Hillary: The Summer of '92 Ch. 01

Hillary still looked puzzled. “How come you’re doing all this for me?” she asked.

I shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure,” I told her. I grinned. “I guess I have to admit I started out wanting to outsmart you.”

She looked even more puzzled. “Outsmart me?” she asked.

I nodded. “You came here yesterday thinking you were going to either charm me, or maybe pressure me, into giving you a passing grade, didn’t you?”

Hillary’s face reddened. “Ah…well…um…OK, yeah…I…that’s right, but…”

“I know,” I said, “it didn’t exactly work out the way you thought it would.”

“Jeezum! You can say that again!” she exclaimed.

“Well, I really didn’t intend for things to go as far as they did, either,” I admitted.

Hillary frowned. “Are…are you sorry that we…um…you know…”

I shook my head. “No, I’m not sorry, not in the least,” I told her. “Yesterday was one of the most fantastic days I’ve ever had in my life.” I chuckled. “Well, maybe, with the exception of today.”

Hillary blushed bright red.

“What makes yesterday even more wonderful,” I went on, “is that I learned that you are quite a remarkable young woman.”

She looked as if she wasn’t quite sure how I meant that comment.

“I wasn’t just talking about sex,” I explained. “I was talking about the kind of person you seem to be.”

“But there isn’t anything special about me,” she replied, still looking puzzled. “I mean, I’m just a regular girl. I’m…I’m not even all that pretty.”

“That isn’t true, not at all,” I pointed out quickly. “I happen to think you’re very attractive. And I also think you have an attractive personality.”

“But…but how could you know that?” she asked. “I mean, you only know me from school and…and from yesterday.”

“True,” I said, nodding. “And I will admit that a lot of your behavior in school isn’t terribly admirable. But there are things…”

“Like what?” she asked.

“I know you are in a mentoring program, working with disadvantaged kids,” I said.

“Well, yeah, OK,” she said. “But I don’t do much else.”

“And yesterday once we got started, you seemed to want to give back to me just as much as I was trying to give you,” I said. “That certainly isn’t the behavior of a selfish, uncaring person.”

“OK, I guess I understand,” she said. “You really think I’m special?” She looked at me very carefully after she said it.

“Yes,” I said. “I do.”

“Wow,” she said softly. It surprised me to see that her eyes had teared up a little. “I…I don’t think…nobody’s ever said that to me and…and meant it the way you do. I…I can see that in your eyes.”

“Someone should have, a long time ago,” I replied.

She got up, stepped astride my legs, and lowered herself onto my lap. Of course doing that caused her robe to open, which meant her bare buttocks were resting on my bare thighs. That, of course, caused my body to respond. I could feel my penis beginning to stiffen. She leaned forward and pressed her soft lips against mine. The kiss was gentle and caring, but rapidly heated up until our mouths were open, our tongues were toying with each other, and our entire bodies were responding.

Hillary slid her hand inside my robe and began tickling my chest and teasing my nipples. That sent little pin-pricks of exquisite pleasure racing through me. I could hear myself gasp and feel a tremor go through my body each time her fingers slid over my erect nipples. I slipped my hand inside her robe and returned the favor, cupping her lovely firm breasts and rubbing my thumbs over her nipples, which felt like little pebbles.

My nipples weren’t the only parts of my body that had gotten hard. The other part jutted up between us, throbbing, and I could feel it rubbing against Hillary’s vagina. I was pretty turned on and I was extremely busy caressing her breasts and kissing her, but I think I may have started rocking my hips, because I do recall that it felt as if something was caressing my erection. Of course, she may have been moving her hips, or maybe both of us were.

Then, without putting an end to our kissing, she did something that surprised me a little. Our lips were still locked, and out tongues were still lashing when I felt her fingers wrapping around my erection. I felt her body move upward – somehow she managed to keep the kiss going – then I felt her body sink and warmth and wetness engulfed first the head, then the entirety, of my swollen penis.

“Nnnngggaahhh!” I moaned into her mouth. I slid my hands down and onto her bottom, clutching her against me, and started rocking my hips gently. I could feel Hillary’s hips rocking in response.

