Date: Sun, 18 Jul 2004 07:23:17 +0000 From: Speaking Truth Subject: Looking for Jim This story contains descriptions of sex among various men, women, and minors. If you live in an area that tries to control your thinking, reading this may be illegal. Feedback to speakingtruth@hotmail.com encouraged. I climbed out of my beaten-up Chevy Malibu and looked around. The driveway was empty and the house seemed quiet, but that didn't really tell me anything. If he had been one of the guys on the basketball team I could tell you a mile away whether he was home or not, but Jim was a quieter sort. Still, it looked like no one was home. Just to be sure, I hopped over the ornamental fence that ran along the driveway and wandered toward the backyard. I smiled as I noticed grass that was at least three inches longer than it should have been. The garden that Jim's mom had planted along the garage was in need of weeding too. Jim and I had been having WAY too much fun lately, and it was only a matter of time before neglecting household chores would catch up with him. I felt a mild twinge of guilt when I thought about the consequences Jim would face when either of his parents got around to noticing his negligence. After all, if it wasn't for me Jim would probably be the very model of diligence. Then again, maybe he wouldn't. I had managed to corrupt him easily enough -- if I hadn't come along, probably someone else would have. I glanced around the neighborhood as I made my way around the house. Four bedroom ramblers as far as the eye could see. "Snob," I muttered to myself. More and more I was having to remind myself that not everyone's family was as loaded as mine. Jim's thoroughly middle class background was no more his fault than having a famous author for a mother and a senator for a father was mine. Jim's house was perfectly pleasant, I reminded myself. Just not exciting...at least not when I wasn't around. Two months ago I'd discovered Jim sitting in the back row of our calculus class. Math mostly bored me, but it seemed to genuinely fascinate Jim....and his fascination fascinated me. How anyone could genuinely find calculus intriguing was a mystery I was no closer to unlocking now than I had been eight weeks earlier....but unlocking Jim had been surprisingly easy. My cock began to harden, both at the memory and in anticipation of what the afternoon might bring....if only I could find his skinny ass. "Jim," I hollared out as I rounded the corner to the backyard. "You around?" "He's still at school," came a voice from inside the house. I jumped at the sound, even though I hadn't done anything wrong. My guilty conscience, I suppose. "Mrs. Philips," I called out, "Is that you?" A stupid question, I realized as soon as I said it, because Jim's only sister was away at boarding school. "Hey Sean," came her reply. "Jim called a while ago and said he was staying late to tutor one of the basketball players. I'm surprised he didn't tell you." Surprised, she meant, because since falling in together two months ago we'd been hanging out virtually every day. I hit myself in the head in mock disgust. "He did tell me; I completely spaced it." "It's no wonder," she laughed, stepping out of the house onto the back porch. "I can't believe how much homework the two of you have. I've never heard of a school assigning so much work." The conversation was breezy enough, but my mind was spinning furiously. I thought I knew Jim's tutoring schedule backwards and forwards, and if he was tutoring a basketball player it was news to me. It was possible that one of the teachers had drafted him at the last minute....but I wasn't used to not knowing his every move, and I found myself surprisingly unsettled to realize I had no idea where he was. Even more troubling, though, was his mom's smile as she talked about our homework. While I didn't have any particular use for calculus, it's not like it was especially difficult for me and for Jim it was childishly simple. Same with our other classes. Was she on to the fact that most of our so-called "study time" was actually devoted to other pursuits? "Do you have a second to help me with something," she asked me, as my mind continued to spin. "I was counting on Jim being home already, and really need a second set of hands to finish up inside. Do you mind?" "Sure," I replied out loud. I'd finished the night's homework before lunch, so I didn't have anywhere to be...and I was curious to see if she'd drop any more hints about what she did or didn't know. Her project turned out to be fairly straightforward, pulling up carpeting in what had apparently been an attic bedroom for the previous owners. In all the times I'd been there I hadn't even noticed that the house HAD an attic, to be honest, and apparently the Philips' hadn't paid much attention either because the attic was home not only to vintage '70s orange shag carpeting, but to a mismatched collection of dorm-style furniture the compulsively neat (all of them) family would never have tolerated in their own living space. I was mildly amused, in fact, that Mrs. Philips could stomach being in the room at all -- I had a pretty high tolerance for clutter and the piles of boxes were getting on MY nerves. After less than an hour, though, the carpet was lying on the lawn two stories beneath the attic window, and I had more or less convinced myself my suspicions were groundless. Mrs. Philips had said nothing more about Jim or our workload, and seemed appropriately appreciative of the help I'd given her. She DID seem to spend as much time watching me work as she did working herself, throwing the carpet out the window as I pulled it up....but I was a relative stranger who had come out of nowhere to spend almost every afternoon with her son for two months. It would be strange, I reassured myself, if she DIDN'T spend