Winning the Olympian Ch. 02

Like Daughter Like Mother

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This continuation of Jason and Jill's love story (Olympian Laughs to Conquer) goes back in time and lays the groundwork for why Jason had mixed feelings about Tate and why, later at the swim lesson, he can let go of Tate so easily and embrace Jill. Although this story can be read without doing so, reading the earlier story gives more context.

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Hope you enjoy it!

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I met Tate when we were both 10 years old at Camp Rocky Mount in Swannanoa. We became fast childhood friends even though she lived in Falls Creek and I lived 4 hours east in Asheboro. We bonded at camp-one week every summer until age 14, then work crew, counselor-in-training (CIT) and promotion to other jobs. And any time our mothers and we were driving close to each other, we'd meet somewhere for lunch or dinner. Several winters we'd even met at Biltmore House to see their Christmas display.

Although occasionally we would be counselors if there was an exceptionally large number of campers, we were mainly placed at our usual jobs through college-me as assistant waterfront director and Tate as chief stable assistant.

But I had always recognized things were different with our families. For example, while my dad occasionally dropped me off or picked me up at camp, Tate's father never came; only her mother. Mrs. Fletcher seemed so carefree, but I had noticed that Tate had a tendency toward irritability. This perplexed me.

Until I learned more about her father.

One summer as CITs, we were in the counselor's lounge watching TV past 11 pm curfew. Ken, the camp director, walked by and saw us. He got very upset for this flagrant violation of CIT rules. We were 15, still children in his eyes.

"Turn the dang TV off and go to bed! NOW!!" He yelled at us, face flushed with anger.

We turned off the TV and I said to Tate:

"Wow, I have never seen Ken so angry!"

Tate was silent and pensive as we walked up the path to the cabins. Then she said:

"Angry about the TV, huh? Jason, you haven't seen true anger until you have seen my dad!" The cabin porch lights reflected off tears welling up in Tate's eyes.

Tears of rage.

"Once when I was 13, I kept watching TV upstairs after he asked me to start my homework. He heard it still 15 minutes later and stormed up the steps. His face was twisted with rage.

She choked back a sob while tears flooded her face.

"He ripped the electrical cord out of the TV, and whipped my bare legs with it forcing me into my room. Staying outside in the hall, he yanked the door shut leaving me inside and said: "Get used to your room. You're going to be in there every day except school time for the next 2 weeks. I know I was wrong to disobey him, but he was so harsh—almost cruel!"

She completely broke down and I held her as she nestled her face on my shoulder.

"He stormed off. He never mentioned the episode again. Never apologized. Never even explained why it sent him into furious orbit. I was wearing shorts. The whipping broke the skin and left lines of bruises."

In my college psych class I later could put a name to his personality: Narcissistic.

But there was more. He also probably had bipolar disorder with black moods punctuated, however infrequently, by elation. Tate never described psychotic behavior, just very high energy and mood.

"Each spring," she told me the semester I was taking introductory psych, "he would spend thousands of dollars and deliver gifts to every single adult over age 25 who lived on Falls Creek Road. Women received hams and men received moonshine."

"That sounds like a combo of seasonal affective disorder-depressed mood during the winter, better spring and summer-PLUS maybe what they call Bipolar II," I said. "It's like typical Bipolar disorder called "1" but without true mania. More like high energy," I opined, putting on my Psych 101 diagnostician hat.

"Well that totally fits, because every spring he does other bizarre stuff like write letters to the editor to every newspaper in the state he can look up on line-each about a different issue or angle of an issue. He will stay up all night for several nights to get those written and mail a new batch each day."

Our last summer together was camp between high school and college. We were both 18, the age that gave counselors more privileges-like having a car at camp; and being able to go off campus without staff.

The first week of camp, Tate pulled me aside during evening campfire and said, "Jason, I have something to show you!"

She pulled out her keys which included her car keys plus three or for others. Picking the bronze key, she said, "Here it is."

I looked at her puzzled. "You wanted to show me a key?" I asked.

"Yes, but a secret key!" she said.

"To what, the horse stable?" That's where Tate worked this summer.

"No, silly. Something way more exciting. You'll find out Sunday," she said.

