Chapter 28: Mrs. Gerry Whitestone

I'll get to Mrs. Gerry Whitestone in a moment or two. But first I should mention two other married women I met at about the same time. There will be no mention of names here, for they were, at least by my standard, totally inadequate sexual partners.

Both women were at the Nutcracker, and witnessed my infamous, 'Hardon in tights, ' as Gerry so eloquently put it during our first encounter.

Mrs. A. accosted me on the street coming home from school one day, and lured me to her bed, promising me that I would never forget her. Well, I haven't, but not for the reasons she beguiled me with. It was quite the opposite, in fact. Mrs. A. lay like a corpse in her bed, while I attempted to get her off. It was futile, she lay there, eyes shut, fists clenched, and with the driest cunt I've ever entered. I'm sure my penetration was painful, although I did my best to lubricate her, having gone down on her until she pushed me away, saying she found that act, "disgusting, and perverse."

I didn't bother asking her why she took me to her bedroom, but managed to ask Mrs. B. the question, when encountering virtually the same action from her. Mrs. B. had had the nerve to call my home and request I baby-sit her four-year-old son. I went thinking it was a legitimate job, only to find that the youngster was already sleeping, and Mrs. B. wearing a white negligee.

I'll give her this, she could kiss. And we did just that for some time, during which I assumed, (never assume anything, it just makes an ass out of you and me.) that she was readying for some heated action.

She too, lay dormant, while I climbed onto her body and put it in. At least she had used some form of lubricant. But she couldn't, or wouldn't bring herself to join me in the fuck. Oh, I fucked her all right. It was as much a solitary fuck as jerking off amounts to, but it was what she wanted. After, I asked her what I hadn't asked Mrs. A., i.e., "Why had she brought me to her bed?"

It seems I had aroused her and several other women at the performance, and she had felt goaded into approaching me by their comments about my "protuberance."

"Don't you like sex?" I asked, only to be told, "Why, yes, otherwise I'd never have any children."

"Were you hoping to have a child with me?"

"Perhaps, I'm not really clear on that," she'd said. I left it at that, hoping she didn't become pregnant by me. (PS, she didn't.)

And so, when I met Gerry, I was reluctant to jump into the sack with her. After all, I did have Lynn and Jenny-Mae, and several other potential girls from school to play around with.

But, I'm ahead of myself. We met accidentally, during a driving rain, while I was driving home from a meeting with the newly hired baseball coach.

Visibility was poor and I barely saw a car in front of me that had not quite gotten onto the shoulder of the road. Having just completed a course on safe driving, I pulled onto the shoulder behind the car and left my flashers on, and got out to see if I could help.

The driver was a woman with an obviously flat tire on the side of the car facing the road; a dangerous situation for anyone, much less a woman.

"Can I help?" I asked, and saw that she was already shivering from the cold, and that she just wore a corduroy jacket, already soaked through.

She nodded helplessly, holding her palms out indicating how helpless she felt in this situation.

"Why don't you get back in the car," I said.

"Good idea, but I've got a flat, but expect you've noticed it already."

"I know. Get in the car; you're not dressed for this weather. Just open the trunk and I'll take the spare out and replace the flat."

She did as asked and when the trunk popped open I reached in and pulled out the spare. I saw a new problem; the spare had very little air in it and would be useless as a replacement for the flat.

I knocked on the driver side window, and she lowered it several inches.

"Yes?"

"The spare is as bad as the flat," I said breaking the bad news as quickly as possible, for I already had a solution to fix the problem.

"Look," I said, "I've got a spare in my car. Let's use it. We can drive to a service station about four miles from here and let them fix your tire, and put my spare back in my trunk."

She gave me a look that expressed her thanks and appreciation as well as giving me far more credit than I deserved. I had been practicing changing tires as part of my recent driving lessons and quickly managed to place my spare on her car, and dumped her flat in my truck. I asked that she follow me as I knew where the station was located, and for her to drive with her flashers on.

