Chapter 4: Saturday Evening

I quickly slipped on some jogging (fat chance!) pants and a sweatshirt and went out into the kitchen.

Jen knew immediately what needed to be done. After she scouted-out a nice large saute’ pan that would be right for making her sauce in, she asked, “Dave, could you please” (please!) “get me the can of tomatoes, a can of tomato sauce, a can of tomato paste, some olive oil, your ground beef, the oregano, marjoram, a garlic bulb, and an onion? Oh, and bay leaves, if you got ‘em.”

Wow! After I had found all the ingredients Jen had “requested,” I found the can opener, and I got out a medium-sized knife that I thought would be good for her. It wasn’t.

“I need a real knife, Dave.” And so, while Jen poured some olive oil and started heating the big, I got my best chef’s knife and gave it to her.

“Perfect!” She selected an onion that looked to her to be just the right size and asked me, “Dave, could you dice these for me – about medium?” And as I got another cutting board and another (smaller) knife and start cutting the onion, Jen proceeded to break off two cloves of garlic and, with her palm on the side of the big knife, quite professionally smooshed the garlic and picked-off the now-easily separated skins. She then mashed the garlic some more with the side of the knife before doing a final mince.

I never had a girlfriend who knew how to do that. Hell – I didn’t know how to do that!

She scraped up the garlic from her cutting board and skillfully used her finger to transfer the smushed garlic from the knife blade to the almost-hot oil. In less than a minute, she began to break up the ground beef and drop it into the pan.

“This would be even better if we had...” (not “if you had” – “we”) “ ... Italian sausage. But I’ve got an idea. Do you have any fennel seed?”

Well, amazingly, I remembered that I do! When I moved into this house (whole ‘nother story), a delusionally-optimistic friend gave me a whole tray of spices as a house-warming gift. And amongst those spices was – is − a pristine bottle of – ta-da! – fennel seed.

I found it there, untouched, right next to the Fines Herbes and ginger. Jen was ecstatic.

“Italian sausage is best, but it’s the fennel seeds that give Italian sausage the special flavor.”

Another one of the many things I’ve leaned in the past 24 hours. And this one’s different, because this one I could share with other people without risking jail.

As the beef started to brown, she added the onion, and as the onion softened, she added the tomatoes and tomato stuff, then healthy doses of oregano and marjoram and, something I’d never seen before, she put two bay leaves into the mix and stirred it all together. Then she covered the pan to let everything simmer.

“Let’s see what kind of pasta we (we!) have.” She liked the idea of the cavatappi because she’d always had her sauce with thin pasta, like spaghetti and linguini, and she wanted to see how it would be with the thicker, squiggly cavatappi.

While Jen returned to the sauce to give it a couple of stirs, I had a thought. “I think I have a loaf of ready-to-heat garlic bread in the freezer – I’ll go get it.”

She laid the cooking spoon in the skillet and turned toward me. She reached her arms up around my neck and pulled me down and kissed my lips and gently said, “Darling, I don’t think it’s such a good idea for us to eat too much garlic tonight.”

I immediately understood what she was saying – and why. That a girl her age would think of something like that...

Then she said, “While the sauce is simmering and getting famous-er and famous-er, I want to call my mom.”

After she put down her phone, she came into the dining room and stood beside me. I turned toward her and put my arms around her waist, and she took my head in arms, and we just held each other like that.

After a few moments. Jen let go of me and returned to the stove, presumably to make sure that her sauce didn’t become “too famous.”

She announced that her sauce would be sufficiently famous in about 18 minutes, and that it was time to get the water boiling for the cavatappi. While she attended to that, I was able to find enough greens to make a credible salad, and I even found a bottle salad dressing in a remote corner of the fridge. The (barely readable) label declared it to be “Creamy Italian.” Could my good fortune get any better?

While the pasta was cooking, we both went to change into some things more suitable for the nice dinner this was shaping up to be. I put on some good slacks and a lambswool pullover. Jen put on the red SkiSkins and the navy blue tights and pulled the Ragg wool socks over them because she knew how much I like the way she looks in them.

Jen prepared plates for us in the kitchen while I set the table. The good cloth napkins, despite the fact that we were going to be having ultra-stain-y tomato sauce. If not now, when?

The cavatappi was, in a word, awesome. I truly can’t recall a better pasta dish in my entire life. (Except for my Aunt Ida’s lasagna. But that’s another story. I loved my Aunt Ida.) “My” salad was OK. Jen was even merciful enough to compliment me on it (and she did it without sounding the least bit patronizing).

An Italian dinner this excellent deserved to be accompanied by a good red wine, but I still couldn’t bring myself to serve wine to – to someone Jen’s age. Maybe in Italy or France, but certainly not here in Mayberry. So, for a second night, we indulged in a carafe of a fine Chateau Coca (aged for no more than 28 days in my icebox).