We kept kissing and rocking our hips slowly, sharing an experience that was both gentle and loving, yet had an undercurrent of fervency and need. Our hands roamed over our bodies while our lips and tongues caressed. Occasionally one or the other of us would groan, or moan, or shudder with the ecstasy we felt. I’d never experienced anything quite like it. I was spiraling upward toward my peak like an eagle soaring on warm air currents, gliding steadily and slowly upward. It was as if we could keep doing what we were doing for days before we came. I could feel Hillary’s muscles moving under her silky skin while waves of incredible pleasure ebbed and flowed between us through the spot where our bodies were joined.

As wonderful as what we were doing felt, and as much as I wanted it to keep going forever, that wasn’t to be, nor could it be. Our movements, and the sounds we made while doing them, became more and more feverish and frantic. Instead of caressing each other, we were now clutching each other desperately. And instead of a gentle rocking movement, our hips were moving so quickly I could hear our bodies slapping.

We weren’t making coherent noises. I was no longer capable of making sensible sounds and I’m pretty sure Hillary wasn’t either. The sounds coming from us were feral, sounds coming from deep in our souls, sounds evoked by the deep passion and pleasure we were sharing.

Hillary’s arms were around my neck and I was clutching her rapidly rocking bottom when I felt her stiffen and quiver. “Ohhhhhhahhhhhhhuhhhhhhhh!!!!” she screamed and her arms tightened so much around my neck that I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to keep breathing. But seconds later I didn’t care because I was making the same kinds of sounds she was and my body was quivering just as hard as hers while my juices gushed from my pulsing erection deep into her body.

Afterward we lay on the sofa, calming. I had fallen back and she was laying on top of me. I was still holding her bottom and my penis, still semi-hard, remained in her. Little ripples of joy raced through us occasionally, causing one or the other of us to shiver when they did. Her face was buried in my neck and her soft hair caressed my lips.

After we laid like that for a few minutes, I felt her take a deep breath, then she put her hands on my shoulders, lifted herself a little, bent her head, and planted a loving kiss on my lips. “That was so awesome!” she said when the kiss ended. “For a while there I never wanted us to stop.”

“Me, too,” I said. “See what I mean about what a remarkable woman you are.”

Hillary blushed and shook her head. “No I’m not,” she said.

I gave her buttocks a squeeze. “Yes you are,” I said. “And I’m going to keep telling you that you are until you believe me.”

“OK,” she said, giggling. “I…I gotta go pee.” She lifted herself off me, causing my nearly soft penis to finally slide out of her, and headed for the bathroom.

I sat there on the sofa in the now-empty room, still stunned by the strength of the feelings I had for Hillary. I reminded myself how wrong my relationship with her was, and how much damage I was doing to myself, my marriage, and her; but I wasn’t really listening to those warnings. She was almost like a drug, a powerful drug I was addicted to and couldn’t live without. I admitted to myself that I would probably continue to see Hillary as long as I could, damn the consequences.

I stood up and looked around the living room, then decided I could stand something to eat. “Hey, want some dinner?” I called to Hillary.

“Yeah, I could stand something to eat,” she yelled back.

“I’ll be out in the kitchen,” I advised her and headed in that direction. I’d been so distracted by my thoughts of her that I hadn’t restocked with groceries, something I’d have to do soon. I checked the freezer and found about three-quarters of a quiche Lorraine I’d made a week or so earlier.

Hillary walked into the kitchen. “What are you making?” she asked.

“I don’t have much,” I said. “Do you like quiche?”

She shrugged. “I don’t think I ever had any,” she told me. “What is it?”

“I have quiche Lorraine. It’s a mixture of eggs, bacon, and cheese, baked in a pie crust.”

“I’ll try it,” she said. “Can I help with anything?”

“If you want to make a salad, there’s a head of lettuce and some carrots in the refrigerator and some tomatoes over on the counter,” I said.

“OK,” Hillary said, “I think I can manage that. You have a bowl to put it in?”

“In the cupboard next to the refrigerator,” I said.

I put the quiche in the microwave, set the timer, and started it. Hillary was busy cutting things up for the salad. I got out napkins, plates, salad bowls, glasses, and silverware and set the table. “Do you like iced tea?” I inquired.

“Iced tea is OK,” Hillary replied. “As long as it’s diet.”

“That’s all I have,” I told her. I mixed up a batch of diet peach flavored iced tea, put some ice cubes in each of our glasses, then filled them with tea.

Next I moved to the refrigerator. “What kind of dressing do you like?” I asked.

“What have you got?”

“Honey Dijon, Russian, and Ranch,” I said. “All diet.”

“I like honey Dijon,” Hillary said.

