Continuing Education

[TheOlderGuy]

Gavin

I settled behind my desk with a cup of strong fresh coffee, lots of maple syrup and heavy cream, so it became a dessert as well as a pick-me-up. I took out the folder of submissions from the class assignment on 'earliest sexual memories'. We'd had a few brave souls share theirs in class, but the bulk remained unread, and I knew it would take me several hours to get through them, so I was determined to get a head start.

I pulled the first essay off the top of the stack, Jennifer Weigert, and I had to admit I couldn't even put a face to the name. I was going to have to engage some of these students more in class to draw them out of their shells.

"I can remember watching my neighbors fucking behind their pool fence when I was quite impressionable. I never got much beyond that, but it left quite an image in my mind. Later when I was in college, still a virgin, I had a similar experience with my landlords,a rather plain looking couple in their forties. I had never given their love life much thought until one day I heard noises coming from behind the swimming pool fence and crept up close enough to watch. It was awesome, and I found myself losing my own clothes and rubbing myself while watching through the cracks in the fence. This went on for some time when suddenly I was overcome with a sneeze, which, of course, gave me away. Before I knew it, these sweaty lovers were leading me inside the fence and lavishing me with lots of attention. But that's really a whole other story. I certainly flashed back on that first memory while they initiated me into the pleasures of my own body."

Hmmmm, I thought, perhaps Jennifer is not one of the shrinking violets, but I still could not pick her face out of the crowd.

 

[Guest]

Assignment by Dolores de la Cruz

,

 

[BlaqueRicanMami]

Leilani Ellis

I had struggled some with the assignment that my teacher gave me about my earliest sexual memory. Growing up in a sheltered home and with my father as a Baptist minister, I would have missed out on a lot of adolescent experimentation had I not been the curious type, and somewhat artful at making up stories. But I had tried my hardest to remember exactly when I discovered sex.

My earliest sexual memory comes from when I was about fourteen. I still believed that babies were hand delivered by God to good Christian families who prayed for them. My parents had refused to let me take sex education in the eight grade, and furthermore, had pulled me out of school all together, to home school me in an effort to keep me pure. One afternoon, I told my parents that I was going to library, but I ended up at a male friend's house, whom my parents never knew about. He was going through a large cardboard box of non-labeled video cassettes, and I decided to join him. Picking one out, we scampered excitedly over to the VCR to insert the tape, curiosity bubbling from inside of us. What we had discovered was his father's stash of pornography. We saw a naked man laying atop of a naked woman. At first I was repulsed, since I had been taught that my naked body was sinful. But the moans and groans that they made began to get to me, and I felt a wet spot growing in my panties. I looked over to my friend, and he was rubbing himself through his jeans. I looked back to the television, and the man had pulled out of the woman, thus ejaculating all over her face. I got so scared, I ran from his house and never saw him again.

 

[TheOlderGuy]

Gavin

I read through as many of the essays as I could in the remaining hours of office time. Some were in need of inspiration, but a few were outstanding, in either content or style, or both. I made a note to myself to try to work on the indentities of the students who had been somewhat quiet in class up til now, and try to draw them out. Tired, I headed home.

Friday the class seemed more animated than usual when I walked in, and I looked around, trying to put names with faces. At this I failed rather miserably. But a few eager faces acknowledged me, and little by little the class quieted. "Good afternoon. Good to see you all here, full of enthusiasm. I'm going to be handing back some of your work from the other day. But while I'm doing that, would anyone like to start off the dialogue about today's assignment: Seducing your muse?"

 

[Guest]

Dolores de la Cruz

,

 

[TheOlderGuy]

Gavin

Some of the more loqucious of the group began an animated discussion of the muse as sexual object, while I strode quietly up and down the aisles, returning work from the day before. They had all been showing marked improvement in their ability to break down the barriers to writing freely. I had been challenging them with difficult subjects, hoping to chink away all the armor that holds us back as writers.

One who had been very closed off before, so much so that I had hardly noticed her, Leilani, had finally arrived at a place, difficult I'm sure, where she could describe her early sexaul experience with some detail.

My earliest sexual memory comes from when I was about fourteen. I still believed that babies were hand delivered by God to good Christian families who prayed for them. My parents had refused to let me take sex education in the eight grade, and furthermore, had pulled me out of school all together, to home school me in an effort to keep me pure. One afternoon, I told my parents that I was going to library, but I ended up at a male friend's house, whom my parents never knew about. He was going through a large cardboard box of non-labeled video cassettes, and I decided to join him. Picking one out, we scampered excitedly over to the VCR to insert the tape, curiosity bubbling from inside of us. What we had discovered was his father's stash of pornography. We saw a naked man laying atop of a naked woman. At first I was repulsed, since I had been taught that my naked body was sinful. But the moans and groans that they made began to get to me, and I felt a wet spot growing in my panties. I looked over to my friend, and he was rubbing himself through his jeans. I looked back to the television, and the man had pulled out of the woman, thus ejaculating all over her face. I got so scared, I ran from his house and never saw him again.

I marked it sparsely: "Excellent - see now if you can tie this experience in with how you view sexual contact more recently. Extend yourself into the story." I set it on her desk, and she looked up at me, then shyly looked back down at the paper. I could tell that she was eager to read my comments. As I passed further up the aisle, I looked backed briefly, and she met me with a smile.

 

[TamedTiger]

Sophie

Sophie: a 20 year old college senior. She is in her last semester at the university, studying English with an emphasis on creative writing. She is petite with black hair, dark brown eyes, and tan skin. Her personality is reserved; she is an introvert and an observer of people and of life. Beneath her calm exterior there is a deep passion and excitement which she feels for life. But, she has never allowed anyone close enough to see it. As a result, most people view her as a bit mysterious, but usually lack the patience to get to know her and quickly give up. This is alright by her, as she has always preferred solitude to crowds.

***********************************

"Get a grip, act your age, get a grip, stop being stupid, get a grip, get a grip, and stop talking to yourself!"

The women's bathroom mirror reflected my flushed face and wild eyes. I splashed more cool water on my face, and reached for a paper towel. The mantra I kept telling myself in the mirror was not helping. I was merely beginning to sound senile. Fortunately, most students had class during this time, and so no one was here to witness my descent into, what I was certain, was the beginning of madness. I took one more calm breath to steady my nerves. "How the hell are you going to do this?" I asked myself.

I had just left the dean's office. I needed one more class for my creative writing specialization to graduate, but because I was late in my tuition payments, I was also late in registering. Every class had been full - too full to allow any more students in, and there were no waiting lists for the classes I needed. The dean had suggested an independent study with a professor. I thought the idea was wonderful; I preferred one on one study to group learning. I was overjoyed about it, thinking I should have registered late every semester. Then he handed me the name of the professor whom I was to approach about independent study.

Gavin Hayes.

