Blossoms in the Fall Ch. 01

"Peter? Peter Holladay? The dentist is ready to see you now. Second one on the left, okay?"

I looked up from my phone and turned on my best confident-but-cool smile, but Amy had already turned away to field an incoming call. I mooched down the hall trying not to let that sting, but when you're eighteen every time a girl doesn't even notice you're alive you die inside a little. Amy Redden was a twenty-year old blonde, blue-eyed minx with a gymnast's build and come-hither way of looking at you from the corner of her eyes, but man did she ever keep the professional mask on. The only times she ever opened up for me was in my imagination as I made my regular deposits in the spank bank.

Dr. Dettle shooed me into the cramped cube, flapping his hands around as he talked, like always. I grumped hello to his hygienist and slouched into the dreaded chair while he went on about teeth and cavity stuff. He seemed to take every diffident grunt as rapt attention; I just wanted to get my cleaning over and done with.

When he paused for a breath Elena rolled her eyes behind his back and favored me with a smile. "Hello, Peter. Been flossing, I hope?"

"Yeah, sure." I buried myself deeper and let her drape the bib round my neck. She gave me a look and lay out the usual assortment of torture tools.

"You look very nice." Elena had a lilting European accent I'd never been able to place. "Are you going to a wedding?"

"Choir concert." The music department did this thing every year and insisted we dress to impress. I'd hoped to make some kind on impression on Amy today in my white dress shirt, tie and black dress pants. Mom said it made me look mature, and Dad said I'd leave a bunch of damp seats in the auditorium, which made Mom smack him on the arm hard. When you've never had a girlfriend you know your parents just say that stuff to puff you up. "We're going to perform at the seniors' home today." But it did lift my spirits that someone noticed, even if it was a typical mom-type observation. Elena was always nice to me.

Dettle had just finished peering at my teeth when Amy poked her head in the door and beckoned him over. He frowned when she whispered in his ear; it looked like a pair of caterpillars playing chicken on his forehead. "Elena, can you... yes? Good, good. Peter, I'll be right back, Elena will get you set up."

Not even a sideways glance from Amy as Dettle scooted out the door. I sighed. I'd have to tell Dad that ZZ Top was full of it; not every girl was crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man.

"Would you like me to ask her out for you?"

Uh-oh. I tried not to flinch. "Uh, who?"

"Dr. Dettle. Really, Peter." Elena swiveled the tool tray over and frowned at the door. "Amy is a pretty girl. I can tell that you like her. Why not?"

"Oh, I'm not... I mean, she's nice but I can't... I don't think I'm her type." In ninth grade my yearbook photo got replaced with Napoleon Dynamite and no one noticed. Almost four years later my hair was a ginger faux-hawk, the braces were gone, I'd put on some muscle working for mom's landscaping business and used the money I saved for Lasik, but I inside I was still that kid everyone made 'Vote for Pedro' jokes about all freshman year.

"What is not to like? You are smart, kind, and work hard." She pursed her lips, studied me. "You remind me of the actor that plays 'Kinslayer' on that show. You know him?"

"You mean 'Kingslayer'? Jaimie Lannister?" I goggled. I couldn't decide which was weirder, that she thought I looked anything Nikolaj Coster-Waldau or that she actually watched Game of Thrones.

"Yes, him, but you know, without his years." She waved off my correction airily. "Anyway, Amy is only a couple years older, what is the problem? All men like pretty young girls. I see you looking at her. Just ask her out already."

I felt panic stirring in my stomach. In the back of my head Amy was laughing hysterically at a gawky high school senior thinking she'd be interested in a date. "I... I'll think about it." In desperation, I threw out a lifeline. "Uh, wasn't yesterday your anniversary? You do anything special?"

In the middle of reaching for a cleaning pick her hand froze. "How did you know that?"

"Last year, I came in just after your anniversary that time too. Your daughters took you out for dinner, didn't they?" I wasn't 100% on the details, but anything that kept my so-called love life off the table deserved special effort. "Sonja and Katerina got you jewelry; Annika gave you a gift certificate for a tattoo place because you told her you wanted to get a butterfly ink, even though Stavos would have a stroke. Did you ever use it?"

The hand hovered over the pick for so long I began to worry she was having a stroke. "Elena?"

"All that you remember?"

