THE NEW GYM TEACHER A tale of Larry and Hugo
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Sexual Awakening Of Hugo free porn video
The McLean sisters Di and Leanne looked through the shades at their new neighbor standing hands on hips watching the to relocation team drive away in their huge truck. Their mom Heather joined them.
‘Nice ass.’
‘Act your age mom,’ Leanne said and she and Di sniggered.
‘I wonder if he likes sex,’ Di (22) said, winking at her year-older sister, knowing that sort of remark riled their mom. But Heather remained silent and her expression appeared to be reflective. The sisters stared blankly at their mom as if wondering what was going on in her head.
Heather thought he looked about thirty and would be a business executive. Well he’d need to be paying the high price the McLeod’s had held out for their substantial home. She was disappointed the guy appeared to be alone. Nothing she saw being carried in suggested a woman’s possession and no woman had appeared on the scene.
‘I wonder if he’d married?’ Di sighed.
‘Nah, he’s gay. Real men don’t stand with hands on hips like a riled woman.’
‘You’d want to rest your hands on something after lugging in all that furniture and cartons,’ Heather reasoned. The girls sniggered and she told them to behave like ladies.
She said she hoped there would be a woman, either his mother or a wife or a girlfriend because she’d always been used to having a female friend directly across the street. ‘Let’s find out about him,’ she said. ‘We’ll make a date and nut log and take over a bottle of wine to welcome him to the neighborhood.
She did the baking unassisted. The girls had rushed off to change and apply make-up.
The guy stood at the door nervously. ‘Hi.’
‘Hi, I’m Heather McLean from directly across the street in the cream brick house and this is my eldest Leanne and her sister Di.’
‘Good evening Heather, Leanne and Di.’
There was an awkward pause until he said, ‘Ah, I’m Hugo Hatfield.’
‘Are you English?’
‘Yes Di. Are you guys American or do you claim Scottish ancestry?’
‘Even mom a McCallum was born in Massachusetts and dad’s folk have lived here in Springfield since arriving from Scotland in 1902.’
‘Nicely answered Di.’
Heather said, ‘Hugo, welcome to the neighborhood. Would you please accept this piece of cooking and wine.’
‘Oh guys, how hospitable and charming. Please come in and view the mess.’
* * *
Heather, home at 3.30 after finishing her theatre shift at Baystate Medical Center, handed coffee to her older friend Helen Fields who’d called in.
‘What’s new Heather?’
‘We have a new neighbor in the mansion opposite. Initially he introduced himself just as Hugo Hatfield but I was astonished to find he is our new and fourth orthopedic surgeon and comes from Bristol in England. He arrived from Boston where he qualified for registration and certification and is now undergoing induction, in hip and knee replacement surgery.’
‘Well that’s news. I have a wonky knee. What’s his wife like?’
‘He’s not married and told me women don’t take to him romantically.’
‘What, is it too small?’
They cackled over their coffee.
‘Di and Leanne both agree with his assessment of himself. They both made independent pitches for him and got nowhere. He actually took Leanne out to dinner and she told us she was bored stiff. His music tastes are classical, he doesn’t read fiction or magazines or watch much television and says his main recreational interests are ice-skating, kayaking and visiting galleries, museums and libraries.’
‘Claire!’
‘What? Oh your Claire. God Helen, it would be a perfect match. He’s thirty-three, just a year older than your Claire. Look, let’s arrange a dinner party here – I’ll get the girls to stay out late – and you bring Barry and just Claire.’
‘Very well. You set it up.’
‘Good, I’ll just tell him it’s dinner with long-standing family friends and their daughter who paints.’
‘And who is director of Fisher Gallery.’
‘No, and don’t tell Claire he’s a surgeon. Give them some things to find out that will surprise them.’
* * *
Claire frowned, ‘Dinner Saturday night at the McLean’s? Well I suppose so since Heather has especially invited me. I haven’t seen her for a while. Her daughters are a bit scatty for me.’
‘Oh thank you darling for accepting. We’ll try to brighten up your evening. I really do think you should be going out with young men. How can your father and I become grandparents when you steer clear of guys?’
‘I’ll find the right one eventually and would you and Heather stop ruining my reputation by being worried I might have a closet girlfriend.’
‘We haven’t expressed our fears to anyone.’
‘Ohmigod, for the first time you’ve admitted you talk to her about that.’
‘That’s not fair, you tricked me into that admission,’ Helen complained. ‘Oh, before I forget. Heather has also invited a new neighbor to dinner.’
‘Ohmigod, what a couple of scheming women you two are. I ought to refuse to go.’
‘Aw darling, please.
‘Well if you promise we’ll leave by 10:15.’
‘Yes dear, I promise, even if I have to drag you out by your hair.’
‘Dream on you wicked witch.’
Claire, with her wispy blonde hair up but bits dropping down untidily and she drooped, being addicted to soft and unreinforced bras, entered the McLean’s home feeling mildly interested. Heather was all over her with kisses and stroking which irritated her, Arnold kissed and performed a mild grope that she habitually tolerated and thank god the kids weren’t there. Nor was he. She thought ah well, he probably wouldn’t have liked her anyway and was in love with his mirror.
