Johanna - 2 free porn video

Like millions of other American high schoolers, I took the SAT placement test. I did very well, and my guidance counselor was optimistic that I would get into a very selective college. The offers started coming in the Spring semester, and I got into all of my “safety” schools, as well as my “realistic” schools. Late in March, I finally got the acceptance from my top choice, a world-famous university in Boston. I sat with Mom after dinner one day with all my college options.

“Your top choice is a private school, cherie,” she said. “They are only offering a very small scholarship. Roberta went to a famous private school, but she got a full scholarship.”

“If we can’t afford it, I won’t go, Mom.”

But she saw the disappointment on my face, and took my hand in hers.

“Of course, you must go,” she said. “I have the money I got when I sold your father’s Montana property. According to your father’s will, I was to divide it equally between Roberta and you. I have spoken to Roberta, and she has given up her claim to her share. However, that will only pay for half of what you will need for four years of private school. Especially this one, which is so expensive.”

“What about the rest?” I asked.

“I’ll think of something,” said Mom.

I was old enough to know that Mom’s salary as an art history professor was quite low. Our house was modest, Mom drove a fifteen-year old car, and wore her expensive French couture clothes and shoes for years. She always chose clothing that aged well, so she never looked out of fashion. All her expensive jewelry, as well as the paintings and antique bric-a-brac in the house were inherited from her aristocratic but impoverished French family. Except for our summers in France her extravagances where few. Even there, we stayed in the cottage on her family property she had inherited. We had no expenses other than our plane tickets and food.

That night I looked at the “expenses’ page of the college brochure of my dream school. Even half the total looked like an impossibly big number.

The next day when I came home from school after working at the stables, Mom was humming an operatic aria to herself as she cooked, looking extremely cheerful. There was an open bottle of champagne in an ice bucket on the kitchen counter with two flutes beside it. One was unfilled, but she had obviously begun since the other was half full.

“Hello, Johanna,” she said when she saw me. “Pour yourself some champagne.”

“What’s the occasion?” I asked, as I did so.

“My father always said, Il ne faut jamais avoir besoin d'une occasion pour boire du champagne. It means you should never need an occasion to drink champagne.”

I had sort of figured it out, but I was glad of Mom’s translation. I raised my flute and toasted her, saying, “À ta santé.” I knew she would be pleased with my use of French. She was and gave me a big smile.

“Actually, we do have a reason to celebrate, cherie,” she said, as we sat down to dessert after finishing our dinner. “I think I’ve found the money to pay for your college.”

“How?’ I asked.

“I had my jewelry appraised today. And I spoke to a realtor. If I sell my jewelry and the house, I think we’ll have enough.”

“You can’t sell your jewelry!” I exclaimed. “It’s been in your family for generations! And where will you live if you sell the house?”

“I rarely wear the jewelry. Most of it is 19th century, not really wearable today. And I don’t need the house anymore, cherie. Once you go away to college, what will I do by myself here all alone? I’ll move into an apartment. I can pay for that out of my salary.”

“But Mom, you have so many things! The paintings, the antiques!”

“I’ll sell those too, cherie. Of course, I’ll send a few choice pieces back to France. But selling the rest will make sure you do not live like an impoverished girl at college. You will have a lot of rich classmates there. How will you make friends if you cannot afford to live like they do?”

“I can’t accept this, Mom! I can’t ask you to give up your whole life, who you are.”

“It isn’t you,” she assured me. “I’ve been thinking of downsizing like this for a long time. I need to come to terms with growing old.”

“You can’t put a baby grand in an apartment, you get so much pleasure out of it! With a little luck, you could have been a famous concert pianist – I remember Professor Bertoni of the music department said so. He is so impressed with your ear, your touch, your musical personality. And you know he never praises anyone.”

“I can play in the music department practice studios. I won’t miss it.”

I knew she was lying – how could I not? She played for hours each day and had done so as long as I could remember.

I argued with her for an hour and gave up. I called Roberta later that night, thinking the two of us could work together to convince Mom. But Roberta was not optimistic.

“She’s made up her mind, Johanna,” she said. “You know how obstinate she gets. Just take what she gives with gratitude and good grace.”

“I feel like she’s sacrificing herself for me,” I said, my voice breaking. “And she has to do it because I’m not smart enough to get a full scholarship like you.”

“Don’t run yourself down, Johanna. You did very well. Things are just much more competitive than they were 12 years ago when I went to college.”

And that was that.

*

After graduation, there were several months of golden summer before I had to go to college. I was a qualified lifeguard and got a job at one of the local lakes. It was good way to make some money, hang around in a swimsuit all day, and meet hunky male lifeguards who were mostly high schoolers like me. I kissed and made out with a few of them. But none of them had any more conversation than Wes Collins and I did not want to repeat that experience.

I was hosing down the outdoor showers one day when I was approached by Tim Herbstein. He was still fat and still wore heavy glasses. He had been the valedictorian of our graduating class, so we had recently spent a bit of time together to get our speeches coordinated.

“Hi, Johanna,” he said.

“Hey,” I responded.

“I ran into your mother in town the other day. She told me where you’re going to college. We’re going to be classmates again.”

I almost said, “That’s nice,” but I didn’t want to lie, so I kept working. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

“I thought your salutatorian address was brilliant,” he said after moment when it became clear that I was not going to respond.

“Thanks,” I said. “You already told me.”

He flushed and turned away. There’s a thin line between honesty and being a bitch, I thought.

“Look, Tim, I don’t mean to be rude or unfriendly. It’s just that we don’t really know each other and I haven’t anything to say to you.”

“I know a lot about you, Johanna,” he said. I stopped the hose and looked at him sharply. He went on hastily, “I don’t mean like a stalker or anything. I just think that we would have things to talk about.”

