Left Brain, Right Brain

On the sofa with steaming cups of tea and a plate with cookies on the coffee table, I turned toward him and with as soft and sweet a voice as I was capable of, opened with. "Clyde, it was really kind of you to give me a lift home. Thank you."

He didn't take the bait and his answer was a disappointment. "Kitty, after all the first aid tutoring, keeping you from getting a DUI, be the least I could do."

I got a better answer to my enticing gaze as he continued, "Anyway, well actually I wanted to get to know you better."

I leaned a little closer towards him, lips slightly parted and said, "Yes, I'd really like it if we got to know one another better."

He moved towards me and I moved closer. Our lips met and were soon contorting as they massaged one another. I felt one of his hands on the back of my head and it was soon followed by the other on my flank. Invitingly, my lips parted. He was quick to respond and our tongues were soon entangled. I felt his hand on my flank sneak under my sweater. His calluses brushing over my skin, first on my flank and then on my belly, turned out to be just as erogenous as in my dreams - except that in my dreams, those calluses had fondled my breasts. In my need to let him know that was what I wanted now, I got more aggressive with my tongue and lips. His hand went to my breast and he fondled me over my bra. Heaven was in reach at last!

When he started to work his hand under my bra, I interrupted. "Let me!" And I reached around my back and unsnapped the bra. Then my dreams of the week before came true as I felt that rough palm and fingers go over my breasts, kneading them, hefting them, gently pinching my nipples.

Rolling my body toward him, I threw my leg over his. He moved his hand from my breasts to my hip. How I wished I'd worn a dress or skirt. Had I, his callused hand would now be caressing my bare legs instead of the outside of my winter slacks. In spite of my need, undoing the waist button and unzipping would have been too forward. Instead, I pulled my sweater up over my head and off. My bra fell away. He returned the hand to one of my bared breasts, the other went to my flank and he began kissing my other breast. Then the nipple was between his lips and his tongue massaging it. The hand left the other breast and went back to my hip, then to my midriff and soon I felt his fingertips probing the waistband of my slacks -- slacks that fit too snugly for his big hands to easily enter.

My voice must have been husky and trembling at the same time. "Clyde, I don't want to have to sew a button back on. Let me."

"I take that as a 'yes'."

"It is a 'yes'."

I no sooner had the button opened and the zipper part way down when I felt the rough calluses on my belly, then lower and the roughness was lost in my pubic hair. I placed a hand high up on his thigh. I felt his finger slide down my wet slit. No longer did I feel his calluses, probably because I was so wet and strung out in my need. When he pushed up my hood and began to massage my button, he obviously had expected my squeal because he didn't flinch a bit. I moved my hand and came upon an erection that was straining against his jeans. His moan-whimper-grunt told me how he welcomed that. As I stroked him over his jeans, I felt a finger at my vagina. Then it went into me.

I wished his jeans weren't in the way. What if I unbuckled his belt and opened his jeans? To some men it's sexy and makes them feel desired. Other less self-confident men are less comfortable with a female taking the lead and get turned off. Clyde's surplus of self-confidence was a green light for me so I went for it. As I moved to reach his belt, he took his finger out of me. Half breathless, I let him know my need. "Please don't stop!" My hands were on his belt buckle before he got his finger back in me. Unbuckle, unbutton and unzip. He shifted his hips from side to side as I worked his jeans down. Then there it was -- without the jeans to restrain it, the bulge looked gigantic. My hand went into his shorts, my fingers on the head made him throw back his head and gasp. He settled down to slow measured breathing as if to match my slow measured stroking. Care was now essential, I wanted him to cum in me, not in my hands -- at least on our first time.

He shifted the fingering hand, I felt more inside me, now it must be two fingers. I felt his thumb at the top of my slit. His double play didn't need long and I shuddered with a crashing orgasm -- shuddered so hard that his thumb lost its place. In spite of my twisting and hip thrusting, he managed to keep his fingers in me and slowly finger-fucked me as I came down from the summit.

