
cabinet below and bounced onto the floor at the foot of the
ladder.


"Will you get that for me, Joe?"


Julie took the book with the John Clare poem off the shelf
and waited for Joe to hand her the book from the floor. She
had heard him move and knew he was at the bottom of the ladder,
but when she looked down, she saw his upturned face and could
tell that his were eyes riveted on her legs and panties.
The thought flashed through her mind that it was a good thing
she had chosen to wear panties. She grinned to herself,
thinking about the thrill the young man would have had if
she had not.


"Joe?" Julie said softly, not wanting to embarrass
him, but she did. Joe's face turned red as he quickly
rose and handed her the book.


"I'm . . . I'm . . ." Joe began to stutter
until Julie cut him off.


"That's all right. Have a seat."


As Joe moved to a chair, Julie climbed off the ladder, book
in hand. She noticed the bulge in the front of his pants,
even though he tried to hold his hands in ways to hide it.



Moving to her desk, Julie removed a folder from a drawer
and sat in a chair in front of Joe. Opening the folder, Julie
began to read one poem at a time, except for the last one.
With each poem, she glanced up and each time say his eyes
moving from her cleavage to her lips and back again.


"Would you read the last one, Joe?" Julie handed
him the folder.


Joe cleared his throat and in a firm voice, read the verse,
but stopped there.


"That's not everything on the page, Joe."
Julie said when he finished.


"Please . . ." Joe started, then stopped, breathing
hard now. "I . . ."


Julie rose, intending to take the folder from Joe's
hands to read the words herself, but as she approached him,
her shoe caught and she fell forward. Reflex took over for
both herself and Joe, who put his hands up to catch her.


At the same moment, both realized that Joe's right
hand was cupping one of Julie's breasts while her hand
was resting on his upper thigh, almost touching his balls.
Both were frozen for a moment ‒ until Julie heard Joe's
voice making a sound somewhere between a grunt and a high
pitched whimper. She felt his leg jerk under her hand.


Their eyes met as Julie blurted out: "Did you just
. . ."


Her words trailed off because she knew it was a foolish question.
His expression of sheer horror told her that Joe had just
climaxed.





*





His Beginning








Joe had grown up in a religious, fundamentalist home. His
father was a minister and his mother a stay at home wife ‒
except that she had been so busy with "volunteer"
church work that she had seldom had time for him, except
to embarrass him when he did something she didn't approve
of.


He vividly remembered some of those things ‒ like the time
he found a men's magazine on the side of a road ‒ dirty
and wrinkled, but it had pictures of naked women; he remembered
his cock getting very stiff when he got home and looked it
the pictures in his bedroom, and when he touched his cock,
it had shot out creamy stuff. He remembered the wonderful
feeling, but he especially remembered his Mom finding
the magazine under his mattress and putting it on his breakfast
plate one morning. And worse, they had told the entire congregation
what had happened, and how fearful they were of his soul
being lost. He had wanted to die at that moment, and girls
in the church had laughed at him after that.


From that time, Joe had become socially withdrawn. He never
got the courage to ask a girl for a date. On a couple of occasions,
his parents, fearing that he might be gay, had asked a girl
to go out with him and taken them out on a "date, "
but that had been even more embarrassing.


Joe was "home schooled, " meaning that his
parents didn't let him go to public school, fearing
he would be corrupted. But they had provided no guidance
in his studies; had no time for such things, and so Joe did
it on his own.


If there was one thing Joe was thankful for, it was books.
He discovered the public library and while his parents
were doing church work, he frequently sneaked out of the
house to go there. He had read voraciously and learned to
think on his own. He didn't buy his parent's religious
"crap" ‒ at least that's what he thought
of it, but he paid lip service, not wanting to be sent away
somewhere. He had also realized that he was saddled with
a great deal of guilt surrounding his sexual thoughts.



Until Joe discovered the computer at the library when he
was sixteen, his knowledge about sex came from memories
about the magazine he had found and from the hole he had made
in the wall that separated his closet from the bathroom.
The hole was near the bathtub faucets and when he was in his
closet with the door closed, he could watch his older sister
lying naked in the bathtub or showering. He was always fearful
when he did so, knowing that if his parents ever discovered
the hole.


