Matt’s Awakening Ch. 02

The next day, while Matt was preparing for school, a vehicle honked repeatedly outside. He drew aside the shades across his window which faced the street directly and felt his stomach twist. His neighbor, Patricia, had parked her sleek black Mercedes on the sidewalk and glided across the low green carpet of the lawn and to their front door.

Matt's heart pounded in his chest, his mouth went dry and he had to hold on to the window sill.

This was it. Patricia was had definitely caught him watching her the previous day and she was going to report to his mum. And what would his mother think of him from then on? A deviant and a pervert?

Matt had always felt the need to be as perfect a son as was humanly possible. After all, since when his dad left them to marry some chick from Costa Rica, his mother, Francine, only had him. They only had each other and Matt tried his best never to disappoint: he studied hard and was just an above average student; he never mixed with the wrong crowd and planned his life to the detail, like a spreadsheet.

He could see all that crumbling down, he could see the disappointment in Francine's eyes. He heard the front door open and Patricia's airy voice float around the house. Francine said something in reply and both women burst out laughing.

Matt shut the window and frowned, confused. It didn't sound like they were discussing anything serious. He heard the chink of glass and, again, laughter from both women. Perhaps Patricia hadn't seen him the previous day and he was being merely paranoid.

He waited a few moments with his ear pressed closed to the door. He was running late and already, Jamie had texted twice, asking what he was doing. Matt took a deep breath, opened the door and scampered down the stairs. He would have to go through the kitchen to reach the foyer, so he put on a sweet smile.

Francine was seated by the kitchen table with her back to him. Patricia was facing Francine, so she saw him immediately he dropped down the last stair.

Patricia was dressed in a long black dress with short sleeves which ended in gold flowery embroidery. Her short dark hair was shaped into a bob. She was sipping on a glass of red wine, and together with her blood red fingernails, her pale skin looked startling.

"Matthew," said Patricia. "There you are."

Francine turned, still chuckling from something Patricia had said. "Aren't you running late?"

Patricia smiled at him, she had unusually long incisors. She clinked her nails against the glass. The table hid the rest of her body from midriff down, but Matt remembered the juicy swell of her ass. He'd even dreamed about it, dreamt he'd run his tongue across those ass cheeks and buried his face between the thick pillowy flesh, and had woken up this morning with the sheets wet with cum.

Matt couldn't take his eyes off Patricia, he seemed like a deer transfixed in the glare of headlights.

"Uh... eh... Yes, I'm on my... uh... way now. Uh... Bye." He managed to tear his eyes off Patricia and gave Francine a quick smile.

"Matt, wait a minute. Pat here needs your help with something." Francine turned to Patricia. "What was that thing you said?"

Patricia waved it off. "Don't worry. I wouldn't want to bother Matthew."

"Don't you worry," said Francine. "Matt is a bit of a tech geek."

Patricia laughed then leaned forward. "Well, my laptop has been acting up these days, you see. Awfully slow. Turns off on its own and comes back on. Yesterday while going through my email the screen turns red for a couple of moments and when it comes back on it shows up a row of numbers. I'm thinking of getting a new one but I have a lot of my stuff in there, you know."

Matt nodded. "Could be a virus. Most likely a virus."

"You see?" said Francine.

"I thought as much," said Patricia. "I'll pay a visit to the tech shop later in the day."

After almost getting caught the previous day Matt wanted to stay as far away from Patricia as possible, but she was irresistible. She gave off vibes of equal measures of excitement and trouble.

"I could help you with that," said Matt. "I have an antivirus software I haven't used somewhere around. I'll look for it and hopefully get your computer back to normal."

Patricia put a dainty hand over her mouth. "Oh! That's so kind of you."

Matt felt color rush to his cheeks, then he bade Patricia and Francine goodbye.

Jamie lived five minutes away, but Matt made it in two. He jumped into Jamie's old truck--an inheritance from his grandfather-- breathing hard.

Jamie revved the asthmatic engine, pointed at the clock on the rickety dashboard and gave him a sour look. "What's up with you?" he asked.

"Nothing," said Matt. He took a few moments to catch his breath as Jamie drove across their neighborhood to their school, Stafford High.