THE Gavin Hayes. The person whose books I had read at least 30 times each. Indeed, whose newest book I had in my bag this very minute. I had discovered him, quite by accident, when I was fourteen years old. I had been browsing in a bookstore, at the same time that he had been giving a short reading. His voice and the way he carried himself had immediately captivated me. After, I read every single book of his, and waited in anticipation for the next one. His stories, like his voice, that day in the book store, pulled me in and enthralled me.

Now, I was being given the opportunity to study under him. Provided he accepted me, of course. First, I had to broach the topic with him. This, now, was my dilemma. I had no idea what I would say, whether I would be able to say anything. I didn't know whether I was more scared that he wouldn't accept me or that he would. "Just stop it. This is perfectly normal. He probably has had independent study before with other students."

Irritated with myself for dwelling on this so long, I left the bathroom abruptly and walked decidedly in the direction of his classroom. Upon seeing the door, I quickly passed it, and took refuge in an alcove with a bench. I had briefly glimpsed him laughing and talking with the students. My stomach was in knots, and my heart was pounding. "How could I ever turn any assignments in to him? They would never compare to his stories." Finally, I decided that the best course of action would be to pretend I had vaguely heard of him, but had never read his books. The last thing I wanted him to think was that I was an over zealous, star-struck, and obsessive fan. I would be quite calm, and simply pretend I had never read anything by him. "Yeah, right" I muttered to myself. Lying had never been my forte. I consoled myself with the thought that he probably would not ask if I had read his books anyway, so I could circumvent the lying.

Finally, the students had begun to trickle out of the classroom. I decided to wait, and give him time to settle in his office. When the hallway had cleared completely, I got up, gave myself another thorough chastisement for acting so immaturely and began walking in the direction of his classroom.

The door was closed, but I could see light coming in from underneath it. I took a deep breath, once more rehearsing what I was going to say, and knocked firmly on the door.

 

[TheOlderGuy]

“Whew! Tough class. Thank God for free periods.” For a moment I was afraid I had said it aloud. I looked up smiling and exchanging small talk as thirteen students left, each stopping to hand in what they had worked on last night, and during class. I had gotten in the habit of collecting their papers at the end of the class, so that they could use the last ten minutes or so, after we’d each discussed our approaches to the subject, so they could use those last ten minutes to rethink anything they needed to before casting it off to the reviewer. That’s me.

I had begun to feel like my role was more one of cheerleader. It had been much harder than I expected to open these kids up. And many of them had obvious talent as writers. Each of them brought a unique set of perspectives to their work, but many of them were so emotionally locked up that they had a hard time getting into third person situations. They couldn’t feel someone else’s emotions, because their own were so heavily armored in one way or another.

I’d made some progress the past few weeks, but it was by far my hardest class, and it left me exhausted. The door swung shut behind the last of them, and I collapsed back into my chair. I relished the silence, both in the room, and especially in my brain.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

I peered up at the door, looking over my reading glasses, still clinging to my nose. A tense face framed in dark hair peered back at me through the glass. Her brow was wrinkled, but she had such a sweetness about her that I my curiosity was instantly aroused to know who she was, and why was she knocking at my door. As I started to speak “Come in.” the door swung open.

“Uhhhh . . .” she spoke softly, and I worried that I had intimidated her already. I knew I could seem fierce at times, but I thought I had maintained a very meek and mellow presence here. I liked this job, more than any I ever had. Well, writing, of course is my passion. But I never really considered it a job. These kids, tho, had become very special to me. I likened it to planting a garden. There’s only so much a teacher, or a gardener, can do, but nurturing is such a critical part of it. It fit in perfectly with the more sagely and tolerant view of the world that I had grown into. My more mature attitude had involved leaving a lot of the past, both the pain and the joys behind. I never forgot the feelings -- I just tried not to relive them every day.

“I’m really really hoping that I can help you.” I laughed a little nervously, recognizing that my attempt to relax her could potentially backfire. I had attached a certain flirtatious tone to the sentence that someone could have taken offense at. I straightened up a bit in my chair, and tried to put on a more formal face. “Um, I’m Gavin Hayes.”

I think that she turned a little flush as I extended my hand. She took it, meekly, her hand small in mine, but very warm, engaging even. She still had not spoken a single word, well except for the obvious “Uhhh”.

“And you?” I smiled as warmly as I could, and bent slightly so I could see better into her eyes. Lovely, I thought to myself. Those are lovely eyes. You should not be hiding them. I started for an instant, again slightly unsure if I had said any of it out loud. I stared at her again, and felt certain I hadn’t, or that she had very harsh control over her reactions.

“I’m sorry. I’m Sophie. Uhhh, the dean . . .”

“Oh right! Dean Bartlett said you would be coming, well, at least that you might be coming by. Come in, please, come in and tell me all about yourself. Spare no details. I want to hear every word of your life.” She looked suddenly like a deer in the headlights. “Just kidding, Sophie. He also said you were really sweet, one of his favorites.”

She turned the brightest red I had seen in a very long time, and just stared at me from behind those yummy brown eyes.

“He also said you didn’t talk much.” I had to giggle a bit at that understatement.

 

[TamedTiger]

This couldn't possibly get any worse. He was laughing. I looked up at him again, wondering whether he was laughing at me or simply the situation. His smile was beautiful, engaging and his laugh rich and wonderful. I couldn't help but smile in return, my curiosity about him and who he was overcoming my initial nervousness for the moment.

"Let's sit down, and you can tell me what it is I can do for you." He smiled warmly again, sitting back behind his desk.

I knew what he could do for me. He could tell me about his first book, and whether it was autobiographical. I knew much of the plot was fiction, from all the interviews I had watched and read about him. But, the young man in this first book had captivated me almost as much as the author. In fact, I had seen many similarities between them - in their thoughts, ideas, and beliefs. When I read it, at age fourteen, that character had become my ideal by which everyone was judged ... and never measured up. Six years later I still wanted to know whether that character was Gavin Hayes. Because if he was not ... then I had based my ideal on complete fiction.

But, I could not ask this. I was much too shy and nervous; I would have to explain why I wanted to know, and that would require revealing something much too close to my heart.

"I'm not sure how much dean Bartlett has told you. But, I need one more class for my creative writing specialization. Unfortunately, I registered late, and every class was closed. Dean Bartlett suggested I approach you about an individual study in place of a class." There. That was good. I hadn't even fumbled once. Several complete sentences without any mishaps. Of course, I also had not looked at him for the entire time I spoke, choosing, instead, to focus on the wall behind him. But, I hoped this would go unnoticed.

"I have writing samples with me, of course, should you need something on which to base your decision", I continued, now on a roll. I was becoming quite proud of my ability to control myself. I reached for my bag to take out the folder with my writing samples.

