In any case, I thought if they’re going to do it, why not follow suit! It’s one of my favorites among my own stories, and I’m happy to be able to share the goodness. 😉
The sequel to “Juliet Takes Stage,” it’s the story of how Allison (the Juliet of the title) got together with her teacher and Romeo, Ken. Jordan, who becomes very important later in the series, shows up too. 🙂
(Just so no one is surprised: this story is around 10,000 words long and contains scenes of sexually explicit M/F erotic romance between adults over the age of 18, UST, and sexual initiation. It is for adult readers only!)
Juliet Takes Off
An Erotic Student-Teacher Tale
The Little Death.
My body feels raw, edgeless, insubstantial. I have no sense of where I am, and if you were to ask me my name at this moment, I doubt I could tell you.
I know who he is. And I know with absolute clarity where he is: deep, deep inside of me, his fingers and his cock obliterating the boundaries between us. Reality begins at the swell of his still-pulsing cockhead, the press of his fingertips.
And like ripples in a pond, awareness spreads from those points: my ass, squeezing around that cock; the hot wash of his cum far, far up into me; my cunt, spasming around those fingers; my back, heaving against his sweat-slick chest; my nipples, humming triumphantly, sliding along the desktop as I gasp air into hungry lungs. My cheek, wet with sweat and tears as I sob there, beneath him.
Listening to him say my name, over and over and over.
Allison. I am Allison. I am his.
And he is mine.
Over the summer before junior year, a few of us — me, Jordan, Katie, Jonathon (who I think had a crush on Ken too) — a few others — found out where he lived and started dropping in with DVDs. Silly teen movies that he’d groan at, grumbling about how stupid they were, how awful the acting was, but that would, eventually, get him laughing.
And when I went home, I would think about being alone with him on that big sofa, of him kissing me. Touching me.
Then I would lie in my own bed, smaller than that sofa, and touch myself.
Toward the end of that summer, nearly six months after the accident, I was helping him clean up the popcorn after everyone else had left. I walked into the kitchen, and caught Ken looking at me with this sad kind of smirk on his face. “What?” I asked.
“Thank you,” he said. “You… You guys… You’ve been really great this summer. Lifesavers.”
Without even thinking, I put down the bowls and threw my arms around him. Felt him stiffen, then relax, then run his arms around me and return the hug. “You’re very welcome,” I sniffled.
“Hey,” he said, “no crying!”
“You always tell us to be in touch with our emotions.”
“Sure, but…” He patted my back and stepped out of my embrace. “Why you crying?”
Pulling off my glasses, I swiped at my eyes. “Well, ‘cause I feel badly for you?” I could hear his acting-class question: And? “And… I guess I’m glad we’ve helped. I guess I wondered if we weren’t just being busybodies, you know, pains in the ass.”
“Never,” he smiled.
“If it were ever a problem, Ken, if you’re ever having company — ”
He raised an eyebrow. “Company?”
“Well, you know… a… date?”
He chuckled, though his face looked pained. “A date? Man. Haven’t done one of those in a while.”
For some reason, the image that flashed through my head was of Ken making out on the big sofa with Ms. Kerns, the math teacher with the huge tits and the thick glasses, and I was so flustered all I could do was stand there and blush.
“Don’t worry, Allison,” said Ken, his hand gentle on my arm. “I’m not there yet. And if it were to happen… Well, I’d hope that any woman I was dating would understand how much you mean to me, all of you.”
With that, he patted me on the arm, and went to load the dishwasher.
That night, I didn’t even make it home before the echo of the feeling of Ken’s arms around me had my nipples tightening and my panties moistening so that I couldn’t imagine walking past my family and into the house.
I pulled into an empty parking lot, turned off the car, slipped into the back seat, and, closing my eyes, pushed up my shirt, pushed up my bra. I replayed the scene at Ken’s, only instead of going to do the dishes, he pulled me closer.
I want you, Allison, said the Ken in my head, and it was his fingers that teased and pulled at my nipples. You’re so beautiful.
I gasped, as much at the words as the sensation.
I want to touch you, Allison.
His fingers that ran down my belly and under my skirt, pushing aside my panties, and I cried out, but his mouth muffled my groans as the thick fingers that had stroked my arm earlier that night now slid along my cunt lips. On either side of my stiffening clit.
I want all of you. Let me have you. Give yourself to me, Allison.
I howled, and howled again, and in my mind, as Ken’s body crushed my unresisting one, it was his mouth that muffled my screams, and not my other hand.
When the police officer’s light shown through my window, even having my hand stuffed in my mouth didn’t stifle my shriek.
At least it was a woman. If it had been a man smirking at me, me diving beneath the steering wheel to avoid exposing myself any more than I already had…
Well, in the moment I only wanted to die. If it had been a man? I don’t think I would have had any choice in the matter.
Throughout junior year, I had Ken twice a day — for Advanced Acting, and then for Poetry. I was starting to look at colleges, and I found myself staying after last period — Poetry — to ask him questions about schools and tests and all of the awful things that I was beginning to have to deal with.
One day, just around my seventeenth birthday — near the anniversary of his wife’s death — I was sitting in his room, spinning my wheels once more, ranting on about the SATs, I think, when I realized that he hadn’t spoken for a while. For a long while. I looked up, and he was staring at me. “Sorry,” I spluttered, “I know I’m being really boring.”
He shook his head. “It’s not that.” Shaking his head again, he tapped his finger on the book of Keats’s poetry that was sitting on his desk; we had been studying “Ode on a Grecian Urn.”
Slamming his hand down on the book, he looked up. “Allison, there’s more to life than school. You know that, right?”
“How come you never talk about anything but classwork or your college applications, then?”
“Like what?” I grumbled.