Once I was down from my high, he stopped the finger-fucking. My slacks were already close to my ankles as they had needed to be for me to spread my legs. He worked them off completely and then it was time for my panties to get out of the way - for me a very special time. Not only because when a guy works your panties off, you know for sure what's coming. No, that's not all. There's also this breezy feeling of freedom. With Clyde, there was all that and more -- as he was working them down, his rough hands grazing my smooth legs took me to another level. After working them down my legs and over my feet, he took off his jeans completely. When he followed suit with his shorts, I had my first glimpse of his penis.

As a woman becomes more and more sexually liberated, her fantasies and daydreams become less and less inhibited. I am liberated to the point that I readily fantasize over how a guy's penis will look -- even guys with whom I have no intention of sleeping. Early in the week, I had begun fantasizing about sleeping with Clyde. In my sleeping dreams, I hadn't seen or noticed how his penis looked. My daydreams were different. I had wondered? Was he circumcised? Not that it mattered, both have advantages and disadvantages, however, I tend to prefer an uncut one because of the thrill of sliding the foreskin back to expose a shiny glans. Was he really big? As far as intercourse is concerned, size has never been an issue for me. Giving head is different. With a really big one, my jaw gets sore just like when I have to keep my mouth open during a long dentist appointment. Clyde had a foreskin and he wasn't porn star gigantic. It was love at first sight.

When he got between my legs and made to encourage me closer to the edge of the couch, I made a proposal that, according to popular wisdom, should have blown the hell out of all spontaneity. "My bedroom might be a better place."

It didn't bother Clyde. Without a word, he pulled me up and held me by my arm all the way to the bedroom. I barely had time to turn the covers back before our bodies were tumbling together, rubbing crotches. But not for long. He laid me on my back and spread my legs as I was raising my knees. I thought he might support himself with his arms, but instead he bent over so our lips were together as he entered me -- rather easily because I was so wet and loose. Our groins hammered at each other seeking release. My looseness would prevent what I desperately wanted to feel - his penis jerking and squirting inside of me. I thought to use my vaginal muscles. His deep animal-like groan had barely faded when I felt warm fluid in my ass crack and on my thighs.

Our mind blowing fuck was followed by the two of us clutching each other's sweat soaked bodies as he laid atop me. I only wished he'd stayed inside of me, but of course there's always another day, or better yet, a little later.

I was the one who interrupted the reverie. "Clyde, uhhhmm, I'm lying in a puddle."

"Shall I get a towel?"

"Yes, please. Get two. And a damp wash cloth."

When he came back, I took one towel and wiped the puddle. Tossing it I took the other and spread it out on the bed crossways over where out hips would be.

There was a note of apology in his voice as he remarked, "I should have thought to do that first."

"Don't be sorry. There wasn't time."

"Yeah, guess so. I was in a hurry."

"Me too. Now give me the washcloth and let me wipe you off." His move to take an on-the-knees position on the bed caused me to continue. "On your back is better."

My tender administrations, especially retracting his foreskin and carefully dabbing the head clean, initiated his recovery. Finished, I took his semi-erect penis in my hand and showed my admiration by kissing it.

"Kitty, oh Kitty. You're lovely, a dream."

"You're more than a dream. You're real and I'm holding your rapidly recovering penis."

"Uh, you want me to wipe you?"

"Yes. Quickly." And I laid on my back, legs spread and knees up a little to make his job easier.

He was efficient and when done, he tossed the cloth and moved to get himself between my legs. I got up before he got in position and interrupted by telling him, "Lay down again so I can admire you." I took him in my mouth again and before long and before I'd exhausted my repertoire of tricks, he was rock hard.

On my knees and straddling his hips, I said, "My turn." Then I settled down on him.

We overslept, meaning that we awoke too late to get to any ski area and sign on patrol. When you oversleep and don't have any fixed commitment, the sensible thing to do is go back to sleep. We did go back to sleep, but not before we had another good romp.

My resolution against hookups with with ski patrol guys was being pushed further and further aside. And being more than 15 years older than Clyde, he wasn't a viable candidate for a more permanent relationship. Over breakfast, actually brunch because we slept till almost eleven, I decided to clear the air. "Clyde dear, it would really be awkward for me if our patrol colleagues found out about this."

