Chapter 1: Fling

Summer 2012

Amanda Warren had no doubts what Bret intended when he invited her up to his apartment while he drove her back from the concert at Ravinia.

“Your roommates?” she asked.

“Don’t have any. I didn’t want to bring any dessert with us to Ravinia, but I have the makings of hot fudge sundaes up there.”

“Why thank you.” She hadn’t absolutely decided, but she had worn date-worthy panties. Then, too, she had warned Sharon that he might be late getting back.

“Ravinia isn’t a late date,” Sharon had said.

“Yeah, but I think Bret may have something else planned for afterwards.” Their romance had been progressing, and Bret was fairly transparent if not at all grabby.

She sat in the kitchen while Bret warmed up the jar of sauce, dished up the ice cream, and poured one over the other. He gave generous portions.

When he carried their dishes to the sink, she excused herself to use his john. The room was decently clean, surprisingly so for a guy living alone. The medicine cabinet showed no sign of a woman’s presence. She hadn’t really suspected that, but it was nice to be careful. She figured she would say ‘yes’ if he worked himself up to asking nicely.

They sat on the sofa, talked about the music they’d heard, and began kissing. Bret was as good a kisser as he was a dancer, and he took his time. She was excited by the time he left her mouth for her cheek and then her neck. By the time he’d kissed down to the collar of her top, she was happy -- even eager -- to have him unbutton the rest to give his lips room.

“Oh, Mandy,” he said when he got her bra off. He always treated her breasts as something special, and she -- a little defensive about the B-cup bra size -- appreciated that. They continued to make out, and he continued to increase her excitement. Then he broke away to remove his shirt and tee.

He guided her down flat on the sofa and lay over her to kiss her deeply. His chest hair pressed into her nipples as his tongue explored her mouth. Through two layers of jeans, she could feel the top of his cock press into her mound. The warmth she was already feeling turned to heat in her belly. She felt the spot between her legs warm and dampen.

She’d wrapped her legs around his when he broke the kiss and raised his head to stare deeply into her eyes.

“Mandy.”

“Bret?”

“Should we move this into the bedroom?”

“Let’s.” He’d made her want him.

Except piles of paper and books on the table that held his computer, there was absolutely no mess in his bedroom. The bed was covered with a stark-white sheet exhibiting folds as though it had been unwrapped from the store and put on the bed that morning. Bret shut the door half way so the bed was in the shadow. The living room hadn’t been bright, but this room was dim.

She lay flat in the center of the bed, and he stood at the foot taking off her shoes and socks. He came up the bed over her and gave her another hot kiss with their jeans-clad legs intertwining. He kissed down to her breast while she stroked her bare foot over his calf. His kisses went lower as he opened her jeans. She held on to her panties while he tugged the jeans off. The lace and ruffles of the panties hid the first wax job she’d ever had, and he was going to be the first male to her that bare since she’d entered puberty. She thought a guy would like it; her friends told her a guy would like it; but she didn’t know,

He kissed her leg, her belly, and her breast on the way to a long, deep kiss with his hands cupping her breasts. The heat in her belly rose again, almost eclipsing her worry about his opinion of the next stage. Then his mouth made its way downward again. He buried his face between her breasts, licked each nipple, and kissed a trail down to the elastic of her panties. She raised her hips as he tugged the panties down to bare her all.

“Oh, Mandy!” he said. The voice was adoring. “Oh Amanda! May I kiss it? ... But first.” He drew the panties down over her ankles

He did kiss her mound, but then he parted her labia and licked between them. The heat spread all over her body, and she began to writhe.

“Tell me what to do,” he said.

She thought, “Just that,” and she may have said it, but she probably hadn’t the breath for it. The heat was making her quiver, and every single muscle in her body tensed. She felt his lips close over her oh-so-sensitive clit, and fire shot through her. The fire poured to every extremity and shook her like a maraca.

She heard a moan, and Bret said “Mandy ... Oh, Mandy.” Then she collapsed. It was a struggle to breathe.

Bret was rolling around beside her and she heard various things fall to the floor and a drawer somewhere slide open and shut. Then he was between her legs and over her. She felt something cool just touch her labia

Say ‘yes’; Oh, Mandy say ‘yes,’” he said from inches above her face.

“Yes.” Not that she had a hell of a lot of choice. Not that she would have denied him if she had. Not that she hadn’t been saying ‘yes’ to sex since she’d walked through the bedroom door.

The cool slickness parted her lips. He stretched her, slid into her, and filled her.

“Oh, Mandy!” He wriggled on top of her, which involved interesting motions in her sensitive vulva. Then his hands clasped her breasts. He kissed her lightly, and then raised his head so that they were staring into each others’ eyes. His thumbs stroked her nipples, sending heat down toward her belly. He stroked in and out of her, sending more heat to meet it. She felt the tension build again distantly, but all she could think about were the dark brown eyes boring into hers. Flames were nibbling at her core, and Bret seemed able to see those flames.

His rough legs moved within her smooth thighs. She tensed, and he moved over that tension as regularly as a metronome. Her inmost muscle gripped him, and he stroked slickly through that grip.

