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--------------------------------------------------------
Copyright 1996 by Michael Dagley. Permission is hereby 
granted to repost it electronically, provided that it 
is posted in its entirety. Any deletion or alteration 
without the express written permission of the owner is 
a violation of domestic and international copyright 
law. All other rights reserved.
--------------------------------------------------------
		 
The Anatomy Lesson
by Michael Dagley (dagley@soho.ios.com)

***

A sickly boy grows into a sickly young man, then finds 
himself being cared for by a hot young woman that is 
interested in teaching him how to really be a man. (MF, 
1st)

***

I could not concentrate on the lesson at first. I'd 
been put off by the subject: Anatomy. As a small child, 
I'd been forced by my father to memorize all of the 
bones in the body. And all of the veins and organs, the 
parts of the heart, the areas of the brain. I'd learned 
well, and at the age of seven could perform flawlessly 
for him at the dinner table. I learned everything he 
made me learn, but I hated it. 

I hadn't yet felt the stir of my own hormones, so that 
while I could explain completely the process of sexual 
arousal, I had no practical idea what it was all about. 
To me it was boring rote memory, reinforced by strong 
whacks upon my hand when I failed to live up to my 
father's very high standards.

No, I went into the arrangement with reluctance. I was 
trapped in my bed, victim of asthma so fierce that I 
could not be allowed outside the house. So said my 
doctor, and my nurse agreed, and my mother agreed. I 
had hoped to be left to my own devices completely, 
allowed to read and listen to music all day, but my 
mother insisted I carry on my education.

"What would your father think?" she asked, once again 
forcing her point by raising his specter like a sword. 
"You know he went to great lengths to make sure would 
get a complete education. And you know, without my 
education, I wouldn't have been able to get a job at 
all, and then where would we be?"

I'd heard this particular line too many times to pay it 
close attention. True, she'd had a fine education, and 
her skill managing people made her climb up the 
corporate ladder easily enough, but she never had time 
to spend with me. Instead, I was left to be raised by 
my old nurse, Moni Bruner. 

I was very happy being raised by Moni, who insisted I 
call her by her first name even though she was sixty 
years older than I when she began taking care of me. 
She taught me to read, to write, to play the piano, to 
speak German (her birthplace was Munich, and she only 
came to this country at the age of twelve). She 
insisted I have "frische luft" every day, which made me 
wonder why I wasn't allowed outside.

Sadly, Moni could not live forever, and though she'd 
given me many wonderful years and an even more 
wonderful education, she contracted pneumonia at the 
age of seventy-seven and before I could adjust to not 
having "frische luft" every morning, I was allowed to 
leave the house and attend her funeral.

Though I'd attended my father's funeral, I cannot in 
all honesty say that I'd been moved by it. I'd been 
only eight years old at the time, he'd never been close 
to me (I'd considered him nothing more than the evening 
meal tutor), and his passing seemed to mean only that I 
would be able from then on to eat in peace. I regret 
the cruelty of my childish heart, but I'd be lying if I 
pretended it had been otherwise.

Moni's funeral, however, aroused great emotion in me. 
She'd been my closest friend and for many years my only 
companion. When I was allowed to venture forward and 
view the casket, the calm lines of her kind face caused 
a pain in my throat that could only be relieved by a 
sob. The sob led to tears, and soon I was being led 
away from my best friend, back into my pew. I noticed, 
however, that the young lady leading me away - she, 
too, was crying - was the most beautiful creature I'd 
ever seen. She remained at my side during the remainder 
of the service, and afterwards I was introduced to her 
formally.

Her name was Rafaela, and she was Moni's granddaughter. 
As I gave her my hand, I raised my eyes to hers and was 
suddenly moved by their liquid blueness, by the long, 
damp, auburn lashes. I could feel a strange sensation 
in my belly and below. These sensations, though 
puzzling, were not unpleasant. She looked directly into 
my eyes as well, and I felt as if I were viewing 
someone I'd always known. I could hear my heart beating 
in my ears, and for a moment I feared I would suffer an 
attack of asthma. What a curious response!

I had no small talk at the time, so I contented myself 
with the observation that I'd just lost my best friend. 
She smiled to hear it and confided that she, too, had 
just lost her best, her only, friend. Later in the day, 
I felt the same strange sensations in my belly when, 
following the internment, following a round of visits 
to relatives I hardly knew of (and didn't know), I was 
told that Rafaela would be Moni's replacement.

"What?"

"I thought it would be good for you to continue your 
study of the German language, son," my mother 
explained, "and Miss Traum is best fit to help you. Not 
only that, it's time you learned Spanish."

"Spanish? But what about Greek? Latin?"

"Better to learn something useful, Gordon. Next to 
English, Spanish is the world's most important 
language."

"What about Russian?"

"Spanish."

I would have continued to argue, but I'd learned long 
ago that there is no winning an argument with Mother. 
She's always right, and when she's wrong, she'll win by 
force.

"Besides," she added, "it's time you had some 
experience of people your own age."

The opposite sex, as well, I thought.

