tagMatureTeaching Celina Ch. 02

Teaching Celina Ch. 02

byzenarcade©

It all started, believe it or not, with badminton. Yep, badminton. I had played quite a bit in college and in the military, and was pretty good – not Olympic good, but good enough to compete with almost anyone. Then, life interrupted and I didn't play seriously for something like 20 years. Finally, after marrying my late wife, I found a club and started playing again.

The people there were generally very nice – they were generous with their time and advice, as well as in selecting me to play. I think they could also see that I took it seriously – unusual for an American – and I improved fairly quickly to the point where I could reasonably play doubles against almost anyone. Along the way, I got to be friends with several of the people there. It was something my wife encouraged and supported – it was a good way for me to get out of the house, and to do something I enjoyed. I even played in a couple of tournaments, getting blown away in one but winning a couple of matches in the second and third.

A lot of the crowd was international – badminton not being a big American pasttime. While most of the players were men, probably about a quarter of them were women. As you might expect, the majority were Asian or Indian, with a couple of Canadians and the odd American thrown in. Probably because I was seen as "safe," the women there weren't hesitant to join me for doubles games, even if they were quite a bit better than I was. We'd also chat a lot about life – kids, work, badminton, etc.

Several of the women who came were students, either at the main state university or the state's engineering and science school, a bit farther away. One of them had just graduated high school and was going to one of my graduate schools. One night, while waiting for a court to open up, one of the women came up to me and asked if I'd like to practice. I agreed, and we became somewhat regular warm-up/practice partners, as well as doubles partners. As time went on, I learned that she was a graduate student in materials science at our state's science and engineering school. Originally from California, her father was Chinese and her mother American. She'd gone to UC San Diego and had moved here to earn her master's degree and possibly her PhD. Her name, of course, was Celina.

She was 25 when we first met. If I hadn't been so madly in love with my wife, I'd have certainly asked her out, and to hell with the age difference. She was tall – almost 5'9" – and lean. She had a version of the stereotypical Chinese woman's figure – large but somewhat shallow breasts, with nipples that would poke through her athletic bra when she got excited. From what I could see, she had a flat, smooth stomach and a small waist for her height, along with somewhat narrow hips. Those hips joined with legs that looked like they went on forever – long, slender and well-muscled, with the kind of foot you'd expect – long but narrow.

Her face didn't have the typical Chinese look – you could see that part of her ancestry was Oriental without quite being able to place her. Her hair, though, was a giveaway – it was the classic Chinese blue-black, soft hair, which she usually kept short but let grow as time went by, eventually needing to tie in a ponytail for badminton. Her eyes were a dark, liquid brown, with a bit of the classic "almond" effect common to Chinese. All in all, she struck me as very pretty without being the type of woman who would make men's heads snap around in a bar – absent her height, anyway!

She usually wore outfits that were entirely appropriate for the rec center we played badminton in. Usually she wore fairly short shorts that gave a great view of her long legs, and a form fitting but not skin-tight athletic top. Those tops, though, had v-necks, so that you could almost but not quite see her breasts, and that let your imagination run wild. Every once in a while I'd end up with a look straight in, seeing her thin sports bra. And every once in a while she'd see that I could see, and started giving me a little smile before she'd briskly announce the score and get the game moving again.

A number of people at badminton would go out afterwards, whether on the Wednesday nights or the Sunday morning/afternoons we played on. I'd occasionally go with them, more often after my wife passed. Celina would occasionally come as well, and on a number of occasions our conversations would get more suggestive. A couple of times I could see Celina talking to other women in the group, who would then glance at me and continue talking. In hindsight, I can see that her diction got more and more flirty and suggestive – she'd ask if I'd like to "play" with her as opposed to just announcing that we were up as a doubles team. She'd often giggle just a little bit after putting it that way, and I didn't notice that she started to get more flirtatious as time went on. In other words, I should have seen it coming.

In defense, though, I was still recovering after my wife's passing. That was something I was totally not ready to handle, and it was all I could do to parent my son and get to work and to badminton when work allowed.

