Roger Kovack had spent the last four years getting his degree, as well as working for the Donzi Marine racing team. Some said that he had a genius touch with the Mercruiser engines. Since he had no steady girlfriend, he decided to go to Vermont to spend a lazy summer with his uncle, Russell Clark, who had a home on Lake Champlain, located in Barnes’s Bay of South Hero.
Russ, his mother’s brother, had invited him to spend the summers in Vermont, instead of cooking in the Florida heat, each summer of his high school years. During those stays, when Russ was not driving his Coke route, they were on the water fishing. A lot had changed in the last four years. Russ had divorced and remarried. All Roger knew about the new wife was that her name was Amanda.
Driving northbound on interstate 95, Roger occupied his mind thinking of his favorite subject, which of course is women. This last semester had been a remarkable experience for him. He had an affair with Linda Salisbury, who was a teacher taking courses to attain her required masters degree. Linda, damn, he could see her in his mind. Dressed and acted like a teacher. No tits, thin body, age thirty-four, and fucks like a rabbit. What really made her exciting was her mind. He knew that it would be years before he fully understood all that she tried to teach him about life, if ever.
He remembered their conversation after one of professor Walters’ history classes. Old professor Walters had challenged the class with the question, “Who here is proud of his Scottish or Irish heritage?” Several raised their hand. Walters then said, “Do you know that you are probably all related to not only to each other, but to the English, Spaniards, Italians?” The simple explanation was that the English Isles were often invaded. The victors would kill or run off the men and impregnate the women.
Since the spreading of genes was the topic, it was mentioned that when Germany surrendered at the end of world war two, the Russian solders raped every female they could find in their sector, often, for years.
Walters tossed a bombshell at us. “Consider this. In some cases, a people, a complete country might have been made better by the use of systematic rape.”
Every eye was on professor Walters. “For over a hundred years before the potato famine in Ireland, the English Crown was concerned with the rebelliousness of the Irish people. What the Crown did was appoint noblemen from Wales to be the local Governors of the farming districts. Any girl who wanted to be married in the district had to submit herself to the Governor for whatever time that he decreed, so that he would sire her child. Easy to beat that system, you may think? There were high stakes. When the woman submitted herself, she was examiner by the Crown’s doctor to determine if she was a virgin. A used woman would be whipped and hung. Terrible, you say. Yes, but consider this. The Welsh noblemen were some of the brightest men of their time. Each of you are to write a five thousand word paper concerning the impact of this practice on the people of Ireland, and on the individual woman.”
That night, after a great fuck with Linda, Roger asked her opinion of what professor Walters had said. He remembers what she said, verbatim. “Roger, you probably would be very surprised by what the women of Ireland really thought of the English requirement of sex with the Governor. Follow me here. When the girl comes of age, she knows that her first sex will be with the governor. She, a common subject, lives in a stone dwelling, often with a dirt floor. The men of her family all are dirt poor, with poor hygiene, and ragged clothes. But, the Governor is a man of great wealth, with silk clothes, grand carriage, and who lives in the castle.
The women who had been to the castle to be serviced by the Governor would tell her of the hot water baths, the feasts of plenty, the fine beds, and the Governor doing it to them. By the time a girl gets to the Governor’s bed, I would bet that she could not wait for him to mount her.”
“Oh, I would think that there is more to the story. What do you think a bored Governor, and his henchman, did to entertain themselves on a cold winter night? You got it. Round up some of the local ladies for an orgy at the castle. More feast, warm bath, and comfortable beds, with all the hot sex a gal could want. Sure, they would tell their husbands that they fought as best they could, and only one man had his way with her, when in fact she had paraded around naked, from man to man, taking cock after cock.”
Linda looked Roger in the eye. “Roger, you guys seem to think that any time a gal has sex that a man seduced her, or forced her. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Look at us. I came on to you. Hunted you, if you will. When classes end, I will go back to my little life as Linda Salisbury, faithful wife, until next time.”
