Painful Beginnings

"The evening went very well, a beautiful meal and excellent music. She was blown away that I'd take her to this place. She had been brought up in the country and had attended many country dances. My dancing was rusty, after attending dancing class many years earlier while I was at school. We had a very enjoyable time and ended up kissing and cuddling in a carpark by the river. We arrived back at the hostel at around 3am, where she found an angry note under her door from her almost-boyfriend, Ken, telling her she should not have been out so late with me.

"The guy who thought he was her boyfriend was a strange character with a hobby of making knives! The inside of his door was covered in holes where he had thrown knives at it. Not a good sort of guy to cross. Carol wanted rid of him but needed time to let him down gently. We arranged a weekend away at the cabin I'd stayed in when I went hiking before my marriage. Ken took the three of us in his car and we stayed for the weekend, sleeping in communal bunks with Ken on one side of Carol, me on the other. It was interesting, to put it mildly. Carol finally convinced Ken that it was over and we all went home, still alive. Carol and I officially became a couple when we were caught holding hands in the hostel soon afterwards.

"There is great frustration in having the object of your desires so close yet so far away. However, it seemed that Carol was feeling that pressure also. Late one night as I was about to go to bed there was a knock on my door. I opened it and she entered, then slipped into my arms. I locked the door behind her and asked why she was here. She told me that answer should have been obvious. We stripped each other to our underwear, then squeezed into my single bed, removed the remainder of our clothing and we made love for the first time. She was not on birth control but told me it was her safe time. It was so long since I'd made love to a woman and it was the first time a woman had instigated the love making. It was wonderful, for all the five or so strokes we made together before I erupted. Carol hid her disappointment well and we kissed and caressed for a while afterwards before she dressed and left.

"This began a time of wonderful sex with a very willing partner. Carol returned a few nights later and this time I had a supply of condoms which we used. However, on one of those nights, after a glorious romp together, she told me something felt different. When I withdrew, the tattered remains of the condom came out also. She thought it was her fertile time. We were both devastated. What would we tell people? Here I was, married, part way through divorce proceedings, possibly impregnating my girlfriend. We were to attend a seminar the following day for our work and the only thought on our minds was what we would tell people and how we would cope with an unexpected and unwanted pregnancy. Neither of us has any idea what the seminar was about; we were in our own world for the whole day."

I paused, lost in thought, feeling the devastation again as we faced a very uncertain future together. Della became impatient.

"So, what happened? Did she keep the baby?"

"There was no baby, and I can tell you there were never two lovers so pleased when Carol announced the start of her next period. We sure dodged a bullet there. The most difficult part was finding 'us' time; time where we could talk, plan our future together, make love. Fortunately, we had several good friends who totally approved of our relationship and allowed us to use their spare rooms with king size beds on occasions. Those weekends away from the hostel were like oases in the desert and quite possibly saved our relationship.

"Time went by, we left our jobs and followed our dreams of working on the land, getting jobs on separate farms an hour's drive apart, with one day off per week to meet. My right hand gained further employment and Carol and I longed to be together for a night. Two jobs each went by until one day we were sitting beside the river, not far from where we made out on our first date, and she suggested we train as teachers. We applied, our late applications were accepted, we spent a tense summer at our parents' houses, meeting only occasionally, sleeping together never, then we had a week away, camping at a remote beach, swimming, fishing and making love. Heaven! The following week we started at college, both in single rooms in separate dorm blocks.

"That first year was living hell. I hated the noisy, claustrophobic dorm room and I hated not being able to spend nights with Carol. We did, illegally and very occasionally, sleep together in my room when the tension simply became too great. At the end of the first year we had three weeks placement in classrooms. We both applied for and were given schools close to the cabin where we'd stayed with Ken a few years earlier. We moved into the cabin and spent three glorious weeks of loving and sex every night, while practising our teaching on kids during the day. After that, it was holidays, separately, again.