So when the time came, it seemed like it came out of nowhere. The night had started out like any other Wednesday – I got there about 6 and warmed up, played a couple of games, and saw people arriving after work. Celina walked in about 7 and stretched a bit, and we did some hitting to warm her up. We played our normal mixed doubles games and a number of us went out to a restaurant across the highway for a drink.

It was still early enough in the semester that I didn't think anything of it when she joined us. She wound up next to me at the bar – again, nothing unusual – and we sipped our drinks and chatted about the games, weather, school for her and work for me, and so on. We finished our drinks and switched to soda – I have a strict one drink maximum if I'm driving anywhere within an hour – and she finally seemed to come a decision. She turned to face me square, turning our barstools so we were facing each other, our legs sort of sandwiching – my right on the outside, her left, then my left, then her right. She was wearing just a t-shirt over what looked like a thin sports bra that may have done a great job of supporting her while playing, but did nothing to hide how erect her nipples were. On that, I was wrong – but more on that later.

She took a deep breath, looked at me, and then said, "Can I talk to you about something?"

I saw a slight flush on her face, and could feel her legs gripping mine – it was quite nice, and I could feel myself stirring just a little bit.

"Sure," I said. "What's up?"

"Well, you can probably tell that I like you. And I'm very sorry about your wife. And it's OK if you say no – but I want to ask a favor of you." She took both my hands in hers and looked me squarely in the eyes.

I'm thinking, "Of course!" to myself, wondering what on earth could need so many outs.

"Ask, and ye shall receive," I said, jokingly referencing Shakespeare (or was it the Bible? Doesn't matter.).

"OK. I've learned a lot from you – about badminton, about life, about people. And everyone at the club says you're a good guy. And that fits with what I want."

She paused, giving me a chance to say something self-deprecating – "Oh, you're too kind. I just –"

She cut me off. "No, that's not what I mean. I have not had a great sex life, and want one. So, I want you to teach me sex."

I think my jaw dropped – I'm sure my surprise was written all over my face. I felt her hands take one of mine as she continued: "I've had sex – I'm not a virgin. But it's always been . . . eh. Not exciting. Not as fun as it should be. And I've read so much about how great it should be – and I want that. I think you're the right man to teach that to me."

"Celina, I . . . wow. I have no idea what to say . . . Do you know what you're asking?" I was fumbling, completely taken aback. If you had asked me to bet, I'd have thought she was going to ask if I could find her a good cheap car or a legal question.

"Yes, I think I do. That's why I've been talking to all the other women in the club. All but one of them suggested you. You're smart, hard-working, caring . . . and really hot," the last bit blurted out.

"I . . ."

"Please. I know it's a strange, out of nowhere crazy request. But I've been thinking on it a while, and I want someone I like and trust to teach me – or to learn with me. And I think you're a lot more experienced than you let on, and far more than I am."

I was floored. I'd just been propositioned by a very attractive 25 year old – to be her "teacher," no less. Was I ready? Could I really "teach" her anything? If so, what? How? On the other hand, she was right - I did have a lot of experience, and a broad range of experiences. And she was attractive . . . so I couldn't see any downside. And, of course, the other part of my brain, to say nothing of my cock, was screaming "Hell yeah! Why haven't you said yes yet?"

I took both her hands in one of mine and leaned in to her so I could whisper in her ear.

"Celina, I'm enormously flattered. Yes. Of course I will. Duh. I'm not sure how much I can 'teach' you, but anything I can, I will. But I'm still processing my late wife, so I may not be as emotional as I usually am – which is very." With that, I let my lips graze her ear, gently blowing on her neck as I moved my head back around.

Her eyes were shining and she squeezed my hand and legs tightly. I could feel my mouth go dry as we looked into each other's eyes from just inches apart – what on earth was I starting? I leaned in again and grazed her lips with mine as she closed her eyes, and asked, "How would you like to start?"

She opened her eyes again, and said, "I have no idea – I was too nervous you'd say 'no' to think of anything."

I chuckled a little bit at that – like I'd say no?

"Perhaps go on a sexy date?" I volunteered. "And then go from there? We can meet at a bar and talk and flirt and have a drink, and go from there – and if you change your mind there's no pressure or harm done – it'll be nice to get to know you better. Another question – your place or mine?"

