Julius and Me Ch. 03

When I woke up the next morning, I was alone in my bed.

For a few seconds I was so overcome with alarm, even horror, that I cried out plaintively. But then I heard sounds coming from downstairs, apparently in the kitchen, and I relaxed a bit.

It was only now that I felt the effects of what I'd done the night before--not just with Julius but with all those other men. Both of my nether orifices were throbbing, and my legs felt as if they were made of thin, brittle lumber that would snap if I tried to walk a single step. I guess that's an occupational hazard of making men come fifty-eight times.

Somehow I managed to get that baby-doll nightgown on myself and stagger downstairs, clutching the banister the whole way. Once at the foot of the stairs, I had to hang on to any available piece of furniture as a crutch until I finally stumbled into the kitchen and dumped myself into one of the chairs of the small table there. I saw Julius standing at my stove. He was naked and cooking breakfast.

The sight of the broad backside of this superlative athlete, the muscles of his back and bottom working as he diligently fixed a heavenly-smelling meal of bacon and eggs, was almost too much for me. I just gaped at him. I realized I'd not even run a comb through my tousled hair. I must look a fright. But when he noticed my presence, he turned around and gave me a genial smile that squeezed my heart.

"Hello, ma'am," he said. "I hope you're hungry."

"I sure am," I said. "But, Julius . . ."

"What is it, ma'am?" he said, now resuming his work.

"Why--um, why are you naked?"

He looked down at himself. "Oh," he said. "I guess I didn't notice. Do you want me to put some clothes on?"

"Oh, I'm not complaining. I like the view."

In a few minutes he set a heaping plate of food in front of me, and also poured out a big mug of coffee. He'd made a pot in the coffeemaker. The smell of the stuff was so entrancing that I began shoving huge forkfuls of it down my throat--until he reached out a hand to clutch my own and said, "Easy, ma'am--not so fast. It's not good for you to eat like that."

"Sorry," I muttered. But I really was starving.

He ate in a surprisingly dainty manner: no doubt his parents or his coaches had told him not to bolt his food. We said almost nothing while eating, which was just as well: his naked presence a few feet away from me was making me a little agitated.

At last, as we were finishing up, he said, "How are you feeling, ma'am?"

It wasn't just an idle conversation-starter. He really wanted to know.

"I'm pretty tired--stiff--sore. I'm sure you know why."

He peered at me, and once more his gaze was a melding of sympathy and disapproval. "I hope you'll never do that again, ma'am."

He didn't have to elaborate on what "that" was: inviting two dozen men to have their way with me until they were replete. Well, I hadn't actually invited all those men, but the point was taken.

"No, I won't," I said, unable to endure his scrutiny. "I've learned my lesson."

He got up from the table, put the empty plate in the sink, and was about to head upstairs, presumably to shower and leave. The thought of his departure from my house--and my life--appalled me.

"Julius, sweetheart," I said--I couldn't help adding the little endearment--"do you think you could, um, stay with me today? I'm still not in very good shape, and I may need your help."

He turned around at the sink and faced me, his more or less flaccid cock still seeming quite a bit larger than most men's erect members. He stared at me contemplatively, as if pondering the right words to let me down gently. I was bracing myself for a refusal when he said:

"Okay, ma'am. But I need to get some books and things--gotta do some studying. I can come back in half an hour. Is that okay?"

"Of course!" I cried, more relieved than I could have imagined.

"Do you need to shower?"

"No--you did me pretty well last night." I could still feel his hands all over me as they scoured me clean. "But I might need a little help getting upstairs. I'd like to take a nap now."

He understood exactly what I wanted. He scooped me up from the chair, carried me upstairs, and laid me down tenderly on the bed in the guest room. Before I fell asleep I gave him the keys to my house, so he could let himself in without my having to wake up and open the door for him. I knew I'd be asleep in seconds.

I woke up late in the afternoon and felt much better. I was still stiff, but didn't feel quite as much of a walking corpse as I'd felt earlier. When I headed downstairs I saw Julius sitting at my dining table, a sheaf of books and papers spread out all around him. He didn't look like an undergraduate so much as a learned scholar poring over esoteric tomes in search of answers to recondite questions. The mere sight of him squeezed my heart.

We ordered some takeout Chinese. I certainly wasn't up to cooking, and I declined his quite sincere offer to make a meal for us himself. I'm sure he would have been capable of it--he seemed capable of anything--but I couldn't presume on his kindness any further.

But once again, after the meal was over, I was facing the dreadful prospect of his departure from me. Would he just walk out and resume his normal life on campus? What else was even conceivable? Or would he condescend to pay occasional visits to my bed?

He must have noticed me gazing plaintively at him over the dining table, and he said, "Something wrong, ma'am?"

"No," I lied, hardly able to speak, I was so choked up. "It's just . . ."

"Just what, ma'am?"

That "ma'am" was getting a bit irritating, but I ignored it. "I'd just like to know what you plan to do now."

"I guess I'll have to go home," he said, looking down at his hands.

