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I picked up the books in one hand and turned around too quickly, driving the back of my right hand deep into the bounteous breasts of the blonde who had been standing too close behind me. She gasped as I jerked back and spilled my books onto the floor. She smiled as I took a step back and knelt to pick them up and put them in my backpack.

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to grope you, sorry…”

She grinned at my blush and said with a glint in her eye as she looked down at me, “Far be it from me to look down on the joy of reading.”

I straightened up and matched her bantering tone, “Please forgive me. That was unforgivably clumsy.”

With a smile she returned my serve, “I assure you, there’s nothing to forgive, kind sir. Far too few of the young read such delightful works.”

“Please allow me to buy you a cup of coffee to apologize for my clumsiness.”

“Only if you buy me a glass of wine afterwards.”

“I would be honored.”

Her hair shone brightly, lighter than the tan adobe wall behind her cutting sharply into the deep blue sky almost as bright as her own blue eyes.

After the introductions and chit-chat, she replied to my last apology, “Really, it was my fault. I had to see what you were buying.” She smiled as I reached down to my backpack and lifted them out for her to read the spines. “Hardy, I love his poetry more than his novels.” She leaned over and tapped the next one down, “Butler, funny, clever.” Then the third, “H.D., good for you!”

“I just walked in the store and there they were.”

“So much better than what I have to teach. I do get sick of fourth graders after a semester. There’s only so much you can say about Captain Underpants.”

We chuckled and I retorted, “He’s profound, really. The eternal struggle between lightness and dark, the glory of victory and the agony of defeat, the…oh…never-ending struggle against the torture of chafing in the summer…”

We laughed and as we sipped our coffee I noticed her nipples were fully erect, poking up and out against her bright blue summer dress, vying for my attention with the cleavage behind the deep V-cut of the neck. I looked up to see her watching me with an obscure smile, and I glanced away and then back as she pursed her lips and leaned forward, cleavage even more to the fore. “The good thing about fourth graders is they haven’t hit puberty, thank the Lord. I’d hate to teach high school. They’d never look me in the eye.” I coughed as she chuckled, lifted her mug, and took another sip. “I prefer a more age-appropriate audience.”

I held her eyes as she stared into mine, and then she leisurely looked away. “So where did you start reading such good books?”

“Had a good teacher in high school.”

She chuckled and said, “Hope you looked her in the eye.”

“Actually, he was butt-ugly, but he was a damn fine teacher.”

We laughed and she asked, “So who was he?”

“Dawson. Know him?”

“Yes, actually, slightly. He retired a year after I started at my current school. Met him at in-service a few times. But you liked reading before then, right?”

“Nope. Just a task I had to do. Enjoyed some of the stuff I read, but I wasn’t in love with it, you know.”

“Then you had lousy teachers who weren’t doing their job right.”

“Lot of that going around these days.”

We laughed and she asked, “And what about you? Are you a good claims adjuster?”

“Yes.”

“You mean for a young’un, right?”

“My first year I was, yes. Now I’m a good adjuster, period.”

“Do you work for a company?”

“I started out in one, but I started as an independent when it went under.”

She looked at me with what I was surprised to realize was admiration and said, “That must have been hard.”

I shrugged, “I suppose, but it felt damn good too.”

Her obvious interest fed mine, and for the next hour and a half we talked happily about things that ordinarily would not have interested me; with her they did. Her eyes danced as we talked, and even her breasts interested me less.

When we were fully caffeinated, she said, “I seem to remember a promise…”

“I never break them...”

She smiled, and I went to pay as she freshened up. As I was on foot, I thought about the best place to go. When she returned, she took my arm and asked, “Where are we going?”

“Philippe’s.”

She smiled meaningfully and said, “The place on the other side of the park?”

“The one and the same.”

“We think alike, you and I.”

As we strolled through the little shopping center with cushy store fronts and comfy atmosphere, I looked at her in the sunlight and was amazed at myself; it was the first time lines at the corners of eyes and lips and a little sag from many more years of gravity than I had seen didn’t bother me. Indeed, as part of her they attracted me, as much as her shining blue eyes, smiling mouth, and manner, flickering from bantering to serious to funny without misstep. Our talk was inconsequential and delightful, and as if we had agreed explicitly, we walked all the way to the other end of the storefronts before turning toward the park, almost doubling back for two blocks through parking lots and then the grassy edge of the park until we hit the path we needed.