"The following year we moved in together, sharing a house with a good friend then later moving into a house by ourselves, making a home together for the first time. My divorce came though, Carol and I were engaged then married, she graduated from college and found a teaching position in a local school, I continued at university then graduated, taught part time while I completed my thesis, my part time job became full time, we had a gorgeous baby girl, then bought our own house, which we renovated, had a second child, an equally gorgeous boy, moved far away to a new school, had our third child, moved back closer to home and basically lived our varied and interesting lives, watching our kids grow up, leave home, marry and have kids of their own. And that's about my story."

Della left the tape running and began asking pertinent questions.

"So, in some of your stories you write about pretty dark stuff. Where did all that come from?"

"I don't rightly know. I mentioned the dark dreams and imaginings I had when young; I don't know where those came from either. But what I have found is that initially it was very easy to write bdsm stories; I enjoyed it, imagining people receiving all sorts of painful punishment. But the more of that I write, the less I want to write. It's like by writing it I'm ridding myself of it. Possibly a really good therapy is for people to write stories about their darkest desires and thoughts. Maybe writing it out is an excellent therapy. I've certainly found it so."

"So, do all of your stories come from this place inside you?"

"No, in fact the weirdest stories are those that come to me as a sort of waking dream. 'Going Home' is one such story. I received most of the story as a waking dream one morning and had the very strong message to 'write my story' from Lana. I wrote what I had been told that day, but clearly it was missing the ending. The following morning I had the sequel waking dream with the surprise, shocking ending. I was then able to complete the story. Some people have commented about the ending; I simply wrote what I was told. I have no idea where the story came from, but although I would like to know, I don't need to know."

"Are there others that have just come to you like that?"

"Yes, 'Dying to be with Sylvie' is another one. That just came from somewhere, I have no idea where. When these stories are coming in, I live the story, I am the person, I see things through the eyes of the people in the story and more than anything, I feel their emotions. I almost drowned my computer in tears with that story, so sad, yet happening every day quite probably. Other stories relate to possibilities in actual situations. 'But for Her Sweet Love' is one like that. The situation is factual, the events a mix of fact and fiction. I like to think they make interesting reading; I certainly enjoy writing them."

"You have mentioned polyamory in several of your stories, like, for example, 'Aftermath'. Do you believe in polyamory?"

"Absolutely yes, provided it is agreed by all parties. I would love to be in a polyamorous relationship and know several people who have experimented with this for a short time. However, I know Carol would never countenance such an arrangement and I would never try to force her to do anything that she is not completely happy with. Perhaps I need to write so that, through writing, I can rid myself of these urges. I don't know. But as with many things, it would be great if we could all just lose our need to say how things 'should' be and simply allow people to decide what they choose to do without feeling the need to judge them for that. Of course, they must also be willing to accept responsibility for all the consequences of their actions, both foreseen and unforeseen."

"You've written and posted a great many stories. Do you feel proud of what you've achieved? I can imagine that if I was writing I'd be checking for comments and votes every day; do you do that?"

I chuckled gently. "No, I certainly don't do that. I have 99 stories posted on Literotica at present, the next one, the one that documents our weekend together, will be number 100. I think that's fitting, don't you?" I smiled as I saw her nod. "I check comments and ratings occasionally. Very infrequently I feel a need to reply to some comments and, on one occasion, I needed to change a story as a result of a comment, simply because I had made a fairly significant error. I will often thank those who comment for any comments that are useful or that point out problems with a story. However, most of the time the comment says more about the writer of the comment than about the story. Ratings, well, I like to think that I can consistently score between four and five, which applies to most stories. However, some of my favorite stories have not scored highly. I write mainly for myself because I enjoy it and at some perverse level, because I feel I need to write out whatever's in me that needs to be expressed. Hopefully some readers will find some stories interesting. What more can I ask?"

"You mentioned about this story being number 100. Does that mean you'll be writing about me losing my virginity?"

"Oh yes, sweetheart, that will be the highlight of my story."

"I can't wait to read it," Della replied as she turned off the tape. "But right now, darling, please take me to bed before we have a late lunch.

