Chapter 9

“Sit down, Bobby.” Said Mrs. Miles. “You can sit by Donna if you like ... since you two are such good ... friends.”

Oh shit.

It turned out that our carefully planned grand scheme ... or should I say Robby’s wild and unplanned grand scheme ... had a couple of flaws in it.

First off it never occurred to us that Donna’s mother would want to ... inspect ... her daughter’s bike riding injury.

Secondly, we hadn’t gone back in the water after our afternoon activities.

A third problem couldn’t really be called our fault, since we didn’t really have any reason to even think about the fact that Mrs. Miles was completely cognizant of what sperm looked ... and smelled ... and yes ... tasted like, to say nothing of her ability to look at a recently fucked pussy and recognize the kind of trauma recent fucking does to a pussy. After all, she had one herself, and had engaged in that activity many times.

We could have blamed it all on Donna. Getting caught, I mean. We could have said that, when her mother told her to take off her swim suit so she could see the damage, Donna should have begged to take a shower first or something like that. But Donna wasn’t thinking any clearer than any of the rest of us, so that wouldn’t have been fair.

And, of course, Mrs. Miles knew all about Donna’s nickname ... and who had given it to her ... and the fact that the same boy had been out with her daughter that afternoon.

It also turned out that Donna wasn’t very resistant to interrogation. She and her mother really did share just about everything. About the only saving grace was that Donna had made it quite clear to her mother that it had taken her literally months to get me to pop her cherry, and that I had done so only when badgered into it.

Of course, as Mrs. Miles sat in a chair across from us and just looked at the two of us, frowning slightly ... I did not know all of this extremely crucial information.

“Bobby?” she said. “I want to ask you some questions. I want you to tell me the truth.”

She waited for me to respond to her statement.

I swallowed. I wanted to look at Donna, but I knew that was a bad idea. “Yes ma’am,” I said.

Mrs. Miles asked, “How did Donna get her ... injury this afternoon?”

“Mom, I told you...” came a pleading voice from beside me.

“Be quiet Donna,” said her mother.

My first instinct was to stick to the plan. But the look on Donna’s face when I got there suggested the plan was in sad shape. Then I felt the urge to just say that I wasn’t looking when it happened, and didn’t know exactly how “it” had happened. I mean that was true, wasn’t it? I wasn’t actually looking at my prick when Claire slapped my ass and I slayed what was left of Donna’s hymen.

But my father had always taught me that the measure of a man is what he says, when what he says could be hurtful to him. What he meant by that was that sometimes, telling the truth can get you in trouble, and that a real man disregards that little problem. My dad was big on truthfulness.

Then again, I couldn’t just say, “Well, Mrs. Miles, I climbed up on top of your sweet little daughter here and just fucked her bowlegged, that’s what happened.”

I took a breath ... and the middle road. “Um ... I might have had something to do with that,” I said.

That was fairly noncommittal. It was obvious she was suspicious, but how much did she actually know?

“You ... might have?” asked Mrs. Miles. “Tell me Bobby, how many other boys were there, when this happened?”

Oh boy. “None, ma’am,” I answered truthfully.

“So it was just you and the girls?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And you were out riding bikes?” she asked.

Well, we rode them at the end, right? Okay, except for Donna, and anybody would understand why she didn’t want to actually sit on a bike seat just then. But Mrs. Miles did say “You”, which could be construed to mean just “me” and even three out of four was a clear majority of people who rode bikes. That wasn’t too far from the truth ... technically.

“Yes ma’am.” I said, technically truthfully.

“Aren’t Donna and Roberta a little young for you?” she asked.

I sort of missed how she slipped Roberta’s name in there. All I heard was the young part. I was thinking a mile a minute, trying to come up with something to say.

“I guess so,” I said first. “Except that I like being around them.”

“I just bet you do,” said Mrs. Miles. “Couldn’t you have at least used a rubber?”

“I didn’t have one, ma’am,” I said on impulse. Donna elbowed me hard. My heart sank.

I hate it when parents do that kind of thing to you. They get you talking and answering questions and then they slip that one question in that tars and feathers you because you answer it automatically, because you’re used to answering questions.

Mrs. Miles stood up. “Donna, you sit right there. Bobby and I are going to have a little private discussion. Don’t you move an inch until we get back. Is that clear?”

She didn’t wait for an answer because she knew her daughter well enough to know no answer was needed. Instead she crooked her finger at me. It would have looked sexy, except that I figured she knew where that filleting knife was too, and that I was about to find out what it felt like to have my balls cut off ... privately.

She led me to her own bedroom. That didn’t seem odd to me. I mean what more private place in a house is there than the parent’s bedroom? Then she closed the door. That didn’t seem odd to me either. She wanted privacy, right? I mean who wants witnesses when you’re going to cut somebody’s balls off?