She nodded thoughtfully. "I like that idea – we can pretend it's the infamous 'third date' I keep hearing about. Is that really usually how long people wait?" She cocked her head at me inquisitively – I was obviously supposed to answer.

"Well, I've dated women where that's happened, and gone out with others where we wound up in bed the first night, and others where it took longer. Just depends on how things are going – if it feels right, run with it. I think the third date thing just caught on in folklore."

She nodded. "Oh, and definitely your place – I don't think my roommate would approve unless she could join in," she said with a wink.

I did a bit of a double-take – "Is that something you'd like to play with?"

She blushed just a bit – all the answer I needed. "Let me know what else you'd like to experiment with – I'm open to a lot."

We set it up for Friday – she was impatient to get going, and I was all for it. I told her to wear something that was tight in all the right places, with not too many buttons. She laughed and said she would see what she had. We agreed to meet at a restaurant/bar known as something of a pick-up place, not too far from my house. We figured if anything did end up happening, my house would be close, and leaving her car overnight wouldn't be a problem.

On Friday, I blew through work and dashed home, ran through the shower, and dressed. It was late spring, so I wore a long sleeve black knit shirt with my best jeans. I got to the restaurant a couple minutes early and ordered a drink and a glass of water – if anything happened I wanted to be well-hydrated. I was watching the door, and soon my vigil was rewarded. In she walked, her head on a swivel as she looked for me. I caught her eye and smiled broadly, which she returned. She walked over and as she reached me I reached my hand around her, to the small of her back, and kissed her lightly on her lips.

"Hi! You look . . . fabulous. What would you like to drink?"

She blushed a bit, but stood close, letting my hand hold the small of her back.

She ordered a Cape Cod with Finlandia vodka, and when it arrived I picked up my glass and gestured for her to do the same.

I leaned in close. "Tonight is going to be wonderful. Nothing will happen that you don't want to happen, and if you ever need me to stop, just say so and I will. OK?" I followed up my little speech by taking her earlobe in mouth and gently rolling it for a moment, feeling her stiffen as the sensation rolled over her. My right hand went to her hair, brushing it back from her face, gently moving her mouth to mine. I kissed her gently again, still holding the small of her back in my other hand, and let my tongue just tickle her upper lip.

I pulled back slightly, and she looked me straight in the eye and said softly, "I know it's going to be a great night. I want you to do anything you want with me – just talk to me as you're doing it. I trust you, so I know you won't do anything I don't want."

I raised my glass, and said, " A toast! To . . . education." I smiled at her and she blushed just a bit.

"To education," she said, raising her glass to clink mine, and then taking a small sip.

She looked great – she was wearing a dark navy floral print dress that hugged her form beautifully, showing off all her natural curves. It had a plunging v-neck, giving a generous view of her upper chest, just concealing the bra she was wearing. And from how snug it was, I didn't think she had anything else on underneath. I was impressed – it was hard to believe this was the same woman from badminton. She looked . . . elegant and innocent and a bit naughty all at the same time.

We both had a mixed drink and we nibbled some appetizers as we chatted. I kept my hand around her back to keep her close, the better to inhale her scent and feel her hair. I let my hand wander up and down her back, once making her squirm a bit as I got a bit too low on her butt for her comfort. No worry – something to work on, I thought, as I have a bit of an exhibitionist streak.

For her part, she seemed to be enjoying herself. Her dark brown eyes shone, and she laughed as easily as she did at badminton. Occasionally she'd put her hand on my leg somewhat hesitantly, but with more confidence as the night went on. It was also fun learning about each other. After we'd both had a second drink, since we'd been there a couple of hours, it seemed like it was time to move our "third date" along.

"Would you like to come over on your way home for a nightcap? I have a couple of good choices . . ." I tailed off – this would be it.

She looked me deep in the eyes and smiled. "I'd love that . . . how far away do you live?"

"Pretty close – maybe ten minutes," I said, feeling my blood start pumping faster, and feeling my groin starting to strain against my jeans. "You can follow me, or we can leave your car and pick it up later."

