The City Girl Blues
Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Reluctant, Farming, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Petting, Pregnancy, Slow,
Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Mandy's love life seemed to be cursed. She found happiness only to have it ripped from her. She tried again, and then again, but nothing seemed to work for her. Finally, in desperation she accepted an offer to get away from it all on a ranch. But Mandy was a city girl. Rural life, miles from even the smallest town, was strange and uncomfortable, even painful at times. Still, she did get a break from men. The owner of the ranch was mystifying, frustrating, not her type at all. Or was he?
Mandy Schilling’s life should have been wonderful. She should have been happy and fulfilled. She was intelligent, in good health, and the kind of person who takes the little road bumps life gives us in stride.
And ... oh yes ... she was drop-dead gorgeous.
Actually, the drop-dead gorgeous part was the problem. That and a genetic predisposition to lie on her back with her legs spread, urging some man to fuck her long, deep, and continuous. That’s what she decided it was, anyway ... a genetic predisposition. She’d struggled to control her libido since she got slammed by puberty when she was thirteen. She entered it long before then, but that’s when it slammed her.
It was when she was thirteen that her breasts stopped being mounds with puffy, indistinct nipples and became foothills with dark brown areolas and even darker brown nipples that poked out through everything. Up to then she hadn’t had to wear a bra. After that she didn’t dare not wear one.
Another reason she thought her perpetual horny nature was genetic was that her mother had been ... let’s just call a spade a spade ... a slut. Maybe that’s not fair. Perhaps she was an undiagnosed nymphomaniac instead. Veronica Majors was always pulling her husband, Tom, into the bedroom. Mandy got to watch pretty much whatever she wanted to on TV as she grew up because on most evenings her mother and father spent their time in the bedroom, instead of interacting with or supervising their daughter. What they were doing was pretty clear, even when Mandy was nine or ten. Her mother had a potty mouth during sex and most of the curse words Mandy knew by the time she was fifteen had been learned right there at home.
Not that Veronica was a bad mother. Well, most of the time, anyway. She took care of Amanda, taught her all the things a daughter should learn from her mother, went on shopping trips with her, and even made a lot of Mandy’s clothes. Mandy got to choose the pattern and fabric and Veronica did wonders in the sewing room. But when Tom got home and dinner was finished ... well ... let’s just say she felt like it was Tom’s turn to get her attention. Ronnie was big into role playing. She made her own costumes for that, too.
Ironically, in a sense, one of those things Veronica taught her daughter was that she must not let boys go too far on dates. Her discussion about that was frank in a coded kind of adult-speak way.
“Boys want to do things, Mandy, things that make a girl excited. And that leads to situations where you don’t want to stop. And that leads to situations in which babies can be made. The key is never letting yourself get too excited, baby. You can have a little fun, but stop when it starts getting too exciting. Do you understand?”
Mandy did. She was then fourteen and had known for most of a year - ever since her boobs had exploded off her chest - that boys thought about sex most, if not all of the time.
“Yeah, Mom,” she said, dutifully.
“You have to save that excitement for marriage,” said Ronnie. “Then you can let it all out.”
That was the understatement of the century, Mandy thought.
Four hours later she had to turn the TV up to hear it over her mother’s voice coming through the walls: “No, Uncle Dan! Not in my ass! You’ll tear me apart! Nooooooo. Fuck that feels good, you fucking bull. Keep going. Don’t you dare shoot in my ass. I want to drink it tonight!”
There was no “Uncle Dan” in the family. That did explain ... sort of ... why her mother sometimes called her father “Danny boy” when she was feeling playful.
The point is that, by the time Amanda was seventeen, she was inculcated into the belief system that sex was normal, obviously fun, and that it should be engaged in as often as possible. She’d done some making out on dates, but had managed to put off the inevitable thus far, taking to heart her mother’s admonition that sex - and letting loose - was for marriage.
Then she met Matt and her defenses crumbled. He made her crazy. It was his smile, for one thing, a sort of crooked smile that only happened on one side of his mouth.
