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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
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Imagine My Surprise
by Morgan Preece (zanna@whoever.com)
***
Imagine my surprise when I realized I had acquired a
teen-age mistress. (M/F-teen, rom)
***
Nona and I first met just before Christmas, just after
her eighteenth birthday. Her long-legged exuberance,
her blonde enjoyment of life, her green-eyed challenge
to the world had attracted me to her from the start. We
met at an office Christmas party, the company cafeteria
given over to tables of turkey, ham, dressing, cakes,
breads, pies and all manner of excellent things to eat.
My waistline in danger, I looked everywhere but at the
food. With the double-nickel birthday only months
behind me, the last thing I needed was a half-dozen
extra holiday pounds to lug around while waiting for a
coronary.
I looked straight into the green-eyes of the long-
legged blonde already mentioned, Nona Glass. Nona was
no great beauty, a little on the scrawny side, nearly
flat-chested and with a slightly asymmetric face that
gave her a perpetually off-center look. But she had big
eyes the color of wet jade, long, wavy hair that seemed
every shade of gold and platinum at once and tanned,
healthy skin that needed little artifice to bring out
its natural, lovely, heat.
She stood, hip-shot, head tilted, looking back at me,
her gaze nearly level with mine. She wore three-inch
party pumps at the ends of those tawny, muscular legs
below a straight yellow dress that ended mid-thigh. I
can still see every detail, like the refrain from a
Paul Simon lyric. She wore three earrings in each ear
lobe, one a simple stud, one a large golden hoop, the
other some kind of dangling charm. Two more simple
loops adorned the top of her left ear. A necklace of
tiny green-gold beads separating creamy faux pearls
hung nearly to her waist.
"How ya doin', prez," she said irreverently, with the
hint of an aren't-I-naughty, little-girl grin. A bit of
whipped cream clung to the incredibly, fine hairs
around her nearly lopsided, almost over-large mouth.
She held a plate with part of a slice of pumpkin pie in
one hand and a sticky fork in the other.
Everyone else had just started on their turkey or ham
but I would come to know that Nona always had dessert
first. She waved the fork vaguely at the room, "Nice
spread." The fingers on that hand had long peach
colored nails, on the other hand, her right, her nails
were teal.
I did not know who she might be and my confusion
probably showed. With over four hundred employees in
six offices, I could no longer know personally everyone
who worked for me. But I knew I wanted to get to know
this particular employee better and soon. My heart
quickened, my perception narrowed to her presence alone
and I felt a stirring I had not felt since I first met
my second wife almost thirteen years before.
I found myself mentally undressing her. The dress came
off easily, she wore no underwear or hosiery. My mind's
eye pictured her, virginal little cupcake tits, bikini-
shaved twat, bush a little darker than the hair on her
head, tan lines blurred from nude sunbathing on some
screened deck near the beach. The mental image made my
back teeth ache and my prick stir in my trousers.
I felt the need of an opening line but she read my mind
or my expression and laughed, supplying one. "Hey!" she
observed, pointing with the fork at the watch on my
right wrist, "We're both lefties."
I smiled, trying to look friendly without being
grandfatherly. "Yes, we are! How about that? And I've
set up a special table, just for us lefties. Y'know, so
we don't clash elbows with all the northpaws." I
pointed out the table in the corner, reserved for me
and whomever I chose. Usually at these company doings,
I would be eating with department heads but not this
time. I resolved to sup with someone more conducive to
digestion rather than listen to another argument about
warehousing versus just-in-time supply.
Nona's slow smile rewarded the quivering adolescent
inside me with the hope that she understood my offer in
all its contexts. I don't remember what we ate but I
found out her name, her age, the department she worked
in and her telephone number. I also found myself
answering more questions than I asked.
No one joined us at the table. No one even tried. I
think I may have been glaring at anyone who got close.
Nona wanted to know everything. The names of my wife
and ex-wife, my kids and grandkids. Her directness
astonished me, "So what does Brenda do?" she would ask
of my ex. "I mean, has she got a life since the kids
left?"
"Charity work mostly, I guess." I didn't really know.
"Babysitting the grandkids."
Or, "Who's your favorite grandkid? Gregg? Huh! I'd've
thought it'd be one of the girls." Then her slow smile
would turn curiosity into invitation. "So what'd
Cynthia do to piss you off at her?" And her grin turned
irreverence into challenge.
"Told me to quit calling her Cindy," I admitted
ruefully.
