Chapter 4

Thinking about how close he was to Mark's age and how all alone he was and how Ma never did anything but pick on him, I got all motherly and tender toward him. He wasn't acting the way he usually did; not all smart-ass and know-it-all. He did try to explain the rebellious way he felt. And he did get uncomfortable when some of the things came out sounding pretty hollow. But most of his sincerity most likely was because I listened and didn't shoot him down every time he made a statement.

Pretty soon, when both of us knew he'd said everything he knew, he looked at me real solemn-like and shook his head. His voice was so low I could hardly hear what he said. "How come you're so different, Lee? You ain't a bit like anybody else I know." And then, his face kind of working, "Mark sure is lucky."

I didn't know what to say. I didn't say anything right away, but just looked into those black eyes of his and let the misery behind them soak into me. Then I realized he was going to embarrass himself by letting his lip quiver if I kept looking at him that way. A fifteen-year-old was terribly young and vulnerable, I reminded myself. He might be grown-up enough to screw, physically, but he was still a little boy mentally.

"You had something important to say," I replied as softly as he'd asked. "I wanted to understand. Besides, it's important what you believe."

That was the wrong thing to say, I guess. Suggesting he was important to anybody but himself cracked the shell he'd spent so long building around himself. His eyes glistened and I knew he had tears in them. On impulse, moving before I knew I was going to, I went to him and stood beside his chair cradling his head against my belly. He sat real rigid for a minute and then his shoulders started to shake. I didn't say anything or do anything, except my fingertips sort of rubbed the side of his head. And before long the shaking stopped and his arm slid around me at hip level. His arm was squeezing my ass-cheeks and his hand was on my thigh and sudden, jagged knives of desire were slashing through me.

He was still young enough to teach, I realized. He'd appreciate it like Marky did, I thought. He'd be all big-eyed and breathless. And he's got a young, tender, smooth-headed cock like Mark's. I rubbed my love mound on his shoulder and rubbed the side of his head harder with my fingers. And I bent so one boob rested against his forehead and hung in front of his eyes.

With the contact, everything in me turned on. Pleasure made my stomach flutter and sent hard tingles shooting into my nipples and brought an abrupt, twitching tautness to my pussy. My mouth watered at the thought of that sweet, uneducated young peter hiding in his pants. He was bitter and lonely, but he could melt the bitterness and wash away the loneliness in the delicious closeness I could teach him.

I rubbed my tit on his face, the soft, hot flesh scraping against the layers of cloth separating his flesh from mine. And I thrilled to his quick response as his hand dipped to the short hem of my skirt and slid up my thigh.

"Just rest, sweetie," I whispered. "There're ways of being not lonely."

"Gawddamn!" he exclaimed with an awed tone. "You for real?"

"You made love before?"

"Me? Uh... well..."

"Don't tell me, sweetie. I don't want to know that." He hadn't. His hesitation told me that. And it wasn't fair to make him say so. But he was a virgin, just as Mark had been. I was going to be the one who taught him.

I unbuttoned my blouse and pulled it free of my skirt. And I continued to bend over him while I reached behind my back to unfasten my bra, my hands under the blouse. I shrugged out of blouse and bra quickly and rubbed my bare tit in his face for a moment, then stepped back. I let him stare, knowing whatever he'd seen of boobies had either been in pictures kids had with them or through crevices where curtains hadn't quite cut off the view. He gawked. His tongue worked at his lips and his knuckles whitened as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

"Man, what pretty knockers!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. "Real gone jugs!"

"Feel them. Come over here and feel them." I dropped into my chair again and leaned back like a duchess. He came to me, kneeling beside the chair and feeling the round, warm smoothness of one boob. His fingers explored the rubbery, moist surface of the nipple, rolling it between them and pulling it outward a little to see it stretch. The front of his pants bulged, tenting over the hard-on inside.

I twisted my shoulders to present the other tit. "Don't make this one jealous," I warned him. "Always be fair when you're Playing with boobies."

He gulped and shifted his position until he could reach with both hands. "Cripes, Lee! They're all soft and mushy!"

"Huh! Mushy!"

"Aw, shit! You know what I mean! Firm, but the inside stuff sort of slides out from under my hands! You know! I didn't really mean mushy!"

I giggled and sighed. He was going to be fun to teach. The student who was afraid he'd make his teacher mad was the kind who tried hardest.

