Date: Sun, 18 Jul 2004 07:23:17 +0000
From: Speaking Truth <speakingtruth@hotmail.com>
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.