Chapter 25

The final days of 1956, between Christmas and New Years, was the best sex I ever had. At that point in my life anyway. Or maybe ever. Because, back then, sex was so new to me that I was able to experience the wonders of it, like tasting a favorite food for the first time. I spent the days with Debbie and Gina, but the nights with Mr. and Mrs. Russo. I was so sexually satisfied that I rarely used my favorite Christmas present—the curling brush, or rather the brush’s cylindrical handle.

Mrs. Russo had orchestrated it. Boy, did I love that woman. She asked my mother if I could help her. She had told my mother that her late stage pregnancy was causing backaches and tiredness, which was true, and after a full day with Suzy she needed assistance. She had claimed that Mr. Russo wasn’t much help. That part wasn’t true, but resonated with my mother because of her experience with my father. What my mother hadn’t known was that Mr. Russo was a great help, but it was a good excuse for me to spend time with Mr. and Mrs. Russo during the evenings while I was still off from school. Well, mostly with Mr. Russo.

Mr. Russo and I had sex every night that week. The times Mrs. Russo was able to, Mr. Russo fucked her from behind while I watched. Sometimes more than watched. One time I sat on the side of the bed with Mrs. Russo standing between my spread legs. She leaned forward with her ear next to mine, her chin on my shoulder, and her arms around me. And my arms were around her to support her while Mr. Russo rammed into her from behind. It didn’t even bother me that Mrs. Russo’s naked breasts were flat against mine as we held each other tight and she rocked into me. I talked dirty to her, something she had taught me, something that really turned her on. She especially liked to hear me tell her how her husband had fucked me and licked me and how I had one orgasm after another. All three of us were naked. I was now comfortable being naked around them, no longer being that shy, embarrassed girl. At least not with them.

But more often than not, a suffering Mrs. Russo would lie on the couch in the living room with a backache while Mr. Russo and I made love in the master bedroom. She needed the support the firm couch provided. Some nights she even slept on it. And she always insisted we leave the bedroom door open. But when her back wasn’t too bad, even though not good enough to be fucked, she would lie on the bed next to us using a dildo on herself, or just fingers, while Mr. Russo and I made love. Sometimes Mrs. Russo and I would even hold hands during it. She said it made her feel part of it and that she got a little orgasm when I squeezed her hand when I climaxed.

One time, Mr. Russo had fucked me to two orgasms before he climaxed while Mrs. Russo brought herself to a couple of small orgasms with her fingers. She complained that she was “too damn tired” to even use a dildo and that her fingers weren’t satisfying her, so Mr. Russo offered to help.

He positioned her on the bed using several pillows to support her back. She wasn’t sitting upright, but wasn’t lying flat either. Her belly seemed to swell bigger every day so it took some maneuvering to get her into a comfortable position. She had complained that it was like moving a whale. I sat next to her while Mr. Russo lay on his belly between her spread legs and licked and fingered her. I didn’t know what came over me, but listening to Mrs. Russo’s moans right next to me caused me to press my lips to her gasping mouth and thrust my tongue inside. Mrs. Russo wrapped her arms around me in a passionate kiss. Her lips were so soft. Her chin and cheeks baby smooth, unlike Mr. Russo’s. I loved her so much. The kiss didn’t end until she had a powerful orgasm. I knew she was climaxing when her fingernails dug into my back, her tongue stopped moving, and her warm, steamy puffs of air blasted into my open mouth. When we finally broke apart, we stared at each other without saying a word, and then Mrs. Russo smiled. That was it. A simple smile. We never spoke of the kiss, but I remember it to this day.

Another time, Mrs. Russo’s back hurt so much she couldn’t get off the couch. She hadn’t even dressed, lying there in her lavender nightgown that should have come to her knees but only reached a little past the bottom of her big belly. Mr. Russo and I fucked like teenagers in the bedroom. The door was open, of course. When we walked into the living room naked, Mrs. Russo’s hands were covering her face and she was sniffling. We both ran to her and asked what was wrong. She explained that hearing us had gotten her hot, but not being able to do anything about it because of her back left her unbelievably frustrated.

Mrs. Russo was lying on her back with a firm pillow under her lower back. The back of her head was sunk into the cushy arm of the couch. I had an idea.

I pulled Mrs. Russo’s leg closest to me off the couch and was lowering her foot to the floor, spreading her legs like Joey had positioned me in the back seat of his car when he fucked me. The shriek Mrs. Russo let out scared me so much I dropped her leg as if it were burning hot and jumped back. She dragged her leg back onto the couch and cried with a hand pressing her lower back.

“What happened?” I asked Mrs. Russo.

When she was able to speak, she said, “Oh, Julie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. It’s not your fault. That hurt my back. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“Can I try something?” I asked.

“Just leave me be. I’ll be okay.”

“I know what it’s like to need to come,” I said. “It’s hell.”

I didn’t wait for permission. I rushed up to her and lifted her leg closest to me.

“Don’t!” Mrs. Russo shouted.

But I had an idea. I didn’t put her foot on the floor like before. I had tried that already and it had put a strain on her back. Instead, I lifted her leg up and outward, spreading her legs.

“Does that hurt?” I asked.

“No, but it will.”

I dropped to my knees while holding her leg in the air and placed her calf on my shoulder. Her leg was straight and, since I stooped low enough, was at the same height as the one on the couch. She looked like a wishbone with a big belly. Both she and Mr. Russo stared at me dumbly.

“How about now?” I asked. “With me supporting your leg?”

Mrs. Russo thought about it and then said, “I guess that doesn’t hurt. But I was okay lying the way I was.”

Without turning my head to keep the leg on my shoulder still, I said, “Don, why don’t you help your wife out and use your mouth on her. I’ll hold her leg like this.

Mr. Russo smiled and dropped to his knees next to me. He maneuvered so that his head was between his wife’s spread thighs under her big belly. He had to tilt his head to the side. It didn’t look comfortable for him, but he brought her to two orgasms. She bounced around so much that I had to hold onto her leg with both hands. Later she told me that her back was more sore because of the bouncing, but it was worth it.

The point was, every night was different and wonderful.

But all good things—in this case a great thing—come to an end. Christmas break was over and it was a new year—1957. Now back in school, I was not permitted to go out when the next day was a school day. After having sex every day for a week, that was a shock to my libido. My mother had explained to Mrs. Russo why I couldn’t help her at night during the week and only relented a few times when Mrs. Russo pleaded with an Oscar-worthy performance. Did I mention how much I loved that woman? But the few times it had worked, maybe it wasn’t a performance. Mrs. Russo was getting bigger every day and her back was hurting more and more. The days she had convinced my mother to allow me to visit, Mr. Russo was so horny that he tore at my clothes as soon as I entered their bedroom. I guess he wasn’t getting any either.