The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face
Chapter 2

Copyright© 2014 by mthommotoo

Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 2 - I heard an old favourite song on the car radio and this is what transpired. It is what happens when two unusual people meet and are the perfect match. The third odd bod was a complete surprise to improve on perfection. This is a story of true unbreakable love. All in perfect Australian English as usual.

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   mt/ft   Ma/ft   Fa/Fa   Fa/ft   Teenagers   Consensual   Romantic   NonConsensual   Drunk/Drugged   BiSexual   Heterosexual   Fiction   Humor   Tear Jerker   Group Sex   Harem   Polygamy/Polyamory   First   Oral Sex   Petting   Pregnancy   Size  


Mrs Hannigan


My little girl is just standing there with both of her tiny hands inside of this young giant's massive paws. Frank is getting upset, and this mate of Michael's terrifies me. He has to bend to enter doors. He carries my weightlifter son like he's nothing. I'll give you that the kids look odd, together. Debby is tiny, taking after my Nanna Saul. I don't think either of them has noticed this difference in size.

Twenty minutes after they take Michael into his room, I check on them. They are still just standing there, holding hands and looking into each other's eyes. I don't think they've even said anything yet. I call them, but neither replies. They are the oddest couple to look at.

The girl's an adult so we can't do much, outside of charge him with trespassing, and I don't really want to do that. With her attitude toward men, I honestly thought she might be closet gay. I was certainly wrong about that, wasn't I? Though it is guaranteed that her friend Margret is, as there is definitely something wrong there. I drag the old man off to bed, as he doesn't want to take his eyes off them. They've made me horny. I need a root!

Frank got up three times during the night, I know because I was still awake, but he only got up me once, mores the pity. He's badly over-reacting, as I only got up twice. They were sitting on the lounge and softly talking and holding hands. Even Frank copped a feel of my boob on our first night out together. Mind you, I had to almost put the thing into his hand. Somebody had to take control, and I had made up my mind.

It doesn't look like these two even care about any of that. Deb's a tough-minded girl and will control him like a remote control car. I think. There's an awful lot of man there. I can't think who his voice reminds me of.

I must have fallen asleep, eventually. When I awaken and throw my dressing gown over my oldest nightie (I must have been in shock last night as we have a guest, and I didn't wear the one Frank gave me for Mother's Day), the odd couple are still on the lounge. Deb is sitting across his lap and he is cuddling her like a two-week-old baby. Both are dead to the world. I do wish that that girl would wear makeup! At least then I'd be able to tell if she has kissed him or not.

The DVD player's clock says that it's eight o'clock so I'll make some breakfast. Why do I get the impression that breakfast for the three of us together will be less than enough breakfast for that one big fella? Checked on Michael. It looks like the kids had cleaned him up after vomiting as he's still fully dressed on the bed, but with a basin on his bedside table, which wasn't there when I'd checked on him last night. If I ever catch that rotten Gloria, I'll tear the little bitch's eyes out.

Breakfast will be traditional, as I can't think of anything original ... and after all those cookbooks that Frank bought me, too.

I do believe Michael has made himself some very good mates. He deserves them. The Midge name suits him, I think, as who else could call him: 'Midget.'


Graham

The first time ever I kissed your mouth


Whoa!! Where the fuckin' hell, am I? Oh, shit! Deborah is cuddled into my lap, still, just like she was last night. God, she's beautiful! Is it too soon to ask her to marry me? God she's beautiful. My nose tells me bacon and eggs, toast and grilled tomatoes. I'll eat to be polite and eat again down at the pub counter for sustenance. My tummy is rumbling and she's laughing as her ear is too near the sound effect's origins. She looks up at me and ... God, she's so beautiful.

She says, with ownership in her voice, "I've got to feed my man," then she cuddles me tight enough for even a big galoot like me to feel it.

In unison, as if lip-synched, we say, "I love you."


Neither of us smiles at the synchronicity, as we will always work that way. Our minds work as one. We often will never have to discuss things as we automatically just agree. We take it for granted, even though everyone else is really put off by us. It never matters how far apart we are, either.


I stand and carry her baby size weight into the kitchen, where Mrs Hannigan has started to cook.

"You'd better put our baby down, as she's got work to do here. Is six pieces of toast enough for you Graham? Are you the one Michael calls Shortarse?" I nodded, "Yeah, I thought you might be; he didn't know any other name for you."

"My name is Graham, if you'd rather, Mrs Hannigan."

"Yes, I'd rather."

Deborah gets me to put her down, and while I'm bending she whispers into my ear, "It's down the hall, third door on the left," she meaningfully looks at my jeans. My piss-hard is making a dent in my jeans which is more than meaningful in its dimension, and when she's standing, right in front of her face. I kiss her on the lips, just to say thank you, and we still have our lips attached, and we still have our lips attached, and I think we have forgotten to stop until Mrs Hannigan nudges us that the plates are on the table and full. It is the first time ever I kissed your mouth, my Love.

