Chapter 545: Opened Eyes

If Milea is this nervous being in the shower with a naked man, I don’t think she is ready for sex with a guy she just met, especially one who won’t be around for long.

I heard her whispering to herself in Hawaiian, “I can do this. It isn’t like before.”

Her eyes were wide when I turned her around to face me and pushed my body against hers. She reached down between us to start playing with my dick.

“We’re not going to get your hair washed if you keep that up,” I said and kissed her forehead as I tilted her head back into the water to start getting her long hair wet.

When I turned her around, she reached between us to pull my dick between her legs. She kept whispering to psych herself up.

“Milea,” I said as I raised my voice a bit. “You will get shampoo in your eyes and other places if you keep distracting me.”

She pushed back against me and started crying.

I didn’t expect her to ask, “Don’t you want me? What is wrong with me? I have a pussy, and you have a big dick. I got you ready. I don’t have a cherry. It won’t hurt me.”

“What I want, Milea is to get your hair smelling like whatever flowery scent is in this conditioner. I’ve been with more virgin girls and women than I want to try to count. I saw the look on your face when I got into the shower with you and how you tensed up when I turned you around to get your hair wet. I don’t want to pound your pussy from behind in the shower because you will hate yourself and me both once you think back on it tomorrow. It isn’t what you need right now, Milea,” I told her. “Can we get washed up and then go talk? I think you need to talk more than to screw.”

Milea was a bit of a posable zombie whispering questions to herself in Hawaiian. She didn’t seem to notice me washing her hair or body. She did snap out of things when I handed her the soaped washcloth to wash between her legs.

“Can you do it, please?” she asked as she put her foot up onto the ledge for women to shave their legs.

I did and rinsed her. She gave me an odd look.

“You don’t think I’ve managed to have daughters and not know how to wash a girl or woman, do you?” I joked. “Your turn to wash me now.”

I had to give her basic instructions on washing my dick versus just playing with it, which came after she rinsed it off. I didn’t stop her when she got down on her knees to suck it.

She may have tried sucking one before, but this is more explorative than trying to suck me off.

I got her to stop and stand up when she kept at it.

“No fair,” I told her. “There isn’t enough room for me to snack at the Y while you try to suck a protein shake through my straw.”

It took Milea to get what I said, and she started laughing. I had her dried off with a towel around her hair before she stopped giggling whenever I said Y or straw. I had let the place in my head dry me off without her noticing.

She led me into the bedroom, had me lay on my back, put her pussy over my mouth, and leaned forward to rest on her elbows to suck on my dick some more. I had her stop long enough to put a pillow between us.

“I don’t want you to have my dick shoved down your throat if you go limp when you cum,” I told her.

“Don’t you mean if I cum?” Milea teased.

“No, I mean when. I’m not being cocky when I say I’m told I should be named an honorary lesbian, according to lesbians that I know,” I said and sucked her fat clit into my mouth.

That was quick.

She did go limp when she came.

Milea got another pillow to put on top of the first and then started doing her best to suck a load out of me. I didn’t let her, exactly, because I kept bringing her off by her clit or with my fingers. She would pull her mouth off my dick right as she got close and then drop down limply on the pillow as she rode down the other side of O-mountain. She finally bit my dick to get me to stop and rolled off onto the bed.

“I’ve never had anyone do that to me, so I don’t have any reference. I know women who have, and they didn’t describe anything incredible like we just did,” Milea explained.

She rushed off to the bathroom. When she returned, Milea laid next to me, her head on my chest and hand playing with my dick. She had something on her mind, and I heard her trying to whisper to herself as quietly as possible, hoping the ceiling fan and waves would cover it up. Milea kept trying to work through some things. I busied myself with feeling every inch of her butt cheeks and back.

Milea kept up whispering to herself until the day caught up to her. She let go of my dick, snuggled up to me, and went to sleep.

We woke to her letting out an unexpected climactic scream from her riding my dick in our sleep. Now that we were awake, she kept riding up and down O-mountain until she was too tired to keep going. I rolled us over and kept going until I was about to cum.

After getting to the bottom of O-mountain, Milea tried to suck me hard to keep going. When I got close the next time, she locked her legs around me to keep me from pulling out. I made sure nothing was going to raise the dead so that she would go back to sleep. That happened the following two times too.