“Like what?”

“You’ve taken advanced German, so have I. You did a presentation on the Nibelungenlied in class. I researched it later, and found you’d taught yourself all this Mittelhochdeutsch, Middle High German. No one else at school knows Mittelhochdeutsch, not even Mr. Leppy.”

Mr. Leppy was our German teacher.

“That presentation was over a year ago, Tim.”

“I know. You played Brahms Piano Sonata in F minor at the school spring concert, and that was only a couple months ago. I don’t play, but I listen to a lot of classical music. You were really good.”

“It’s nothing,” I said dismissively. “My mom’s a world class pianist, the Brahms is one of her favorite pieces. She’s made me play it since I was five.”

“You’re gifted.”

“No, I’m not. If you know that much about classical music you would have heard how mechanical it was. I play the notes, but I don’t know how to give a performance personality, to make it my own. I sound like a computer reproduction.”

“Who told you that?”

“My mom. She loves me dearly, but she knows my limitations.”

“I think you’re being unnecessarily harsh on yourself.”

I suddenly realized that I was enjoying chatting with Tim. I couldn’t talk like this with any of the other lifeguards.

“Look,” he said. “I’m not a good-looking jock like Wes Collins or these lifeguards here. You’re the most beautiful girl in school, you’re a lot taller than me, and you’ve got, like, everything! You’re intelligent, you’re musical, you’re an athlete, you ride horses, and gosh knows what else. There’s absolutely no reason why you would say yes, but I thought I would ask you anyway, what do I have to lose?”

“Ask me what?”

“To have dinner with me this Friday.”

Now he really began walking away.

“Yes,” I said to his retreating back.”

He turned around, his mouth dropping open, and said, “What?”

“Yes,” I repeated. “I’ll have dinner with you on Friday.”

*

Tim came to pick me up on Friday wearing a jacket and tie. He’d told me he’d made a reservation at the most expensive restaurant in town, so I wore a long black dress, Mom’s black silk choker and bracelets with the snake motif, and had my hair up. I wore flat shoes so I wouldn’t make our height disparity even worse. He greeted Mom without staring at her.

“You’re looking divine, Johanna,” he said, when he turned to me.

“Thank you,” I said, surprised that I felt a bit self-conscious.

He’d come in his dad’s car, a late model Mercedes, that was parked in the driveway behind Mom’s ancient one.

The restaurant was French, and I’d never been there as Mom could never afford it. However, as my mother’s daughter, the menu was quite familiar to me. Several of the items on the menu were dishes that Mom routinely made at home.

The waiter came and began describing the menu and specials. Tim asked some incisive questions, and waiter had to go and ask the chef for some of the answers.

“You know French food,” I said.

“I like to cook.”

“Really? My mom’s a gourmet chef.”

“Do you cook?”

“Only on a campfire. But I know a little bit from watching Mom, I often help her in the kitchen. She makes a mean coq au vin.”

“I like making that, too!”

“You should talk to Mom.”

“No, I’d rather talk to you, Johanna. What’s your favorite thing to talk about?”

“You wouldn’t be interested.”

“Try me.”

“The outdoors. Horses. The West.”

“I heard that your dad was from Montana. Do you still go there?”

“I haven’t been since I was 12. When Dad died.”

 “Do you want to go back?”

“I’m not sure. I’m afraid it would remind me too much of Dad. Most of the things I loved to do there, I did with him.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his tone genuine. He put his hand on mine on the table, but there was no intent in his body language.

The waiter came back with answers to Tim’s questions and we ordered.

“What does your dad do?” I asked.

“He’s a partner in an accounting firm.”

“He must do well. That’s a nice car he’s got.”

“We’re affluent, I guess. I can’t complain. Dad wants me to study business and major in accounting. But I want to study astronomy. What about you?”

“My sister was a math major in college. I think I’d like to do that, too. And maybe do more German.”

“I want to take German in college, too,” he said. “I’d like to go to Germany.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere, really. There are so many German universities with long histories. Where do you want to go?”

“Göttingen,” I said. “City of mathematicians and physicists. The city of Gauss.”

We talked on, moving from subject to subject. It was fun talking to Tim. As we were finishing our dessert, we had graduated to talking about belief systems and the implications of Gödel’s theorem for the existence of God. We were still talking when we got back to my house. Tim parked in our driveway, and jumped out of the car to come around and open my door. He walked me up to the front door.

“Thank you for a lovely time, Johanna,” he said. “It was the best evening of my life.”

“I’m supposed to be thanking you,” I said, smiling. “You took me out. You paid.”

“It was nothing. You could have gone out with anyone. I’m grateful that you agreed to go with me.”

“Do you really think I’m beautiful, Tim?”

“Of course! You must hear it all the time.”

“Not really. Even my mom thinks I look boyish. I don’t have a … womanly figure.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tits and ass, Tim. No tits, flat ass.”

He looked shocked.

“I’m the daughter of a marine,” I said, laughing. “I have a salty tongue.”

“I asked for that,” he said recovering. “I guess I’m drawn to your athleticism. Maybe because it’s everything I’m not.”

“Tim, we’re standing at my door after a date. Isn’t there something you want to do? Especially if you think your date is beautiful?”

He looked confused, so I pointed up at the sky.

“Look, there’s a moon,” I said.

“Werewolves?” he asked.

“Think, Tim.”

He still looked confused, so I took his face in my hands and kissed him on the lips. I had to almost force his mouth open, and it was obvious I was a much more experienced kisser than he was. But once we were kissing, he put his hands around my waist and kissed me back enthusiastically. I broke off the kiss, but he still held my waist.

“You’re … you’re just incredible, Johanna,” he breathed. “Words fail me.”