And his touch was electric. His lips tasted so good she never wanted to stop savoring them. His parents were rich and he drove a fancy car. On their third date, even though he hadn’t pressured her to do more than a lot of kissing, and a little groping, she knew she was in big trouble because all she could think about was getting naked with him.
He, of course, said he approved of that idea.
“We can’t,” she groaned. “I promised my mother I’d wait until I was married.”
“Then marry me,” he said, nuzzling her neck.
Oddly - at least at this point in the story - he meant it. He refrained from pressing his advantage and her virginity was intact when he took her home that night. He honored her wishes on the next dozen dates, too, and she was a wreck. She had to masturbate three times a day and she even stooped to stealing one of her mother’s vibrators.
That wasn’t as risky as it sounds. Veronica had at least fifteen of them, in all shapes, colors, and sizes.
On graduation night he made good on his promise and did, in fact, marry her. They eloped, of course, because his parents would never have agreed to let their only son, the inheritor of the family business, marry some trash from the other side of town. Even if the ‘town’ held three million people.
He took her to Vegas. It was her wedding night. She could finally let loose. And she tried to.
She’d spent so much time not thinking about sex while her parents were having it on the other side of the wall that she didn’t actually know what to expect. That was good, because while Matt managed to divest her of her virginity, it happened so quickly and was over so abruptly that she was still ramping up emotionally when he rolled off of her and put his hands over his face.
It sounded like he was crying. Mandy, however, could think only of the fact that if she didn’t cum she’d just explode. So she reached for her clitty and rubbed the crap out of it while her new husband cried softly in the bed beside her.
He was crying because it turned out Matt was gay. He’d thought Mandy could “cure” him. He really did love her ... but having sex with her just made him feel ... icky. He’d managed to stay hard long enough to have sex with his very first girl, but he knew beyond a doubt that all those things he’d been feeling for other males were real. He knew he couldn’t cum and his cock went soft.
The honeymoon only lasted another day as they talked about all this and tried to decide what to do. Mandy loved him, too, regardless of his sexual identity. Maybe she thought she could eventually cure him, too. In any case, they went back home and play-acted at being the normal couple. His parents blew their stacks and demanded the marriage be annulled, but Matt stood his ground. That was because he knew he could never marry another woman. He loved Mandy, and she loved him, even if it had to be the kind of love friends share, rather than spouses. He bowed to his mother’s wishes only in that there was another wedding, a formal one, with all the bells and whistles, one to which all the relatives and important friends could be invited. Mandy got to help plan it, and it helped convince her that she could “fix” her husband.
At that point, of course, Mandy had never had good sex. She had actually only had thirty seconds of sex, so she didn’t really know what she was missing. And Matt was rich. Not that she was mercenary about it. Her family had gotten by okay, but there hadn’t been a lot of luxuries.
Her marriage to Matt lasted three years. By the time she could take her first legal drink of scotch, it was to mourn the fact that she’d had to let Matt be Matt. He deserved to have real love in his life and he’d met a man he felt like he could love like a husband is supposed to love his spouse.
It was an amicable breakup. Mandy estimated it would take about a hundred grand for her to find someplace to live and get by on until she found a job. Matt gave her two million, and said, “Mandy, honey, you have no job skills and it would kill me to see you flipping hamburgers. Go back to school and get a degree.”
They kissed a final time - kissing her didn’t feel icky - and he patted her on the ass he’d fucked two or three times in three years. They’d thought that might work out for him but it hadn’t. Blow jobs had been better, because he could close his eyes and imagine she was whatever man he was currently attracted to. Taking her from behind, though, wasn’t like that. There was no way he could imagine her hips were a man’s. Still, that last kiss was a warm and loving one.
Then Matt went off to come out to his parents and Mandy drove to the local technical college to see what kind of courses they offered.
She still got a Christmas card every year from Matt’s mother who, no doubt, had thought long and hard about what Mandy had “tried to do” for her son, all those years.
