Chapter 4

I'd never realized a physical need could be so intense as the need I felt just to touch Tom again as we sat across the table from each other eating supper. His mother was babbling on about their trip to Cheyenne and about the sudden fury of the unexpected storm. Whenever she left the table, turning her back on us, I thrust one of my knees forward under the table as far as I could to briefly touch one of Tom's. I could tell by the look in his eyes he felt the need as intensely as I did, but each time he shook his head, eyes fixed fearfully upon his mother's back.

Finally when she stepped into the pantry to get some cookies to go with the pudding she'd made for dessert, Tom hissed, "I'll see you later. When Mother's asleep!"

"You don't have nerve enough," I hissed back.

That brought a sudden bright flash of hurt to his eyes. A glint of anger followed it almost immediately as he snapped, "You'll see!"

There hadn't been time for what I'd said to have been premeditated, but I realized I'd stung his pride. The smoldering frustration still weighing heavily within me began to feel a little lighter. I began remembering the sweet ecstasy the feeling of Tom's sweet mouth created, filling my hungry inner emptiness. I began feeling feverish and excited just thinking about it. Mingled with that was a growing hopefulness, an expectancy; he'd virtually promised I could expect a visit from him in my bedroom just as soon as his mother was sleeping soundly.

The weight of smoldering frustration suddenly gave way completely before a bubbling feeling of joyful excitement that had me wanting to jump up from the table to skip and yell and sing. I felt so full of high spirits it seemed I might burst, and that reminded me sharply of that other kind of deliciously uncontainable pressure and the tidal wave of its bursting. The clean panties I'd put on grew as saturated with the hot juices of my inner excitement as the other pair had when Tom was kissing my nipples, I got up abruptly, excused myself quickly and hurried upstairs to my room, afraid Tom's mother might see the flush I knew had come to my cheeks. I didn't want anything raising suspicions in her mind that might keep her from dropping off to sleep just as quickly as possible. She always complimented my good judgment when I passed up sweets and desserts, so I knew she'd think nothing special about my leaving the table at that point in the meal. And who needed sweets to eat when they had a promise of the sweet ecstasy I was now looking forward to? Not me! It was a wild, wonderful feeling.

I couldn't just sit and wait while the evening hours dragged out; I knew that would only make them endless. So I tried to settle myself to my homework, but my mind seemed to have room in it for thoughts of only one thing. I fought to block out thoughts of Tom and of my sexual excitement and of my frustrated fury when his mother made her unexpected appearance; but they kept slipping back to play through my mind again and again like broken records.

Finally I gave up the battle, slipped my clothes off, and got into bed. For a few minutes I had no problem with my mind; the cold of those sheets against my nude body washed it clean of everything except awareness of that cold. I wrapped myself into a tight knot and lay huddled under the covers until my body heat began to drive the cold away.

I lay there in the dark quiet of my room listening to the low wail of the snow-filled wind outside and to the sounds inside the house, coming from downstairs. It was an ideal night to be very close to another warm human being, to be held in his arms and to hold him. Instead of the frustrated fury I had first felt, I now felt a sweet and quiet sadness as I mourned the idyllic night Tom and I might have spent together, sealed off by the storm from any world but the one in which we were the only two inhabitants.

Then the time finally came when I heard footsteps on the front stairs, heard upstairs closet doors opening and being closed, the upstairs toilet being flushed, the sounds of Tom and his mother moving around their bedrooms preparing to retire. All thoughts containing even the slightest degree of sadness vanished; trembling anticipation began growing again within me. My whole bed, from one edge to the other, became filled with an almost summerlike pleasantness from the glowing heat that radiated from my inner excitement.

I heard Tom's mother call, "Goodnight, son," as the squeak of bedsprings came distantly from her room at the other end of the upstairs hallway. The door of her bedroom was practically always wide open, allowing sounds from there to be heard at least faintly in any other upstairs room, as well as giving her ears access to all but the most guarded sounds from any of the other rooms.

