Chapter 1: Meeting Lillian
Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Humor, Pregnancy, .
Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1: Meeting Lillian - A young scientist meets the boss's daughter at his department's Christmas shindig. Sparks fly, sperm flows and suddenly a shot gun wedding is looming. Problem: she is pregnant from another man. Or so she thinks. It's not really a Christmassy sort of story but it may fit the spirit.
The seminar room was decorated haphazardly with a few paper lanterns and a mangy, fake christmas tree that carried the dust of untold years spent stowed away in broom closets. The room was far too small anyway for the over fifty people who had assembled for the lab christmas party.
I wiggled my way through the crowd and to the tables that served as buffet for our contributions. With not a little pride I placed my homemade salad on one of them and pulled off the Saran wrap. It was an East-Prussian herring salad, a family recipe from my grandmother who had been a native of Konigsberg.
This was my first Christmas in the US, in fact my first Christmas away from my hometown in Southern Germany and I still felt awkward and lost. During the last summer I had completed my Doctor rerum naturalium, the German equivalent to a Ph.D., and I had come to Bethesda, MD, for a post-doctoral stint at the National Cancer Institute. I was still suffering from culture shock and I was not fluent in English either, at least not in colloquial, American English.
This was offset by the friendly, open atmosphere in our laboratory. I had colleagues from India, Taiwan, Italy, Scotland, and Canada (the French-speaking part). None of us spoke perfect English, least of all our Scotsman (just kidding, Angus!), which lowered the pressure for the individual.
I had poured myself a glass of California red wine and had just selected a spicy pastry that my pal Shyam from Mumbai had contributed when the Big Man entered. Max Rosenzweig was our Lab Chief, a salt-and-pepper haired, distinguished gentleman. Only six months into my post-doc time I already tried to model my conduct after him. He maintained the same friendly distance from every member of his team, regardless of their individual achievements. He was encouraging and always able to help you with advice. Did I mention that I admire the man?
In his wake walked, no, glided two gorgeous specimen of the female gender. On second look I saw that they were mother and daughter, not sisters. Both were rather petite at 5'5" and lithe yet undeniably female in spite of their short, black hair. Obviously they were Max' family, a hypothesis that Shyam, a two-year veteran in the lab, confirmed.
"Ruth is a Section Chief in Building 10," he told me, pointing out the older woman. "She's a clinical oncologist. Lillian is a college senior at the University of Virginia."
"She's very pretty," I blurted.
"She is," Shyam sighed spontaneously and reverently. Then he shrugged. "What the hell, she's way out of our league."
I took a second or two to process the idiom. When I understood Shyam I grated a bit.
"She's something better she thinks?" I asked a little nettled. I didn't think of myself as chopped liver after all.
"No, she's a nice girl but get real! Do you know what a Lab Chief takes home? At least 120 grand a year. What do you have? Twenty grand and a one-year fellowship."
He had a point there and it was a moot point anyway. The lab rumor had it that Max' father was a holocaust survivor, the only survivor of his entire family. Well, I am German. Go figure! Max never let me feel any reservation – he was too good a person for that – but there is a difference between accepting a post-doc and letting him date his daughter.
Nevertheless, I repeatedly caught myself stealing glances at the black haired pixy and twice she looked back at me with a mischievous smile. Fate struck when I reloaded my plate at the buffet.
Suddenly, a throaty voice at my side made my hair stand on end. "This is so good!"
I looked right and there she was, Lillian Rosenzweig, loading another ladle of herring salad onto her plate. She looked up at me – I'm 6'3" – and smiled.
"This salad is great. It's like my grandmother's. You have to try it!" she enthused.
I think I blushed, but the opportunity was too good to pass. "Thank you, Miss Rosenzweig! I like that you like my salad." Did I mention that my English sucked?
"You made that? Get outta here! You must give me the recipe! Mom!" she waved her free hand desperately until her slightly older looking mirror image appeared beside us. "He made the salad!"
Ruth Rosenzweig came over. "You must be Rudolf Bernreiter," she smiled. "Max talks at lot about you."
I was worried immediately, and it showed.
"Only good things," Ruth smiled. "He was so happy to snag you away from Stanford."
"Oooh, the wunderkind," Lillian giggled. "And he can cook, too." Seeing my embarrassment, she was contrite, but a little devil danced in her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Rudy," she smiled. Whatever embarrassment I felt was of no consequence because she put her hand on my arm in a friendly gesture. "I'm a tease, I know, but Father has been singing your praise for almost five months and I never had a face for the name. Still, I won't let you go without getting the recipe out of you."