As the tire was being repaired, she bought me a cup of hot chocolate, and we got to know one another, as well as one might expect under the circumstances. Her name was Gerry Whitestone. She was a therapist of some sort, and wanted to pay me for my assistance. I refused, telling her it was my obligation to help a motorist in distress.

"How old are you, Sir Knight, or should I say, Sir Aubrey?"

"Sixteen, ma'am."

Her eyebrows arched at this, and she said, "Perhaps, but in reality you're far older than sixteen."

Thank you, Mrs. Whitestone," I replied, for I was flattered at her comment.

"Well, we're both soaked through and through. And you seem to have gotten the worst of it. When we're finished here I suggest we head for my house and I'll see to it that you have another hot drink while I dry your clothing."

"Oh, I couldn't do that..."

"Nonsense," she replied, "I'm sure my husband has something you can wear while the clothes dry. It will only take twenty minutes or so. I'll call your parents and tell them where you are and what you've done. I'm positive they'll approve of both your actions on my behalf, and mine on yours."

And that was that. Well, not quite.

Mrs. Whitestone was so effusive in her comments about my actions on her behalf that my mother insisted on talking to me.

"Aubrey," she said, "you listen to me. Mrs. Whitestone is a very influential member of the community. She's been so ... so grateful for your helping her out, that you will be polite and stay with her a while. You may not know it, but she can help get you into the college of your choice and while that may be a year or two away, you'll need all the help you can get when the time comes." She went on like that for the rest of our conversation, only ending when I promised to do as she'd said.

Then, acting as if nothing had happened, Mrs. Whitestone handed me an armful of her husband's clothing and shooed me into her master bathroom, turned on the shower and kissed me on the cheek, turned and closed the door behind her.

I showered and the hot water felt great, warming my fairly chilled body back to normal. I slipped into Mr. Whitestone's slacks and shirt and ventured out into the living room. Mrs. Whitestone was waiting with a huge mug of hot chocolate for me.

After my recent fiascos with Mrs. A. and Mrs. B., I was a bit nervous when she sat down on the arm of the chair that I was sitting in.

"Don't worry," she said, running her hand into my still dampened hair. "I'm not going to bit."

"I ... um, I ... I'm kinda nervous, Mrs. Whitestone."

"Call me Gerry," she said, almost purring the words into my ear. Her hot breath on my neck set me off, and there I was, sitting next to her with a boner the size of the Empire State Building.

"Oh ... did I cause that?" she said, her breath even closer.

"Are you the one everybody's talking about?"

"What ... what do you mean?" I said, dreading her next words.

"You are the ballet dancer, aren't you? The one all the ladies are calling, Mr. Hardon in tights."

"Jesus Christ!" I exclaimed and then immediately apologized.

"I'm sorry, Aubrey; but you are that person, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am." My head dropped down in embarrassment.

She chucked me under the chin and raised my face so that I was looking at her when I opened my eyes.

"Don't you dare be embarrassed over that. It's not your fault that the women in the audience can't handle their sex drive."

"What?" I blurted.

"You're a child ... well, under the law, anyway. I say you're very much the man, and that erection in those slacks would tend to bear me out."

"Would you like to fuck me, Aubrey?"

"I don't ... think so."

"But why? Don't you find me attractive?'

"Yes, but..."

Somehow her blouse had come undone, and as she shrugged a shoulder, a breast came into view.

"Oh ... would you look at that," she said, and calmly cupped the breast in the palm of her hand as if inspecting it.

"Do you think I have nice breasts?"

"You ... you have lovely breasts."

"Why thank you!" she chirped. "But you've only seen the one."

"Aren't they the same?"

"Not always, darling. Not at all."

"I don't..."

"See?" she said, taking the other out and cupping it as well.

"I see," I said, taking both under careful consideration.

"You are the perfect gentleman," she said, rubbing her thumbs over the nipples.