“Oh, I don’t know. Boys?” he said. “Unless it’s girls you prefer, though I don’t get that impression — ”
“N-no,” I stammered, feeling the blood rushing to my face. “I, I don’t… I’m, I’m not…”
“That’s okay, either way, I just didn’t want to — ”
“No, there’s nothing wrong… I mean, I guess, I’ve thought about it, but, God, Ken, yeah, um. Boys?”
Now he smirked at me. “I see the way some of the guys look at you, Allison. For God’s sake, act your age. Fall in love.”
“Oh. Ken. I — ”
“Hey, you were the one telling me it was time to date. I thought it was time to return the advice.”
“I wasn’t telling you to date! I just meant… if you were….”
“Okay, okay. Fair enough.”
“Are you dating anyone?” I asked, crushed under the weight of my own shyness.
He sighed. “Reasonable question, I guess. After we talked last summer, I thought about it. I did try… But I don’t think I’m ready.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t tell whether I was disappointed or elated — and in either case, I had no idea why. “It must be hard. After. Meredith.”
“Yeah. It is.” He looked up, his expression shadowed. “I… I don’t like even talking about her.”
“Oh. Sorry.” I tried to think of a way to get him to open up — without bringing up her. “Before? Did you… date much?”
“Hmm? Oh. Yeah. Some, sure. Never liked dating a whole lot, to be honest, was always looking for something else. But yeah. I didn’t meet… her until I was almost thirty. So I’d had a number of… relationships.”
“Oh. Did you have a girlfriend? In high school?”
He blinked at me, and then grinned. “Kelli. Haven’t thought about her in years. Wonder what ever happened to her?”
“How old were you when you and she started going out?”
He shrugged. “Junior year, so just about your age, give or take. We were on the track team together. Asked her to the junior prom, and we went out for about six months. It… kind of fizzled out.”
“Oh.” I frowned.
“But if I hadn’t tried…” He tapped the book of poems again, and then pierced me with that dark stare. “You’re not looking for a life partner, Allison. Just someone to have fun with. There must be some boys you like.”
Blushing, I shrugged and then nodded.
“So? Go for it! Talk to them. You don’t have to make a whole three-act play out of it. Spend time with them. If you liked being with one, great. If not, fine.” His other hand lifted my chin so that I had to look him in the face. “You can’t tell me there isn’t at least one boy you wouldn’t like to… spend time with.”
“It’s complicated,” I said in a whisper.
“It always is,” he chuckled. “Go, Allison, stop talking to old men, and find a Romeo who’s actually worth your Juliet.”
“You’re not old.”
“Old enough. And that’s not the point.”
“Okay, okay, I get what you’re saying. It’s just…”
“Hard. I know. And girls aren’t supposed to ask. And boys are terrified of being told no. Just talk. This is your homework for the week: find a boy you think you might enjoy spending some time with — maybe kissing a little — ”
My blush deepened.
“ — and see if maybe you and he can go to the movies. Or bowling. Or whatever.”
“Okay,” I conceded, though the very thought was terrifying. “Bowling?”
“Yeah, well, as I said,” he laughed, “whatever.”
Which was how I ended up going out with Lucas. He was funny, and nice, and he and I had always gotten along well. He was in our acting class. And — I’ll be honest — he looked a little bit like a younger version of Ken. Pathetic, I know.
We went to the movies. He brought me to a couple of Broadway tours in the city.
We kissed a bit, and then some more. We touched everything that could be touched without removing clothing.
Jordan teased the hell out of me, asking me what I was waiting for, but then Jordan had been known to give blowjobs in the dressing rooms. For her, it was just a step up from a handshake.
Not for me.
At least, not outside of my fantasies, where I was now beginning to imagine touching Ken in ways that I hadn’t touched Lucas. Of kissing Ken’s chest. Of kissing his cock.
That image could set me off almost instantly.
That summer, Lucas joined the group of students who once again invaded Ken’s house on a regular basis to watch crappy movies.
I liked Lucas. He liked me.
When we kissed, he would play with my breasts through my shirt or run his hand up the inside of my thigh. It felt nice.
But there was never any question — not in my mind, at least — of it being anything… more.
I found that Lucas’s caresses didn’t do as much for me as my own imagination did. Making out with him in his cramped Mini or my mom’s beat-up Honda, I would close my eyes and imagine that the fingers that were fumbling over my body were longer, steadier. That the bulge at the front of the jeans was heftier. That it was a lower, richer voice that moaned my name as I rubbed my palm up and down.
And when I went home, seeking for a release from the anticipation that those caresses had built up in me but had not delivered, the hands, the mouth, the cock that finally brought me relief weren’t my boyfriend’s.
I felt guilty about that. But it didn’t stop me.
Allison: He wants me to touch him.
Allison: Don’t laugh Jordan!
Jordan: U mean Lucas wants u to wrap ur sweet, innocent fingers around his PENIS?
Jordan: His throbbing man-meat?
Jordan: His love muscle?
Allison: Fuck you Jordan
Jordan: You wish
Jordan: I wish!
Allison: JORDAN! Come on!
Jordan: Oh, fine. Ur no fun any more. 😉 But come on, of course he wants that. If it was me, I’D want u to do that. ? really is do u want to?
Our senior year, Lucas brought me to the winter formal. It was lovely. It was also the end of our relationship.
The following Monday, I stayed after Advanced Acting to have my lunch in the theater; Lucas glared at me as he left, leaving me alone in the auditorium.
As I sat, glumly gumming my salad, Ken stepped out of the wings. “So. You and Lucas. Want to talk about it?”
I found myself tearing up.
“Allison,” Ken said, jumping off of the stage and sitting next to me, “what’s the matter?”
Another day, with a different teacher, I would have just shrugged and said Nothing or Girl stuff. But that day? With Ken? “Lucas and I decided to, you know, go all the way after the dance.”