some time trying to size me up. Almost as the thought formed in my head, however, her voice brought me crashing back to earth. "Sean," she said, "You have a nice body." It would have startled me if she had said it looked like rain, because we had worked without speaking for more than half an hour. But to break the silence with something like that....it was suddenly hard to breathe. "I'm going to enjoy having you," she continued. "Young...athletic...attractive....this is going to be a fun afternoon." "But," I stammered, "I mean, what...I mean..." I actually didn't know WHAT I meant, so I shut my mouth and focused on trying to collect my breath. "Sean, here's the thing," Mrs. Philips said. "There's a few things you need to understand. First, I know about you and Jim. Second, he didn't tell me and he doesn't know I know. Third, I know who you are and, more importantly, who your parents are. Fourth, I have videotape of you and Jim...enjoying each other. So fifth," she concluded, "I pretty much own your ass." I stared at her, not certain if I was more surprised at what she was saying or the pleasant, even tone in which she was saying it. Knowing about me and Jim....possible, I concluded. She was around much more than my parents were, much more in fact. Knowing who my parents were....easy enough, since I made no particular effort to hide it. Videotape...thinking furiously, I was forced to conclude whether that particular assertion was true or not was almost irrelevant. My father was among the senate's most conservative members at the moment, and my mother's writing if anything was to the right of my father's politics. Even a credible hint that I liked boys as much or more than girls would be enough to bring the media crashing down on them...and bring them in turn crashing down on me. At seventeen my parents' approval meant little to me, but I was realistic enough to recognize that a continued connection to their connections and wealth was in most ways preferable to having those resources withheld. Yep. She owned my ass. "Sean, there's no question that you're a smart boy -- almost as smart as you think you are. So you know that I'm telling you the truth, don't you?" I nodded. "Good. That saves time...and I want to make the most of our time this afternoon." She stretched and walked over to the window where minutes before she'd been tossing out hunks of orange carpet. "Take off your clothes." I stared at her, growing more stupified by the minute. Who was this woman, and where in the world was this headed? "You heard me Sean," she continued in her same pleasant, even tone. "I brought you up here so I could get a look at you. I like what I see, even if you are sweaty. So now I want to see you undressed." A part of me -- a small part -- I have to admit was flattered. I work out six days a week, and I certainly don't mind the looks I get from the girls (and guys) at school. But this was my buddy's MOM for crying out loud! I looked her up and down, watching for any indication that she was kidding....but all I saw was a forty year old woman smiling at me. Smiling warmly....but with supreme self-confidence. I'd never really looked at her eyes, I realized. I couldn't remember if she was Chinese or Japanese, but her eyes were dark, almost black, and staring into them I felt like I was staring into a bottomless lake -- calm, but endlessly deep. And the deeper I stared....the colder the waters. Without speaking I peeled off my shirt. Under other circumstances being rid of it would have been a welcome relief -- I WAS soaked with sweat, and the fabric had begun to chafe. Pausing briefly, I confirmed with a look that "undressed" meant more than simply my torso. Taking a deep breath, I kicked off my shoes and unbuttoned my jeans, letting them drop to the floor. And in one motion -- afraid of what I'd do if I stopped to think about it -- I pulled down my boxers and stepped free of them. Closing my eyes, I tried to will my heart to stop pounding. Truth be told, I certainly had nothing to be ashamed of. At 6'1" and 160 pounds I was lean and well-defined. Nature had blessed me with movie-star features, including blond hair and blue eyes. Daily trips to the gym had earned me a nice set of pecs and tight abs -- not quite a six pack, but more than enough to draw second and third looks. My chest was completely smooth, a fact which was a source of frustration on even-numbered days and relief on odd-numbered days. I had a faint line of hair leading downward from my navel to an entirely average -- but respectable -- cock and balls nestled in a bush of short, coarse blond hair. A cock which, no matter how hard I tried to think about ice cubes, sno-cones, and igloos was growing harder by the moment. "Very nice." Mrs. Philips' voice penetrated my meditation. "I couldn't make out much detail from the video tape. Of course I was mostly watching to be sure I had a good shot of your face." Her smile broadened into a grin, and I saw a sparkle emerge from somewhere deep in her eyes. "How big are you?" she asked. The question, I realized was rhetorical, because it was accompanied by a single fingernail dragging across my scrotum. Immediately my cock shot out to its full seven inches, straight away from my body. Dropping to her knees, my friend's mother took my now-constricted scrotum in one hand and brushed blond hairs away from the base of my shaft as she ran her tongue along its length. "Lie down," she suggested, as her firm lick gave way to gentle sucking. "My God," I heard myself scream silently in my head. "My best friend's mom is sucking my cock!" Even as I tried to summon the strength to ponder whether or not I could enjoy her masterful oral technique, I looked up to see that somehow in maneuvering me toward the bed she'd managed to shed her own clothes. I blinked and realized that forty years