It was Wednesday. Saturday afternoon was pick up day for parents to collect their exhausted but happy campers. And after campers left we had a staff meeting, received any new assignments for the next week, and finished cleaning up camp and getting ready for a new batch of kids. In some ways the next few days flew by—I remained extremely busy as assistant waterfront director. Whenever I saw Tate, she was much more touchy-feely, showing physical affection that was beyond the Platonic friendship we had shared the previous eight or nine summers together. Come Saturday afternoon, she was even more so, and I was definitely getting the hint that Tate wanted more than what our camp friendship had been to date.

The afternoon and evening crawled by. Although she sat (VERY close) next to me during staff meeting, we didn't see each other the rest of the night as she had chores at the stable and I had swimming and canoeing lessons to prepare for at the lake.

Sunday morning came and we were required to all pitch in and deep clean the dining hall, gym, snack bar and cabins. At 9:30, we were given our weekly day off.

Tate had finished her work at the stable early and found me at the lake.

"Hey, Jace!" she said, using the nickname she bestowed on me. "Look what I have!"

She held up the bronze key she showed me Wednesday night.

"The golden key the stable's manure pile?" I joked.

"No. I'll show you, but it means that you let me take you for a ride. We'll be gone until late this afternoon." We were required to be back at camp for dinner at 6 pm for last minute assignment changes and announcements about the coming week.

"Great! Lead the way!"

Tate took me over to her parked Mercedes Benz e350 coupe, popped the doors unlocked with her key fob, and drove me out to North Carolina highway 410 towards Franklinville.

"So, where are we going?" I asked.

"You'll see in about 40 minutes," she said.

On the outskirts of Franklinville, such as it was, Tate turned off onto a narrow country road that wound its way along a mountain stream then halfway up the slope. Turning into the graveled driveway of a gorgeous vacation cabin, she exclaimed, "We're here!"

I was stunned. The cabin was two stories with windows along its southern face looking out to a spectacular view of the Great Smoky Mountains. It was becoming clear to me just how wealthy her family must be.

"So this is your family's?" I asked—a question with an obvious answer given she had the key.

"Yep! My parents, really my dad, owns four cabins in the area three of which they rent year round. This one is the nicest, and we are the only ones who use it. Well, us, extended family and friends. My dad takes Wednesdays off, and my parents come here every Tuesday night and spend the next day. It's really incredible inside."

And it was incredible. A billiards room, wet bar, Jacuzzi under the southern balcony and another Jacuzzi in bath of the master bedroom. That bedroom itself was huge with space for a treadmill and stationary bike, walk in closet and business alcove for her father. The king bed was against the north wall offering a view out the windows which took up the whole south side. Did I say the view was spectacular?

Oddly—but for a purpose even I could surmise—there was a mirror on the ceiling above the bed. And on both the east and west walls there were wide, full length mirrors providing views of the whole bed.

As I looked around the room, Tate smiled widely regarding my stunned expression.

"Wow, Tate, it's amazing!"

"Yeah, it's actually nicer than our home but that makes mom and dad want to come here all the more," she replied.

Then Tate surprised me. I really shouldn't have been surprised, though, given her affectionate demeanor toward me all week.

Unbuttoning her sleeveless blouse, she pulled it slightly open. Since she was not wearing a bra, I could see the inner edges of her medium sized breasts and areolas. She walked slowly towards me, her breasts slightly jiggling erotically with each step. I immediately became erect.

She stopped a few inches from me, her breasts nearly touching my chest. Her dark brown—nearly black—hair flowed down her neck and shoulders like a river, glowing in the southern light just like a rapid river glints sunshine. She pulled off her top revealing her gorgeous breasts. The size of large navel oranges, they were creamy white and contrasted with the tan lines she had developed this week working at the stable in a bikini top. Her nipples were as large as raspberries and just as red, and sat atop lighter colored areolas with slight bumps—a detail I could notice because she was so close.

"Jason, you are so handsome and you have been so good to me every summer since we were ten. I've had a secret crush on you a long time. I couldn't wait each year until camp. And the last three of four years it's been so great that we've been staff together the whole summer!"

