Chapter 3

"Time to get up, Charly!"

Her mother's voice through the door was brisk and cheerful with the new morning.

Charlene was annoyed. Not that her mother was waking her. In fact, Charlene had already been awake. She'd slept only fitfully and she welcomed the morning. It gave her an excuse to surrender in the battle to sleep and finally arise.

What she resented was the reason for her mother's cheer and her own melancholy. Her mother, after all, had gotten it the night before.

Charlene hadn't.

She swung her long legs over the side of the bed and stood up, stretching away the uncomfortable links -- not the stiffness that follows a good, sound sleep.

I wonder if Derek is still here?

There was no real reason for her mother's lover to have left yet; Charlene knew he owned a small real estate business on the increasingly fashionable Upper West Side of Manhattan. And Derek had been getting it on with her mother long enough for him to be "allowed" to sleep over the entire night and leave next day.

Quickly, Charlene pulled on a filmy peignoir and brushed her glorious hair back into a ponytail. She checked herself out in the mirror. The peignoir was becoming to her, a pale yellow color, but when she stepped through the bright sunlight coming through her window, it became all but transparent. Most of her was placed on display, her thighs above the midpoint hem clearly silhouetted right up to the little ripples of young pussy lip shadows through the material. Her breasts, unfettered and disdaining the support of a bra as unnecessary, bounced enticingly while still straining with their firm thrust against the fabric. Her nipples were dark spots in the center of pale mounds of creamy flesh -- dark spots that were slowly hardening to twin spikes from the friction of the lightweight peignoir against them.

She looked sexy and edible -- and wet, with her finely chiseled features and red hair and bright green eyes, she also somehow managed to look like an ice maiden, almost haughty in her appearance.

She took a deep breath, her magnificent breasts testing the holding power of the peignoir, threw her shoulders back -- and then opened the door and walked out into the corridor. She jounced quickly down the stairs to the kitchen, tits bobbling beautifully -- and sadly, for there was no one to appreciate the sight.

Her mother sat at the kitchen table, staring out the window. The view was to the west, and much of midtown was easily visible. Their building was on Thirty-fifth and Lexington, their apartment on the fortieth and forty-first floors. Over on the Park Avenue block, a well- dressed couple in their fifties were taking breakfast on the garden patio of their penthouse, served by a handsome black man in a butler's uniform. The man was reading the paper. Charlene was sure it was the Times.

"Good morning, Mom," she said, leaning over to press her lips lightly to her mother's cheek. Her mother's complexion was still as soft and alluring as any woman of twenty might wish. At thirty-nine, she turned teen-aged heads to watch her with ease.

"Hi, Charly," her mother answer. "Coffee?"

"I'll get it"

She knew her mother was watching her reflection in the windowpane. It made her a bit uncomfortable this morning. Whatever was on her mother's mind, though, she knew it couldn't be too time-consuming. Her mother was a copyrighter for an ad agency -- a damn good one, too -- and would be leaving for work in a few minutes. She was already dressed in a camel dress cut an inch or so up her thighs and hugging her trim waist to emphasize all the more the curvaceous fullness of her bust and ass.

Charlene walked over to the table with her coffee and sat opposite her mother.

"You came in awfully late, young lady," her mother began gently. "I thought you understood: no late dates on school nights. Leave you too groggy to learn. You look half-asleep as it is."

"Un-huh." Charlene sipped her coffee. She couldn't resist asking. "How was your date?"

Her mother's eyes clouded. "Oh, fine, fine." She was momentarily lost in a reverie of remembered passions -- as Charlene had hoped.

But then her mother drained her cup and looked Charlene squarely in the eye. "Charly,"

"Um?"

"Are you a virgin?"

Charlene nearly shit herself. "Am I a what?"

"Virgin. You know, intact hymen and all that."

"Mom, for crying out --"

"Well, are you?"

She sighed. "Yes, Mother." Which was, technically, true. While she had managed to strip away that little piece of skin over the past few years of cramming various objects into her hot young cunt, she never had actually, fucked with a man.

To her dismay.

"Why?" her mother asked.

Charlene stared at her. "Why?" she echoed.

"I asked you first."

Charlene couldn't help but smile at the old Groucho line. "Well, I just -- just haven't -- haven't -- you know, Mom."

"Why not? Sal's got the hots for you -- and unless high school and college boys have changed markedly since I was your age, probably half the straight males in the city drool over you. So why?"

Charlene was just getting around to formulating the answer to that when her mother stood and said, "I'd better get going. But if you decide you're going to do any you-know-what, young lady, you call the doctor and arrange some precautionary measures -- if you know what I mean." She bent, kissed Charlene on the forehead. "See you later, Charly."

"Yeah, have a nice day, Mom." Charlene stared down into her coffee as her mother left the kitchen. A moment later, the door to the apartment closed.