God, she thought, what a cow. She pulled Heather into the kitchen and asked, ‘Why are you doing this?’
‘Because your mother and I agreed he was right to you.’
‘But I’m not ready to meet a guy for the purpose you two have in mind.’
Heather smiled. ‘Then when will that be darling?’
‘I-I don’t know.’
‘I thought that would be your answer. Please go and sit by your mother. I can hear his footsteps.’
‘Oh god,’ Claire said, moving off and patting her hair.
Claire was relieved to see him. The guy (she hadn’t been told his name) was at least an inch shorter than she was in heels, he looked serious and swarthy and his teeth were too big for his mouth, giving him the appearance of perpetually smiling and his bulge…there was not the slightest evidence of one behind his tight linen trousers. Was it a case of Dr Hermaphrodite I presume? She was even more relieved when Heather introduced him to her father Barry who looked anything but impressed and the guy and Arnold just smiled a greeting without punching each other’s knuckles like guys who know one another sometimes do.
As to be expected her mom almost curtsied and Heather, as if pausing for the drum roll, then said with great deference, ‘And this is our star guest Helen’s daughter Claire who is an artist with a rising reputation.’
‘Oh good evening Claire. May I ask what style do you paint?’
‘Oh just a bit of this and that,’ Claire said absent-mindedly, wishing he’d go and grab a beer and drink with the men.
But she wasn’t permitted to get away with that brush-off. Heather said grandly, ‘This is an example of Claire’s work and switched on the light over her portrait at the fair end of the room.
‘Jesus,’ said the doctor as if he was an authority on religious painting and strode down to view it.
But instead of standing off he went right up to it.
Oh god, he’s looking at brushwork thought Claire. And then he came out of a bit of a stoop to look towards top center and she knew what that about – he was looking at the eyes, the core of what a portrait was about – expression. This guy was no art bimbo or whatever the male term for it was.
Dr Hatfield returned to Claire
and said gravely, ‘You are very good.’
He could have spewed out adjectives that glittered, or attempted to align her with a portrait painter of reasonable merit but that simple statement just hit Claire between the eyes and made her blush and have a great urge to rush to the bathroom. What was he doing to her?
‘Grab a beer darling,’ Heather told Dr Hatfield.
Claire looked at her and the others. It appeared none had been aware of that little byplay between Hugo and her, for which she was very grateful. Instead of arriving back with his beer he returned with a wine bottle and topped the ladies’ glasses.
How couth. Claire was captivated and hoped he’d produced romantically tinged feelers during the evening. But he didn’t. Her disappointment cut to her inner core. How could he be sensitive about art and not be sensitive about her?
Hugo left first and kissed Claire on the cheek in exactly the same manner as he did the older women.
As Claire left she whispered to Heather, ‘He didn’t notice me?’
‘Oh yeah.’ Heather giggled and that was it. What was that about? Normally Claire’s difficulty was to stop Heather talking so much to get a word in.
Driving home Claire’s father said, ‘Hugo appears a nice guy. He showed no interest in you though.’
‘I’m he didn’t,’ Helen laughed. ‘I’m a married woman. He was gob smacked by your portrait darling.’
How the hell did her mom know that? She hadn’t been paying attention, had she?
‘You see people in galleries who know what they are about looking at paintings like Hugo did.’
‘Well that was kind of him. He doesn’t know I exist or could have a flicker of interest in him.’
‘Is that so? Then why did he ask Heather where you worked and then ask her for the address of the gallery?’
‘He what?’
‘You heard darling. Just be patient.’
‘Mom, mom. What are you saying to me?’
‘Christ Claire. The guy’s interested in you. Now give it a rest. Are you coming with us to the Lipscombe Trio Concert on Sunday afternoon?’
‘Yes thank you daddy.’
Claire then sat quietly, unsure whether she was happy or unhappy.
* * *
Claire painted at her gallery and the sign in the window ‘Artist at Work’ attracted some people. For the next two days she remained in best clothing, hoping he’d come. As to be expected on the third day after that dinner she was painting in soiled jeans, a T-shirt emblazoned with the lettering F’CK because she’d taken her other two painting T’s home to launder and had forgotten to fetch in replacements, when he arrived. A raised eyebrow drew a huge blush.
‘I-I…’
‘Hush, I like it. So many younger urban artists are up themselves. I also admire you for loving your breasts enough to just wear soft bras with minimal support.’
‘L-love me breasts?’
‘I love my body, don’t you love yours?’
‘Yes I do Hugo but this is a very strange conversation to be having.’
‘I see. So you compartmentalize the types of conversations you are comfortable with according to time, place and circumstances?’
‘No. Is there something wrong with wearing a bra?’
‘In most cases they are as unnecessary as a corset but we were taught at medical school to say, ‘whatever makes you feel comfortable’.’
Claire frowned. ‘Why are you here?’
‘To take you to lunch?’
‘This is a small gallery, I don’t have an assistant unless I am indisposed so I must keep the gallery open and lunch here.’
‘What would you like for lunch?’
‘I picked up bagels and cheese on the way to work this morning.’