“I should have said yes to you when you asked me to the Junior Prom,” I said, putting my arms around him.

“You remember that?”

“Of course. How could a girl forget the time she was the laughing stock of the whole school?”

“That Brett Jensen –” Tim began angrily.

“Let’s forget him,” I said, kissing him again.

He was a quick learner and it was a lot more fun than the first one. However, he was a bit breathless with excitement. He bowed his lower body away from me and I knew he was trying to avoid touching me with his erection.

“It’s all right,” I whispered, pulling him closer. “I like to know that I excite you.”

“Can I see you again?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said. “This was an expensive evening. Let’s do something cheaper next time.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“You know where I work. Just come by the lake. It’s usually quiet in the afternoons and I get off at 5.”

*

The head lifeguard called on Sunday morning to ask if I could come in to work. I told Mom, and she was a bit disappointed.

“I was hoping we could play something on the piano this afternoon and then cook together,” she said. “I have you with me for just a few months before you go away to college. And then you’ll be gone from my life for good.”

“I’ll always come back, Mom,” I said. “Roberta went to college years ago, but she still comes back.”

“It’s not the same,” said Mom. “You know that.”

She was right and I did not argue the point. The truth was that Mom was so much better than me both on the piano and in the kitchen, that I always felt she was just putting up with me. But her words brought home the reality of all the looming changes. I thought of her alone in a pokey little apartment after I left and felt a twinge of guilt.

“I’ll come straight home as soon as I finish at 5,” I said, giving her a hug. “We can at least cook together. I do enjoy being your sous-chef.”

Even though there was a crowd, with lots of people in the water, there was not much to do that afternoon at the lake. I did my shift in the chair and was pleased to find that the other lifeguards had done all the day’s chores. I lazed on my stomach reading a cheap bodice-ripping romance novel. I accepted an offer from Craig, from one of the male lifeguards, to rub suntan lotion on my back. I got the feeling I was being watched, and after a few moments, heard my name called in a tentative tone.

I rolled over and saw Tim standing there nervously, once again shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

“Hey,” I said. “Craig, Tim.”

They exchanged ‘Hi’s”.

“I don’t want to interrupt anything …” Tim began.

“Why don’t you take over, Tim?” said Craig, throwing him my tube of suntan lotion. “I’ve got a few things to do.”

Tim failed to catch the tube, but Craig pretended not to notice and walked away toward the lifeguard hut. I hid my novel under my towel, tipped my sunglasses from my hair back on to my eyes and rolled over on to my stomach again. The red lifeguard swimsuit didn’t have much of a back and Tim began massaging the lotion into my back. His touch became firmer with each rub.

“Your back is like something out of an anatomy textbook,” he said.

“How romantic,” I said. “I feel like I’m on a slab at the morgue.”

“Don’t be morbid! I meant that it’s anatomically perfect, aspirational. I wish my back looked like that.”

“I have good genes,” I said. “Everything good I’ve got, I got from my parents.”

“I won’t hear you putting yourself down again.”

“Then don’t talk about me. Just rub my back. You can slide down my suit shoulder straps, I don’t want white tan lines there.”

He tentatively slid the straps down, as though concerned he was exposing me. I slipped them off my arms.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “There’s no sideview on my tits.”

He worked steadily, going over every inch twice or thrice.

“Just lie down by me,” I said finally, moving over to give him room on my towel. “Do you want me to rub lotion on you?”

“I already did before I left home,” he said. “I did some research online and bought the waterproof kind.”

“Very good,” I said, poking his belly to take the sting out of the sarcasm.

He lay down cautiously, keeping a good gap between us. I scooched over so I was touching him. I put my hand in his hair, turned his face to me, and kissed him. He responded anemically.

“We’re in public, Johanna!” he whispered after I released him.

“So what? Worried about your reputation?”

“Of course not! I’m proud to be by your side. But people may see us and tell your mom.”

“My mom knows I kiss boys,” I said. “She might be a bit surprised if someone told her I was kissing a girl, but even that wouldn’t really shock her.

“Your lifeguard colleagues …”

“They’re more experienced than either one of us,” I assured him. “Kiss me again. Properly this time.”

As he did so, I turned sideways and put my arms around him. My breasts were on his chest and my nipples hardened on contact with his skin. His breathing got faster and shallower, so I moved my lips from his mouth to his nose and then his neck.

“My God, Johanna,” he breathed. “I’m in heaven.”

“It’s all in the mind, Tim,” I said, afraid that he would cum and mess his swimming trunks. “Just enjoy holding me and think of something asexual. Like the Stone-Weierstrass Theorem.”

“Is that what you’re thinking about?”

“I do think about it a lot, because it’s such a beautiful theorem,” I said. “But I wasn’t thinking about it right now. I was just thinking how your hair is even darker than mine.”

“You’re incredible,” he said.

No matter how many times he said that to me, it never failed to give me a thrill. We necked for about half an hour before I began to feel baked in the sun.

“Let’s swim out to the barge,” I said. “We can dangle our feet in the water and paddle about when we get hot.”

I pulled up the straps of my swimsuit, snugged them in place and ran to the water’s edge. I heard Tim puffing as he ran behind me. I walked slowly into the water, waiting for him to catch up with me. The water felt wonderfully cool on my hot skin. As soon as I saw him beside me, I pushed my sunglasses up into my hair again and set off with a lazy breast stroke, keeping my head above water and my hair mostly dry. I swam as slowly as I could, but soon sensed he was not with me.

A line of roped floating orange buoys marked the lifeguard monitored swimming area. The barge was anchored at the outer edge of the area, just over a hundred yards from shore. I got about twenty yards from the barge and turned around to see where Tim was. I was astonished to find he had already fallen thirty yards behind me. He was working his way forward with a laborious dog paddle. The sunlight glinted off his heavy glasses. I treaded water and waited for him. It seemed to take him forever, but he finally got up to me. His face was red with the effort.