Two years later Mandy had an associate’s degree in fire science, of all things. She’d decided that becoming a fireman - or firewoman - would be a change of pace and shake her out of her doldrums.
It did. The only problem was that she filled the wrong kind of hose constantly ... and it wasn’t with water. She was used to being intimate with a male buddy. That’s really what Matt had been. She’d walked around naked all the time around him. He’d appreciated her for her beauty, even though he didn’t salute her with his penis. She didn’t walk around nude with her new buddies, of course. But she adopted a warm, open relationship with them. Teams like that grow close anyway. She just welcomed that closeness and thought it was normal.
Her new “buddies” were entirely different about that. When her T shirt got drenched or they had to drag her out of a burning building, erections were involved.
She got assigned as the victim a lot. Even the instructors wanted to go in and get her. She was, after all, physically perfect to be on a pinup poster of firewomen. She was five-nine, weighed a hundred and twenty-three pounds, and her measurements were 36-25-34.
If that wasn’t enough, her long hair was a deep red, with golden highlights, the color of smoldering coals.
She got the highest grades in the class and she earned them, though, to be honest, some of that might have been because her classmates were so distracted all the time they didn’t do as well as they could have. Even in the classroom a dozen sets of eyes were on her most of the time. She’d had her uniform shirts tailored. She didn’t do that to tease the boys. You just did that. She didn’t want to look slovenly. And, because they were her buddies, she didn’t tend to think of any of them as potential amorous partners or husband material. It was for that reason that she gently rebuffed the dozens of attempts they made to get her to go out on a date with any of them. She’d party with them, drink with them, dance with them, but only in a crowd.
“I can’t go out with you,” she’d say. “That would be like going on a date with my brother.”
She didn’t, in fact, let her guard down until their graduation party. It happened at McGee’s, the bar that they and countless past classes had adopted as “their” bar. She got roaring drunk and somehow her shirt came off. She danced in her bra until that, too somehow got loose. Every group has an alpha male in it. In this situation there were maybe six who wanted to be the alpha male, but in the end only one will win out. That’s assuming it doesn’t turn into a gang rape. But these guys loved their “little sister”, even though she drove them bat-shit crazy. The alpha male turned out to be a guy named Tony, who was from a proudly Italian family.
She wasn’t so drunk that, when Tony climbed on top of her in the back room of McGee’s, she didn’t know what was happening. She’d worn out two vibrators since getting her divorce and her attitude about this was, “What the hell. Maybe it will be fun.” It helped that she liked Tony. He was macho and funny and had helped her learn how to carry a man twice her weight out of a burning building.
It was only her second time. It was probably Tony’s thousandth time, and he took pride in what he called his “three to one ratio.” That meant that the woman had three orgasms to every one of his. Tony came twice that night and Mandy found out just how good sex can be. By the time they were finished she was mostly sober again and she’d decided maybe it was time to look for another husband. Tony wasn’t that guy, but she was never sorry he dragged her into that back room.
Being a firewoman was great, but fending off the men wasn’t. The sexism she experienced in her first job in a firehouse soon made her decide to go back to college to seek a degree that would get her higher on the fire science ladder. If she got a degree in administration, or one in engineering, she’d be wearing a white helmet, rather than a yellow one. Even better, she’d work in an office most of the time instead of living with a bunch of horny guys.
It was while she was engaged in that pursuit that she met Steve. He had served six years in the Army, doing things he wasn’t allowed to talk about. He was going to college on the GI Bill. They met in class and the chemistry was immediate. Their first date was a study date and then he invited her to work out with him at the gym. He taught her some self-defense moves and explained the theory of working out. A month later she went to bed with him and the fireworks were breath-taking. She wore him out.
The love she had fallen into was glorious and life was good. They got married on September fifth, 2001.
He got called back on active duty fifteen days later and she saw him a grand total of thirty-six times between then and March of 2003. Unknown to her (and just about every other American) he was inside Iraq in late February, 2002. He was also one of the first American soldiers killed in action when Operation Iraqi Freedom got fully under way.
