A Fool Stumbles Into Love

Maureen had tried to stay awake. She wanted to consummate this relationship. She wanted to possess this man. She loved this awkward, lanky, boat building, chicken frying, nose punching young man. She thought about the punch in the nose for a second. That was quite a surprise. Nobody saw that coming. Yeah, Cal had become all she thought about, or cared about. He'd become her obsession.

Just exactly when she knew he was the right one; the one for her, she couldn't say. It had to have been that first night. He certainly stood out that first night at the tavern; he stood out in ways she couldn't explain. She'd dated other men; most of whom she quickly found either so boring and stupid as to be unworthy of comment, or so self consumed and hedonistic as to be just, just, well nauseating.

She sat there on the old sofa and castigated herself. She was hardly someone to criticize others; she was just as self-absorbed, boring, and narcissistic as her disappointing friend Sandy, but at least, she prided herself on knowing it, as if being proud of one's faults was a good thing.

She looked down at the man asleep snuggling his nose through her silk panties into her vulva. What was it about Cal that turned her head? Right away that night at the tavern she knew she could read him like a book. He certainly was stupid, but not stupid in the ways most men she'd met were. Most men were ready at the drop of a hat to argue about which team had the best quarterback, or who was the best jump shooter; like any of that really mattered. Those same men, so keen on sports and hyped about making money couldn't name five American documents, name five presidents, let alone the five best, or even identify the author of anything as simple as The Scarlett Letter. Maureen bet Cal knew that stuff, or if he didn't he'd come close.

Cal was stupid about people; he was socially immature. He trusted everybody, believed everyone was honest, was too quick to ignore the bad and go for the good. He wore his sincerity like it was a bull's eye. Maybe that was why, though he didn't see it, so many people liked him, and so few seemed to want to take advantage of him.

Cal should have been really mad at her and Sandy, but he'd blown it off. Heck, he'd not only forgiven her, he'd fallen in love with her. Then there was Sandy, well Sandy deserved to be disliked, even hated, but Cal hadn't said anything derogatory about her even after he realized how badly she'd misled him. The only complaint he'd had about Sandy was that she hadn't liked his chicken.

Come to think of it she hadn't heard Cal say anything bad about anyone. She knew he'd been angry about the way people treated his mother, but he never mentioned anybody by name. Even now she didn't know who his biological father was. He'd mentioned what he done, but never said anything else.

Cripes thought Maureen, what if her dad was his dad? They'd be brother and sister! No her dad wasn't the type, and besides he'd said his biological was a rich man who lived in town and had a big family. Her dad didn't live in town, certainly wasn't rich, though he should have been, and his family was only her and her mom.

Maureen yawned. She'd seen the movie on the television a half dozens times, and she was physically exhausted. She looked down at the man asleep in her lap again. What had Donna Reed said to Jimmy Stewart in that old flick It's A Wonderful Life; something like 'I love you, whatever his characters name was, and I'll love you for the rest of my life.'

Maureen wondered, 'Could a girl fall in love with a boy at a young age and love him for the rest of her life?' That was a heavy thought. She couldn't manage it, not tonight. She fell asleep.

Sometime later, in the wee hours of the morning, maybe 4:00 a.m., Cal tried to roll over and found the way blocked. He opened one eye, then another. His head was in Maureen's lap, and he could tell she was out like a light

Speaking of lights, the table lamp at the far end of the sofa was on. It was dim and gave everything a nice kind of yellowish glow. There must have been another light on in Maureen's room, because he could see the radiance emanating from that direction. He wondered why Maureen's bedroom was on the first floor. It had occurred to him most girl's bedrooms were upstairs, as far away from the outside doors as possible. It didn't make much sense.

He lifted his head a little further. He could smell her fragrance. He wondered what it was. Whatever it was he loved it. He couldn't tell; perhaps jasmine, lilac maybe? He wasn't much of a connoisseur, he only knew he liked the way she smelled.

He was fully awake and better able to scope her out. She'd done her hair up in ribbons, black ones that matched her hair. Her hair was really wavy and thick. He loved that hair. He wished, if he could, to just sit down one day and comb it, comb it all day for her, put it up in braids like she'd had the other night; run his fingers through it, pull it up to his nose and smell it.