Go all the way. It sounded like something my mom would say.
It was an unspoken tradition for boys and girls to hook up after the winter formal. What precisely was meant by hooking up was a bit vague. In the weeks leading up to the dance, Lucas, who had been very patient with me throughout our relationship, started to talk more and more about our post-date plans, but I kept deflecting him.
Finally, after searching my own conscience (and texting back and forth with Jordan over many, many late nights) I thought, Fuck it. Get it over with.
Allison: Oh. Fuck.
Allison: I told Lucas to bring condoms tomorrow.
Jordan: Lucky boy!
Allison: Not lucky girl?
Jordan: Well if u’d told ME to bring them. Or Keeeeeeeeeeeeeeen.
Allison: Fuck you. And yeah. You wish.
“So the day of the formal, Saturday,” I said, looking down at my salad, “I was all… nervous.” I looked up and he raised an eyebrow. “I mean, not in a bad way, just, you know, excited.”
Now his other brow shot up.
“I mean, oh, god, Ken, you know what I mean.”
He looked away and nodded. “Of course I do.”
“Right.” Looking down, I continued, “So the dance was great. And Lucas and I had fun, and the rest of the gang was there, and I even had a whole conversation with Erica, which is a first.”
Ken snorted. “Ms. Kerns told me Erica showed up wearing just a shirt.”
“Well, yeah, it was a bit short. But I said she looked nice, and she said I did too, which passes as a real conversation for the two of us. And she gave me one of those, like, little airplane bottles of vodka, which… Oh. Shit. Ken. You didn’t just hear that.”
He shook his head. “Not a thing. Keep going.”
“Anyway. Yeah. Erica. So, a bit tipsy, and Lucas too, both of us, but I wasn’t too bad, though I was, like, you know, like I said.”
Now he nodded, which was a relief, because I really didn’t think I could say it again: Excited.
“I drove. It was my parents’ car anyway — and my dad’s big old boat — and I, like, I was the less drunk of the two of us. And yes, Ken, I know it was not a great thing to be driving, but at least Lucas wasn’t driving, so… Yeah.” My hands were worrying madly at each other. I watched them in fascination. “So we got to one of our favorite spots, between a church and a synagogue, which I felt was kind of odd, you know? But it was really quiet, and no one ever bothered us. Anyway, like, we parked, and got in the back seat and all, and like, um…” I stared at Ken. How could I possibly tell him this? I kept waiting for him to run screaming out of the theater.
He didn’t. He was staring at me. “And?” When I didn’t answer, he searched my eyes. “You… kissed?”
I nodded. I kissed him and thought of… Did you shave today?
Ken searched some more. “And?”
“And…” I felt as if the whole thing were some horrible sneeze building up inside me: I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stifle it, but I didn’t want it to happen. Oh… Ah, well. “And… And he touched me a bit, you know, and, wow, I… you know, I kind of pulled down his zipper and started touching him, and his, his cock, and, and… which I’d never done, and it was just like Jordan and Jonathon said, clear, sticky… Um.” The slick stuff beneath my fingers as I smoothed it over Lucas’s vibrating… “Um… You know? Yeah. Nice, you know? Oh, god, Ken.” You. I wanted YOU. I wanted to take you in my hand and into my mouth and into my body, and oh, god….
He may have agreed (his mouth was opening and closing, though no sound was coming out), but I didn’t give him time to say anything.
“So, I was, like, stroking him, which he certainly seemed to enjoy, which I’d never done before, I mean, I’d sort of done it through his jeans, but I’d never touched that before, and, yeah, he, like, yeah, he really seemed into it, and I was thinking of licking it or kissing it, but then he spurted all over my hair and all, and then he started shouting AW, FUCK, JORDAN, FUCK, JORDAN —!”
“He said… what?”
“He, he screamed Jordan’s name. Twice. Like, really loud, so it’s not like I made a mistake or anything.”
“Oh.” His scowl softened. His hands on my shoulders, he peered into my eyes. “That must have felt… awful.”
I laughed moistly. “You think? I was so… pissed off, and so hurt, and I kind of yelled at him. And he yelled at me — Like, CUNT. And TEASE. — and I sort of screamed at him that it was fine, that he wasn’t who I was thinking of when we were making out either, that I was thinking of you the whole time and — ”
“You — ?”
“Yeah, yeah, and I, um… I kicked him out of the car and slammed the door. And drove home.” Or tried. Stopped after a couple miles, trembling. Cum in my hair. Texting Jordan, who was otherwise engaged.
“Allison?” Ken’s face looked like my dog’s when he’s fallen asleep and slipped off of the porch. Did I…? Did what I think just happened actually happen? Nah. Can’t have happened.
“Well, that day, you remember, you said, I should find a Romeo — ?”
“Worthy of your Juliet.” His voice was low and even; oh, fuck, it made me so — “Yeah. I remember.”
“Well. I’ve found my Romeo. Only, I don’t think I’ll ever be his Juliet.”
“Oh, Allison. Don’t sell yourself short. I’m sure — ”
“I won’t ever be his Juliet because he is not a boy, he is a man. He is a man more than twice my age. He’s a man more than twice my age who was really, really happily married until a couple of years ago, but then his wife died. He’s…” But there I stopped, because even through the tears I could see him stop fighting what I was saying. Or fighting understanding it at least.
“He’s your teacher,” he whispered, his face pale. “And you, Allison, are underage.”
“Only for another month and a half!” I whined.
“And he is really, really touched, and cares… He is more… than you could possibly know.” His face was at war with itself; he started to back away from me, but I grabbed his hands.