As we walked side by side, I frequently glanced over and three inches or so down at her, each time finding her already glancing at me. Even though I had no trouble talking, I was baffled inside, wondering whether I should make a play for her and what I should do if I did. We passed through the playground areas and grassy stretches into the woods and soon came to a branching in the paths. Without hesitation, she tacitly made the choice I meant to suggest and kept on along the longest path, which curved around to a ford across the creek to add perhaps an extra mile and a half to the walk to Philippe’s.

As we walked, conversation flagged; in compensation I was preternaturally aware of every sway and curve of her body and every whish and fold of her dress. Along the path we passed smaller paths giving access to secluded areas amid rocks and trees, and she glanced at me in seeming calculation a few times. When we reached near the mid-point of the path, she pulled off to the left onto a small path into the trees; she let go of my arm and walked ahead of me. She looked at me over her right shoulder and said, “Let me show you something.”

My anticipation built, as I’d been that way before and knew what little there was to see. The little opening between the trees snaked this way and that for about 30 yards to debouche into a small puddle of sunlight fronting a large rock. We stood in the middle for a few seconds; she looked around and then walked over to a large tree bending back into the woods. I looked at her and closed my eyes for a second to hear the branches around us in a light breeze and, far off, a vague murmur of the creek over rocks, nothing else. She was watching me when I opened my eyes, her pale skin and blue dress and flaxen hair dappled in swaying patches of sunlight. I breathed in deeply and slowly let it out as I walked two yards to stand beside her.

She looked squarely up at me, and as I screwed up my courage to kiss her, she half-closed her eyes and tilted her head in invitation. When our lips touched, a tremor passed through her and she put her arms around my chest as sucked my tongue deep into her mouth; as she melted while taking me into her arms, her left hand caressed the back of my neck and then rose to hold the back of my head. She kissed deeply and gluttonously, her tongue thrusting into my mouth for a second and then circling my tongue as it gave pursuit. Soon her hand held my head in place as she probed my mouth more deeply, her tongue circling deep within as her other hand explored my body freely. I allowed my own hands to caress her from her hips to her shoulders and down her spine to her waist and ass; she merely reached down to cup my own and then gripped my hip as she pushed her pelvis against me.

I withstood her circling hips against me for a few eternal seconds, and then I pushed my erection hard against her belly. She pulled her head away long enough to whisper, “Yes, let yourself go,” and pushed her hips even harder against me. I felt as if I were drowning in her arms, her body vividly alive against me, and she kissed down my jaw to my neck and sucked at the join with the neck as her hand reached between us and grasped my cock firmly. Her crotch pressed against my thigh as she pushed her right leg between mine, and in turn I slid my right hand around her hip to feel her clothed mount under my fingers. She hissed in pleasure against my neck and stroked my firmly in my slacks as I pressed hard against her and inched deeper between her thighs. She unzipped me as I lifted her dress with my fingers, scrunching it up to her waist, and then reached up to pull down the waist of her panties.

Her hairs were flaxen-soft and thick but well-trimmed, and further down her cleft was drenched and soft like a sponge. Instead of letting me explore her, she thrust forward to impale herself on my fingers. She pulled my head down to let her suck again on my mouth, and with her other hand she gripped me firmly, flesh swollen in her hand, and stroked me in rhythm with the ravenous squishing of her pussy. Her expert hand had me breathless as I tried to stave off an explosion, and after a minute of riding my hand, she leaned back against the tree and tilted her hips as she placed her lower lips four-square in line with my cock and whispered, “Don’t waste it.”

She used my cock as a handle to pull me forward, upward, and inward as I bent my knees to meet her height, and once my head had entered, she raised her right knee to my side and thrust forward to imbed me fully inside her belly, hot and wet and welcoming. She squealed as if in pain and immediately fucked furiously against me, staring up at me as she thrust fore and aft. I supported myself against the tree with my right hand while cupping her ass with my left as she held tight to my body.

