Chapter 11

Both knew exactly what had just happened, as she returned to her side of the table. The responsible thing to do was talk about it.

“That hasn’t happened in a while. What caused it?” she asked.

He had matured, and he didn’t try to dodge the issue.

“When you leaned over me, your breast touched my shoulder.”

“Oh,” she said. Her cheeks got pink. “Sorry.”

“And you’re wrong. It’s happened a lot, lately.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty worked up when I go home from these tutoring sessions.”

“Do I need to get the wand?” she asked.

The wand had been put away. Mindy had spent two lunches in the art room, making a box specifically sized to hold it. She’d made it out of matting material. It was beautiful, but she never once thought about why she wanted to make such a special box for the wand. She’d put it in her closet on the top shelf and hadn’t touched it for over a month.

“I think it’s the wand that somehow made all this happen. We should have figured out a way to use it to help us forget things.”

“We discussed that,” she said.

“I know, and you were right. The memories that cause me the most problem are wrapped up in other things. It’s your smile, your eyes. It’s how you looked in that robe that Saturday I woke you up early. It’s in the way you walk down the halls. I’d have to write a book about what makes me love you, and you’d have to study it a year to come up with a spell that would cover it all.”

“Love me?” Her voice was high.

“I don’t know what else it could be,” he said, without flinching. “I mean I’ve never been in love. I know most grown-ups would say I don’t even know what love is. But if this isn’t love, then I don’t want to ever be in love. If this isn’t love, then being in love would take every minute of the day and leave room for nothing else.’

“So you still have fantasies about me?”

“They’ve changed a little,” he said.

“How?”

“I used to just think of you naked, and of touching you. Now I imagine I’m a Highway Patrolman and I come home every night to you and you’re naked and I get to touch you and nobody thinks it’s wrong.”

“Oh.”

“So you don’t have fantasies about me anymore?”

“I didn’t say that,” she said.

“So you do?”

“I shouldn’t admit it. It will be hard on you if I do.”

“I’m not sure it could be any harder than it is,” he said. “I see you every day, and every day I want to scream that you’re mine.”

“My fantasies still aren’t as well-developed as yours,” she said.

“I’d still like to hear them.”

“If I do, you’ll probably just need to ... go ... again.”

“I already need to go again,” he said, without any trace of embarrassment.

“Well one of them is quite new. It’s more detailed. Maybe I could tell you that one.”

“New?”

“Just a few minutes old, in fact.”

“Really?”

She stood up. What she was feeling wasn’t compulsion, not like the wand caused. But something was urging her to do this and she was just tired of resisting. She went to his side of the table and told him to stand up.

“It goes like this,” she said, softly. “I do what I just did - get up and come over here. I make you stand up, and then I sit down.”

She sat. Her fingers went to his zipper.

“And then I do this.”

She tugged and his zipper slid down most of the way down. He was wearing briefs. She tried to work them down enough to reach in and grasp his erection, but it didn’t work. He was too hard for her to be able to manipulate him. All she could do was touch the hot flesh of his shaft with her fingertips.

“In my fantasy I’m supposed to be able to pull it out, because you don’t have to go to the bathroom to make it go away.” She looked up at him. “I help you.”

“Damn,” he breathed.

“But it’s not working,” she sighed.

“Maybe I could help you ... help me,” he suggested.

The thought came to her like a cool drink of water on a hot day. She’d resisted for what seemed like ages. This little fantasy had been a lot of fun to think about over the last couple of minutes. But she’d been without too long, and she missed real intimacy too much.

“My fantasy just changed,” she said. “You could help me ... in the bedroom.”

He let her pull him there. He stood and watched, slack-jawed, as she undid buttons and stripped down to her bra and panties. Then she stopped long enough to help him divest himself of everything except those tight jockeys, with the straining point in the front.

Then it was back to her. She turned her back to him and said, “Get my bra?” in a high voice. He knew she could get her own bra, and that she was teasing him again, but this was so much better than any fantasy he’d ever had that he was loving it. His unfamiliar fingers worked at the hook, which finally came free. She turned, her hands covering the cups, holding them in place.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked. It wasn’t the voice of either reason or his teacher. She was still teasing.

“I think so,” he said, forcing himself to speak slowly and strongly. “I mean I’ve never done it before, but how bad could it really be?”

“Does this look bad?” she asked, letting the bra drop to the floor.

His lungs sucked in air.

“Oh man,” he sighed.

She knelt, still in her panties, and pulled at his shorts, until his penis bounced free.

“Oh my,” she said, as she tugged the cloth to his ankles.

“Is it okay?” he asked. This wasn’t part of any of his fantasies. What if she thought it was ugly?

“It’s beautiful,” she sighed. She looked up at him. “So strong and manly,” she said.

Then she leaned forward to push loose lips against the tip, in a sort of semi-French kiss. She didn’t take him fully into her mouth, but used her lips to push his foreskin back and nip at the hard, shiny tip. The tip of her tongue pressed gently into the slit it found there.

As if she knew he couldn’t take much more, she stood up and jumped onto the bed, flopping on her back.

“Take my panties off,” she ordered.She bent her knees and planted her heels on the sheets. She raised her hips off off of the bed. The point between her back, where it touched the sheets, and her knees, was a straight line. All that fought with the geometry of that line were thrusting breasts, and a the visual obstruction of her white, lacy panties.

He moved to her as if in a dream and, again with slightly fumbling fingers, got a grip on the wasitband of her panties. He slowly peeled them downward, dragging them over her hips. Her auburn pubic hair, short and straight, came into view, framing flushed, full labia. As soon as the panties were over her knees and at her ankles, she ‘stepped’ out of them and flung them aside with one toe. Then she lowered her hips back to the bed, and let her knees fall apart, opening herself to his gaze.

“I imagine doing this,” she breathed. “And then I imagine you getting on top of me and being a man.”

He wanted to. He was practically desperate to. But this was a forbidden thing, a thing of fantasies only. He wasn’t allowed to do this. He didn’t know how to do this! His muscles locked up as his mind tried to convince him something was wrong, here.

“Bobby?” her voice interrupted the buzz in his brain. “I need you, Bobby.”

And then it was all right. She had given him permission. It wasn’t taboo any longer. She knew what to do, even if he didn’t. He crawled onto the bed and over her, getting between her thighs. Her hand reached for him. Her fingertips reached, gripped his prick, and pulled, gently.

In that second, Bobby Pendleton was a boy again. Callow youth reacted in him just like it would in any over-stimulated teenager. As the tip of his penis touched her labia majora, he gasped and shot his semen all over her vulva. He soaked her pubic hair and some of it even shot up onto her mons and stomach. He felt at once both incredible sexual relief and incredible shame as he realized he had failed. He hadn’t even gotten in her. His first time, with a woman he adored, and it was an unmitigated disaster.

He sobbed, trying to get up and flee, but her fingernails gripped him painfully as she pulled.

“Don’t you dare leave,” she said, her voice strident. “We’re not finished yet, Bucko.”