Summer School Ch. 02

She whispered, her lips so close I could feel her breath, warm and moist in my ear, "be quiet now, or we'll both be in trouble."

Her hand was busy now, stroking me, slowly, squeezing hard enough that I worried about her hurting me, but she didn't.

"Do you like that, Davey?" she asked in that same soft, warm, moist voice, not really a whisper but so soft and low I knew my great-grandmother wasn't hearing.

"Yessssssss," I managed.

She giggled softly and her hand moved, finding my balls, her palm flat, pushing them back up where they came from. Then her fingertip tickled that soft, almost downy patch of pubic hair, just starting to come in, not yet a man's coarse hair. Still a young man's softness.

I was squirming then and she was giggling, telling me to hold still and be quiet.

And she was kissing me, nice kisses. Not like the girls I had experimented with at school, well, after school. Her lips were parted and soft, not puckered. Very nice kisses.

I came, of course. I had no concept of control and her hand was busy. She giggled when I did and then held me until I softened.

"Be ready tomorrow morning," she said, "we're going swimming."

And just like that she was gone, slipping out the window and heading to her house next door. I shut the window and went back to bed.

I couldn't concentrate on my reading.

I finally got back to sleep, eventually, and dreamt of her.

I woke, as I always did in my summers with my great-gramma, to the sound of her in the kitchen. It wasn't that she was trying to wake me, but she wasn't making any effort to be quiet either. So I walked through the kitchen, it was one of those rambling houses that had been built pre-indoor plumbing so the bathroom was added to the back as an afterthought, in my shorts, what we call tidy whities today.

I peed and washed my hands and then went back into the kitchen. Mame, her name was Mame and she was my Mamie Mama in those days, was standing at the stove, watching her old fashioned clear glass, well, I think the proper name is Pyrex, and she crooked her finger, beckoning me. So I went to her.

It was obvious she had nothing under her robe and it was belted loosely. I could see the sides of her enormous breasts peeking out and got instantly hard.

"Davey," she said, and even at 18 I recognized a different look on her face, "you're growing up now, so you need to start wearing clothes in the house honey." And then she gave me an odd little smile and reached down and patted where I was hard. "Or wear nothing," she added and turned back to making breakfast.

I went into my bedroom, pulled on my cut-off jeans, and then back out for breakfast.

I was surprised that she had set a cup of coffee at my place. When I looked up at her she smiled and said, "you're growing up, honey. Time to start thinking, and acting, like a man." And there it was again, that odd smile.

Breakfast was always a big meal with my Mamie Mama and today was no different. There were scrambled eggs, bacon, biscuits, gravy, and orange juice. We both ate with gusto, as we always did, and I couldn't help but notice that her robe kept falling open. She caught me looking, showed that odd little smile again, and then deliberately, slowly, pulled the robe closed.

After breakfast, I helped her wash dishes, and then we went out to sit on her porch swing, kind of a morning ritual with us for most of my life. We were sitting, swinging gently, when my cousins pulled up in front of the house. Bevvy had a Corvair convertible, a gift when she graduated, and she and Margie had the top down when they honked.

I waved, went inside and grabbed my swimming suit, rolled into its towel, kissed Mamie Mama, and went down and jumped into the back seat.

"You girls be nice now," she called as Bevvy started the car and we pulled away.

"Always," Margie called back over her shoulder.

They were giggling.

We drove down the paved county road, turned off onto a dirt road, went through a gate that I carefully opened and closed, and then followed another road, well, more like a dirt track, for another mile or two before pulling to a stop. The body of water there was more than a pond but couldn't be called a lake. Margie turned in her seat and said, "Welcome to our private swimming hole."

She giggled, got out of the car, opened the "frunk," the trunk in front, pulled out a blanket, and walked down to the swimming hole. Bevvy and I followed. Margie might have been the younger sister, but she was always the more adventurous one.

There was a little copse of trees along the bank of the pond and Margie flipped the blanket, spreading it.

And then she undressed.

She was so casual about it, it took a few seconds for me to realize that she didn't have a swimsuit under the T-shirt and cutoff jeans she was stripping off. It was underwear. I watched, fascinated, hell, let me start that sentence again.

I watched, absolutely captivated, mesmerized, unable to look away, as she did that double-jointed thing only a woman can pull off, unhooked her bra, and dropped it onto the blanket. She was pushing down the cutoffs when Bevvy joined her on the blanket and peeled off her T-shirt and did the double-jointed-unhook-the-bra thing.

They turned then, naked, giggling a little, and said, in unison, "Well, come on."

If you didn't know my aunt and uncle you'd swear these two weren't related. It would be hard to imagine two more different girls. But you could see my uncle in Margie, in the eyes and mouth, and in her height, she was tall and slender. You could see my aunt in Bevvy, in her hair and body type.