Apart from our muffled sounds, there was only a murmur of breezes in the leaves. For a few minutes her blue eyes watched me smilingly as her upper torso seemed almost calm despite the vigor of our motions below the waist. Her lips were slightly open and speckles of sun flecked her skin and her hair in the shade, and as her passion rose, her eyes narrowed until suddenly her chin titled up and her body went taut except for the rapid pulsing around my cock. I had managed to hold off well until then, but with the beginning of her climax I lost control and thrust wildly into her. I lasted about eight thrusts before my loins contracted, my first spewings deep inside her coinciding with the last contractions inside her belly.

Her body held me firmly in peace as it had held firm beneath my storm, and once we had recovered our senses she lowered her thigh from my side and put her foot on the ground; as she stopped supporting herself with me, I shifted my weight from my hands back to my feet. Amazed at the passion she had shown, so much greater than any other woman had shown me, I was astonished to see her continued desire for me. As we both came fully to our feet, she watched me with frank admiration, or so it seemed, as she resettled her panties and lowered and smoothed out her lower hem as I zipped up and put my backpack back on. After picking up her purse, she turned and winked over her shoulder, “Brush me off.” After brushing off the odd flake of tree bark, I continued caressing her back. She turned around beaming and blew me a kiss and a wink. “We should have a glass of wine before the main course.”

She walked ahead of me back to the path and then took my hand as we walked quickly to Philippe’s. I was exhausted and on edge at the same time, drained yet refilling quickly, and in silence I looked at her repeatedly to see her smiling at me each time. At Philippe’s, she led me to a table and ordered a glass for each of us, and after the waiter left said, “That was a good start.” I nodded and she appraised me, head titled slightly. “A start to what, I wonder.”

I looked her firmly in the eye and replied, “I’m eager to find out myself.”

“Did you like where I led you?” I nodded.

She smiled, relief evident, and a second later our waiter served us. After he left, we raised our glasses and she sipped as I watched her happily. She set the glass down and leaned in to me. I took a sip and leaned in as well. She watched me, waiting as I thought quickly how to phrase it, and I said, “You lead, I’ll follow.” I paused and added, “So far, I hope it’s a long trip.”

She blinked once and smiled, “We shall see.”

We talked little, though warmly and of nothing significant, afraid perhaps of dispelling a spell, and when we had settled up and left, she walked with me quietly for a minute and then looked around and said, “I was on foot today.”

“I walked too.”

She nodded, “So we’re close.”

I considered and said, “My place isn’t a palace, but it’s warm and clean.”

She nodded again. “I’d like to see it.”

“This way. Twenty minutes or so.”

“All day long I’ve been thinking how glad I am I wore my walking shoes.”

“All day?”

“Well, since the bookstore.”

We laughed and soon enough came to my house. “It’s small,” I said as I ushered her in, “but mine own little thing.” She led me around it as if taking possession and led me into my bedroom. She enveloped me in her arms and pulled me to her, and as I undressed her and then acquainted myself with her body, she came alive and hot under my caresses. Soon she was thrusting her hips against my hand as my fingers squished inside her, her breasts white with pink tips filling my eyes and mouth. She pulled away long enough to sit on the edge of my bed and beckoned to me. When I got close, she pulled me to her and reached down to guide me inside.

She was if anything even hotter and wetter than in the park, thrusting up against me on the first stroke to bury me to the root inside her. Her neck was already starting to flush, the red spreading quickly to her face as I thrust wildly inside her. She met me stroke for stroke, more passionate and lust-drenched than any of my other lovers; she made no coy secret of her need for me but instead used me in hungry lust.

Again her climax swept over her without warning, pushing me into a mutual climax as she squeezed down tight on me. I stabbed deep in her belly, staring down at her body dancing so vigorously under me that she almost pushed me off. Finally she collapsed in exhaustion and held me exhausted atop her. She kissed my neck and caressed my hair as I felt her breasts under my chest, her hips under mine, and my arms under hers as I lazily curled and uncurled my fingers in her hair.

Finally I had enough energy to lift myself off her; we got under the covers. Suddenly I yelped and started as she cuddled up next to me. “Damn, put on socks!”

“I’m an Irish girl. We’re always cold.”

“It’s…room temperature in this room. It’s the height of summer. How can your feet get so damn cold?”