“Fun, huh?” I said. “Almost there, now.”

“Fun,” he managed to gasp. “But it’s still a really long way to the barge, Johanna!”

He took a few more strokes, making barely any progress. Then he abruptly sank below the surface. I dove after him, got my hands in his armpits from behind and kicked powerfully for the surface.

When we broke surface together he was spluttering, clearly in a panic. He’d swallowed water. There was no way he could make it to the barge or back to shore. I knew I should signal for assistance from the lifeguard in the chair, but I didn’t want to embarrass Tim.

“Now listen to me, Tim,” I said. “Just calm down. Relax your body, don’t move a muscle. I’m going to tow you to the barge.”

He was wheezing, inhaling huge mouthfuls of air, but seemed to grasp what I was saying. I got him floating on his back, grateful that his fat made him quite buoyant. Then I towed him slowly to the barge. Once he realized he wasn’t going to drown, he relaxed further and it got easier. I got him to the ladder on the barge and he hauled himself up painfully. He collapsed on the wooden barge surface and lay there on his back. I came up and lay down beside him.

“Thank you for saving my life, Johanna,” he said, after a few minutes, when he got his breath back. “I saw my whole life passing before my eyes.”

“I didn’t save your life,” I said, laughing. I propped myself on my elbow, pushed my sunglasses into my wet hair, and looked down at him. “You were nearly here. You just needed a bit of rest. You swam most of the way on your own.”

He looked at me for a long moment, his eyes magnified through the heavy lenses of his glasses. There were lots screaming children all around us, running and jumping off the barge trying to make huge splashes. But they faded out of my consciousness. I couldn’t read his expression, there was something in his eyes I had never seen in a boy before. He reached up, pulled my head down and kissed me hard. I kissed him back with equal ardor, putting my arms around his neck, my wet body threshing against his, feeling his growing erection on my belly.

“I love you, Johanna,” he said.

“Don’t be silly,” I replied. “You’re just lightheaded from all the water you drank.”

“I do,” he said. “I know I do. I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

“I am kinda weird,” I conceded. “But you can’t love something just because you’ve never seen it before. Have you ever seen a rattlesnake?”

“No.”

“There,” I said. “You wouldn’t love a rattlesnake, would you?”

“Now you’re making fun of me,” he said. “I know you can’t think much of me. And I’ve made it worse, haven’t I? Nearly drowning myself on a short swim all these five-year-olds are doing with ease.”

“I like you, Tim,” I said. “I wouldn’t make out with you if I didn’t.”

We lay on the barge and chatted for another half hour.

“Do you want me to get a kayak to ferry you back to shore?” I asked, finally.

“No,” he said. “Just swim by my side. I’ll make it if you’re with me.”

I hugged and kissed him again.

“You’re brave,” I said. “The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.”

“I can face anything,” he said, as he climbed down the steps and lowered himself into the water. “Especially with a girl that quotes Nelson Mandela.”

I dived in and came up beside him, pleased he recognized the quote. I side stroked and floated as he struggled back toward shore, his expression grim and determined. I put my feet down as soon as I could touch comfortably. He stood up with water up to his neck and let out a whoop.

“You made it,” I said to him.

We walked over to the refreshment stand he bought us ice cream cones. We walked down the lakeshore chatting and rounded the bend through a copse of trees. The sounds of the people in the supervised part of the lake died away behind us. There was a small rocky hillock right on the water’s edge a quarter mile ahead of us. I led the way toward it. As we got closer I waded into the water.

“I’d rather not swim here,” said Tim.

“We’re not going to swim,” I said.

“Then what are we going to do?”

“I’ll show you,” I said with a grin. “Just follow me.”

We waded through thigh deep water to where the hillock abutted the water. It was only when we got really close that you could see the grotto.

“Wow!” said Tim. “Have you been in there?”

I nodded and led the way in. There was a rocky ledge around one side that led to a smooth rocky shelf on the far side away from the lake. There were breaks in the ceiling through which ghostly light filtered in. Tim got on the ledge and walked around the edge to the shelf. I walked into the middle of the grotto pool.

“How deep is it?” he asked.

“About 20 feet in the middle,” I said.

“Have you been in it?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve been to the bottom, but the water’s too murky to see much.”

With that I dived into the water. I let my legs wave in the air for a moment for Tim’s benefit, then went smoothly to the bottom. I slipped the straps of my swimsuit off my shoulders and pulled it off, letting it float upward before me. Then I kicked strongly for the surface, reaching it with enough force and power to rise up to my waist before flopping forward and swimming toward Tim. I was pleased with the way his eyes goggled when I appeared out of the water – it was the effect I wanted.

I got to the shelf with my swimsuit in my hand and walked out of the water toward him, naked. His mouth dropped open.

“Aphrodite rising from the sea,” he breathed.

“You’re the only boy in school who would have recognized that.”

“You’re the only girl who could do it,” he whispered.

I took his hand and pulled him down to the smooth rock. He did not resist as I pulled off his swim trucks and threw them on top of my suit. His cock was already hard, but when I took it in my hands, it was cold to the touch.

“I need to warm you up,” I murmured, jacking him gently.

“No, no,” he said, extricating himself from my hands.

I looked at him quizzically.

“You’re Aphrodite,” he said. “A goddess. I must serve you.”

With that he rolled me over on my back and went down on his hands and knees. He kissed my feet, and traced his lips up my ankles to my calves, to my knees, my inner thighs. He lingered there, his tongue tasting me, savoring me.

“Perfection in flesh,” he whispered.