Margie was tall and slender, with small breasts and narrow hips reminding the world she had been a gymnast, speed swimmer, and cross-country runner. Her breasts were small, almost boyish, just small bumps on her chest tipped with small nipples. Lower, and I could no more have stopped my eyes from traveling down her body than fly, her navel was a cute little innie, and below that a wonderful thick mat of pale brown hair showed as two thick lines, covering her labia like a furry pelt. Her legs were slender, a runner's legs, and I saw not the slightest hint of a tan line.

Next to her, Bevvy looked positively dumpy. She was thick, much heavier than her sister. She was a brunette, dark, with dark hair thick and curly, almost frizzy, worn short. She was heavy-chested, at 21 her breasts were high and heavy, already sagging under their own weight, with very large and very dark areolas offering a beautiful setting for equally large and even darker nipples. She was young and firm so she didn't have one of those soft belly aprons I have come to enjoy on truly fat women over the years, but she had a distinct roll and her belly button was a deep crease. Her pubic hair was a very dark, very straight, very coarse layer spreading from the crease of her belly button down in a wide delta. Thick thighs with distinct saddle bags tapered to slender calves, the feature that most resembled her sister's.

"Enough looking," Margie said, giggling, and skipping over to me, "now come on."

She was tugging at my T-shirt and I raised my arms, assisting her. Bevvy came over to help and they had me stripped in a few seconds.

And hard.

Bevvy giggled and touched my erection.

"Do you know what to do with this?" she asked.

Margie rolled her eyes and said, "oh Jesus, get a room," and took off at a dead run, hitting the water in a smooth dive.

"Well," Bevvy said, tickling where I was so hard I was throbbing, "we do have a blanket."

I had no idea what to do, but when she took my hand and led me the dozen steps back to the blanket I surely did not resist.

She laid down on the blanket, a bit ponderous but still, to my 18-year-old eye anyway, gorgeous in the sun like that.

She patted the blanket and I laid down next to her, my chin propped on my palm.

She smiled, the first real, well, womansmile that had ever been directed at me, full of invitation and interest.

She kissed me then, a gentle kiss, a real man-woman kiss, her fingers light on my face, her tongue touching mine.

She broke the kiss with a little giggle.

"God," she said, her fingers brushing the hair off of my forehead, "you ARE young, aren't you."

She took my hand and laid it on her waist, right where her hips flared so invitingly.

"It's okay to touch, Davey," she said, "I like it," and she covered my hand with hers, running it up her waist to brush her breast.

When I didn't move she giggled and said, "Davey, don't make me do ALL of the work."

I brushed my hand across her breast, fascinated by the way her areolas tightened into hard cones, the skin wrinkled and tight, pushing her nipple forward and up, a dark button at the top of the cone.

"They won't break, honey," she said, around a soft humming sound.

I was gaining confidence, and courage, as I covered her breast with my hand, her nipple hard against my palm. And she was responding. For the first time, I heard that delightful hum, deep in her throat, the unmistakable sound only a woman feeling aroused can make.

I kissed her then, but poorly I guess. She giggled a bit and pulled away. "Relax, honey," she said, "part your lips, like this," and she showed me, "I'm not your gramma."

I kissed her again.

"Better," she said, "now relax and enjoy it, I won't bite," she giggled, "well, not too hard anyway."

This time she kissed me. Her free hand came up and brushed my cheek, and she leaned closer, very slowly closing the distance between us. I saw her eyes close just as our lips met. She brushed my lips with hers at first, and then I felt her warm, wet tongue touching my lips.

It was a good kiss. Honestly, it remains the kiss against which all later kisses were measured, most found wanting. It lingered. It was tender and so full of promise I damn near came right then.

She was flushed when she broke the kiss.

"Like that," she said, a little breathless.

My hand was wandering, almost a living thing on its own, finding the softness of her hips, the roundness of her thighs. And then back up, her waist and her breast.

Her mouth was beckoning me and I leaned slowly toward her, letting my lips brush hers as she had done. It felt an odd combination of awkward and natural to let my tongue brush her lips.

This time I did cum.

She giggled.

"Oh God," I said, absolutely mortified, "I'm sorry."

She was giggling when she wrapped me in her arms and pulled me to her.

"Don't apologize, Davey," she said, still giggling, "you paid me a compliment. Fat girls don't usually have that effect on a man."

The way she was holding me put my face right against her breast, her nipple about an inch from my mouth, dark and hard and inviting.

When I latched on she sighed, a long, slow, satisfied exhalation, and her hand moved to the back of my head, pulling me against her harder. Nature took over, instincts dating far back to our million-times great grandparents suckling when hungry, and I took more tissue into my mouth, my tongue massaging her hard nipple against the roof of my mouth.

"That's nice, Davey," she murmured, her hand twisting into my hair, pulling even harder.

It was her womanscent that got to me. That sweet aroma of a woman fully aroused, her pheromones operating at the instinctive level that ensured the race survived, and I was erect again.

