To Flee Or Not To Flee

I hesitated for a prolonged minute then I rocked forward in the chair and when my weight shifted to my feet I had no idea if I was going to pitch forward towards her hand or bolt for the door.

In the end it wasn't about conscious choice; my instincts propelled me towards her and she pulled me onto the bed and we collapsed beside each other, our faces inches apart.

Her face had changed. Gone was the fear and anxiety. There was a glow there now, a look of absolute happiness, as if the matter had been settled, as if our future together was assured, once and forever. She leaned in and kissed me, lightly, then she pushed me from my side to my back and she kneeled beside me and began unbuttoning my shirt. I lay there, not knowing what to do. I still hadn't crossed the line. There still was time to take her hand and squeeze it and say, 'I don't want this Fred, I want some space for awhile." But I didn't. I just watched her finger move from my buttons to my belt, to my zipper and then I lifted my ass so she could pull off my pants, and I leaned forward to help her with my shirt and I watched her kiss me, on the chest and on my nipples, I watched her string a trail of kisses down my stomach, but my eyes were closed when she licked the pre-cum from my penis and I shuddered when she sucked me. And then she lept from the bed.

When I looked up at her, her eyes were boring into mine sparkling with excitement and she began to slowly undressed. When she finally stepped out of her skirt she stood absolutely still and I studied her, really for the very first time. She has a pretty girl-next-door kind of face, wholesome, open and expressive, but unusually intense. Her shoulders are wide and strong, her large breasts strained at a yellow bra that seemed like a porch over well defined ribs and a narrow waist. Little tuffs of black hair fringed the white panties hugging her fantastically curvaceous hips. I've always known she had magnificent legs.

She had a question in her eyes. When I smiled she reached behind her back and shook off her bra and then she ran her fingers down her hips catching her panties with her thumbs. When she stepped out of the white nylon panties and straightened up she stood statue still again. She seemed to radiate pride. She wanted me to look at her, she wanted me to see what I was getting. Her breasts hung teasingly, with large dark aureolas and long, stiff nipples. A faint trail of fur connected her belly button to a large triangle of thick brown hair. When I looked back at her eyes she turned around to show me a strong, tight ass and muscular back. Then she completed the turn and looked at me and waited.

Her doubt and sadness was gone. Now, there was a confidence in her posture and expectation in her eyes. Even so, she looked vulnerable and hopeful as she waited for a signal. When I lifted my hand towards her she lept on the bed and worked her left leg between mine as she pulled me into her and squeezed me.

"You're beautiful," I said into her neck, "really beautiful."

She sprang to her knees, "Do you really think so?"

She was leaning over me and her breast was brushing my cheek when I said, "You are, you're just beautiful."

And that's when she did it. She straddled me, reached between her legs and positioned my stiff prick in her opening and then she leaned forward on both elbows and looked at me and waited.

This was the point of no return. With a slight thrust of my hips I would be with this woman for the rest of my life. If I rolled away, I could still escape. She was giving me the choice, and we both knew it.

I had never had sex before, except for the 42,000 times in my dreams, but, strangely, this wasn't a sexual moment, my decision wasn't going to be made by my prick. As I waited, I could feel the wet heat in her opening and I could feel her body growing increasingly tense, her eyes narrowing faintly in doubt. When I rolled away, she collapsed on the bed and I could see her body sag in defeat. I waited for a moment, expecting her to move, to rise up but she didn't, so I tapped her on the shoulder and when she looked up I spun her onto her back, drove my leg between hers, took her in my arms and kissed her with a passion that flowed from me so fiercely it scared the hell out of me.

But it sure as hell didn't scare her. She was yelling, screaming into my mouth, squeezing me and wrestled her legs away from mine so she could scissor them around my waist. We forced ourselves on each other, battering our bodies against each other and bruising our lips against each other's teeth. We were muscular, passionate and artless and when we finally released each other, I climbed onto her, positioning my self between her legs and I placed my penis at her opening.

"Is this going to hurt?"

"Oh, God Johnny, how could it hurt? I've wanted this for so long."

I was a little nervous, I'd heard that it could hurt so I eased myself in slowly, waiting for a reaction — and that's when it occurred to me and I lept back in alarm.

Shock exploded in her eyes, "What's wrong?"

"Protection!" I was already afraid that something might have leaked into her.

She smiled in relief and grabbed my head, forcing it into her chest, wet with perspiration. "I'm protected, Johnny. Mum took me to the doctor in September. She wants us to have kids when we're ready to."

"You're on the pill?" I don't know why this shocked me, but it did.

She smiled and nodded, "I wanted to be ready for you, Johnny."

When I put my penis back in her, I was putting my penis into my future wife: she knew it, her parents knew it, my parents knew it, our classmates knew it and now, finally, I knew it.

As I inched my way in, feeling her arms around me neck, feeling her hot breath on my face, feeling the passion in her heaving chest and the tight muscles of her tunnel, I knew my freedom from now on would be found only on, say, the golf course. When I broke through her and reached down deep in her wet and waiting canal that was as clear to me as my love flooding into her. We were one, we have always been one, we would always be one.

It was at a family barbecue two day's later when we told them. We would be married in August before we headed off to school. They agreed, her parents and mine, that it made perfect sense for us to get married before college rather than after: we could better concentrate on our studies.

After dinner, as we headed hand in hand to my house I looked back at our parents. I expected them to be looking at us, their two only children walking away, walking into a future together. I expected their eyes to be glowing with love and hope and expectations. But they weren't looking at us. Our parents were huddled in a tight knot in a heatedly debate about a municipal by-law. And why not? There was nothing new here: Frederica and I had been married for 18 years. Everyone knew it. Now, I did too.