My First Time Was with an Older Women Chapter 2 part 2

My First Time Was with an Older Women Chapter 2 part 2

Such a boy could care less about going to the drive-in with some shallow young female after that, even if he had access to a car.

It hit me that I might have fallen in love with Rose. But how could that be so? Rose was older, knew so much more than me. She was involved with a real man, one who ran a construction crew of God knows how many workers. Rose was so experienced at sex, she took in stride everything, all the positions, that to me amounted to heart-stopping fantasies, with barely a hint of wonder.

I stood next to her as a lowly student would stand next to Socrates.

Certainly, I couldn't love someone so far above me, so detached and, there was no doubt that such a person could never love me.

So, it must be infatuation, I reasoned. I'd read about that, of course -- English Lit was full of prime examples. Also, it was common knowledge that plenty of schoolgirls thought they were in love with their male teachers, so why not a misplaced emotion on my part toward Rose? I pushed such nonsense away.

Ed had the new Playboy in his gym locker, cribbed from his dad's bureau. Normally I'd have killed to get a look at it, but that day I shrugged at his suggestion that we check it out in the locker room during our next free period, when Coach and his assistant had study hall monitoring assignments.

Maybe I was too distracted thinking about ways I could sneak out of the house tonight and visit Rose again, one more time before

Tuesday. Maybe I was tired of magazines that didn't show it all. Or perhaps I suddenly realized that if Ed and I didn't have some Stag or Adam or Men Only to check out, or some fantasy to share about what we'd like to do with girls, then maybe we had no other common interests.

Anyway, we ended up checking out the magazine after all, but it was in the back of the bus on the way home after school. This was no mean feat, by the way, ogling naked women pictures on the Eagle Eye bus.

Eagle Eye Warren (I've forgotten his given name) was a veteran, hunched-over driver who had seen it all, and was especially suspicious of any clutch of whispering and grinning boys huddled in the back of his transport. He had a huge rear-view mirror, I swear it seemed twice the size of other bus mirrors, and little escaped his probing eyes. It wasn't easy keeping him from pulling over and making a big deal investigation out of everything.

So, Ed and I sat in the middle right, instead of the back this time. It was Ed's idea. Even though there were girls and some boys younger than us right nearby, kids who could see what we were doing, Ed apparently reasoned that Warren would pay little heed to anything such children might say, if they indeed dared to utter a word. The bus driver would be looking for seniors in the back misbehaving, Ed believed, and he was correct.

Ed unfurled the centerfold proudly to share with me, practically daring anyone looking over our shoulders to rat us out. She was a comely blonde with shoulder-length curls, I remember. Not the centerfold model, but the girl behind me to the right who sucked in her breath as the heavy-breasted Playboy model bared all except for the parts I wanted to see most. I think her name may have been Linda. I could hear her unnatural breathing right next to my ear.

At the time I figured she was thinking what pigs, boys are, but looking back now I wonder if it wasn't merely the times in which we lived, with the sexual taboo of seeing nudity in public with mixed company causing a short, sharp bit of arousal. Are you out there, young lady?

Please answer for yourself.

This was Ed's big daring moment. He was aiming for immortality in the school's folklore, as The Boy Who Opened a Playboy on the

School Bus. This gesture was no doubt meant to impress me, the friend he must have realized was drifting away from him. None of that went through my mind at the time, naturally, with my being not so introspective as I find myself today; instead, here's what I was finding of interest right then: that the shapely, full breasts of the pictorial model, with their lovely pink perky nipples and their finely-lined delineation of aureole, along with the novel, highly- sexualized situation I was in on that bus, were not seeming to me the least bit arousing, or even particularly dangerous.

All I knew as I pedaled my way at 11 PM that night toward the house where Rose lived was it was time for me to go all the way. Behind me were my parents, who might discover that I had sneaked out of the house without a word. I could only hope that at least one of them would understand I was eighteen and an individual, not someone related to Wally Cleaver. Before me was a full-blooded woman who might care only for me in an abstract, instructional, mentor way of thinking, but at the same time had definitely responded to me sexually.

Would we fuck tonight? Should we? Would she even let me in? Could I kiss her? Would I have to wear a condom?

That brought me up short. I actually stopped the bike and flushed with embarrassment in the warm evening air, mortified that I hadn't even thought to acquire a rubber. In a flash I went over the possibilities of finding such an item this late at night, and quickly ruled it out. If Harland wasn't accustomed to stashing any in the nightstand drawer, that might be that.

It's either a testament to the power of Desire or to the protective properties of Denial that I continued on my way. I pushed from my mind the ideas that Rose might find a late-night visit objectionable, might not be in the mood to be clumsily pawed by a skinny adolescent, or may have any objections to completing my education.

In their place were my pure, inexperienced imaginings of what her warm cunt might feel like wrapped around my cock.

It wasn't easy knocking on that back door quietly. The outer door was metal and glass, so it rattled like a bastard. I kept expecting lights to come on and snarling dogs to attack, attached to long leashes held by fat, tobacco-spewing sheriff's deputies. That's what I deserved for seeing "The Defiant Ones" on TV recently. I knocked and rapped and rattled for what seemed like an eternity.

The light that came on blinded me for a good while, long enough that I was inside before my eyes could adjust enough to see her. The long pale blue robe encased her completely almost up to her neck, so all I could study was her sleepy face. It was a nice, pretty, friendly face, a relaxed expression that gave me quite a bit of relief. Framed by her mussed-up hair, her expression made it clear I had summoned her out of bed.

She gave me a vague smile. "Coffee?"

Without batting an eye, as though I drank it every day, I replied,

"Black."

While she busied herself with the percolator and all its little accessories in the kitchen, I stood around wondering what to say.

Many different ways to tell her why I was here passed through my mind. "It's time we made love, Rose". "I can't stop thinking about you and I want us to go to bed." "Rose, I don't know how to say this, but I think I love-"

"You take sugar?"

"Sure. Two." That was how my dad ordered it at the Howard Johnson's.

I felt caught between two worlds. One was physical, the other emotional. Was it that delicate combination that we call "love"? Did it wear off? Was that why as my not-often-sober Uncle Ralph used to advise "love never lasts"?

We sipped our coffees in silence after setting them up with cream her and sugar (me), gazing over our cups at each other in the well-lit kitchen. I hated the taste, and it wasn't nearly hot enough, but I didn't care at all. As long as it wasn't cyanide, it was just fine. Rose's eyes betrayed little, as usual. I couldn't help but feel I was supposed to explain what I was doing at her place shortly before midnight, on a school night no less. I wanted to be bold and manly about it, but what could I say that wouldn't sound ridiculous? All the phrases that summoned themselves seemed to come from old movies.

"Danny, we won't be able to stay like this forever, you know. Harland and I are planning marriage. I hope you can understand that this is only for a short time."

I didn't expect to be emotionally hurt by this, but I was. Young egos aren't ready for adult realities. Looking back, I'm happy I didn't say anything stupid to her right then.

"Yeah. Do you.... love him?"

To be continued