I swallowed several times before I could say anything. "What do you think about--about staying here for a while?"

He stared blankly at me. For a long time he said nothing, and I was certain he was trying to find the words to decline my crazy offer without hurting or offending me. Then he nodded pensively to himself and said: "Okay."

"Yeah?" I exclaimed. "You mean it?"

"Well, we can give it a try. Maybe you won't like having me around. If that happens, you just tell me so and I'll go back to my rooming house. Right now I'll get a few things that I'll need for the next few days, and we'll see where we stand after that."

I was almost giddy with delight--and relief. Why this man had suddenly become so vital to my life and my well-being, I couldn't have said. Yes, of course he was amazingly strong and powerful and good-looking--and he was, just as obviously, kind and caring and considerate and morally upright. But, on the other hand, I was twelve years older than him. I was a professor and he was a student. If anyone found out about this, I'd get thrown out on my ass--and I dreaded to think what would happen to him, in spite of his stellar athletic career.

But I put those unpleasant thoughts out of my mind. When, a few hours after our discussion, he came back to my house with a big suitcase and backpack with the things he'd need for the next week or so, I felt that an important threshold had been crossed. With goosebumps running up and down my spine (and, in effect, my mind), I felt thrilled at this tangible symbol of cohabitation. Why, it was almost as if we were--

The first thing we did was to establish a modus vivendi that would keep the fact of our union secret from everyone. Julius was not one to blab about such things anyway, and I certainly didn't.

The next thing we did was to become even more intimately acquainted with each other's bodies and souls.

To my own surprise, I recovered pretty fast from my experience with all those football players, and by Wednesday night I made it clear to Julius that I was "in the mood." He was not slow in accommodating me: the previous three nights, he'd lain by my side with an expression of wistful longing that demonstrated how he wanted me just as much as I wanted him.

Our first coupling was almost a sort of teaser of what was to follow. It was done in the classic missionary position, and I felt small and powerless as he loomed up above me and pummeled me with a blank but kindly expression. His ejaculation was almost perfunctory, and he almost immediately reached for the jar of cold cream as a tacit indication of what he expected in the next round.

This time he wanted me to get on my hands and knees--mostly, I think, because he liked the sight of his huge thing going in and out of my bottom. Lots of guys are like that. I had no objections, and found that he could enter me even more deeply in this position than if I were lying flat. The insertion of that ramrod into me was vaguely like a red-hot poker (but a nice poker!) drilled into me, and I saw my own breasts waving gently back and forth with each thrust. He held on to my hips for balance, but, as before, he reached around and tickled my sex as he sensed his own climax approaching. And once again he skillfully managed to bring us to a simultaneous climax.

After some rest, he suggested sixty-nine.

Well, why not? I was not at all confident how much of his member I could get into my mouth, but he didn't seem particularly insistent on deep throat. I doubt any human being could have gotten that thing entirely into their mouth. I managed about half of it, then worked my lips and tongue to get a few more inches down. At that point my gag reflex kicked in, and I had to take his cock entirely out of my mouth, as a stream of saliva dribbled out. I put it in more cautiously and found I could get at least seven inches into me without discomfort. His own actions with lips and tongue made me come several times before a volcano of his own foamy emission burst out of him and filled my mouth with the salty discharge, sliding thickly down my throat.

He had already come three times (I'd come one or two more times than that), but he clearly wasn't finished. As I lay in a kind of dazed languor on my stomach, wondering what he wanted next, he began a long, slow examination of my backside with his mouth. He pasted kisses on the back of my neck, my shoulders, my back, my thighs, and even my calves and feet. It felt heavenly: I could feel the affection in each touch of his soft, delicate lips. He had, of course, skipped the most salient part of the area--my ass--and he now turned his attention to it.

It was mildly amusing to feel him actually planting kisses on my derrière, but things got more serious--and alarming--when he let his tongue trace a long, slow, wet path along the crack of my butt until he finally reached my anus.

And then he began licking it.

I gasped. I may have been half a generation older than him, but I'd never had that done to me. I won't say it was unpleasant--in fact, a bolt of inexplicable pleasure coursed through me at the first contact of his tongue to that sensitive spot. But as he got down to business, grabbing my butt cheeks with both hands and then actually inserting his tongue into that orifice, I almost fainted with a strange mixture of ecstasy and disgust.

"Julius," I breathed, "what are you doing?"

He didn't bother to explain. Instead, he stuck that fat, long tongue of his as deeply into my anus as he could, and then wiggled it around inside. By this time I was almost dizzy with confusion and horror--and yet, my body was telling me that this was a sensation it very much liked.

In short, I erupted with a bone-shaking orgasm.

My legs were quivering uncontrollably, almost to the point of expelling that questing tongue from its place in my bottom. I clutched the sheets, almost as if I was in an earthquake and in danger of falling off the bed. I could feel my own juices pouring out of me in a river, even though neither he nor I was touching my sex. Finally, an immense shudder did force his tongue out of me--or maybe he'd just decided I'd had enough and he'd pulled it out. He casually got up and went to the bathroom, where I heard the tap running. I hoped to heaven he was thoroughly washing his mouth and tongue out with soap.