I shouldn't have been surprised, but part of me was. Mainly because she called me handsome. And that she had had a crush on me for a long time. I could tell something had changed this past week; but I hadn't suspected anything the previous summers.

Before I could respond, she leaned forward and kissed me, inserting her tongue into my mouth. I had kissed girls before, e.g., those I took to the prom, but never like this. And it was so inviting and seductive.

A shiver ran through me body, and my cock was becoming warm and hard. I could feel the heat from her body, and smelled the feminine smells of her body wash and shampoo. There was a faint hint of a muskier smell, one I had sensed only one other time with a girl I made out with after the prom.

I didn't know what to do, so I gave in to Tate's kiss. Truth be told, I was a virgin, and this situation was overwhelmingly and erotically exciting for me.

And for my cock. Like most guys, I've since learned, I had measured my cock and it was a little bit under 8 inches. And I could feel all of that mass press against my swim trunks—which I wore, because I didn't know if Tate was taking me somewhere that had a pool. My loose suit began tenting then stuck out nearly its full length, stopped by her outcropping mons.

Continuing with her tongued kissing, Tate put her left hand behind my head pulling my mouth tighter against hers. Then she used her right hand to place my left hand on her right breast. She pushed my palm against its soft firmness. Having never felt up a girl before, this was so sexually stimulating to me my cock felt like it was almost in a continuous orgasm state.

Tate used her hand to fold my palm over her breast, encouraging me to caress it, instructing me with her fingers which pressed my fingers deeper into the doughy, downiness of this purely feminine feature. Then she surprised me again by grasping my thumb and index finger pulling them towards her areola, using her fingers to show me how to open and shut my fingers over her enlarging nipple.

I was so turned on, and I was learning. Quickly!

I place my right hand on her left breast and began massaging it was well, and for a brief moment she pulled her head back and let out a breath with "Ohhhh..."

She resumed kissing me but with more vigor. She then began unbuttoning her denim shorts, loosening them, then allowing them to drop to her ankles. I was amazed that she was not wearing panties either. And even more amazed when I realized this must have all been preplanned, premeditated as it were.

I could barely stand the sexual excitement and pulled my mouth away. Stepping back a few inches, I took in the scene before me. And it was more gloriously stunning than the view out the windows.

Her smile was beckoning, and I was amazed to notice for the first time how sensuous and full were her mouth and lips. Her breast had the perfect amount of hang, and her luscious berry nipples turned slightly upward while pointing independently in different directions. Her body was a stimulating masterwork. Her hips were widely feminine making her pelvis broad; and expanding the breadth of her mons. This latter feature grew a thick dark bush with hair growing toward the middle; an upside down triangle pointing towards her pussy.

As I gazed, Tate widened her stance, spreading her legs apart, and tilted her pelvis forward and upward so that I could see her camel toe and large outer labia. Her bush grew densely into her slit as well as onto her outer puffy lips. These parted slightly allowing her large, purple clitoris and hood to peek through. Her clit hood was long and wide, the clit itself the size of a pencil eraser and taut as a drum.

Tate grabbed my butt and pulled my fully hard cock towards her pussy. Because I was several inches taller than she—and she had also spread her legs—my cock and tented swim suit hit at the level of her belly button.

"This won't do Jason. I'm going to take off your trunks."

And with that she knelt before me, untied my swim suit and pulled it down quickly, making my cock spring straight forward, hitting her chin. She looked up at me with a knowing smile, licked her lips, then licked the underside of my cock focusing on my frenulum. I had never even had sex—much less ever had my cock caressed in any fashion by a girl.

As if she had done this before, she suddenly took the head of my cock into her mouth and rubbed the underside with her tongue. We were close to the east wall mirror and I watched the erotic scene unfold in the reflection.

She pulled her head back and said, "Jason, your cock is gorgeous. Your cock head is purple and big and tight. And your frenulum is huge—so long and wide."

I had never heard the word frenulum applied to the penis, but from context and the placement of her tongue gathered that it was the strip of flesh in the middle of my cock's underside from the head to about one quarter down the shaft.