I was surprised again to find that Rafaela did not open 
our studies with Spanish vocabulary. Instead, she gave 
me a copy of Grey's Anatomy and told me to master the 
parts of the body by 9 AM the following Monday, when 
our formal studies would begin. I reviewed the text 
idly, knowing that I could learn little from it, and as 
I mentioned earlier, I was decidedly bored by it. 
Still, I looked forward to our first lesson, and I 
thought Monday would never arrive.

Arrive it did, however, and with it Rafaela. My mother 
was away - attending a convention or something, always 
something - and she'd left me in Rafi's care, not that 
I should have needed any care at the age of seventeen. 
Monday, also, was the maid's day off, and the cook 
wasn't expected until late afternoon.

When Rafaela rang the bell, I jumped up to greet her. 
Earlier in the morning, I'd showered and shaved, paying 
extra attention to my toilet for a change. Afterwards 
I'd put on a pair of red silk pajamas over which I wore 
a black silk robe. A pair of black silk socks and 
leather house shoes completed my attire. I hoped I 
would please my new teacher.

When I opened the door, I was again bothered by that 
strange mixture of distress and longing - I would have 
said "desire" had I any idea what object I could have 
desired. Rafaela stood before me, her auburn hair swept 
back from her forehead, her lips a full rich pink, a 
pair of small dimples dancing on her cheeks as she 
smiled and offered me her hand. I gave her mine and 
invited her in. As she went ahead, I felt a distinctly 
unusual sensation in my penis as she walked ahead of 
me. 

She was wearing a dress of blue with a full skirt that 
allowed me to see her legs to the knee. Her legs were 
long and strangely arousing. My inquisitive eyes 
followed them from the blue pumps that made her ankles 
look longer and more beautiful up to the hem of her 
skirt as she walked ahead of me. She wore stockings of 
a darker shade than her skin, and I could hear them 
rubbing together as she walked. Her skirt flicked back 
and forth as she walked, and the movement seemed most 
significant, though I could never have said why.

I led her into the study and sat down on the couch with 
my Gray's on my lap. I expected her to take a place 
behind the desk, as Moni had always done; instead, she 
sat down on an ox blood leather wing chair that had 
once been my father's. She crossed her legs, and for an 
instant I thought I could see above her stockings to 
her pale thighs.

I felt unaccountably nervous, and when I looked up into 
her eyes, they seemed to be smiling at me. She crossed 
her hands behind her head and stared at the ceiling. 
This caused me to notice the collar of her dress, made 
of white lace, and its cut, which allowed me to see the 
delicacy of her collar bones and the smooth curve of 
skin beneath her neck.

She began quizzing me about anatomy. For the first time 
in my life, I was thankful to my father for having 
quizzed me so carefully when I was younger. Even so, I 
several times became flustered and had to pause to 
catch my breath before continuing.

I couldn't know at the time whether it was intentional 
or not, but I wondered then if Rafaela had any idea how 
distracting her person was to me. Several times she 
bent forward to smooth or straighten her stockings, and 
though I knew I should look away, I found my eyes drawn 
to her long fingers, to the jewel-like tips (painted 
the same shade of pink she wore on her lips), as they 
travelled slowly up her legs. 

Once she stood and smoothed her stockings from the 
ankles clear to the dark bands that topped them, 
unclasped and then again clasped some kind of a hook 
I'd never seen or imagined before. By the time she was 
finished, I felt myself turning to stone and mush at 
once. That is, my penis felt like stone, my stomach 
mush. I feared she might notice and felt gratitude to 
the Gray's that sat as an unopened shield in my lap.

Even when she was not readjusting her stockings, she 
was damned distracting. I noticed as she lay her head 
back on the top of the chair with her hands behind her 
head that her breasts became more prominent. As she 
quizzed me on the reproductive process, I noticed a 
provocative point, an eraser's tip, grow upon the 
center of each breast. It seemed to strain against the 
thin fabric of her dress. 

I felt a completely foreign desire to reach over and 
sooth these pleasant little points with the tips of my 
fingers, but I contented myself with the stroking I 
could do only with my eyes.

As we discussed further the reproductive organs, all of 
which I could name and roughly explain (though I could 
not imagine them in action), she suddenly sat forward, 
leaned down and stroked both of her legs with her 
hands, running them upwards until they reached the hem 
of her skirt. I may as well have been hypnotized; I 
could not look away. She did not stop when she reached 
the skirt, and the stiffness in my crotch began to 
ache. I felt my face growing hot, and I chose that 
moment to look up into hers. It, too, was flushed and 
pink.

"You're so beautiful," I heard myself exclaim suddenly.

"Why thank you, Gordon."

"Could I... I mean..."

"Yes?"

Steadily she stared into my eyes. I found my eyes 
darting from hers to her rich lips (she let her tongue 
graze the surface of her lower lip for a second) to her 
hands, which continued slowly moving towards her 
center.

"I don't know why, but I'm experiencing the strangest 
sensations."

"Can you explain them using what we've just discussed 
in anatomy?"

"I'm not sure I can. I've never read of such symptoms."

"What are they."

"I couldn't say, Ma'am."