It's not every day that an oldie like me is asked to take a young hot chick to bed, so I didn't turn her down. Besides, I am into education so I needed to teach her a few more things. We held hands as we walked to the bedroom. We were naked so we wasted no time in climbing onto the bed. I placed her in position for doggie style, head low, ass in the air, and gently prepared her by stroking her pussy with my fingers, feeling her release her fluids as I spread these over her vulva. My cock was ready and willing so without further ado I slid into her, fully inside in one smooth entry until I felt the end of her vagina. I pressed a little harder, feeling her yield as my balls touched her clit. She brought a hand back and stroked my ball sac, moving it against herself while I bent over her back and reached for her hanging breasts, caressing them, tweaking her nipples to make them even harder as they engorged.

I moved back, withdrawing almost completely, then quickly rammed my cock back inside, hearing a soft 'oooff' as the air was forced from her lungs. Out then in again, this time she was ready so there was no 'oooff'. In and out, fucking Della's sweet pussy as she began making those keening sounds again. Time to take it to the next level.

After I pulled nearly fully out I paused, then slapped her ass cheek with my left hand followed by a hard push inwards to fill her once again. Next time I withdrew, it was a slap to the right ass cheek. Each withdrawal was followed by a slap on the ass, alternating left and right. I felt her responding, moving back and forth to meet my thrusts, her keening becoming louder as her arousal grew, I felt myself responding as well, my sperm seemed to be churning in my balls, aching to come out. Not yet, I told it, not yet.

Then Della was there, pressing backwards against me, seeking my full length as her body shook and trembled while she moaned out her orgasm. I rested over her back, fully engulfed by her sucking vagina as it sought my juices. Not this time, maybe later, I tried to communicate mentally. Della slumped in post-orgasmic bliss. I moved back and withdrew, allowing her to roll onto her side and straighten. We held each other, face to face, kissing, cuddling, loving.

"It seems so strange to be lying here with you after hearing your story," she said at last, "All those emotional traumas yet you're still a loving, caring guy."

"Thank you, sweetheart, I certainly try to be and I also feel just as sexy now as I did when far younger. Sex is not something only for the young, it is a basic need for everyone. I firmly believe that a healthy sex life is essential for a healthy and long life. Wrinkles don't stop you feeling sexy. Anyway, that's our exercise before lunch. I'm hungry."

I kissed her again then stood, assisting her off the bed, then, again, we remained naked as we went to the kitchen and prepared lunch, which we ate on the balcony sitting in lounge chairs in the sun.

"Do you use sunscreen?" she asked.

"No, never," I replied, "I tan naturally. I may use some coconut oil but I firmly believe that all the melanoma that is so prevalent today is due to the toxic chemicals that are included in sun screen lotions and creams. Why would you want to put these carcinogenic toxins on your largest organ, your skin? Tanning is a natural process and unless you're stupid and get badly sunburnt, it is beneficial. Besides which, sunlight stimulates the production of vitamin D, while sunscreen prevents this from being formed, leading to the current vitamin D deficiency so common nowadays. Of course, Big Pharma is laughing all the way to the bank, collecting for the sunscreen, the vitamin D supplements and the melanoma treatment chemicals. It's all a con; just follow the money if you want to find the truth."

"Is that my lecture for today?" Della asked with a grin.

"Well, I was a teacher and I still feel I have a role in educating people, so it'll do for now anyway. Maybe we'll have another practical this afternoon if you wish. I know I'd like to."

We soaked up the sun for a while before I told her she needed to move to the shade as her skin was not accustomed to long periods of sun exposure. We both walked inside, my eyes glued to her still slightly red ass cheeks as they shook sexily with each step. My cock seemed to rise a little for a better view as well. Then we were back into the interview again and all business.

"So, with this story, how will you differentiate between fact and fiction?"

"Well, I really don't. It is a story, after all. None of it need be true or all of it could be true, it's entirely up to the reader. I won't be labelling a bit, saying 'this is true' or 'this is from my imagination'. The reader has to make up his or her own mind. That's the beauty of the story."