"Sophie"

I looked up at him, hearing my name. I could feel myself flush a little, and wondered whether this would happen each time he said my name. He was still watching me intently. Unfortunately, while I was looking at him, I had stopped paying attention to my bag, and it tumbled from my lap, spilling half a dozen paints, paintbrushes, a sketch book, his newest book, and various other paraphernalia.

"I'm so sorry. I'm usually not this clumsy at all." I bent to pick my things up, hiding my flushed face behind a curtain of hair.

"It's alright. Here, let me help you."

"No, really. I got it." I quickly replied.

But it was too late. He came around his desk, and knelt down next to me, helping me to pick up my things. I cringed when I saw him reach for his book and my sketchbook. I didn't know which was worse. The fact that my copy of his book, released only last year, looked as if I had read it at least one hundred times. Or that my sketch book contained drawings of him and of his characters or, at least, how I imagined they would look. I fervently hoped he'd simply hand it to me, without opening it.

"So, not only are you an artist, but you have excellent taste in books." I could hear the smile in his voice, but I could not look up. Instead, I mumbled something that, I hoped, would sound neutral, and concentrated on picking up paintbrushes, grateful for the long hair which shielded my embarrassment.

 

[TheOlderGuy]

Gavin

Poor sweet thing was so nervous I was afraid she was going to hurt herself before we got through this. I helped her gather her things, touched beyond words that she actually was carrying around a copy of my last book. It often felt like it would be my last book when I finished a novel, but inevitably another came streaming out before the ink was dry on the contract. But this time seemed different. I was dried up. Nothing had come out in close to a year. So this time it really did feel like it had been the last book left in me.

But Sophie, at least, had a copy of it. If I had to wager I would guess that nobody else in any of my classes even knew I was an author. They always looked at me like I had looked at my eleventh grade English teacher, with a healthy degree of skepticism and mistrust. But Sophie had my book. Who was this woman-child?

I handed her back “Sleepless Summer”, wondering still if she had read any of it, and what she thought, and handed her a few brushes that had landed at my feet. I held her sketchbook idly on my lap, afraid I would be overstepping my bounds to ask for a look inside. She handed me a folder of her sample writing, which I took and set on my desk. She looked at me with concern. I wanted to stroke her, to ease her fears, but I was enough in control to realize that such a move would just freak her out more. I imagined brushing her hair back off her face, and getting a clear look in those deep deep eyes. I wanted to feel her skin, all tan and lovely, the soft hair on her forearms all perfectly lined up. I shook myself out of it, perhaps too suddenly, for I think I startled her.

“I’ll read through it, later, but my acceptance of you will have to be based on your level of enthusiasm.” Sophie furrowed her brow again, perhaps anxious to try to figure out how to cross this new hurdle. “Don’t worry, Sophie. You showed up here. Woody Allen used to say that’s 95% of it right there. I would love to do an independent study for you.”

I thought she was going to cry. “Thank you so much,” was all she could get out, but it rang with such sincerity that it meant a lot to me.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do, trying to design a course that meets your needs, and keeps us both challenged. Do you have any ideas?”

Sophie smiled and nodded her head. I realized I still had her sketchpad on my lap. “So, Sophie, tell me what you had in mind. And how would you feel about showing me some of your artwork?

 

[TamedTiger]

Sophie

"I would love to do an independent study for you"

He had said yes. I couldn't believe it, I was going to be studying under Gavin Hayes. I wanted to tell him how much this meant to me, how much I admired his writing, and, most of all, how much I admired him. "Thank you so much" was all I could get out past the emotions running rampant through me.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do, trying to design a course that meets your needs, and keeps us both challenged. Do you have any ideas?”

I smiled, or at least I hoped it was a smile and not a big goofy grin, and nodded my head. I had no idea what he had just asked me, as I was still overwhelmed and a little embarrassed at not having a bit more control around him. Not to mention, I was still very much aware of him holding my sketch book in his lap. I wanted to reach over, grab it, and hide it. I looked at him again trying to figure out exactly at what I had nodded my head.

“So, Sophie, tell me what you had in mind. And how would you feel about showing me some of your artwork?"

My artwork, oh God, he wanted to see my art. I studied him carefully and pondered whether it was safe to show him some of it. After all, it was not certain he would recognize his characters in my drawings. As long as I picked the sketches, avoiding the ones that were of him, I could probably pull this off.

"Yes, alright. I don't mind." I answered, managing to smile at the same time. I was becoming more and more comfortable around him.

"Great, thank you." he replied, smiling his wonderful warm smile. He looked down and began to open the book, "Do you paint as well ..."

"No!" I had practically leaped across the desk and slammed the book shut before he could look at the first page. He looked up at me with confusion, my hand still over his keeping the book closed on his lap.

I smiled a bit nervously, gods what he must think of me by now. "Ummm, I mean ... what I meant was that I don't mind showing you some of my artwork, but not all of it. Here, I'll just take this, and pick a few to show you. They're all mostly along the same theme anyway ..." I trailed off. He still hadn't let go of the book, and I was becoming increasingly aware of the fact that my hand was, technically, in his lap. For a second, as I looked at him, his eyes changed from their warm blue to a barely leashed, blazing intensity. I almost took a step back, startled, wondering if anyone had ever touched that part of him ... and whether I could. But it was gone in the next second, so fast, that I almost thought I had imagined it, if it weren't for my rapidly beating heart beat.

"Of course, Sophie. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to presume. I'll be happy to see anything you'd like to show me." He relinquished his hold on the sketchbook and I began flipping through it, a bit self consciously as he continued to watch me. I quickly flipped to the middle, to a few sketches of some characters from his earlier books. I figured it was safer to begin there as it's not likely he would recognize those. Besides, I assured myself, writers often picture their characters vastly different than the reader does.

I meant to lay the sketchbook on the desk in front of him, but he stood up and in one fluid motion was next to me. He stood a little behind, easily seeing over my shoulder. I held the book a bit closer to him as he peered down. He was studying the images closely.

"You're very talented, Sophie."

"Thank you." It's really only a hobby that I enjoy."

"Mmmmm, this looks like much more than only a hobby" I felt him shift closer, and I held my breath, wondering whether I was more afraid that he would come closer yet or move away.

"You know, these images are so familiar ... almost as if ... I knew them long ago." He peered closer still and seemed to be quietly thinking aloud about where he might have seen them before and why they were so familiar.

I don't know how I ever thought Gavin Hayes would not recognize his own characters. The leashed intensity in his eyes should have been enough warning to me. He seemed to be looking at my sketches for an unbearably long time, every now and again he turned the pages while I kept a firm grip on the first half of the book. He was unpredictable, and if there was even the slightest possibility that he would not recognize his characters ... I was not about to show him drawings of himself. I knew I might never be able to face him if I did. In fact, the jury was still out on whether I could come back for my independent study sessions with him. Though, I knew, deep down, no matter what happened, I would. He was too compelling for me.