If he had told me he was going to do this back on the barge, I would have laughed at him. But somehow, it didn’t seem laughable now. His lips moved toward my pussy ever so slowly. I could not believe his patience, the gentleness of his touch. He got me into a fever of anticipation, so that when he finally traced my pussy with his tongue, I cried out. He was not entirely sure of himself now and fumbled about. He finally managed to touch me appropriately, probably more by accident than design. Regardless, I came quite hard, bucking and twisting, with all the energy of youth.

He sat back on his haunches, looking like a bespectacled Pan, his face split with a smile.

“My precious,” he said.

“Come here,” I said. “You’re going to get payback for that, mister.”

“I was only following instructions,” he said.

“Instructions?”

“Graze on my lips, and if those hills be dry,” he said. “Stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie.”

“I’m a simple Montana cowgirl,” I said. “You’re a book learned gentleman trying to bamboozle me with Shakespeare.”

He laughed delightedly when I recognized the quote and I laughed with him. However, it did not tame his hardon. I took it in my hands again and he groaned with pleasure, mumbling wordless nothings as I jacked him. When I licked his cock tip and tasted his pre-cum, he cried out. His erection was a poor physical match for Wes’s – it was more modest in size, and veiny rather than a smooth shaft of muscle. But to me it tasted far sweeter. I swallowed it whole, and he put his hands on my hair, not to force me, but to pet me. I worked my tongue and sucked on him like Wes had commanded me and was rewarded with more groans.

“Oh, my darling!” he cried out as he came. “La petite mort!”

He tried to pull out before he came. But I held him firmly with his cock fully in my mouth and gulped down his ejaculation.

Afterward, we held each other, rubbing our naked bodies against each other. We delighted in this intimate repose in our private grotto. In a little while, he moved a couple feet away to look at me and put a hand on my haunch.

“In the russet hues of the evening sun filtering in here, you look like a Titian painting,” he said. “What a sight you are, Johanna.”

“And what a nerd you are,” I giggled.

“I’m a nerd,” he said. “But you’re a nerd goddess.”

“A goddess to nerds or a goddess who’s a nerd?”

“Both,” he said.

“Right now, I’m a goddess who wants to have sex with you.”

“We can’t,” he said, flushing. “I don’t have a condom.”

“I do,” I said, reaching over to my swimsuit. I unzipped the tiny key pocket sewn into the side and pulled out a condom.

“You, …, you, … planned this?” he said, his eyes growing even bigger behind his thick lenses.

“Of course,” I said, laughing. “Aphrodite didn’t rise from the sea spontaneously.”

“But, …, but, … how did you know …” he stammered.

“When I kissed you on my porch, I knew you’d be back,” I said complacently. “If not today, then someday soon.”

“You want me,” he said, his voice was full of wonder. “It’s a miracle.”

I put my head down, swallowed his cock and he promptly regained his erection. I ripped open the condom package. He put out his hand for it, but I shook my head. Thea and Audrey had told me how guys got really excited when you slid a condom on them with your mouth, so I positioned it as they had described. They had assured me that it was easy, but it actually turned out to be quite difficult. It didn’t help that Tim was too excited to stay still. However, I managed it in the end and sat back, satisfied with the moans I elicited from him.

He took me in his arms and I let him roll me onto my back. The smooth rock was cold. He was very careful to keep his weight off me, resting his body on his elbows and knees. I put my hand on his erection and guided him. He entered me slowly, tenderly. Even with his modest size, I was tight on him – it was only my second time! Once he was fully sheathed in me, he began to rock, generating short thrusts. All at once, his labored breathing got louder, he made two long strokes and began to cum. He lost control and flopped on me with all his weight, but I didn’t mind. I instinctively rotated my hips and he dredged out the last of his ejaculate.

“Oh my God, I’m dying!” he cried.

He rolled off me, but held me in his arms saying, “I’m sorry I came so soon, Johanna! Did you cum?”

I hadn’t, but I kissed him and said, “You were wonderful. It was magic.”

Our adolescence, the warmth of summer, this secluded private retreat, connecting on so many levels – sexual, intellectual, physical – created a bubble of bliss whose delicate uniqueness I did not fully appreciate at the time. With the arrogance of youth, I thought it was just the first of many, an experience I could repeat at will. But looking back, I now see that it was priceless, something money could not buy. In the years ahead, I had the good fortune to have many exciting encounters. But all of them were tinged with the cynicism of the familiar. The innocent togetherness we had that day can never be repeated. It is a memory I will always treasure.

*

That evening, I hummed as I minced garlic cloves in the kitchen. Mom smiled at me indulgently as she worked on the sauce.

“Why so happy, ma fille?” she asked. “A boy?”

Nothing got past Mom.

“Yes,” I said.

“Who is he?”

“His name is Tim Herbstein.”

“The second boy who asked you to the Junior Prom,” she said.

“You remember?” I asked, astounded.

“Of course, cherie. I never forget a boy who calls my girl beautiful.”

I gave her the chopping board with the minced garlic and she gave me another with peppers on it that she wanted me to dice.

“Tell me about it,” she said.

Thea and Audrey and all the other girls at school talked incessantly about what they did and did not tell their parents. They all maintained a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy with regard to sex. Their parents seemed happy to live with the fiction that all their daughters were virgins. When the girls asked me about Mom and me, I always replied with non sequiturs and changed the subject.

It was because I told Mom everything, especially after Dad died. The other girls would never understand my mother and her attitude to sex. Of course, she worried about me and tried to protect me as much as she could, but she was comfortable with the idea that her daughter would have sex.

So I told Mom everything about my day with Tim. Of course, I didn’t go into the graphic details, but I did tell her everything that we had done.

“I knew he was a nice boy,” Mom said when I was done. “Whenever I meet him, he’s genuine. None of this faux politeness of most teenage boys. And he doesn’t undress me with his eyes like that other boy, Wes.”

