"Oh Cathy, Cathy. Oh my God, Cathy."
I was taken a little by surprise. I had not expected him to come so quickly. We were lying naked on my bed, and I had just been gently stroking his penis, when he began. I had been expecting full penetration, but he was too needy, too desperate, and probably too inexperienced, to hold back. Perhaps he was the sort of young man who did not masturbate, or he produced unusually large amounts of sperm. Certainly, when I briefly fondled his testicles they seemed very swollen, and now I found out why.
With his calling out of my name I realised he was about to come, so I speeded up my stroking, and suddenly great globules of thick creamy sperm exploded out of him. It spouted upwards and cascaded down to soak my hand, my face and his belly. He writhed in ecstacy, still calling out my name, and I thought he would never stop. I had received the sperm of young men before, but never in this quantity.
He came to an end with a last cry of "Oh Cathy," then he snuggled into me between my breasts like a child. He seemed almost a child. Not more than eighteen and his first year on campus, he had aroused the mother instinct in me.
He had seemed so shy and withdrawn, yet when I invited him to come home with me, he accepted eagerly. I don't think he expected to make love with me, but simply have a cup of coffee and company to assuage his loneliness. When, seated at the kitchen table with his cup of coffee, I had kissed him softly on the lips and said, "Come to bed with me," he hesitated. He was very shy and I think, immature, so I tried to reassure him like a mother telling her son that all would be well. "It's all right, Martin, I'll see to everything for you, I'll make you feel so good."
Now, as he lay close to me, the mothering instinct took over again and I grasped one of my breasts and drew the nipple to his mouth. He might have been sated by the outpouring of his semen, and no longer interested in my body, but no, he took the nipple and began to suckle me like a baby. I felt a wave of regret that I had no milk in my breasts that I might nourish him with it, as I had once longed to nourish my baby.
We lay together, he at my breasts, for almost half an hour. I felt his penis rising again, and this time I determined that he should penetrate me. I withdrew my breast from him, turned over on my back and parted my legs saying, "Come into me, darling."
He came over me in a rather awkward manner, and I felt a wave of love at his innocence. I guided the tip of his penis to my opening, feeling it throbbing to the rapid beat of his heart. I could tell that he had never had a woman before. I thought to myself, "There's nothing more wonderful than a sexually untutored young man with his fresh hard youthful penis, and an older, experienced woman. The boy with healthy ardour, the woman with knowledge of how to give and receive the joys of sex. I had been with such young men before, but, as it turned out, never one I felt such love and compassion for as Martin.
He slid into me whispering diffident words of passion, trying to express what he was feeling, I responding with words of encouragement, reassuring him that I felt his manhood and desired it. Yet in truth, it was once again almost a motherly feeling. I wanted to comfort and sustain him, to pour myself out for him, to let him have from me all he could desire.
In all the times I had been with other young men, I had never felt quite the same as I would come to feel with Martin. I wanted to yield to and indulge him. In all sincerity, I wanted him as my child, which according to our ages would have made me a very enterprising little girl of nine. Never the less, on this first occasion of our loving, that is how I felt.
Having mentioned that there had been a number of other young men, I suppose I have made myself sound like something of a slut. I do not seek to justify myself to you, but I do wish you to understand how this came about.
I met Roy on campus when we were both eighteen, he studying engineering and I education. It was, as they say, "Love at first sight." Very quickly, we became lovers, and, eventually married.
I suspect that there are few couples as devoted to each other as we were, and our great longing was for a child. It was a great joy, therefore, when I was able to tell Roy I was pregnant.
As Shakespeare wrote, "One woe doth tread upon another's heels, so fast they follow." The first "woe" that struck us, was the death of our baby son a few hours after his birth. I had barely held him and Roy not at all, and he was gone. People tried to console us, telling us, "You'll have others." It did not help. We grieved for our lost baby.
It was possibly this grief that brought upon me the next "woe," only seven months after the first.
Roy was by then employed with a civil engineering company, and was working on a bridge construction site. Probably he was not concentrating properly, and during an inspection he slipped and fell off a high part of the structure. He was killed instantly.
I was totally distraught, and for months had to undergo psychiatric treatment. People say, "Time heals," and no doubt, this is true, but scars remain. There was a large financial compensation payment for Roy's accident, but money did not alleviate my grief. At the age of twenty-three, I was a childless widow. I heard people whispering, "She's a good looking girl, she'll soon get someone else," but I didn't want "someone else." I wanted what I could not have, Roy and my dead child.
It might have been best if I had tried to take up some professional work in teaching, but the compensation money lured me away from this. Being without things to occupy me, and as the worst effects of my bereavement diminished, I began to visit old haunts -– places were Roy and I had met and loved.
One such "old haunt" was the university cafeteria. It was here that we first met over cups of the awful cafeteria coffee. It was to the cafeteria I often resorted, trying to relive a past that was literally dead. It was here that I began the trail that led to Martin.
One day, about the third or fourth time I had gone to the cafeteria, I found myself sitting at a table occupied by a rather melancholy looking young man. I recalled how it could be in one's early days at university. The enormous pressure of the studies, the confusion about one's values, often being away from home for the first time, friendless, and struggling with one's sexuality in often frustrating isolation.
I think my own unhappiness had made me sensitive to unhappiness in others, and seeing the woebegone expression of the young man opposite me at the table, I tried to make conversation with him.