‘Carry on painting young lady while I go out and hunt for something a little better. I have Wednesday afternoons free.’
She didn’t reply and as he walked away she was sure she heard him say, ‘Wednesday afternoons would be a great time for sex.’
She was working on background fill so was able to think about that and decided yes, Wednesday afternoons would be a great time for a romantic interlude, even to extend beyond romance and into sex, not that the two were unconnected.
Hugo returned with cheese, a French loaf, a couple of suitable salads and a chilled bottle of French dry white wine.
They sat where she’d been working. He gestured at the two walls out to the entrance. ‘Are only three of those yours?’
Claire was astonished. He’d identified here three portraits at a glance and yet there were seven other artists represented with anything from two to seven portraits. He did know about art.
‘Yes.’
‘Where do you fit yourself in pricing?’
‘High end.’
‘I would have thought so and those prices are set by other gallery owners.’
‘Yes,’ she said in surprise. ‘Most of my work hangs in other galleries because we are not high end here. Um, would you care to join my parents and me at the Lipscombe Trio Concert on Sunday afternoon?’
‘Yes, that would be lovely. I had intended to go. I love sitting in a park on a rug eating late lunch or even supper listening to good music. Are we dating?’
‘I-I…’
There was a pause.
‘Sorry, I don’t quite understand.’
‘Yes, it’s a date and I’ll want more of them.’
Hugo smiled. ‘Thank you for that. I would have dawdled into asking because women really don’t take to me romantically, finding me a little intense, so I would have been afraid you might reject me.’
‘Do you wish to have sex next Wednesday afternoon?’ Claire blurted. ‘With advance notice I can bring in a relief, the wife of the gallery owner actually.’
Hugo had his mouth full so nodded and patted her just above the knee.
Claire waited anxiously for him to complete the last swallow.
‘I feel I could come to really like you Claire.’
She raced off for a pee, face flaming.
He watched her returning and knew she was being undressed.
‘Do you like what you see,’ she said boldly, no longer nervous.
‘Yes. Do you get a lot of sex?’
‘No.’
‘Me neither. I would like much more.’
‘Me too. And companionship.’
‘Yes, absolutely.’
Hugo invited her to his home for dinner that evening.
As he left Claire thought she heard him say ‘Bring your toothbrush’ so when she left home that evening she packed it, just in case.
* * *
After dinner Hugo put on a CD of Brahms Violin Concerto in D Major. He sat back beside Claire and drew her head on to his breast and she turned at the right angle to be kissed.
The kissed gently and eventually, giving him the invitation, she placed her arms around him and drew him down more firmly and opened her lips. His tongue found hers and they were away.
After her breasts had been massaged enough to drive her half-crazy Claire unbuttoned her top and then reached behind to unclasp her bra.
Hugo wolfed the exposed breasts, sucking in huge mouthfuls as he moved across the expanse and not overly dwelling on the nipples. Claire loved him doing that and signaled her pleasure with tiny moans. She felt down and confirmed as unjustified any doubt that he might not be big enough, As she began drawing away her hand Hugo seized it and clamped it down on him. So when that hand moved on over her belly and down to pluck the elastic of her panty tops she murmured ‘Take them off’ and unzipped him.
With the warm, slightly pulsating thick cock in her hand Claire half-swooned in desire and shouted, ‘Ohmigod Hugo, I want it in me.’
At that Claire felt he became even thicker in her hand. He pushed off her panties with his foot, having already kicked off his slip-on shoes, and she wriggled back full-length on the sofa. Hugo lifted up her uppermost leg with her assistance and Claire closed her eyes to savor what she believed was the greatest moment in having sex, the precise moment of penetration. Er well, one of the greatest moments. She felt her very ready pussy open for him and her vagina adjust to
seemingly wrap itself around Hugo. She shuddered into a little orgasm and sighed and then settled into return thrusting.
As it ended Claire, although highly emotional and wanting to hug the darling man forever, truly believed it had been her best fuck.
‘How was that,’ he leered.
‘My best fuck ever,’ she replied earnestly.
She heard him reply callously, ‘Oh yeah. I bet you always say that?’
They lay in their sweat and juices. Claire was amazed because she’d never done that before and was aware the sofa was leather, so no harm would be done. It was just that they began talking and he sounded so intimate and she didn’t want to break that moment and didn’t need to pee.
After a few minutes he got up and she went to follow, but he pushed her over the end of the sofa and on her knees and before she knew it he had two or was it three fingers in preparing her and she was thinking ‘Oh God, he’d interested in going at it again.’ And then they were at it, full throttle and she was yelling, urging him on and loving it.’
Later he carried her to the toilet and then to bed. She was too exhausted to remember she’d brought her toothbrush.
Fifteen months later surgeon Hugo Hatfield and noted portrait artist and obviously pregnant Helen Fields married in Adams Park. The Lipscombe Trio played during the wedding reception for ninety-four people including Hugo’s parents and relatives from England.
Hugo and Claire spent their honeymoon at a mountain resort where Claire kept telling her beloved he’d released her into sexual maturity and she’d just had her best fuck ever. He just smiled at her adoringly.
THE END
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