Occasionally, however, I'd gone to the bathroom in the middle of the night and discovered her bedroom door tightly closed. Usually it was a night just before the preacher was scheduled to leave on a trip to preach in some other town. I'd gotten the idea his wife figured it was a matter of good feminine strategy to as nearly as possible drain a husband sexually before such departures. It seemed to me there might be more than mere coincidence behind her husband's filling so many such invitations.

It seemed to take an age, but finally I heard the faint, distant snoring that signaled the de- parture of the mistress of the manse from the world of consciousness. I then lay waiting with rising impatience for Tom's appearance. Could he, in contrast to my torrid expectations, have felt so little interest that he'd dropped off to sleep while waiting? Just the suggestion started fury rising within me. Then the low sound of the latch of my door being drawn reached through the darkness to me. I raised up, propping myself upon one elbow, and saw my door swing open cautiously. All feelings within me except excited expectancy had vanished.

As Tom slipped from the hallway, amazement shot through my excitement. He was fully clad in heavy pajamas. Instantly, however, I realized it was ridiculous of me to expect he would make even the short trip from his room to mine in the nude. No one who lived in this house ever traipsed around that way. But when he came to the edge of my bed, raised the covers, and started to slip into bed with me without first removing his night clothing, I protested, "You can't really mean you intend to get into bed with me with all your clothes on?"

Tom glanced down at the front of himself as if surprised, then exclaimed, "But these are my pajamas."

"I know," I nodded.

"But I always sleep in pajamas," he protested.

"But you're not getting into bed with me to sleep, exactly," I reminded him.

He stood staring down at me for a moment, then asked, "Isn't it awfully cold in a bed with- out pajamas?"

"Not when I'm in the bed with you," I murmured.

Still he hesitated, acting as if getting into a bed without pajamas was an amazing idea. Suddenly I threw the covers back enough to expose one shoulder and breast, demanding, "Don't you want to feel me close to you?"

Tom gulped, then muttered, "Oh, boy!"

I persisted, "How can you expect to really feel me next to you if we had all that heavy pa-jama stuff between us?"

That did it. Tom jerked the pajamas off as if they suddenly had become unbearably cold. He dropped them on the floor and jumped into bed. I welcomed him with open arms, hugged him close, plastering my naked flesh against his. That brought another soft; "Oh, boy!" out of Tom. Then he was hugging me close too. I could feel the rigid hardness of his young penis sandwiched between our bellies. Tom might have been young and he might have been on the shy side, but he was ready.

I took one of my arms away from around him, opened enough space between our bodies to let my hand reach in between them and gently grip his penis. As my fingers closed upon it, Tom gustily whispered, "Oh, boy!" I felt shivers that were not from the outside cold rippling through his body as I caressed his hardness. Then I moved my fingers downward farther and caressed his young balls. That made Tom draw his breath inward sharply.

Then he abruptly ducked his head under the covers and found one of my excited, eager breasts with his mouth. That brought a gasp out of me. A fine tingling seemed to flash from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes. Then I felt Tom's fingers beginning to caress my lower belly. That intensified the tingling the feeling of his mouth on my nipples had started. I tipped my pelvis, pushing upward toward his hand, inviting it to move lower.

Tom's gentle fingers moved down into my delta of short, curly hair. They found my hot lower lips hiding beneath that hair. The wave of sensation his touch there gave me brought a moan out of me. Suddenly I was filled with too much impatience to take time for any more of these preliminaries. I wanted the feeling of his hardness filling my inner emptiness. I brought the head of Tom's cock to those concealed lower lips of mine which his fingers had just then started to explore. I rubbed the head of his cock deeper into their hot moistness than Tom's finger had yet ventured. That drew another whispered gasp of, "Oh, boy!" from Tom.