But in spite of his fear, Joe kept watching, fantasizing
and masturbating. In fact, Joe frequently masturbated
several times a day. As with many repressed boys, Joe's
sexual fantasies frequently focused on having sex with
his mother or sisters, after which, he would feel guilty.



When it came time for college, his parents had taken him
to a very conservative religious school where he had attended
for two years. In classes, Joe felt competent. His reading
had taught him to think for himself and had put him far above
many of the other students, and even above some of the instructors
who seemed to fear thinking.


Before long, Joe had gotten a reputation for being disruptive
in class, meaning he spoke his mind, and by the end of two
years, he was banned from many of the instructors'
classes for disagreeing with them. His lack of willingness
to parrot back on tests what he was told resulted in some
failed classes and he was asked to not return for his junior
year.


It was with much begging and pleading that Joe convinced
his parents to let him attend the public university. They
had refused, however, to pay for most of his expenses and
so he continued to live at home and deferred expenses by
involvement in the school's work study program.


All his time in school, Joe never asked a girl out. When he
found one he liked, he would find a place to fantasize about
her and masturbate. This had worked until the last semester
of his senior year. That was when he walked into Dr. Lindsey's
literature class, and everything changed.


The first class period ‒ the first time she entered the class
room, he was completely under her spell. Her body, her voice,
her intelligence ‒ literally everything about her turned
him on. He sat through the entire two and a half hours with
a throbbing erection, not getting out of his seat during
the break because he knew everyone would see. At the end
of the class, he had hurried, books in front of him, to a restroom,
where he waited in a stall until everyone left and jacked
off, cuming almost immediately, erupting like a volcano,
again and again. He always shot out a lot of liquid, but this
time there was much more ‒ much more.


That entire week, Joe fantasized about Dr. Lindsey daily
and masturbated ‒ sometimes several times a day.


Next Monday had been worse, if that was possible. He watched
her legs move, imagining what she would look like without
a blouse and skirt, fantasizing being naked with her. He
almost came sitting in his chair and had to pull him mind
away, pull it back to the material at hand. He began thinking
about the class material and making comments, feeling
like a loved puppy dog when Dr. Lindsey noticed him and complimented
him on his knowledge of literature. No sooner was he out
of class than he masturbated again ‒ this time his cock stayed
hard and he came twice.


The second week of the semester, Joe decided what he would
do. He would give her poetry to tell her how wonderful she
was ‒ nothing "dirty, " just love poetry. The
next Monday morning, Joe had watched until Dr. Lindsey
left her office and had quickly left an envelope on her desk;
the first poem. Then he had hurried quickly to class to await
his love.


Joe was under no illusions. He had read enough to realize
that part of his infatuation with the older woman had something
to do with his sexual fantasies of his mother. But there
was something more ‒ something about her, no, many things
about her. She could have told him to do anything, and he
would gladly have done it ‒ anything.


It was with disappointment that Joe contemplated the nearing
end of the semester. The final class day would like be the
end of his time with the wonderfully sensuous woman, and
besides, he had little idea what he would do after graduation.
He might look for a job or perhaps a place as a graduate assistant
and go to graduate school, but either way, he was doing to
lose something important ‒ Dr. Lindsey.


The third to the last week, Joe had decided to make his boldest
move. He could not talk to his goddess ‒ yes, that was the
closest thing he could come to ‒ but he wanted to tell her
outright of his love for her. And so, following the verse,
he had written three words to convey his entire heart, soul,
and mind. "I Love You." After writing the note,
he had barely touched his penis, and had cum.


Then, the hammer fell, so to speak. Dr. Lindsey had seen
him in the cafeteria and told him to be in her office the next
morning.


He had arrived at her office at the designated time and entered
at her invitation. What he saw was totally unexpected ‒
his love on a the top step of a ladder, bending over slightly
to reach a book. He could see halfway up her thigh. And then,
unbelievably, he was invited to look all the way up her skirt
‒ or so it seemed. When he bent to pick up the book, he could
look up and see her panties ‒ white. His breath caught and
he couldn't get up. He could feel his cock throbbing
and had to will it to not erupt at that moment.


Than she had been sitting across from him and he could see
her cleavage. He fantasized about kissing first one, then
the other, going back and forth until . . . . Her voice interrupted
his thoughts as she began to read the poetry. Her voice saying
the words was magical, electrifying, sexual. Then she
handed him the folder, telling him to read the last poem,
which he did. But he was too embarrassed to read the last
three words, fearing she would laugh at him, humiliate
him.