"Oooooooh, that's nice too," she said, her hand finding where I was hard.

"Here, honey," she said, and guide my hand down until it was between her legs. For the first time, I felt that wonderful wetness, that perfect slickness, as I touched the thatch of her pubic hair and then she guided my finger deeper, helping me to find my way under her clitoral hood without hurting her and then pressing me against that little button of her pleasure with just the proper amount of pressure to meet her need.

"Like this," she said, gently guiding my finger to make little circles, lightly touching and then rolling that little stem of her core.

I was nervous, of course, and inexperienced, but soon enough I got the hang of what she needed. I was latched onto her nipple like a hungry baby, and my finger was making those little circles, and I could feel her responding. I could feel it in the way her hips were thrusting. I could feel it in the way her breathing caught. I could feel it in the way her legs were scissoring. Mostly I could feel it in the way she was getting wetter and wetter, her natural lubricant, what I would later learn was the product of healthy Bartolins and Skenes Glands along with the mucus membranes lining her vagina, was thick and warm, almost hot on my finger and when she came, orgasm was a word still in my future, my hand was suddenly full of that hot jelly.

I jerked when I felt water drip on my back.

"Jesus, get a room," Margie said, "and save some for me."

I jerked away. Remember, this was my first time and I was still, well, feeling my way through it all so to speak.

Margie laid down next to me on the blanket, naked and wet from swimming, her long blonde hair dripping, her eyelashes clumped together with their wetness, looking like a waif in a way, but also looking like what I had always imagined a whore would look like.

"Go swimming, Sluterella," she said, slapping Bevvy on the ass, drawing an odd combination of yelp and giggle.

Bevvy rolled over, kissed me, rolled back, and was gone in a flurry of giggles and jiggles, running to the lake.

"Do me, do me, do me," Margie said, giggling and rolling onto her back, pulling her knees up and spreading her legs, offering herself.

So I reached over, finding her small breasts and hard nipples with my fingers and rolling them a bit before I latched on, and then my fingers were seeking that button between her legs.

"No, Davey," she said, "use your mouth."

I honestly didn't understand what she meant.

Remember, this was 1961. The hippies and the Summer of Love, sex, love, and rock and roll, all of that was still a decade in the future. "Eating pussy" ranked up there with "cocksucker" in terms of bad things we said to each other in the locker room or the ball field.

"My mouth?" I said, knowing how stupid I must look.

"Yes, sweety," she said, using her fingertips to open herself up, showing me the delicate inner lips of her sex.

When she opened herself like that, silvery threads of her natural nectar connected her nether lips and it occurred to me that I would never see anything sexier than that again.

So I rolled over and got to my knees. I bent, slowly, okay, reluctantly, and moved forward to give her what she wanted.

Her scent was subtly different that Bevvy's had been. Somehow, well, "saltier," if that makes any sense. But at the first brush of my lips to her nether lips, I knew I was hooked. I inhaled deeply, breathing her in, and then it was my fingertips gently parting her, exposing more of her to my hungry mouth.

Her clitoris was a hard, very pink button, and when I touched it with my tongue she shuddered.

Her pubic hair was thick and soft and curly and it felt good on my cheeks as I buried my face deeper where she wanted me. Her inner lips, I was years away from knowing the word labia minora, were very soft and very warm and very slick with her natural nectar and it seemed natural to suck them gently and when she started flowing into my mouth as her state of arousal grew more intense it was thick and hot and salty and I absolutely LOVED it as I swallowed her pleasure. Years later I took a course in Human Sexuality as part of my curriculum to become a teacher and ran across some culture, the Greeks maybe, or the Indians, it sounds like something the culture that gave us the Kama Sutra would come up with, called a woman's natural lubricant the Nectar of the Gods. I understood, as I had since that morning beside a small lake, with my face buried between my cousin's legs.

I sucked gently, feeling her hips rocking in response. I was captivated. I liked her scent and her taste and I was hooked. I was addicted. I wanted t feel her pleasure, to drink her ecstasy, to send her to paradise.

And for the first time, I felt, and tasted, a woman achieve orgasm.

My hands were on her hips and I felt the sudden tension, the rigidity, as her muscles suddenly clenched. I tasted the first rush of her release and swallowed as a second gush of hot nectar filled my mouth and I swallowed again.

"Oh God," she cried and her body clenched again and I swallowed and coughed when things went down the wrong pipe as they say.

Her fingers wrapped in my hair, pulling me hard against her as she came a third time, this time screaming a high-pitched, wordless scream that ran through the register until you expected dogs to start barking.

And she collapsed.

"Put it in, Davey," she said, "put it in. Take what you want."

I moved forward, arching my back, but I never managed to do as she had asked.

Before I could "put it in" I came, the first light touch of her pubic hair enough to put me over the top.

My ejaculation was thin, almost watery line up her belly.

"Damn," I heard, "I'm late to the party."