When he came back, I looked up at him and said, "Wh-what was that?"

He smiled benevolently as he slipped back into bed. "Did you like it?"

"I suppose," I muttered. I really didn't know if I liked it or loathed it.

"You came, didn't you?" he said with inexorable logic.

"Yes, I did. But--it's really kind of kinky, isn't it?"

"Do you think so?"

"I do."

"You haven't had that done to you before?"

"Of course not!"

He looked puzzled at my vehemence and lapsed into silence.

"Have you done that with other women?" I asked, almost like a prosecutor.

"A few," he said. "Some don't like it."

"I may be one of them."

"But you came."

"You don't have to keep reminding me. I couldn't help it. But I'm not sure I want you to do it again."

A sort of mild sadness came over his face. "So I guess . . . you don't want to do it to me?"

A shudder ran through me. "Not on your life!"

He lay there pensive and motionless. I really hated to disappoint him, but there are just some things I won't do.

All of a sudden, as if a thought had shot into his mind, he got up and left the room.

"Where are you going?" I cried.

He didn't reply, but trooped downstairs, apparently into the kitchen. He came back in under a minute holding a glass jar.

It was honey.

I felt more shudders coursing through me. I knew what he was going to say.

"You could try this," he said.

He handed me the jar. I took it without thinking. Then he lay down on his stomach at full length.

I have to say, he had a magnificent butt--a magnificent everything, but especially his butt. It seemed to be all muscle, tight and firm but with luscious curves that any woman would die for. I knew that it clenched when he was thrusting into me, as I'd placed my hand on it while he was in me. Now, as I looked at it as if it was a priceless exhibit in a museum, I felt unable to stop myself from doing what he wanted.

I opened the jar and began pouring out a thin trickle of honey over his bottom. Some of it went into his crack and oozed down over his anus. At first I just licked up the honey that was plastered over his butt cheeks, finding the mingled taste of the sweet stuff very pleasant as I also absorbed the soft skin covering that impressive musculature. This part of the process was actually quite nice.

Then I scooted down and directed my attention to that puckered opening.

There was a lot of honey gathered there, and it wasn't at all disgusting to lick it up. I flicked my tongue quickly over his anus, feeling the tight little ridges there. Unlike me, he hadn't had a huge cock stuffed into it, so it was going to take some effort to stick my tongue into it--if that's really what he wanted me to do. I used both hands to pull the cheeks apart, but a tentative (and rather timid) attempt to probe the opening with my tongue was unsuccessful. I just couldn't get it in.

He seemed to be getting impatient, so I inserted a finger into the orifice. His muscles were so tight that I almost felt he was cutting off the circulation in that finger, so I stuck a second finger in. Somehow that seemed to help, and the cavity remained open for a second or two. I worked that anus more vigorously with my fingers, using an in-and-out motion that vaguely imitated a cock.

Then, pulling my fingers out, I stuck my tongue in.

His sphincter immediately wrapped itself around my tongue, but I still managed to keep inserting it as far as it could go. I heard him grunting with apparent pleasure, so I continued my actions, even wiggling my tongue as he'd done. I actually started to like the whole proceeding. As a sign of intimacy, this was hard to beat.

His cock was lying thick and rigid between his legs, and I wrapped a hand around it and began tugging at it as if milking a cow. His body responded: as heavier grunts were forced out of his mouth, his cock began sending forth thick streams of come onto the sheet. I kept my tongue in his anus as long as I could, but when he appeared to be finished I pulled it out and flopped over onto my back next to him. I half wondered if I'd come too--I couldn't be sure.

He almost immediately got up from the bed and went off to clean himself up. Bleary-eyed, I looked down at the thick pool of come he'd left on the bedsheet. Not knowing what possessed me, I approached it, gazing intently at it as if it was some fascinating object that had fallen from outer space.

Then I plunged my face into it, smearing it all over my cheeks and chin and nose and licking up as much of it as I could.

When he came back, I raised my face up to him, silently asking: What have I become? He gave me that welcoming smile again. He lifted up my face, the come now dripping down and falling on my breasts, and kissed me hard and firm on my mouth.

At that, I gave a little squawk, fled to the bathroom, and thoroughly washed my lips and especially my tongue with plenty of soap and water.

I was in a bit of a daze when I came back to bed. As I saw Julius sprawled on my bed, he seemed such a natural presence there--no matter that he was not of my race (but that doesn't make any difference, does it?), not anything close to my age (that does make a bit of a difference, but I tried not to dwell on that), and, most important of all, I was theoretically in a position of authority over him, as a professor (even though he wasn't taking a class from me at this moment). And yet, in many ways I felt weirdly inferior to him.

But he'd already become a fixture in my life. Funny how sticking your tongue in someone's butt can make you feel close to them.

He wrapped me in his arms, and that sense of comfort and rightness just spread over me like a warm blanket. If there's anything approaching heaven in this world, I felt it for at least a few moments right then.

After that, things got more complicated.