But what was most satisfying was Jen’s obvious pride in making me – us – a dinner which I clearly enjoyed so much. Then it hit me: This was our first real dinner, “together.” And if so, what did that mean?

After dinner (I really wanted seconds – or more – but I limited myself to just two serving- spoonsful, since I didn’t want to get so full I couldn’t enjoy the rest of the evening), we just sat and talked for a while – Jen, about school and friends and things about her and her mom; and I, about – I haven’t the slightest idea what I talked about – I was trying to focus on making Jen feel at-home and comfortable.

After we had let our wonderful meal settle (and finished-off the last of the Coke), we gathered up dishes and utensils, washed the dishes together, and set them on a towel to dry.

Jen wanted to log-in to her school’s Web portal to see if there was any more information about school plans for Monday. While she was doing this, I thought it might be nice if we had fresh bed linens for tonight. I went to the linen closet, found the very nicest sheets I owned, and headed back to the bedroom to put them on.

Then I thought: This is bad. It was barely 26 hours ago that Jen showed up on my porch. Now, I am behaving and making decisions as though we are a couple.

And, just as disconcerting, Jen is behaving like this was normal.

When I finished with the sheets, I went to the office-bedroom, leaned in, and asked Jen if she would like some tea.

Without looking up from the screen, she replied, in an affected, aristocratic tone of voice, “I only drink lapsang souchong.”

“Well, Constant Comment is what you’re getting, you pretentious little twerp!”

She turned her head toward me and stuck out her tongue, followed by a big smile.

No doubt about it − most unusual relationship I’ve ever had, bar none.

Jen came out to the living room and joined me. I recalled that my cable TV service had “channels” which continuously showed steady backgrounds – waves on a shoreline, forest scenes – things like that. I found the one showing a fireplace with a crackling log fire. I selected that one, and Jen and I sat there on the couch, enjoying our tea and being there next to each other.

We finished off the pot, and Jen stood up and turned off the living room light, took my hand, and we walked toward the bedroom, as a couple.

We turned on the bedside lamps, and Jen saw the freshly-made bed. She didn’t exude or gush or anything like that. She said, simply, “New sheets,” with a big smile. Okay, it sounds hokey, but it felt like my heart actually swelled with happiness.

But before I could get too mushy, Jen said, “Could we go back to the pictures we were looking at before ... before we stopped to do other stuff?”

And, again, I knew that she was referring to the videos of teenage girls with – with whomever.

We’d left off at the page that had the pregnant girl who looked kind of like Jen, and the stunning girl who had so filthily mimed jacking off into her mouth and onto her tongue.

We looked at a few more, and then we encountered yet another thing new for us. A slender girl, with a pink kitten-ears headband and ruffled bands on each wrist and one ankle, on her hands and knees, and looking over her shoulder at the camera as a man stroked steadily in and out of her asshole. It was that kind of knowing look that said, “I know what this is about, and I’m okay with it – in fact, I like it.”

Jen was kind of transfixed, but then finally asked, “Is his penis really in her butthole?”

“I’m pretty sure it is.” And didn’t say any more.

“Doesn’t that hurt her?”

“It probably did the first times, but right now she’s not acting like it’s hurting.” I added, “Is she?”

“No.”

We watched the repeating clip for perhaps a minute or so, until Jen was apparently convinced that what it looked like was happening was really happening.

“OK to go on?” I asked.

“I guess so. Do you think there are any more like that?” By which she obviously meant, “videos where a man is fucking a girl in the ass.”

Jen seemed to overlook the role of the women in these, but she was fascinated by another aspect.

“It looks like the men are in kind of deep – like deeper than they were when they were fucking the girls’ pussies. How can that be?”

“I think it’s like ... well, I’m not a doctor or a biologist, but I think ... well, you know how, when I was inside you” (when I was fucking you) “ ... my cock would hit your cervix now and then?”

“Oh.” She stopped to think something through. “So does that mean that you could get more of your cock into me in my butthole than in my pussy?”

Yes, my darling, that’s exactly what I mean. “Yes, I think so.” But then I added, “But only if you want it...” Yes, yes – pl-e-e-e-a-s-e!

“Can we find some more?”

We found a number more, but they weren’t very good, and by that I mean it was hard to see the ‘action’ very well, or even be sure the cock was in the girl’s ass.

But then we found one that was exceptional – exceptionally good, and exceptionally hot. She was dark-haired, and she was wearing some kind of black feathered thing on her head. Her eyes were dark and kind of “smoky,” as if she were wearing mascara, but she might have just had deep, dark, “bedroom” eyes. Her breasts were relatively small, but her nipples were well-defined and erect. She was wearing fishnet hose that fit her perfectly. And, again, the “title” for the video claimed that the man was her father.