Except for the occasional turned page, and a comment here and there from him, the room was silent. Increasingly I became aware of the warmth of his body behind mine and of his breathing. It was oddly comforting, and I found myself leaning farther and farther back into him. When I felt his shirt brush my shoulders, I jerked myself forwards, muttering an apology, silently berating myself for acting as if I had no control over my actions, which, it seemed, around him I had very little. Fortunately, he either chose not to comment or was too engrossed in the drawing to notice. I hoped it had been the latter.

"These are just so very familiar to me," I heard him say.

"Are they? I think many people feel that way about certain works of art which may strike a chord in them" I silently congratulated myself on my plausible explanation. I hoped he would believe it ... and then I thought of his eyes in that brief second and wondered who I thought I was fooling.

 

[TheOlderGuy]

Gavin

I was startled at the speed with which she flew into my space as I started to open her sketchbook. I probably should have been more sensitive to the reclusive artist in her, but I was so anxious to know more about this lovely creature who had just walked into my life that I’d forgotten my manners. But what struck me most of all was the queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach when I grasped just how close we physically were in that moment. And involuntarily my libido had begun to stir. How embarrassing! Here I was with a new student for not more than a few moments and my flow of blood had been detoured from my brain to my groin.

As she flipped through to find the drawings she wanted to share, I rose and stood beside her, looking over her shoulder, again aware of the space we shared, and the smell of her hair, and just so many little things about her, and about this extended moment in time. Oddly, the drawings she showed me drew from me a strange feeling of déjà vu and I squinted, trying to determine why. I almost felt like I could touch them, they were so eerily real, and I almost felt that they were me. That’s it, I thought to myself.

Our bodies had drawn closer and closer, a magnetic force beyond our control. I could feel the heat coming from her, and it triggered even more blood to flow to my semi-erect shaft. It was becoming uncomfortable in the confinement of my jeans, and I was flushed at the thought of being discovered lusting after such an innocent as Sophie. She abruptly drew away, and I was sure I had been revealed for the dirty old man I must be.

“These are just so familiar to me.” I was hoping to distract her from the moment of embarrassment, and she seemed to take the bait.

"Are they? I think many people feel that way about certain works of art which may strike a chord in them" Her voice had grown far more sure of itself since she first entered the room, and it resonated deep within me. It struck some chord, long hidden from view. My spine tingled. My eyes grew teary. My hard-on raged.

“You know, Sophie. Long ago I wrote some other books, when I was quite young, not that much older than you are now. They were just immature ramblings really, but this drawing is so very close to one of the characters, well really the ‘me’ in the book, to the extent, at least that an author will reveal himself in his writing. It’s quite uncanny. I feel like I’m looking through a time warp at my younger, more idealistic self. Please excuse me if I seem distracted. It’s a little unnerving.”

I was trying so hard to divert attention from what I thought must be such an obviously inappropriate physical reaction to a student. For about thirty seconds it seemed to be working. We stood in silence, still alarmingly close, and my penis carried on its lonely mission towards redemption. I tried to will it down. I questioned why in the world it had to exert its independence now, when there had been absolutely no sexual innuendo. But it was no use. I was grateful at least that she seemed to have not noticed. The silence lingered. The heat radiated. The birds outside sang of love and beauty.

Without warning Sophie turned and faced me, brushing as she did against my engorged member. I flinched from the contact, but recovered quickly, and stood dumbfounded, facing her at such a close distance that I could have reached out and licked the top of her head. She stood still silent for an agonizingly long moment, and then looked clear into my eyes. She was looking into my soul. She knew me, I was sure, for the scummy lecher I must be.

 

[TamedTiger]

“You know, Sophie. Long ago I wrote some other books, when I was quite young, not that much older than you are now. They were just immature ramblings really, but this drawing is so very close to one of the characters, well really the ‘me’ in the book, to the extent, at least that an author will reveal himself in his writing. It’s quite uncanny. I feel like I’m looking through a time warp at my younger, more idealistic self. Please excuse me if I seem distracted. It’s a little unnerving.”

I couldn't believe he had just called his early books immature ramblings. They were brilliant. I wasn't even sure I had heard right, as the heat from his body, his scent, and his breath were all overwhelming. His sheer presence so close, so right there, so close to the touch, so close to me. I wanted to lean back, I wanted to turn around and touch him.

I was also being ridiculously silly again. As if he would have any interest in a college student - of all the women he could have, he certainly would not want his a student who constantly made a fool of herself around him.

I quickly turned my mind to other thoughts before he could notice anything amiss. He had just admitted what I had wondered since I was thirteen years old.

It was him. The character in his first book was Gavin Hayes. I felt a triumphant spark inside, that I had known this and that my ideal had been based on something so real, something so wonderful. Someone like his character actually existed. I wanted to laugh, and I wanted to tell him how much it meant to me - how much his books had moved me and, even, shaped me.

I couldn't stand it anymore, I had to tell him. I had to look in his eyes and somehow find the words to tell him that his books had touched a place inside of me that no one ever had.

Abruptly, I whirled around, with the words right on the tip of my tongue.

Oh God. Was that? ... oh God ... it was. My mind went blank, as my body reacted to the proximity of Gavin. So very close. I willed my eyes not to look down, but it was near impossible. There was no doubting it, he was aroused. By me.

I jerked my gaze upwards before he noticed my blatant staring. I looked in his eyes, and there it was. That same intensity that was there a few minutes ago. I wondered how he could possibly keep something so powerful hidden even for brief moments. My whole body reacted to his gaze. I could feel the blood pulsing in my palms, in the very tips of my fingers. A warmth slowly unfurled in my abdomen and traveled lower, until I felt like my whole body was pulsing. I couldn't believe the sensations his body had awakened in mine. I wanted him to know, to feel what he did to me. "Gavin ... I ..." I trailed off as words failed me in this.

His pupils dilated as he heard my voice, and his gaze dropped to my mouth. Our bodies swayed closer, as his hand came up, hesitating only a fraction of a second, before cupping the side of my face. He ran the pad of his thumb across my lips slowly. Once, twice. He looked deeply into my eyes, searchingly. I moved closer until our bodies were touching. It was the only answer he needed as he lowered his mouth to mine.

The first touch of his lips was exquisite, the second was unbelievable, and by the third, I never wanted him to stop. His tongue traced my lips slowly, wonderfully. I leaned into him completely just as his arms came around my body, pulling me closer still, and his tongue sought entrance into my mouth. Leisurely, he explored my mouth, teasing me with his tongue, first the soft underside, and then the rougher top, encouraging me to explore him as thoroughly as he had me.

I was completely lost in the sensations of his mouth, his tongue, his hands, his body pressed against mine, his hardness, him. I never wanted it to stop; I wanted to be consumed by the sensations, and by him until there was nothing left around us.

Slowly, lingeringly, I felt his lips leave mine, only to come back for shorter and shorter interludes. His lips finally left mine completely, only to kiss a trail down to my neck. I sighed and tried to get even closer to him, which, by this point, was impossible with clothes. My hands explored the back of his neck, dipping below his collar and back out again.