“It’s a gift.”

“How can that be a gift?”

“Because it feels so good to get warm with you.”

I melted at her smile and embraced her as we dozed. After fifteen minutes we woke and she looked at me quietly. “We have all weekend?”

“For a start.”

She smiled. “I have in-service next week. Eight hours a day in an empty shell with all my fellows.”

“I just want your evenings.”

“And nights?”

“Please!”

She giggled and sighed, “You know, this isn’t my usual practice. A man just like that. It’s…”

“Special, I hope?”

She nodded, “And not a younger man. Not like that, not like you.”

“I’m old enough. That’s no matter.”

“I’m old enough myself—is that a matter?”

“No. Just new. Different.”

We lay there inspecting each other by sight and touch, and she finally asked, “It doesn’t bother you.”

“No.”

“You can ask. Now. I’d have not allowed you before.”

“I guess, ten years?”

“I saw your license as you paid. Thirteen.”

I nodded. “No matter.” I chuckled, “Thirty-seven. I didn’t expect…think…it never would have occurred to me that I’d be with a hot thirty-seven-year-old until I was fifty-seven, you know.”

She swatted me, “Braggart. Delusional too. You wish.”

She pushed me back and crouched above me as she stroked me. As I hardened, she watched, and merely smiled when I reached up to cup her mount. Soon my fingers were deep inside her as she circled her hips; as she climaxed, my first stream shot out of me all over my chest and belly, and despite her orgasmic bliss, or to prolong it, she continued staring at my shooting sperm.

She collapsed next to me as she ran her fingertips placidly through my juice, and as she recovered she said, “What will you fix me for dinner?”

“Ordinarily a five-course meal, but you’ve worn me out. Just pizza, I’m afraid.”

She chuckled, “Extra meat on mine.”

“Haven’t you had enough yet?”

She laughed loudly and swatted me, “Not even close.”

We showered and ordered pizza, and over beer we talked for hours, then retired to my bedroom for two more bouts of lovemaking. She was eager and ready each time, both times riding me so I could, as she put it, recuperate for next time. We fell asleep a bit after sundown and woke up refreshed; she went into the kitchen to examine the possibilities of breakfast and insisted I take her from behind as she stared into my cabinet. Later we sat on the couch and talked for hours, and oddly, for I’d never been particularly interesting to women, she listened happily, her eyes twinkling at me over the rim of her coffee mug.

At one point I asked, “I just have to make sure. You aren’t married, right?”

She swatted me with a look of anger that seemed half in play, half in earnest, and said, “No. NO.” After a pause, “Not any more. Not for a long time. I’m not like him.”

“Good. It just seemed too good to be true. There has to be a catch somewhere.”

“I’m the catch! I’m good enough to be true. Why can’t it be just like it seems? I’m honest. Aren’t you?” I nodded. “Take it as it comes then.”

“Take you as you come, you mean.”

She swatted me, completely playfully this time, and said, “You always do.”

An hour later she asked, “Why so many mysteries? And such old ones?”

“For work, I guess, as much as anything. It’s like romances about my work.”

She smiled, “Everyone has a job to do, even the boy detective tracking down insurance cheats.”

I laughed, “Exactly. I suppose it’s utterly unliterary crud to you.”

“Nah, you can write fiction about anything. We all have our own outré tastes. I like bizarre pastoral poetry from centuries ago. Why not that?” She paused and added, “But so old. Freeman? Rhode? Connington?”

“Historical overview of the subject.” She laughed and I smiled, “They’re what I like when it’s just a crime and its solution I want, as clever as it gets and never mind character development.”

She laughed and said, “I’ve seen your other books, so you’re allowed those as well.”

I chuckled as she looked over again at my bookshelf. “And so much statistics. Why?”

“Basic tool of the insurance industry. Have to know it. It’s interesting enough.”

“So tell me about it.”

“Nah, you’d be bored. Especially since I can use it, but explaining it? It’s harder. I read about that in one class. Foundations of Statistics. Read about it until it made sense, all the different theories. But I never wrote papers about it outside that class, never tried to explain it, so I wouldn’t know how to teach it.”

She nodded, “Yes, that’s the way of the world.”