"And will you write it in first person or as a report like I'll be doing?"

"This one, probably in the first person. This allows the reader to identify better with the people in the story. This can also be a disadvantage. If a person identifies with someone in the story, as happened with one of my stories, this can trigger needless emotional traumas. In that case, I rewrote it in third person and posted it. To my mind it suffered because of that. However, some stories may be better at arm's length as offered by using third person. These may include stories with sexual violence, which people may be more comfortable reading about than feeling what is actually being felt by the person on whom the violence is inflicted."

Della turned off the tape and put her notebook and pencil down.

"You look so sexy just sitting there," she said with a smile, "I feel devilish. Ok?"

"Ok by me, feel and be as devilish as you wish."

She stood, walked to me and knelt on the floor at my feet. Some men would say that was a woman's place anyway, but I don't believe that. Anyway, she then began caressing my cock, watching as it grew. She wet her hand and rehydrated her own juices which were still on it from our pre-lunch romp, then began stroking it up and down while cupping my balls.

"How does that feel?"

"Wonderful. You can only do that for the rest of my life though."

She chuckled, then without warning, squeezed my balls hard, encircling them with her thumb and finger and pulling them down at the same time.

"Ooowwwww!" I yelled, "That hurts."

"Yes, I thought it might," she replied, smiling but also slightly reducing the downward pull, "But I know that some of your heroes like it when their partners or torturers do that, so I just wanted to see your response. After all, you started the bdsm phase by whacking my ass."

"So, do you want to take this further or what?"

"Not necessarily, but what do you suggest?"

"Well, I'd just as soon not. As I mentioned earlier, the dark part of me is mainly burnt out, enlightened I guess you could say. But if you want to try anything just tell me."

She looked at me with her big eyes, so trusting, so young, so naïve, I thought. Would it be fun to punish her? How? I had a cane in the bedroom, Carol liked it sometimes, would Della?

"Do you have a cane?" she asked as though reading my thoughts.

"Yes, do you want to feel it?"

"Well, it seems your heroines like it; I've often wondered what it feels like."

"Hmmm, well, we'll see. Maybe later, if you're good."

She instantly went into role play mode.

"Oh, yes, Daddy, I'll be good, Daddy."

Matching her actions to her words, she wriggled forwards and, with her eyes looking upwards to meet mine, she lowered her mouth over my cock. I doubted she'd ever done that before; this was a weekend of firsts for her. However, she took my cock into her mouth then tilted her head and started feeding it down her throat like a professional, swallowing to try to get it down. She couldn't control her gag reflex, however, and coughed once, lifted her head and went into a coughing fit.

"It's not as easy as your stories make out," she said once she'd recovered.

"Probably not. Those parts of the stories are fiction," I grinned.

She tried again, with the same result.

"I know another way," she said with a grin, "All little girls like to sit on their daddy's lap."

She spread her legs and slid herself onto my lap with her legs straddling my thighs. She wriggled forwards until her pussy was against my cock. We kissed.

"Am I being a good girl now, Daddy?"

"Yes, sweetie, you're being a very good girl, but you're also being naughty, you know."

"Oh goody," she said, grinning up at me and sticking her thumb in her mouth as a child might, "That means you'll need to cane me."

My cock twitched at the thought. She obviously felt it and wrapped her arms around my neck as our lips met and she leant backwards, thrusting her hips towards my cock which lowered as I tilted forwards. I felt the head penetrate her opening; she felt it too, because then she leant forwards. Pushing me backwards and thrusting my cock further inside her. We sat like that for a while, rocking slowly back and forth, my cock sliding gently in and out of her as I felt her juices dripping onto my thighs. It was a simple stimulation of each other and was probably never going to reach any orgasmic conclusion; needless to say, we both became very aroused; I enjoyed the feeling of her young hard nipples against my chest as we hugged and kissed each other as we gently fucked.

We must have continued for about half an hour, 30 minutes of gloriously arousing lovemaking, when she suddenly stopped and slid off my lap. My cock felt suddenly cold without its warm sheath.