Grief can do gruesome things to a person. It is commonly said the five stages of grief are: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Mandy went out of order and combined a couple of stages. Her denial was married to the bargaining stage. She held out hope that there had been some terrible mistake until she got Steve’s body back. Then she was angry until that exhausted her and depression crept in under the radar.
She almost dropped out of school, but school was the only structure in her life at that point, so she plodded on. Her grades suffered. She had no social life and spent hours just sitting in their ... her ... apartment, staring at the walls. Those thirty-six times he’d gotten leave to go see his wife had not resulted in a pregnancy. They’d tried ... with a vengeance ... but her womb hadn’t quickened. Much of her depression was about that. If his seed had taken root, at least she’d have some part of him still with her.
Acceptance came slowly. The “trigger” to that came when she stepped on the scale and realized she’d gained fifteen pounds.
She went back to the gym to work it off.
Working out was the first thing she’d done that felt good since Steve had died. She started at an hour a day, which was all she could manage. That shocked her, too. She worked up to four hours a day before she realized she was compensating for her loss by exhausting herself at the gym.
She dropped back to two hours a day, which was more than enough by then. She was in fabulous shape again.
She had no interest in men and her sex drive seemed to be in hibernation. She started bringing her grades back up. That was, in fact, how she met Ryan. She was paired with him for a project in her thermo-dynamics class.
Ryan was terminally happy. Nothing seemed to bother him. He was smart and capable and a good lab partner. He wasn’t handsome in the classical sense and had a bit of a beer belly, but he also didn’t objectify her, like so many other men did.
They got to know each other well enough that, one day, she reached to pinch that flab and said, “You know, I could get that off of you.”
“Why would I want to do that?” he asked, happily. “I’m fine with my body.”
“Women would find you more attractive,” she said. As far as she knew he never dated.
“Would you find me more attractive?” he asked. For once he wasn’t grinning.
“I have a lot of baggage,” she said. He knew about Steve. “I’m not looking for a man to be attracted to.”
“I suppose I’m not looking for a woman, either,” he said, lightly.
“Don’t tell me you’re gay,” she said, thinking about Matt.
“Nope,” he said, grinning again. “Women are just more trouble than they’re worth.”
“Gee, thanks a lot,” she grumped.
“Not you. You’re fine,” he said. “But when you have a girlfriend she dominates your time. You can’t look at other women. You have to remember dates and things she thinks of as anniversaries. You have to spend lots of money on her. It’s just not worth it right now, that’s all.”
“Whatever,” said Mandy. “Still, you should come to the gym with me and get into better shape. You’ll live longer.”
“Okay,” he said, surprising her with his easy acceptance.
She already knew he was endomorphic, like her. Both of them had more white muscle cells than red. So she worked him with light weights and concentrated more on cardio.
She was surprised at how quickly he was addicted and within two months they were running two miles a day.
They talked about everything as they ran, loping along around campus. One day it was overcast and on the verge of raining and he knocked on her door, asking if she was ready to run.
“Not today,” she sighed. “I’m on my period and cramping.”
“Running will loosen you up,” he said. “Activity is good for that kind of thing. You told me that yourself.”
“It’s about to rain,” she commented, arching one perfect eyebrow.
“So we get a little wet,” he said, grinning.
“It’s only fifty degrees outside,” she said. “If we get wet we’ll get hypothermia.”
“So we only run a mile and then go back into the warm,” he said.
“Why are you so hot to run today?” she asked.
“Are you kidding?” He grinned. “Running with you is the highlight of my day. Everybody sees me running with the hot chick and they think I’m a stud.”
“I’m the hot chick?” She wanted to laugh.
“Of course you are. Every guy on campus wants to get with you.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she scoffed.
“Have you looked in a mirror lately?” He grinned.
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she growled.
“Come on. Just a mile,” he wheedled.
In the end she got dressed, putting on a hoody to combat the rain, if it started, and went out with him. They ended up doing more than a mile, and it did rain lightly, but she felt better.