Cripes, she thought, even her mother had seemed a bit put off to hear that Charlene hadn't done any fucking, had not been getting her share.

Maybe, she thought, there would come a time when any good mother would ask her that of her daughter out of genuine concern. She could picture it:

"Are you feeling okay, Jane?"

"I'm okay, Mom."

"Are you sure? Let me look at you." And then after examining her daughter's appearance, a good mother would ask," Jane, have you been getting your share lately?"

And if her daughter admitted she hadn't been, her mother would admonish her to go out and find a man with a good stiff dick. Maybe turn over the keys to the bedroom for the night.

Charlene sighed again. That time hadn't come -- yet. Though she suspected that it did really happen that way in at least a few households.

But not her own. Not yet, at least.

She finished her coffee and got ready for school.

By happy coincidence, that was the day of the teacher's meeting at her school -- and therefore all of the classes for the afternoon were called off.

It fit in perfectly with Charlene's scheme.

She met Sal in the usual place -- outside the Sixty-eighth Street entrance to the IRT.

"Hi, Charly," he said brightly, kissing her lightly on the cheek and slipping one arm about her. They made a striking couple. Sal was tall and well-built and handsome, with dark, curly hair that almost covered his ears. He squeezed her to him. It was the same, as always.

So far. But what Sal didn't know was what she had in mind for him.

"What's up?" he asked.

"Not much. What're you doing this afternoon?"

"Nothing in particular. Got something in mind?"

You don't know the half of it. "Oh, I thought we might go back to my house and just fall out. There might be a good movie on cable TV."

"Suits me." They went into the station and boarded a train to Thirty-third Street, then disembarked and walked to, Charlene's apartment building. They'd done this before and always had ended up watching cable television movies or playing Scrabble. Occasionally, they'd gotten down to it and once that had led to some pretty heavy messing around. But when Charlene had put her hand on the bulge in his pants, Sal had suddenly gotten scared and backed off. He was afraid her mother might find them. Or something.

She'd whacked off till her pussy was sore that night.

"I'll be right back," she said when they.got inside the apartment. "Going to get out of these and into something a little more comfortable. Be at home."

In her own room, she quickly stripped off her school clothes and pulled on a sashed blouse that reached almost to her knees, a pair of black panties and nothing else. She tied a loose knot in the sash so that the sides hugged in just enough to accentuate her trim waist and the soft, gentle flare of her adolescent hips -- not to mention the bold, impudent thrust of her twin mounds of quivering, creamy tit flesh.

This time, when she came flouncing down the stairs, there was someone to appreciate it.

Sal looked like his eyeballs were going to roll right out of his head.

"What are you looking at?" Charlene demanded sharply.

"Y-y-y-y-" he stammered.

"Sounds like?" she teased, putting on as though they were playing charades.

Sal stopped, took a deep breath -- and then another. Finally, he said, "Charlene, I can see... everything."

She sidled up close to him, slung her arms up over his shoulders and around his neck and pressed the full length of her lovely body to his. She could feel the potent bulge of his cock through his trousers growing down his thigh.

"Complaints?" she whispered, slipping her fingers up through the hair on the back of his head. She let her eyelids half-close, gave her hips a little twist so that her out-thrust little pubic mound would move against his thigh. His eyes were momentarily distant -- and then became fearful.

And still, he'd made no move to take advantage of her blatant offer.

Charlene pulled his head down, meeting his still-stammering lips with her own. Her mouth was open in moist, yielding invitation and as soon as the first contact was made, she let her tongue slither out and in between his teeth. His tongue jerked back at her touch, as though burned -- but she pursued him.

Within moments, their tongues were dueling on the playing field of their wetly joined mouths. She could feel his dick swelling still harder, throbbing even more insistently within the confines of his regulation jeans. His arms tightened about her back, crushing the luscious swells of her breasts fiercely against his chest.

But then, Sal suddenly pulled his mouth from hers, averting his face.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"We -- we shouldn't be doing this," he breathed.

"Shouldn't be -- " She stopped, caught her breath "And why not?"

"Because we're liable to get carried away." Sal answered.

"And what's wrong with that?" she demanded.

"Because I-you-"

"Spit it out!"

"Because you're a virgin."

"I don't want to be a virgin," she said carefully. Suddenly, she understood. One of her girlfriend's had told her that she'd lost a boyfriend who wouldn't fuck her because she'd told him she was a virgin. She'd simply let her next man assume she wasn't -- until the bloody evidence afterwards told him.

"Charlene!" Sal gasped.

Obviously, she thought, Sal didn't want what he perceived to be the responsibilities and ties of popping a girl's cherry.

Only one thing to do.

Charlene slipped one hand down over his thigh until her fingers had closed about the rigid, pulsating lump of his penis within his pants. Sal gasped and yanked her fingers away from him. "Don't!"

"But why --"

"Because you're a --"

"Maybe I don't want to be," she said. "And maybe I'm not."