I touched the bump in his pants with one fingertip and he jerked back convulsively. His face reddened and he squirmed. I felt dizzy with power as I pushed myself to my feet. There wasn't any question about who was boss. He might be a rebel on the street, but on my sun porch he was being humble and cautious. He was scared to death of me and of making a fool of himself.

I unzipped my skirt and slid it over my half-slip. His eyes bugged at the way the white nylon of the slip hugged my hips and cupped in at my crotch. His Adam's apple bobbed spasmodically. Stepping out of the skirt, I stretched the elastic in the waistband of the half-slip and began to wriggle out of the garment.

He groaned. "Cripes, Lee! Something's gonna give!"

I chuckled lightly. "Sure, sweetie. I am."

"Nnnn!"

The slip came off my hips to reveal sheer green panties. At the crotch, one strand of dark hair had escaped and curled against the pale cloth. Will stared open-mouthed at it and made a light, whimpering sound in his throat.

Gaily, I began to roll down the top of the panties. When they stretched in a taut line across my lower belly, pubic hair peeping over them, I reached down and slid the slip off my thighs. I made sure he could see clearly while I lifted one leg, then the other, out of the clinging garment. And I made a work of art working the panties down to expose my pussy. The crotch was darkened by the pussy-juice I'd already oozed, and I knew he was seeing a pink, glistening set of pussy-lips through the veil of my curling, thick brush.

I stood before him, then, still wearing my self-supporting stockings and high heels. He was shaking like an old man. Even his hips were jerking. I turned all the way around for him, letting him feast his eyes on the delicate, clean curves and tantalizing mounds.

"Give you an appetite, sweetie?" I asked gently.

"I dunno about no appetite," he grumbled, "but I'm gonna have hot nuts pretty quick!" "Well take care of that. Now, it's your turn. Why don't you get undressed for me?"

"Oh, cripes! What if somebody comes, Lee?"

"We're both going to cum, sweetie!"

"Aw, shit! I mean..."

I let my laughter tinkle around him. "I know what you mean. Nobody's going to come in. The door's locked."

I thought I saw a strange light flicker in his eyes, but it was gone so fast I decided it was my imagination. His fingers fumbled with his clothes. I thought he never was going to get them off! But he finally did, and when he pulled down his shorts, his cock leaped erect with such violence I could hear it slap his belly.

He had more body hair than Mark. He was going to be a hairy man, I could see, and he already had a good start. What made it more obvious was his hair was a glossy black. That made it look thicker than it really was. He gave his clothes a healthy kick and sent them flying into a corner. His face a study in embarrassment, he quieted his fidgeting and faced me. His fists were clenched and tight at his sides while his cock trembled in front of his belly. We faced each other silently while he slowly overcome his embarrassment by appraising me. When I'd heated up to the steaming point under his stare, I backed him to one of the straight chairs and pushed him onto it. I was quaking inside; taking the aggressive role with a fifteen-year-old was a whole lot different from babying the twelve-year-olds Mr. Goldstein had made me teach.

But I hid my growing terror behind a bold, brazen exterior. With a knowing smile, I placed my hands on his shoulders and slowly inched toward him, straddling his legs. He was having obvious trouble getting his breath and his cock quivered, it was so hard. He laid his hands on my hips, his eyes wide with concern over making the wrong move, and I kept moving in until my pussy- hair flattened on his belly. My position was awkward; I had to bend my knees outward sharply or spread my feet at a horrible angle because of the way the chair seat wedged my legs apart that close in. And if I spread my feet as far as I'd have to, I'd be forced to put too much of my weight on him. So I kept my knees out and my feet in and stood on tiptoe.

My boobies hung right in his face, and he held his head still, as if it were carved out of stone. An imp of perversity got hold of me. I twisted my shoulders gently from side to side, making first one tit and then the other bump his cheek. He colored again, but he began to get the idea, turning his head to press his face to one boob or the other. I drew back just a little and positioned one boobie in front of his face, the nipple brushing his lips.

Once again, he froze up.

"Go ahead! Kiss it!" I said.

He gulped and kissed it. The way he jerked back and the expression in his face, I was sure he hadn't ever gotten his mouth on a tit before. He kissed the pink, wrinkled lump again, his lips tightly together like a kid who's kissing somebody for the first time. Then, with a quick glance into my face, he touched the velvety button with the tip of his tongue.