"I'm not your ma'am. Call me Rafaela."

I swallowed, trying to keep my throat from feeling so 
dry.

"Rafaela."

"Or, just... " she said as her hands reached the tops 
of her stockings, "Rafi."

"Just Rafi."

"And the symptoms?"

"It's too embarrassing. People don't discuss such 
things."

She stood up, her hands still clutching the hem of her 
dress. Her eyes never left mine, though mine left hers 
to look at the terribly disturbing curves of her legs, 
their muscular calves, the long slender ankles. And 
above, most unsettling of all, the whiteness of her 
thighs above her stockings.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Teaching you more about anatomy than you could ever 
learn from Gray's."

"Oh," I said and gulped. I was excited but afraid, but 
I couldn't say what, exactly, caused either emotion. It 
had something to do with the way her legs came 
together, with the way her eyes seemed to invite me to 
come closer, with the perfect idea of two such legs 
coming together, with the plump beauty of her thighs, 
with the nearness of her hem to the place where her 
legs came together.

"You won't need the book for this part of the lesson."

"Huh?"

"I said you can put the book aside."

"Oh no, I can't.

"Why not?"

"Why? Well, you know those symptoms I was telling you 
about?"

"Yes."

"I mean..." She came closer slowly. She let her skirt 
fall and leaned forward. I could see the swelling of 
her breasts where her dress fell forward. I had the 
distinct impression that she wore no brassiere, and 
this thought caused my aching penis to twitch and grow 
even harder. She reached down to the book, pulled my 
hands from it, and lifted it slowly. 

I tried to put my hands over my bulge, but she slapped 
my hands and told me to put them behind my head. I did 
as she demanded. She reached down to the belt of my 
robe and tugged gently. The knot came undone. She 
dropped it and put her right hand to my cheek.

"You're very handsome, Gordon. Has anyone ever told you 
that before?"

"No, n-not really..." I stammered. "Isn't it time, uh, 
for..."

"It's time," she said as her cool hand made its way 
down the left side of my neck and took hold of my robe. 
By now I was in a painful agony, and she seemed 
determined to complete my shame by pulling my robe 
completely open. I closed my eyes, embarrassed deeply, 
feeling the coolness of the air against my thin pajamas 
as she pulled both sides of my robe open.

I heard a quick intake of breath and opened my eyes to 
see her leaning forward, her lips moist, staring 
directly at the obvious bulge showing through the thin 
silk of my pajamas. I was lucky the swollen head hadn't 
peeked through the fly.

"How fine a specimen we have here," she said.

I looked into her eyes and again saw a hint of a smile 
there. Her face had not lost any of its flushed look, 
and the way she licked her lips made my erection tingle 
and ache.

"Tell me what you are feeling," she said.

"I feel embarrassed."

She stepped back, placed her foot on the coffee table, 
and began smoothing her stockings.

"What else do you feel?"

"Pain."

Her hands made their way past the knee to the top of 
the stocking. I felt I could watch her repeat the 
movement endlessly. I also wanted her to do whatever 
came next.

"Pain?" she said, gazing at me from the corner of her 
eyes. What a beautiful sight she was, her leg exposed 
almost to the crotch, her hair pulled back behind her 
ear but falling forward behind onto her nearly bare 
shoulders, her eyes staring at me with a look I'd never 
seen before.

"Yes, my penis seems to have swollen."

"Yes," she said as she raised up, leaving her leg 
exposed, and stretched, pushing her hair up from behind 
and then lifting her arms towards the ceiling. "And 
that's painful?"

"Yes."

"Is that all? Does it not feel pleasurable?" She fanned 
her face with her hands for a moment. She then let her 
hands fall to a button beneath the lace of her collar. 
She kept her eyes on mine as she slowly undid it.

"The pleasure is almost too intense. I feel I should do 
something, but I have no idea what."

"And your breathing?"

"My breathing?"

"You're having no symptoms of asthma?"

"None whatsoever."

"I thought as much."

I began to remove my hands from the back of my head.

"Don't move. I want you to learn desire."

She began a series of movements that left me almost 
weak with what I was learning. First she stretched. 
Then she moved her pelvis in a circular motion - again, 
it was suggestive of something most important that I 
couldn't name exactly - then she undid another button.

"Do you like what you see?"

"Oh, yes, very much."

In fact, I'd never been so excited by anything in my 
entire life.

She went to the stereo on the bookshelf and put on a 
jazz channel. She began moving to the soft sound of 
saxophone. Occasionally she'd bend forward, and I could 
swear I could see her breasts, though the light was dim 
within the blouse of her dress. I did notice the points 
I'd noticed earlier remained, growing even more turgid 
if anything.

She came towards me. I instinctively began to lower my 
arms, but she still would not permit it. She began 
unbuttoning my pajama top, and as she leaned forward to 
do so, I could see her breasts rising and falling 
beneath her dress. I couldn't quite see their nipples, 
but I could see their fullness, their whiteness, and 
they moved me. She noticed and smiled, continuing to 
undo the buttons until she could pull the shirt 
completely open. 