*

Tim came to the lake the next day, again in the afternoon. Mondays were very always slow. There was the usual gaggle of kids on summer break, watched by their moms or older siblings. But many of the parents were at work, so there were fewer cookouts.

I had the afternoon shift in the chair and could not spend as much time with Tim as I wanted. He seemed happy enough, content to sit in the shade of a picnic shelter, read a book, and watch me. Apart from a few whistles at kids that got too boisterous, I didn’t have much to do.

At 5, I climbed down from the chair and Craig took over.

“Your boyfriend’s a patient guy,” he said, giving me a friendly pat on the rump.

I walked up to Tim and asked him if he wanted a quick swim, as he was in his trunks.

“Could you swim by me out to the barge again?” he asked. “Maybe give me a few tips? I’d like to get better.”

“Sure,” I said.

This time I was careful to stay at his elbow and coached him on developing a rudimentary breast stroke. He managed a stroke or two at a time, reverting to his dog paddle when he began to sink. His body coordination was hopeless, but he was a good listener and took coaching well. I saw discernable improvement by the time we got to the barge. He surprised me by turning around immediately, and heading back for shore without a rest. I shepherded him back and when we found our feet I celebrated his success by giving him a kiss.

“I’m done here for the day,” I said as we headed across the grass toward the lifeguard hut. “I’ll change out of this suit and we can decide what to do next.”

Michael Jones, one of the hulking linemen on the football team, stood by the entrance to hut with one of the lifeguards.

“Hey Nerdstein!” he called out to Tim as we got close. “How do you like getting Wes’s sloppy seconds?”

Tim made the mistake of making eye contact and his expression showed that he did not understand.

“Wes Collins popped her cherry, you know that, don’t you?”

Tim’s face went red and his whole body tensed.

“Don’t you dare say things like that, Michael!” Tim shouted. “You apologize to Johanna!”

“Make me,” said Michael, his tone lazy. “Come on, Nerdstein, show me what you got.”

“Let it go, Tim,” I said in a low voice. “He wants a fight, don’t give it to him.”

“I don’t care!” Tim said, his voice tight. “He can beat me up, but I won’t let him talk about you like that!”

Tim darted forward before I could stop him, both his hands balled into fists. It was clear he had no idea what to do with them.

“You –” Tim began loudly.

Michael poked him in the midriff and Tim’s mouth opened in an ‘O’, all the breath driven out of him. Michael put a meaty palm on Tim’s chest and shoved him, driving him back several steps. He followed Tim, put his hand on his chest again and took off his glasses. Tim looked about, blinking. I knew he was nearly blind without them.

“Come on, Nerdstein,” Michael said, jeering. “Throw a punch at me.”

I looked at the other lifeguard, but he shook his head, putting up his hands in a gesture of surrender, mouthing “Leave it alone, Johanna.”

I ran into the lifeguard hut looking for something I could use as a weapon. I found a shovel with long wooden handle and steel blade. By the time I emerged from the hut, Michael had pushed Tim further away. I came up behind him and whacked him on the butt with the flat of the shovel blade, hard enough to get his attention, but not enough to be particularly painful. He turned around, surprised.

“Well, if it ain’t Miss former virgin!” he said mockingly. “You banging Nerdstein now? Come with me, babe. I can give you a better ride with my finger than he can with his cock.”

“Give Tim his glasses and get out of here, Michael,” I hissed. “Otherwise I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

“Will you now?” he said, still mocking me.

I swung the shovel hard and hit his left hand. The steel hit flesh and bone with a sickeningly whack and he howled with pain. He put his hand in his armpit, whimpering.

“I beat a guy in Montana with a shovel, Michael,” I said. “I beat him till his brains came out of his nose. And I liked him better than I like you.”

“I’m going, I’m going, you bitch!” he cried. “You’re fucking crazy!”

“Give Tim his glasses. Nicely.”

Michael handed Tim his glasses and walked away, still holding his hand in his armpit. The other lifeguard was looking at me open mouthed. I threw him the shovel.

“Put this back, will you?” I said to him.

After I changed, Tim and I walked to the parking lot, where he opened the door of a BMW. It exuded that "new car" smell  and I looked at him questioningly as I clicked on my seatbelt.

“I’ve got my mom’s car today,” he said. “Where do you want to go?”

“Let’s go to the arboretum,” I said.

He drove us to the arboretum and we walked through the flowery arbors side by side. What I had just done to Michael Jones hung in the air between us, inhibiting conversation. I wanted to bring it up, but couldn’t think of a good way to do it. I plunged in, deciding to make it up as I went along.

“Listen Tim,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I didn’t want to emasculate you. To make you look weak.”

“I am weak.”

“No, you’re not, Tim. You’re brave, you have heart. You stood up for me.”

“But you had to save me. I was going to get beaten to a pulp.”

“I learned how to fight roughhousing with the boys out West. It’s not your fault you don’t know how.”

“Did you really beat a guy out there till his brains came out of his nose?”

“No,” I said. “I made that up to scare him.”
Tim started laughing. It broke the tension and I laughed with him. He put his arms around me and kissed me. When we got back to the car, I asked him to join Mom and me for dinner. He eagerly agreed and called his mom to tell her.

Mom seemed pleased to see him, and they discussed what they would make for dinner. She was happy with how knowledgeable Tim was and they worked out complex recipes to which they each added their own special touches. She opened a bottle of white wine that we drank while we cooked. Tim and Mom worked well together in the kitchen. I was happy with my usual role of sous-chef, slicing, dicing, chopping, or mincing, just doing what I was told. I was one of the best meals I’ve had in my life.