He became another “buddy” she could be intimate with. They became regular study partners, meeting three times a week and continued to work out together. He got into much better shape and was aware of that.
Mandy’s parents were dead, the victims of a driver who was texting while driving. She had other relatives, but none she felt close enough to reach out to for an invitation to spend the holidays with. When Ryan found out she planned to stay in town for Christmas, he invited her to come home with him.
“Don’t stay here alone,” he said. “My whole family will be there and they love Christmas. It’s their favorite time of the year. They go all out. It’s like a Norman Rockwell Christmas. Everybody will be there and the food will be great. Come with me. You’ll be glad you did.”
She went on condition he make it very clear she wasn’t his girlfriend. He took that to heart. The first thing he said as he introduced her to the twelve relatives there for Christmas dinner was, “This is Mandy and she is not my girlfriend. We’re just study partners and we work out together.”
His family was warm and inviting and for the first time in a long time she felt accepted for who she was, as opposed to who people wanted her to be. Ryan had a younger sister named Jeanette who sidled up to Mandy at one point and asked, “So are you really not his girlfriend?”
“Really not,” said Mandy, firmly.
“Too bad,” sighed Jeanette. “You’re gorgeous.”
“Thanks,” said Mandy, feeling warm.
“So do you have a boyfriend?”
“I’m kind of between boyfriends right now,” said Mandy. She left it at that.
“Well, watch out for Uncle Bob, then. He’s been eying you ever since you got here.”
“Which one is Uncle Bob?” asked Mandy.
“The one with the beard. He’s talking to Ryan, over by the Christmas tree.”
Mandy looked and saw the man she’d already noticed before. He was burly in the mesomorphic kind of way, with broad shoulders and a thickness she knew was muscle rather than fat. She remembered thinking how white his teeth were when she was introduced to him and he smiled through the darkness of his beard. His handshake had been warm and firm. His eyes had stayed on her face, rather than dipping to her breasts.
Her mind flitted to a little fantasy but then rejected it. He was years older than her. And, for all she knew he was a beast. He certainly looked like a beast with his untrimmed, bushy beard.
Then, at dinner, she found herself seated next to him.
She was surprised when he pulled her chair out and seated her. That surprise multiplied when he was asked to say grace. He held out both hands to his sides and everyone reached to hold hands while he spoke. His voice was mellow and deep and his prayer wasn’t some canned little speech, regurgitated by rote.
The meal was delicious and the conversation interesting. Along the way someone asked Uncle Bob how things were going at the ranch and he expounded on how his yearling steers were doing and how his favorite mare would be dropping a foal in a month. Mandy looked at his hands, which handled the utensils with a delicate grace that looked odd in his rough, dark, calloused fingers. She expected food to get stuck in his beard, but it didn’t. She’d never known anyone else who had such full, bushy facial hair. He was ... different.
After dinner there was an enthusiastic round of carols, which everyone participated in, including the children. Then the woman playing the piano - Mandy couldn’t remember her name or what relationship she was to Ryan - stayed there with Ryan and three others and they began singing other songs in four part harmony. There was a fire in the fireplace and Mandy ended up standing beside it, enjoying the warmth and the dancing flames.
“So, how did you meet my nephew?” came a deep voice beside her. She looked to see Uncle Bob standing beside her. He had a glass of eggnog in his hand. The tips of his moustache just above his lips were white with it and she felt the urge to reach and wipe that off.
“We’re lab partners in a class at school,” she said. “Well, we were. That class is over now.”
“Ahhh,” he said, as if that explained some puzzle.
“Ahhh?” She arched an eyebrow.
“It’s just that Ryan has never pursued your kind of woman,” he said.
“My kind of woman?” She felt anger, even though there was no clear rationalization for that.
“Ryan has always been more into skinny girls with glasses who want to save whales and go join demonstrations at pipeline construction sites,” said the man.
“Oh? Well, I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen him spending time with any girls.”
“If you showed any interest in him that becomes an obvious situation.”
“What do you mean?” asked Mandy, anger still bubbling beneath the surface.