And so it continued for a month in which she came by five evenings or so a week and demanded just enough kissing and manual foreplay to arouse me before coupling joyously with me, vigorously, ecstatically, repeatedly, and then sleeping softly in my arms; or rode my hand as she stroked me more vigorously and expertly than I’d ever stroked myself; or showed me her own ministrations as I stroked off hard onto her quivering, spasming belly.

And after the month was over, she met me at Philippe’s and led me quietly and proudly to a house slightly larger than my own. She showed me around for five minutes and then closed the bedroom door and undressed us, pushing me onto the bed as she sucked my tongue into her mouth and my cock into her belly. She was as quickly and easily orgasmic as always, but whispered to maintain control as she rode me to climax after climax. After her sixth, she said, “Come now.” I held her hips as I used her for my own pleasure, thrusting like a young man using his own fist for the first time, groaning in bliss as my pummeling pushed her over the edge one last time, our spasms coinciding pulse for pulse.

I lay there in exhaustion as she lifted herself off me, the gloriously explicit scene of her splayed thighs and open gash receiving my cock shrinking into the artistic beauty of her flaxen thatch at the top of two closed milky thighs, and went to wash up. She came back with an old towel, half of it wet, and cleaned and dried me as I tried to gather enough energy to move. She leaned over to kiss me and stroked me idly until I became hard again.

“So, what do you prefer? Legs, breasts, rump?”

For answer I pulled her breasts to my mouth and suckled at her nipples. I felt her chuckle in her chest as she stroked me faster. I reached up to feel her sticky wet flower open to me as she began circling on my fingers, and she retrieved a tube from somewhere and began slicking me up. She used my hand vigorously as I sucked on her breasts, and her climax was fast and hard. She lifted off me and stroked my cock with lube between her breasts until she was slick and I was close. As I thrust up into the valley between the two beautiful breasts that I squeezed together firmly, I heard her squishing as she reamed herself with her other hand. I stared at my cockhead at the top of her cleavage and the orgasmic joy on her face and sprayed up to her chin, then drained onto her breasts and my belly.

I sat up and pulled her against me, facing away from me, and pushed her hand away. She spread her thighs wide as she breathed raggedly just before climax and screamed when my fingers entered her. She lay back against me as spasm after spasm washed through her, thrusting forward against my rigid fingers, and finally relaxed in my arms as my cum dried between us, sticking us together.

“Hold me like that.” After a second she added, “Don’t leave.”

“I won’t.”

“I mean tonight.”

“Of course I won’t.”

“Or ever.”

“Never.”

She titled her head to kiss me and whispered, “Welcome to my house.”

Two weeks later I knocked on the door. My mother soon answered, smiling as she saw us, unfazed at seeing a woman next to me only a decade younger than her and a divorcée to boot. “So you’re Anita. Murphy, is it? I’m Jane.”

“Pleased to meet you, Jane.”

She led us into the living room, where we chatted until Dad arrived.

“Emergency repair job. Guy bought a dream car and just let the thing go to the dogs. It’s a crime, a total crime,” he explained, and looked sharply when Anita was introduced to him. A few minutes later he said, “You’ll have to excuse me; I need to wash up a little more. Jane?”

They left; a minute later Mom returned and sat with us, a puzzled expression spreading across her face. Dinner was ready five minutes after Dad was, and we talked a bit as we ate. Afterwards we returned to the living room, and Dad showed a sudden curiosity and asked, “So, Anita, where’re you from again?”

“Follett.”

He nodded, “Yes, I’ve passed through there often enough. Used to have a supplier there, oh, maybe 15 years ago. Nice town.”

“Yes, I loved it growing up there.”

“And you’re an English teacher?”

She sat up proudly, “Yes, elementary. Usually fourth grade.”

Dad nodded, “Good teachers in this state, none better, I hear.”

She beamed and nodded, and he asked, “So you started teaching right after college?”

“Yes, over in Dansville.”

Dad looked at Mom and nodded; her lips twitched as she sat there suddenly ill at ease. “So,” she asked, “how long did you teach in Dansville?”

“Oh, three years. There was an opening in Burgess, and I’d just…divorced…I had to move somewhere else, just get away from…that disaster.”

“Oh, what happened?”