Matt breathed a sigh of relief, relieved that Patricia hadn't seen him after all. She seemed like the talkative neighbor he'd always known, though he remembered that her eyes had twinkled strangely as he left. Perhaps it was just the wine.

Like any school, the students of Stafford High were divided into strata and further divided into cliques.

There were the posh kids who lived in the richest part of the neighborhood, you could recognize them with the way they strutted into school in their convertibles, looked down at everyone else from the top of their noses and seemed to get away with every wrongdoing.

There were the studious kids, the nerds who had practically no social life apart from the book clubs and science clubs and drama clubs, you could recognize them by the way they effortlessly excelled in class, quoted obscure poets and could recite, in chronological order, the presidents of America. They also went around huddled around each other like a school of fish or small mammals during winter.

There were the athletes, the stars of the school whose names decorated the trophy cabinets in the rec room, you could recognize them with their talk which was always about some lofty aspirations. They all had dreams of becoming sport stars in a few years.

Then there were the cheerleaders, mostly blond, lithe, blue-eyed beauties. The serial heartbreakers. Jamie had once joked that probably every boy in the school was crushing on, or had once crushed on a cheerleader.

No one ever mentioned this division, but everyone towed the line unconsciously. Students gravitated towards each other without thinking about it, whether it was in the cafeteria sitting arrangement or class photographs or sleepovers. And in few cases, some students belonged to more than a group.

Matt was an athlete, but of a lesser kind, relative to the unspoken rule of the school. The two sports in Stafford High were football and soccer. Football got all the praise and trophies, and over the years it had become the priority.

The football players were also the unofficial face of the school. And they all seemed like they were mass produced in the same factory. They were the stereotypical jocks. All above 6 feet. And they all sprayed an abundance of the same cologne.

Soccer, on the other hand was not as popular among the students. Throughout the history of the school the soccer team had won only one trophy--a second-place finish in the junior league, and eventually interest for the sport fizzled out amongst the students.

But recently a group of parents had called for more diversity in the students' extra-curricular activity, so Principal McKennie grudgingly had the old soccer pitch laid with grass and painted. He hired a washed-out former soccer player, Coach Klimon, who chain-smoked and shouted a lot, but now seemed to be holding the team together.

Now Matt and his team were on the cusp of entering the Interstate League. That kind of publicity could change everything: their status in school and even their futures when scouts come knocking.

Immediately after the last class of the day, Matt and his team trooped out onto the field for a training session. All their gears seemed to be reeking of cigarette. Even Phillip, one of the goalies, sniffed his gloves and mock wretched.

"Alright, listen up," boomed Coach Klimon. The team squatted and gathered, in a circle, around the coach. Matt looked towards the bleachers. It was empty as always apart from a teacher sitting high up and down below, some three students. There were no cheerleaders; there were never cheerleaders for soccer practice. But the cheerleaders were always present when the guys who played the other football were around. They followed each other like bees in a swarm.

"We've got a goal," Coach Klimon was saying. "You've gotta get at it, work towards it like it's the only thing you live for." He raised a fist to his protruding gut. "You've gotta want it like nothing else. We've gotta win the playoffs, after that, the real work begins."

Matt wondered how Coach Klimon came to be so washed-out. Word was he had been a successful footballer in Europe back in the days, but had fallen from grace after a scandal. No one knew what exactly the scandal was, of course there were rumors that he had done drugs or had assaulted a girlfriend, but no one was sure.

Matt had seen the coach in shorts one day and was surprised to see his calves still well formed. The man could also handle a ball sweetly, despite his belly and frequent smoking.

"Alright," said Coach Klimon. "Let's go." He raised the whistle swinging on his chest and blew hard, piercing Matt's ear as the boys divided into two teams and scattered across the field.

Play started some minutes past four pm. Matt was of slight frame and the shortest in the team. He played in the midfield, a position which required all of his concentration. He reckoned he was pretty decent but could improve.

"Hey, Matt," Coach Klimon shouted. "Keep your head up, your eyes around."

Matt nodded. Coach Klimon had said that to him over the weeks probably a thousand times. At first it had felt like nagging, but Matt had begun to see the sense in that. If he kept his head up then he had a better view of the field and the positions of his teammates, so he could pass efficiently. And if he always looked around him, he would know when an opposing player was close enough to pressure him and steal the ball.