"I can't help you here," Ruth grinned. "Better give her the recipe. I know her: she won't give up."
"Yes, I can give you the recipe," I managed to say, inwardly kicking myself for my clumsy English. In my native tongue I could dazzle her, I could be witty and make a good impression. In English I sounded like a veritable idiot even to my own ears.
"Let's go to the computer room," Lillian said, pulling me out of the room, not without loading another helping onto her plate and grinning smugly.
The computer room, our pride. We had a real life Sun Workstation in there running the GCG Wisconsin software package for DNA analysis. This machine kicked some serious ass! We also had two Macintosh 512k with 9" black and white screens, plus a Kodak laser printer. The Macs were maxed out at 1 megabyte of RAM with 3 1/2 inch, 400k floppy drives and they were incredibly fast with their 6 MHz Motorola 68000 processors.
Lillian sat down at one of them, pulled a floppy disk from her purse and inserted it. Then she started MacWrite and looked up at me.
"How do you call that salad?"
"East-Prussian herring salad," I answered, and she typed that as a title.
Little by little, she extracted the information she needed, translating my grams into ounces and pounds, and my quarter-litres into cups. Of course I stumbled more than once trying to find English words for ingredients and spices. Fortunately, but she had enough German to understand me and after fifteen minutes she saved the file and printed a hard copy.
That done, she began asking me questions. Where did I come from? Did I have siblings?How long did I plan to stay in the US? I answered as best I could, afraid that any lull in our conversation would break up our being together. I even asked her some questions stumbling over the words and ever so sensitive to my different background.
She took my awkwardness in stride smiling at me and touching my arm now and then. When we ran out of topics an hour later I had a monster crush on Lillian. Reluctantly we rejoined the crowd in the seminar room. I fixed her with another glass of wine and had a coffee myself. We stood together sipping our respective drinks and searching for a new topic for conversation when Lillian suddenly looked into my eyes.
"Do you have wheels?" she asked, and when I did not comprehend, "I mean, a car?"
I nodded hastily. Did I have a car! Three months ago at a neighborhood yard sale I had found a true beauty. A cream-colored 1966 Mercedes Benz 200D in mint condition and a steal at just $900. It had 120,000 miles on the clock but its Diesel engine was running like – well, an old tractor. Lillian went to where her mother was standing and said something into her ear. Her mother raised her eyebrows and looked at me but then she shrugged and smiled. Lillian came back.
"Have you ever been to Georgetown?" she asked and I nodded.
Back in 1985 there was no restaurant worth mentioning in Bethesda, quite a difference from today. If you wanted to eat well you had to drive down to Georgetown.
"Come on, let's have dinner someplace. Dutch treat!"
I shook my head, not understanding the idiom and she smiled.
"Dutch treat means we each pay for our food." She grinned ruefully. "I know what you guys get paid and it's less than my allowance."
I could hardly believe my good fortune when we located our coats and left the building heading for the park deck. I found my Benz and Lillian admired it dutifully. I made her buckle up – something that was engrained in me – and Lillian giggled.
"You're quite the worrywart," she laughed. Then seeing that I did not understand, "You worry too much."
I shook my head while I maneuvered the Benz out of the park deck. "When I studied, I worked night shifts at a morgue. I saw all those people coming in from traffic accidents. All those dead they never had bruises from safety belts; they had not buckled up."
"You worked in a morgue?" she asked incredulously.
I nodded. "Yes, it was good money. My parents could not pay for my studies, not for everything. My sisters were at university too, so the money was not enough. I worked six night shifts every month and made almost five-hundred Marks."
She looked at me dubiously. "That's, what, $200?"
I nodded. "When I did my doctorate I had a salary so I stopped working in the morgue."
Lillian stared ahead for a while as I drove south on Old Georgetown Road into Bethesda, the Diesel engine making quite a racket.
"Now I feel like shit," she admitted. "My parents pay for everything. I spend $200 just for eating out and clothes."
"Don't," I answered. "It wasn't so bad. We are not poor. My sisters and I, we came within three years and we finished school within two years because I skipped a year ... a grade, I mean. We went to university at the same time and the costs were too high all at once. My sisters worked, I worked, and we managed."
Obviously, Lillian decided to change subjects and there was a twinkle in her eyes. "You have been checking me out all afternoon," she said.
I was thawing around her and I did not feel that embarrassed anymore. "Yes, you are good to look at," I answered, giving her a short grin.