She was sound asleep, but hardly making a sound. She didn't snore. He didn't know, but he couldn't imagine a woman who snored. He snored; at least his grandfather said he did. Shit, if she wanted to snore he wouldn't care; any sound she made would be good, though he was still glad she wasn't snoring.

Her face was all made up; dark lashes, ruby lips, exotic looking eye liner. It was like looking at a more beautiful, prettier, Mona Lisa.

He scouted out what she was wearing. The nightgown felt soft, like silk. It was silk. He could see her boobs. God they looked succulent. He wondered if that was an appropriate way to describe them. He knew they sure looked luscious, gorgeous: positively, absolutely edible.

He watched and listened to her slow shallow rhythmic breathing. Should he wake her up? If he awakened her they'd surely have sex. But if he woke her up now, she might not get back to sleep, then they'd lose a whole day on the gazebo.

He watched her breathing some more. He rolled so he was facing her stomach, her flat stomach. Stretching slightly he caught sight of her navel; an innie, but he knew that. Anybody this perfect had to have an innie. It didn't matter though, of she'd had an outie he'd love it just as much. Anything she had was perfect.

He took his right hand, and leaning forward, he used his index finger and rubbed very gently over her lips.

She wriggled her nose and licked her lips with her tongue.

He waited a second; then rubbed her again. She shook her head slightly, puckered and un-puckered a couple times. He could tell she was almost awake.

He sat up, resting his left hand between her thighs, his right hand on the back of the sofa, and kissed her.

She opened her eyes and smiled.

"Good morning beautiful," he said.

She answered, "Good morning handsome."

He swung around and sat so that he was right beside her. He kept his hands in his lap, but leaned around a little bit and kissed her lips.

She let her hands rest in her lap too, but kissed him just the same.

He whispered, "I love your hair, the way it flows around your beautiful face."

He took his left hand and curled it around and through the hair on her right side. He leaned forward a little more and kissed both her eyes, "You have the most beautiful green eyes, and I love the way you've made them up. You're so perfect."

Maureen liked it when he complimented her; she especially liked it at that moment since she'd put in so much effort to get her hair and make up right. His gentle remarks and tender kisses make her feel goose pimply.

He watched her blush. He felt good that he could do that to her. He wanted her to feel like she was as special as he knew she was, but he also wanted her to feel a little self conscious too. With his right hand he took a frond of her hair and twirled it around in his fingers; it was soft, thick, and shimmery.

He kissed her again, "This is a beautiful outfit. It looks like it was made for you." He used his left hand to rub softly down her right arm to her waist where he let it rest.

She asked, "Do you want to go to bed?"

He did, but answered, "No let's stay here a while."

She wanted to go to bed, but she was just as pleased to stay where they were. What would happen in the bedroom would happen in the bedroom, but what was happening out here was making her incredibly happy.

Together they sat there; side by side, kissing and whispering nonsense. It went on for a long time; her lips tasted so good, her hair was so soft, her skin so warm and smooth. She was just so damn delicate, soft, cuddly, and warm. He could see her skin getting pinker. It made her look even more fragile. He felt like he wanted to wrap her up in his lap and just squeeze and kiss the shit out of her. It was like she needed to be stripped completely naked, wrapped in a soft blanket, nestled all up in is arms, and just fondled all over, forever.

Cal probably would have stayed there all morning, but his body was giving him other orders. The more he kissed her, massaged her arms and breasts the more uncomfortable he became. He knew Maureen could see it.

For a long time Maureen was perfectly content to accept his kisses and caresses. He made her feel wanted, cherished, special, but she could see the changes he was experiencing, and with each kiss and caress she was feeling warmer and wetter. Her body was sending signals to her just like Cal's was to him. She knew something was going to have to happen.

She took her left hand and rested it on the inside of his upper thigh. She didn't try to touch him anywhere else, she kept returning him kiss for kiss, endearment for endearment, but she knew the affect she was having on him. It pleased her that she could do this to him.