Matt had just made his first touch of the game when he was tackled from behind. He went face-first into the knee of the player in front of him. He rolled onto his back. His nose hurt and he felt fuzzy.

Coach Klimon sounded the whistle, sharply. Play was stopped and the whole team gathered. Matt groaned, now his nose and head hurt like hell. He raised a finger to his nose and found it bloody. Sunlight splintered, darkened and brightened.

Coach Klimon's face appeared above him. "O boy," he said.

When Matt came to he was lying on a cool bed in a room. The walls were white and to his right was a large brown poster filled with some anatomical jargon. He was in the nurse's office. He wondered how he had got here. He had passed out, he realized. It couldn't have being for long because Coach Klimon was at the door and the guys were behind him, peering in.

Matt felt a hand on his temple and Jane, the school nurse's face filled his view. She tore a little piece of cotton wool and held it to his nose. "Sit up," she said.

It seemed Jane had forbidden anyone from coming in because Coach Klimon stood right on the door sill, scratching his head. "Are you okay, son?" he boomed.

Matt smiled. He felt clear headed and only his nose still hurt. He gave a thumbs up.

"See?" said Jane. "Now you guys can go back to what you were doing, and for God's sake let some air in."

Coach Klimon turned back to the boys. "What are you still doing? Are you some bunch of ladies? Git!"

Jane shut the door after them. The nurse usually dressed weird and today was no different. She was in a loose purple shirt and dark pants. She seemed chubby, but it was hard to know, her clothes were always a size or two too big. She walked towards Matt and raised two fingers, waving them across his face. "How many fingers?"

"Two."

Jane went to her desk, rummaged in the drawer and came back with a penlight which she flashed into Matt's eyes. A few moments later she switched it off, satisfied.

She sat at her desk and began scribbling on a paper. "Your nose is going to be pretty red for the next couple of days. This ointment will help with the bruise."

Matt suddenly felt a sharp stab by his side. He scratched at it, but it was insistent. Jane noticed and she got up from her seat. "Raise your shirt up," she said. "Then lay down."

Matt dragged up his shirt and felt the prick follow. Jane stopped him when the collar was near his neck. She picked at his side and drew out a stalk of grass with a thorny head.

"Nothing to worry about."

Matt suddenly felt very conscious of his half-nakedness. His jersey was halfway up his chest and only his shorts remained. Jane leaned forward over his head and his eyes peered directly into the wide space between one button and the next, and into the cavern of her chest. Matt felt his breath quicken, his eyes almost popped out of their socket.

The nurse was carrying. There was an enormous amount of breast flesh swinging right above his head, swaying, jiggling. Blood rushed to Matt's head and to his cock.

"Uh... I think I'm okay now." he stuttered. "Really."

Jane stood back, eyebrows raised. "I wouldn't advise you go back to the game."

Matt was sweating. His crotch had a visible bulge now, he was sure of it. He willed it to go down, but it had plans of its own.

As if on cue, Jane's eyes swung to his belly, then his crotch. Her eyes widened briefly, then she bit into her nail. "Oh," she said. She leaned against the recliner frame and ran a hand through her hair. She suddenly seemed unsure of herself though Matt could have sworn that a moment ago she would dismiss him like she had done Coach Klimon and the boys.

"That must be really uncomfortable." Jane cleared her throat. "Oh well... We really should take care of that. Shouldn't we?"

"Er... I mean..." Matt stuttered and swallowed, really unsure as to what Jane was asking of him.

She went to the door and locked it. Matt couldn't believe his ears and eyes. A thousand thoughts ran through his head. His cock wasn't listening to his commands and was almost at full mast now. Jane leaned over him, humming under her breath, brown hair tickling his chest, and brought her forearms together, pushing her breasts into one another. She let lose the top button and her cleavage jutted out and up her chest.

"Look at that machinery you're packing," she said, in a slow whisper. "Who'd have thought..."

She moved her tits sideways, dragging her cleavage and satiny bra across Matt's stomach and rubbing them against his hardening cock inside his shorts. Matt still had his arms entangled in his vest. He watched, in a daze, as Jane unfastened his shorts and pulled them down to his ankles. His cock formed a large bulge in its semi-hard state.

