Late Back

It was nearly 2 when Linda parked her car in the drive. Despite her mood she was careful to leave enough space alongside her Dad's battered old Toyota so that he could get out in the morning. Last week she'd been careless and blocked the drive. He had quietly reminded her that evening that if she was going to stay out late, she should at least try and park carefully when she came home. She'd apologised, and done her little sad princess face and he'd laughed and thrown a dish cloth at her and said she was an evil child.

As she slipped out of the car she thought again how typical it was of her Dad that he was the one in the battered older car and she had the nice nearly-new one. Not brand new, Dad probably could have afforded it but one of his few flaws was his hatred of spending unnecessary money. But - he'd wanted her to have a car she wouldn't be ashamed of. And, she knew, he'd researched a load of safety tests before choosing it. He'd not said anything about that but she'd seen the magazines open with a few notes jotted in his neat handwriting in the margins. Methodical, reliable, safe, totally dependable... that was her Dad.

As she glanced up she saw a small gleam of light coming from his room. His bedside light. Once she was in and he heard her moving around downstairs, the light would go off, she knew. He always stayed awake until she came home. But he never came out to talk to her. When he'd given her the car he'd said she was free to come and go now as she pleased and he'd try and remember she was a grown-up now and he had no rights to ask her about anything that she did. If she wanted to ask his advice or just chat to him, that was of course fine, but young people at your age...

"What Dad? Please tell me your wise words Oh Ancient One? People of my age... we do what, exactly?"

Dad scowled at her. "I obviously didn't smack your bottom hard enough when you were younger."

"Afraid not, Dad. Probably too late now."

"Yes... anyway... People your age need some space and some privacy. Actually, people of any age, really. I'm just saying... I'll try and give you that space."

She was touched and also a little embarrassed. She hoped he wasn't go to try and have a repeat of the sex talk from four years ago. She'd cut that off pronto - "Dad, please, please, let's not do this. I know everything I need to know at the moment, ok? I know how babies are made, I've seen ... thingies... put on bananas, they even made us hold onto these screaming baby dolls for an hour so that we shouldn't be tempted to fall into wicked ways... so, no, please, ok?"

Dad, who was also quite red in the face, had nodded quietly. He'd stared a little dismally at the fruit bowl where as it happened a large bunch of bananas was prominent. He'd looked at the bananas, then at her, then back at the bananas, and he'd smiled a faint little embarrassed smile and she'd burst out laughing. Dad was quite cool, really, for an old person.

She was in the house now, flicking on a lamp and throwing her bag onto the sofa. Some of its contents spilled onto the cushions. She'd better be careful to pack that up. There were things in there she didn't want him seeing. Girl stuff, for that irritating time of the month. And two things her friend Angie had thrust into her hands. A 6 pack of condoms, down to 5 now. And a cream.

"You might need it, the first time. Forget all those stories about being soaking wet and everything being easy with just a tiny stab of pain before the ecstasy begins. I was petrified the first time and... well, let's just say the cream would have helped a lot."

Angie had certainly not needed it since. She was frequently regaling Linda with stories of her latest conquest. Since her first time with her second or maybe third cousin Luke (Angie had been hazy about exactly how distant the relationship was, but hadn't seemed in the least concerned about) she'd averaged a new conquest every few months. They never lasted long, Angie always found something to excuse her moving on, and Linda suspected she primarily liked the initial stages, the hunt, the pretence at being seduced.

"The first time with a new one, it's often not that great," Angie had explained to a somewhat wide-eyed Linda. "And sometimes not the second. But the third, up until say the sixth or the seventh time, when they're not so worried and they're just really into you and they're confident and you can pass on some suggestions and instructions without sounding like a nympho... they're amazing."

Linda herself hoped so. For tonight had been a first time, and it would certainly be filed under D for Disappointing.

His name was Art, short for Arthur. Funny how those two names could both capture him so perfectly. He preferred Art, the cooler name, and he did know an awful lot about cool stuff. French cinema. Art (of course). History. Literature. He was without doubt the smartest person Linda had ever been out with. And maybe just a little pretentious, with his slightly too elaborate cool hairstyle, his sandals, his way of waiting in a conversation until he could jump in with something that clearly showed that he, Art, knew Considerably More than the speaker about a topic. There was also a touch of an Arthur about him, rather fussy, perhaps a little spoilt, almost comic.