Uh-oh. Too personal? "Well, you chat when you're working on my teeth, and even if I can't say anything I listen, and you are pretty interesting so I, I..." I realized I couldn't read the expression on her face at all, and decided to shut up in case I was making things worse.

Elena was quiet for several heartbeats. "Stavos doesn't even remember my birthday anymore," she finally spoke into the silence. "He barely pays attention to what I say. But you... you remember what my daughters got me for my anniversary last year."

I don't know what was worse, what she was saying or how matter-of-fact she was about it. My dad makes sure Mom gets a date night at least once a month and he never, EVER, forgets her birthday. "That sucks. I'm really sorry." That didn't seem sufficient for the occasion. "I didn't mean to--"

"To remind me that my husband is so busy chasing young women that he cannot even be bothered to pretend he cares?"

Shit. I was better off talking about my love life. I was eighteen and a virgin. Hell, I'd never had a real girlfriend. What did I know about marriage problems? I didn't even watch romantic comedies. All I knew about relationships I learned from watching my parents, and video games, and Mass Effect 3 didn't cover what to say when someone twice your age suddenly drops you into the desolation of their failing marriage. "Why would he do that? You're beautiful, and smart, and, and, and pretty," dammit that was the same as beautiful, idiot-idiot-idiot "uh, I mean he would be an idiot to cheat on you. Maybe he's just distracted? Work. And... stuff..."

Elena picked up my folder, opened it and flipped a couple pages absently. "You are a very nice boy, Peter, but I have seen the pictures, the movies my husband looks at when I am not home. I see the girls he hires for his business. I see America only loves young, beautiful women. Why should he be any different?"

There was such pain in her voice it made me hurt for her. I didn't know squat about her marriage, but I did know guys. "If everybody was only into young girls there wouldn't be such a word as cougar."

Her stare made me wonder if I'd stepped in it again somehow. "I have heard this word. My Sonja said it was a mountain lion, dangerous wild animal. Like... a bear."

I laughed awkwardly. "Well, in real life yes, but it's also a figure of speech. It can mean..." I waved my hands in a figure eight. "An older woman, you know, mature and, uh, hot." I could feel myself blushing, but it made me mad that she thought not even her own husband would find her attractive. I wondered how pretty women got to the point where they couldn't see what was in the mirror. "Like you."

She put flipped the papers again. "So I am an old woman to you?"

"No! Of course not!"

"Really? How old do you think I am?"

Oh, double shit. I've seen enough sitcoms to know that's never a safe question to answer, and she was going to be digging around in my mouth afterwards. "Um... older than me?"

The chart went back on the counter by the sink. She sighed, some of the tension easing out of her shoulders. "Amy should be so lucky that you ask her on a date. She could be your cougar."

Some idiot opened my mouth and said "She's not sexy enough." Her eyebrows shot up, and my neck and cheeks got hot and prickly. I had absolutely zero idea where that came from and no way to be sure Amy never found out I'd ever said it. Elena gave me a long, speculative look while I tried to think of what to say.

Dettle of all people came to my rescue when he stuck his head back into the room. "I, uh, have an emergency. I should be back before the next appointment. Elena, I know you can do the cleaning and measuring; if there's anything I need to look at specifically Peter can make an appointment for later this week." He looked more flustered than usual for him, and barely waited for Elena's acknowledgement before the door clicked shut on him again.

Elena and I looked at each other, and bonded a moment over an unspoken assessment of Dettle's fuck-up-erry. His hygienists did half the work in his practice on any given visit. "So, Peter, it looks like I will be taking care of you after all."

I kind of chuckled, relieved we were back on familiar ground. Elena was always a little off-beat, like she had just learned about work from a commoner she'd switched places and would go back to her palace life if the 'princess and the pauper' routine stopped being fun. She had a Mediterranean complexion and a swath of thick brown hair shot through with gray, always neatly tied back, and she was tall. The first and only time I'd seen her in heels she about towered over poor Dettle. She had a waist that flared out to wide hips and a full bosom that swelled tantalizingly under her scrubs. I'd rather it was Amy working on me but a pretty forty-something was definitely an improvement over Dandruff Dettle.

When she pulled her mask into place I made sure to maintain eye contact, and if she'd noticed me scoping out her chest earlier she chose to overlook it. She smelled faintly of roses, and her eyes twinkled over the mask as she said all the familiar soothing words. I opened up obediently and let her get to work.