I heard him say something against my neck and the vibrations from his voice created new sensations and sparks that traveled up and down my spine.

"Sophie"

"Mmmmmmmmm" I replied still very much interested in exploring the back of his neck, the side, anywhere that wasn't covered by his shirt.

 

[TheOlderGuy]

Gavin

Honestly, I have no clear recollection of how we got to that first kiss, just that it was mindblowing on a scale of "OK" to "Great". I was entranced, seduced by that endless moment adrift in a sea of mediocrity. I was lost, and my moral compass had failed me. Surely I would burn in the hell of faculty investigations for having taken advantage of my position.

I found myself cradling Sophie’s sweet face in my hand, my lips exploring hers, and the hunger of her mouth on mine a bit surprising. My tongue sought tentatively for hers, unsure of much beyond the biological imperative to seek. Her lips were soft, yielding, yet remarkably inquisitive. Time stopped.

There were no words to define this uncharted territory, and my usual cautious analysis of my every move had all but disappeared. I had become a primal being, oblivious to the danger, the moral uncertainty of my actions. Sophie’s hands caressed my neck, my arms, my back, my hips. Her touch caused tiny involuntary shivers across my torso, as my mouth traced along the length of her neck. “Sophie,” escaped from my lips, the sound of her name sending waves of inexplicable emotion through me.

Was it love? Was it fear? Was it remorse? Or was it just lust?

I couldn’t comprehend what was going on, any more than I could have explained to anyone who discovered us, just how we had arrived at this unforeseen moment. I had been swept along the vortex of a time out of time, a moment suspended in the surreal.

Sophie moaned, and my throbbing manhood reached for her with renewed vigor. There was no doubt now that she understood my yearning, and she responded with a gentle stroke of her hand. My subdued embarrassment evaporated as she traced its length and breadth. She gasped in barely audible astonishment, probably not at its size, since I was quite average, but more likely at the rock-like tenacity of my enthusiasm. And for the first time I was aware of the earthly scent of her own arousal. It drifted up, sweet and delicious from between her heated thighs.

Doubt began to creep into my consciousness. What the fuck was I doing here? How did this happen? What should I do now? How can I graciously put an end to this exploration without making the situation even worse?

Sophie was having no doubts apparently, for she was busily lowering my zipper and allowing freedom and fresh air to reach what had become very cramped quarters for her newest friend. She unfolded its bent shaft and carefully removed it from its prison. I gasped. She looked into my eyes as she continued to stroke and squeeze. Her brown eyes filled me with the strength I needed to relieve my doubts.

Her eyes were lovely, engaging, intoxicating. As my lips once again found hers, my hands for the first time searched beneath her simple sweater, for the warm and gentle swell of her breasts. She wore no bra. Her nipples, already hardened, responded instantly to my call, and this brought even more blood to the flesh she held in her hands. I was drifting, watching myself, drinking in every bit of her beauty. I was hypnotized.

 

[TamedTiger]

My mind was reeling from the kisses he had given me, coherent thought escaped me. I was reacting purely on instinct, want, need, and desire. I felt his hardness press into me again, and my hands moved down his front, caressing and seeking his hardened flesh, finding it, holding it. He felt so incredibly hard beneath my hands, and I could feel such a hotness radiating from beneath his jeans. I wanted to touch him. Everywhere. Without the restriction of clothing. I didn't care if someone found us, I cared only for this moment and for Gavin. I had wanted him since I first saw him, and I wanted him even more each time I read one of his books. I couldn't let this moment pass me by.

I reached up and undid the button of his jeans, sliding down the zipper and freeing his hot flesh from its confines. He felt so exciting between my hands, hard and smooth, hot and quivering with life. He let out a gasp as my hands continued to caress and explore his flesh. I looked up at him, into his eyes, wanting to see whether he felt the same urgent need that I did.

His eyes burned with an intense pleasure, and the promise of something more. His lips found mine again and I responded with a need that matched his, trying to consume him even as he consumed me. I felt his hands move beneath my sweater, sliding upwards, leaving a sweet fire in their wake. The feeling of his hands cupping my breasts was exquisite and I arched into his palms, into his body, into him. I couldn't believe the feelings coursing through me. I wanted nothing more than to melt into him until there was nothing left.

His hands moved over my breasts, learning every curve, teasing my nipples into hard points that ached for him. His hardness pulsed in my hand that surrounded it. My body matched that pulse. I felt him pull his body slightly away from mine, his hands leaving my breasts to move down the sides of my body, reaching for the ends of my sweater. I let my hands slide from the base of his hardness to his tip, circling it with a fingertip, feeling his whole body shudder, before reluctantly pulling away.

Seconds later my sweater was gone, and the cool air briefly caressed my flushed breasts before Gavin's mouth descended to taste, suck, nibble, bite. I didn't know if I could stand, and I clung to Gavin, trusting that he wouldn't let me fall. His mouth alternatively enclosed within its warmth first one nipple then the other, his tongue teasing, pressing, circling. His teeth gently nibbling, tugging and his tongue soothing. I was lost in the sensations his mouth had created. My head fell back as I arched up to him more and more, giving him even freer access. His body set off fireworks and molten heat everywhere he touched me. His hand around my back felt impossibly steady as my world was spinning out of control. And, still, I wanted closer.

I raised my leg, sliding it up and down the side of his, eventually stopping and his hips. My skirt had ridden impossibly high, but I didn't care, it only made me feel more of him. Gavin pulled me closer into his body, letting out a muffled moan against my breasts, sending hot vibrations running through my body. He shifted positions, twisting to the side so that my back was against the wall. I moaned at the new sensations this provided, and the freedom it left for his hands to roam my body. His mouth moved to capture mine again, his tongue sliding across mine, his taste, his breath surrounding me. I had never wanted anyone so much, had never felt this kind of intensity. My whole body burned with a need that was beyond my comprehension. His name escaped my lips each time his hands moved to a previously untouched part of my body. I was lost in a sea of sensations, my only reality was Gavin, and his name was the only thing I understood.

 

[TheOlderGuy]

Gavin

Sophie’s body so perfectly responded to my touch, and her deep brown gaze pierced me, as our lips hungrily sought out more and more of each other, our tongues dueling in joyful play. I loved the soft warm modesty of her breasts and I yearned to see them, to lick her eager nipples, to tease her into a frenzy. I let my hands trail down her ribs as her torso shuddered in delight. Securing the hem of her sweater between my fingers, I deftly lifted it over her head, and beheld her exceptionally yummy tits, which had begun to acquire a perspirational glaze in the heat of the room, now long closed off to the fresh air enjoyed by most of the rest of the world.