The fire erupted within her and shook her.

“Mandy!” he shouted. He drew back through her inner clasp; he drove into her so strongly that she moved up the bed. Then he was pulsing within her pulses.

He dropped onto her as she gave one more shudder. He was heavy, especially on her belly. When she felt him ooze out below, he put one hand down there. Then he slid out and moved to her side. She heard something drop into the bottom of a waste basket while she slowly caught her breath again,

“Tell me you can stay.” Bret sounded like he was begging. “Tell me you don’t have to go.”

She wasn’t sure that she had the energy to turn over, let alone walk back to the dorm. “All right.”

“Sweet.” He rolled against her side and hugged her. Her last thought was that she could never sleep like that.

“The robe is dirty. Would you like to wear this?” Some man was in her room, she was naked, and she had to go bad!

Between pissing the bed and being seen naked by a strange man, she chose to get up. She grabbed the shirt -- a man’s white dress shirt -- and pulled it on. She wasn’t her room, but she managed to find the bathroom, close the door, and drop onto the toilet before she let go. In the time that her bladder took emptying, she realized what was going on. The man had been Bret, not some stranger. Well, Bret was fairly strange, but it was his apartment and she’d gone to it willingly. As she remembered the previous night, she decided that she would return to his bed another time eagerly.

Not, however, in her makeup. She hadn’t removed it the night before, and she was a mess. There were two towel sets on two separate towel racks. She used the washcloth of the set which looked less used to scrub her face. Soap and water worked, as Mom had always told her they would. They just didn’t work very well, like much of Mom’s advice.

The shirt, when she put it back on and rolled up the monstrous sleeves, wasn’t that bad as a robe. It came midway down her thighs in front and back, and covered more and let less light through than lots of what she’d seen in the Victoria’s Secret catalogue. It was sort of scratchy on her nipples, though.

Why was she so worried about wearing it in front of Brent when he’d seen -- kissed -- what she was trying to hide? She went out into the living room and saw that her top and bra weren’t there.

In the bedroom, Bret was back in bed covered by the sheet. The sheet, she remembered, had been covering her when she woke. It hadn’t been on the bed when she had seen it first. Well...

“Come back to bed,” Bret said. There was a wrapped condom lying on the night stand.

“I really should be going.”

“You really should be coming. You do it so well. Come to bed, celebrate the morning, and I’ll feed you breakfast and drive you home.”

It was outrageous, but she did remember the night before. When she climbed into bed and kissed him, Bret tasted of toothpaste and had obviously shaved.

When he cupped her, she spread her legs wide. The callused hand was warm against her bare skin. His kiss was warm and deep. She was waking up, and she was waking up aroused.

The heat was already making the sheet an annoyance, when he brushed it downward as his mouth sought her breast. When he licked her nipple, his finger stroked between her labia. The heat concentrated just under where his palm was resting on her belly.

She felt the heat raising her against his hand. He sucked her nipple and stroked over her clit. His mouth left her breast.

“Tell me when you’re ready for me,” he said.

“I’m ready now.”

His finger slipped into her while he sucked her other nipple. He stroked the top of her tunnel for a minute, and then pulled the finger out across her clit -- very slowly and arousingly.

“Tell me when you want me.” He went back to sucking the first nipple.

“Want you? I need you!”

“All right then.” He abandoned her altogether to roll towards the night stand. She was frustrated, but before she could complain, he was kneeling between her spread legs. “Mandy.” He spread her, filled her, stretched her.

After less wriggling than the night before, he had her breasts in his hands and his face above her. This time, she closed her eyes. He kissed her forehead. As he slid out, he kissed her nose, and then her chin.

The sliding within, the metronomic evenness, the thumbs on her breasts, even the eyes on her face that she could feel if not see, were stoking the heat within her. She tensed, opened her eyes and stared into his.

The fire burst out, and she writhed.

“Mandy,” he said. She could feel him stroke in and out through her inmost clutching. Then he was pulsing within her last, feeblest contractions.

When he fell, he fell to his side. She could hear his pants even when hers faded.

“Didn’t somebody promise you breakfast?” Bret asked.

“As the price of my lily-white body.”

“Then he’d better pay up.” He got out of bed. This time she was distinctly aware of the sound of the condom dropping into the waste basket. He heard him go into the bathroom and then come out. She put on her panties and then the shirt again.

“Sorry,” he said when she got to the kitchen where he was frying eggs while wearing his robe, “I thought about last night many times, but I, somehow, didn’t get past the point where we were in bed together. Are eggs all right?”

“They’re fine.”

“Coffee?”

“Do you have decaf?” she asked.

“Sorry! Real or none? Want sugar? Milk?”

“Both.” She didn’t think asking for an artificial sweetener would be productive. He got the carton of whole milk out of the ‘fridge, and handed her a cup -- an ordinary plastic coffee cup -- with sugar in it. He gave her two spoons, and then poured her coffee. He put a plate with two sunny-side-up fried eggs on it in front of her. There was no juice, no bacon or sausage, no toast. She couldn’t see a toaster in the kitchen, and people usually had one on the counter.