"Kitty, that's a nice way to ask me to keep this under wraps. Don't worry, I hate it when guys brag about the sex they've had, or worse yet, not had. Anybody asks where I was today, I'll just say I decided to go on a ski tour. You can just say you had a hard time finding a ride back to Carnelian Bay to get your car and couldn't make it in time for sign-in. As long as our stories jibe, shouldn't be any sweat."

"You're a dear, Clyde." I leaned over the table and gave him a kiss. If we hadn't been on opposite sides of the table, we'd probably have ended up back in the bedroom. But that came later in the afternoon.

At the time, I was telling myself this was just a one-night-stand, albeit a damn nice one. Maybe he thought so too. When he called me the following Wednesday, it was pretty clear that our one-night-stand was going to be repeated the coming weekend. It was on our second weekend together that he told me that he'd stopped trolling the bars for snow bunnies. Right after that second weekend together, I resolved to call him in mid-week and end the affair. That was easier said than done and after the second weekend there was a third weekend and so it went. Usually we'd spend Friday and Saturday nights together in my condo. Sometimes, Sunday night too if I didn't have a commitment on Monday morning.

At the beginning, all he knew about my work was that I was a nurse. After a few weeks, he started asking how I avoided night and weekend shifts. He seemed to accept my explanation of having seniority and position in the institutional hierarchy.

I'm able to avoid answering a question by giving a roundabout answer -- just not indefinitely and especially not if I'm spending lots of time with the one who asks. It was a Friday night a month or so after we started sleeping together, we had just had sex and were cuddled together, still sweaty and saying endearments to each other. I got one of these feelings, not so unlike the feeling when I wanted to go down on him, that I wanted to tell him stuff I hadn't told him before. "Clyde, I haven't been completely forthcoming about what I do -- who I am."

"You mean about how you're a prof at UCSF and that your stay in Seattle was to get a PhD in nursing?"

I don't know what shocked me more, that he knew or the casual way he said he knew. I swallowed and sniffed before replying. "Yes. I'm so sorry. Clyde dear, I can't blame you if you're upset with me."

"I'm not. I figured if you wanted me to know, you'd tell me. Bruce knew. One day it just slipped out. He begged me to keep a lid on it."

The way he accepted my deception and his soft sympathetic look made me cry some more. When I got myself settled down, I told him how I'd avoided telling people on the ski patrol because for some men, a professor title can be intimidating, especially if it's a female holding it. Of course my height, 5 foot 11 inches, didn't make men feel any more secure around me. "I always meant to tell you. I just couldn't seem to find the right time."

"Was it the mind blowing sex that we just had that made it the right time? Anything else you want to tell me before we do it again?"

I giggled. Then laid silent for a few minutes. "There is. It's just hard to start. Not something I've told more than a few people."

"Kitty, I don't want to pressure you into anything. Don't tell me unless you're gonna feel better afterwards."

"I told you how I'm originally from Boston. My parents were strong Catholics, Dad worked as a longshoreman, Mom was a housewife. Like all good Catholics, they sent me to a Catholic school so I'd get properly indoctrinated. Life was pretty normal, nothing outstanding until I was 10 and our parish got a new priest -- Father Rinaldo. The first change he made was to introduce a children's mass on Saturday afternoons. At first kids hated it because it cut into our play time. However, Father Rinaldo was really easy going and sort of jolly. Kids liked him and I even started looking forward to that children's mass. He even had kids take part -- reading scriptures and catechism. When a kid read really well, they got to stay after mass for a treat of ice cream or some other snack.

"I was jealous of the kids who read really well so I worked harder at reading and when he finally picked me, I was really proud and imagined how proud Dad and Mom would be. It turned out though that staying after mass wasn't just about ice cream. When I got home and started telling Mom about the after-mass ice cream session, she screamed at me for saying such things about a priest. 'priests don't do such things!' Then she slapped my face really hard - so hard that I tumbled over backwards.

"That afternoon, Dad happened to be at a local tavern watching a baseball game with some beer drinking buddies. When he finally got home, tipsy and in a rage over the Red Sox losing, Mom told him what I'd said and that got him even more fired up. He took me across his knees and gave me the spanking of my life. It was days before sitting on a wooden chair was comfortable.