We woke to her alarm with me buried inside her from behind.

The shower wasn’t awkward, and we got done quickly.

It was only ten when we got dressed to see if there was anything to make for breakfast. Milea pushed against me like long-time lovers in the kitchen and then cuddled up to me as we ate. Once we cleaned everything up, she pulled me over to a couch, putting her head on my shoulder.

“I don’t even know Bambi, but she saw how I was glued to you yesterday. We got to talk for a little bit. I didn’t tell her much, but she told me I was staying the night here, even if that meant she had to drug me. I can’t say that I believed her when she told me I would have to rape you if I wanted to get laid,” Milea explained. “You seemed like a nice guy, but guys with bodies like yours don’t have to go trolling to get laid. Every woman at the party would have dropped their shorts and panties to have you give them five minutes with your dick inside them before moving to the next. As the day went on, I convinced myself it was a dream. You couldn’t be real. I didn’t even know that you owned the house until you told everyone by the pool. I leaned back against you as you started singing children’s songs to shut Kai up. I’ve only known her for a few years, but her attitude is her defense mechanism to push people away. You know that because it didn’t seem to faze you.”

Milea stepped away to make a quick phone call.

Once back beside me on the couch, she said, “Thank you for letting me talk to myself last night without saying anything. I forgot that you speak Hawaiian fluently. I bet you can already guess what is going on with me.”

“You were into some hot guy with a good body, seemed like a nice guy, treated you nicely, and things seemed perfect. He was an adult when you were a kid in High School. He strung you along, saying you were too young to have a physical relationship with him. The more he refused, the bolder you got until you got what you wanted. If it was more than once, when you found yourself pregnant, he vanished off the face of the earth,” I told her.

“Pretty much it, David,” Milea said. “My first time was in a dark place in a dirty alley. I was still in pain from him shoving his dick in me before realizing he was done and zipping up. He said we shouldn’t have done it and made a quick exit. I ran into him again three days later. He sounded so sincere as he told me it was a moment of weakness and we shouldn’t have done it. All his buttery words only made me horny. The guy said we couldn’t talk about it where we were, so we had to go somewhere that people wouldn’t hear us. I was all over him when we got between two buildings. He said he couldn’t resist me, and we did it with me holding onto a dumpster as he did me from behind for only as long as it took him to get his. I had a lot going on and didn’t notice I was almost two months late when I miscarried. I was devastated and went to let him know. Seeing him go like a bee from flower to flower hit me like a ton of bricks. A girl did tell him she was pregnant, and he vanished.”

If being played wasn’t enough, the asshole sent each girl a message with an itemized list of what he spent on them to get into their panties. He calculated how much he would have to pay to pop their cherries and screw them. Everything came from a burner phone as a mass email to all the girls, everyone in their schools, their families, and a group of pedophiles.

He took pictures each time he corked their bottles, with the girls smiling at him as he did it. There were links to videos on servers where sex with twelve and older was legal, as was child porn.

Milea said that she would have still kept screwing him even with all of that. At the time, she was sure she was in love with him.

“I was so naïve that I convinced myself I still loved him. I decided I had already been sharing him with the few dozen other girls. I wouldn’t mind as long as he would do me too,” Milea said. “I was lucky my parents didn’t freak out when they found out. They sat me down and asked me about everything. They blamed themselves for not being around enough to protect me from predators and know what was happening in my life. We worked with police to help track the man down. They caught him in the Philippines. He walked out of jail without even getting booked. He’s still out walking free. No one who arrested him could make charges stick.”

There is only one way that can happen.

I asked, “What is his name?”

She gave me the name he used for an alias here and the name the police had when they arrested him. A check told me what I expected. He was a scumbag bastard son of an elite family. Whatever he did for the family must have been lucrative to bail his ass out. I didn’t think they would stick their necks out for someone posting him as the star in child porn, even if not sold.

“If I could find this guy, would you want to see him again?” I asked.

Milea got lost in thinking about that question when I noticed it was time to get her to campus for her class. I had no clue where it was, but the GPS got me to the correct building, and Milea’s schedule had the room number.

I didn’t mean to send her off into space. I might as well see what the first day of class at college is like.

It was one of the big lecture halls with a few hundred students waiting for the class to start.