He was a teaching assistant at the college. He was twenty-two, four years older. She liked that. He seemed very confident and experienced. But, as she'd learned that evening, the fact that he was very comfortable regaling her about the progression of Hitchcock's art after he came to America didn't mean he was going to be an ideal first lover.

It had started well. Very well, in fact. He had kissed her with enthusiasm and slipped a hand under her top to cup her breast. All fine so far. More than fine. She longed for his hands to go lower, to start exploring her. But then his confidence had seemed to desert him.

"Maybe we should go slow," he'd muttered.

For an answer she'd twisted around and scrambled onto his lap, straddling him. She'd kissed him hard, pushing her tongue into his mouth. His breathing had become ragged, and she felt something deliciously insistent pushing against her groin. Angie had told her, more than once, that she just didn't know how much power girls had over boys, but she realised it now. She was the one in charge. Art - or Arthur - was just along for the ride.

Or so she'd hoped. After another few minutes of frantic kissing, she'd pushed herself backwards so she slid off his knees and down onto the floor. She pushed his legs apart and shuffled forward. His crotch was now directly in front of her.

"You have to vamp it up a bit at the key moments," Angie had said. "And a bit of bad language at the right moment can send them absolutely crazy."

So she'd looked into Art's eyes, trying to look and sound absolutely confident.

"Would you like me to suck you, Art?"

"Oh Jesus..."

She took that as a yes.

She unzipped his trousers, slowly. She thought for a moment the zip might stick and she feared for a moment her Ice Maiden routine would be spoilt by some un-lady-like inelegant tugging on the zipper, but a firm additional pull had it humming down so his fly was fully open.

Now the moment of truth, she thought. Does he wear boxers, y fronts... or does he go commando?

She stifled the urge to giggle. Ice queen, she told herself sternly.

She reached into his fly. She was amazed at how swollen the contents of his boxers seemed to be. Didn't it hurt? How was she going to wrestle that out without hurting him?

It wasn't the most elegant procedure, as it turned out, but by sliding in a second hand to assist with pulling down the waist band while the other extracted his penis the deed was done.

And there she was, Linda Hollins, finally with an erect cock in her hands.

I really should call Angie and tell her, she thought to herself, and again had to resist the urge to giggle. Angie couldn't believe she'd gone this long without actually touching one properly.

And now she had one... it was fascinating. She transferred one hand to the base and held it firmly. ("They're not like our bits," Angie had told her. "You can be pretty rough with their dicks. It can help, actually. Don't try and be subtle and gentle like you'd want them to be when going down on you or touching you. It's more like a... ping pong bat, really.") The other hand she moved to the top of his cock. Art was circumcised, she noticed with interest. The only other penis she'd seen was her fathers, at some distance a few times when she was younger and she'd wandered into the bathroom by accident when he'd been in the shower. The tip of his cock had definitely been covered by skin. She wondered if it made a big difference to the pleasure it gave and received.

This is no time to be thinking about your father's penis, she told herself.

Art, in the meantime, was transfixed. His mouth had fallen up, which she rather regretted, but otherwise his rapt expression was everything she could have wished for. Angie was right. Girls did have a lot of power.

She slid her hand up and down experimentally on the tip of his cock, still holding him firmly at the base.

He groaned pleasingly. This was fun, she thought to herself. Her nipples, she noticed, had somehow transformed themselves into small hard bullets, almost unbearably sensitive even against her lacy bra. And the whole of her lower body was tingling and glowing, from her thighs upwards to just below her belly. There was no question where the sensation was strongest.

That, she thought, staring at Art's penis, is going to be inside me soon.

His cock, she told herself, call it a cock. It's dirtier. You're not at medical school. His cock, his dick, his shaft, his... Meat?

No, that was a silly name. Cock was best. Even saying it inside her head, while holding him, intensified the feelings in her groin.