Cal reached down and placed his left hand on her thigh. He felt her squirm as she moved her leg closer. She was as excited as he was. He liked it.

He stopped kissing her beautiful lips and started paying attention to her breasts. He and they had become old friends in the truck the other night. This morning they were fully alert, at attention, and ready for anything. He could see her nipples pushing insistently against the silken fabric. He liked the feel of the material over her breasts. He liked rubbing her nipples over the silk, seeing and feeling their response underneath.

He put a little added pressure on the V-necked front of her gown, and watched as her breasts struggled to break free. They burst out, and he dove in to feast on their rich fullness. They were hot, dry, and brilliantly pink. Her aureoles were darker, and they looked moist like they seemed to glisten; they appeared to look larger than normal. He was sure this was an optical illusion, but he delighted in it. Her nipples were pressing up and out. They were magnificent little pinnacles atop two luscious alpine peaks. Only these peaks were hot not icy cold.

He took his left hand, opening it; he used his palm to softly rub around and around her right breast. He rubbed in ever decreasing circles, closing in on that bright pink aureole. He heard her sighs and watched her deep breathing. He allowed his palm to softly sweep over her nipple. Her intake of air, and her subsequent sigh was like a symphony of love and passion.

Her sighs drew his mouth back to hers. He knew a sigh like that need recognition. He puckered up as full as he could. She puckered her lips too. Their lips melted into each other like a mountain of hot wet steaming flesh.

She wrapped her arms around his head, and pulled him as close as she could. She liked the feel of his face against her breasts. She felt more sensitive all over, and the pressure of his cheeks and mouth against her chest made her want to endear herself to him. She imagined it was as though two things were happening; she was giving herself away, but claiming ownership of him at the same time.

He responded by pulling her closer at the waist; gently but firmly pressing against her stomach and abdomen.

He knew then he needed to find her other lips, her nether lips, her woman's crevasse. For the first time in his life, and what he didn't know the first time for her, he lowered himself to where he faced her pubis. He got down off the sofa and spread the top of her teddy away from her abdomen, that V shaped valley just above where her flesh arched downward to her vagina. He pulled her panties down, and gazed upon her most scared place, that most holy of holies.

He pulled and wrestled her down so that she was lying prone on her back on the sofa with him beside her kneeling on the floor. He looked closely at her woman's form; those mysterious places below her waist.

Her vagina was stripped of all its hair, totally clean and clear, like a child's. It was the most beautiful thing he'd seen in his life. He read where people had said a woman's mons was the most beautiful part of their body; now he knew it was true. Her's was clear, clean, and pink in its purity. He took his finger and traced it from the top where he believed her clitoris was, down that closed ridge line that was where her labial lips pressed together. He traced all the way to the bottom where they seemed to open slightly into a narrow gorge. What a magnificently beautiful spectacle, a perfect vaginal seam, her sheath, the place he would soon enter. He hoped and prayed when he entered her that he was gentle; true to his goal of only giving her pleasure and happiness.

He could see the moisture that had been building and had begun to seep from her interior cavity. He saw the perfect arc of her woman's lips from her clitoris to its end near where her rectum began. He glimpsed her tiny anus, those delicate creases. He knew he'd need to kiss that too. Someday he vowed he would enter that cavern as well, maybe this morning with a finger, just a single finger.

Right then he kissed her along the crease between those delectable fleshy mounds that was her pubis. As he kissed them more fluid oozed forth, and her womanly lips spread wider to reveal the delicate beauty of inner rippling pink flesh, two parallel folds of reddish pink skin, that were her labial walls.

He took his lips and sucked the juices from her vagina. As he did so he heard her breathy sighs, and felt her as she pressed her mons up toward his mouth. He kept kissing and sucking, knowing he was giving her pleasure.

Maureen loved the feel of his mouth on her pussy. She luxuriated in the strength of his mouth and lips as they pulled and tugged at her nether lips. He was also driving her to distraction; it felt so good, too good even. She tried to pull his head up with her hands. She loved what he was doing, but she wouldn't be able to hold out for what she expected was the main event in the bedroom later if he kept up what he was doing. She pulled more and more frantically on his head. She had to get him up and off her tender puss before she lost all control.