I shouldn’t have been surprised to find it was a psychology class.

Milea was taking down information in her notebook but wasn’t all there right now. The professor asked the students to raise their hands if they knew various things on the syllabus.

Oh shit! I know details about those things that aren’t in Milea’s book for class. Is that something downloaded into my head, or did I get it from time spent learning all the languages or martial arts?

“Do you happen to be David Jones,” one of the psychology professors asked when he took the seat beside me.

“I am. Is there something I can do for you?” I asked.

He gave me an odd look and then asked, “I heard an unbelievable story about you last night.”

I had to keep it down as I laughed.

“Oddly enough, that is more common than you may think,” I replied.

“Given that it was from my five-year-old, it seemed pretty far-fetched. My wife insisted that my daughter hadn’t imagined things. Could you help me to do a quick experiment with this class?” he asked.

“Sure,” I replied.

He asked me to teach them Kāhuli Aku as I had done last night with the people at my house. Most students were from Hawaii, but only a few spoke Hawaiian. Most wouldn’t know the melody or words, providing an exciting experiment.

“Class,” the professor said as he took his turn at the podium. “Being a psychology class, why don’t we start the semester with a psychological experiment.”

Like they have a choice.

I went to the microphone and explained I would say some words. I wanted them to repeat them as best as they could. We will go through them a few times.

He wants to mess with their heads, so I’m going to mess with him. He didn’t ask me to teach it in Hawaiian. Gaelic is harder to pronounce, anyway.

I loved seeing the people in the class who spoke Hawaiian pick up on the melody when I got everyone singing it.

For further fun, I started replacing some words with Hawaiian ones. Ten minutes before the end of class, I had them sing a verse in Gaelic and the next in Hawaiian.

“You’ve been great sports. Now you all know how to sing the Hawaiian children’s song Kāhuli Aku in Gaelic and Hawaiian,” I told them as I left the stage and went back over to sit by Milea.

The professor returned to the microphone and said, “It seems you weren’t the only ones participating in today’s psychological experiment. Well played, Mr. Jones. You see, class, I requested him to teach a classroom full of psych students a local children’s song but didn’t specify that he does it in Hawaiian as I had intended. He cleverly changed a word at a time from Gaelic to Hawaiian. I watched, and only a few of you noticed the change.”

He then gave a chapter in the book about how the brain processes languages and why children pick up new languages with little effort, but it becomes more difficult as we age. Using today’s experiment, he wanted the class to explain why I taught them the languages. How did I have them speak and sing the words like each was their first language?

Today is probably the most energetic group of students he’s ever had.

Milea was still pondering the question I asked her.

“That was incredible, Mr. Jones,” a guy said when he walked up to me. “I thought this was going to be a boring class. How long have you been teaching languages?”

“I don’t teach anymore. I did teach Gaelic, Dutch, and Basque to a group of first-year high school AP language students. We took a field trip to Ireland, Holland, and Barcelona to try out what they learned. Locals couldn’t tell they weren’t kids who lived their whole lives in the area. I was only filling in for a semester while the school hired a replacement,” I explained.

“That is incredible. Did you travel a lot when you were little,” someone else asked.

I told them that I had traveled to visit relatives, but they all only spoke English. I shocked them when I told them I was only nineteen.

A different professor came over and explained, “Mr. Jones is what my peer explained as a natural linguist. While rare, Mr. Jones’s natural talents allowed him to read, write, and speak all known languages as if he were native to the area where it’s spoken. As you found from today’s experiment, he is adept at teaching others new foreign languages, even if only a few words.”

A girl looked at me closely, checked her phone, and looked at me again before holding her phone up and saying, “Wait, are you the same David Jones that earned his bachelor’s degree, master’s degrees, and PhDs from five different colleges simultaneously, when you were sixteen?”

“Yet, but I didn’t do it on purpose. I only wanted to test out of some core classes to show the school board they didn’t have anything else to teach me. I lucked into a unique experimental program designed for child prodigies. In exchange for escorting the kids around, I got to see if I could pass the same college final exams as the kids,” I explained. “Not that it matters all the much. My job prospects aren’t all that great. I don’t want to work as a spy or translator for a government. I’m not interested in sitting in some moldy office reading equally moldy books. Teaching school was fun, but there is way too much drama.”