Then, without warning, she began kissing my chest, 
beginning at the neck and slowly making her way down 
towards my navel. She complimented this with her hands, 
slowly stroking my arms as she pushed the sleeves of 
the pajamas aside. She pulled my arms forward and 
stripped it from me completely. Then she placed each of 
my hands back beneath my head.

"No touching," she said, and I heard myself begin to 
object, but she placed a finger to my lip - I kissed it 
for some reason - and said, "Not yet, anyway."

That caused another thrill to race through my belly and 
fill me with even greater longing. I knew then what I'd 
wanted most of all, which was to touch her, to touch 
her everywhere.

She again moved back and began dancing, slowly 
unbuttoning the final buttons on her dress. It buttoned 
all the way up the front, so that when she finished, 
she had to hold it together to keep from showing me 
everything.

I wondered how far this would go. I'd never before 
experienced the strange mixture of emotion and longing 
that I experienced then. Nor had I ever seen a woman 
disrobe. I hadn't even seen a picture. I tried to 
understand it. I wanted to see her. I wanted to touch 
her. I wanted to kiss her all over her body. I couldn't 
imagine what any of that had to do with the 
reproductive process. At the moment, I was only sure 
that I couldn't have been more excited.

"Have you ever seen a woman's breasts before?"

"Not really. Only in anatomy books."

"And did they move you?"

"No. I viewed them simply in their biological or 
anatomical aspects. I had no idea they could be so... "

"So what?" She had the edges of her dress in her hands. 
She put them together and began to lean forward so that 
I could see almost all of her breasts. She leaned 
forward and back in time to the music.

"So arousing."

"Ah, yes," she answered, putting her hands into her 
dress and touching herself. "Yes, they are quite 
aroused. Would you like to... "

Not believing she'd actually show me, I assumed she 
wanted to know if I'd like to touch them. I bolted 
forward and put my hands out, but she stepped back out 
of my reach and warned me not to leave the couch or 
remove my hands from behind my head.

"No touching, as I told you already."

"You said, 'Not yet.'"

"I could say, 'Not ever.'"

"Please don't."

She contented herself with dancing for a few moments, 
still teasing me by showing me much of her breasts, all 
but the nipples. Once she turned her back to me and 
leaned forward to adjust one of the straps of her 
shoes. As she did so, the dress fell open in front. 
Just imagining her nakedness made me wild. She seemed 
so vulnerable and beautiful. How I longed to be able to 
see her, to touch her, to protect her.

She shifted a bit, and I noticed that I could see all 
of the backs of her legs, all gleaming with the silk of 
her stockings, from the slim ankles to the muscled 
calves to the dimpled knees to the bands of black at 
the top of her stockings, to the swell of her white 
thighs. I could almost see the juncture above the 
thighs. 

Then she leaned forward a bit more, pulling the dress 
up from in front, showing me the white lace of her 
panties, stretched tightly across the roundness of her 
bottom. I could see through the lace, could see the 
flare of her hips, the groove of her bottom. How I 
longed to remove the panties, to place my aching hard 
penis along that groove, to feel her movements in that 
most private place.

Before I could complete the fantasy, even in my 
imagination, she raised back up and stretched again. I 
could see her dress fall back into place and cover her 
from behind completely. I noticed, however, that the 
light from the window made it almost transparent, and I 
could see how perfect her figure was as she continued 
her sensuous movements from side to side. She gripped 
the dress again and pulled it to its widest extreme, 
allowing me to see how willowy was her waist, how 
suggestive the flare of her hips, how long and fine her 
legs.

As she began to turn around, I hoped she would continue 
to hold her dress wide, but I was disappointed. She 
pulled it back together and continued dancing. She 
raised the dress almost to her crotch, danced a bit 
while staring me in the eye, then raised it a bit more 
so that, just for a few seconds, I could see the dark 
triangle of her pubic hair showing through the 
whiteness of her panties. 

Her movements forced my attention on that special spot 
as she moved her hips from side to side and even 
hunched them forward and backward in a motion that 
suggested much that I wished to know. As suddenly as 
she'd begun, she let her dress fall again and began 
coming closer.

She bent forward and blew against my chest, sending 
shivers through my blood to my brain. I could feel my 
penis twitching. I was, indeed, learning desire.

"Are you going to come?" she asked in a whisper.

"Come?" I'd never heard the term before.

"Oh you sweet wonder. I've never dreamed of such 
innocence. I think you actually could shoot off without 
being touched."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"Ejaculate," she said, laughing as my face became very 
hot. "Have you never done so?"

"Only in my sleep."

"And what did you dream?"

"I wish I could remember. I only know that I awoke each 
time with a dreamy memory of this same painful ache and 
a sticky liquid splashed against the insides of my 
pajamas."

"Would you like to do it now?"

I couldn't answer, my blushes were so intense. Until 
she'd mentioned it, I hadn't myself realized that I 
wanted to do exactly that. But I dare not confess a 
dreaded secret, one I was sure would spoil this amazing 
morning: I wanted to stick my penis into her from 
behind and ejaculate there.