I do, too. I took the salad dressing bottle out and put it on the table.

The buzzer on the microwave sounded, signaling that the quiche should be done. I checked the center, just to be safe. It was done. “Salad ready?” I asked Hillary.

“It is,” she said. She carried the bowl full of salad to the table and set it down.

I cut the quiche into six pieces, then I carried it to the table and set it down and sat down myself.

Hillary took some salad, then she took a slice of quiche, cut off a small piece, and forked it into her mouth. She chewed it carefully, then she smiled. “Hey, this is good,” she told me. “Did you make this?”

I nodded. “It isn’t all that hard to make,” I said. “I’m good at following directions.”

“Do you cook a lot?” she asked.

I nodded. “I probably cook more than most men,” I responded. “I like cooking. And I like baking, too.”

“Wow, my dad doesn’t cook,” she said. “Well, he does hamburgers and steaks and stuff on the gas grille, but he doesn’t cook stuff like this.” She cut off a bigger pieced of quiche with her fork and put it in her mouth.

“Some of the best chefs in the world are men,” I said.

“Yeah, I know,” Hillary said after she’d chewed and swallowed her quiche. “But a lot of guys still think cooking is women’s work, don’t they?”

“The concept that there are ‘men’s’ and ‘women’s’ jobs seems to be dying out, doesn’t it?” I noted.

“Sorta,” Hillary said. “I mean, there aren’t a lot of jobs that are just for either men or women any more, are there?”

“Not really,” I said. “When I was in high school, most of the teachers were men. Except for the librarian, home economics teacher, and the teachers in the secretarial courses. Even the shorthand teacher was male.”

“What’s shorthand?” Hillary asked.

“It was a way of taking dictation that’s been wiped out by the advent of computers and electronic recording,” I explained.

“Oh,” she said, putting another forkful of quiche into her mouth.

Conversation was suspended for a time while both of us ate. Hillary did comment on how good the quiche was at one point, but neither of us said much else.

“Do you really like teaching?” Hillary asked after we’d finished eating.

“Most of the time,” I said. “It’s like anything else, it has good points and bad ones, but mainly I enjoy it.”

“How come you were just subbing?” she inquired.

“It was the only job open when we moved to town,” I said. “I’ve been offered the assistant principal’s position at the middle school for next year.”

“You have? Awesome,” Hillary said. “You’ll be a whole lot better than old crabby Brillstein was.”

I laughed because Hillary was right about the man I was replacing. Amos Brillstein had retired from the position I was taking after a thirty year career in education, twenty of it as assistant principal of the middle school. The “Peter Principal” says that people in any organization rise to their highest level of incompetence and Amos certainly had done that. Over his tenure he applied for the principal’s job every time it became open, which it did on at least five occasions. And, fortunately for the school, the superintendent and school board passed him over for far more competent candidates each time. From what other faculty members and staff have told me, he became more and more bitter after each failure to advance. I had a suspicion he must have understood his limitations, because he never once applied for a job outside this school district. His were the shoes I was stepping into when school opened in the fall. I’d subbed in the middle school a lot and was excited about what the principal and I, working as a team for the first time in twenty years, would be able to accomplish.

Hillary looked puzzled. “How come you’re grinning like that?” she asked.

“Mostly because you described Mr. Brillstein pretty accurately,” I said.

“How come he was such a grouch?” she asked.

I got up and started to clear the table. Hillary got up and helped me. “I didn’t know him that well,” I said. “But I always had the feeling he was a very unhappy man.”

“If he wasn’t happy, why didn’t he get a different job?” she asked.

“That can be easier than it sounds,” I explained. “He may have had what he thought were good reasons for staying here in town. Maybe he was afraid he couldn’t get a job anywhere else, so he kept what he had.”

Hillary shook her head sadly. “Man, I hope I never get stuck in a job I hate,” she said. “That has to suck. No wonder he was a pain in the ass.” The minute she said that, her eyes widened and her face turned red. “I…I’m sorry, I…”

I laughed. “He was a pain in the ass,” I said.

We rinsed off the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, then we stood there, looking at each other, caught in an awkward moment between two people who had been incredibly intimate, but hardly knew each other.

“Ah…I’ll do some grocery shopping tomorrow, so we…um…won’t have to have leftovers for dinner again,” I stammered. I felt my face heating up when I realized my statement assumed Hillary would be at my house for dinner the next night.