I sucked first one, and then the other, into my hungry mouth, tonguing and nibbling on the nipples until I feared she would fall over. I steadied her as best I could with a hand at the small of her back, her body arching frantically for more of whatever I had. I wanted to crawl inside her, and when it dawned on me that I might very likely be taking that journey, I tried to slow the world down so that I, and Sophie, could savor every step along the path.

Her leg caressed my own, exploring the ways that we fit together, and settling near my hip, exposing her inner thigh to my reach. I ran my arm under her thermally charged thigh and grasped to the welcome flesh of her ass, pulling her tightly against me, muffling the deep moan of my pleasure against her luscious bosom.

We turned to make use of the wall for support, our mouths once more finding solace with each other, my hands now free to run up along the insides of her muscular legs. She must be a runner, for there was no baby fat here. It was quite sexy to feel her strength, to sense my own power met equally by hers, to feel the alternating quivers and tightening of the ripples in her body. She was my goddess, and I was under her spell, and I had not a single complaint about my plight. Whatever came of these moments, I knew that they were part of a quest that I had been on for most of my life. I knew that love like this existed, but I had never dared to dream how forceful the lust-filled part of it might be. I had lusted before. I had loved before. But this was well beyond where I had yet traveled.

I was lost. I was found. Not even in my books had I imagined the power that gripped me now like a vise.

AS my right hand reaced the epicenter of her furnace, she softly repeated my name. “Gavin . . .Gavin . . . Gav . . .” It was music to my ears. “Oh, Sophie . . .” was as far as I got before her mouth found mine again, and we were whisked into deeper and deeper oral exploration. Pushing aside her thin cotton panties, I ran my index finger along the soft fur that lined her nether lips, and as it reached the top, it was slowed by the moisture seeping from her slit. I circled the weeping depression that lay just below her clitoral mound, circled once again, and once again, and then traced back down the length of the crevice. I teased briefly the sensitive flesh that separated her anal portal from her vaginal opening, letting my thumb press hard into the yielding flesh. Then I began the trip back upward, pressing deeper into her willing lips, until my finger plunged into the wet warmth that lay beneath, pulling the slick dampness upward to her trigger of love.

Sophie drew her breath in sharply, and her back arched severely. Her hands reached out and found my firm package and pulled me towards her, as I circled and teased her button. I ached to find it with my mouth. But I wasn’t sure she would give me the opportunity to, so intent she seemed to impale herself on my rod. Switching fingers, I plunged my thicker middle finger into her wet and lovely hole, stroking the fleshy area of her g-spot so that she arched even more sharply, almost sending both of us to the floor.

 

[TamedTiger]

Sophie

When Gavin's hand smoothed its way across my thigh, I thought I would simply burn from the heat he generated in me. Never had I felt anything so powerful as his touch, so compelling, so intense, so beautiful. I couldn't stop repeating his name, it's the only thing I remembered and the only thing that could define what I was feeling. His index finger gently traced along my lips, teasing, exploring, igniting a fire that almost consumed me whole. I could think of nothing but having him fill the pulsing ache inside of me. Only he could fill it, only he could quench it. As his finger explored deeper, finally sliding into my hot core, I arched and shook violently against him. There were so many sensations growing in me, expanding to cover my entire body. There was no possible way I could handle this much pleasure. I almost begged him to take me right there, but his mouth had covered mine again, drinking greedily all of my cries.

His finger soon began to tease my nub, which had long left its hood and was aching for his touch. His finger slid into me again and found the sensitive fleshy mound of tissue. The sensations were overwhelming, almost too much. My back arched, trying to get closer, trying to release the pressure he had built. I needed him more than anyone I had ever known, more than anything. It was beyond pleasure, it was a compelling need, a force that made our union inevitable.

"Gavin, please." I cried. I didn't know what I was asking for anymore, I just wanted him. My hands slid upwards under his shirt, raking my nails lightly over his nipples, feeling him shudder and shake beneath me. Such wonderful intensity, such leashed power ... I just wanted to release it, to feel the force of it against me. I tugged at the buttons on his shirt, undoing them hastily so I could press myself against his bare skin. Touch more of his flesh, feel it shuddering and pulsing against mine.

"Please, what?" he teased against my lips, licking and nibbling them gently. Moving to suck and nibble on my ear, and whisper "please what?" He was teasing me, deliciously with his hands, his tongue, his voice, his eyes that looked deeply into mine, deeper than anyone had ever looked before. I wanted him that deeply within my body. I wondered what it would take to have him unleash all that control, to feel the full intensity of him. I smiled briefly against his neck, feeling his fingers all over me, stroking me, pleasing me inside and out.

I slid my hands down his chest, memorizing every contour and shape. Knowing that, for the rest of my life, his body would be burned into my memory. I slid down his body, extracting myself from his fingers, my breasts dragging against his chest, my hands pulling his pants all the way down to the floor. I looked up at him, into his eyes as my hands slid up to cup his balls, gently caressing and massaging them before moving on to slide up his shaft.

I needed to taste him. I looked up at him again, before lowering my mouth to follow the course my hands had taken. I explored the sides of his hardness with my tongue. Tasting and teasing. Always stopping just short of the head, coming just close enough so he could feel my moist, hot breath against the tip. I felt, more than heard, his groan. I looked up at him again, my mouth mere centimeters away from his most sensitive area. He had braced himself against the wall with his hands, and now one traveled downward, entangling in my hair, his warm fingers touching my scalp, urging me closer. Understanding his unspoken demand, I snaked my tongue out, licking his velvety softness once, twice, three times. His body shuddered at every swipe of my tongue. I loved how he felt, his textures, his hardness, him. Slowly, I engulfed the head of his hardness, swirling my tongue around, caressing the bottom, loving how he throbbed and pulsed inside of my mouth. My hands cupped his balls again, as my mouth moved up his shaft, sucking and feeling every inch slide against my tongue. He was incredibly hard, pulsing, alive, and hot. I couldn't get enough. His fingers tightened in my hair, entangling themselves further and further each time I slid my mouth up and down, each time I circled the tip with my tongue, each time my sucking increased in intensity. As my tongue, lips, mouth caressed, licked, and sucked him, one of my hands left his sac to explore his thighs, moving around to his ass, squeezing and pulling him ever closer.

I had long ago lost myself in the sensations of his hardness throbbing and pulsing in my mouth, against my tongue. Hearing and feeling his pleasure only increased my own. Feeling such power, such intensity just beneath the surface, begging to be released made my body throb and ache in tune to his. I felt his hand tug against my hair, gently trying to pull me away. His breathing was ragged, his voice when he said my name, thick with lust. I looked up at him, my mouth still wrapped around him. His eyes burned. I could feel them searing into me, their heat leaving shivers and delicious tremors all over my body. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, without ever losing eye contact, I began to release him from the hot confines of my mouth. Swiping and swirling my tongue against him one last time, feeling him shake with lust, I reluctantly let him pull me away. As I continued looking in his eyes, I wondered for a second whether I could match what was about to be unleashed.