Since then I've read what all the books say about a woman's need for more time to become aroused than a man requires; experience has proven that those rules like all others are very, very general. Women vary. Different times are different, too. That time I was more completely aroused than Tom was. That quickly became obvious. I felt I simply couldn't deny myself the feeling of Tom's beautiful hardness inside my hungry cunt one minute longer. There was room in my mind for only one thought: I was going to fuck him and get fucked, and I was going to do it right now! I climbed astride of him, pushing him over flat on his back. I reached down between my legs, gently but firmly gripped Tom's gorgeous hardness and brought the head of it back to the slippery lips of that hot, hungry lower mouth of mine.

It seemed amazing to me, right then, that I'd actually owned that secret mouth so many years, yet never before had ever fed it anything, never before had actually realized just how intensely hungry it could feel. I began eagerly to make little pumping movements with my hips, starting to actually work Tom's wonderful hardness into those greedy lips of mine. But Tom surprised me, turning himself under me suddenly, jerking his hard cock away from my drooling pussy and out of the light grip of my guiding hand. "What're you doing?" he hissed up at me. "You want your father to kill me? Or don't you care what happens to me?"

I didn't try to argue the matter. Instantly I said, "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I'm sorry! I just got carried away! You feel so wonderful. So exciting. I couldn't think."

"I'll kiss you again like I did this afternoon," Tom proposed, "if you'll do it the same way for me. I won't be in you where you want me, down there, but at least I'll be in you. In your mouth."

That didn't strike me as the greatest idea I'd ever heard. He'd be in me, of course, but my mouth wasn't where I was burning to have the feeling of his hardness going into me. But having his mouth and tongue on my cunt hadn't been bad at all. In fact, it had been the greatest feeling I'd ever experienced. I just felt certain that having his stiff cock shoved into my cunt to its roots would feel even greater. But I'd already learned that in this life we frequently have to settle for something second best. That we're frequently damned lucky to be able to enjoy even a good second best.

At that time I'd never heard of 69 having any meaning other than being the number that followed 68 and immediately preceded 70. But the position we needed to get into to do what Tom had suggested was obvious, inexperienced though I was. I started to tell Tom, but just then the light blazed on. I glanced around; his mother was standing in the hall doorway.

"What are you doing?" she demanded shrilly, accusingly.

"Trying to smooth out a lump in my mattress," I told her, then raised my voice insistently, "Will you please turn out that light and close my door?!"

She acted as if my tone of voice startled her, staring at me in surprise for a moment. Then she declared, "But Tommy isn't in his room!"

"Maybe he went downstairs for something," I suggested. "Please turn off my light and close my door!"

It almost worked. She reached for the light switch and started slowly backing out the doorway. But abruptly she stopped. She glanced at the floor beside my bed. When she brought her eyes up again they were flashing as she sud- denly pointed, exclaiming, "Those are Tommy's pajamas there on the floor."

"I borrowed them, but they're too hot and too confining," I snapped.

But I wasn't shaking her off the scent with mere words now. She came striding toward my bed, announcing, "You throw those covers back and let me see that lump, or I'll pull them down and look for myself, young lady!"

I grabbed the top edge of the covers, ready to resist her if she attempted suiting action to her words. I demanded, "Are you saying you think Tom is here in my bed with me?"

"His pajamas are here beside your bed," she announced loudly, then stopped, snatched them up, and waved them in the air before me as if defying me to question their reality.

But I wasn't about to hand her the advantage of selecting the subject for our discussion. I demanded, "Do you have any idea what my father might do to Tom... maybe even to Tom's father... if he ever heard even a whisper of a thing like you just said?"

A flicker of alarm went through her outraged eyes. The preacher's family might not have been long-time residents, but I knew they'd heard of my father's reputation for violence against those he considered had done him wrong. But Tom's mother wasn't easily turned aside.

"Tommy, I want you to get out of that awful girl's bed this very instant!" she called, suddenly ignoring my presence as if I didn't exist.

"If Tom came into my room, took his pajamas off, got into my bed," I shot at her, "you'd never convince my father Tom wasn't responsible for everything that happened. You'd better forget that wild idea and go look for Tom downstairs."

"Downstairs?"