Somehow I felt a great ease with her, combined with a
sexual tension thicker than holiday dressing. The lump
in my pants grew noticeably moments after we sat down
when she touched my knee with her bare one. Her perfume
smelt of flowers that grow best in humid jungles. Her
skin glistened with reflections of the twinkling
holiday lights.
She had only a temporary job with the company, a fill-
in receptionist for the flu season. I found myself
offering her a permanent position at headquarters. That
made her laugh, a sniggling chortle of teenage, wiseass
amusement at the fogginess of my approach. "You don't
want me -- working under you," she said.
I tried to match her bluntness, "Do you prefer to just
lie there?" There I knew I had crossed a line, sexual
harassment at the very least but a stiff dick has no
conscience as my father used to say.
Her grin widened. "Oh, no, I move around a lot but I
wouldn't call that work."
I wanted her more than a kid wants Christmas. Lust,
pure as greed, simple as ignorance, sent anticipatory
shudders through me. I had recently been offered $30
million for my little empire and consideration of that
sum had not made me sweat like thinking about what I
would like to do with Nona.
I wanted to take her there, on the cafeteria table, in
front of all my employees. I wanted to find out for
sure if she wore any panties under that yellow dress.
She sure as hell wasn't wearing a bra for I could see
the reverse indentation of her nipples against the
fabric of her yellow dress. I wanted to know what her
lips tasted like, and her pussy. I wanted to eat her
for Christmas dinner, Nona and all the trimmings, and
fuck her for dessert.
She watched me, smiling like a mind reader. "You work
too hard," she said mildly. Then, "What's your wife
going to say?"
"Who? About what?" I asked stupidly. I think I still
had her spread-eagled between the coleslaw and yams in
my mind. It took me a moment to locate the references.
"Candace. Your wife," she explained, patiently. "About
me."
"Hell. I don't know." But I did, or thought I did.
"She'd better not find out."
Still smiling, Nona gestured at the room, nearly two
hundred people, half of them trying not to watch us.
"Oh, hell." I glared at the room. Eyes glanced off my
unhappy gaze like Spanish rapiers turned aside by
Zorro's steel.
"I'd better go." She stood. Always decisive, she strode
out of the room before I could move to stop her, before
I could even think about whether I should. Pausing at
the door, she looked back and winked at me with the one
jade eye no one else could see. Then she was gone
before I could wave, nod, or wink back.
***
I called her that evening. First, I called Candace and
told her that I would be working late. I worked late
more often than not, so it meant little to her. "I
think I've got the flu, Frank," she sniffled. "Try not
to wake me when you come in." Good old Candace, I
thought, hanging up.
Then I sat for awhile, thinking. Brenda, my first wife
was my age, 55, we had graduated high school together.
Candace would be 39 in February. Nona turned 18 less
than two months ago. I had grand kids who might have
gone to high school with her. What kind of fool did I
intend to make of myself?
I examined myself for signs of guilt. Candace had no
kick coming, she and I had pulled similar stunts when I
was still married to Brenda. We had no kids, Candace
hadn't wanted any and that had suited me, Brenda's
three were enough. Did I still love Candace? Yes, but
Tina Turner had the answer to that one. Hell, I still
loved and cared about Brenda. I had to, she was still
spending my money.
I went to the executive restroom to wash my face. I
examined myself in the mirror. Balding, overweight,
over fifty, what could she possibly see in me? Money,
of course. I nodded to my reflection. There's no fool
like an old fool.
She answered on the third ring. "Hiya."
"Nona?" I had prepared something to say but it washed-
away in a flood of middle-age testosterone.
"Hiya, prez. Thought you'd never call." Before I could
say anything, she added, "I'm naked. I'm waiting." She
told me where and hung up.
I didn't remember driving over. When she answered the
door she wore a green, calf-length t-shirt dress. "You
said you were naked," I tried not to make it sound like
a complaint.
She laughed. "I lied. Did you think about me being
naked all the way over here?" she teased. I couldn't
answer the question. I hadn't really expected her to
answer the door nude in the middle of an apartment
complex. Then again, she was the sort of person who
might do anything.
I just stepped in, Nona stepped back and I closed the
door. The room looked like four or five college kids,
men probably, lived here. I wondered if I were going to
encounter any boyfriends. I tried peering toward what
might be a kitchen but I saw and heard no one.
Suddenly, she turned and ran from me, laughing and
squealing like a kid. I stood there, too astonished to
move as she disappeared up a set of iron-railed stairs,
across a balcony overhanging the cathedral ceiling of
the living room and through a door which slammed behind
her.
