I turned eighteen in June, just before graduating from high school. I missed being valedictorian, which pissed me off, but being second in the class wasn't too bad. I had been accepted at State University and had little to worry about until Fall. I wanted a summer job, and finally found one at Swanson's groceries. This was an upscale store that held its own against our supermarket by having a good line of gourmet articles and very good service, which is where I came in. Many of its customers wanted their orders delivered. Their one van was busy a good part of the day, sometimes with bulky items, and they needed a means of quick delivery to people who needed something small at the last minute. I told them that I could do that very well on my bicycle, and after giving me a couple trial runs, they hired me.
The Flower Apartments constituted a large, two story building less than a mile from Swanson's, and accounted for a good share of my work. It held about forty good-sized apartments, each with a balcony overlooking the big beds of flowers that made its name apropriate, and embraced a tennis court and a large swimming pool. After my first visit I made it a point always to use the entrance at the end of the pool where I could glance at the bikini-clad women lounging in the sun on long chairs. I wished I could inspect them much more closely.
One day, late in the afternoon, I was told to deliver two bottles of wine to a Ms. Carol Matthews at the Flower. On my way to her second-floor apartment I was disappointed at finding no bare skin at the pool, but was rewarded when she opened the door and let me in. She was wearing nothing but a bright yellow bikini. The top seemd kind of tight and did less than half the job of covering a pair of good-sized breasts, and the bottom was definitely skimpy. It went beautifully with her tanned skin and abundant, long yellow hair. She smiled, greeted me, and asked me to step in while she went for her purse. Another woman was seated in the sunny sitting room, similarly clothed but in black that went with her short, black hair. She nodded and smiled at me as I tried to avoid staring. Ms. Matthews returned with a dollar bill she handed me.
"That was fast," she said. "Do you always come that quickly?"
"Whenever I can, miss," I answered, studiously avoiding the urge to look down the space between her breasts as she stood close to me.
"Oh, that's lovely," she said. "what's your name?"
I told her. After looking into my eyes for a long moment she said,
"Well, I'm sure I'll be seeing you again, Paul."
I thanked her warmly, and left.
Ms. Matthews occupied my thoughts as a I rode back to the store. She must be old, I thought, ages older than I, so why was she so fascinating? Why did she seem sexier than any of the high school girls I knew? What would it be like to hold her, to feel those ripe breasts? What could I see under that little bikini bottom? What was she going to do with all that wine? That night her image kept flashing before me as I stroked my prick, wondering what it could be like to have it inside a woman like that, and my prick answered with a gratifying ejaculation.
The next day Ms. Matthews called Swanson's late in the day with a small order -- crackers and cheese and another bottle of wine.
"It's pretty late, Paul," Mr. Swanson said, holding the telephone. "Shall I tell her she'll have to wait to tomorrow?"
"No," I told him. "I can do it on my way home."
When she opened her door to me a few minutes later she was again wearing just a bikini, bright blue this time, a lovely contrast to the long, golden hair nearly covering its well filled top. She asked me to bring my package to the kitchen, saying,
"Oh, maybe it's silly, but I just suddenly felt felt this urge for a snack and didn't have a thing here."
She spread out the contents.
"I'm so glad the store wasn't closed and you could still come," she said. "Do you have to go back now?"
I said I didn't, and she invited me to sit down and share her snack. With a modest sign of reluctance, I did. She asked if I wanted some wine; just a sip, I told her. She poured considerably more than a sip, and we munched quietly for a minute. I had trouble knowing where to look. I wanted to stare at her half naked tits hanging over the table, or even admire her full, red lips, long eyelashes and the long yellow hair that streamed over her shoulders. She didn't seem to have that problem. She gazed at me steadily, inquisitively. I felt I was being examined. And then the questions began. She wanted to know where I was in school, and seemed pleased that I had graduated. She wanted to know about my classes, and approved my choices. She asked about athletics, and said that I looked very fit. Then she asked about the girls in school, and I had more trouble being coherent. Did I go out with them? Yes. Did I have a special girlfriend? No. Was I popular with the girls? I didn't think so, and she expressed surprise at that; she would have thought I was. I was getting uncomfortable. I certainly liked her interest in me, but wondered about my answers: were they the right ones, that is, would they make her even more interested?