“I love you, Ken. I want — I know it’s not appropriate and I know I shouldn’t feel this way and you shouldn’t…. But I can’t help it, Ken. I can’t. I love you. I want — When I told Lucas… You were who I was thinking of. Who I wanted to be kissing and touching and — ”
Ken pulled his hands gently but firmly away. His expression was now stony. “Allison, I think you need to go eat your lunch somewhere else.”
I felt as if he had kicked me in the stomach.
Blind with tears, I grabbed my salad, scattering most of it over the floor, and stumbled toward the door.
“Allison.” His voice stopped me as surely as a leash. “It isn’t because I don’t care. It really isn’t. But…” His voice caught. “I can’t. I just can’t. I — ”
But whatever he was or wasn’t, could or couldn’t, I didn’t hear, because I was out the door and into the rain.
Jordan: Didn’t see u in ken’s class. Sick?
Jordan: They arrest u for killing Lickass?
Jordan: You know I never touched him right? He’s a scumbag and a total douche if he’s thinking about me when he’s with YOU. WTF?
Jordan: I would never do that to u.
For the next six weeks, I was a robot. I showed up to classes, I did my homework. I barely talked to anyone — certainly not Lucas or Ken.
Jordan got very concerned. The week of my birthday, she pulled me aside after History. “Alli, you look like shit. I know Lucas was a dick, but — ”
“It wasn’t Lucas,” I said. “I’m fine.”
“Bull fucking shit,” Jordan grumbled. “Look, it was going to be a surprise, but I don’t want you jumping off of a fucking bridge before Friday, okay?”
“Uh, yeah. Katie and Jonathon and me, we were — and Ken. We’re throwing you a party. At Ken’s house.”
“Yeah. It was his idea.”
At the end of Acting, for the first time in weeks, I stayed after class. It was a drizzly day, and so a few other students were eating their lunches there. I walked over to Ken, who looked at me with curious apprehension. “So. Ken.”
“Jordan tells me she and Katie and Jonathon wanted to throw me a surprise birthday party at your house.”
He nodded, lips pursed.
I squared my shoulders — it was what my mom used to call my Hermione Granger stance. “I just wanted to let you know that my feelings won’t be hurt if you ask them to have it somewhere else. Somewhere more appropriate.”
“Would you like that?” he asked, voice barely audible.
“I wouldn’t want to impose.”
Grimly, he smiled. “Allison. What do you want?”
“You know what I want,” I whispered.
I was between Ken and the other students, and so there was no way for them to see him lift his hand and brush one finger on my lips. “And what are you going to do to get what you want, Allison?”
The pressure, the friction of the finger against my lips set every nerve ending in my body tingling. I couldn’t have spoken in that moment if my life had depended on it.
“I have,” he whispered, “a present that I would like to give you for your birthday. And then we can discuss all of this. Okay?”
“Okay,” I gasped, breathless.
Jordan: Ur smiling. Good, or should I put on Kevlar?
Allison: LOL. You’re safe. I figure if you’d actually boffed, L would have lasted longer than 5 seconds
Allison: And yeah, good, I think.
Jordan: Kinda awkward question
Jordan: Lucas asked me out.
Allison: No prob. I don’t mind.
Allison: At least he’ll get the name right.
That Friday night, I pretended to be surprised when Katie and Jonathon took me not to grab pizza, but to Ken’s house, where Jordan and half a dozen of our friends, Lucas among them, shouted “Surprise!” when I walked in. Everyone flocked in and hugged me. It was a great performance on my part.
Ken stood in the back and took the pictures.
Someone had baked a cake in the shape of a comedy mask — “No tragedy!” shouted Jonathon — and we sat and watched a stupid teen film, just like the old days, eating pizza and cake, shouting at the characters, and throwing popcorn at the screen.
Part way through the movie, I felt Lucas lean down behind me. “Happy birthday, Alli.”
“Listen, I… I am so sorry. I know I was a prick, but I really, really… Um. Please, can we…?”
I looked at him, at his little-boy-caught-with-his-hand-in-the-cookie-jar pout, and I couldn’t help but smile. It was kind of a relief, honestly, not to have to pretend anymore. Giving him a quick peck on the cheek, I whispered, “You’re forgiven.”
A flush of relief washing across his face, he sauntered back over to where he’d been sitting — next to Jordan, who also gave him a kiss. This one longer, and not on the cheek.
Ken watched from the door to the kitchen.
After the movie, and after I’d opened my friends’ wonderfully silly presents (my favorite: from Jonathon, who had made me a scarf out of chewing gum wrappers), everyone wandered off, once again leaving me to help Ken clean up the mess.
“Happy birthday, Allison. It’s okay,” he said, waving a hand at me to stop me from picking up the popcorn bowls. “I’d kind of hoped I’d have the chance… to talk with you. Don’t clean up. Come here.” He sat in the sofa and patted the cushion beside him.
Suddenly, I felt as if I had been drinking vodka all night, not lemonade. Barely trusting my legs to move me, I wobbled my way over and sat beside him.
I had been thinking about what he’d said — about his finger on my lips — all week. Hell, I’d been doing a hell of a lot more than thinking about it.
As I sat, he held out a small, wrapped package — had to be a book. English teachers always give books. “Present,” he said, holding it out to me. When I took it and started to open it, he laid his hands over mine. “Wait. One way or another, this isn’t exactly the whole present. Before you open it, I need to ask you a couple of questions, so that I can explain the rest of it.”
I stared at his hands. “Okay. Ask away.”
“I’ve been thinking about what you said to me in January. Do…? Have your feelings changed at all?”
I shook my head emphatically.
“Huh. Okay. So. You’re eighteen. And if I told you that… Part of the reason that it’s inappropriate for a teacher to become… too close to a student is that the teacher has a certain amount of power of the student.”
“I don’t mind,” I found myself whispering.