My dick almost dragged me up the stairs after her but
now I really began wondering if someone else might be
in the apartment, some sort of variation on the badger
game. That thought softened things up a bit, enough
that I could look around the downstairs carefully.
Describing the place as a mess struck me as
understatement.
Pizza boxes and beer cans littered every horizontal
surface with an occasional chicken bucket or wine
bottle as decorating accents. Pieces of clothing of
every kind, newspapers, magazines, sheets of computer
printout, the detritus of college bachelor life.
No one lurked in the kitchen, unless you counted
cockroaches. Likewise, the downstairs bathroom, the
laundry room and the closet under the stairs. I locked
the front door, using the deadbolt and locked the
sliding glass door from the kitchen to the half-
subterranean patio using the burglar-bar. I made sure
all the windows were latched and went upstairs finally.
I felt secure enough that my hard-on returned, climbing
as I climbed.
I didn't think about what I might find, I felt it like
jungle heat in a hooch outside Da Nang. I didn't try to
guess what might happen, I knew like you knew Charlie
was out there. Danger -- real or imagined -- spices sex
like nothing else. I sweated climbing the stairs, a
funky, lusty sweat like a boy's first trip to a
whorehouse.
When I opened the door of the bedroom, she lay casually
naked across a king-size bed, her head propped in the
teal-tipped hand. I never saw the room at all until
later. Her champagne-and-apricots hair lay spread
around her shoulders, some of it draping across the
swelling of her breasts. The nipple of one showed
prominently through the mane, a virginal berry, browner
than I would have expected, crinkled like a raisin.
Her curly-haired pubes winked at me as she
unconsciously moved one satiny thigh over the other.
she looked better than I had imagined her back in the
cafeteria, her legs longer and more perfect, her bush
darker and more luxuriant, her expression more eager.
"What the hell took you so long?" she asked, not
belligerently, just curious. Her casual profanity when
we were alone often shocked, always titillated.
Remembering my misgivings, I hesitated, there were two
other doors upstairs, one probably a bath the other
probably a master bedroom. I hadn't checked either of
them for ambushers.
Then again, she lay before me now, her peach-blossom
nakedness wantonly spread across the chocolate
comforter like an improbable truffle. "I told you I was
naked," she teased, smiling. "No one else is home, they
all went back to Kansas or Fresno or some fucking
place. For Christmas. Y'know, Christmas vacation. From
college." She paused, frowning. "Are you all right?
Your color is shitty."
"I'm fine," I managed to say. I stepped into the room,
closing the door behind me. I began to unbutton my
shirt. Truthfully, I found it hard to breathe normally.
"You aren't going to fuckin' stroke out on me or
anything? That would be such a bummer." I suspected her
of tailoring her slang to what she thought of as "my"
generation but she had me pegged as a hippie era
alumnus. My Vietnam experience had been in the fifties,
I had a wife and two kids before I ever heard of acid
as something you might deliberately swallow.
She came off the bed, suddenly, lithely and began to
help me undress, laughing. Her fingers on my belt, so
near my yearning cock, her closeness with the smells of
jungle musk and flowers made me fumble with the buttons
of my cuffs. "What's your hurry, prez? We got all
night, don't we? Wha'd Candace say?"
That almost threw me. "Candace?" I managed.
"Your wife? You remember her, bosomy blonde with the
New York accent, likes to eat chocolate in bed? Wha'd
she say?"
"Huh?" How much had I told this kook about my wife?
"She's got the flu or something." A dark thought
occurred to me, another kind of ambush. "Do you know my
wife? Candace?"
"Nah. I'm just curious." With another of her sudden
movements, she stripped my pants down around my ankles
then pulled my boxers down also. My cock stood out from
my body, rigid with desire, reaching for her teasing
presence. "Ooh. How -- presidential!" she giggled.
"Let me get my shoes off! First!" I protested but she
sank to her knees while I fumbled with my shirt. Taking
my dick in one soft hand she rubbed the tip of it
against her other palm. Then she licked the drop of
fluid off her hand while looking up at me, big green-
gray eyes smiling mischief.
I weaved back and forth dangerously, like a eucalyptus
tree in a Santa Ana wind. Her mouth closed over the
head of my dick. What am I doing here? I thought. What
does she want? What can I afford to give her?
END
Inquiries and comments are welcome, fanmail is the only
feedback a newsgroup author gets. Email may be
addressed to the author at ZANNA@WHOEVER.COM. Enjoy.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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