He stayed after dinner and we moved from the dining room to the family room. Mom and I played a duet on the piano. Mom chose a simple, but merry divertimento that I could handle without any false notes. We finished the evening with a rousing rendition of Heart and Soul. Mom played intricate improvisations on her part, but I stuck to the main theme. Mom’s playing made it sound extremely complex, and she made me look far more accomplished than I am.

“You’re just an amazing pianist,” he said to me on the porch, as he was leaving.

“I’m better with a shovel,” I said, laughing.

*

I stood on the porch after he drove away, thinking about what I would have done if Michael had decided to fight me. Never raise a weapon unless you’re prepared to use it, Dad always said. Never start something unless you’re prepared to finish it. Thinking about Dad and Michael brought to mind the story Grandma had told me about Dad. She’d told it to me many times over the years before she died. But it was only now that I realized she was telling me a cautionary tale about something she saw in me.

“Orphan James used to do odd jobs at the stables in town,” she said. “He was about 20 years old back then, but a bit slow, acted like he was a child.”

“What do you mean, Grandma?”

“His brain was, well, it was not normal. But he was a sweet boy, wouldn’t harm a fly.  All the boys used to tease him, make fun of him, you know how they are. Then one day Judd Nitzen, he took it a lot farther than usual. He was just out of prison, mad at the world. He undid poor Orphan’s pants and chased him down main street bare-assed, whacking him with a paddle. Orphan was crying and hollering, but no one would step up. Everyone knew that Judd’s a mean one. Your dad was 17 at the time and Judd’s big, grown man, must have outweighed him by 80 pounds. But he beat Judd senseless. Broke his jaw, his skull, lots of other bones besides. He would’ve killed him if they hadn’t pulled him off. He’s got this rage in him, your dad. Can’t bear to see a weak ‘un whupped.” She paused before going on. “Old Judge Carter, he knew what Judd was like, but he couldn’t look the other way. He told you dad that he’d let him off if joined the military. Your dad went to the Marine recruitment office the next day.”

I’d never understood Grandma’s story till today. But when I saw Michael shoving Tim, blind as a bat without his glasses and feeling the air in front of him, not even sure where his adversary was, I felt that rage form in my gut. It was cold and hard, it took possession of my senses. It blotted out thoughts of consequences, of the police and the law, of being arrested, of throwing my life away. I knew then with awful certainty that if Michael had not walked away, I would have killed him.

*

After a week together, Tim invited me to his house for dinner. Over my protests, Mom dressed me up formally.

“It’s summer dinner party in Wisconsin, Mom!” I said. “Not a ball at a chateau in France.”

“As my mother used to say, better overdressed than underdressed,” she replied.

I called Tim and warned him I was wearing a long dress, high heels, and jewelry with my hair up. I arrived in Mom’s old car to find they had moved their planned al fresco dinner into the house for the air conditioning. Tim and his father wore suits and his mother wore a long dress and jewelry as well. I was embarrassed to have caused all this. His mom told me how much she liked to get dressed up and how few chances she had to do so. But I was not sure whether she was just being polite.

Tim’s father seemed to like me. The way he talked to me and his body language all said so. His mother was smooth and friendly, but she asked me subtle questions throughout the evening about my family. It was the sort of questioning I often got visiting my mother’s family friends in France, not the sort of thing I had heard before in America.

“You have no more property in Montana, I take it,” she said, as we were on the dessert course.

“No, Mom sold it all,” I said. “It was quite a lot of land and very beautiful, but it wasn’t worth that much.”

“How about in France? On your mother’s side? You said they are an old family of knights in Brittany, right?”

“Yes,” I said. “There’s an estate, but not much money to maintain it. Mom’s cousins work in Paris and they’re able to keep a few cottages in running condition. Mom has title to one of them and she pays for its upkeep. But the main manor house is in ruins.”

“Oh dear, that’s a shame,” she said. She brightened. “But she must have a nice inheritance. After all, it’s going to cost a lot to send you to college. Tim’s father and I have been going over the expenses for Tim – it’s unbelievable how much it costs to go to college these days!”

“Oh, she doesn’t have an inheritance,” I said, finally seeing where this was going. “And Mom’s salary isn’t very high. Money-wise, I guess you’d call us lower middle class. She’s going to sell her house and all her possessions to send me to college. She’s going to move into an apartment.”

“I see,” she said.

It seemed she had all the information she wanted and did not ask me much more for the rest of the evening.

“I’m sorry about Mom,” Tim said to me on his porch as I was leaving. “I’ve never seen her like this before.”

“It’s okay, Tim. Tell her she doesn’t have to worry about me stealing her son. Tell her I’m just borrowing him for the summer.”

He looked so miserable that I kissed him on the nose and patted his cheek to bring a smile to his face.

*

It was an idyllic summer. Tim and I spent more and more time together and I taught him to swim. We had sex every day, often several times, in his parents’ cars, in our grotto, and in my bedroom at home when Mom was at work. I lifeguarded at the lake, worked at the stables, spent time with Mom.

The news of my confrontation with Michael had spread like wildfire through the high school student community. Thankfully, it turned out that I had only given him some bad contusions and not broken any bones in his hand. But the contusions raised vivid bruises that he showed everyone. I’d always been considered a bit weird, but now most people thought I was crazy as well. Tim and I were in the mall some time later and saw Thea and Wes Collins, who were now a couple. They turned away as soon as they saw us, and walked into a store to avoid us.

In late July, Mom called me into her study to discuss all the things I needed to buy in order to go to college. As we talked, she picked up a notepad and made a list. When we were done, she gave it to me and I went over it.

There were some doodles she’d done earlier on the pad above the list. There were some rounded shapes and two words – ‘biopsy’ and ‘malignant’. I wondered about them, but she didn’t say anything when I handed the list back to her.