old or not, this was an incredibly sexy woman. Asian girl at school had always caught my eye, and while I had never (NEVER!) given Jim's mom a second look, I couldn't at that moment understand why I hadn't. She had no more fat her body than I had, and while her breasts were small they were firm in a way that no mother's had any right to be, with dark, subtle nipples poking out ever so slightly from under her long flowing black hair. As she released my cock and slid up my body, I found my gaze locked on the first vagina I'd ever seen up close. Had I been with girls? Of course, but high school girls -- at least the three I'd been with -- had a thing about keeping the lights out. In the curtain-free attic, light seemed to be pouring in from everywhere...and all I could think was all the internet photos in the world had done a poor job preparing me for the real thing. I realized with a shock that this very proper Asian woman had not only planned this encounter, but had actually shaved herself -- very recently from the looks of things -- in anticipation of it. "Sean?" She said my name in a tone that could just have easily been asking if I wanted to go with her for ice cream. "I'd like you to start using your tongue now please." I stared at the foreign-looking landscape looming inches from my face. This was uncharted territory for me. My tongue? Where? How? But even as the questions formed in my mind, the distance between us evaporated and I found my lips locked in an embrace with...her lips. I braced myself, having heard locker room story after story of a fish-like taste...but none came. "Now, Sean." Her voice sounded far away as her legs settled alongside my ears. Tentatively I began to probe, and found my efforts rewarded with a satisfied "hmmm." Setting aside the still-mindblowing awareness of who I had suddenly become intimate with, I became bolder in my experimentation, listening for cues in her voice and feeling for them in her firm legs. After nearly thirty minutes, a sudden gasp and vice-like grip upon my head told me my efforts had not gone unnoticed. "Ah. Ahhhh. Sean, that was very good. Was it your first time?" I smiled despite myself, and looked up to see her smooth, well-proportioned face reappear. "Sean, this is going even better than I planned." My surprise must have shown, because she immediately answered my unasked question. "No, we're not done yet. Not at all." Her smile broadened and she slid down my body, until she was straddling my waist instead of my neck. "Sean, my first name is Kay." "Pleased to meet you, Kay." I said, trying to make a joke even as I was trying to make sense of an increasingly surreal afternoon. Smiling, I could tell that she was amused...not at my lame joke, but at the position of weakness that had reduced me to such feeble humor. "Sean, I want you to ask me to let you fuck me. Use my name." I stared at her. Why I was surprised is beyond me -- after she'd all but pinned me down and opened herself to my tongue, why would my dick be any more intimate? Still, I found myself trying hard to breath again. "Sean, relax," came her warm, sunny voice. "Be honest, you know you want to." I pondered the question in my mind. I'd been hard as a rock -- harder, if that was possible, since those fleeting seconds my cock had spent pressed against her tongue. And even as I tried to gather my doubts, to muster some sort of objection, my mind exploded with colors that I didn't know how to name. Pressing her hands into my shoulders, Kay had lowered herself carefully but assertively on my rigid shaft. I gasped and tried to comprend what had just happened, when she raised her hips and then drove them into me again. "Sean," she repeated patiently. "Don't you want to fuck me?" "Yes," I managed to choke out. "God yes." "Then ask me," she ordered, raising herself up to a kneeling position. "Can I fuck you?" "Sean, is that any way to ask me?" Her tone didn't change in the least, but her sudden firm grip on my balls served to underscore her seriousness. "Kay, can I fuck you?" Her smile didn't waver, but the wave of pain that came from her tightening hold on my `nads expressed her displeasure. "Please Kay?" I gasped through the nausea. "Please, Kay spread your legs and let me fuck you." Releasing my balls, she curled her head down and suddenly was on her back, her legs intertwined with mine. Cautiously I placed my arms on either side of her, and lowered my still-pulsing cock toward her slick, well-lubricated pussy. I'd always panicked slightly as I entered a girl for the first time, unsure of exactly what I would encounter, but as she fixed her eyes on mine I thrust my cock home with confidence, earning a satisfied groan. "How do you like it Sean," she asked me, adjusting her hips to allow her thrusts to penetrate deeper. "I love it," I said, realizing even as I said it that it was absolutely the truth. "Kay, I love fucking you. I LOVE fucking you. I love fucking YOU." Without thinking I grabbed a handful of that long black hair and pulled her face to mine, locking her lips in a fierce kiss while caressing a breast with my free hand. I had fucked girls before, but this was different. As Kay responded to my thrusts with gyration of her own, I realized that this was...a woman. "Say my name, Sean." "Kay," I panted. "What are you doing, Sean?" "I'm fucking you. Kay, I'm fucking you. Kaaaaay..." and suddenly the last hour of surreal stimulation came together in an explosion of mind and body and sound that dwarfed any orgasm I'd ever had. It dwarfed, in fact, all of them put together. I collapsed on the bed, unable to move or think. "Sean?" I couldn't respond. "Sean?" I tried to lift my head and failed. "Sean, I think we're going to get along just fine." Exhausted, I realized that any doubts I'd had earlier had been erased. Kay did, in fact, own my ass.