The Residency Issue Ch. 02

"Take me, for instance," I said. "You have already a number of times, and I love it, I'm having the time of my life, but I know it's going to end soon. Our relationship will flower and pass, all too quickly, which is why I put the full court press on you. Don't expect me to let up, by the way, you are one delicious feast, I want to taste as much as I can."

He looked over at me and smirked.

I went on. "But that's it, isn't it. My motivation is clear. I want you in my bed, in my arms all the time. Because our time together is short. Other women and girls will want the same thing, but you won't know where they want to take you, what they want to do with you. Often they won't know themselves. They'll want that special, fabulous, Paul Wheatley experience for what it does for their egos, and many won't care about Paul Wheatley the person. You'll just be a charm on their bracelet, a thing they can brag to their girlfriends about. You know what I mean?"

His face had relaxed. "Yeah, I guess."

We were approaching the house and would arrive in less than ten minutes.

"You're a good-hearted young man blessed with stunning good looks. I just can't stand the idea of some stuck-up--person--making you bitter and disillusioned." A weight settled in my stomach suddenly.

"God, Paul," I said, "please tell me I'm not doing that, am I?"

He reached across, touched my arm, and spoke up finally. "No. I'm... I'm getting the feeling that you want me, my body... but you also want what's best for me."

"Thank you," I whispered, trying to breathe away the knot that'd formed in the pit of my stomach.

"I can see," he said, "how selfish those girls at college were. They were just trying to manipulate me into something they could control, and when I... didn't become that, they just lost it."

We pulled up in front of the carport at my home. I shut the engine off, but earnestly holding on to his arm, I said, "It wasn't just selfishness, Paul, it runs deeper. Their selfishness grows out of insecurity. They're so unsure of themselves, of their places in the world, that they try to force things around them to fit into their own trivial little vision. They want their empire, they want their own little fiefdom, no matter what it does to other people's feelings, or identities, or lives."

I said, "I'm so glad you can see that, Paul. Your father has done a wonderful job guiding you."

The conversation continued indoors. "Those girls were not the only ones like that," he said. "I met a lot of people that were like that. Sometimes it made me crazy to be around them."

"Well, of course it did," I said. "It makes everybody crazy.... I will say that in my experience theater people--actors, dancers, directors, musicians, and the hangers-on--seem to have insecurities in extra abundance. And along with that, manipulative and high-strung personalities. Sometimes I think it gives something extra to their performances--talented people who have that extra push give the show or movie something truly extraordinary. But after the lights go down and the camera stops, you find the same needy, hard-to-deal-with soul."

I said, "You will have to be extra, extra cautious, Paul. It's a country full of land mines for people looking to make friends and have relationships. Guard your heart." I rubbed his hand and tilted my head. "It would kill me if you lost your sunny outlook, your easy-going way."

We were in the cool of the house; we refreshed ourselves and put away our purse and pack. I said, "We'll get online and check out Nora's story, but," as I wrapped my arms around Paul's neck, "first, sweet, gorgeous hunk of mine, a little attention for your horny old friend, Vera!" He smirked down at me and pulled me in tight against his lean, lovely body--Oh, Glory! How delicious this was cannot be told, words fail me. I drank in his kisses and pressed against him, tilting my hips and feeling his special hardness which was just for me.

I broke off and led him upstairs to my bed. Oh Yes, to have my wicked way once again with this willing boy.

Rapidly we got out of our clothes and into bed, picking up where we left off. I lay back and held him to me and opened my legs. Yes, dear reader, I was hot for him, past moist and solidly into wet. And Oh! felt his cock against my wet and wanting center. As we kissed he slid gently against me for several strokes--his hardness was at its fullest, like steel--and just like that he was back inside me. I caught my breath; every time he entered me was a sweet, heavenly instant of its own. We locked together in our rhythm, clinging madly, his powerful thrusting just exactly what I wanted. I tightened my hefty thighs around him--oh Lord I loved him in that moment. I pressed my pubic bone against him, his thrusts were so steady and certain--god he worked hard for me! After a few minutes I felt the sweet precipice approach.

"Oh, Paul!" I breathed. "Oh, Paul. Oh, Paul! FUCK me, stud! Fuck me so fucking hard!" He started thrusting even harder and faster and I went suddenly blind. Lightning struck me from my cunt--crashing, ecstatic, violent, breathtaking. I held on fiercely, my ecstasy shaking me, exploding through me, over and over, I held on to my stud as though to crush him. The waves of pleasure kept breaking over and over me. I must have started keening, I must have. I felt Paul's tightened hold on me and I felt his body stiffen and his hard cock jump deep inside me. These must have been after my peak had only just passed and I was still rocking into him and him into me. Breathless we clung to each other. My hand went to his hair. I thrust against his lovely, stubborn hardness, and shivered in bliss. We remained there, sweaty, breathing, united. It was many minutes before we separated. Paul gave me a kiss just before we did.

After languidly putting a robe on--Paul pulled his shorts back on, but I noticed he'd gone commando--I opened up my laptop and started to look for this construction company. Paul brought up a chair and sat beside me, put an arm across my back, the dear.

"Well, here's their site," I said as we both looked. It seemed pretty straightforward: a contact link, some of the projects they'd been involved in, a link to request an estimate. I'm not much of a judge, but the graphics seemed pretty professional. I clicked on the About Us link. And there it was, in the middle of some text about the company history: "Toomey Construction is proud of its ongoing partnership with the University of Tennessee and its award-winning Theater Arts department." There was the orange "T" logo of the school. A couple of quotes from happy--and rather rich and influential--patrons of the school, remarking on the good work that Toomey does, etc. etc.

"Well," I said, "I think that's it, Paul, it seems to check out." He stared at the screen and nodded vaguely. "Now," I continued, "I don't think I'm projecting when I say that Nora would want favors from you for introducing you to her connections. It seemed kind of obvious. But still, knowing and being known by people who are influential in the department that you're going into... What do you want to do, my lover?"

"It doesn't seem like I could lose anything by calling that cell number," Paul said.

"Maybe not," I said, impressed by his practical approach. "But I really don't want anyone to run roughshod over you. It's a fine line you'd be walking."

He nodded soberly, still looking at the screen.

"The other thing," I said, "we have to think about, if this goes anywhere with Nora, is what to tell Alma. If anything."

Paul looked at me at close quarters. "Oh hell," I said, taking his face in both my hands and kissing him. "That can wait, and so can dinner." I grabbed his wrist and led him back to bed.