His jaw fell. "But you said --"

She went into her act. "I'm sorry, Sal, but I -- " She raised her eyes and met his gaze. "I lied."

"You lied? You? I don't believe it!"

"It's true," she said. "I-I don't like to talk about it because it was... against my will."

"You were raped?"

Was it her imagination or did his cock really give an extra spasm?

"When I was thirteen," she continued, improvising effectively. "No one knows except Mom and me -- and you, now. Not even Daddy knows."

"Cripes," he whispered.

She was sure: he was more excited. She let her hand slip back down his leg, insinuating it between them. She slowly covered the swollen bar of his prick flesh and gently increased the pressure of her fingers on it. She could see the reaction in the slowly changing expression on his face.

"Why are you telling me now?" he managed to ask.

"Because you'd never have gotten around to making love to me otherwise -- and I want you to."

"You want me to?" he asked, as though he were unable to believe what she'd said.

"Yes," she hissed -- and tightened her finger grip powerfully about his cock.

Sal groaned, flinched, eyes closing.

"Yes, Sal, I do," she murmured. "Take me!"

"Oh, cripes, cripes," he groaned -- but still made no move to do as she'd asked.

So Charlene literally took matters into her own hands. She moved her fingers deftly and his zipper was open. She reached inside with one hand and got her fingers into his briefs. A moment of quick, desperate fumbling and she had his aching cock out into the open air.

And in her cool hand.

"Do you want me to tell you about it?" she asked.

He didn't even ask her what "it" was. He knew. "Yeah," he said. "Tell me."

She wrapped her fingers about the stiff bar of dick flesh, savoring its heat and the steel behind the velvety softness. His cock was a good six inches long and thicker than the handle of her hairbrush dildo. The knob was purpled with blood and his shaft thickened just slightly before disappearing down into the mass of coarse, wary hair matting over the base of his groin. His balls were tight and full with pent-up semen.

Again, she improvised, as her fist began shuttling slowly up and down over the length of his dong.

"It was late summer," she said, hand moving, "just after my birthday and just before school started."

As she spoke, she moved slowly backwards, gradually backing towards the conversation pit sofa. He followed her.

"It was the year before you moved into the area and it was very hot."

She loved the feel of his hard-on beneath her fingers.

"I was swimming in the pool of the thirtieth floor of the building. It was late, nearly eleven, and it was almost deserted -- except for the pool guard and one of his friends."

She felt the edge of the couch cushions against the backs of her knees, gracefully lowered herself to sit.

"He was watching me all night. Maybe it was the way I was dressed."

"What were you wearing?" Sal asked hoarsely.

"A pair of bikini bottoms -- and an old white teeshirt. My breasts were really just starting to develop then. They weren't as big as they are now."

She was sitting, facing him, looking right at his cock -- and it seemed to Charlene almost as if his prick was staring right back at her with the cyclopean eye of the pee-hole slit in the glans. As she spoke, she slowly loosened the sash of her top and let it swing open, exposing her gorgeous tits to his hungry eyes. He feasted on them, devouring the perfection of their curves, the saucy uptilt of her stiffened little nipples, the melonlike firmness of the mounds of milky white flesh.

Slowly, she brought her free hand up and let her fingers slightly caress the underside of one thrusting, snowy hillock, emphasizing the gentle fullness of the well-developed tit.

"Gawd, they're beautiful," Sal managed to mutter. He stared at them as though he'd never seen a woman's naked boobs before.

"My breasts weren't nearly this large," she repeated, half- encircling one jug with her hand and lifting and squeezing it by way of illustration. She bent her head down and licked out her tongue, barely grazing the taut little spike of pink nipple flesh. Then she looked up at him, saw his eyes locked onto her. "They've always been super- sensitive -- even then," she whispered. "The cold water in the pool made the nipples get all hard and pointy -- like they are now." Again she bent her head and teased the turgid little peak with her wet tongue. She felt an answering gush of warmth through her cunt.

"I saw the guard watching me. He was eighteen. His name was -- " She stopped. "It doesn't matter."

"You know who it was?" Sal asked -- and then gasped as his cock was treated to a sudden, rapid shuttling by her fingers.

"Sure," she answered, squeezing tightly about the base of his dick. "But we didn't prosecute."

"Cripes -- oh, shit!"

Again her fingers had tightened about his dick shaft. At the same time, her free hand had moved to open the waist of his pants. The jeans fell to the floor about his ankles. She relinquished her grip on his click long enough to work his briefs down off his hips and about his thighs.

And then her fingers were once more wrapped about the angry erection throbbing from his loin.

"He watched me for a while. Then he asked me if I knew how to do the butterfly stroke. I told him I didn't and he said he'd show me. When he stood up on the chair I saw this big bulge inside his lifeguard swimming trunks. I knew what those things were all about but -- but I'd never actually seen one before."