That made her giggle. "Where is the shy nerd I met two hours ago?"
"A nerd, a geek, you know. Somebody who is awkward around girls, who reads and is not an athlete."
"Oh, but I am an athlete," I protested. As a matter of fact I had won two national rowing championships in the uncoxed pairs, no mean feat at all, and I told her.
She smiled. "Brains and brawn, how rare," she teased me.
"Oh, I'm not that smart but I can lift heavy things," I quipped happy to remember the one-liner I had seen printed on a T-shirt in a gift shop.
"Hey, that was your first joke," she smiled. "You do have a sense of humor. Tell me what is your favorite comedy?"
"The Life of Brian?" I offered.
A wide grin split her pretty face. "Really? That's one of my favorites, too. 'Thwow him to the fwoor!'"
"And stwike him woughly?" I asked back.
She grinned at me, her eyes sparkling, and I held my breath. God, she was beautiful.
"Do you have a VCR?" she asked breaking through my reverie.
Mentally, I decoded the acronym. "A video recorder. Yes, I have one."
"Let's rent 'The Life of Brian' and get pizza!" she suggested excitedly. "You do have a place to live, don't you?"
"Yes, I have an apartment on Grosvenor Lane."
We were on Wisconsin Avenue and had almost reached Washington Circle. I simply used Washington Circle to turn back north. I knew a small neighborhood video rental off Old Georgetown Road where we found a copy of 'The Life of Brian'. Lillian was a little flustered because the video store had an adult section. Then she giggled when she saw that the customers in that section tried to hide their faces seeing a gorgeous young woman in the store. At a pizza parlor next door we bought a big Quattro Stagioni pizza to go and five minutes later I led Lillian into my apartment.
I had been lucky hunting furniture on yard sales. A French diplomat had sold off his entire household having to move to Australia and the items were a steal at the prices he asked. The sofa and the coffee table were European style and more to my liking than American offerings. I even got a beautiful Berber carpet to match the cream colored sofa. This apartment was far better furnished than any place I had lived in in the past eight years. Lillian looked around approvingly before she carried the pizza to the kitchenette.
Ten minutes later we sat side by side on my sofa and watched the opening credits on my modest 20-inch TV set, munching pizza slices and sipping beer. I sacrificed my last batch of imported Beck's for this occasion. For the next ninety minutes we enjoyed ourselves. We blurted out the dialog in sync with the Monty Python troupe. We even sang "Always look at the bright side of life" during the credits until one of my neighbors banged against the wall, setting us off into laughter.
And then it happened. Weak from laughing so hard Lillian sank against my chest and I hugged her to me in reflex. She looked up with smiling dark eyes full of invitation and I kissed her without thinking. Touching her lips was like touching a live wire: a jolt of electricity ran through my lips and I pressed her close to me.
Five minutes later found us on my bed (thank God, I had fresh sheets on it!) making out. She tasted so sweet! My hands were under her sweater and under her bra, and she moaned into my mouth as I caressed her perky breasts and her excitable nipples. After a few more minutes Lillian broke the kiss and pushed me away. Her eyes bored into mine.
"Rudy, you are only the third man for me. I'm not a slut."
My mouth became dry with excitement. "I could never think bad of you," I said sincerely.
She smiled at me again. "You're wearing too many clothes," she admonished me.
I pulled sweater and T-shirt over my head and opened the belt buckle. In less than a minute I was naked. I took my time then to peel Lillian's clothes off her tight body. Her breasts were small, half the size of oranges, but they stood proudly on her chest defying gravity. Her nipples were extended and stiff. Her stomach was flat with a play of muscles underneath the smooth skin, but her butt was simply heavenly.
I am fifty-two years old now but in all my life I have never seen a more beautiful behind than my Lillian's. Ever. Not in real life and not in any printed or electronic medium. That may explain why I focussed my attention on those heavenly globes first, kissing the taut flesh and nipping the skin. Lillian purred in delight and arched her back presenting that perfect backside to my ministrations.
When she opened her legs I had a wonderful view of her plumb lips, swollen already with lust and shimmering with moisture. I pulled her butt cheeks apart and swiped my tongue from bottom to top, from her clitoris to her anus causing a squeal of delight from her. She quickly turned on her back and spread her legs. Grinning happily she pointed at her pussy. I was happy to be of service.
More squeals followed as I licked and nipped her folds. Moans followed when I added first one, then two fingers to the equation while keeping up the oral ministrations. It was increasingly difficult to keep up the good work with her undulating hips and clenching thighs. It was time to bring one of my oldest and closest friends into play.