He squeezed my hands, there atop the package. “Be that as it may. It would be unethical for me to give you a grade for any work you do after this… conversation. So what I’m thinking is this: you’re getting an A in Acting and an A- in Advanced Comp. Those are the same kinds of grades you’ve gotten before.”
I nodded, feeling both shy and proud.
“You genius, you,” he chuckled. “So here’s my proposal: I promise that, no matter what happens from tonight, at the end of the semester, those will be the grades that go on your transcript. They won’t go down, and they won’t go up either.”
Frowning, I nodded.
He sighed. “It would make it so that there wasn’t any threat or any reward between us. Mind, I’m still your teacher. I’m still your parents’ age. I would still be tossed on my ass if anyone at the school were to hear about this.”
“This?” My voice was dry and barely audible.
Taking a deep breath, Ken squeezed my hands again. “Open it.”
Nervous, curious, I peeled off the wrapping paper.
It was, in fact, a book. It was the book of Keats’s poems that he’d taught us from. Reaching out a hand that I suddenly noticed was trembling, he opened it to the title page, where I saw three inscriptions, including one in handwriting that I knew very, very well. He tapped that, and I read it:
A glorious student with the soul of a teacher.
A thing of beauty is a joy forever: Your beauty (inner and outer) has brought me to life again.
“Ken?” I looked up from the book, unsure what to make of it.
His face was flushed. “My senior year in high school, my English teacher gave it to me.” He tapped her inscription, which was small and flowing, and then tapped the other one, which was blockier. “Her English teacher had given it to her.”
“Oh.” Disappointment settled heavily on me.
He took my hand. “When John gave Dana this book,” he said, his warm voice sounding strained and thin, “he became… her lover. Her first lover. And when she gave it to me, she became mine.”
Where I had felt crushed under a leaden weight, now I felt as if I were made of air. Drowning in air. Air and flame. “Ken?”
He grunted. “Don’t… It doesn’t… There’s no obligation….” He stopped and stared at me, his gaze dark and even more piercing than it had ever been in class.
“Ken,” I asked, “what do you want?”
His eyes widened and his lips moved, but he couldn’t speak.
“Name it, Ken. What do you want?”
“You,” he said as if it took him an enormous effort. His eyes were locked on mine. “I want you, Allison.”
My middle turned to goo, but I needed to finish this. “What… what’s in the way?”
“Your age,” he grunted. “Our… school relationship.”
“Meredith?” I asked, but he did not answer, only stared at me. Nervousness fluttered through me, but I pushed on before it could overwhelm me: “Well, Ken. What are you going to do… to get what you want?”
He answered me without words, raising his free hand to my face and pulling me in for a kiss.
I had been dreaming about that kiss literally for years. You wouldn’t have thought it possible for it to live up to my expectations.
With Lucas, kissing had been a kind of a dance: I do this, then you do that, and where do I put my hands again?
There was no uncertainty in kissing Ken, no dance. His mouth was warm. His body was solid and completely present. His arms engulfed me, and I knew where I was, and I felt utterly, completely safe.
We lay there kissing for what must have been a long time — until my lips were beginning to feel raw, though I had no interest in stopping.
POSSIBLE SEQUENC OF SCENES RUNNING FROM BIRTHDAY TO GRADUATION
We talked. He told me that he hadn’t had had another sexual partner in a very long time (other than She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, it went without saying), and that he’d had a vasectomy, but that I shouldn’t just trust him, that he had condoms.
I laughed and told him no. Told him I trusted him.
He nodded and talked some more. Saying that there was no hurry. We could take our time. He was very serious, even in his joking.
But I was only happy. And my body heard his. And so words seemed secondary.
Button by button, I undid the fly of his jeans. He didn’t jump or go rigid, but I could feel his excitement grow, right there under my hand.
Even as he talked on, I reached into his jeans. That stopped him.
He was thick. As my fingers engulfed him for the first time I marveled at its girth, trying not to think what that would feel like pushing into me. I marveled too that, like him, it was so there. The head flared and the veins pulsed, but where Lucas’s had felt a bit like a trapped bird, Ken’s erection felt as if it had sprung out of the earth, as if it had always been there.
I felt giddy, proud to have conjured it. To have grasped it. To have possessed it.
He got a sleepy, heavy-eyed look on his face that I would learn promised that I was about to get fucked very hard.
“May I touch you?” he asked, voice low — even lower than usual.
His hand searched up my thigh, under my dress, finding the very sexy-feeling lace panties that I had bought earlier that week on a solo trip to the mall, praying that I would actually have the opportunity to let him take them off of me.
And once they were gone — neatly but emphatically placed by the book of poetry on the end table — he caressed my pussy, gently, slowly, with great intention, as if he were a safecracker and I the safe.
And I opened to him, very willingly.
The drag and slide of his fingers across that flesh felt…
Not like the feeling of my own fingers, certainly, or Lucas’s.
His eyes didn’t leave mine. I definitely couldn’t look away. Just at the point where I could feel the fire begin to spread up my spine, Ken rested his index finger right at the most sensitive part of my clit. “May I taste you?”
This time I couldn’t even beg; I could only plead with my eyes.
Ken smiled for the first time since everyone had left, and slid to the floor in front of me. Running his hands up the outsides of my thighs and under my ass, his pushed my dress up around my waist, then ran his fingertips lightly over my hips and down the insides of my thighs, which spread wide of their own accord.
He gazed down at my pussy, a look like wonder on his face. “You remember the Keats poem, ‘On First Reading Chapman’s Homer’?” He flicked his eyes over to my panties and the book.
I nodded, trembling.
“’Then felt I like some watcher of the skies/When a new planet swims into his ken/Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes/He star’d at the Pacific…’”
Grinning now, he leaned forward and kissed the inside of my right knee, and then licked and nibbled his way up the inside of my thigh to where my flowing pussy, my Pacific waited for him to dive in.