"Go call your dad, and she is right, third door on the left down the hall, you." I blushed.

It's not just a piss-hard anymore, but then again, I don't think that Mrs Hannigan is thinking that it is, either.

I won't need to go to the pub for their counter breakfast. Mrs Hannigan just keeps filling my plate and I can see she is eating as she is cooking. The second bowl of porridge did the trick. The Hannigans keep such small serving dishes.

'Deborah', it just rolls off the tongue.

Deborah doesn't seem to think how much I'm eating is anything unusual, but Mr Hannigan watches me with eyes like dinner plates. He'd stumbled out to the table a few minutes after Deborah returned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Then, he too went to the third door on the left down the hall, and then rejoined us. I stand, hitting my head on the ceiling light fitting, and we introduce ourselves and shake hands. I don't think he had enough sleep last night.

Midge stumbles out just before I finish eating. Mrs Hannigan has poured me my fourth cup of coffee into the tiny coffee mug. He doesn't open his eyes, just pours a coffee for himself and takes a long suck. He suddenly opens his eyes, and looks at the mug. I'm guessing that Mrs Hannigan has made it stronger just for me. He looks around and gives me the strangest look. He might be a little surprised as his sister is nibbling on her one piece of toast and jam, still, while sitting on my lap. She has had to keep getting up and down to keep my plate refilled, as Mrs Hannigan keeps on cooking. Together we just stare straight back at him.

"Don't forget that you've got to clean the gym, today, Son," Mr Hannigan reminds him.

"What time is that due, Dad?"

"Any time, but it will take a couple of hours."

"Okay. Wha ... what are you doing here, Shortarse?"

"I slept with your sister, Midge."

Deborah sprays coffee all over the table with laughter, and Mr Hannigan looks as though he is swallowing his tongue.

Mrs Hannigan looks to the heavens and says, "He retrieved that ring back off of that bitch, for you. I thought it only fair, Michael. Debbie didn't seem to mind."

Michael goes slightly 'green around the gills.' By the sounds of it, he only just makes the third door on the left, down the hall. The next sound is the toilet flushing then a tap in the bathroom running with him brushing his teeth.

He settles his nausea with a piece of dry toast and asks, "Can you drop me off at the gym, Shortarse?"

I thank Mrs Hannigan for breakfast (she makes mention that she'd rather feed me for a week than a month) and grab my car keys. They were on the coffee table in front of the lounge, where I had to put them when Deborah parked herself on my lap last night. They'd been digging holes in both of us. It's lucky my ute has got a double passenger seat otherwise both brother and sister wouldn't have fitted. I think that it's an odd question as he asks Deborah where she is going as we hold hands out the door. We couldn't think of anywhere else we each should be. Midge is acting as if seeing me with a girl is odd; well maybe it is, just a little.

At the gym, all of us get out. It only took us twenty minutes to clean it. That's what mates, and it appears sisters, just do. He gave me an odd look when I put the big weights back on the wall.

"You're supposed to take the weights off the ends first Shortarse. But that will be okay. I'd like to be here when the big boys come down and do their workout, and get told how the bars got put up. It takes two of them to carry each of them to the stands and then they put the main weights on one at a time."

I drop him back off at his place to get more sleep. Then we go to my place so I can have a shower and get changed, before taking Deborah to lunch. She walks around the dump, looking in drawers and opening cupboards, just being nosy, much like a dog pissing in the corners for territorial rights. I pull some fresh jeans out and a good dress shirt. She looks at the shirt, then opens the wardrobe to see my much preferred alternative, putting my favourite black one against me, she smiles. So do I, as I only chose the pink one because I thought she'd like it. She may have also noticed I have six identical black, short-sleeved, dress shirts in there.

I run the shower and don't raise an eyebrow when Deborah stands in the door watching me strip. I expected nothing less. I check the water and add some cold. She brushes past me, nude, before I enter myself.

'God, oh god, she is just so beautiful. I can't understand why she hasn't already got a boyfriend'.

We wash each other ... thoroughly ... then she jumps up and kisses me on the nose as I turn the water off. I ignore the elephant in the room, and so does she as we dry each other, as it is just another wet thing. Then she uses that damned elephant's trunk to lead me back into the bedroom.

Deborah, Deborah, Deborah, it's got such a good ring to it. Ring ... yes, definitely a ring! Today ... maybe even this morning.

She does my shirt's buttons up then as I pull some fresh boxer shorts out of the drawer she finds the sock drawer and pulls the pair out I would have automatically used anyway. She kisses the tip of the elephant in the room, and then goes to retrieve her clothes out of the bathroom. She brings them back into the bedroom to do a reverse striptease and I discover that that damned elephant isn't going down anytime soon. I kiss her pubis then hold her panties for her to put her legs through then do her bra up after kissing each nipple, just lightly. They are perfect. Way too large for the correct perspective to suit her petite body; which makes them just ... perfect. She is perfect.

