Chapter 1
The middle-aged business man waiting in line at the Founder's Bank of San Francisco nervously looked down the line of tellers. His turn would be next and it looked like the next open window would be the old Chinese woman's. He let the person behind him go ahead.
He would wait until Mary Jenkin's window was open. He came to the bank every day and every day he waited. And he wasn't the only one. She had many "regular customers" and they were all men.
He walked up to her window, "Hi, Mary."
"Hi, Sam." She smiled her smile-the smile that made that long wait in line worthwhile. The smile that was worth giving up your turn for. And it was that smile that sparked a million fantasies. Every afternoon, a large number of male bank customers went back to their offices and thought of that smile, thought of those lips and just what they could be capable of.
Mary Jenkins was just a bank teller, nothing more. At least from the stand-point of her job. But she was special in another sense. Mary had the kind of looks that drive men crazy. She was young, just 24, but she looked like a woman in every sense of the word. Yet, and this is really what made the men nuts, there was something of a child-a little girl-about her. The twinkle in those deep blue eyes, the innocence of that smile. That smile that couldn't help but promise gifts of a very special kind.
Sam cashed his check and walked away. Someday he'd ask her out. Maybe just for lunch. Someday he'd get up the courage to go beyond their friendly banter. Christ, she was so beautiful! He suspected, though, that she'd probably never want anything to do with a guy like him-girls that look like that have hundreds of good looking, rich guys asking them out.
Mary enjoyed the men who came to her window each day. She was well aware that they jockeyed their positions in line so that they would be able to come to her window. That made her feel good. And it made her feel good to watch their reaction as she smiled and looked them straight in the eye. It was just an innocent game and she loved to watch their reactions. That certain look always did it . . . men were so weak.
A few times customers would ask her out, but she put them off with vague promises and cute flirtations. Not that she didn't find some of her customers attractive, but she enjoyed the game to much to blow it by actually going out with one of them. And besides, she had a boyfriend-if you stretched the word far enough.
Walking home from work to her apartment, Mary thought about her boyfriend. Davy was a nice guy. If she had to describe him to someone that was the word she would use. Too nice. He granted her every demand and bubbled over with happiness at the slightest nice gesture. Like a puppy dog, she thought. Only not as cute. There were times when that wore a little thin, times when the thought of a real man, dominant and strong was very appealing.
Last Friday night. First they went out to dinner and then to a movie. She laughed with contempt as she thought of Davy's predictability. Dinner at a restaurant of her choosing. Then go to the movie that she wanted to see. And after that he'd drive her home. He'd pull his car into the space behind hers in the apartment house garage, switch off the key, and then turn and look at her expectantly. What happened then was up to Mary. Always up to her, she thought.
Sometimes she'd flash that smile of hers, part those moist, beguiling lips, thank him for a wonderful evening, give him a quick peck on the cheek and then tell him goodbye. Other times, like last Friday, she'd sit silently in the car for a few moments, then turn and stare him straight in the eyes.
"Do you have to go home right now, Davy? Or do you have time to come upstairs for a drink?"
Davy always had time to come upstairs for a drink. Once in the apartment, he would sit on the couch with one arm draped around the back while Mary went to make the drinks. When she came back and sat down next to him on the sofa, he would attempt to make small talk while they both sipped their drinks. This always amused Mary because it was so obvious that he wanted to talk about nothing but his horniness. Small talk was the last thing on his mind and his attempts were so transparent that, at times, Mary really had to try hard not to laugh out loud.
Before he made his move, he waited not only until he finished his entire drink, but chewed up every last one of his ice cubes as well. Then, acting as nonchalant as possible, he'd slowly slip his arm down from the back of the couch and draw her close to him. He always seemed surprised when she didn't pull away. Then he'd lean over and give her a tentative kiss on the lips. If she responded at all, he kissed her more fully, using his tongue to part her soft lips, slowly probing past the barrier of her teeth to the warm wetness beyond. Their tongues would dance and intertwine like two hungry snakes and, often at this point, Davy would literally shudder with excitement. Poor Davy, Mary thought. Such a little boy!
His hand would then drop down to the ripe roundness of her breasts, circling their soft fullness. He could feel the hardness of her instantly erect nipple through her brassiere and shirt. The soft clinginess of her shirts and dresses always drove him crazy with frustrated desire. Sometimes she let him slowly unbutton her blouse and slide his hand over the lacy, feminine material of her brassiere.
But when his hand dropped to her nylon stocking covered kneecap and slowly slid upward to the bottom of her pink silk panties, she stopped him.
"Davy, no!" she would firmly say.
And Davy, ever like that obedient puppy dog, would obey. Even when he could feel the moistness soaking though to outside of her panties, even when he knew how excited she was-even then he stopped.
Oh, sometimes he would make little moaning noises and complain about his needs or plead about how much he really and truly loved her and about how painful blue balls are-but a mild rebuke from Mary was all it took to shut him up.
Mary remembered last Friday night well. Too well. After she'd shooed Davy out the front door, leaving him with one last soulful wet kiss, she sat back on the couch in agonized desire.