“He loved me, or so he said, but he liked other women more, I discovered.”

I sat there suddenly alert and troubled at the chronology, hoping a discrepancy would come up soon, but she blithely proceeded. Dad asked, “His last name wasn’t Bennett, by any chance?”

Anita nodded and shrugged, “I dropped that name as quickly as I dropped him. Do you know him?”

The name meant nothing to me but it seemed to mean a great deal to Mom and Dad. Mom picked up an old book on the end table next to her and opened it. “No. Nice to meet you again, Anita,” and handed over a small old yearbook I vaguely recognized opened to a page in the middle.

Anita glanced at it and then stared hard at it as Dad said, “We lived in Dansville for a while too, you know.” I looked over and swallowed as Mom added, “You should look there, where it’s bookmarked.” Anita turned from the page with my picture and opened it to the bookmark to see her own among the teachers.

We sat there silently for a minute, staring at nothing but the old picture, until Dad said, “We met you briefly at one of the PTA meetings.”

Mom asked quietly, “Don’t you remember her?”

I shook my head. “I remember almost nothing from…fourth grade.”

I glanced at Anita, who looked as if she were about to throw up, and looked over at Mom and Dad’s unreadable expressions. Dad asked, “And you don’t remember him?”

“God no. That was…maybe my second year? I barely remember my home room students from that year. None of my other students. I was new. Life was a mess.”

We sat there in silence for another minute; Anita then stood and said, “If you don’t mind, I should probably leave now.”

Mom said quietly, “Yes.”

Anita looked at me quickly, then away, and walked out. I sat there as we heard the door close, and after another minute I said, “Well.”

“Ain’t life a kicker,” said Dad sadly, and Mom nodded. He continued, “Don’t really know why it seems so wrong, but it does.”

“I guess,” Mom replied.

I left a few minutes later after I was sure Anita was gone, and strolled home in a sickened daze. When I got home I poured myself a stiff one and nursed it and my feelings in my chair. I shook my head, realizing that at no time had she seemed in any way familiar, but then I hadn’t even recognized the school building when I chanced across it on business the year before despite spending two years there. I sat there trying to remember anything about that time as I proceeded to get quite drunk, but largely failed; after an hour my exhaustion won out.

In my dream it was a bright day in early spring, fresh and clean outside and perfect weather for the sixth graders. The Gang of Five were pretending not to notice me as I gazed longingly at the stand of trees behind the school where after school I could disappear with Doug and Bobby, though they knew by then not to be seen with me at recess. The snooty girls in fifth grade strolled over and glared me away, and once I was out of the line of sight of the principal’s office I saw the Gang come loping toward me. I looked around; the other kids glanced at me and looked away, and soon I was running to the side of the building for the daily bout of eating dirt. They were especially pissed because I’d turned them in for something petty, stupid, and no more than their speed, earning them a mark in their school records and no more, and this time they pummeled me hard. Or so it seemed; twelve-year-olds usually leave no physical marks, and these sure as hell were never specimens of Adonis, just future street thugs and street cops and other petty dictators.

Finally they tired of the exercise and loped off, and I picked myself up, brushed myself off, and longed for the final bell as I walked into the school building just before the end of recess to get some water. The principal passed me and said, “You need to be more careful playing. You’re going to wear out those clothes before their time if you keep that up.” As always I avoided looking at him, just as I avoided looking at all the teachers, as they didn’t know and didn’t care about anything outside their little gardens, and certainly not a little kid. Seven classes, seven teachers, and not one of them could I have named the week after that grade ended, and certainly not now; whether any of them had flaxen hair I could never have told you, nor did I care to see, for the only contact between our worlds was my enforced proximity to them in school captivity.

The dream continued with a line-up of my greatest hits, mostly in the belly and back and all to my pride, until eventually I woke up more tired and sicker at heart than when I fell asleep. I stretched and walked from room to room, then stepped outside and decided to clear my head with a brisk stroll. I walked to the corner and around the block, then continued and meandered around. As I walked, I wondered why it affected me so. I hadn’t known her for 14 years, and then almost not at all; it appeared that neither of us had had any memory of the other that whole time. The further I walked, the less it bothered me, until I remembered how sick Anita had looked and how glum and severe Mom and Dad had acted. It was likely over between us, I realized, through no fault of ours, just blind circumstance. In any case, I decided, the next move was hers; after all, if anyone at all cared, she’d bear the brunt of it, her and her career.