 

[TheOlderGuy]

Gavin

The heat was intense. The room had been closed up now for hours, and the harsh midday sun had begun to burn its way through the institutional architecture. Our own intense heat added urgency to the impending conflagration. Sophie took my clothes from me, piece my piece, freeing me to be myself, in the most unusual of places. I was animal -- and I was divine. And in a moment I would combust or melt. It was hard to tell which.

Sophie sculpted my manhood, first with her hands, her nimble fingers improving each line, and then with her tongue and her lips, gently urging its swelling mass to surge onward, blood rushing to her call, my scrotum tightening as the bulbous end, moistened by her mouth throbbed larger and harder with each pump of my heart. The heat, the stillness and the staleness of the air became unbearable. My fingers woven into her thick brown curls, I urged her upward, Sophie looking distracted by the change in rhythm, and yet ever so eager to see what lay around the corner.

My classroom was in the older part of the school, where ivy still crept to the windows like wisdom seeking an elder’s attention, and where the rooms were large and hopeful, the hallways cold and wide. The rooms were far larger than current enrollments justified, and only by my long tenure here had I been able to secure this one, the largest of all the rooms, enabling me to bring in bookshelves and line them with writings, books I thought of as pieces of art. I had arranged them in an el at the front corner, and set a pair of overstuffed chairs behind them where students often sat to read and gaze out the window at the airy quad below. I had brought in everything I could think of, from John Updike to the paintings of Georgia O’Keefe, from Noam Chompsky to William Buckley, from Anais Nin to Ayn Rand. The students had loved it

I roughly pulled Sophie back behind the libraried walls. She followed me, startled and compliant. On this fine spring day dozens of students milled about, one floor below us, and dozens of others sat in the warm aromatic grass of early spring. I pushed her to the window ledge and bent her forward, placing her hands on the cool tiled sill. Placing my left hand on the small of her back, I leaned forward, across the back of her flushed buttocks, the sensitive hairs of my mid section brushing against the short goosebumped hair of her cheeks, and I opened the casement window below the large fixed plate glass above. The ancient hinges creaked as they always did, and dozens of eyes glanced upward towards our oddly coupled faces, both bent so low toward the window that all anyone could see were two faces wearing euphoric grins. Several students waved, and Dean Bartlett nodded as he headed toward The Cantine. He was probably immensely proud that he had been clever enough to arrange this odd chemistry. In seconds, all eyes returned to their separate and secret pleasures, and Sophie and I, refreshed by the arrival of a steady stream of cool and fresh spring air, returned to ours.

I eased back to admire the ass below my hands. It was a work of art, perfectly formed by a master, strong and feminine, and a powerful fragrance of aroused womanhood rising from its thermal depths. I let my right middle finger once more traverse the distance between her sweetly moistened asshole and the hot wet cave of her pussy. Sweeping back out, dragging her thickened wetness with me, I circled her yearning clitoris, and it pushed urgently against my finger’s temptations. My cock brushed along her dark nest of hair, and was christened immediately with Sophie’s copious juices. I paused at her gate, giving thanks, deep and plentiful thanks at the beauty of this fit, Sophie and me, strangers mere moments ago, now locked in hopeless love and lingering lust. But probably not strangers. Our complex connection bore all the marks of a time long ago, when we most surely had met, in the deepest surest framings of the past. We had done this dance before. Of that I was now quite certain.

From fifteen feet below came the sound of quiet conversations, and animated celebrations of spring. But the joyful sounds of the world had become just background noise, taking a back seat to the hormones raging through our veins. Yesterday Sophie might well have been one of those voices below my window as I sat and wrote rough drafts for the closings chapters of a book, a book with the ironic heroine of a twenty four year old art student named Sophia. Life can be bizarre. “They’re fucking . . . “ The words were sobering as they were shouted from below. “I tell you they’re just fucking with you. If you ignore them they’ll stop trying to get your goat.” I let out a huge sigh of relief.

Securing my hands at the gentle rising of each of Sophie’s hips I urged myself forward and my turgid rod explored her crack with its purple tip. Ever so slowly I prowled the volcanic edge of her heat. Ever so slowly she drew me in. With each slide forward, and each draw back I slid myself deeper into her mystery. The pain of waiting was exquisite. The joy of entry was unknown. In those few moments before full carnal merging was enjoyed, we had surrendered to the beat of time, the immortal dance that happens in that treasured space between woman and man. Sophie had managed to wipe my wearied mind free of all the clutter of life’s struggles for freedom. She was my freedom. She was my light. She was the heat of my loins.

I thrust the point of my heat into her hallowed chamber. She gasped, the ecstasy of my entry apparent in the hurried pace of her breath. She turned her face as I entered her and we stared into each others’ eyes. I slid in easily, held snugly between her liquid lips. Halfway in, I stopped and made a leisurely retreat, as my swollen glans massaged her outer labia once coming out like the barbed penis of a cat, and then quickly again on the stroke back towards heaven, this time not slowing until my pubic bone ground cautiously into her sphincter. She let out her breath, drawing it hurriedly back in before the unrelenting thrust that followed. Another and another, the pace quickening, and then slowing again to the long strong stroke on a cello.

I slid my hands up along her waist and rib cage as I leisurely continued the slow sure friction inside her. She pushed back against me, her hips rising to meet me. Reaching under I circled her breasts, and around the hardened nubs of her nipples. Returning along the front of her ribs and down the tender flesh between her belly and hipbones, I gripped her firmly by her flaring handles and drove myself still deeper, once, twice, and then, pushing her slightly away, letting the tip of my rigid shaft tease her. I spread the cheeks of her ass so I could watch, and to stretch her still further open. Her anus puckered with wet anticipation, and I probed it with one finger. Her sighs were tentative, not sure of this new sensation, but her muscles involuntarily reached for more, pushing back gently with her ass each time my finger eased its pressure.

 

[TamedTiger]

Sophie

The tiled sill was cool against my hot palms. Everything felt hypersensitive, and in this state I could swear I felt every microscopic crack and groove beneath my palms. The fresh, spring air felt invigorating and cool against my heated face and neck. The smell of spring and freshly cut grass wafted into the room and mixed with our scents. I was sensitive to every brush, however brief, of his midsection against my buttocks. Below me, I could see students sitting and talking, but they were like the drone of bees - distant and far, far away from the prominent ache and throb which had become my body. An ache which only Gavin could now fill. I closed my eyes against the view, trying to get some control of my body. Thinking that perhaps by cutting off one sense, my sight, I could lessen the need I had for Gavin. But that only made it much worse. Especially when his finger dipped below and began to explore my folds once again. It was an exquisite torture and my hips writhed, wanting, needing his finger to make contact with my clitoris. His circling was driving me wild with need, and I kept shifting my hips, hoping to make any contact with his finger. But it was to no avail, and I almost moaned with sheer frustration before remembering the students so close below us.

