Chapter 5
TOM GETS IT IN
Velma went into the bathroom, carrying her gown and robe. Stepping into the shower, she turned on the spray and closed the door. Her pure white body glistened with warm moisture. She washed herself thoroughly while watching herself in a mirror set in the wall opposite the sprayer.
With her thin small fingers, she inspected her small, recently-blooming breasts. She was very proud of them. Of course, she knew, that they were not as big as some of the breasts of her friends at school. But she thought that, because they were small and firm, they were more appealing to males.
None but her mother had ever seen her breasts-and herself-which did not count. She wanted to show them to Gene or to some other boy and let him inspect them with his hands. She wanted the nipples to be squeezed until they hardened. She desired him-whomever he was-to lick them until the feelings drove her crazy.
Deep inside herself, she felt that 'he' would not be Gene. For one thing, he was too immature. He would not think of touching her there. It would be many years before he ever thought of trying. He got embarrassed when she made advances at him, like tonight. She grimaced at his delicacy.
No, she decided, I want an older man to love me. She had never experienced love with anyone. The closest she had ever been was kissing with Gene. And, after all, she thought, that's only kissing. It's getting boring. I want something more!
But what, she could not say, for she did not know. But she was old enough to know that something was missing. As she washed, she imagined the sight of a cock. Unfortunately, she had never seen a real one before. Once, when she had tried to get into one of those stores on Times Square where they sold books with pictures of naked men and women, she had almost made it. But the sharp-eyed proprietor had caught her and told her, as he shoved her out, to come back in ten years if she was still interested.
Her friend, Marijane, had showed her a book, once, in which was a story of two people making love. It was mostly descriptive. It had had the description of a man's cock. But she could not visualize the organ because there had been no pictures. All she could picture was a long thing coming out from between a man's legs, sort of a reversed-position tail. Only this tail would have no hair and would have a round head.
"One of these days," she said aloud to herself, "I'm going to get a good look at a man's cock. I might even let him put it into me." She stopped, listening to hear if her mother had heard her. Then she remembered the description of the cock in the book and got excited.
Unintentionally, her hand moved to her pussy, covered with little more than a light fuzz which was nothing like her mother's full-grown bush. Her mother was covered with a forest of long curly hairs, usually matted and looking something like underbrush in the forest.
Her fingers teased her clitoris and labia until she decided it was time for her to slip her finger into her tight little twat and let those mysterious juices flow. Slowly, her finger slipped in and out. Each time the finger slipped out, water from the shower washed it clean and provided new lubrication for her intruding finger.
Her twat, tight from a constant lack of use and virgin territory, accepted her finger eagerly until she began shuddering with the sensations which rocked throughout her tiny body. Her legs clutched together and the finger pushed in deep, trying to pound against her uterus.
Because of her age, she came quickly and she discharged copiously all over her hand. Breathing deeply for an instant, she began washing herself all over again. She turned off the water and stepped from the shower, drying quickly.
Dressing quickly, she opened the door and went into the living room, where Tom and her mother still sat, talking. As their backs were to her, they did not see her as she moved from the bathroom to the bedroom. With her hand on the doorknob, she watched as they kissed.
Although she was interested, she was more embarrassed for her mother's kissing a man. To her, it was a strange experience. It was something new and unusual, and to her little girl mind, mother's kissing revolted her.
Maybe it was because she had seemed to be above men. She had never been out with one since her father died. And for many years it seemed as if her mother was not even interested in men. At least, she had not been before now. But with this man she was taking interest, more than either daughter or man expected.
While Tom expected a simple night of eating, talking and screwing-only lately, had he thought of the screwing-he did not expect more. He thought she had expected a night of companionship with maybe a kiss or two thrown in, nothing more.
But Velma, interested in what was going on outside her room, refused to sleep, even though she was sleepy and tired. She lay silently, waiting for her ears to catch any unusual noises that might come from outside. She heard nothing.
For more than an hour, Tom and Mrs. Sinclair kissed each other fervently with occasional hands across her tits or peaches. But nothing more. Both had forgotten the bedroom incident of the finger-fucking. And by two o'clock Tom felt tired of kissing and playing.
He wanted more, but he was afraid of making anything that might even be called an advance.
"I've got to be going."
"Why? It's still early."
"Not really. It's after two and I'm beat." He stood up and stamped his feet to get his pants down his legs.
She stood and pushed her hair back with one hand as he pulled on his jacket. Walking him to the door, she pressed him for one final kiss. Readily, he consented and then told her he would see her on Monday, in the office.
"Thank you, Tom," she whispered as he walked down the hall to the elevator.
"Good night," he said, turning at the elevator door. "Get plenty of rest."
He returned home in a semi-stupor because the events of the preceding hours did not reach him as having happened. It seemed no more than a dream. For what had started out as a dinner date, had turned into a minor love affair between them.
As he was showering, he remembered her cunt and its shine with the liquid droplets on it from climax. He felt excited and embarrassed and ashamed as he masturbated in the shower.
But now when he ejaculated, at least, he had a real woman in his mind. And he was determined that he would eventually shoot into her cunt instead of against the shower wall. After his shower and getting into bed, he was suddenly filled with confusion.
When he saw her, he thought, how would he react to seeing her daily in the office? Would their relationship remain the same? Would she still be the secretary and he the office boy?
How could he face her without feeling embarrassed and excited? Surely, she couldn't treat him like she had before tonight?
It would, he knew, have to be entirely different. She would have to stop feeling pity for him and begin thinking of him as a man-not just a boy who was always around doing the dirty work.
Too, he would have to change his attitude toward her. He would have to stop treating her like a superior and begin treating her-or reacting to her-as an equal. Well, he thought to himself, we'll have to see what happens Monday. He slept.