Matt wanted to reach up and pull off her shirt and see those tits of hers in all their glory, but he stayed put, his hands still in his vest and stretched over his head. He didn't want to break whatever spell had been cast here. Perhaps he was still unconscious and this was all in his head.

Jane pulled down the waistband of his underwear and his cock sprung out, hitting Jane on the cheek and falling flat across his pelvis.

Jane chuckled. "Splendid."

She made a noise deep in her throat, blew across his cock and slowly let a long string of saliva pool on the bulbous head. Matt moaned. Jane grinned wickedly, then slid one hand across the shaft and tickled his balls with her fingertips.

Matt straightened out, like an electrical charge had gone off in his head. His eyes rolled back as his cock lurched, firing strand after strand of hot milky cum. He heard Jane gasp and it seemed distant. It seemed he had being cumming forever and when he opened his eyes, Jane was licking the cum off her fingers, slurping the white ropes across his abdomen, running her hot tongue down his balls and even licking up a few drops on the bed.

Matt couldn't believe his eyes, couldn't believe what had just happened. The head of his cock glistened on his stomach. Jane took the head between two fingers and milked his shaft up, then picked up the last drop of cum with her fingers and slurped it up. Then she returned to his crotch, licking and licking.

Matt watched her head on his abdomen for a while, then decided to take the initiative. He reached down and slid his hands into the neckline of her top, feeling the satiny material holding her enormous tits.

Jane stood up, unbuttoning the rest of the shirt. Her mouth and jaw glistened. The shirt came off and Matt couldn't hold back his gasp of surprise. The bra was a featureless white satin, and it was barely doing the job of holding those mammaries in place. Jane was pretty tan all over, except for her chest where the skin was a shade lighter.

She put her hand behind her, the bra snapped off and suddenly her tits fell out and down, falling across her chest like an avalanche. Jane had to be, at most, in her early forties, her tits sagged a bit, the skin there seemed stretchier than the rest of her, but that somehow made them more splendid.

Matt had never seen tits this big, in fact, he had never seen any tits up close. He couldn't resist and he raised his hands up to them, feeling the unbelievably smooth skin, hefting the heavy jugs in his hands and molding them, feeling them ooze between his fingers. Like a pattern, a single blue vein ran astride each tit.

Her areolas were dark, cookie-brown and several inches wide, like saucers. Her nipples were small, but hard and stuck out enticingly. Around the nipples were several ridges. Matt put his face to her tits, inhaling her scent, feeling the salt on his tongue. He dove into her chest, licking around the tits, feeling the rubbery nipples in his mouth. He couldn't get enough of her tits; they were so large it was like trying to map the ocean in a dinghy.

He pursed his lips and sucked at the titflesh, slurping at the melons, giving each equal attention.

"Ooh," Jane cooed. "Someone knows what he's doing."

He felt one of her hands take hold of his cock which had become rock hard again. Jane's hands slid fluidly through the mixture of cum and saliva coating his cock. She seemed to be rubbing her crotch against his knee. She pushed him back on the recliner and went between his legs. Leaning down she took his cock into her mouth with one inhale.

"You're gonna be a heartbreaker with this tool of yours," she said, just before her mouth got stuffed full with his cock.

Matt was in heaven. Jane's slippery wet tongue was heavenly as she bobbed on his cock. Her mouth could only go halfway down.

Matt had had a blowjob before, once. It was at a party with some random girl from out of town. She had been half-drunk and he'd had only one can of beer. The blowjob ended as soon as it had started because she used a lot of teeth. Matt thought she either had absolutely no experience or she was too drunk to focus. His cock wilted between her lips and he couldn't get it up again.

But Jane definitely knew what he was doing. She stood up, eyes twinkling, forehead sweating, and spat a white glob of spit on his cock. "How long is your cock?"

Matt shrugged. "I don't know."

Matt watched his pulsing cock. It had never looked this big, this engorged with blood. What Matt's cock didn't have in girth it made up with length. A slender one-eyed snake. He had never been concerned about the length. Though he'd once overhead some of the jocks teasing each other about the size of their penis, it only seemed like something a jock would say or even worry about. The soccer players were a quieter, less rowdy bunch. And even their training times were different from the football players, so they'd never met in the shower stalls.