Tate captured my cock again with her mouth and I saw in the mirror her head bobbing forward and back. Inside her mouth, her tongue expertly encircled the head of my cock, tickling my frenulum for long moments at the beginning and end of each loop circling me.

"Yes, Tate, that feels so good! Oh I love how you stroke the underside of my cock with your tongue like that!"

Tate increased her speed, suction and tongue movements once I spoke, her head stroking my cock in and out faster and faster. It was so erotic to watch in the mirror. But even more erotic to feel, as she switched her tongue from front/back to left/right action flicking it faster than a python.

Next, she moved her whole body forward and back and the pleasure was exquisite. My cock's head swelled even more, the skin taut like a drum. I could feel my pulse running the length of my whole penis, and see its veins engorged like tree roots running along the surface of the ground. The sensitive patches of skin on either side of my frenulum were burning with tormenting pleasure that forced me to clench my perineal muscles involuntarily, stiffening my already hard cock.

My hot turgid rod was on fire yet basking in ethereal pleasure. All the while, I watched the sexy reflection of this beautiful naked woman, breasts jangling and jiggling, sucking out thick roots of joyful ecstasy from deep within my slightly bucking pelvis.

I imagined my cock like a toy balloon, the kind that stretches out straight-getting longer and longer. Her mouth had twisted the end of my balloon into a rounded head which slowly inflated huge and violaceous. The stretched end of my penis enlarged in size and girth, like a purple plum growing rapidly plumper in a time-lapsed video.

Amazingly, I did not cum. Yet this delighted me because to my joyous pleasure, my cock was frozen in a buzzing luxuriant endless orgasm. I writhed my pelvis and upper body with the unbearable intensity of it all. She never let go despite these gyrations.

My cock felt so good I imagined it swelled to the size of a log which her mouth was still able to encircle. It was like her suction pulled thick orgasmic cables of pleasure through the center of my cock. At the head, the cables splayed in all directions, and like a fountain showered rich euphoria, soaking my entire cock head with pleasure, saturating its underside with unspeakable elation.

Not for the first time, I thought desperately about fucking her. I had admired her body for many years, and this year began masturbating at my memory of her in a bikini. Now it seemed like a real possibility that I would not only cum to her naked femininity; but cum inside her too.

Tate took her mouth off my cock with a squishy smack of her lips. She grabbed my right hand and guided me to the king size bed. Pulling down the covers sufficiently she got in bed, scooted over, and said, "Jason, I want you to fuck me. I have wanted you to fuck me for a long time. I want to make you squirm with pleasure and spray my pussy inside with your cum."

I slid into bed uncommonly erect, but also a bit anxious.

"Tate, I'm not sure I'll do this right. This is my first time," I said.

"I figured it was. But it's not my first time since I'm a mountain girl. I'll walk you through everything, so just relax" she said.

"The first thing I want to teach you is something very important to any woman you make love to—I want to teach you how to go down on me!"

Of course I had seen this on line and in magazines; I had even dreamt about doing this to Tate. But approaching the act in reality was very different.

"To start, I need to point out the sensitive spots," she said as she spread her legs out wide.

Seeing a real live pussy was floored me and my mouth hung agape. Knowing it was beautiful Tate's made me so horny I shivered.

Tate continued. "These are my inner labia. I like it when a guy starts there first, gently licking and flicking his tongue. This is my clitoris and its hood is up here. This spot is very sensitive. I like to build up my pleasure before a guy licks here," she said, locating each part with her index finger.

"Now I need you to put a finger inside my vagina," she said.

I couldn't believe my luck—being asked to penetrate her vagina with my finger. Just her saying that to me made my slightly made my cock strain against the confines of its skin.

"Here, I'll guide you."

She took my right index finger and placed it inside her pussy. She was hot, tight and wet. Having never felt a vagina before, I was amazed how velvety it felt.

"Great. Now turn your hand palm up." I did so.

"Let me move your finger to a very important place—my G spot."

I had heard of this from other guys, how rubbing this spot drove their girlfriends crazy.

She placed my finger on a mounded sponge structure on the upper wall of her pussy.

"Press there up and down." I complied.

To my amazement, Tate began moving her pelvis up and down with my finger. Then she guided my head with her hands down to her pussy.