"You would, wouldn't you?"

I blushed as she smiled at me. I felt certain she could 
read my mind. She ran the tips of her fingers across my 
chest. I could barely stifle an urge to laugh, though 
she wasn't tickling me exactly.

Then I noticed that her dress, no longer held together 
by her hands, had fallen open. I could see the nipples 
of her breasts clearly through a tiny little kind of 
shirt (a chemise, I now know they call it) with tiny 
little straps. It was so thin, so soft, that I could 
clearly see the outline of her nipples against it. It 
was of the same white as her panties, and I could see 
the darkness of each nipple clearly. 

Not only that, but as she leaned forward, I could see 
it fall forward allowing me to see the soft swell of 
breast, the whiteness of her skin, almost the very 
nipple itself, though I don't think she was quite ready 
to show me that. How I wanted to take my hands from 
behind my head and caress each of her breasts. It 
almost seemed imperative that I do so, but I knew she 
wouldn't allow it.

While I was gazing at her, I almost forgot what she was 
doing, but I was brought back abruptly when she placed 
her hands on the first button of my fly.

"Oh, don't, please. I couldn't stand it."

"But don't you want to come?"

I did, but I couldn't have begun to admit it.

"You'll have very painful balls if you don't," she 
said, licking her lips and giving me another of her 
sexy smiles.

"Balls?"

"Testicles."

"They feel tight already," I said.

"Poor baby." She pulled open one button.

"Oh please don't," I said, my shame speaking and 
contradicting my real desires.

"Don't you want to see me?" She stood up and began to 
stretch again, allowing me to see the dress fall aside, 
to see the chemise rise up to show her belly button and 
the graceful swell of her lower belly, the plumpness of 
her crotch, the dark suggestive shadow between her 
legs. Again she let her pelvis rotate in that most 
delightful manner.

"Yes, I would, but..."

"Then don't you think I'd be just as eager to see you?"

I hadn't thought any such thing possible, but clearly 
she did, if the gaze she allowed to linger on the 
bulging pajama bottoms was any indication. I saw her 
again licking her lips and had an absurd thought for a 
moment, thinking she might actually like to touch it 
with her tongue. That couldn't be, I reasoned, but her 
look certainly reminded me of a deep hunger to taste 
something. I looked myself and noticed that the 
painfully rigid flesh now had left a damp spot above 
its head, a spot that seemed to be spreading. I pulled 
my hands down in front of me, to cover myself.

"Don't move," she commanded, and I could do nothing 
other than obey. "Put your hands back behind your 
head." I did, feeling completely vulnerable and 
exposed. She leaned forward again, allowing her dress 
to fall open, allowing me to see all that could be seen 
through the chemise and panties and stockings.

She looked straight into my eyes and smiled again. I 
wish I could translate that smile into words: more 
arousing poetry could not be written. I returned the 
smile with one of my own, one that was so painfully 
filled with desire that she closed her eyes for a 
moment and let her face take on a look of quiet 
ecstasy.

Again she straightened and began to sway with the 
music, using its rhythm to tease me again as she let 
the dress fall from her shoulders, then from her back, 
and finally into the floor. She put her hands together 
above her head and let the rhythm of the music mover 
her body in slow, subtle gyrations. How beautiful she 
was!

She came forward, and this time I made no objection as 
she undid the second of the buttons on my fly. Now my 
dark pubic hair was visible. I could scarcely believe 
my eyes when I saw her lean forward and take a bit of 
it into her teeth, tugging at it for a moment. When she 
unbuttoned the next button, she could see the base of 
my penis. It lay, stiff and twitching, to her right, 
still shielded by the pajama flap. She finished undoing 
the last button and slowly pulled aside the material.

"How perfect!" she said as soon as she could see it 
from its root to its head. I'd been circumcised as an 
infant, so the head showed itself smooth and purple, 
engorged, I knew, with blood. She leaned forward and 
very lightly let her lips touch it, giving it the 
briefest of kisses. I was shocked to find it jump at 
her touch and rub itself against her face. She did not 
back off. Instead, she moved her head from side to 
side, very gently allowing her cheeks and lips and nose 
to brush against it.

"Be careful!" I heard myself cry.

"Are you about to shoot?"

"I don't know, but I feel an unbearable pressure from 
below."

She took this as an invitation to take each of my 
testicles into her hands and squeeze and pull and 
massage them, again with a fine gentleness that did not 
hurt (as I'd expected).

"Oh, God, how good it feels!" Again I was surprised to 
hear myself cry out.

"You have a fine set of balls, Gordie."

For some reason, her use of my name made me feel 
another jolt of desire.

"And your cock looks perfect."

"My what?"

"Do you only know the latin terms for things, Gordie?" 
As she said this, she took my penis in her hand and 
began a very slow movement up and down. I felt a 
jumping inside, but she quelled it by gripping me 
tightly at the base and holding me until the urge 
dropped a bit.

"For some reason, we act as if words of English or 
Germanic origin are dirty, while we allow the same 
subjects to be discussed assuming we use Latin."

"Isn't that proper?"