I walked on home and slept the sleep of the damned.

She sat down across from me. I watched her face anxiously, but she seemed like always. We ordered a glass of wine each, and after the waiter served us and left, she said, “Good to see you again after so long.”

“It’s only been three days.”

She smiled, “Three long, hard days. I liked the long hard nights better.” We laughed and she continued, “Your mother was very nice on the phone.”

I nodded, “She said you had a good chat.”

“And a good talk.” She sipped her wine and asked, “Ever heard of Augusta Leigh?”

“No. Can’t say as I have.”

“Early 1800s. Her mother married a fellow named Jack Byron. Jack Byron also had a son by his second wife. He became a poet. You might have heard of him.”

I laughed, “Well, yes, even I.”

She laughed with me and said, “Anyway, the poet eventually met Augusta, his half-sister, as an adult. They scarcely knew each other growing up. They fell in love, had an affair, probably, and a child, probably. Big scandal.”

I nodded, unhappy with the turn in the conversation.

She continued, “When I learned about that in college, I thought about it a lot. Just as an intellectual problem. The close relationship, genetically, yes, that was a problem. But did they know each other well, like brother and sister? Not really. That’s not so much a problem. Still, it squicked me.”

We sat quietly for a minute as she took another sip of wine. She continued, “And that’s how I felt when I learned about us. Teachers don’t do that. I certainly don’t. But I did, actually, and it was nothing wrong. If you think about it, just as two adults. No real connection before.”

I nodded, “I decided that too.”

“And then your mother called. They decided it as well, though she still grilled me for a few minutes. I guess she decided I’m good enough for you. No objections, she said, from either of them. So, if you’ll have me…”

I grinned, “Let’s ditch this dive.” We slammed down the rest of our wines, settled up quickly in cash, and walked off the sudden flush of alcohol to her house. She led me to her room and struck what some men might consider a provocative pose and said, “So, class, for your homework…”

I grimaced. “No. Not funny.”

She gave a pout, “It’s not meant to be funny.”

“Not sexy either. The opposite.”

“Aren’t you hot for teacher?”

“That’s not a turn-on.”

She blinked and said, “In high school I’d have filled your fantasies.”

“In high school I just wanted out. You wouldn’t have.”

She looked at my crotch and her eyes twinkled. “But I fill them now.”

“To overflowing.”

After a second she seemed to shrink into a scared yet plucky young woman and beseeched me, “But Captain, please let’s not have me walk the plank! I can earn my keep so sweetly.”

“Yar, ye have mine ear.”

She smiled and knelt before me. “And I see I have thine eye.” She looked steadily up at me, fresh and young in a way yet as seasoned as ever, and as she unzipped me she whispered, “I only shiver the timbers of the most bloodthirstiest ever of pirates.” When she had extracted me, she gave a look of shocked surprise and said, “Quite the bowsprit.” After a second she chuckled quietly, “And I do think you’ll love the cut of my jib.”

She leaned in and teased the tip with her tongue, then circled the head as my knees went weak and my loins leapt in delight. “Oh yes, captain,” she whispered, “my knees are flexible and my talents are all yours.” She circled my head and then my shaft with her tongue as she opened wide and took me in, circling, circling, as she took full possession of me at last, and then pulsed her mouth and throat when she had taken me fully inside.

She started bobbing fore and aft as I reached down and cradled my fingers in her hair, and I watched her twinkling eyes and the proud set of her face as she gloried in her skills and my response, and when my breath was ragged enough and my twitching and spasming had reached the boiling point, she pulled me fully inside again and closed her eyes as my flesh filled her mouth and my juices spilled into her swallowing throat. I stared down at her as she finally fulfilled my last fantasy, doing what I had given up hope she would ever do, and took a dirty pride in watching the beautiful woman on her knees before me taking everything I gave her and proud of it.

Finally she pulled away, all my drops swallowed, and licked her lips and asked coyly, shyly, and proudly, “Well, captain, may I stay with you?”

