Tim's First Time

"Tell me how you fucked her."

He looked at her, she had shown interest in the sex from the start, but as the descriptions had become more explicit her demeanour had started to change; there was a gleam in her eye, her lips were parted and from time to time, she surreptitiously licked her lips; all evidence to him of her increasing sexual excitement. Her excitement excited him and he was torn between finishing his story and fucking her. It was her demand he continue which made him abandon the second option.

"Go on."

"We fucked."

"I know you did, but what was it like?"

"Enjoyable. She knew I was a virgin and did everything she could to help me; starting by showing me how to put on a condom."

"You mean your first time you didn't try and put it on the wrong way round?"

"No -- thanks to her. We fucked twice; the first time was the most memorable, but the second was the most enjoyable. I slipped in easily -- she had a biggish cunt. I suppose it was a product of her profession."

"Not as tight as mine then?"

"No, dear." At least before you had the two kids, he thought. "I started off too quickly, but she managed to restrain me from pounding my way into her womb. It couldn't have been easy for her as I was being driven by raging teenage hormones, but she knew her profession and even managed to slow me down sufficiently such that at one point, she was able to play with me; even milk me with her cunt muscles. It was the first time I'd fucked and I was getting an expert."

"Hmmm."

"Not as expert as you, of course." She knew it was a bunch of cobblers, but it made her smile.

"When I started to cum, and in spite of her efforts it really didn't take long, my cock became a jack hammer on full power. You have to remember I was eighteen and all I could think of was cumming in her cunt - actually, at that moment, I was so excited any cunt would have done. When I started to cum, she grabbed me around my shoulders and started to fuck me using her cunt to pump me like there was no tomorrow. I came first; I have to admit I don't remember much about it, but I do remember her climax. She held onto me even after I'd finished, driving her clit against my pubic bone until she came. When she did, mere seconds after me, she exploded, she bucked against my body, her thighs and stomach muscles became rigid, she started to gasp and all the time she was cumming a torrent of gutter language was spewing from her mouth."

"Like what?"

"It's difficult to remember in detail, but it referenced filling her cunt with cum, driving my cock into her womb and a list of further, impossible sexual tasks. Funny, I seem to remember someone else who, quite recently, tried to set me similar tasks."

She ignored the jab and asked, "What about the second time?"

"When we finished we lay side-by-side for I don't know how long. We kissed, not perfunctory kisses, but almost loving ones, in fact once again I found it difficult to believe she was a whore. The caressing didn't last long; I'd already cum twice, but lying next to an attractive, naked woman with an amazing body, was enough to raise the dead."

He remembered the second time. Their love-making had been less frantic, but still directed by her. He had tried to mount her missionary fashion, but was quickly disabused of his plan. She got on all fours, her bum in the air and for a moment, he had wondered if she wanted him to fuck her in the bum. When he moved to mount her, she reached back, got hold of his cock and manoeuvred it into her cunt. He'd liked it; he'd liked it so much he had introduced the practice to Jennie the second time they'd fucked and since then their favourite position had been doggy style. In the early years he had restricted his forays to her cunt but, in recent years and at her insistence, their horizons had expanded to include anal sex.

"As amazing as mine?"

"Nearly."

They had fallen asleep almost immediately after the second episode and when he awoke the next morning, she was not in the room. The toilet was still flushing and he'd heard the back door to the pub close. Rushing to the window, he'd seen her walking down the lane that led back into the village. She'd left without saying goodbye or telling him her real name.

"And that's it?"

"Not quite everything. About two months later the 'phone rang and my dad answered it. I couldn't hear what the caller was telling him, but it was obvious my dad wasn't happy about it. I tried to make sense of the conversation, but all I could make of it was that someone was complaining about me and my father was having none of it. I asked him what it was about, but he just said it was some fool who didn't know what they were talking about.

A couple of weeks after the call, dad came up to me while I was cleaning my boots out in the yard and asked me if I had slept with a prostitute. It took me by surprise, but I knew he hadn't asked it out of the blue and so I admitted I'd spent the night with a woman of uncertain virtue, but told him a much shorter and censored version of what I've just told you. When I'd finished, he finally told me what the caller had said. Apparently the call had been from a woman who had said she was pregnant and I was the father. I didn't know what to do. I was eighteen, still at school and looking back, I guess I was thankful my father sent the woman packing."

"And did you ever meet her again?"

"Not until years later and then purely by chance. I have to admit the meeting was uncomfortable for both of us, but we didn't discuss our previous relationship; circumstances had changed vastly for both of us and neither of us wished to bring it up. You could say we studiously ignored it."

As he finished speaking Jennie's mother shouted up the stairs to announce breakfast was ready and they should hurry up and get dressed.

At breakfast Jennie read the morning paper and nibbled on a slice of toast while Tim and her mother made small talk. When she had finished reading, she looked at her mother and said,

"Mum, do you remember your first time?"

"Jennie, I'm not sure that's a question you should be asking your mother. Anyway; why are you asking?"

"It's just that Tim and I were having a bit of fun this morning and I asked him about his first time."

As she spoke, the colour drained from her mother's face and she glanced warily towards Tim.

"He told me he had slept with some thirty-odd year old floozy in the rooms over the Admiral and that she had 'phoned his father some time later and told him she was pregnant. Apparently he had no idea who she was, but from what he said, she must have been a local woman because she walked home that morning. Isn't that right Tim?'

Tim nodded, she was a local woman. The fact she'd walked from the pub hadn't registered with him at the time, but he'd met her since and she was definitely local -- very local.