“Oh, sure. I will take a class for the next four semesters. I’ll pick out a guy in each class to get to know, like I did you, just for the merry old hell of it.”
“What do you tell your husband?”
“I’m working straight out, glued to a desk at the library.”
“Are all women like that?”
“Roger, there are two kinds of women. First is the woman who thinks that she got the very best man that was available to her. Not necessarily her first choice, but the best that she could snare. She will be very timid, very protective of her hold on her husband. The other kind of gal may or may not have got her first choice of men, but knows that she is good goods, a hot ticket, that has men making moves on her all the time. She, if inclined, can become the Maneater, that is written about, and has songs written about her. That woman knows exactly what she can attain by using her sexuality, flashing her tits, letting men think that they have stolen her pussy. It is she who you see on the red carpet in Hollywood, or riding with The Donald in a limo. You guys only get what that woman wants to give you.”
“Are women that calculating?”
“I’m just a clueless simpleton.”
“Want some advice, Roger?”
“Find yourself a woman who is a bright, aggressive, good-looking, bitch, a first class Maneater. Tie you string to her show and hang on. All women are bitches. The question is whether they are bitches for you or against you. Marry one and then stand back and enjoy the show.”
“Are you a Maneater?”
“Got you wrapped around my finger, don’t I?”
Roger wondered if Linda’s husband had any idea of how much woman he was married to.
He pulled his ten-year-old Suburban into his uncle’s yard. No one was home, so he put his boat, a twenty-three foot Grady-White in the water, using the boat launch site. His Grady was a twenty year old, lean, mean, fishing-machine that he had picked up for nine grand. The 150 hp Yamaha sitting on the transom was brand new. It had set him back another ten.
Just as he was dropping the trailer, a car drove in and parked. Roger, shirtless, walked over to speak to the woman who got out.
“Hi, I’m Roger.”
“Hi there, I’m Amanda,” she said warmly. She was not what Roger expected. Less than forty, black hair, and a trim figure. There was something disturbing about her. Got it now. She is looking too much at my body with a sultry smile. Yaw, sultry is a good description, Roger thought.
Amanda continued, “I got Russ a job at Delaney Industries as a long haul trucker. He has a trip every afternoon starting at three PM to White River Junction. Will be back around eleven-thirty PM. Want a sandwich or something?”
Once at the table, Roger asked, “Delaney is that new Canadian company that just moved into Milton?”
“Yes. I’m one of the original hires. I work directly for Bradford Delaney, and his son, Clay. Look, I have an appointment, so I have to change and get going. Everything you need is in the mother-in-law apartment. Here is the key.”
“Thanks, it has been a long day. I need to wash up and take a nap.”
Roger hurried into the separate apartment. Years before, when he had stayed there, he discovered that the bathroom in the apartment was back-to-back to the one in the main house. By removing the back of the old wooden medicine cabinet, he could see through a hole that he had drilled that was in line with the lower screw hole of one of the towel racks in the main bathroom. Russell’s first wife had been the first woman that he had seen naked.
Amanda got out of the shower just as he took up his position. Roger sucked in his breath. Her face was little more than average. Hair, black and straight. Her legs were slender climbing to a butt that was a tad too big. But, holy cow, those were world-class tits. Not large, mind you, but perfectly formed.
Amanda wrapped her hair in a large towel. What she did next got Roger’s cock raging hard. She stood looking at herself in the mirror as she placed her hands under each tit, lifting them as her fingers fondled them. Her eyes closed as her head slowly tilted back, like a women imagining that her hands are those of a lover stroking her breasts.
She removed the towel. Now using a hair blower, with her arms held high, Roger was treated to the view of her breasts as she leaned forward and back. No doubt, world-class tits.
When she momentarily left the bathroom, Roger wondered why she was home at such an early hour.
.... There is more of this story ...