The next thing he knew, her breast was in his hand and her
hand was on his thigh, only a few inches from his throbbing
cock. And that was all it took.


Joe felt the jolt beginning in his cock and flashing up through
his entire body. Then, he looked into Dr. Lindsey's
eyes, and for the second time in his life, wanted most of
all to just die.





*








Their Beginning








Stepping back quickly, Julie's eyes moved to Joe's
lap and the growing wet spot. She was amazed not only by the
obvious quantity of sperm, but mostly by the ease with which
he had cum. She knew immediately that he was horribly embarrassed.
She remembered a boy when she was a teenager who had cum when
she first touched his cock, and his embarrassment. He had
taken her home immediately and had never spoken to her after
that. And this was worse. She had not even touched Joe's
cock.


Joe started to rise, croaking hoarsely, "I've
gotta go!"


"Not like that, Joe." Julie's voice was
kind as she put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him down gently.
"You don't want to leave here like that."



Joe looked into her eyes and heard her say, "It's
all right, Joe." And she smiled at him.


Joe sat again and Julie handed him a box of tissues from her
desk. As she did so, she remembered that this was the box
she had used to wipe her own juices from her fingers after
masturbating to her fantasies with the poems Joe had left.



Joe stared at the box until Julie's voice broke the
silence again. "Unzip your pants and wipe yourself
off. It won't bother me; I've seen cocks before.
But if you wish, I can turn around."


Joe shook his head and unzipped his pants. There was something
erotic, exciting about his love seeing his cock, seeing
him with cum from his cock. He wanted her to see it, wanted
to show it to her.


Julie watched with some interest as Joe opened his fly,
revealing loads of gooey cum.


"Take your pants and under shorts off and wipe yourself."
She directed him, watching as took off his shoes, then pushed
his pants down over his legs and off, following with his
under shorts. He was still rigid and Julie knew it would
take nothing more than a touch, or perhaps words to have
him cuming again. She watched as he wiped with a handful
of tissues, then again with another. She moved the wastebasket
in front of him as he continued until all the cum was soaked
up and wiped away.


Julie watched, fascinated and not a little aroused. It
was a great turn-on to realize that she had made a man climax
with merely touching his trouser covered leg.


"May I touch it?" Julie was shocked as she realized
that it was her voice.


Joe nodded silently, not believing this was happening,
and as Julie grasped his cock in her hand and stroked it once,
twice, he came again, this time covering her hand and the
front of his shirt.


Julie thought about tasting Joe's cum, knowing certainly
that he was a virgin and would not have any kind of STD, but
decided against it. She knew she had already gone too far.
Joe's first climax had been accidental, but after
that she had touched him, an ethical breach between a teacher
and student. She wiped cum from her hand and from Joe's
shirt as she apologized.


"I'm sorry, Joe. I was completely out of line.
I should not have touched you."


"No. No." Joe blurted out. "I liked it.
Thank you. I've never had my dick touched by a woman
before."


Julie wasn't surprised, but heard herself saying,
"Never?"


"I've never even had a date." Joe blushed
as he confessed, looking down at the floor.


"Why not?" Julie asked. "You're
good looking and intelligent. Girls would be happy to go
out with you. Have you ever asked?"


"No Ma'am." Joe looked embarrassed.


Taking a water bottle out of her desk drawer, along with
a hair dryer, Julie instructed Joe. "Use the water
to get the cum out of your pants and then dry them. And let's
talk."


As Joe sat nude from the waist down, working on his clothes,
they talked, mostly Julie asking questions and Joe telling
her about his childhood. He didn't tell her about watching
his sister or his sexual fantasies about his mom, but she
guessed and kept it to herself.


After Joe and dressed and left, Julie thought about the
incident. It had been very erotic and it became even more
so as it played through her mind again. Since she had no classes
that day, she closed her door and pleasured herself ‒ cuming
twice using a vibrator she kept in her locked desk drawer.



For the next two weeks, Julie and Joe saw each other in class
and on campus. They spoke briefly in passing and neither
mentioned the incident in Julie's office. After each
meeting, Joe would find a place to masturbate, and masturbate
again sometime during the day or night, fantasizing about
Julie.