"Apparently it was Tim's eighteenth birthday, which must have been just before you married Gerald, so if she really was pregnant, she would have been having her baby at the same time as you had Richard. Perhaps you knew her; it would have been likely she would have been attending the same ante-natal clinic as you and even if she hadn't, you would surely have seen her about the village with a pram. She must have been about your age and from Tim's description, must have looked somewhat like you. If she was pregnant, and I'm sure she wasn't, you must have some idea who she was."

Jennie's mother had said nothing, merely listening to her daughter and wondering just how much Tim had told her. Back in the late seventies and early eighties life had been extremely difficult for Jennie and her and she'd had to supplement her meagre earnings by working as a part-time lady of the night. She hadn't wanted to, but she'd been selective and discrete and few people in the town knew of her other life. She'd met Gerald in March of 1979, married him and had Richard eight months later.

She hadn't regretted being a whore; she'd enjoyed the sex most of the time and still did - whenever her husband could manage it. If she had a regret it was that she'd slept with her son-in-law, not that she hadn't enjoyed it, merely that it complicated matters. He'd said nothing when they'd met six years later and they had avoided discussing it since. Now it appeared he'd told Jennie and she didn't know what to do.

Across from her Tim was facing a similar dilemma. He'd told Jennie because he'd thought there was no way of identifying her mother as his first lover, but thinking back, he realised he had described her in detail and what was more, had emphasised how similar she was to Jennie. It might not take much for her to piece the jigsaw together and then what would happen?

Their secret might have been safe, but for an odd set of circumstances. Although it was early on a weekend morning, for some, inexplicable, reason her mother had chosen to wear lipstick and nail varnish, in the same colour pink she had worn all those years earlier, and bizarrely, her pearl necklace. Jennie hadn't noticed the combination earlier, but as her mother reached up to stroke her ear lobe -- something she did when she was nervous -- Jennie noticed the matching pinks set against the pearl necklace. She didn't know why her mother was still wearing the necklace; she usually only wore it on formal occasions, but the combination produced a feeling of unease, a feeling there was something significant about the juxtaposition of items. She thought for a moment and then dismissed it and would probably have never thought about it again if, out of the corner of her eye, she hadn't seen her mother surreptitiously trying to attract Tim's attention.

It was odd. Why was her mother trying to attract Tim's attention without her knowing? Did her mother have something she wanted to discuss with Tim which she didn't want her to hear? Whatever it was, she didn't feel prepared to question her mother and so said nothing, but the feeling of unease persisted throughout the morning.

Her father and brother returned from the golf club at just after one o'clock and following their usual routine suggested they all go to the pub for a Sunday lunch-time drink. Jennie agreed readily, she liked her step-father's local, but was surprised when first her mother and then Tim demurred; her mother because she had to finish preparing lunch and Tim because his stomach was still feeling queasy after his over-indulgence of the previous evening, but suggesting he might join them if his stomach settled down.

The three set-off for the pub leaving the other two in the house. As they walked, they talked; initially the conversation had involved all three, but as they continued the conversation turned to football, something Jennie wasn't interested in, leaving Gerald and Richard to talk among themselves. Left to herself, Jennie's thoughts returned to the events at the breakfast table. Her mother's actions had been odd and disconcerting - what had her mother wanted to discuss with Tim she was not supposed to hear? The more she thought about it, the more upset she became and then it hit her; her mother was at home with Tim - and alone.

"Gerald, I've just remembered, I promised to 'phone a friend at one-thirty and I've left my mobile in the bedroom. I'll have to go back. I'll join you later."

"You can use mine."

"I can't remember her number; it's on my phone."

As she walked back to the house, she tried to rationalise what had happened at breakfast. One conclusion was that her mother and husband were having an affair, but it was unlikely as they lived two hours away and on their infrequent visits, she couldn't remember an occasion when the two had spent time together without another member of the family present. But there had to be something.

Usually the family used the front door as their entrance to the house, but the path to the pub ran at the back of the house and rather than go round to the front, she entered through the back gate and went up the path to the kitchen door. The house looked empty, but when she opened the door she could hear voices and what sounded like crying. Closing the back door as quietly as she could, she walked as silently as possible towards the living room, the apparent location of the voices. When she got to the living room she stopped; the door was ajar leaving a small gap between the door and the jamb and through it she could see her mother sitting on the settee with Tim next to her; his arm around her shoulders. She knew she should make her presence known, but she had to find out what was going on and so she paused, watched and listened.

"But what if Jennie, finds out? What is she going to say if she discovers not only has her mother fucked her husband, but she was also a prostitute?"

"Sandra, it was over thirty years ago; it happened once and how could we have possibly known that eight years later I would marry your daughter? It's spilt milk. I'm not sure how Jennie would react if she were to find out, but she's rational, loves both of us and even if it upsets her at first, I expect she'll also realise it's spilt milk. Besides, if we're careful, she'll never find out."

"But it's not that, is it? It's not just that we had sex. It's that Richard is your son which is going to be the problem."

"It might be, but if that ever came out it wouldn't only be a matter between Jennie, you and me, it would also involve both Gerald and Richard and I'm sure, if Jennie did find out, she wouldn't want to ruin your marriage and Richard's relationship with Gerald."

Standing at the door Jennie wasn't sure about anything. In the last minute she had discovered that her mother had fucked her husband and had been a whore and to compound matters, the person she had thought her step-brother was also her husband's son

Her first re-action was to burst in and demand to know how they could have betrayed her and lied to her over the years, but there was something about her mother's demeanour, a look of abject despair, which made her pause. What her husband had said was true; she loved her mother and she loved him and he had been right; there was no way either of them could have known she and Tim would marry. As to her mother being a whore, it wasn't nice, but it had been done out of desperation and had been done for her.

Silently she tiptoed back to the kitchen; headed for the pub.