Art was still watching her as if he expected her to make the next move. He was, presumably, expecting her to make good on her previous offer.

("Compliment them," Angie had said. "No matter what it looks like, compliment them and praise them on it.")

"You have a nice cock, Art."

The nicest I've ever seen, she said to herself, smirking. The only one I've ever seen. Except for Dad's, of course.

(STOP FUCKING THINKING ABOUT DAD'S)

"Would you like me to suck it for you, Art?"

"Please... oh yes please."

She shuffled forward a little more. She was positioned directly above it now. She stroked it a little more.

I wonder, she suddenly thought, I wonder how many cocks I will suck in my life. This is my first. I won't know when my last will be. My sex life will suddenly just fade away, and I'll realised that I'll probably never have sex again and I'll be an old lady. With a cat. I wonder what kind of cat...

(Concentrate! Jesus. You haven't sucked your first cock yet and you're worrying about your last one and your fucking cat.)

She took a deep breath. She had made Art wait long enough. She lowered her head and flicked the tip of his shaft with her tongue.

He bucked upwards uncontrollably, almost forcing it into her mouth before settling down. It was like she'd given him a small electric shock.

"Sorry..." he muttered.

She shook her head slowly, meaning, don't worry.

She lowered her again, more confident this time. She took the top half inch into her mouth and closed her lips around it. She waited expectantly for Art to moan - she was getting familiar with his reactions now - and he didn't disappoint.

("The taste," Angie had said, "can vary quite a bit. Usually they don't taste of anything much, unless there's a spot of their stuff on the top, which can be a bit weird at first but you get used to it and I actually really like it now."

"Like avocados," Linda had suggested. Avocados had revolted her at first. Now she wolfed them down.

"Um, I guess," Angie had agreed.)

Art did not have any of his "stuff" emerging. Was this because she wasn't doing it right, she wondered?

But otherwise, he seemed pretty happy.

"God, your mouth feels amazing... Nobody has ever done that for me before. Thank you."

This surprised her. Seriously? Nobody had sucked Art's penis - cock - before? Part of his appeal was that he was supposed to know what he was doing for her first time. Now it looked like he didn't know much more than she did.

Heigh ho, she thought. Looks like we'll have to figure it out between us.

She began to move her mouth slowly up and down on his cock, going a little deeper each time until her mouth was covering about three-quarters of his cock. It was satisfying, feeling his reaction, his cock had definitely grown a little more since she'd started. It felt good. But lower down, the tingling had turned almost into a burning, and she knew that before long she was going to have to address that.

I really, really, really want to be fucked, she thought to herself. She was a little shocked at the crudeness of her thoughts. It wasn't the first time she'd thought that, often alone in her room over the last few years with a pillow between her legs and a finger rubbing away at her clit she'd thought she would explode with desire, but that was nothing compared to the sheer animal urgency she felt now.

She also noticed that she definitely wasn't going to need Angie's cream.

How much longer, she wondered, should she keep sucking Art before it would be polite to request a fuck? Sexual Etiquette in the 21^st century, she thought to herself. "Full intercourse should normally be requested no less than ten minutes from the commencement of oral..." That would be a useful book on her Kindle. Sex Rules For Dummies. Perhaps there would be a course on it at college.

How long had she been sucking him for? One minute, two, five? Time flies when you're having fun, she thought.

Art almost seemed to have passed out. His head was thrown back, his eyes were closed, and the only signs of life were his heavy breathing and the occasional involuntary thrusts from his hips.

He's fucking my mouth, she thought with satisfaction. It probably feels almost like a...

Like a cunt. I really want him to fuck my cunt.

Cunt wasn't a word she used often, even to herself. She usually called it her pussy, if she referred to it mentally at all, or "down there." Pussy was also Angie's preferred word. "You should shave your pussy, if you don't already," she'd told her. As it happened Linda had started shaving her pussy, not all of it, but enough to keep it neat. She really, really didn't want stray hairs emerging from her bikini when she and Dad went to the beach.