Lillian nearly chewed off my lips when I moved up on her body and came into her reach. She stiffened slightly when the tip of my dick brushed her vagina for the first time but then she smiled and nodded. She was wet all right and it took me only a few swipes along her slit to lubricate the head of my dick before I placed it at her entrance and pushed. Her eyes flew open and her forehead knitted in concentration when I pushed forward. I'm really not big, perhaps seven inches on good days, but this must have been one hell of a good day and it took me a few minutes to work my way into her tightness.
Heaven! She fit me like a tailor-made glove. I felt the ripple of muscular contractions all around my shaft as I lay still giving Lillian a chance to adapt. Slowly she relaxed around me and smiled into my eyes. I kept holding still as Lillian began to tilt her hips up and down. She was testing the waters so to speak. She seemed to like it because she kicked the back of my thighs with her heels.
"Do something!" she grinned up at me.
With infinite care I withdrew from her hot, tight channel until only the head of my dick was embedded in her snatch. Then I pressed down, slowly and steadily, until I was fully seated again. Lillian gasped a little.
"Wow!" she whispered.
I repeated the maneuver, still keeping my slow pace and from the sounds she made Lillian appreciated the slow going. It was an act of self preservation for me. Going faster would have increased the friction to an unbearable level and I would have ejaculated then and there. The slower pace gave me some semblance of control.
I kept pumping into Lillian with steady movements for a few minutes and watched her facial expression for clues. Her mischievous grin was long gone. It was replaced by a soft smile. Her small hands brushed over my forehead, my cheek, my neck and played with the curly hair on my chest.
I felt that she was building up. Her breath was getting short and her eyelids began to flutter. I kept up my slow rhythm for another dozen strokes and then I bore down with all my weight, pinning her under me and grinding my pubes against her crotch. Her arms and legs locked behind my back and she squealed softly while a tremor run through her body. Her eyes opened with a wondrous expression before a happy smile broke out all over her face.
"I came," she announced happily and blushing a little. "I've never come from penetration alone," she added.
Was I good or not?
With one obligation out of the way I could concentrate on my own sensations. Those sensations were simply sensational. Lillian was more relaxed now but she was still tight. Plus, I had been teetering on the brink for a while. Lillian was still hugging me and now she pulled down my head until my ear was close to her mouth. Her tongue snaked into my ear and I shuddered. I felt my cock swelling and Lillian must have felt it, too.
"Come now, come in me. I'm safe, I just had my period. Come for me, Rudy!"
Her feverish whisper into my ear egged me on and I began to bunny fuck her with rapid strokes, deep, deep, deep. Her pussy pulsed around me adding to the sensory overload and then something in my brain exploded. I plunged deeply into her, crying hoarsely while I tried to penetrate as deeply as possible. One, two, three, four pulses cursed through my dick as I hosed down her cervix. Well, not really, but I sometimes like to flatter myself with that image. Then I was done, lying limply on top of her small body and crushing her with my weight.
"Whew!" Lillian sighed beneath me. "Think you can lift yourself?"
Groggily I complied and dropped down at her side. With my right hand I caressed her cheek.
She turned her head to look at me. "That was nice. We'll have to do this again when I come back next time."
"Yeah, I'm not really inclined to celebrate the birth of Christ," she answered drily. "I don't celebrate Chanukah either. Nobody in my family is religious. I'm returning to Charlottesville tomorrow."
That disappointed me. I had hoped to see more of her. "I would like to see you again. I mean, not only to have sex, but to talk and have fun."
"Yes, we had fun, didn't we? I'd like to see you again, Rudy. I have some business to finish in Charlottesville and it can't wait. You know what: give me your phone number and I'll call you."
"Can I offer you a shower before you leave?" I asked.
"That would be nice," she beamed. "Care to wash my back?"
"I would love to," I answered honestly. "It is a beautiful back."
I let my fingers run down her back and over her buttocks. Lillian bent forward and kissed me softly. "You're a really good guy, Rudy. Don't change. I promise, you'll see me again."
We had our shower, and I did get to wash her back including her fabulous derriere. I became hard again, of course, and Lillian jacked me off with her soapy hand. I came all over her chest much to her amusement.
By midnight I dropped her off at her father's house and she kissed me once more before she stepped out of my car and went inside. Frankly, I doubted she would ever call me. Shyam had been right: she was way out of my league.
Little did I know.