If anything ever felt like a sexual initiation, it was that first time that Ken ate me. As his tongue approached my cunt — before he’d even made it all of the way up my thigh — I could already tell that the trip that his tongue, teeth, lips, and fingers were going to send me on was going to be way beyond my realm of experience.
Stout Cortez first seeing the Pacific had nothing on this.
Trying to talk about sex is funny: using words to describe experiences that are (for me, at least) intensely non-verbal. From the moment that Ken’s lips touched my… lips, the whole memory is a wash of sensory impressions. Pulling. Friction. Wetness. Pressure, building steadily. Heat.
I can’t tell you what he did that first time, or how he did it. Later experiences, sure, maybe — I can at least try.
All I know is that the whole time-stopped, earth-moved thing? It’s real.
I know this too: I had brought myself to hundreds or maybe even thousands of orgasms before Ken touched my cunt that night. (Oh, I have bought the mansion of a love, but not possessed it…)
But that was the first time that I experienced an orgasm as the Little Death, the way the Elizabethans called it. The French still call it that, or so Jonathon tells me.
When I re-inhabited my body, I was sprawled on the sofa, my legs splayed over Ken’s shoulders.
He was kissing his way leisurely up my belly.
I was gasping for breath. My body was covered with sweat and goose pimples, my dress was bunched all of the way up under my armpits, and there was a small puddle of juices and Ken’s spit under my ass on the sofa. I should have felt gross and self-conscious.
I felt magnificent. There’s the word again: magnificent.
When he’d made his way back up to my face, he kissed me, his chin still slick with me, the taste of me on his tongue. His weight pressed me wonderfully flat, and his hard-on slid stealthily up my thigh, nestling in the crease of my hip.
My body may have been new to the whole sex thing, but it had very definite ideas about where it wanted him to go, and it did its best to get him there.
After a bit, Ken leaned up on one arm, stilling my grinding pelvis with his other hand. He had his serious look on again, and he started to say we should stop, that I should consider, that there was no need to hurry.
I pushed up and kissed him silent. “Ken,” I rasped, “I know you’re right and all that, but I’m so hot for you right now and I’m feeling so good, I kind of want you to shut up and fuck me before I have time to wake up.”
Now I noticed that he was also breathing heavily. His hand gripped my hip. “Say that again.”
“What do you want, Allison?”
A giggle burst from my chest. “Want you to fuck me, Ken. Want you to…”
His eyes flared.
Now a small tickle of the old fear slipped up my spine, tightening my throat. “Want you to, to take my virginity.” And before he could ask what I was going to do to get what I wanted, I pulled his pelvis hard against mine with my legs, squeezing his cock against my belly, his balls against my still-open cunt. “Please,” I begged.
He growled and kissed me. Then he shed the jeans that were already around his knees and pulled his shirt off, separating us for an awful second. We had only come together again for a moment when he had undone the buckle of my bra and started to push it and my dress over my head.
Once he had done that, he grabbed a pillow and put it under my ass. He climbed up onto the sofa, turning me so that I was lying down.
I looked up at him. My fingers, my toes, my nipples were buzzing. My cunt was so hot it almost felt cold.
I had dreamed of us in exactly that place, in those positions, so many times. I had fingered myself to so many really nice — though I now understood hardly mind-blowing — orgasms thinking of lying there beneath him, naked on that huge sofa.
Ken brushed a lock of my hair out of my face. “It’s been a while since I did this.” When I blinked, he grunted and said, “A friend of mine used to say that after a year, you’re a virgin again. Which makes me one twice over. Be gentle with me.”
As I laughed, he reached down between us, grabbed his cock by the root, and pressed the head against my opening.
My heart leapt suddenly to my throat and I stared up into Ken’s eyes, which were steady and warm, and I know if I had said even then that he needed to stop, that he would have. But I didn’t want him to stop. “Please, Ken,” I whispered.
I’d heard very different stories from my friends about their first times. Jordan had said that it hurt like hell, and the guy came before she’d even had a chance to catch her breath. (When I asked her why the hell she did it again, she said, “Well, I figured I had to at least try to get it right!” With a smirk she added, “Still trying, actually.”) Katie said it hadn’t hurt at all, though it had been a bit scary. Then again, as she pointed out, she’d been riding horses since she was little, so there wasn’t much left to tear down there.
My mother had gone into way too much detail, which was disgusting, especially since it wasn’t with my dad, which seemed kind of weird (though maybe it would have been weirder if it had been my dad). But as it turned out, I was glad she’d gone on the way she had. She’d said that it stung at first, pretty badly, but that the boy had been patient, and that after a while, it had started feeling pretty good. And that it felt a lot better every time after that.
As Ken’s cock pushed into me, it stung. Pretty badly. Really badly. “Ow, Ken, OW!”
“Shh.” He stopped pushing, which was a relief, but also not, because it still hurt, and he was only partially in. “Do you need me to stop?”
I blinked tears out of my eyes and shook my head.
He continued speaking, his voice very even, which even at the time I thought was amazing. “I think we need to do this quickly. Like pulling out a splinter.”
“What do you do when you’re getting a shot or something?”
“Um.” It was hard not to fall into the burning feeling, down where all of the blood in my body seemed to want to go. “Squeeze something really hard.”
“Well, you’ve got a pretty good hold of my arms.”
I blinked again, and saw that my nails, which I’d carefully filed and painted, were sunk deep into his biceps. “Oh. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. I want you to focus on squeezing on my arms as hard as you can. See if you can draw blood. Make me wear long-sleeve shirts to school all week, I dare you.”
I laughed, which made my cunt tighten around the tip of his cock, which made me wince, but made Ken gasp.