This was all new to Cal, but he recognized and understood that he was having an affect on Maureen. Even though he was enjoying what he was doing, he decided on a change of pace. He slowly climbed up the sofa to be near her face. He started kissing her face and upper lips again.

While he attended to her adorable raspberry red facial buds, he took his right hand and began to softly massage her pubic mound. He used three fingers to apply soft but steady pressure against the surface of her mons. He was outside her vaginal cleft offering steady pressure. He could feel her reaction. She squirmed and gently writhed under the insistent presence of his hand and fingers.

He kissed her face, while his right hand rubbed up and down the surface of her pussy. He took his fingers and squeezed her vagina even while he nuzzled her neck with his mouth and fondled her ear with his left hand.

He delighted in caressing and savoring her face and neck, while he massaged and manipulated her vagina. As he did these things he could feel her body rise and fall, hear her lungs, and feel her warm breath on his face.

He thought, 'Oh what sweetness, what ambrosia, what delectability! This was what it meant to be alive and in love.'

Maureen had reached the limit of her womanly endurance. She had never, not ever in her life, really reached an orgasm. Those occasions she'd been with other men had produced nothing but shame and pain. When alone, the few times she experimented she always retreated before the moment of glory. But what was happening now she couldn't control, she couldn't stop. Cal was doing things to her, and causing things to happen she'd read about but never lived.

"Oh Cal," she whimpered. "Please stop. Show some compassion; please get off."

Cal was having too much fun; the excitement she was experiencing was just as real and just as overwhelming for him as for her. He wanted to please her, he wanted to continue to cosset, to pamper her; he believed her calls for a stop were premature. He wanted to keep loving her, petting her, just this way forever. He believed what he was doing was something she'd enjoy and remember forever. All he wanted to do was give her joy and happiness.

Then another messenger whispered in Cal's ear. This second messenger had a deeper modulation and offered a different viewpoint. Something inside him began to assert; when does no mean no? Does no mean yes or does it really mean no?'

Cal leaned back and rested his head on Maureen's hip. He continued to fondle her pussy lightly but asked, "I don't want to make you do something you don't want. Tell me what you want me to do."

Maureen took her right hand and twisted it in his hair, "You're wonderful. Take me to bed."

Cal got up and offered his hand.

Maureen didn't move. She continued to lie prone on the sofa. She said, "No you must carry me."

He almost cried out; the excitement of carrying his maiden, his woman, his conquest as if to some hidden lair was all consuming. The veneer of civilization was momentarily torn away; for conquest in his innermost mind's eye she surely was. His imagination was running amuck! For a few seconds his deepest dreams ran wild; he imagined her in chains, shackled to the bed, helpless, completely at his mercy. The thoughts quickly passed, but a few seconds his man's most primitive, most predatory instincts had surfaced. They were like a tonic, a fierce piercing injection of adrenaline that both invigorated and exacerbated the sexual tension overwhelming his body.

He lifted her like she was a baby, and carried her into her bedroom. The time had arrived. Their moment had come. He and she, Cal and Maureen, were about to share, about to complete the greatest experience two people in love could ever accomplish.

He lifted her tenderly, like an innocent helpless lamb, and carried her to her old bed, the bed that, though still not yet remembered by either, had been the scene of so much pain and suffering; that site where a little girl once cried and screamed in fear and protest as doctors and therapists worked their tyrannies.

Cal and Maureen, they abandoned the warm soft old sofa, that one time horrid Calvary where a little boy so often sat and listened in quiet desperation while his true love cried out her helpless tears. They drifted, immersed in love, back to the original scene of so much innocent child's anguish; both completely oblivious of the ravaged old battlegrounds they were crossing.

Cal carried her to her bed. As he crossed the weathered hardwood threshold that separated the outside world from that sacred inner sanctuary, the place where true love works it's miracles he carefully kicked the door closed with his foot. This was their first time, their first singular sexual experience when they would bring to fruition all their pent up passions, their repressed sexual energies, long since forgotten and suppressed tears, and where they would draw together and share that one greatest thing only two people so deeply in love can enjoy.