The next day, the phone rang as soon as I got back from the stables. Mom wasn’t back from her office yet, so I picked it up.

“Good evening,” said a female voice. “I’m a nurse practitioner at the University Medical Center. May I speak with Ms. Marie-Aude von Eschenbach?”

“She’s not home right now,” I said. “I’m her daughter. Can I take a message?”

“Can you ask her to call me back as soon as possible? It’s quite urgent.”

“What’s it about?” I asked, worried.

“I’m sorry, I can’t breach patient confidentiality. Please take my number.”

She gave me a number and I wrote it down. When Mom came home about half an hour later, I told her about the call, and gave her the number. She took it without a word, went into her study, and closed the door. I followed her and tried the door, but it was locked. I put my ear to the door and after a moment, I heard her voice.

“Yes, this is Marie-Aude von Eschenbach.” There was a pause before she went on. “I see. When should I come in?” Another pause. “Okay, I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

I heard her footsteps and quickly moved away from the door.

“I have to go out for a while,” she said to me.

“Where?” I asked.

“Nothing important. But it might take a few hours, so I won’t be able to cook tonight. Can you order yourself a pizza?”

She walked toward the front door and I followed her. I still had my boots on and they rang on the hardwood flooring. She turned around on the porch and faced me.

“You’re going to the University Medical Center, aren’t you?” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “Just some routine testing. Nothing to worry about.”

“If it’s routine testing, why is it so urgent?”

“You know how doctors are, cherie. With them, everything is urgent.”

“Why are you lying to me? I saw what you’d doodled on the notepad – ‘biopsy’ and ‘malignant’.”

Her shoulders slumped, and she lost her normal confident air. I quickly went forward and took her into my arms. She seemed smaller somehow, and I could sense that she was afraid.

“I found a lump in my breast,” she whispered in my ear.

Less than an hour later, Mom and I were in an examining room with a surgeon accompanied by a resident and the nurse practitioner who was handling her case. The surgeon completed his examination and went back to the computer terminal where Mom’s breast CT scans were up on the screen.

“The good news is that we’ve caught it while it’s still treatable,” he said. “But the bad news is that you’re going to need surgery. You got a warning with your mammogram last year and I wish you had done the biopsy back then.”

“What is the treatment you recommend?” asked Mom.

“The tumor is quite large, so we’ll get you on chemo right away. As soon as we have it to manageable size, we’ll get you in for surgery. That’s the only way we’ll save your breasts.”

“I don’t care about her breasts!” I interjected, my voice loud with worry. “I want you to save her life!”

The surgeon looked at me with that supercilious expression that medical specialists have.

“We’ll do everything we can,” he said.

Neither Mom nor I said anything on the drive home. I called my favorite pizza place on the way and we picked up a pie. When we got home, Mom went down to the basement and brought up an old demi of Cotes de Provence rosé, blowing dust off the label.

“A dry rosé is the perfect pairing with a Margherita pizza,” she said as she opened the bottle.

I laid the table and put out the glasses. I used a pizza cutter and served the pizza. Mom poured out the wine and we sat down to eat. Mom always insisted on cutlery with any food, and I had grown used to eating pizza with a knife and fork. She raised her glass before we ate and I raised mine.

“A la vôtre, Johanna,” she said. “This demi is from the consignment I put down when you were a baby. I promised myself I would toast you as you left for college, and today seems like a good day to do it.”

I looked at the bottle. It was a 1994, probably worth a good deal of money.

“A la vôtre, Mom,” I responded. We ate and drank for a few moments before I sat back. “Have you told anyone about this? Have you told Roberta?”

“No,” said Mom.

“How did you plan to deal with it? On your own?”

“I’m a grown woman, Johanna. I can deal with a little health problem.”

“It’s not a little health problem, Mom!” I cried. The fear and worry inside me stimulated tears, but I held them back. “You have breast cancer! And it’s quite advanced!”

“Just some chemo, a bit of surgery and I’ll be back to normal, cherie,” she said. “You heard the nurse practitioner. I probably won’t even miss any of my classes in the Fall.”

“You’re going to be weak, bedridden for days! You’re going to lose all your hair! You were going to deal with all of this on your own? Were you going to tell Roberta and me at all?”

“I was going to tell you when I was well again, cherie. When we get together for Christmas. Then we can laugh about it.”

“Where would we get together? In your little apartment?”

She had no response and we ate the rest of the pizza. I cleared the table and we took our wine to the family room.

“Let’s play the Satie duet,” I said.

It was one that she particularly loved, but one that I’d always struggled with and hated.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“I’ll do my best, Mom.”

We played it passably well because she helped me along more than usual. She put her arm around my shoulders when we were done and gave me a squeeze.

“Mom, I’m calling the realtor first thing tomorrow to tell her to take the house off the market. Then I’m calling the jewelry appraiser and telling him that we’re not selling your jewelry.”

“But cherie, your college fees are due–”

“I’m going to college, Mom. But I’m not going away. I’m going to your university, right here in town. I’ll get free tuition and live with you.”

She argued, she cajoled, she threatened, she cried, but I was firm. I called Roberta that night and told her everything.

“I’ll come on the first flight I can get,” she said. Then she blew me a kiss on the video. “Thank you for staying with Mom. You’re a good daughter.”

*

I went to Tim’s house the next day in the early evening when I knew his parents would be home. His mom said they were just sitting down to dinner, but I said it would not take long. I told them that I would not be going to Boston for college. I thought Tim’s mom looked relieved, but maybe I imagined it.

“I’ll write and call you every day,” said Tim on the porch as I was leaving. “I’ll be back for Fall break and Christmas.”

I put my arms around him.

“The summer’s over, Tim,” I said. “You’ve got to move on.”