As for Julie, the end of the semester was very rushed and
she had no time to masturbate in her office. She did, however,
find time at home in the evenings to fantasize and relieve
herself. She wasn't sure what was going on with her, but realized
that there was something about Joe, something sexual ‒
then it hit her.


She was a teacher, and a damn good one. And Joe was in dire
need of being taught. He had learned a lot from books, but
there was much more he needed to learn. Should she? She wondered,
going first one way then the other.


By the day before graduation, Julie had made up her mind.
She found Joe at graduation rehearsal and waited until
it was finished. Approaching him casually, she asked.



"What are you going to do to celebrate graduation,
Joe?"


"Uh . . nothing, I guess." He was clearly embarrassed
to be standing in front of her.


"I thought about having a private party at my house
on Friday night after graduation. Why don't you come
over to celebrate?"


"A private party?" Joe looked both excited
and apprehensive. "I don't know."


"Yes." Julie responded firmly. "Yes.
You will be there. About 8:00?"


With that, she turned and left.





Friday








Julie attended Joe's graduation as part of the faculty,
walking down the isle in her academic gown, and then watching
Joe walk across the stage. Once across, he was no longer
a student and there would be no ethical breach involved
that night. And she had definite plans for the night.


Once home following graduation exercises, Julie began
preparations for Joe's arrival later that evening.
She took a nice shower, followed by a soak in her spa. As it
neared time, she chose for this special evening a dress,
or more properly a gown that was almost floor length, and
slit on one side from the hem up almost to her hip. The front
of the gown dipped at the top to reveal half her breasts and
most of her cleavage.


When she was ready, she waited for the doorbell, which rang
exactly on time.


"Am I . . . ." Joe started to ask but stopped in
mid sentence, his eyes fixed on Julie's breasts.


"Are you what, Dear?" Julie asked, but Joe continued
to stare.


"I'm glad you like them, Joe, but I'm up here."
Julie said gently and Joe looked into her eyes, embarrassed.



"Uh . . am I the first one?"


"You're the only one." Julie informed
him, watching his expression. "Come in and sit down."



Joe followed her into the living room, not sure what was
about to happen but all for it, whatever it was. He sat where
she motioned.


Julie left the room and returned momentarily with two wine
glasses. She handed him one and sat across from him, crossing
her legs, letting the split reveal the side of one leg, all
the way up. She grinned as she watched Joe take a large gulp
of his wine, his eyes moving from her let to her breasts and
back again.


"What are you going to do this summer?" Julie
asked.


"I don't know." Joe responded, feeling
the sudden glow of his first ever glass of wine and trying
hard to focus his eyes on her face.


"I've got a proposition for you." Julie
said, looking over the rim of her glass. "But first,
are you sure you realize the difference between our ages?
You know I am well over twice your age."


"Yes, Ma'am."


"Cut the Ma'am crap, Joe. And if you call me Dr.
Lindsey tonight, you can leave. My name is Julie."



"Yes, Ma . . . . yes, uh . . . uh . . Julie."


"All right." Julie took another sip of her wine.
"I have a place in Cloudcroft, New Mexico and I'm
going to spend the summer there. If you want to come there
with me, I will be your teacher for the summer."


Joe almost chocked on his wine. "My teacher?"



"Yes, Joe. I will be your teacher and teach you anything
you wish."


Joe took another large gulp, emptying the glass, mustering
up enough courage to ask timidly, "Sex?"


"Sex, Joe." Julie laughed at Joe's expression.
"I will teach you everything you need to know to please
both a woman and yourself."


Joe was silent, his mouth literally hanging open, a look
of almost shock in his eyes, until Julie spoke again. "What
do you think?"


"Are you serious?" Joe gasped, unbelieving.



"Yes." Julie laughed. "I will teach your
sex teacher for the summer."


"We will have sex?" Joe asked, almost unable
to breathe.


Julie laughed again. "We will have sex, yes. That's
part of pleasing a woman, but that's not all there is
to it. I will teach you about women and how to be more confident
around us."


"Yes!" Joe gasped out. "Yes! Yes! When
do we start?"


Julie rose, took the wine glass from Joe's hand, bent
over and kissed him on the lips.


"We start now." She replied. "And we will
leave for Cloudcroft day after tomorrow."

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cjg045 65 M
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Please continue , this story is really great writing &
I can't wait to read part II

10/5/2009

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Utterly, utterly wonderful, thanks for sharing your story,
X

6/27/2010