Richard Sharon - Diary of a Lover

I wasn't going to argue with her then, so I used my finger. She spread her legs and lay still, not humping but getting moist, and holding my cock but not stroking it. I had a feeling, mounting moment by moment, that something was wrong, impending disaster.

"Put it in me," she said, moving my hand away from her cunt and drawing me up onto her.

I kneeled between her legs and used spit to lubricate the head of my cock, as I didn't think she was wet enough. I was very gentle, and when I broke her she winced momentarily with pain, as did I, but then seemed to be all right. She didn't even bleed. Working back and forth, I sunk myself into her slowly, a fraction of an inch at a time. She moaned and moved a little, but didn't seem to be terribly excited. When I was sure that she was comfortable and not hurting, I started.

During the next hour I was heroic. I was at the best of my entire life. I tried everything I knew. I rode her high and used the head of my cock against her clit. I pushed it in full and bumped her until I thought she'd go through the head of the bed. I ran it in and out short, and in and out long, using my finger on her at the same time. I gave her a ride the length and intensity of which would have sent any ordinary woman into orbit and around the universe. I used everything Mora had taught me and some of the things she hadn't. Felice just lay there moaning. "Every time she'd start to get hot some silent sentinel in her would trigger a stop valve, and she would freeze. I didn't understand how any human clitoris could take so much and not respond, but each time she'd start to go, she'd stop.

Finally Felice started to cry and said she was getting sore "down there." No wonder, I had been blasting away at her for over an hour. I pulled out of her and came quietly on her belly. Her face filled with revulsion as she saw my sperm shoot out onto her sweat-soaked skin.

"Get a towel!" she cried. "Get if off me! Get if off! Oh, God, it's awful!"

I snatched up a dishrag from the kitchen and wiped her, so weak myself that I could barely move. She stopped crying, just sniffling a little as she shrugged, and with a gesture of hopelessness said 'Well, at least I'm not a virgin anymore."

Livid with anger, I held her in my arms. I wanted to kill all the nuns and all the priests and all the parents who had done this to Felice, who with their voodoo tales from the crypt, had robbed her of the joys of womanhood, and left her frigid, unable to enjoy sex even with a man she loved. If I couldn't give her pleasure, then I knew that nobody could. I wanted to hold up her naked, sterile body and scream, "See? See what you fucking bastards have done to her, you and your religion and your false Christian morals and your thou-shalt-nots? You've taken a fine human being and you've ruined her. You've made her unhappy today, and bitter tomorrow, and filled her with hate for the day after tomorrow."

But I just lay there silent, rocking her. After a while she said, "There's something wrong with me, isn't there?"

"Not with you," I said. "Just with all the people who taught you when you were little.

And we talked about it for a long time. I knew that anything I might have told her would have been years too late. I suggested that she see a good psychiatrist, that maybe he could help, but that it might be a long time before she could experience normal feelings without guilt.

We saw each other several times after that, and then Felice dropped out of sight. Not even Ginny knew where she had gone, or if she did wouldn't tell me. Five years later I received a latter from a Catholic school in Santa Barbara. It was filled with religious drivel about how God has been good to me, God will take care of me, He works His wonders in strange ways, and something about the ultimate happiness of service to Him for eternal rewards far greater than earthly rewards.

It was signed "God bless you," by Sister Cecilia Roselin (Felice).

But if sad things happened to me during that period, funny things happened, also. I played a Jewish youth-group dance at one of the local temples and got picked up by a girl named Bonnie, who was a little bleached blonde with an ample ass, big tits, and a winning smile. She went to Lowell High School and it was obvious that she wasn't the virginal type. I offered to drive her home and she accepted readily.

In the car, Bonnie told me that her folks were going to Lake Tahoe for the weekend, leaving about eight the next morning. If I came over about nine we could have the whole day. She was obviously a girl who had been around. I knew that there would be no problem, so I agreed. She kept telling me how cute I was and rubbed me all over as we drove. When we arrived at her fancy house in the Seacliff district her mother was waiting, so I just dropped her off and accepted her nervous wink.

Saturday morning started beautifully. Bonnie greeted me at the door, dressed only in a robe that was open down the front, and a devilish grin. Her parents, not wanting to waste the day, had left for Tahoe at five-thirty in the morning.

We didn't even bother to go to her bedroom. As I walked in the front door there was a wrought-iron grill, on my right, which overlooked a step-down living room. Directly below the grill was a wide, long sofa. The bedroom seemed miles away, so we settled for the sofa, a near fatal error.

Within a few minutes Bonnie's robe was on the floor and I had clothes strewn all over the room. We were on the sofa, doing a beautiful, slow, loving sixty-nine. Bonnie was oh top, moving her lips leisurely up and down my shaft while I licked and nibbled around her crotch and the insides of her heavy thighs. After all, we had the whole weekend.

We both were so occupied in our pleasure that neither of us heard the key in the front-door lock.

"Bonnie, honey?"

It was her mother, and it was too late. I felt Bonnie's legs freeze solid around my face, and my own adrenaline suddenly seemed to be shooting out of my ears.

"Tahoe was snowed in, so we turned around and… Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Sam… Sam!"

Bonnie screamed and rolled off of me, snatching her robe off the floor and galloping like an ibex to the back of the house.

I didn't even look up. I grabbed my pants just as Sam, an overnight bag under one arm, came rushing through the door. The goddamn legs of my pants were inside out, and I was seriously considering running naked to the car, but remembered that my keys were somewhere in the depths of my inside-out pockets.

As I was pulling out the pants legs I looked up. Mama was standing over the iron railing, pointing at me, with her mouth open. "They were… they were… oh, my God!"

Sam dropped the bag just as I was hopping into my pants. "Sonofabitch!" he screamed, as soon as he understood. "You dirty sonofabitch bastard, you… you… you… "

And words failed him also.

Now both of them were standing there, pointing their fingers at me as if there were pistols attached to the ends of their hands.

I grabbed my shoes, one of which had a sock in it, and my shirt. The only way out was past both of them. I vaulted up the two steps to the hall and dashed for the door, pausing an instant to say, "excuse me," as I brushed past Sam, who had turned to face me, his finger still outstretched. I dropped my shirt as I raced down the porch steps and out to my car. My pants were unzipped and they kept slipping down, making it necessary for me to hold them up with one hand as I ran.

Adrenaline may make you move fast, but it doesn't make you move good. I fumbled for what seemed an eternity to get my keys, and then couldn't find the right key to get the car open.

Finally, the right one. I poked it into the lock, but missed, poked again and missed. The third time worked.

Sam was on the porch. "Death!" he screamed at me. "Death!"