She walked to the middle of the room and paced around a little before turning and facing me. I have to mention here that Mrs. Miles was a nice looking woman. She was probably in her mid thirties or so and had her hair styled like Farrah Fawcett. Donna’s comment that her mother looked more like Miss September than Donna did flitted through my mind, but I clamped down on that. This was the wrong time to be thinking things like that.

“You were very stupid today,” she said, folding her arms under her breasts. That just put those breasts on display, sitting there on her arms. They deserved to be on display. They looked pretty spectacular to me. I shook my head. I was having a hard time concentrating.

“Yes ma’am,” I said.

“Would you please stop calling me Ma’am!“ she said darkly. “You’re making me feel like I’m an old woman. My name is Shirley. And since you’re man enough to have sex with my daughter, I suppose you’re man enough to call me Shirley.”

“Yes ma’am ... I mean ... Shirley.” I was not going to be able to call this woman by her first name. It just blew my mind to even think about doing that. Then the enormity of what was going on hit me and I realized that all men called their Mother-in-law by her first name. Was that what this “private chat” was all about? I had fucked her daughter and now she was going to demand that I make an honest woman out of her?”

“You could easily have gotten her pregnant, Bobby,” said Shirley.

“I know,” I said miserably. “I didn’t mean to do it actually.”

“Yes,” said Shirley. “Donna told me that. She said she had to beg you. Is that really true?”

“I didn’t want to hurt her,” I said, by way of a very weak explanation. “I knew it would hurt her.”

“And how would you have known that ... Bobby?” asked a very shrewd Mrs. Miles.

“Well ... I kind of learned that because of ... um ... some other times?” I finished it as a question.

“What others, Bobby?” came the inevitable question.

“I can’t really say Ma’ ... um Shirley. I mean it wouldn’t be right to say their names.”

“Well, at least he has some discretion,” said Shirley to her imaginary friend. All women have one of those. They talk to them pretty regular too.

She looked me dead in the eye. “Do you love Donna Bobby?”

“Um ... that’s not an easy question to answer,” I said. She hadn’t brought out that filleting knife and I was beginning to get interested in the fact that this was a conversation, and not a screaming match. “I mean I’d never hurt her on purpose, nor would I allow any harm to come to her. I like her for sure. She’s bright and friendly and smart and I like being around her.” I looked back at Shirley. “I guess I’d have to say I’m not too sure what love feels like.”

Shirley was looking at me with her head cocked to one side a little. It made me want to cock my head too, so her eyes would look right. I didn’t though.

“Do you have a rubber with you right now?” asked this strange woman.

“No ma’am,” I grimaced as she frowned. “No.”

“I thought all boys carried rubbers with them these days,” she said.

“I guess some might,” I admitted. Then, probably because I just needed to talk to let out some stress, I told her what I thought about getting rubbers out of machines that sold “instant pussy”. She actually laughed.

“How many of the other girls have you ... um ... done the same thing with that you did with Donna?” she asked. “I mean Claire’s friends,” she added.

This was getting dangerous again. “Look, Shirley, I don’t really want to talk about that. I know what I did with Donna was wrong, and I’m sorry about that. If you want me to marry her then I will. I don’t know how we’ll get along, but I’ll do the right thing.”

Saying that made me so weak in the knees that I had to lean against the wall.

She got a look on her face that was clearly startled. Then she put her hand over her mouth, but not before I saw a smile there. She turned around, facing away from me and stayed that way for a few seconds. When she turned back around the frown was on her face again.

“You’re very lucky that Donna’s last period was only a few days ago. She’s not pregnant, Bobby. And she doesn’t want to marry you. I don’t want her to marry you either, for that matter. That would be a disaster of the first magnitude. At least right now.”

Talk about hitting a guy when he’s down. I was ... unacceptable ... as a potential mate for Miss September!

But I wasn’t stupid.

“Thank you,” I said.

“However...” said Shirley, “there are going to have to be some changes. I will not have you impregnate my daughter in the future, either accidentally or on purpose. Is that clear?”

“Yes ma’am.” I held up my hands as her frown deepened. “I’m sorry. I was taught to say that. I’ll try harder. And you’re no old lady by any stretch of the imagination, so don’t think that’s what I think.”

Shirley toyed with the top button on her blouse.

“Donna told me what you did for her,” she said.

“What was that?” I asked.

“About her nipples,” said Donna’s mother with a straight face.

“Oh,” I blushed.

“That was a very nice thing to do for a girl like her Bobby.”