“I can cook, too,” she said, “I mean, you don’t have to do it all.”

Her response thrilled me. She did plan to come back the next night. I still wasn’t quite sure where all of this was heading, and at that point I didn’t care. All that mattered was the moment. I’d never in my life felt like that.

“We’ll see,” I told her. “What would you like to do now?”

She shrugged.

“Want to watch TV?” I asked.

“I suppose,” she said softly.

We went back into the living room, turned on the TV, and sat next to each other on the sofa watching for a while, saying little. I can’t tell you what was on, I honestly don’t remember. All I remember is the powerful sexual tension that seemed to begin the minute we were in the living room.

“You aren’t really interested in this, are you?” I asked after a while.

Hillary looked at me and shook her head.

“Would you like to go to bed?” I asked. My heart was pounding and my chest felt tight.

She smiled shyly at me and nodded.

I shut off the TV, we got up, and I took Hillary’s hand and led her into the spare bedroom. I stood there, next to the bed, looking at the lovely young teenager standing in front of me, wrapped in the bathrobe I’d given her earlier.

“This…this…I never dreamed anything like this would…” she stammered. She stood there, trembling ever so slightly.

“I think it’s wonderful,” I said. I carefully untied the belt holding the robe shut, then I slid my hands under the robe, over Hillary’s silky warm skin, and around behind her. As I did, the robe slid down over her shoulders, clinging to her as if it didn’t really want to leave her, the terry cloth garment finally settled into a puddle of cloth on the floor at her feet.

Our first lovemaking session that afternoon had been all passion and fire. The second was calmer and wonderful in a totally different way. I gazed at the lovely young woman standing in front of me, blushing slightly, as I could. She shuddered and moaned slightly. Her nipples were already erect, dark pink buds jutting from her firm, wonderfully formed breasts. I wasn’t sure whether her breasts or bottom were her best attributes.

I bent, covered her mouth with mine and could feel her tongue lashing my lips. She slid her hands between us, opened my robe, and I felt her warm body pressing against mine. My erection was trapped between us. Her arms locked around me, just as mine had locked around her, while we stood there, sharing yet another passionate kiss. When the kiss ended, we slid under the covers and, immediately, she came into my arms, pressing her lovely form against me, her lips seeking mine. Her hand slipped between our bodies and grasped my erect penis.

“You really want me again, don’t you?” she murmured after the kiss ended.

“I always want you,” I replied, my throat tight. “You’re like a drug I can’t live without.”

“Good,” she replied softly, stroking my erection gently. “I love that.”

I bent and nibbled on her nipples for a brief time, licking them, suckling them, and even chewing them lightly, enjoying a chorus of soft moans and quivers while I did. While I did that, she kept hold of my erection, sliding her hand gently up and down, massaging the fluids seeping from the tip into the side of the rigid fleshy tube.

“Take me now,” she murmured softly, tugging on me gently. “I…I don’t wanna wait any more. I…I need you. Now.”

I had thought of taking my time, but found I wanted her just as ardently as she seemed to want me. I pushed her over onto her back, and slid over her. My knees were between her legs and I was holding myself up off her on outstretched arms. The whole time, she continued clutching my erect penis, as if she never wanted to let it go. When I was in position, I began lowering my hips. She guided my erection to her waiting opening, making sure the tip was in the right position, then she sighed gratefully when it began sliding into her.

I kept moving slowly, savoring the delectable sensations that swept through me as my erect organ penetrated into Hillary’s lovely young body. I looked down at her face and marveled at the look of bliss that formed on it as I filled her.

“Yesssss!” she hissed, clutching at my buttocks. “Oh, God, yes! That feels so awesome!”

I slowed down my entry even more, moving into her a centimeter at a time, experiencing the wonderful clasping of her snug, warm opening as I did. There definitely is something to be said for slow, gentle lovemaking.

Soon our pubic bones were pressed together. Hillary lifted her legs and locked them behind mine, then her fingers dug into my bottom and she began gently rocking her hips, shoving up against me. “Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh, yes!” she murmured softly as her motions caused my embedded organ to rub against her insides, showering both of us with wonderful feelings.

I lifted my hips, pulling my erection slowly from her. “Ohhhhhhhh!” she moaned softly, a tinge of disappointment in her voice. I pulled out until only the tip remained in her, then I slowly slid back into that warm, comforting, place. “Yesssssssss!” she hissed as I did.