A Christmas Present for Karen

Karen's seduction was far easier than Rachel could have imagined and started innocently enough, with a friendly, supportive hand on Karen's hand, followed by a soothing arm around her shoulder. When she'd met no resistance, she'd applied gentle pressure, pulling Karen to her until her head was resting on the top of her left tit. The final act had seen her lift Karen's chin and kiss her. Although partly extemporaneous - Rachel had no plan other than to wait for an opening - the seduction had been well-orchestrated and so effective Karen had been oblivious.

They became lovers that night and Karen had been forced to admit to herself that she'd enjoyed it. The kiss had been followed by another and then by an exploratory hand on her tits, the fingers seeking and finding the turgid nipples. She had watched, almost without emotion, as Rachel had pulled the straps of her one-piece costume down over her shoulders, exposing her tits.

"Beautiful."

She had never considered her tits to be beautiful, but Rachel's compliment pleased her.

Without another word, Rachel caressed her tits, gently cupping them in her hands before bending down and kissing, licking and sucking on the nipples. If she had been unsure of her response to Rachel's advances, the tenderness with which her would-be lover had played with her tits had served to resolve her uncertainty.

"We should go inside."

Karen nodded and followed her through the back door and via the kitchen, into the living room. The room was dark, but there was sufficient light from the street lamp her to follow Rachel's progress as she struck a match and lit the two candles sitting on the glass coffee table. As the light penetrated the darkness, she watched as Rachel faced her, smiled, blew her a kiss, kicked off her sandals and removed her bikini top. Smiling coquettishly, and holding the bikini top at the end of her extended middle finger, she walked towards her and asked,

"Why don't you take off the bottom?"

It had been a long time since she'd helped undress a woman, but she had no qualms in reaching out, undoing the left-hand tie and watching it slip down Rachel's legs.

"Thanks. Just a moment. I'm going to get us a drink."

She watched as Rachel dropped the bikini top at her feet and with the flickering candle light playing over her slim body, moved over to the buffet where she opened a bottle of wine and poured two glasses. Her first thoughts were not about sex, but about the marked difference between Rachel's body and hers. Rachel was slim; even slimmer than her ex-husband's lovers. In the last four years, if she included Rachel, she had seen four completely naked women and with the exception of her friend Ann, they had all possessed slim, taut and hairless bodies; a complete contrast to hers. She knew she should undress, but hesitated, concerned what Rachel would think when she saw her naked.

Returning, Rachel handed her a glass and held up her own glass in a toast.

"To us."

She wasn't sure they were an 'us', but followed Rachel's lead.

"To us."

Rachel took a drink, smiled again and placed her half-full glass on the coffee table. Still smiling, she asked,

"Aren't you going to get undressed?"

She knew this was her last opportunity to say no, but simply nodded, placed her glass on the same coffee-table and withdrew the arm which was wrapped across her breast and keeping the top of her costume in place. Before she could pull the costume down, Rachel had seized hold of the bodice.

"My turn."

Rachel made removing the costume a production; sliding it tantalisingly slowly down Karen's body and over her hips, pausing from time to time to kiss and lick her body or to fondle and kiss her tits. When she reached her pubic hair she paused, looked up at Karen and smiled.

"Hirsute, I see."

She was, but she wasn't going to offer an apology or explanation.

When she had finished removing the costume, Rachel stepped back three paces and told her,

"Don't move."

Rachel inspected her body, her eyes moving up and down, almost exclusively within a zone between the top of her tits and her cunt and only briefly looking up at her face. Apparently satisfied, Rachel approached her. When she reached where Karen was standing, she stopped, reached for her tits and fondled them.

"Great tits."

The first and last time she had heard the phrase was thirty-five years ago and it had been spoken by David whom, at the time, was sitting in the front seat of his 1967 Chevy and watching as she tentatively undid her white bra. He'd been right, she'd had great tits; she'd been younger and slimmer then and her tits, while smaller, had been firmer, but tipped with the same prominent nipples as they had today. To hear the same compliment from a woman was a surprise and the only response which came to mind was 'thank you'.