“Well, it bothered her a lot and she thought she was ugly and all that, but she wasn’t, so I just tried to help her understand that she was really beautiful.” I was talking too much, but I couldn’t help it. The relief of knowing I got to keep my balls made me giddy. That and knowing that I didn’t have to go home and tell my parents I was engaged.

“And you got to do some fun things at the same time,” suggested Shirley.

I blushed more. “Well ... yes.”

She laughed again. “I thought so. Well, at least you’re honest. Tell me this. What was all that stuff about telling Donna she looked like that woman in Playboy? Were you just trying to get in her pants?”

“Oh hell no!” I gasped. “She was only what? Twelve? Thirteen maybe? I just thought she was cute and then I saw that picture and I could see the resemblance. I thought about it at night when I...” My mouth snapped shut as I realized what I had been about to say. “And when I tried it on her she got so upset I just knew it was a winner of a nickname. I guess I was kind of mean to them back then.”

Shirley Miles had a knowing look on her face. “Well, all in all you have done some very nice things for my daughter. You did some dangerous and stupid things too, but I don’t think you were being selfish about it.” There was a slight pause. “And all kids get curious, now don’t they?”

I didn’t answer. She stepped toward me.

“Still,” she said. “I’m going to have to do something to ensure you do not do something stupid with my daughter again.”

The obvious fix zapped straight into my mind. All she had to do was call the cops and tell them what I’d done. I couldn’t very well do anything stupid with her daughter if I was locked up in reform school somewhere, now could I?

“Take off your pants Bobby,” said Shirley calmly.

“Beg your pardon?” I asked.

That film sprocket was acting up again.

“I want to see what all the fuss is about,” she said. “You showed it to my daughter ... and probably some of her friends, from the way you’re acting. I think I have a right to see what caused my baby to bleed. Just call me ... curious ... if it makes you feel better.”

When I didn’t do anything her hands reached out and unbuckled my belt.

“Come on Bobby, I won’t hurt you.” said Shirley Miles in a soft, convincing voice.

Where had I heard that line before?

Mrs. Miles - I just had a hard time thinking of her as Shirley, you know? - got the belt undone without looking at it. She looked right into my eyes the whole time. And somehow she got the button on my shorts undone, and then her hand brushed against Mr. Happy as my zipper came down.

Mr. Happy, perhaps able somehow to feel the genetic similarities between Miss September’s hand and her mother’s, lifted his cute little head and said “Again? So soon? Oh goody!“ Even If I knew who was pulling that zipper down, he didn’t.

Or maybe he just didn’t care.

So, when Mrs. Miles’ eyes finally unlocked from mine and slid down my chest as she knelt in front of me, and my shorts dropped to the floor like they had lead weights in them, Mr. Happy was wrestling with my underwear like a man on Safari, trying to push tall grass aside so he could see his prey.

Except the “prey” found him first.

I was staring at a mirror that was attached to a long dresser kind of thing against the wall, and what I saw was a seventeen year old boy, not too bad looking, sunburned around the face, wearing a shirt and, where his dick should have been, was this big fluffy blond Farrah Fawcett hairdo that made it look like the boy had pubic hair you’d expect to see on Big Foot. I had to grin.

What Shirley Miles saw as she ‘parted the grass’ by pulling my underwear down to my knees, was the bobbing tool that had, indeed, made her daughter bleed. And, it was in the same condition it had been in when said bleeding took place.

Mr. Happy, possibly blinking in the sudden light, moved his head around here and there, going, “Okay, where is she? I’m ready! I won’t fail you Bobby. Just bring her on.”

“My, my, my,” said Mrs. Miles.

Mr. Happy gave a little “eeep” as the light was suddenly cut off again and it got very ... very dark. That was because Shirley Miles had his head lodged firmly in her mouth.

I believe I said something very close to “Eeep” as well.

It’s a good thing I was leaning against that wall, because otherwise my dick might have gotten all scraped up against her teeth as it was jerked between them while I fell in a heap. But I managed to just sag a little, and she was able to compensate for that.

I found out in short order that Donna wasn’t necessarily a quick learner. I think there was a genetic component in her ability to learn how to suck me like a pro. Shirley Miles had a very talented mouth.

What’s that you ask?

What was I thinking about while all this was going on?

Well, a few years back there had been this movie that caused a sensation. It was called “The Graduate” and, though kids our age weren’t allowed in the theater to see it, rumor about that movie got thoroughly distributed around the teen set. For most of us boys my age, that whole get seduced by an older woman thing was just a far out fantasy. I mean Dustin Hoffman was a college student, right? So while it might happen to college students, there was no way it was going to happen to somebody not even out of High School. Anybody knew that.

That’s what I was thinking. I was thinking that this couldn’t possibly be happening to me.