“You’re in a whole other category of women than those angry, frustrated liberals he usually hooks up with,” said Bob.
“What makes you think I’m not a liberal?” asked Mandy, letting some of the heat of her anger seep into her voice. “And what category am I in?”
“Hey,” said the man, putting up one hand, palm outward. “We’re just having a conversation here. You seem to have taken offense in a situation where none was intended.”
“What category?” she insisted.
He looked at her and suddenly she felt as if he could see clear into her soul. This time his eyes ranged over her body in an examination that was very quick, but somehow made her feel naked. She noticed, though, that his eyes spent a long time on her hair, which she’d left down but put in a loose French braid. He took a sip of his eggnog, re-staining his moustache, and finally spoke.
“Well, to be indelicate about it - and remember you insisted I tell you - what we used to call that category when I was Ryan’s age was ‘A wet dream built like a brick shithouse’.”
He smiled, as if he’d said nothing offensive at all, but held up his open hand again to restrain her from commenting.
“Of course these days that would be a misogynistic thing to say and completely politically incorrect. But it conveys the concept rather well, so I took the liberty of using a rude description. I hope I have not offended you.”
His ‘apology’ was sincere. Mandy could sense that in her gut. And his eyes hadn’t fallen to her breasts again when he said it. He’d been looking in her eyes instead of talking to the body he was describing.
The anger that had flashed and then surged when he said such a crass thing deflated and then, surprisingly, vanished like smoke in the wind.
“Well, since it was so politically incorrect, I won’t say thank you,” she said.
“It’s just that Ryan’s never brought a beautiful woman home with him,” said Bob. “So I was surprised and poked my nose where it probably doesn’t belong.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” she said, firmly.
“That’s an interesting word, isn’t it?” he asked. “Boyfriend. Girlfriend. It makes things sound so juvenile. That said, I can definitely see Ryan as a boy. He has a lot of growing up to do. You, on the other hand? You’re not a girl. You may be young, but you’re not a girl. You’re all woman and it would be silly to hear you referred to as a ‘girl’friend.”
“You’re very forward, aren’t you,” said Mandy, who was trying to find that anger again, but couldn’t.
“I suppose so,” he said, easily. “When you live the kind of life I do, there isn’t much room for silly things. Your generation, no offense intended, seems to delight in frivolity and silliness, little social games.”
“All I’m trying to do is get an education and make a life,” said Mandy. “I think that’s true of others my age, too.”
“Of course,” said Bob, taking another sip. That “moustache” on his moustache was driving her crazy. She wished she had a napkin in her hand. “But a life should include productive work and that’s what your generation seems to want to avoid.”
“That’s a very broad generalization,” said Mandy.
“It is,” he admitted. “I shouldn’t make them. My father liked to say, ‘All generalizations are bad, including this one.’ I’ve always remembered that but sometimes I let my mouth get away from me.”
“You do,” agreed Mandy, but with no heat.
“I thank you for your very gracious tolerance of an old curmudgeon,” he said, bowing slightly.
“You’re not old,” she said. “Curmudgeonly, perhaps, but not old. I bet you’re a Republican.”
He leaned close enough to her that she could smell the faint hint of some cologne, and spoke under his breath, conspiratorially.
“I am, and don’t tell Ryan, but I’m also a member of the NRA.”
“How nice for you,” she said. “I vote for whoever I think has the best ideas, regardless of party.”
“And yet, whoever gets elected is supposed to represent you and your ideas, rather than his own,” he said. “Or hers,” he added, smiling.
“That’s impossible,” said Mandy, suddenly enjoying this little argument. “An elected official can’t possibly please all the people. That’s why it’s important to know where they stand on various issues before you vote for them.”
“Agreed,” said Bob. “Though it would be nice if they listened to their constituents, at least to what the majority want.”
“I don’t want to talk about politics,” said Mandy. “Tell me why there is no room for silliness in your life. That seems sad.”
“Oh, I’m not opposed to a little superficiality now and then,” said Bob.