So, with all these things going on, it was hard to guess how old she was, but she was definitely “sultry.” I don’t mean some faked or studied attempt to appear “sexy.” This girl was just naturally sultry, exuding a look that would be sexy at 16, or 30, or 40 – or even 60.

She was lying on her back, on top of a man, and she was writhing on a full-grown cock that appeared to be 5/6ths of its way into her asshole. And all the time, she never took those mysterious dark eyes away from the camera. I found myself mesmerized by her performance. I waited for Jen to react.

“Wow – she’s really pretty, isn’t she? She’s beautiful.”

I wasn’t sure how enthusiastically I should agree. “Yes, she’s a very pretty girl.” Then I added, “I can see why a father might want to make love to her.” I have no idea why I offered that particular observation, and after I said it, I was a little afraid that Jen would find it creepy.

But Jen just continued, “And it looks like she really likes having his cock moving around inside her butt. Do you think that’s a normal-sized cock?”

“Well, I’m not an expert, but it looks kind of like a lot of men I’ve seen in locker rooms or at the pool, so – yeah, I think it looks like a normal grown man’s cock.”

“Like yours, Dave?”

“Yes, about like mine.” I didn’t know how far to take this at the moment, but I decided to probe. “Is that something you’d like to try – for us to try?”

And once again, in that incredibly endearing way, she kneeled and turned to me, put her arms around my neck, and kissed me, and said, “Dave, I’ll love everything that we do.”

I returned her hug and said, simply, “I’m glad that you feel that way. So do I”

And I swore − even if we never touch body parts again, I’ll love this girl ‘til the day I die.

She turned back toward the TV and watched the beautiful girl doing her utmost to feel as much of that grownup male cock inside her asshole as she possibly could.

After another minute or two of watching, Jen said, “I think I got the idea. Can we just look at some more pictures?”

I began to click on more of the thumbnail pictures, and what should we find but another one of the same “father-daughter” pair we’d found earlier. That girl sure does like kissing her daddy! In this clip, he was standing up, and she had her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips, and she was impaled on his cock, kissing him passionately and squirming like crazy while his hand crept down inside the back of her panties. And again, she was wearing those stars-and-stripes leggings that showcased her sexy little ass so beautifully.

“She really likes that, doesn’t she, Dave? That’s so hot. Do you think we can find any more of them?”

And we did. A few more clicks, and there she was, with her trademark red, white, and blue stars’n’stripes leggings, and this time, “daddy” was in there between those leggings, tonguing her adorable, perky, upturned butt.

I thought I’d be naughty and take the initiative. “Mmmm. That looks like something I’d like to do.”

I was surprised when Jen was surprised by this. “You’d want to lick my butthole??”

I tried to smile without it seeming like I was laughing. “Jen, darling, we already peed in each other’s mouths last night. Do you think I’d love your butthole any less?”

“Well – yeah, but it still seems weird.”

“Jen, hon, you said it yourself – ‘I’ll love everything that we do’.”

And, again, that must have been the perfect thing to say, because, again, it got me another neck hug and a kiss.

“Dave?”

“Yes?” And I knew what was coming.

“Would you want me to lick your butthole like he’s doing her?”

“You already know the answer, Hon – only if you want to. But if you do want to, I promise to be extra-clean for you, okay?”

“I know. We’ll see. Maybe if you do it to me, that might make me want to do it, too.”

“Sounds very sensible to me.”

By now, it was after seven o’clock, and the world was dark outside – street lights on the main street, but the houses on our street were all dark, except a lot of them appeared to be using the snowy evening as an occasion to light candles or to have a fire in the fireplace.

We thought that it was long enough after our world-famous spaghetti supper that having freshly-brushed teeth might be a good thing to do. But it was obvious to both of us that what we were really eager to do was get into bed and try out some of the things we’d seen.

So after the tooth brushing (together), we headed straight for bed, with no pretense of tee-shirts or other kind of sleep wear. We were going to bed for sex.

We undressed and lay down on the bed. I turned all the sheets and blankets down so there’d be nothing in our way once we got started.

I wasn’t sure what might be the most – what? – delicate? considerate? graceful? – way to get started. Turns out, it was Jen who seized control of the situation.

“Dave, I think I’d like it if we could try you putting your cock in my butt, like we saw with the girls in the videos this afternoon.”

Yes, my darling, I would like nothing more.

“Yes, that would be really nice. I’d love to do that, but are you sure you want to... ?”

“Yes, I’m sure.