Now, at 18 I had yet to even see breasts in real life. Sure, I'd checked out a little porn, mostly at friend's houses because my dad was too tech savvy for me check it out at home without getting caught, but my familiarity with feminine anatomy was strictly theoretical. I had this crippling inability to actually connect with girls. I still hadn't dated, unless hanging out with a bunch of guys where girls were also present counts (hint: it doesn't). So it took me a few minutes to correctly identify what was pressing against my bicep as Elena's breast.

It was warm. It was... surprisingly weighty. In the three years since my parents had started bringing me here she had been my hygienist several times and not once had I felt her boobs touch me, she was so professional. She never even wore low cut tops. Yet, there it was. Elena asked me to open my mouth little wider, and as she shifted slightly there was no mistaking it even through my shirt, her blouse and bra. Her left breast was pressing against my right bicep.

"Peter?"

I snapped back to reality, and looked into those pale green eyes twinkling down at me. "Do you need a break?"

What was I supposed to say? More importantly, what could I say to ensure she wouldn't stop what she was doing? "No, I'm good."

She cocked her head to one side, and I could tell she was smiling behind the mask from the tiny crow's feet crinkling at the corners of those hypnotic eyes. "If I am hurting you Peter, you will let me know right away, okay?"

I nodded and opened my mouth. Her steady patter was supposed to keep me calm and diverted from the process at hand, but I had bigger problems than plaque buildup. I'd worn a nice pair of dress slacks for the choir concert, and the material was rather thin. Under it my dick was straining at my boxer-briefs, trying to stand to attention.

Ask teenage boys the one thing they couldn't live without. Most would talk about their bikes, or their game systems. Older teens might have better priorities like their cars, or maybe their cell phones. But if every pair of jeans in the world suddenly vanished overnight the attendance rates in middle and high schools would plummet. After puberty sets in your first defense against popping an unexpected woody in the class or the lunchroom is denim that's sturdy enough to partly camouflage how exciting you find the meatloaf, at least until you can maneuver a tray or backpack to cover it up. I couldn't very well ask her to stop rubbing her breast on my arm, partly because she would stop but mostly because I didn't want to deal with the awkward aftermath I was certain would follow. But my dick was betraying me and if I didn't do something I was going to go from straining boner to raging hard-on. When she did stop it was going to be obvious, and then the shit would hit the fan.

So I chickened out, and shifted my arm down toward my chest. I figured she'd feel it, move her boob away, and that would be the end of it. That made sense, except that she flexed her shoulders as if they were sore, rubbing her breast against my bicep and continuing on as if she'd felt nothing. The sensation was maddening, and I could feel my cock swell. Angled down, it was trapped, bent uncomfortably double and trying hard to achieve full rigidity.

Elena must have seen something in my eyes, because she stopped probing at my teeth and pulled back. "Are you hurting, Peter?"

"No." I realized I was staring at her breasts and hurriedly looked back up. "Just a cramp."

"Mmm." She nodded and moved my arm. Relief and disappointment warred with one another briefly then dropped into the pit of my stomach when she took my wrist and placed my hand firmly on her knee. "If something I am doing hurts or makes you uncomfortable, tap me twice. Remember: we want your experience taking care of your teeth to be positive!"

I nodded dumbly. She swapped the pick for the floss and leaned in once more, and pressure on my bicep returned, a little firmer this time. I think I made a noise and her eyes met mine. Those pale green eyes crinkled playfully. "Almost done."

I could feel the texture of her nylons under my fingertips; her sensible skirt only reached to mid-thigh, and my hand was just above her knee. I'm sure my hand was sweaty but if she noticed she did not complain. This was too much. I glanced over at the small LCD TV mounted in the upper corner of the room, but there was nothing on that could conceivably distract me. Was it even possible that she didn't realize what she was doing?

Too soon she sat back and took a deep breath. I let out the one I'd been holding and made sure to keep my eyes on hers, because I sure didn't need to be looking at her chest just then. "You have been doing a good job brushing, Peter," she said after a moment. She rested her hand on mine, then picked up my chart and riffled through it absently. "But I have concerns that you are not, ah, flossing properly?"