After several long minutes of Gavin's teasing, I finally felt the tip of his cock pause at my entrance, I bit my lip, trying to suppress another moan, once again conscious of the students right below me. If only they knew. His hands moved to rest on my hips, holding and caressing at the same time. I arched against him, trying to move back, but his hands stilled my movements. Slowly, so slowly I felt just the head inside of me. It was exquisite, sweet torture that I never wanted to stop. My entire body was pulsing and I could feel Gavin's body doing the same, I could feel the entire world, the entire universe pulsing in the same rhythm along with us. Or maybe it was us pulsing along with the universe. Whatever it was, I knew I had felt this same beat before. Not with any previous lover, but with Gavin. This wouldn't be our first time, and it wouldn't be our last. This pulse, this beat had always belonged to us and, now, he had awakened it from deep within me. A force, completely unstoppable. A force that may have been tapped a long time ago when I first saw him in that book store and had now manifested itself full throttle. I felt empowered and excited, heady, by the knowledge that I would be able to explore the depths of this power. This was only the first exploration of many, many more.

I looked back at Gavin, wanting to see whether he felt and understood what I had, and knowing, at the same time, that he had. As our eyes met, he slid himself into me, pausing halfway to elicit a low moan of pleasure from both of us. I wanted more. I wanted to feel him fully imbedded inside of me, as far and deep as possible. I felt Gavin pull away, even as I clenched involuntarily to keep him from leaving. His hands kept me from moving back onto him, and I could only shake with an almost painful need to have him fully inside of me. In the next stroke, which took my breath away, he stopped only when he could go no further. The hot length of him pulsed deliciously against my walls, and I couldn't help but clench in pleasure and joy at finally having us joined as fully as possible. Every thrust from Gavin caused a further tightening of pleasure deep within me.

His hands eventually released my hips, allowing me freedom to thrust and arch back against him, feeling him slide so sensuously and wonderfully in and out of me. The friction was incredible and I could not get enough of him; there probably was no such thing as having enough of Gavin Hayes. His hands traveled up my ribcage, leaving goosebumps and luscious shivers of pleasure. He circled my nipples and gently twisting and pulling, sending electric shocks, which bellied the pleasure that only continued to rise with each thrust.

His hands made their way down again, leaving behind another trail of sensuous shivers. As he gripped my hips, his thrusts brought me faster and faster to the edge. I gripped the ledge, wanting more and more of him, more and more of this dazzling pleasure. I felt his hands leave my hips to explore my ass, gripping and spreading. Still, the desire built ever higher, much more acute than I could have ever imagined, than I had ever felt before. His finger began exploring my backside, moving along the cleft, stopping at my puckered opening. This was a completely knew sensation, one I had never felt previously, but one which I suddenly wanted more of. I pushed back onto his finger, sliding it further and further into me, at the same time bringing his cock more and more fully into me once again. The pleasure from his finger was of a completely new sensation, awakening new nerve endings and stimulating them to ever greater pleasure. That combined with his slow, teasing thrusts forced me to the very edge. I knew I couldn't stand much more of this.

My gasps were turning into low moans, which only grew in pitch as the pleasure intensified. I flexed my walls, gripping him deliciously, feeling both his finger and him so perfectly inside. I knew if he didn't stop soon, someone would hear us, but at this point I didn't care. Once again, Gavin had become the entire universe and he was consuming me, and I loved everything he had awakened. I felt him shift his body behind me, leaning over me, he bit and licked the side of my neck, eliciting another moan. "Keep that up, and we'll have an audience soon", I heard him whisper into my ear before he moved his lips bite the junction where shoulder and neck met, at the same time twisting his finger as deep as it would go, and thrusting more fully into me.

His words barely registered as I was swept away by the pleasure which now consumed me. I let out a moan strangled only by Gavin's hand that had come up to silence my screams of pleasure. They might have been his name or simply primal sounds of need, lust, passion and completion combined. It felt like my entire body convulsed around him, and into him. Gavin was the source of it all, and the waves just kept coming, so powerful in their force. I was sure he'd leave a mark from his teeth, and at that point it only added to the lust and pleasure cascading over me in waves. I couldn't possibly stand much longer, as I felt my legs shake, and I wasn't sure Gavin would be able to either.

 

[TheOlderGuy]

Gavin

We seemed in perfect synch with each other, and the intensity of our union grew exponentially with each moment. I could feel her vaginal lips tightening around my chiseled tool, and I knew that we had only moments before her waves of pleasure convulsed through every muscle in her body. I felt my own climax building and I was reasonably sure that I could wait out this first orgasm, and continue to tease and torture her towards her next one. One thing that comes with age is a secure knowledge in how to ride the wave to its max. And I was not about to let this delicious ride end. I paced myself, while twisting Sophie’s nipples extra hard.

CLACK click CLACK click CLACK. Oh my god!

I knew that sound as well as the tone of my alarm clock. Dean Bartlett had injured his left leg years ago in a hunting accident. And while he got around quite fine, and most people didn’t even notice the limp, the sound of his approach was one that I had learned to recognize. He couldn’t be more than three steps from my door. I quickly muffled Sophie’s most recent expression of pleasure, my right hand landing firmly over her mouth. I glanced quickly behind me, and prayed. Gripping her lower ribs with my left hand I pulled us both back into the stuffed chair behind me. PLOP! We made a soft landing, and the change of position was unintentionally delicious.

She turned to look at me, and I told her with my eyes to trust me, and to be silent. The door opened. “Gavin?”

Sophie’s face turned bright bright red, and simultaneously her waves of release began. I tightened my grip on her mouth, and held her firmly to my chest, as my left thumb tweaked her nipple a few more times in the rhythm of her joy.

I heard Bartlett walk into the room, and imagined his head cocking, his eyebrows arching quizzically, not certain why we weren’t there, but believing his eyes enough to suspend his disbelief. “Hmmmmmmm.”

He took several more steps into the room, walking over next to the bookshelves, and for the first time I had to accept that my career had just come to an end. And you know what? I didn’t care. I could always write. I’d loved these years working with young people, sharing what I could of the treacherous world of words. But I had just entered heaven, and from there the earthly pleasures of teaching looked meager indeed.

Near my head a book slid out of the shelf, and thru the empty space left by it I could see Dean Bartlett’s rotund belly. Sophie, hearing the noise turned to look, and I loosened my grip on her mouth, sure at this point that she understood the situation. Her gasp was sudden, but blessedly silent. Sophie’s heat continued to grip me in ongoing spasms of intense pleasure. The shock of imminent discovery had sobered my own hard level of readiness just enough that I knew I could continue the ride toward the next crest.

Dean Bartlett shuffled over to my desk with the missing book, and hurriedly scribbled a note to leave for me. Within a few moments he was out the door, and I began to pump Sophie harder from behind and beneath, a wild ride indeed.