Her young body literally trembled with the passion flowing through it. "God, O God," she wanted a man! A real man, not a pathetic boy like Davy. A man who wouldn't take no for an answer, a man who knew what he wanted and knew how to get it. A man who would make her into a woman.
But Mary had a problem. A very deep-seated problem. Even if she had a man, she couldn't say yes to him. She couldn't let him have her body-no matter how badly she wanted him, no matter how intense the ache in her forbidden orifice grew.
Mary's problem was that she had grown up in Catholic schools. Schools attended by only girls. They say that graduates of these schools either turn out to be nuns or whores. The sisters did their very best to see that as many of them turned out to be nuns as possible. With Mary, the teachings had really taken hold. They had pounded sexual guilt deep into her conscious thought and her unconscious. Men were evil and sex was something so abhorrent, so disgusting that it was not even to be thought about. Even fantasy was a sin.
She was so fully taken in by the nun's teaching's that for years she seriously thought of taking the vows and becoming a sister. The thought of spending her life in cold chasteness, forever without the touch of a man, held a certain appeal for her.
It was Sister Teresa who talked her out of it. She was a gray-haired old nun, wise in the ways of the world. She had observed Mary, over the years, in school and watched her grow up. She could see, even at the age of fourteen, the effect that Mary was having on the boys. She could see the perfection of that young body-the long legs, firm breasts, the beautiful face and cascading blonde hair. One look and old Sister Teresa knew that Mary was not material for a nun. God, in his infinite wisdom, put together a package like that for other reasons. And besides, Teresa knew from personal experience in her younger days, that the
Holy Fathers had a hard enough time fighting the desires of the flesh without having a sister around that looked like Mary Jenkins.
So Mary gave up the idea of becoming a nun. But she was left with all the guilt that had been instilled in her mind, and now, sitting on the couch in her apartment after having sent Davy home, she fought with her feelings. Catholic teachings aside, she shamefully realized that she wanted a man, wanted a man who could ease her guilt by not giving her any choice in the matter.
Mary walked to her bedroom and began to undress in front of the mirror. She brazenly watched herself unbutton the front of her silk blouse and let it slide off the white roundness of her shoulders. She reached around behind and unhooked her brassiere. With a shrug of her shoulders it fell to the floor, freeing the youthful glory that were her breasts. They were full, but not too large, and proudly stood straight out without even the slightest hint of a sag. Her breasts were pure white and the skin soft beyond belief. They had never once been exposed naked to the sun. Mary looked at them and knew how fine they were. She had sometimes seen the dirty men's magazine's and compared herself to the girls spread upon those glossy pages. Few of them were even half as nice.
She slowly stretched, raising her arms high above her head, watching her breasts come together and then swell outwards. She lowered her hands and felt their softness and warmth, running her fingers around the dark pink of her nipples until they stood firm and erect. Just the smallest moan escaped from her lips and she knew that it was too late, knew that as much as her conscious might want her to, there was no way she could stop herself now.
Breathing heavily, she pulled her chair over in front of the minor, stepped out of her skirt and sat down. She slowly ran one hand down from her breast over the white smoothness of her stomach. Even her navel was alive with excitement as her fingers circled it, exploring its depths and teasing herself by postponing the pleasure to come.
Finally, her hand slid to the top elastic band of her panties and explored the outside, which by now was soaked with her young love juices. Her hips began to grind in a slow, involuntary, instinctual circular motion. She moaned throatily as her hand slipped inside the red panties, teasing the fleecy, blonde curls. She ran her fingers up and down the length of her moist love-cleft, spreading the juices and feeling her nostrils flair with wild animal abandon as the pungent scent wafted upwards.
She took her time, building slowly and exploring every inch of her burning pussy. "O GOD, O GOD!! " she thought. "IT FEELS SO GOOD, SOOOO GOOD!! ! ! ! "
She found the small bud of her clitoris and drew short quick circles around it, hissing with wild pleasure and bucking her hips like a mare in heat. She was moving fast, moaning and grunting, nostrils flaring, her hair covering the the shiny sweat on her face.
She knew it was about to happen, she could sense the blood rushing to her groin, growing and swelling in heat. It was like almost sliding over a cliff, just slowly hanging on to the edge, slipping inch by inch and then finally going all the way over the top, plunging into the delicious depths below.
"OH, PLEASE!! ! OH, PLEASE!! ! PLEASE! PLEASE!! ! " she moaned and hissed. "OH GOD!! I'M GOING, I'M GOING, I'M GOING TO CUM!! ! ! ! ! "
Her body went limp with exhaustion. Only then, as the animal within her left, did the old familiar feeling return-the feeling of guilt, of despair, and shame. She had touched herself, there-which was a sin. Tears of shame and frustration rolled down the beautiful curve of her cheek. Her hand, still resting on her sopping pussy, gently parted the wet cuntal lips and explored the tightness of her love canal. The smallness of that passage had always amazed her especially when she had seen pictures of huge male penises in magazines like "Playgirl". Her fingers explored deeper and then stopped at the barrier of her hymen. She tested its strength, feeling its elasticity push back against her finger.
Mary, at age 24 was still a virgin. And at that moment it was both her curse and salvation.