Smiling once more, Rachel took her hand and led her to a leather sofa, sat her down, sat next to her and kissed her. Whereas the kiss she had received from Rachel by the pool had not been unwelcome; the second kiss provoked an unexpected and immediate response from her body. She had accepted they would make love, but had still not overcome a nagging doubt it was wrong and she had allowed herself to be manoeuvered into doing something she didn't want to do. The tingling in her cunt the kiss had engendered, removed all those doubts. Within seconds, she had allowed herself to be manoeuvered into a position where she was lying prone, her right leg draped over the edge of the sofa, with Rachel kneeling on the floor, her head between her legs and her lips and tongue gently playing with and teasing her clit.

It didn't take long for her to cum, a combination of the wine, Rachel's tenderness and expertise with her mouth bringing her to her climax far more rapidly than she had ever experienced with a man. When she came, she'd grabbed her lover's head, ground it into her cunt and cried; but they had been tears of joy and relief, rather than despair.

It hadn't taken much for Rachel to persuade her to stay the night; a night during which Rachel had introduced her to lesbian sex. She knew in theory what lesbians did, but until that first night in Rachel's bed, her practical knowledge of lesbian sexuality had been limited to mutual masturbation and tentatively licking her college roommate's cunt, an endeavour she had abandoned as soon as her roommate had started to become excited. Rachel had been more insistent, demanding she lick her clit until she came and once she'd recovered from her climax, demanding she repeat it. By the end of the night she had been exhausted, but sexually content.

The next day, she'd questioned what she'd done; she wasn't a lesbian and should have rejected Rachel's advances, but she'd felt lost since losing Simon and needed someone who would show her love and compassion. She'd expected and wanted a man, but the only offer she'd had was from a female colleague and in spite of her misgivings, she had enjoyed being fucked by Rachel.

They had been lovers for almost two years and although she'd felt guilty throughout the relationship, there was something about the way Rachel made love to her which she found difficult to forego. Her relationships with Robert and Simon had brought her to realise she enjoyed sex with men and in particular, how much she loved the feeling as they plundered her cunt with their cocks, but while both men had excited her every time they'd fucked her, she found the tenderness shown by Rachel to be exciting in a different way. A confirmed lesbian, who hadn't fucked a man since her first year in college, Rachel knew exactly what pleased a woman and her mouth was an instrument of pleasure second to none, teasing and exciting her clit, driving her to orgasms so intense she was sometimes unable to bear the sensations Rachel's tongue induced.

Ultimately it wasn't anything in their sex life which had ended their affair, but Rachel's attitude to her. Lesbianism had a political as well as sexual agenda for Rachel, whereas, to her, it was just another variety of sex. Increasingly Rachel had put pressure on her to come out, admit to being a lesbian and espouse the feminist cause. When Rachel had insisted they both attend the Portland gay pride parade and had harangued her when she had refused, Karen had ended the relationship. The end, although conducted in private, had turned out to be almost as acrimonious as her divorce, but she had persisted and when it was over, had been comfortable with her decision.

Chapter 3

The third day of the storm was the twenty-fourth of December and that evening she was scheduled to go for a drink, in a down-town bar, with some of her friends and colleagues from her school. She wanted to go; two days of her own company, with the same scheduled for Christmas Day and Boxing Day, was too much, but she wouldn't be able to make it unless the driveway was ploughed. Determined to meet her friends, she called the local ploughing company, only to be told they were backed up and the best they could manage was to have somebody at her house at somewhere around four-thirty p.m. It should be enough; an hour at the most to plough the driveway and at worst, another half an hour to drive to the bar.

She spent the rest of the afternoon getting ready. When she went for a drink with her friends she usually wore a sweater and chinos, but tonight was Christmas Eve and she was old enough to believe Christmas was a special occasion. She took a bath, a departure from her usual routine of showering, lying in the soapy water until it was luke-warm and thinking about sex.