"What do you mean by proper?"

"I don't know."

"It's just a bias we inherited from the Normans after 
their invasion. Nothing more. The words themselves are 
not evil. I find them suggestive. Cock. Cunt. Don't 
you?"

"I..."

"You... You're prick is so ready to gush."

"Is it?" I'd never heard the term "prick" before, but 
it was only one of many she would be teaching me soon.

"It makes me thirsty."

I couldn't believe my ears. She leaned forward, lifted 
my "prick" to her lips and gave it another short kiss. 
I could see the proud flesh brush against her thick 
pink lips. She looked me in the eye as she did so, and 
I could see desire in her eyes. She moved it slowly 
back and forth against her lips, slowly opening her 
mouth and letting a bit of it slip inside, always 
keeping her eyes trained on mine. She opened her mouth 
and began to lick the head of my penis, gently, gently, 
occasionally putting the entire head into her mouth. 
And always, her eyes were on mine, making a very 
beautiful picture: framed by the auburn hair which 
spilled over her shoulders, the bulb of the head 
against her lips, the wetness of her lips, the slick 
movement of her mouth back and forth across the swollen 
head, her eyes locked on mine, telling me with her eyes 
what words could never say of the desire we shared.

"Oh, Rafaela, I can't tell you what I feel."

"Show me."

"May I touch you?"

"Briefly. But don't touch yourself."

She pushed me back before I could lean forward too 
much. She placed her hands against the back of the 
couch on either side of my head. I placed my hands on 
her face, looking into her eyes and feeling whole for 
the first time in my life. She cocked her head to the 
side, and soon she had placed her lips on mine, giving 
me a soft kiss, lips on lips, nothing moving. I put 
pressure against her, and soon I felt her mouth open a 
bit. I let mine open as well, and soon I felt another 
thrill in my stomach as her tongue touched mine.

I placed my hands against her ribs, wishing I had the 
courage to touch her breasts. Our kiss lengthened. I 
felt her tongue thrust deep into my mouth, and before 
long, she'd coaxed mine deep into hers. I let my hands 
slide closer to her breasts, continuing to kiss her.

Finally I let my palms surround her breasts. How full 
and firm and yet soft they felt, how fine the nipples 
felt against my palms, so fine that I could do nothing 
else but take them between my fingers and touch them, 
squeeze them as gently as she'd squeezed my balls 
before. As I squeezed and played with them, our kiss 
broke and she sighed.

She straightened. I followed, kneading her breasts and 
feeling I would explode at any instant. She put her 
hands behind her head and gave herself up to the 
enjoyment of my touch. Guided by her sighs and her 
eyes, I learned how to touch her there, how to cause a 
little pain, how to grab, how to push and pull and 
search every inch of her, how to take her breasts in my 
hands, to massage them singly and squeeze them 
together. I even wished I could put my mouth against 
her nipples and kiss her in the same manner she'd used 
with my cock before.

I tried to lift the garment so that I could bare her 
breasts, see them, touch their naked flesh, but she 
suddenly stood, stepped back and looked at me.

"Would you like to fuck me?" she asked.

I'd never heard the term before, but I knew instantly, 
and I knew the answer was yes.

"I do, that is, I don't know for sure, I think, I 
mean."

"Don't you understand English? Does it make you nervous 
when I use simple English terms?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you want me to suck your cock?"

"Oh! Yes."

"Do you want me to milk it with my cunt?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to rub your cock against my tits?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to stick your cock up my ass?"

"What? That is, yes, I think."

"Do you want to spill your cream all over my face?"

"Yes."

"Do you want me to sit on your face? Do you want to 
lick my pussy?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to taste my clit, to put it into your 
mouth and make me come?"

"Yes."

"Do you understand desire?"

"As never before."

"Do you want to strip me?"

"Yes."

"Slowly."

"Very slowly."

"Stand up."

I did as she desired. I couldn't move well because of 
my fallen pajama bottoms. She came forward, took them 
by the waist, and began pulling them to the ground, 
kneeling herself as she did so. I stepped out of them. 
My cock waved in the air, almost turned back against my 
belly with craving. She slowly began to rise, letting 
the very tip of her tongue glide along the underside of 
my hard prick. I shivered.

"What are you doing?"

"Measuring you."

"And?"

"A little over seven inches, I'd say." She'd reached 
the head by now, and again she took it in her hands, 
pulling it towards her so she could brush it against 
her lips and look at me. I looked down into her eyes 
and saw a look of satisfaction on her face.

"How does that compare with other men you've known?" I 
asked, already feeling a bit jealous of her.

"I couldn't tell you. I haven't known any others."

"Then where did you learn... "

"Some is instinct, some from observation."

"Observation?"

"I'll tell you about it some time."

I was content with that answer for the moment, for she 
continued rising, allowing her hands to roam all over 
my body, from my thighs to my bottom to my back, 
finally arriving at my shoulders, from which she pushed 
the pajama top, leaving me completely naked.

"Put your hands behind your back," she commanded, and I 
gladly obeyed. I was left with my prick standing tall 
and stiff, its head wet with a mixture of its own 
juices and her saliva. It glistened in front of her, 
jerking now and then as she moved in front of me.