I shrugged, a little confused. My mom and dad both harped on me about hygiene, and I actually did floss most times. She half-rose, leaned over me and to my shock placed her hand gently on my crotch while tossing the chart on the small desk in the opposite corner. I had no defenses against that sweet pressure. My penis swelled, uncoiled, and slithered into a fully rigid posture under her palm almost instantly, and I barely bit back a reflexive groan. She smiled a small and secretive smile, and I could feel the warmth of her hand radiating crazy goodness into my groin. "Peter, I want to... " she glanced at the door then back to me "...to show you how to, mm, floss from now on."

"...Oh."

I didn't dare move as she pressed her fingertips down on either side of the throbbing bulge in my pants and so excruciatingly slowly slid her hand south. "Tell me, Peter, do you... floss... regularly?"

My cock lunged under her subtle ministrations. I couldn't say a word until her hand stopped moving. "...Yes."

The soft pressure around my cock began to inch back up. I wanted to close my eyes, it felt so good, but Elena's gaze held mine. "Sometimes young men are always in a hurry. You understand? They want to be done too soon, don't take their time when they... floss."

Her fingers stopped their creeping exploration beside the tip head of my cock. I breathed out the word "Yes."

She looked down for the first time as if surprised to see her own fingers cradling the bulge in my pants. "It helps to develop good habits early. So I want you," she continued, the hand creeping back down alongside my shaft, "to make sure you take your time, go slow, the next time... every time you... floss."

Her hand spread, tracing the outline of my bulge. I had to force my hips back down into the chair. "Yes."

She glanced at the door sidelong, then back to my eyes, wet her lips. Was she nervous? "You know, Peter, I like to take my time, think about a certain young man who looks like a Kingslayer, when I... floss."

Oh, shit. My cock flexed hard against her hand at the thought she --an older woman, a sexy older woman, someone I knew-- thought about me personally when she fingered her pussy. And she was married—

For the first time since she began, Elena pressed her palm fully against my bulge, and I hunched my hips, pressing my cock against her touch. "From now on, will you take your time, Peter," and she leaned her breast fully on my arm. Her eyes were huge, the look you'd see on someone who'd decided to jump off a high place and gravity hadn't caught up to them yet. "Go slow, like this, and think about me when you... floss."

She was married.

Fuck.

When her hand paused and her fingertips tentatively pinched the tip of my cock, I gritted my teeth, summoned up every ounce of control I could muster, and said "I... I'm going to, to, you know, jeez, Elena... you have a husband." I hand to pant the words out, because my dick was rock hard and I knew that I was going to come soon and come hard if she kept stroking me.

She kept her hand still, but her eyes never left mine. "It doesn't matter to him."

I had one rigid, pressing reason to keep my mouth shut, but I knew this was someplace I really shouldn't go. If Amy came back in, or Dettle... "Yes, but... I think... it matters to you."

There was a long moment where I wasn't sure which way this was going to go, and I knew that if she didn't stop, I wasn't going to stop her. I was fucking eighteen and a virgin, and I could feel a sexy older woman stroking my dick through my pants. I'm not a saint; it was just my latch ditch effort to salve my conscience later.

Elena sat back, reluctantly pulled her hand away. "You are right, Peter. I am sorry. Some things should stay sacred." Elena stood and turned her back to me, busying herself at the sink. Her voice was little more than a whisper. "Some things should stay fantasy."

I was nailed to the chair for several agonizing breaths before caving; I was far past the point of no return. I hissed "I... I'm sorry," between gritted teeth then flopped to my feet and sidled past Elena and into the narrow hallway. Thankfully no one was in the cubby-like restroom at the back of the office. The fluorescent light flickered unsteadily while I fumbled with my zipper and kicked the door shut. My cock sprang into my hand, livid and pounding, and that last touch was all it took. I slumped against the door, trembling. A translucent bead pooled at the tip of my cock, and then I thrust my hips and stifled a groan as a ropy strand of cum jetted from my cock to slash along the mirror and sink. I pumped my cock, imagining Elena's experienced hands instead, and came like I had never done before, shuddering with every spurt.

It took a few minutes to clean up the mess I'd made of the sink, mirror, the glistening puddle on the floor. I took longer than I really needed to; I didn't know what facing her was going to be like. Finally I slunk back down the hallway to room 4. Elena was putting away her tools, and by the time she turned to me I was able to meet her gaze. My head was a maelstrom of shame and regret, but she actually smiled at me, a sad and sweet smile that made something in my chest unwind and roll over. "I think we are done here, Peter. Yes?"