Chapter 5

Most people don't think of a utility room, or a laundry room, as Mrs. Carson called it, as a sexy place. I do. I always will. Every time I do laundry I get a boner.

That's because when we got to the laundry room, Mrs. Carson took her T shirt off. She just pulled it over her head and tossed it on top of the washer.

Then she told me to suck on her nipples.

My daddy taught me to obey my elders. I sucked.

She had her first orgasm less than sixty seconds later. You've heard of the term, "cat on a hot tin roof?" Well, as soon as I started sucking on one extended, turgid nipple, one of her hands came to the back of my head to hold me there, and the other one went between her legs to rub at the dark stain I hadn't noticed had appeared in the crotch of her white jeans.

I'm going to try to say this with some tact and diplomacy.

Apparently, she had been ready for this to happen for some time, and her level of anticipation led to satisfaction almost immediately.

I thought I was killing her at first. I was quite sure, initially, that I was doing it wrong, based on the noises she made. But, apparently, the "language" of love is tucked away in our heads, fully developed, waiting to express itself fluently when the time comes. Even though I'd never heard a woman making these sounds, I could tell right away she was having a good time. And I want to point out that all that stuff you hear at web sites and on movies and all that? That's crap. There's not anything really going on there, because the sounds aren't right. It's like the difference between hearing somebody read a book in a monotone voice, and having them tell you a story they're excited about telling.

Anyway, I knew she was happy, and I had myself to worry about, because she crushed my face to her breast so hard that I had to turn my head sideways to be able to breathe through my nose. I had never done this - sucked a woman's nipple - not counting my mother, and that was back too far to remember, so it was all new to me. That did not in any way diminish how fantastic it was to do it. Within ten seconds, I had a new favorite hobby, and hoped I would never have to stop. I could do a whole day of school with a smile on my face if I could suck a nipple while I was doing it. By brute force, I got my mouth away from the first one, and went to the second to see if it was the same.

It was.

That was about the time she groaned, "Oh fuck, Bobby, it's happening, baby, oh fuck I need this so much!"

I had never been around a woman who had an orgasm, but I'd heard plenty of them online. Except this one sounded better. It wasn't the same, "Oh yeah" in the same tone for ten minutes, which always sounded fake. This one sounded real, like she was crying, but really happy about it.

Then, suddenly she was kissing me, and rubbing her breasts against my chest. She was frantic, and I almost got scared, because it was sort of like somebody who had decided they were going to die, and they were trying to get as much living done as possible before that happened. She crushed me against her body, and then moved her hands to my shoulders and pushed me away. Her eyes were wild.

"I love you," she whimpered. "I shouldn't, but I do. It's wrong, but I don't care anymore. If your mother ever finds out, she's going to just kill me."

Then she kissed me again.

It was a little like the time my folks took me to Santa Barbara, in California, where one of my aunts lived. We got to go to the beach. I was nine or ten at the time, and when I waded into the ocean I didn't expect the waves to be stronger than me. It was just water, right? But they tumbled me over and over. It wasn't scary, because I could hold my breath, and the water pushed me up onto the beach, but it wasn't like anything I'd ever felt before.

It was kind of like that, because she moved my head from her lips to her nipples again, and then kissed me some more, until finally she said, "Oh, Baby, I know it's wrong, but I have to!"

My mind had fevered fantasies as she knelt in front of me and her fingers attacked my belt and the button and zipper of my jeans. Those fantasies didn't get too far, though, before I felt pain that snapped me out of it. I think she took some skin off of my hips as she jerked my jeans and underwear down. My penis, which was appropriately stiff, flopped and bobbed in front of her face.

Again, though, the fantasies that flitted through my head were in error. Most of my fantasies involved me lying on top of her and fucking her until my dick went soft.

Instead, she swallowed my cock like it was made of cotton candy. It didn't melt in her mouth, though. I can say with what I feel is authority, that I know what it feels like to be a piece of beef jerky being eaten by someone with no teeth.

She did make it soft, by the way. I barely had time to reflect on what was happening before my overstressed system said, "Just blow your wad and maybe we can slow things down enough to get a breath."

So I did. I blew like the white whale in Mr. Melville's novel, and she swallowed it like a whale swallows krill. It wasn't until the last available drop of my semen had been removed from my limp prick that I realized her nails were puncturing my ass and I complained.

I said, "Owwww" and it sounded like a kitten, crying for some milk.

She stood up. Her eyes were less wild now. She kissed me, and I tasted myself on her lips. I didn't even care.

She pulled back.

"I love you," she said. "I'm sorry, but I just do. I'm sorry I lost control. You need to leave now."

"No I don't," I said, with what I'm sure was a silly grin on my face.

"Yes you do," she said, squatting again to pull up my pants. On the way she sucked my cock back into her mouth and then kissed the tip.