“Allison?” He waited until I was looking him in the eye. “Any time, anything you want to stop, you just say stop, okay?”
“Like a safe word.”
He gave a funny smirk. “Sort of like, sure. So, you ready? Focus on my arms, and squeeze.”
I sank my claws as hard I could into the meat of his biceps, and he pushed, and it burned and I screamed again, one long vowel, because I didn’t want him to stop, and…
And I felt something tickle the bottom of my ass.
The hair on his balls.
He was all of the way in.
I blinked at my nails, which had drawn blood — a bit — and then up into Ken’s eyes. Which were wide. “Sorry.”
“For… Fuck. For what?” First time I ever heard him swear. He was breathing deeply. His stomach pressed against mine as he inhaled. “No problem. Even trade. You okay?”
“Huh? Yeah.” As the mass of sensations began to sort themselves out, the sting was fading a bit, though not completely, and gave way to a new feeling, a feeling of fullness, of heat, of the muscles in my cunt stretching to accommodate him, of all of the nerves in that part of my body singing with astonishment at the intrusion.
It felt scary as hell, having that heft, the solid heat of him, stretching a part of me wide that had never been stretched by anything other than my own thin fingers.
It also felt indescribably good.
The conflicting sensations were short-circuiting my brain.
I was crying again.
“Still hurt?” Ken’s jaw was clenched.
“A… A bit. But so good.” I bit back a moist gasp. I was acutely aware of the pressure, as if I were being ripped open in the nicest possible way. “Ken? You’re inside me.”
He grinned down at me, eyes warm, teeth tight. “Yup.”
“I have you.”
“Yes.” His smile seemed to soften, though perhaps it was just my blurry vision. “Yes. You do.”
A tremor of accomplishment passed through me. “Do…?” I could feel him, fighting the urge to move. “Do you feel…” There wasn’t a word that seemed capable of encompassing it. “…good?”
He grunted, “God, Allison, fuck, yes.” Then he nodded sharply, and the motion caused his cock to rock minutely inside me, which made me gasp and him groan. Still breathing as if he were running a marathon, Ken kissed me, and I melted into that kiss, relaxing my body as much as I could, my legs falling further open. My cunt. My cunt, engulfing. Expanding. Without thinking, I slid my feet up the backs of his thighs until they crossed just under Ken’s bum.
I could feel his ass, his legs flexing beneath my feet. Could feel the pulse of the heartbeat in his cock. Or was that my heartbeat, squeezing him?
Slowly, Ken eased his lips down to mine. “Allison.”
“I don’t know if I can stay still much longer.”
Okay, I mouthed into his lips.
He withdrew — probably just an inch or two, but it felt as if he had sucked out the whole of the inside of my body.
I howled at the loss.
Ken stopped again — God bless him, but that’s not what I wanted: “Fuckfuckmefuckmeplease!”
And so he pushed back in, and now it was his turn to howl, “FUCK! So — !” Slowly, gently, and yet irresistibly, he began to move in and then out of me.
It was hard not to think Fucking. We are FUCKING. KEN is fucking ME. It was also hard not to wonder at how what I thought would be a simple movement — penis pistons in and out of vagina — seemed to involve so many parts of our bodies. Our bellies, our legs. Arms and hands. Ken found one of my breasts with one hand, even as his other slid around, cupped my ass, and pulled my pelvis close to his, so that the bone just above his cock dragged over my stimulated clit. My legs tugged him even closer, my chest pushed and rolled against his hand, his chest.
Soon I couldn’t even think where to put my attention, or what to think, or what I was feeling, or what was coming next.
And what came next, surprisingly, was not Ken, though he was grimacing and moaning. No, what came next was me.
The orgasm bore down on me like a wave. Where the first Little Death Ken had brought me to was like lightning in the dark, this was like being swept up in an avalanche of light and flame. There were so many sensations flooding through me that I couldn’t have pointed at one and said, There, that’s the one, that’s what set me off. The avalanche swept over me, and suddenly every nerve ending in my body was…
Turned on. I was turned on.
And as I tumbled in the flood of feeling, I felt that thing, that cock begin to swell as it pressed into me. “Aw, shit, shit, shit!” hissed Ken, grimacing, and his arms pulled me tight as his legs stiffened; he thrust all, all, all of the way deep inside of me and then arched his head back, letting loose a howl that shook my bones.
Within me, deep within, I felt a flood of heat splashing up against a part of me that I’d never truly been aware of before.
Panting, sweating — me still weeping and sore — we lay there, feeling the tides of what we had just done washing back and forth between us.
The clock on his mantle struck midnight.
And the evening and the morning were the first time.
And it was good.
Jordan: Hey girl
Jordan: Alli? Yoohoo
Jordan: Hey urself! I texted hours ago!!!
Jordan: U like the party?
Allison: Loved it
Jordan: Thought u might wanna hang after, but u didn’t answer
Jordan: U go to bed or something?
Allison: Went to bed
Jordan: uh huh something happening?
Jordan: Well, fuck u very much 2
Allison: You wish
Jordan: U drunk?
Though I could barely walk the next day, I wouldn’t have missed spending time again with Ken. Even I could see that a repeat of the previous evening’s pyrotechnics weren’t going to happen, but I did get him to show me how to return his favor: how to lick and suck him to the edge and, eventually, beyond.
He taught me the value of patience. He said, as I finally brought him the Little Death, that I had learned the lesson well. He screamed it, actually.
I discovered that kneeling between Ken’s thighs was a wonderful, exciting place to be — nearly as exciting as having him between mine.
He did have to wear long-sleeve shirts for the next week. Every time I walked into his classroom, he would pat his biceps and wink.
It never failed to get me blushing like the virgin I no longer was, or to get me as wet as the devoted lover I was quickly becoming.