“But I don’t know how to get started, so could you kinda lead?”

In fact, I had thought of this, and how to do it – and how not to do it. This would be a young woman’s – a woman I found myself caring very deeply about − first experience with anal sex, and I didn’t want anything to spoil that experience, in any way.

I began. “Maybe the best way to start would be to just relax and let ourselves feel sexy.” I leaned over to her and gently kissed her lips. She returned my kiss, gently, and she began a little probing with her tongue, and that’s when I remembered that it wasn’t even 24 hours ago that she had asked me to give her a goodnight kiss and then surprised me by capturing my head and giving me a lingering, grownup kiss. That kiss seemed like ages ago now.

It sounds kind of trite, especially for such a momentous occasion, but I did all the usual things. She gently held my head in her arms, and I kissed and nibbled around her face and ears and neck, and back to her lips. Then, while I was still kissing and nibbling, I moved my hands and began caressing her emerging breasts, massaging, then squeezing a little, then moving to play with her nipples, which had already grown quite stiff.

Feeling those hard little nipples, I just had to have them between my lips. I leaned down across her, and my lips touched that first hard little button. I dragged my lips back and forth across it a few time, but I couldn’t resist any longer and took it between my lips, and I sucked, and tongued, and licked, and then did it all over again.

At the first suck, Jen let out a groan – not a child’s, but the groan of a woman – and held my head tight to her. I was able to switch back and forth between her breasts, when Jen surprised me.

“Suck my titties, Dave – that’s it, suck my titties. I love that!”

I was almost shocked by her choice of words. On the other hand, I must have been doing something right, because she definitely wanted more, and in the least uncertain terms.

I was really getting hung up on the soft cones and the hard tips of her breasts – her titties – but there was a larger agenda here. I kissed her down her tummy – reminiscent of the first time, last night – and this time she knew to lift her legs over my shoulders and give my mouth full access to her sweet young pussy.

I know that sounds like a million other porn stories, but that’s exactly what I encountered there – silken smooth pubes, with a coral pink gash in between, just a hint of the darker line of her inner lips. And though I couldn’t actually see in the dim light of the bedroom, my first touch with my tongue proved that they were already wet with the slick, oily, intoxicating natural juice of a beautiful young woman.

“Ohhhh ... Dave, that’s so good! Yes ... please...”

But I just lost myself in the feelings – my tongue chasing her juices back into her pussy, gently sucking on her delicate inner lips, first one, then the other, then both, then back inside for more of her juices.

She spread her legs more – I don’t know if it was to let me in farther, or just in reaction to my sucking – and this gave me wider access to everything inside of her. I looked, and I licked, and I probed her little pee-hole with the tip of my tongue. She lurched a little when I did this – I don’t know whether it was from the new feeling she got, or just from the surprise of the sensation from a new place – but it must have pleased her, since her hands pulled my head farther into her.

Since I learned earlier that she liked this, I took advantage of her wide-spread thighs to run my tongue down her crease and to her asshole. This time, she knew what was happening, and she rocked her hips back farther for me.

“Ohhh – that’s it Dave – lick it – lick it!”

I guess she might be a little apprehensive about saying the word “asshole,” but her repeating the word “it” made it clear that she knew what “it” was, and that she liked the feeling – and the thought – of my tongue in “it.”

It was all I could do to keep from finishing her off, but the purpose of this was to get her aroused and relaxed and loose and ready for our first attempt at anal sex, no matter how badly I wanted to give her the pleasure of her climax. That will have to wait for later.

“Jen, are we ready?”

She didn’t say anything, but she put her hands under my shoulders and guided me up to her level, where she kissed around my face, tasting the juices that had accumulated there.

“From things I’ve read, I think the first time is easiest if we lie on our sides, and I come into you from behind.”

“Whatever way you think’s best.” Her trust in me seemed boundless.

“But first, I think the problem a lot of people have is, they don’t spend enough time getting ready, or maybe, getting ready in the right way. So maybe it would help if we use lots of lubrication, to make us both slippery. We have the coconut oil...”

I rolled over and reached into the drawer of the bedside table. A friend of mine who is gay told me a little trick, namely, to use a hemorrhoid cream as a lube for anal sex. I’d slipped the tube into the drawer this afternoon. After Jen and I had watched the videos, I figured there was a good chance that she’d want to try what we saw the girls in the videos doing, and I wanted to be ready – just in case.

“ ... but there are some other things that are good lubricants when couples ... when couples do what we’re going to do. I’ve got this cream – actually, it’s more like a creamy ointment – and I’m going to massage you with it. The thing is, it might feel a little funny, like tingly, because it’s got a tiny bit of an anesthetic in it, it so it lets you feel everything without it hurting too much.”