Meryl Lee - The younger the better

"Sure… yeah, guess so." He had left in ecstasy and in misery. Now as he headed up the stairs to clean his room, the misery deepened. All that remained was to busy himself in football and try to endure the old maid prima donna his mother tried to convince him would be fun to have around. Fun, hell! Even her name, Celeste, sounded sort of like the end of the world to a frustrated Bryan. Why couldn't they park Celeste next door and bring over Denise… or Sandy… or Pammy?

Deep in gloom that Mrs. Pritchard was completely serious in her warning to him to keep hands off further adventures next door, he dropped exhausted into his bed and promptly fell asleep.

The Quinby home was terribly quiet. "Any decent household should be at two a.m." Frank muttered to a restless Jennifer.

"But something moved somewhere," she complained. "Maybe Celeste is trying to find the kitchen for a snack. It's black in the hall, Frank."

Her husband groaned and shifted to his elbows to glare sleepily at his wife. "Look, if I check it out will you let me go to sleep?"

"Oh, thank you. If it's Celeste, maybe you can help her. She likes an after-show nibble and I forgot the kitchen night light."

"Probably Bryan," grumbled Frank, groping for his robe, then remembering. "Wrong. He's on the all-night bus run back from the game."

"Thank heavens he made the team," murmured Jennifer. "He's a worry. So much boy and so anxious to be man."

"I'll be right back," Frank sighed. "I'm awake now. Probably make myself a sandwich."

"Be careful," an anxious wife whispered after his departure. Her happiness was complete, she told herself. She had been loved wildly by Frank before he fell asleep; her home was safe in his protection and to make life sheer joy, her best friend was with them and staying on longer than planned.

Now one more thing remained to complete her joy. Jennifer thought of Celeste. Sweet, gorgeous Celeste, looking more vibrant and beautiful than in conservatory years, had taken her family by storm.

She was the perfect house guest, making herself at home, slipping in quietly after her evening performance, remembering there was a man in the house who had to go to work early. To crown her happiness, Jennifer had watched Bryan make varsity football. That, more than anything, should get him away from any preoccupation with himself or with girls. But she knew it wouldn't. He seemed absolutely in awe, almost afraid of Celeste, and smitten as his eyes said he was with her beauty, he was rarely near her. Sighing contentedly at the new prospects ahead, Jennifer leisurely stretched, then sat up in bed.

Downstairs Frank felt his heart race as he moved through the dining room darkness toward the kitchen. Not from fear of an intruder, but hope that it might be Celeste on a snack-prowling expedition. He paused by the table as a light flared low in the next room, then went out. Must have been the refrigerator light, he decided. At the door into the kitchen he waited and listened, identifying first the lightness of footstep and then the fragrance of perfume as belonging to their house guest. Jennifer rarely used perfume.

"Celeste?" he called softly. "It's me, Frank. You all right?" he asked quickly to wipe out any fright.

"I'll be fine if you don't turn on the light," came back the low voiced response. "I'm practically in the buff."

Violent heart race now and with it a surging charge in his loins. He had already seen a nearly nude Celeste at their pool and also in her latest contemporary Carmen concert. She was pure man-maddening wench. Someone really screwed the calendar when they tried to make her in mid-thirties. Youngish Jennifer had faked out the years with her fabulous figure. But Celeste was like a girl who stayed a girl in every way. And she was also slightly terrifying. So real and so genuine and so all woman – but so famous and so talented she was like someone unreachable.

"Just came down for a bite myself. But I'll come back later if I caught you naked as a jay-bird." His humor sounded an empty nothing to Frank.

"Come in. It's fine. I'm not really, naked. Besides, you're the master of this house, right? So join me. Just keep the light off."

Frank poked about the fridge, finding the bowl of cold chicken and the milk. She was standing facing the sink, looking out into the moonlit night as he placed the bowl on the counter. "Like a piece?" he asked, feeling the wild tremor at the double entendre and leaning close against the counter front to keep his thoroughly aroused cock from bursting through the folds of his robe.

"Thank you." She reached daintily into the metal bowl and he studied her unashamedly. "I'm too piggy, but my figure doesn't seem to hurt from it."

"That is for sure!" He saw her glance at his staring but didn't care. "Say, we're surely glad you're staying with us for your Connecticut performances."

"You aren't thinking about my performances at all, Frank," she accused softly. "But, thank you. I'm thrilled to be here."

In the filtering moonlight her magnificent breasts rose and fell evenly as she returned to her study of their back yard. He watched her finger the drumstick to her lips, pucker and nibble sensuously at the flesh… lick her lower lip and give him privacy to inventory her body profile.

Fabulous classic Grecian beauty to her dark hair and ivory skin. Chiseled perfection to the line of her slightly tilted nose, to the angle of her chin, the smoothness of her sleek throat. Her body, visible through the translucent pink of her shorty gown, was that of woman made for loving. Her nipples, unguarded by a bra, were hard points against the chiffon.

She finished the chicken leg and every bite was an agony for Frank. It was his cock she could be munching and it was his cock she was missing! Any cock, for all he knew of the manless career she had chosen, but for the moment, his cock.

"I can read the dial on your clock radio, Frank. Can you… from here?" She had turned and leaned back against the counter as she stared across the darkened kitchen toward the breakfast nook.

Trapped! The instant he turned, his frantic erection would lose the protection of the wall of the sink counter and leap through his bathrobe. Easily seen in the moonlit kitchen.

"Frank… didn't you hear me? Or are your eyes too old?" She caught his wrist with a little giggle and spun him around. "What does the dial say… oh… oh!" With a sigh of affected dismay, Celeste reached quietly across his front and clasped the great white phallus, ramrodding from the dark folds of his robe.

For a breath stopping second she fondled. "Has this made love to my long-ago roomie today?" She pulled impudently at the horny gristle of his cock shaft. "Tell me, Frank, was this inside Jennifer tonight?"

Momentarily speechless at her utter calm and her directness as she fondled the erection and looked into his eyes, he nodded. Just as though Celeste was the one person in the world who had a right to know.

"Does my openness upset you?"

"No! Good gosh, but you're different!" That was the whole clue, he knew. This brilliant talent, this magnificent female with the stacked chassis that bad to be love starved was really no brazen hussy. She was a beautiful, considerate house guest from the moment she walked through their front door, and she had a tremendous love for Jennifer, as alive now as when they'd been roommates at Gordon. House guest was just what Celeste wasn't. To all of the Quinby household she was now family and she could do no wrong. Least of all this very personal touch. No wrong, Frank reminded himself, nothing but openness. So his lust burned for Celeste. It was plainly welcomed.

"Tell me how you made love to her tonight." The fingers became a fist clutching his cock.

A mad irrationality spilled all common sense from Frank's brain and words tumbled as if he was talking about the weather. "Rather show you than tell you." Last stabbing grab for reason as he saw her eyes glitter. "So, go on, Miss Cute Ass Celeste Dantrelle. Get mad! You asked."