He took another sip and seemed to be about to add to that, but Mandy couldn’t stand it any longer. She looked around and saw a pile of napkins on the table, which was now set with plates bearing a variety of Christmas goodies. She walked ten feet to get a napkin and, when she returned, she reached to clean his upper lip and moustache tips.
“Sorry,” she said, for intruding into his personal space.
“No problem,” he said, grinning. “I live alone and have the manners of a bear.”
“You certainly look like a bear,” joked Mandy.
“That would make us Beauty and the Beast,” he quipped.
She felt a little jolt as he used the same word she’d thought of in reference to him only an hour earlier. Then she was distracted from that when he went on.
“Now there’s a story they only told half of,” he said.
“Well, think about it. Beast meets girl. Beast falls in love with girl. Girl falls in love with beast. What normally happens when two beings fall in love?”
“Oh,” said Mandy, who felt her face get warm.
“Of course they couldn’t tell that part,” said Bob. “That would have been extremely politically incorrect, even back then. Not to mention that beastiality is against the law almost everywhere.”
“What are you two talking about?” came a voice that startled Mandy. She looked to see Ryan standing beside them. The singing was still going on, but with different vocalists.
“Nothing,” she said, automatically, while thinking about what Uncle Bob had said. He’d referred to himself as the Beast, and her as Beauty. What he’d added to that was innuendo ... wasn’t it?
“I was telling Mandy how surprised I was that you brought home a beautiful woman instead of another little girl who wants to save the planet,” said Bob.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” said Ryan, who seemed unfazed by his uncle’s sardonic comment.
“Yes,” said Bob. “You both make it painfully clear you’re not together.”
Ryan had taken her away then, to a table where five other family members were playing a card game she’d never heard of. Over the next hour she learned it and liked it very much. She was distracted from the game only a couple of times, when she saw Bob dancing with various of his female relatives and it occurred to her that she really didn’t have any relationships with older men. Bob was - after she’d chatted with him for a while - an interesting man, interesting in ways her instincts told her were due to his age and life experience. It was something she wasn’t likely to find in men her own age.
It was on a subconscious level, but another category of men was opened up for exploration, in terms of social relationships.
It was a fun evening for her, and Mandy was glad she’d gone with Ryan to meet his family.
The irony of the situation became clear only later, when Ryan took her to the guest room so she could retire for the night. They’d played cards for hours and she’d pretty much constantly sipped on eggnog from the spiked container.
Like this new, fun card game, she’d decided that eggnog with rum in it was going to have to become part of her life from that point on.
The result, though, was that by the time the last of the extended family put on their coats and left, she was a little more than mildly tipsy. Ryan had already arranged with his mother to have Mandy stay in the guest room, since they had a six hour drive to get back to the town they went to school in, and when he took her there she weaved and laughed a lot, bumping into him until he put his arm around her waist to steady her.
“Thanks,” she said as she plopped down on the bed, lying back with her arms spread.
“No problem,” he said, staring at the mountains pushing up under her shirt and licking his lips. “I put your overnight bag on that chair over there.” He pointed. “If you need anything, my room is right next door.”
“Okay,” she sighed. “I like your family.”
“They like you, too,” he replied. “Sleep tight.”
He left and Mandy lay there for a while, almost dozing off before she decided to change clothes and get in bed. She got up and giggled a little as she staggered around, making her way to where her overnight bag was.
She normally slept nude, but had brought a long T shirt to wear in this strange environment, so she stripped down and put that on. She tried to carefully fold her dirty clothes and giggled some more when that took an inordinate amount of concentration.
The bed felt good as she crawled into it and she relaxed.
The only problem was ... she was horny, and she hadn’t brought anything with her to deal with that.
She giggled again as she had a short fantasy of Ryan helping her by opening her bag to get her sleepwear out for her and finding the eight-inch-long, anatomically correct dildo she’d named Harold, and which she often used to satisfy her hungry pussy with. It didn’t vibrate, but it stretched her delightfully and she could feel every bump and ridge on it as she worked it in and out of her sex.