“Ye might, wench, if ye fruit’s fresh enough.”

I lifted her to her feet and moved her to sit on the edge of the bed. I knelt before her and pushed her skirt to her waist, exposing her fully to my eyes until I leaned in and gave a lick, then another, and knowing she was fully mine now, kissed her deeply. Her blonde hairs were soft and silken and her inner lips were already flushed and darkening from pink to purple. I used my thumbs to pull the folds of flesh apart so I could see the thick outer lips and orchid of the inner lips within their frame of sodden hairs, a flash of light pink peeking at me in the center, and I licked all that I saw slowly and curiously, pulling away to view it again before leaning back in, as she responded happily.

“Oh, captain,” she whispered, “my peach is yours and yours only.”

I responded by kissing her more deeply still, and soon my head was buried between her thighs and my face was firmly planted in her crotch. Her body twitched as her hips began circling, and I delighted in the feel of her swollen inner lips against my lips or lolling against my tongue.  While I had given her pleasure many times in the past few months, finally I was focusing exclusively on her, letting her ride the wave of pleasure alone as I felt the power of giving it to her. Her hips circled as my tongue circled the other direction, and after five minutes she whispered, “Your finger, I need it inside me, please.”

I felt her envelop me like a sheath as I explored her and found where and how she liked it, and then felt her sheath turn into a vise as she fucked fast and hard fore and aft against and around me. She let loose a choked squeal and nearly broke my fingers and nose, or so it felt, as she held me in place with hands and thighs and came again and again, a long succession of smaller climaxes building to a tempest.

Finally she collapsed and let me go. She glanced at me from between nearly closed eyes and smiled, “A captain who knows how to pilot a little canoe as well as a great sailing ship. Oh Captain, my Captain…” I chuckled and helped her settle lengthwise on the bed before lying next to her.

She kissed me and smiled, “I love your perfume. You need to wear it every day.”

“Aye, milady.”

“Just no fedoras.” We laughed and she cuddled up sweetly in my arms. “Why hadn’t you ever done that to me before?”

“I’m done with women who receive and don’t give. They never did give.”

I looked at her unblinkingly and let my eyes ask the question, and she paused for a second and replied, “I only do that with men I love now. Only men who deserve my gift. When I was married, I learned it well. After my divorce, for a while I was every man’s blowjob queen. I made them happy, and swallowing them made me happy. But one day my man surprised me during my break. He held me there while I was…in position, and we were in a closet and my students were all walking by between classes as he gave me his load. Anyone could have caught us, and I didn’t even like him that much. No more after that. It’s hard for any woman to be known to do that. For a teacher it’s suicide.”

“So we shouldn’t tell anyone how we met.”

She laughed loudly, “Not originally! It’ll be our little family secret.”

“Unless someone snoops in the old files…”

“They’d have to really snoop. I paid a visit earlier to the administration building and snuck into the file room and did some creative refiling. I will say though, after looking at your records, you were a shitty student in fourth grade.”

We laughed and I retorted, “You yourself said I had lousy teachers.”

She swatted me as we laughed, and then snuggled even more softly against me. “So what else have you ever dreamed of doing with me?”

“Why? What did you have in mind?”

She giggled coyly, “There are a few other things I’m quite good at.”

“Oh really.”

“Yes, but I have to be in the right mood.”

“What mood?”

“You know, after a couple of shots of vodka, that mood.”

We laughed and she looked ponderingly at the ceiling. “I love Hardy, but thank the Lord he’s not the one writing our story.”

“Suicide over ill-starred love is so 19th century.”

We laughed quietly at that and she said, “Of course, given your literary tastes, no doubt Phil Marlowe or Lew Archer is digging through the files right now tracking down some evil-doer. We’ll be sucked into a crime larger than anyone but a detective novelist could even fathom, and no one will end happily except the grizzled detective, secure in his expanded knowledge of the world and the evil in the hearts of men.”

After a second I replied, “Pretty much, yeah. I’d buy that one in a heartbeat.”

She swatted me happily and asked, “So, since we’re together forever now…”

“Yes?”

“You can repair plumbing, right?”

I swatted her lightly on the arm and said, “Should have known there was a catch.”

“Yes, I told you before, me.”