She finally stopped, acknowledging that really had asked for a lot of information, and volunteered some about herself. She'd gone to an educational college and taught in a high school for several years after she graduated. Two years ago she met an attractive and and well-off man who wooed her furiously, and they married; he bought the apartment she was living in now. They turned out to be not nearly as compatible as she had hoped. A year later she came home early from a trip and found him in bed with a neighbor. She had a witness with her (Carol, the woman I had seen with her the day before) who just happened to be carrying a camera and managed to get a good shot of her naked husband on top of her naked neighbor. The divorce was sure and quick and left her with this apartment and a comfortable income for the next three years.
All this was bewildering: that she would tell me so freely, almost gaily, this intimate and very adult story. When she finished she said,
"Well, now we know something of each other's lives. I hope I haven't bored you."
"Lord, no," I said, "it's fascinating. But that must have been awful for you."
"Well, yes and no," she said. "I was pretty upset. I'd been a very good girl since the day we married -- in spite of quite a few opportunities and, I might say, some strong temptations. But when that happened, it changed my views about sex. You shouldn't just hold it all in and devote yourself to one person, if that's not your nature. There are a lot of people out there, and some of them are very, very nice."
She put her hand on my bare arm. "That's enough philosophy for tonight! I think I better stop now."
I thought so, too. It would take me a while to digest all that. I took my leave, reluctantly, and she seemed sad about my leaving, too.
I was disappointed the next day that Ms. Matthews didn't place an order with us. I had the wild idea of going to see her anyway, but suppressed it. Instead I featured her that night, as I had the night before, in my jackoff fantasy. As always, what I and my imaginary companion actually did together was pretty obscure, but her presence was a great aid to my enjoyment.
She did call the next day, with some tiny order. I left as Mr. Swenson was closing.
"That Ms. Matthews likes to call late, doesn't she?" he said. "What's she like?"
"Oh, very nice," I replied.
"You be careful there, boy," he said. "The Flower is quite a place. I know, I used to deliver there in person. Some of those women...they'll take your balls right off."
"O.K.," I answered, and left.
The bikini for today was black. I thought I like the colored ones better, but this was even smaller than they had been, and as I followed her into the kitchen the top of her ass crack was clearly visible above the oscillating cheeks. After unloading the small bag I had brought she invited me to sit down in one of the overstuffed easy chairs in the living room and she took another. She picked up a magazine beside her.
"Paul," she said, "I like to keep up with what's going on in the schools today, and there's a very interesting article in here. It's a survey of high school students, about their personal lives ... well, in fact, about their sex lives. It's really quite fascinating. Do you mind if I read you some of it?"
"No," I answered, trying not to sound as excited as I was feeling.
"For example," she said, "it says that all but fifteen percent of the students have had some sexual experience before entering high school, usually just by themselves. Seventy percent of the girls have masturbated, and ninety-eight percent of the boys! Does that sound right to you?"
"Well," I answered slowly, "I don't know about the girls, but as for the boys, I'm not surprised."
"Oh, my," she said, I wonder how they get them to talk so freely. Here...let's do this. I'm an interviewer, and you're a high school student. I'm going to ask you questions about your sex experiences, and you're going to answer, freely and frankly. And don't be embarassed, it's all in the interest of science. O.K.?"
What could I say but "O.K."? And I did, vividly aware of the hardon that was growing in my pants.
"All right, here's the question about masturbation. Do you masturbate, Paul?"
"Yes, I do, ma'am," I replied.
"Mm", she uttered. "'Ma'am's all right for this scientific interview, but I want you to call me Carol the rest of the time, right? Now here's the next question, When did you begin masturbating?"
"A long time ago," I answered, "before I was eleven."
"Oh, my. Next: How often do you masturbate now?"
I couldn't answer that right away. She was playing some kind of game with me, and I didn't know the rules. But she was having fun with it, so why shouldn't I? And I answered, "Every chance I get."
She stared at me. It looked like she was barely suppressing a broad smile. "All right," she said, "Uhh ... What other sexual experience have you had?"
"Well, none," I answered.
"You have never had sex with another person?"
I sighed, "No, not really." I wasn't ready to tell her about Dan and me.