She didn’t have a lot of experience with real penises. She’d seen only four: her father’s, Matt’s, Tony’s, and Steve’s. Tony’s had come the closest to being as big as her dildo, but she knew most men would never be as big as Harold.
But she hadn’t brought Harold, hadn’t imagined she’d need him, so she reached with her fingers to get some relief.
She got close, but not there. She didn’t know what was wrong. She decided it was because she was tipsy and couldn’t decide on a man to think of while her fingers mauled her clit. At one moment she’d think of one of the men she’d actually had sex with. But both Ryan and Bob kept intruding on her thoughts. She understood Ryan. He was sweet and not bad looking. But Uncle Bob? He looked gruff and bearish. His attitude about life was no nonsense and opinionated. But his voice was so warm and deep and the way he’d danced with the various women had been warm and intimate, too.
Not that he’d put his hands in inappropriate places, but his embrace during slow songs had been snug - with all of them - in a way that made it clear they liked being close to this big, hairy man.
He was single. She didn’t know any more than that. She tried to imagine what kind of woman he might have paired up with in the past.
It was while she was thinking about these things that she realized she wasn’t going to get to where she needed to be. She was too distracted.
It was most likely the rum that made her mind go onto a new track.
Ryan was right next door. And he’d said if she needed anything...
It was quiet when she carefully opened the door to the guest room and tiptoed toward the next door. She hoped it was the right one. It would be embarrassing in the extreme if it wasn’t, but it was the door in the direction he’d nodded toward.
Just as carefully she eased that door open and looked inside. Her eyes had adapted to the dark, but the only light in that room was coming through thin curtains over the windows. She could see the bed, and a long lump on it, but that was all.
“Ryan?” she whispered.
The lump moved.
“Yeah. Can I come in?”
“Of course,” said Ryan’s voice. “What’s wrong?”
She went to the bed, weaving slightly and overcompensating, like tipsy people do.
“I’m horny,” she whispered, and then giggled.
“I’m glad,” said Ryan.
The covers were pulled aside and she slid into bed with him.
“Just this once,” she whispered.
“I hoped this would happen some day,” he said, embracing her.
Later she would reflect on that night. It was definitely the rum that got her into bed with Ryan. But even so, it worked out wonderfully. She wished she hadn’t drunk so much eggnog, because she had a hard time remembering that night in detail, but she was also sure that, if she hadn’t drunk so much eggnog, she wouldn’t have gone to his room. Much of the benefit to doing that would be realized much later, but she wasn’t sorry it had happened.
What she did remember and would experience again, despite her warning that it would happen only once, was that Ryan came as close as she thought any man ever would to being as big as Harold. She’d known that the second she’d reached to grip what was, to her relief, a diamond-hard cock that she really needed inside her.
He was a reasonably good lover, in terms of foreplay, but she didn’t need foreplay. She’d managed the foreplay part on her own. The most vivid memories of that night, though, were being filled, stretched, and then having to reach for a pillow to stifle her voice as she finally got what she so desperately needed.
That was it. She didn’t know if she’d passed out, or just been so relaxed after her orgasm that she drifted off, but she woke up with the early-morning light coming through the windows. Ryan was snoring beside her as she lifted her tousled head and stared blearily around. She had a mild hangover, but it wasn’t too bad. What worried her was whether anyone else was up and around and had found “her bed” empty.
She got out of bed, mildly surprised that her T shirt was still on, and tiptoed to the door.
It was silent as she opened it. She had to think hard to remember where the bathroom was, but it was necessary to find it. She shaved it close, because as she was coming out of the bathroom Ryan’s mom opened another door down the hall and came out of it dressed in a robe.
“Good morning,” she said. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes,” said Mandy, thinking that the woman must somehow know where she had slept.
“Good. Breakfast will be ready in half an hour.”
That was it. By the time Mandy was dressed for the day and got down to the kitchen, she felt better. Half an hour after that she had decided that her activities the previous night were unknown to anyone other than Ryan.