(But why would Dad even be looking down there in the first place? Silly girl)

Cunt was definitely the right word for her now. The word excited her more. I'm going to get this shiny glistening cock in my cunt and I am going to get fucked, she told herself. I might die when I feel it inside me, because I know it's going to feel so good and I'm not sure I can wait and I am going to get fucked and fucked and fucked in my little cunt...

At this point Art started to come in her mouth.

She had not been expecting this, though it was certainly a possibility Angie had covered in her briefings. ("I know it's kind of gross, the idea of it, but actually when it's happening if you're really into him and you're feeling horny it's kind of cool and you get used to it and the guys love it if you swallow. But to be honest, even if you don't want to and you just spit it out into a tissue after, they won't care that much. They'll just be congratulating themselves that they came in your mouth at all.")

To swallow or not to swallow was something she had to make up her mind about it pretty damn quickly. And Linda, ever the sensible girl of whom any father Would Be Proud, was also aware that she didn't have a tissue to hand and that they were in Art's parents house and on their sofa and come stains on the cushions was probably a good thing to avoid.

So she decided she would swallow, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was a) quite easy, b) not entirely unpleasant, and c) all over quite quickly. There was an initial burst to the back of her throat which nearly triggered her gag reflex but she recovered quickly and gulped it down. Then a second, less powerful wave which was straightforward and then a final, additional trickle which was easily dealt with.

She withdrew her mouth slowly, suddenly aware that Art had been making desperate gasping noises for the last few moments. She saw a final drop of come appear on his cock and she bowed her head again and flicked her tongue to collect it. He bucked, and she remembered another of Angie's nuggets. ("OK, actually, their cocks are sensitive sometimes, but only for a few minutes after they've just come. That's the only time you need to be gentle with them.")

She sat back and watched Art as he slowly tried to recover his breathing and poise. Look what I did, she thought. Mr Cool Know It All Art, reduced to a jelly by my mouth and tongue.

She felt a mixture of pride and frustration. She was pleased by the scale of his reaction and by her own handling of her first foray into the world of full sexual relations. As blowjobs went, she felt, she surely would have scored at least a 6 or a 7 out of 10. Not bad for a first-timer, she thought. My Daddy would be proud. He'd put the certificate on the fridge, next to the swimming ones.

(Stop thinking about Daddy, goddamit!)

But there was also annoyance. Art's cock, on which she had pinned such high hopes, was shrivelling rapidly. It was quite hypnotic to watch as it collapsed in less than a minute from stiffly proud to semi-erect to something really rather unimpressive.

"Oh my God," said Art.

He was staring at her with something approaching wonder in his eyes. She felt a rush of affection for him, despite her own frustration.

"Thank you," he said, reaching over and stroking her hair. She turned so she kissed the palm of his hand. He didn't look entirely thrilled, she noticed, to get some traces of his come on his hand from her lips.

"You're welcome," she said. What else was she going to say?

There was a silence. Linda was still on her knees between his legs. Very subservient, she thought. No wonder men got the idea they could boss us around for most of the last ten thousand years.

Art didn't seem entirely sure what to do next. There was a slightly awkward silence.

"Um... shall we put a film on?"

Linda resisted the impulse to punch him. In the face. Or the balls. (She hadn't really investigated his balls yet. Next time. If there was a next time.) Men were so selfish! Did he really think that just because he'd come that the evening's entertainment was over?

"No," said Linda firmly. "Let's go to your room."

"Oh... OK," said Art.

He somewhat self-consciously zipped up his trousers and stood up. He reached out a hand to pull her to her feet. She went to kiss him and he turned slightly so it landed on his cheek instead of his lips. Interesting, she thought, amused. Men really aren't that keen on their own come.

They went upstairs. Art's room had posters on the walls of various French films. Betty Blue was there. She'd actually seen that one. Linda didn't have many lesbian thoughts but for a while Beatrice Dalle had featured in a few of them.

"Um," said Art. "So should we...?"

By way of an answer she reached behind her and pulled down the zip of her dress, shrugging if off her shoulders and stepping out of it so she was just in her black bra and panties. She felt vaguely ridiculous but remembered Angie's advice about acting the vamp. And Art certainly needed guidance.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked quietly.