"'Not really'? You mean, you've had something like sex with another person?"
"Well, sort of."
"If this is going to be a sincere interview, you should tell me exactly what kind of sex you have had.:
"Well, I have this friend, and we have...uh...handled each other."
"You mean you masturbated anoher boy, and he masturbated you?"
"Yes, that's it."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"How many times have you done that?"
"Maybe a dozen."
"And when did you start, and when was the last time you did that?"
"Oh, we started about a month ago, and the last time was...uh...last Thursday, I guess."
"Oh! Do you plan to continue this...affair?"
"He left town to go to a summer school, out of state.."
"You poor boy. You're on your own now, it seems. Did you masturbate after he left?"
"When was the last time?"
"Ooh...What do you think about when you masturbate?"
"Different things. I imagine someone with me...a girl."
"But I gather you've never had sex with a girl."
"Have you wanted to?"
"You want to have sex with a girl?"
"Or, should I say, with a woman?"
It was getting harder for me to answer, but I managed "Yes.",
There was a long pause. "Do you want to have sex with me?"
I didn't pause, but croaked out "Yes!"
"Well," she said, putting the magazine aside, "I guess the interview is over. This scientist has learned all she needs to know. Follow me."
She opened another door and I followed her, with some pain from the hard penis jammed against my pants, into a large, dimly lighted room whose main features were a long, elaborately mirrored dresser and a great, big bed. She turned, came close, and put her hands on my shoulders.
"This really will be your first time, Paul?" she asked.
"Are you nervous?"
"Yes," I answered honestly.
"Don't be. It's going to be lovely. I'll tell you everything you need to know. Do you know how to kiss?"
"I think so," I replied, weakly.
"Let's see," she said, and put her lips on mine. I put my arms around her waist and she pressed her body against me. Her lips opened and her tongue slid out and parted mine. It was delicious. I pressed back with my tongue and they played together, my lips and mouth tingling.
She broke off and said, "Pretty good. Now take off your shirt."
"Now, take off my suit top."
I embraced her again and reached for whatever held that skimpy top together. Amazingly I found it, fumbled for a little with some kind of catch, and released it. The whole thing fell to the floor. She came close and touched my chest with her released breasts. She moved from side to side and I could feel her nipples graze mine, which sprang to a totally unaccustomed alertness.
After a minute of this she backed off and said, "You must take off those shoes, Paul. And your socks."
I bent over and did that as quickly as I could, even while looking up at her flat belly and those beautiful, spherical boobs with their now pointed tips. I stood up. She put her hands to my waist and unbuckled by big leather belt, found the zipper in my fly, pulled it down, and pulled my jeans down to my feet. My cock was trying to poke through my jockey shorts. She put her hands on the waistband and, pulling hard, got it over the end of my cock and down my legs.
"Mmm." she hummed, putting her hand gently around my prick. "That looks good. Now finish undressing me."
I really didn't know how to do that, but reached for her hips and hooked my thumbs under the top of the bikini bottom. It was tight, but I managed to wriggle it over her bottom and down her thighs until it fell to the floor. I stepped out of the pile of clothing around my feet and stood there, uncertain, but looking wondringly at her lovely curves, at the light yellow hair below her belly, and at something pink and rounded below that. My cock was standing out straight and, it felt, on the very verge of coming, all on its own.
"Well, here we are, lover," she said, "just as nature intended. Isn't it fine? Now let's see what we can do with this."
She moved to the bed, climbed onto it, and lay back, head on a pillow. Her legs moved apart and she raised her knees.
"Come here," she said, "and get ready to get on top."
I went to the end, got up, and kneeled between her outstretched legs. I was straining to take in all that I saw. Her long body on the bed; her breasts, jutting up; her waist, her tiny belly button, the triangle of blond hair at her crotch, and most of all the pink thing that now looked like a pair of glistening, swollen, vertical lips.
"Come on," she said, "lean down, and put the tip of your cock on my cunt."
I brought my elbows down on either side of her and tried to guide my prick to the right place. It seemed right; it was into something soft.
"Good," she said, "now slide it in."
I pushed a little. It entered easily, and the head was encased by something deliciously soft.
"All right, farther," she told me.