"Probably raiding the refrig," I nodded.

She stood staring down at me, obviously undecided what to do. Finally she declared, "Even if I do find him downstairs, you can't stay here in our house after tonight."

"My father makes it awfully hard on people who take his money, then turn around and want to back out on their end of a deal for no good reason," I reminded her. "What'll you tell him?"

Mrs. McKenna dropped Tom's pajamas like they'd suddenly become unbearably hot. She backed to the doorway and paused there for a moment. There was not the tiniest ray of Christian charity in her glittering eyes as she stood there staring at me. She hated my guts! But she was afraid to risk doing anything about it. Suddenly she slammed the door and was gone.

I leaped out of my bed and sprinted to the door to listen. I heard her go tromping angrily to the front stairs and started down. I turned to hiss at Tom. "Have you got other pajamas in the linen closet in the bathroom?" I was sure he had. Tom still lay just where he'd been in my bed, staring at me, frozen by either fear or amazement. He did manage to nod, however.

"She didn't check the bathroom!" I snapped. "Get in there before she comes back upstairs. Get into another pair of pajamas. Pretend you were in there all the time. Move, damn it! And get your wits about you, unless you want this to be the last chance we ever get to have some fun together."

That snapped Tom out of it. He got from my bed into the upstairs bathroom in nothing flat. Almost instantly the sound of the toilet being flushed went through the house. From downstairs I heard his mother suddenly call, "Tommy?" Then I heard her rushing back upstairs. I rushed back to my bed, climbed in, and pulled the covers up. In the hallway outside my door there was a sudden murmur of her voice saying something I couldn't make out. But Tom's voice was very distinct as he demanded from the bathroom across the hallway, "What's bugging you, Mother? Is there some law against me getting up at night to have a bowel movement in here without coming to tell you about it first? Will you please stop worrying about me like I was some little kid in diapers and go back to bed? Please?"

His mother's voice raised, becoming intelligible although still guarded, as she insisted, "I want to see you first, son."

"Holy cow!" I heard Tom groan. "All right. Just a minute until I get wiped."

Sounding shocked, Mrs. McKenna protested, "Tommy! I didn't ask for a detailed description of everything."

"Just wanted you to understand why I have to keep you waiting in the cold there in the hallway, Mother," Tom's voice interrupted. Then the sound of the toilet being flushed came again. Silently I congratulated Tom on his perfor- mance. If he'd never lied before he met me, that preacher's son was learning quickly and well. I hoped he'd thought to rumple up the fresh pair of pajamas he'd put on; I knew that's what his mother was insisting on having a chance to check on.

I guess he did, because at breakfast next morning, Mrs. McKenna apologized to me and asked me to forget the things she'd said the night before. I accepted it with an air of injured innocence and suggested maybe I'd better ask my father to make other arrangements for me. Mrs. McKenna almost got tearful trying to persuade me that nothing of that kind was necessary.

From that day on, Tom and I were careful to seldom have a civil word for each other in his parents' presence; we often sounded like a sister and her younger brother the way we appeared to grate on each other. And it worked like a charm; before long it became obvious that Mrs. McKenna had completely forgotten whatever suspicions she might have once had about us.

So while Reverend McKenna was making pastoral calls and Mrs. McKenna was presiding over meetings of the Missionary Society, the Ladies' Aid, and what not, Tom and I rushed home from school every afternnon we knew they'd both be out, eager to do our special homework. He learned to lick my cunt as satisfactorily as any of the experts I've had eat my pussy since then. And I began learning some of the fine points of cock sucking. But that hunger to feel Tom's hardness inside me still persisted, regardless of how good we learned to make the oral sex for each other.

Then I got back to the ranch unexpectedly one afternoon, as I've told about earlier, and surprised Mrs. Miller and Ed Sands. That opened my mind to an investigation of the possible delights of asshole fucking, which Tom and I investigated extensively after that first time I've already told about. But I still hungered for the feel of his cock in my cunt. So we finally tried it.