"The next Saturday, I tried to get out of going to the children's mass but they made me go. I didn't read very well but the priest had me stay anyway. It turned out the same as the week before. When I got home and told Mom and Dad, I got another spanking for saying bad things about a priest."

Clyde didn't say a word. He just stared at me with an unbelieving look. It looked to me like tears were welling up in his eyes.

"Things really went downhill from there. I stopped doing schoolwork and got spankings for that. At some point I started fighting back. Of course, a 10-year-old can't fight with fists so I fought dirty. When Dad laid me across his lap for a spanking, I peed. He spanked harder, but he still had to change trousers.

"Ironically, it was another of Dad's sadistic punishments that led to the end of my misery. One evening when we were having hot dogs and sauerkraut for supper, there was for some reason, too few buns. Dad took the opportunity to punish me for bad school work by making me eat the hot dogs without buns. I threw a fit and he got really mad and said I would either just bite off the hot dog or go to bed without supper. I bit off the end and it so grossed me out that I ran to the bathroom and retched. Dad sent me to my room and in my fury, some very crazy thoughts went through my head and they stayed with me the rest of the week.

"Come Saturday, I was still full of fury and refused to go to the children's mass. Threatened with another spanking, I went and ended up being picked to stay for ice cream. I was still in a rage from Dad sending me to bed after the hot dog incident and having eaten little since then, I was hungry as well. Probably from the hunger, I had this weird light headedness -- like I was in a trance. I clamped my teeth together just like I'd done with the hot dog at home. Father Renaldo's blood curdling scream shook me out of the trance and I ran. Halfway home, I puked and puked. At home my mother was concerned about the blood on the front of my blouse. I said it came from a nosebleed.

"On Sunday, I expected Father Rinaldo to come in limping and bow legged, like one boy in second grade after his parents had him circumcised. Instead another priest came in and said that Father Rinaldo had taken ill and we should pray for his speedy recovery. That evening, my parents were called to the rectory for a meeting with the mother superior at our school and the new priest. They were gone for several hours and when they came home, they were very strung out and there were long whispered conversations that I was not supposed to hear.

"Later in the week my mom, long face and in tears, told me that the next weekend Aunt Louise was coming from Minneapolis to pick me up and I would be living with her for a while. She arrived on Saturday and on Sunday morning, we flew to Minneapolis. The following day, a Monday, I was enrolled in a public school in Maple Grove, Minnesota. As welcome as it was to not have nuns running my life, an even more welcome change was that Aunt Louise was not a regular church goer. In fact she wasn't a church goer at all and she didn't make me go."

"Kitty, at least you fought back. Damn but that must have taken guts. And your aunt was more understanding? She believed you then?"

"Oh yes. She let me tell her everything, actually insisted on it. Said that was the only way to come to terms with it. You know, she never said so in so many words, but I had the feeling that something like that had happened to her too because she seemed to know right away what was wrong. Anyway, I ended up finishing grade school and high school in Minneapolis -- all the time living with Aunt Louise."

"And your mom and dad, they ever come to see you?"

"Mom wanted to. I refused, told her on the telephone I didn't want to see either her or Dad again. Come high school graduation, I was valedictorian, they both wanted to come. I made it pretty clear that if they came, I wouldn't be at the graduation."

"And then you went to college in Seattle?"

"No, I went to the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis. Cheaper that way. I could keep on living with Aunt Louise. With a bachelor's degree in nursing and passing the state exam, I got hired at the University Medical Center. After a few years, I went on to grad school in Seattle. From there with a PhD, it was on to UC San Francisco."

(I didn't want to mention the shitty marriage I'd blundered into in Minneapolis. My medical student lover needed somebody to support him and pretended to fall in love with me. When he graduated, he decided he'd look bad with a wife who was 5 - 11 and that was that. Over the years I've heard lots of stories about nurses supporting med students through medical school and then once established as doctors, the bastards would find a trophy wife and the dumb nurse was out on the street. I ended up being one of the lucky ones. Aunt Louise helped me find a good lawyer and I got a divorce settlement that made him share future earnings with me.)

"Kitty, you're really something. Coming out from under something like what happened in Boston. I heard that lots of those kids end up needing therapy for years. Some never really get over it. There's even suicides."