I moved on. What a feeling! Every square millimeter of my prick was stimulated by warm soft, slippery skin sliding by.
"Out, then in again, slowly," she instructed.
I did, the sensation building incredibly. In, out. In, out. Suddenly the pleasure hit an absolute peak, my whole body jerked and my vision went dim and I CAME. Woozily, I tried to keep from collapsing on her, my shoulders taught. I backed a bit, and my prick slid out.
"Here," she said, reaching for a small towel, leaning forward it to wipe my dripping prick and then her own crotch. "My, that was fast," she said. She discarded the towel, but her hand returned to her crotch. "I've quite forgotten what the first time is like. Look, I want you to do something for me, please? Come put your mouth on my breast. I want you to lick it, very gently."
I shifted down to where I could do that, and pressed my mouth at the side of her right breast.
"Kiss the nipple," she said, "and use your tongue and make little swirls around it. And put your hand on my other breast, and squeeze it, very gently."
I did just that. The nipple was harder than I expected as I circled it with my tongue. The other breast was soft and warm. I squeezed it gently and found its nipple between my fingers and lightly stroked it in the same rhythm.
"Good," she said.
I sensed some other motion in her body and saw that her left arm was moving. Craning my head, I could see her left hand in her crotch, moving up and down. I wanted a change, moved my mouth to her other breast and licked its nipple while my free hand massaged the breast my mouth had left.
"Yes, Paul, yes!" she said, and her hand moved more quickly. Shortly her body seemed to rock and she started breathing heavily. She stiffened and I heard her moan, softly. Her back arched, and she was taken with a tremor that lasted a long minute before before she slowly relaxed. I felt her hand rubbing my hair.
"You can stop now, Paul", she said. "Thank you." I quit her chest and lay beside her.
"My. that was interesting," she said. (What a word! I thought.) "How did you like it?"
"Carol, I coudn't begin to tell you," I said. "It was so damned wonderful. I never imagined ... nothing like that before, ever."
She raised her hand and stroked my cheek. "I'm glad, Paul, and I feel priviledged to be your first." She paused a long while. "You know, there's a lot to learn about sex. The instinct to fuck is there all the time, but how you do it is very important, and it's something you have to learn. I do like you, Paul, and I feel you have a lot of potential. Will you let me teach you?"
"Oh, Carol, please! Anything!"
"Well, you'll have to be very attentive and pay close attention. You probably won't want to take notes, and you'll have to remember everything I tell you. And you'll have to do everything I tell you, it's a laboratory course, with lots of experiments. And there will be an examination. In fact, there will be many examinations."
That's how my summer school began.
I was a sex slave. I don't want to make fun of the poor souls who have been forced into that trade, but it's the best term I can find. I was subject to a strict mistress, obliged to follow her myriad instructions to the letter and to satisfy her rampant desires and her merest whims. I loved every minute of it. Carl Matthews undertook my sexual education with the determination, I think, to turn me into a real stud. If anyone could do that, she could. Her body could give a statue an erection. Her sharp mind was full of sexual lore, not just from reading manuals as I had. And she had -- well, if she were a man, you'd say it was a perpetual hard on. Her choosing me to help her out still seems the luckiest thing that ever happened to me.
After our first fuck we agreed that we wouldn't rely on her need for groceries to get together, but that I would just come to her after work every day, unless she contacted me to put it off, and that we'd work out a weekend schedule, too. So I showed up next day looking tremendously forward to our second fuck. Today she wasn't wearing the usual bikini, but a belted silk bathrobe that came to just above her knees. The material was very thin. I couldn't see through it, but it pulled at her breasts and her nipples made distinct bumps in it. I felt it covered too much and, worse, after a few minutes conversation I wasn't sure we were going to have that second fuck.
"Today we're going to concentrate on anatomy and physiology, Paul," she began. "We have to know what the sexual areas are and how they work. One important thing is about speed of response. When we got together yeasterday you came in about ten seconds while I was just getting started. It took me minutes to come to orgasm, and I had to do it mostly myself. Now I'm not blaming you or anything, it's natural that your first time is going to be so exciting that you come fast. But eventually we're going to try for the ideal timing, which is when the man and the woman come at the same time, or nearly. That makes sex a mutual thing, not just getting one's rocks off. Do you understand?"