Hillary: The Summer of '92 Ch. 04

Hillary stayed on top of me with my softening penis still in her as we calmed down. I had my arms wrapped around her and she had her head lying on my shoulder. She kissed my neck gently. "You...you aren't mad because I came here, are you?" she whispered.

"Not hardly," I replied, tightening my arms around her. "I wasn't planning this particular kind of celebration for moving into my new office, but it sure seems like a good idea now."

She giggled softly. "Yeah, I know what you mean." She pushed herself up, so she was sitting on my thighs. When she did that, my now-flaccid penis slid out of her. She squirmed. "That tickled," she giggled. Then she made a face. "Yuk," she said. "How come something as neat as sex has to be so messy? Your...ah...stuff is dripping out of me."

I shrugged. "Maybe the yukky stuff makes you appreciate the good stuff," I suggested.

"I can appreciate the good stuff just fine," she replied. "God! Was it as intense for you as it was for me?"

I nodded. "Doing it in school kind of makes it extra-naughty, doesn't it?" I said. "And I guess extra-naughty makes it extra good."

"Wow, I guess!" she exclaimed. Another sour expression formed on her face. "Where am I going to get cleaned up?" Hillary asked.

I gestured toward my bathroom. "I happen to have the only private bath in the school," I said. "Feel free to use it."

She slid off the sofa and made her way to the bathroom. I noticed that we had made quite a mess. I bought the leather love seat because it was cheap, but now I was even gladder I had. Leather was a lot easier to clean up that cloth.

"I can't believe you have a private bathroom," Hillary said as she walked back into my office. "Or that it's so clean."

"I put a lot of work into cleaning it up and painting it," I replied. I had, too. I don't think Mr. Brillstein ever cleaned it. "My turn," I said. I got up and headed for the bathroom to get myself cleaned up.

Hillary was dressed and leaning against my desk when I came out of the bathroom. She had a sad look on her face. "I...I guess I better get going," she said. "You...you have to head for the seacoast, don't you?"

"You know I do," I said as gently as I could. I started getting my underwear and pants back on.

"When...what time will...will you be back on Sunday?" she asked. Her voice sounded as if she was very close to tears.

"I usually leave over there around four or so," I told her as I zipped up my fly and buckled my belt. "Depending on traffic, that means I get back here about nine."

"Do...do you want me to come over Sunday night?" she asked.

"That's up to you," I said. "I would love to see you, though."

She looked up and her eyes searched mine, as if she was trying to determine whether what I said was true or not. "Do...do you really mean that?"

I walked over to the desk, pulled her into my arms, and gave her a gentle kiss. "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it?" I told her.

Her arms slid around my waist and she hugged me fiercely. "I...I'll see you Sunday night, then." She gave me a quick kiss, then slipped out of my arms, walked to my door, unlocked it, and opened it. Before she went out she turned, looked at me, and gave me a sad smile, then she was gone.

I spent a few more minutes straightening my office, then I locked up the office and school, got in my car, and headed for the seacoast...and my family. I always dreaded the trip, but before this, I was always looking forward to what was waiting for me at the end of it. I started my trip today feeling guilty and knowing my guilt would just get worse the closer I got to where my wife and daughter waited for me. And I also knew I deserved the guilt I felt.