It had been four years since she'd been fucked by anyone, either man or woman, and to use the vernacular, she really needed some – she smiled to herself when she thought of the slightly old-fashioned phrase - and then smiled again when she decided what she really needed was a hard cock, preferably slick with pre-cum, driving into her more than willing cunt. Her musings excited her and although she hadn't intended, she played with herself, caressing and tweaking her nipples and rubbing her clit with the rough-textured facecloth until, with a shudder which caused a minor tsunami in the bathwater, she came.

When she had finished cumming, she lay in the bath, soaping her tits, lightly stroking her clit and wallowing in the feelings her climax had engendered. It was the cooling of the water which finally forced her out and as she dried herself, she looked at herself in the mirror. Since her divorce, her lovers, both male and female, had restored much of her confidence in her body, reassuring her, both by their words and actions, that it was still desirable. She understood it wasn't hard like Rachel's or her husband's whores; but soft, the body of a fifty-five year old and yet it possessed redeeming features. Her tits might be edging towards pendulous, but she knew they attracted men and in particular, they were attracted by her nipples. Long and thick, whenever they were cold or excited they were clearly visible through even the thickest of tops and she knew, from their reactions, they excited men; even her ex-husband had played with and suckled them.

She played with a tit, pushing it up so it was resting on her palm and at right angles to her chest and decided, tonight, she was going to give the men a thrill and she knew precisely how she was going to do it. She would wear her flimsiest and sheerest blouse and with it her new bra, the one which, while sheer enough for her nipples and areolas to be clearly visible through the lacy, almost transparent fabric, offered enough support to conquer – almost - the effects of gravity. If that didn't attract their attention, she would become a nun.

When she had finished putting on her bra, knickers and blouse, she stood, looked into the mirror again, undid the second button on her blouse; exposing the top of her bra and doubling the amount of cleavage on show, and decided she looked good - even if it was her own evaluation. For a moment, inspired by her recent adventure in the bath, she harboured hopes of attracting a man and perhaps, if she was lucky, a hard cock to end her over-long period of abstinence. Before she could expand on her fantasy, her thoughts were interrupted by the melodic chime of the front door-bell; the sound returning her to the present and her predicament.

Covering the blouse and underwear with an old, matronly housecoat, she went to the front door and opened it to find a youngish man on the doorstep, muffled to the eyebrows, and behind him, parked some thirty or so yards up her driveway, a black pick-up truck complete with snowplough.

"Karen Lincoln?" She nodded. "Good evening, ma'am, I'm Chris Marsh from Maine Towing. I'm sorry I'm late, but we've been inundated with calls. It seems everyone is going out tonight."

"That's all right; you're here now. I don't know if they told you, but I need to be out of here by six to six-thirty at the latest. If it's a problem for you, just clear the space in front of the garage and a path down the driveway wide enough for me to get my car out."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll get on to it right away, but before I do, may I have a drink of water?"

"You may." Ever the English teacher, she was amazed a snowplough operator knew the difference between 'can' and 'may'; most of her friends, including some from school, used the terms interchangeably and she was often tempted to correct them. After stamping his feet on the doormat and depositing a small pile of snow in her hallway, the young man took off his boots, revealing grey woollen socks with pink feet. She laughed and realising what she'd done, put her hand to her mouth.

"It's all right; my sister knitted them as a joke and sent them to me last Christmas. I suppose I should have expected your response, but you're the first person, other than me and my sister, who has seen them."

Well, she thought, he's probably not queer and obviously not married or even living with anyone - male or female. Given the circumstances, it was an odd thought and when she had finished, she'd asked herself; but why would I care?

"Do you want coffee instead? You must be frozen."

"Thank you, ma'am, but water will do."

He followed her into the kitchen where she filled a glass with water from the tap. While he drank, she looked at him more closely. When she'd seen him at the door he'd looked young, a closer look, in the brighter light of the kitchen, indicated he was older than she had thought; somewhere in his mid-thirties, but he was tall, good looking and seemingly well-mannered.

When he had finished the water, he thanked her and went outside, leaving her standing at the door and watching him walk slowly through the deep snow to his truck; his feet seeking, with little success, to retrace his footsteps. He got into the cab and as he did, she closed the door, went into the living room and stood by the window. It was nearly dark, but she could just make out his silhouette as he sat in the cab.