The summer after my graduation was the happiest, freest time of my life. I had nothing to do but work as an usher at the local regional theater, sleep late, get drunk from time to time with my friends, and spend time with Ken, loving him and letting him initiate me into all of the joys of love and sex.
“What’s it like?” asked Jordan one night when we were sitting on the hood of her car, getting high and watching the moonrise. “With Ken?”
“Jordan!” Even wasted, I was shocked; Ken and I had always been scrupulously discrete, even on the nights when the gang congregated at Ken’s house for movies. “We… I… It’s not…”
“Don’t shit a shitter, Alli, come on. I’m sure no one else noticed, but after your birthday, you went from, like, not even looking at each other, to Not Looking at Each Other. You know?”
I gave a nervous laugh.
She took a deep drag and sidled up close to me. “Also, Alli, it was like you suddenly beamed into this gorgeous body of yours. Like you’d suddenly figured out what all these pieces were there for.” She gave my boob a squeeze, the kind of thing she’d done to tease me a thousand times before, only now, without thinking, I groaned and pushed up into her hand. Now it was Jordan’s turn to laugh nervously, quickly releasing my tit and its swelling nipple.
I lay there for a moment, thinking about everything that had happened. I tried to think what I could say without breaking promises I’d made to Ken, or to myself, and so I just smiled. “I’m… very, very happy.”
Jordan gave a deep grunt. “Lucky bitch.”
And we both started to giggle, then to laugh, and then to roar into the dark summer night.
When it came time for me to head off to college — the Midwestern college that I’d dreamed of going to — I found that, after all, I really didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to leave Ken. Suddenly, going to school so far away didn’t seem appealing.
“Allison,” he said, his fingers delicately painting patterns on my throat with the cum that had spilled there, making my whole body shiver, “you’ve got so much to do. So much to learn. Go. Study. Have fun. Fall in love. I envy you the opportunity.”
“When you…” I said, my mouth still thick with the taste of him. “When you went off to college? Did you and… Dana still…?” I had never asked him about the woman who had been his teacher, his first lover. I forced myself to look up into his eyes.
Their corners crinkled as he smiled. “Yeah. When I came home, the first few years. And then from time to time for a few years after that.”
I felt myself pouting. I didn’t want from time to time. I wanted him always.
“But Allison, she told me what I’m telling you. There are lots of other people to explore with. I’m just your starting point, your first step.” With his tongue, he began to clean away the spillage on my neck, my chin, and I groaned.
When the frisson had subsided, I asked, “What… what was she like?”
He sat up, eyebrows raised. “Dana?”
“She was… patient. A very good teacher. And fun.”
“Pretty?” I asked, suddenly shy.
“Yeah,” he said, eyes distant with memory. “Small body, bright eyes, pixie nose.” Then he focused back on me, and smiled. “Not as pretty as you.”
“Don’t flatter me,” I said, trying to grumble, but blushing in spite of myself. Trying not to think of my own body and face, which I was annoyed never to have been content with.
He ran a finger through my hair, pulling out a length of it. “Her hair was black, but she had this one streak of grey that ran over her right ear. It was… sexy.”
“Huh.” I lifted my hand to his hair, which since his wife’s death had turned more grey than brown. “How… How old was she?”
He blinked, and gave a short laugh. “Damn. Young. Early thirties? Closer to your age than mine.” He shook his head. “She seemed so… old at the time.”
“I feel…” I wasn’t sure how to express the feeling, the thought. It was as if this woman, who I knew only through her signature on my beloved book of poems, were my lover. Which, in a way she was — through Ken. The caresses that she had given him, had taught him, he had passed along to me. “I wish I knew her.”
He grunted. “You’d like her. I think. To be honest, her classes were mostly full of boys.” He leaned down and kissed me. “She’d have loved you. You’re so bright, and so beautiful…”
We made love, there on his sofa, taking our time. Knowing that that night would have to last us.
When we finished, he gazed down on me, his fingers still running through my hair. “Tell you what,” he said. “When you get settled at school, I’ll send you a letter. I’ll tell you all about her. Anything you want to know.”
“What it was like, when she gave you that book? Fucking her the first time?”
His smile was lopsided. “You’d like that?”
“Naughty girl.” He pinched my nipple, which made my hand squeeze him, not yet soft, not yet hard, and we both gasped.
“All… All of them. Your women, your lovers,” I whispered. “You’ve done so much. I want to know… everything.”
“Haven’t done so much, or so many,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “That’s what you want?”
“Well, then,” he said, and proceeded to satisfy me in ways that had nothing to do with letters or other women or words.
“Mmm.” I pull his arm around me as he lies there on top of that desk. Okay? I want to ask. Are you kidding? What I say is, “You haven’t asked me that in a while.”
We are lying as we so often do after fucking, with me curled on top of him. I feel as if every part of me is open. Body. Mind. Soul.
“I… I haven’t gotten quite that carried away,” he whispers into my ear, “in a very long time. I guess I worried that I was hurting you.”
I shake my head, and tears spill from my eyes to the muscled shoulder on which my head is resting. “Never.”
He kisses my hair, which is still sweat-damp, and his upper arm, with mine still clutching it, pulls me tight to his chest.
He is wrapped protectively around me. I burrow into him. “Missed you,” I sigh.
He grunts, and then he chuckles, a rumble that seems to surround and penetrate me. “My letters didn’t do it for you, I guess.”
“Oh, God, Ken,” I gasp, “those letters…”
To be continued in
Let me know what you think! I live for your feedback.
Or at least, I really, really want to hear it!
And if you’re interested, here’s the rest of the series:
When you fall in love with your teacher, that’s taking a chance.
When your teacher falls in love with you,
that’s taking it to a whole new level.
Juliet Takes Flight (coming soon!)