"Is it OK to leave my car here?" I nodded. "OK, let's do that," she said.

I had already settled the check, and stood up, taking her hand in mine as made our way out the door. She looked radiant – like she was gliding across the floor. I was glad it was dark inside – my jeans would have drawn attention to themselves. We walked out to my car, and as we reached the passenger door she turned to me, grabbed my head, and pulled my mouth onto hers. Startled a bit by her eagerness, I wrapped her in my arms, feeling for the first time those glorious breasts and nipples against the thin cotton of my shirt. Our mouths met, tentatively at first, lips grazing, then touching, then opening, our tongues finding each other, exploring, dancing . . . I could feel my cock engorged, pushing against my jeans and against her dress, and she could too. She pushed against it, grinding her hips into mine as we kissed. I finally broke the kiss and opened the door.

"We'll never make it home at that rate . . . and we have LOTS to do," I murmured into her ear. She groaned softly with anticipation.

"Get me home – I can't believe how turned on I am."

I almost ran around to the driver's side, and slid in. Luckily, the restaurant was only ten minutes from my house – I could see her head swaying and hear her breathing. We made it home without incident, although I was as hard as I have ever been. Once in the driveway, though, she grabbed my neck and pulled me to her, kissing me on the mouth. I broke away, and walked around to her door to open it.

We slipped into the house, and as soon as I had the door closed I reached for her, pulling her to me and kissing her square on her slightly trembling mouth.

"I promised you a nightcap – what would you like? I have cordials, port, wine . . . "

"Just water, please," was all she said, catching her breath and smoothing out her dress as she looked around. I invited her to sit down on the couch, and poured two glasses of water.

On the way back, I turned on the stereo to a sexy music mix I had put together earlier and sat down next to her on the couch. I let my hand stroke her hair and the side of her face. She closed her eyes and moaned softly as I let my hand caress her face, neck, and hair. With my other hand I reached for her arm and started to caress it, from her hand up to her shoulder and back. Up and down her slender arm I went, with the third time letting my fingers just graze the side of her breast. Her bra must not have been very thick, because I felt her stiffen and she moved her hand around to my head, pulling me to her lips. I kissed her briefly and then stood up, taking her by the hand.

"Not here," I said. "Down the hall . . . "

She let me lead the way to my room. We got there and stood still in front of each other. I pulled her to me and kissed her soft lips, letting my hands wander up and down her back, over her firm ass, up her sides, under her breasts. I could feel her responding, pressing herself into me and my fully engorged cock. She tentatively reached down to feel my cock through my jeans. Feeling it, she breathed in sharply and started to caress me through my jeans.

I let one hand explore her body, tracing across her stomach, down her leg, back up her leg, lifting her dress, tracing inside her legs, up, up, up, all the way to her sex. I was right – she wasn't wearing anything under her dress except her bra. I started to lift her dress up and over her, overcome with desire. Her dress lifted off and she stood in front of me with just a thin black lace bra covering her breasts. I reached around to undo the clasp, lifted the bra off, and dropped it on the dresser as she stood completely naked in front of me.

She was gorgeous – her breasts were just as I imagined – large but slightly shallow, her stomach flat, a narrow waist connecting to narrow hips. Those, in turn, turned in to legs that went on forever – long, slender, muscular. Her mound had been trimmed and looked quite neat – and very wet. I could see moisture glistening in her remaining hair.

I stood back for a moment to drink in the sight, and then murmured to her, "Wow, you are gorgeous!"

She smiled brightly and said, "You like?"

I could only answer by nodding, my eyes wide as her nude body dazzled me.

She stepped forward, and I felt her fingers fumbling with my jeans with inexperienced fingers. I slipped off my shirt (easier that way), drawing an "Mmmmm" from her – I'm in pretty good shape. She undid the button on my jeans, and tugged down the zipper, pulling my jeans down my legs and holding them as I stepped out of them. She could see and feel the huge bulge in my briefs as she stood back up, and traced the length of my cock with a fingernail, making me groan in anticipation as she watched my reaction.

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