She watched, waiting for the tell-tale smoke from the tail-pipe which would indicate the engine had started. She waited for two to three minutes, but there was no smoke and as far as she could tell, no sound of the engine firing. Apparently unable to start the truck, he opened the cab door and wrench in his hand, a made his way to the front of the truck, where he opened the hood and paused for a few seconds before attacking the engine with the wrench. After two whacks, he returned to the cab, tried the engine again and based the absence of smoke from the exhaust, with no success.

For a quarter of an hour Karen watched as he alternated between using the wrench to attack an unspecified part of the engine - she later discovered it was the starter motor - and lying down under the engine and fiddling with something. The result didn't vary; after each attempt at repair he returned to the cab and tried the key in a futile effort to start the engine. Apparently beaten, he removed the keys from the ignition and headed back to the house, Karen watched him make his way from the truck and before he could ring the door-bell, had opened the front door and let him in.

"It's no good; the truck won't start. It spluttered twice on the way here and once in your driveway before it finally stalled where it is now. I thought it might be a problem with the gasoline being frozen, but whether or not it was the original problem, right now I'm fairly sure the starter's jammed and there's no way I'm going to be able to start it."

"What are you going to do?"

"Have a hot drink and warm up, if I may. It's freezing out there."

"You may have both, young man."

Once more she found herself surprised and for some reason, pleased, at his use of the word 'may'. The first time might have been an accident, but his repeated used of the word and in context, led her to believe there something about him which would bear further investigation. She watched and waited as he removed his jacket and boots, once again exposing the pink-footed socks.

"Come into the kitchen."

They moved into the kitchen; Karen busying herself making coffee while Chris sat at the kitchen table, trying to get warm and considering his options. It was unlikely he would be able to get his truck repaired before the morning and the only solution appeared to be to walk into town. The prospect was daunting: it was freezing cold, the snow was at least three feet deep and it was almost five miles to his apartment. The only alternative which presented itself was to ask her if he could sleep on her couch, but as she was a single woman living on her own in an isolated location, he thought her approval unlikely.

"Cream? Sugar?"

He nodded and waited until she found the sugar bowl. She watched as he added cream and two spoonsful of sugar into his coffee; she drank it black and unsweetened and couldn't understand how people could add cream, let alone sugar.

They talked for a few minutes and drank their coffee; he told her about the road conditions in and around town, while she outlined her plans for the evening. When he'd finished, he asked to use the telephone and called his office. The call was brief and unproductive.

"The office wasn't too optimistic; the mechanic is out fixing a plough on the other side of town which, from the sounds of it, is going to take some time. At best, they expect him be finished in about a couple of hours, but they've warned me they don't know if he will be able to get through as there's been a crash on the highway involving half-a-dozen cars and two tractor-trailers and according to the boss, it's unlikely to be cleared before midnight."

It wasn't the answer she'd wanted; she had to be in town by seven-thirty; eight at the latest.

"Isn't there something else you can do?"

"I can try the AAA, but I don't hold out much hope. In this kind of weather the wait is usually two to three hours and since the road is blocked, they'll have to come from Dexter."

The answer from the AAA was worse than he had anticipated. The best they could offer was four to five hours; 'all being well and 'probably not until the morning'. He relayed the news to her and was rewarded with a frown.

"I guess that puts an end to my night out and I was really looking forward to a drink with my friends."

"I'm sorry to spoil your evening, the truck is fairly old, but it's usually reliable. If you give me a few more minutes to warm through, I'll walk back into town and try and pick up another starter."

It was a ridiculous suggestion, the snow was at least three feet deep, the wind was still blowing at gale force levels and creating almost white-out conditions and it was four miles to the edge of town.

"Don't be silly. I'm reconciled to the fact I'm not going to make it into town and I don't feel like being the person responsible for you being found frozen to death alongside the highway. If you have to be in town for some other reason, then go, although I don't advise it; but don't do it just for me."