"Why?" I asked, my voice dreamy.

"Because you're a young stud," she said., "You're going to get hard again very soon, and if you're still here when that happens, I'm not sure I could resist fucking you blind, even if Scott came home and found me doing it. Is that enough reason for you?"

"Yes Ma'am," I said. Somehow her words didn't match any of the fantasies I had had before.

"Thank you," she said, and I could tell she meant it. She offered me her breasts again. "Kiss them goodbye, now. They belong to you, Bobby. They're yours whenever you want them."

"I want them now," I sighed.

"Except now," she said. "Please go home. I'm already starting to lose it."

"Okay," I said. "Any time I want them?"

Go home!" she yelled.

I went.

I passed Scott on my way out. He was walking up the path to the door as I burst out of it and took off at a dead run.

"What's wrong?" he yelled.

I turned around and ran backwards. I think I was laughing my ass off.

"Nothing. I have to get back home. Enjoy the cake."

Then I took off at a sprint. I made it home in record time. My Mom was washing up the baking dishes when I pounded in through our back door.

"What's gotten into you?" she asked.

"She said thank you," I panted. "For the cake," I added, just in case there was any confusion.

"Why are you so out of breath?" asked my mother.

"Ran home," I said.

"I expected you to stay longer," she said. "You haven't been over there for months."

"They were going out," I lied. It was believable, and I would have been expected not to delay their plans. "But she said I could come over Friday night ... if that's okay with you."

My mother had this look that was what I guess I would call penetrating. When she did that, I felt like she could see right into my brain, to what I was thinking. She usually used it when she suspected me of some mischief, and was trying to get to the truth of things. That look came over her face now.

"Did you behave yourself?"

Behave myself? There was no way in the world that what I had just done could be called anything even remotely near, "good behavior."

"Yes, Ma'am," I lied, grinning as if I'd just won first prize at the county fair.

Her face softened.

"Good. I like her. She's had a rough life, raising Scotty all by herself. She deserves some happiness. I do not want you to cause her trouble, is that clear?"

"Mom," I said,, "I can promise you I will try my level best to never cause her any unhappiness of any kind. I kind of like her too."

"I know you do," sniffed my mother. "I'm pleased that you have good taste. Now, go check on your father. He was trying to climb the stairs, and while I haven't heard a thump or a yell, I'm worried that I will."

"Yes, Ma'am," I said, and took off.

I wondered a bit about her comment about me having good taste. What did she mean by that? But then I had to help my dad make it up the last three stairs to the second floor, which he had not visited in six months, and forgot all about it.

It was a rough week, not because it was the first week of school, but because I knew I was going to sleep over at Scott's Friday night, and I knew something was going to happen, but I didn't know what. The fantasies tumbled around in my brain, but since nothing that had happened had been even remotely like my fantasies, they had less power over me now.

Still, I was a nervous wreck all week. Scott asked me a dozen times what was wrong with me. He assumed there was a girl, and that I was too chicken to approach her. He was right about the girl, though he had no idea it was his mother. I wouldn't give him any other names, because I knew he was capable of going up to a girl and telling her that his best friend was madly in love with her, and might consider suicide if she didn't go out with him, meaning me. I didn't want that.

It wasn't that I didn't want any dates. Dates would have been fine. But my agenda, concerning dates had changed pretty significantly. Most guys, at least all the guys I knew, went on dates for one reason - to see how far they could get with a girl. If it worked out well (which does not mean they got as far as they wanted to) then they might keep going out with that girl and become a couple. If it didn't work out well (which, oddly enough might mean they got farther than they hoped) then they'd stop talking to that girl and look for another one.

I wasn't interested in that kind of relationship. I wanted something that was really satisfying. And the knowledge that I could sit across the room from Mrs. Carson and watch her read, and feel happy and turned on and satisfied, meant that playing the kind of games my peers played seemed stupid, or at least a waste of time.

I had the girl I wanted. Sort of. Everything was nebulous. It was that way for my peers too. Everything about dating was nebulous for them, because they didn't know how the girl would react to whatever they did. They didn't know how far they'd get, or if they'd come home with blue balls or not. They didn't know if the date would be fun or a drag. They didn't even know if the girl would have bad breath or not.

It was nebulous for me in totally different ways. I was pretty sure I'd never have blue balls around Mrs. Carson. Not if she could help it. That was an assumption, but I felt like I was on pretty solid ground. There had been a time when I was afraid she really would banish me from the house, but I wasn't too worried about that anymore, assuming I didn't push things and make her mad. And I knew how she would react in most situations, because I knew her. I knew what foods she liked, and what colors she liked. I knew what kind of TV and movies she wanted to watch. I knew about her hobby, and a little about what she did at work. I'd seen her happy, and mad, and tired, and uncomfortable and excited. I knew what one of her orgasms sounded like!