It is eleven thirty so I take her down to the Maitland Mall and find a parking spot easily on a side road down from Coles. We walk holding hands to the jeweller there and we see their range of engagement rings in the window. I see nothing I like and Deborah looks bored. Maitland Mall sounds fancy but all it is, is the council closed the main shopping street off to anything but pedestrian traffic and delivery vehicles. They then built a huge car park almost fifteen minutes' walk away. You could shoot a gun down that closed road and not hit anything, anytime you like.

Greenhills is the main shopping complex for the city about a quarter of an hour, twenty odd minutes' drive towards Newcastle on the coast. It's always frantic with shoppers anytime you want to go there. We drop into the pub near the main entrance which has a nice little blackboard menu inside even though I don't reckon the beer is cold enough or that they flush their pipes often enough. We both have a beer and the seafood salad, then walk over to the shopping centre where there are four or five jewellers, all within sight of each other. The first, and most noticeably showy, looks scrappy and cheap. The second looked classy but has nothing either of us are interested in either, with BARGAIN and SALE signs covering most everything.

The next shop next to the escalator to the underfloor parking drew Deborah's eyes first as we are looking at different ends of the window and her concentration is so intense that I check it out as well. Yep, perfect. We go inside and ask about it, the little girl serving almost ran away when she saw me, a mature woman refuses to leave the far end of the counter staring at me, so a man came from inside to show us the ring. Men aren't afraid of me. I mustn't give off that vibe.

He gives us the price that is on the display in the window. I laugh out loud and turn to leave, while Deborah follows my lead. He hurries around the counter and meets us near the main door, trying to lead us back to show us cheaper models. I just shook my head and he gives me a lower price on our original preference, which we eventually dicker down to a third less than the marked price. He began to be hesitant and the amounts he is coming down almost stop. Done. Sold! We check for my girl's size and he will have it sized right by Tuesday --I just look at him -- Monday--I just look at him--two hours he says with a sigh. I pay for it in full with my EFTPOS card, which brightens his day, no end. I believe religiously in the profit motive as long as it's not my money being used for the profit.

We order some cappuccinos with some vanilla slices at the coffee shop, just down the walkway towards the vast outdoor car park. They give us a number card to stand on the table.

Deborah, Deborah, Deborah! Beautiful Deborah sits on my lap instead of the chair. She thanks me for spending so much money, the best way she knows how, outside of the bedroom. A second chair, with us, does seem superfluous.

She whispers into my ear, "I'm a virgin, you know."

"Of course you are. We only met last night. Who else would you trust to love you? Do you want to stay that way?"

She nodded but there is nothing emphatic about her nod.

"Do you want me to stay a virgin?" she asks.

"I've stayed a virgin for twenty five years. If you can wait, so can I. Otherwise ... I'll love you any way I can have you."

She hugs me even tighter around my neck as she crawls up to sit on my crook'd arms.

A girl who Deborah knows from school delivers the coffees and slices. She's the same type of blonde girl who used to throw themselves all over me in my day, but couldn't keep their legs together with others. She has the strangest look on her face, but didn't ask the most obvious question. She sits with us for her break, during our second and third coffee, and she is almost sweating with curiosity. I admire her self-discipline, as we make not a comment. 'Tell 'em nothin', take 'em nowhere' is my attitude for nosy blonde bitches.

We widow-shop for the next hour (not something I usually do, voluntarily), and then re-enter the jewellers. The best description is: 'that girl flees, again'. Deborah looks puzzled, but I am just amused. The man comes out and fits the ring, and it is perfect.

I did the one thing he didn't expect.

I take the hand of my Darling Deborah, I slide the ring onto her finger, and ask, "Deborah, will you marry me?"

If I had knelt down to make it all formal, I would have still have been taller than she is.

"Of course. I wanted to ask you last night."

The shopgirl is standing behind the bloke and she looks quite shaken. I shake the man's hand before we leave.

We leave the shopping centre and on the way to the main doors walk past the coffee shop, and Deborah, just 'happens' to brush her short fringe up from her face using 'that' hand. A scream emanates from the Michel's Patisserie that is almost eardrum bursting, and the dumb blonde chases us through the crowd and tackles my girl out the front of Coles' entrance. She has to run to catch up to us, meantime jumping up and down on the spot. Won't Deborah be the talk of the school Monday? That was rhetorically asked, and didn't really require a question mark. Editors, she-it. [up yours! lol!!]

We shake her 'friend' off and I ask her if she really is one her friends.

She replies, "No, she's just one of the bitches who are always in my face. If I want the whole school to know, the complete complement of girls and the majority of the boys, will now know by six o'clock this evening via Facebook. The boys at school know full well that Debby Hannigan doesn't go out with children, she's found herself a real man."

My wheels are still out the front of the pub, and when I hold her door open for her, she seems to be getting upset. I enter the driver's door and settle, put on my seatbelt, but don't start.

"Graham, I've got to go home. I'm doing the HSC in six months, and I can't afford not to study."

"So?"

"I don't want to be away from you, ever. But I must study. It's important for all the things I'm planning for. Things that I've got to do."

 
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