She again was following the rhythm of the music, moving 
her hands all over her own body, touching her breasts, 
stretching, moving her hips in a circular motion that 
made me ache to put her onto the ground and push myself 
against her. Finally she began to raise the chemise, 
nearly reaching her breasts, then dropping it, raising 
it, dropping it. Each time a short gasp would escape my 
lips, and my cock would jerk. It felt strong, powerful, 
very hard, almost like a rod of iron. 

She began lowering one of the straps from her 
shoulders, then the other, until I could see all of her 
breasts except the nipples. These she squeezed and 
massaged through the thin material of the chemise. 
Finally she put her hands together above her head and 
began to stretch, allowing the garment to fall lower 
and lower until it dropped to the floor.

She stepped forward from it. How beautiful her breasts 
were! They were neither too large nor too small, a bit 
bigger than I could contain in one of my hands. Her 
nipples were a pale pink, the areoles looking rough, 
the nipples thrust rudely forward, begging to be 
sucked. I leaned forward and took one into my mouth, 
sucking and licking and playing with it using my teeth. 
She kept her hands above her head, leaning back, 
enjoying the sensation of my mouth on her.

I grew a bit bolder, brought my hands around, and 
grabbed her breasts, massaging one while I sucked the 
other, pushing them together and licking first one of 
the nipples then the other. She sighed, her breath 
seemed to grab, she moved against me, all communicating 
a blazing desire to me. I let my hands fall to her 
hips, encircled her waist, drew her to me. I kissed her 
again, feeling the slick stiffness of my cock against 
her naked belly. My hands ventured down, taking her 
bottom in my hands.

"Oh yes, baby, feel my ass."

I slipped my fingers beneath the material of her 
panties, gently stroking her cheeks with my palms, not 
grabbing, but gently. I could feel her movements in 
response. I grabbed a bit harder and puller her closer. 
She moaned. I felt her hand between my legs, brushing 
against my thigh. I slid my fingers along the crack of 
her bottom, and she squirmed in my arms. I pushed a bit 
further, and she groaned. 

I let my finger touch her tight little anus - she later 
taught me to call it her rosebud - surprised to find 
her wet even there. She pulled back and took my cock 
into her hand, holding my balls in the other, turning 
her side to me and leaning forward to I'd have better 
access to her behind. I allowed my finger to slip 
inside, then be squeezed back out. She was so wet I 
could hardly prevent it. I continued moving it in and 
out until she screamed.

"You have to fuck me, I'm mad for your prick, you must 
give it to me!"

"It's yours, Rafi."

I began pulling at her panties. Now there was no 
resistance. I eased them down past her waist, past the 
lacy belt that held her stockings - she'd seen far 
enough ahead to put the panties on last, I noticed - 
until they were bunched about her knees. I tried to 
spread her legs to have a look, but the panties 
prevented it.

"Don't you want to lick me there?"

"Yes," I answered as I finished pulling them to her 
ankles. She put her hand upon my back for support and 
stepped out of her panties, first her right foot, then 
the left. I smoothed her stockings as I let my hands 
travel up her legs until I'd reached her thighs. I 
looked up and saw a smile of great contentment on her 
face. I toyed with the wet flesh of her thighs as I 
stood. Again she grabbed my penis and began pulling on 
it. I put my arms around her, feeling her behind again, 
finally sticking my fingers below. She was soaking wet, 
and before I realized what I was doing, I'd slipped my 
fingers inside.

"Wait!"

"Yes?"

She broke away for a moment and backed towards the 
couch, pulling me with her. She lay back.

"May I look?" I asked.

"Yes, oh yes, please do."

I put one of her legs on the floor and hung the other 
across the back of the couch. I backed away and looked 
at her from a few paces. She sucked on one of her 
fingers as she looked back at me, a smile in her eyes. 
She was the vision of desire and of its cause. Her 
breasts were flushed, as was her face. Her nipples were 
still rigid, one pointing towards the ceiling, the 
other at me. She still wore the pumps, and her legs 
looked even more beautiful now than before.

I came closer and kissed her ankles, and from there I 
made my way up slowly towards her cunt. I paused to 
look at it. From a distance it seemed to be a small 
strip of coral surrounded by auburn hairs the exact 
color of the hair on her head. Closer I could see the 
wetness of the lips, could see each one turned back as 
if the petal of a flower. I could see a small bud above 
the lips, could see it glisten. I leaned forward and 
touched it with my tongue. A shiver went through her.

"Oh baby, yes."

I kissed her thighs again, happy to find them so wet 
and slick with her yearning. I rubbed my nose against 
her cunt, feeling the damp hairs with my cheeks, 
tasting the bud again with my tongue, amazed at her 
response. I took it between my lips and sucked gently. 
I licked it, holding it in place with my teeth, gently. 
I continued to lick.

"Yes, yes, that's it."

Her hips began to buck. I could feel the muscles of her 
legs quivering. I continued licking. She was moaning, 
her head turning from side to side. She took her 
breasts in her hand, squeezing the nipples. I licked 
and nipped with my lips and sucked. I paused and stuck 
my tongue as deeply as I could put it between the lips 
of her pussy. 

I returned to my licking, again causing her to moan and 
move and jerk. Suddenly she tried to push me away, but 
I took her ass in my hands and wouldn't let her. She 
jerked, her legs quivering, her belly moving with 
spasms of ecstasy. She tried again to push me away, but 
I wouldn't let her. Suddenly she screamed.

"Oh yes, Gordie, I'm coming, oh God, how I'm coming."

I wouldn't let her loose until the spasms began to 
subside, her breath slowing to pants, her hips jerking 
with sudden force now and then.

"Did you come?" I asked. She smiled at me and nodded.

"I'm still floating."

"I see."

"Did you get a good look?"

"The best." I began to touch her again, this time with 
my fingers. I let them get wet with her fluids and 
slowly rubbed them up and down against her clit. She 
began to move again, but before I could make her come, 
she stopped me.

"Not yet. It's my turn."

She sat up and pulled me to the couch. She took my 
prick in her hands and began to move.

"I want you to fuck me," she said. She stood and pulled 
me up by my cock. I was aching and as hard as I could 
imagine being.

"Wait here," she said. She went to the desk, cleared 
the papers, and placed a pillow from the chair on it. 
Then she leaned across it. I could see her stockings 
drawn tight against her legs, could see the plump swell 
of her rear. She leaned further forward, and I could 
see her cunt lips peaking through the nest of soft red 
hairs below her ass. She turned around and smiled at 
me.

"Do you like what you see?"

"Very much."

"What does it make you want to do?"

I moved forward and allowed my rock hard prick to 
nestle in between the crack of her ass. She began 
moving, rotating her hips just slightly. It felt very 
good. She was wet all over, and I couldn't resist 
feeling her thighs and her breasts from behind. Finally 
I slid my cock down below and allowed the head of it to 
rest against the lips of her sex. She moaned again.

"Put it in."

I moved a bit.

"Slowly. Very slowly."

I did as she asked, slowly allowing the head to be 
sucked in by the desire of her cunt. When it was in, 
she said to be still. She began rotating her hips. The 
feeling was exquisite. I pushed again, just a bit. She 
moved. I pushed. Before long, I could feel her ass 
cheeks against my belly.

"Now, baby, I want you to fuck me."

I tried to get a better position, allowing myself to 
slip out and then back in.

"That's it. Fuck me."

I again tried to reposition. It felt very good.

"Oh fuck me, baby."

I move out as slowly as possible again and then pushed 
myself back in. She sighed and ground her ass against 
me. I reached around her with one hand and began 
squeezing her breasts. With the other, I reached down 
below and felt among the curls of her pussy until my 
hand was wet. I found her clit. I gently rubbed it.

"Oh, yes, I'm going to come. Fuck me. Let's come 
together."

I began to move, timing my thrusts with the movement of 
my finger. I could feel the jerking in her legs again, 
and that communicated itself to me, making me move 
faster, making me feel a growing pressure building 
inside.

"Oh baby, I'm going to come. Aren't you?"

"I don't know. I think I'm going to explode!"

"Let your cock burst inside of me. Let me feel it spill 
that hot juice."

I could do little else, allowing myself to move in and 
out with increasing speed until I could tell by the 
jerking of her legs that she'd be coming again soon. I 
felt as if I'd melt and erupt at the same time. I did, 
spewing my cream inside of her as my cock tingled and 
burned as never before. I pushed and pushed, each time 
squirting the liquid into her.

"Yes, fuck me, fuck me baby." She was coming too, 
grinding her hips against me with each down stroke, her 
ass stuck up in the air to receive me. I came and came 
until I fell forward, still jerking with after-spasms, 
completely drained.

Yet when we'd lay for a few moments that way, when my 
cock had shriveled and been pushed out of her cunt, 
when she'd finished drying herself a bit with a tissue, 
when we'd returned to the couch, when I'd assured her I 
understood the nature of desire much more completely 
now than I'd ever imagined I could, when she'd once 
again put on her panties and her chemise and I my 
pajamas and robe, when all seemed to be over, she 
stretched a moment, sighing with deep satisfaction and 
showing again the shape of her breasts, the slight 
swell of her nipples, her flat belly and its perfect 
little button, I felt again the swelling of my cock. 

Nor did it go unnoticed. She reached down and took it 
in her hand through the pajamas. I felt it twitch to 
life. She kissed me, all the while fondling my cock and 
feeling it grow. I touched her breasts, tugged at her 
nipples, noticed again how perfect everything felt. I 
put my hand into her panties. She was wet again.

"You make me feel so deliciously full of desire," she 
sighed.

I pulled her into my arms and tried to kiss her. She 
pushed me back.

"You understand desire. That's physical. Next week we 
study love. That's emotional. Do you know any poetry?" 

Before I could say anything, she'd spun around and 
shown herself to the door. I went to the library. I 
would most certainly be ready for the next lesson.

END

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world 
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per 
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 65