"Yes. Hmmm. Okay! I have someone waiting outside to take you on a tour. She's a sophomore. Let's go find her." We stepped outside into the lobby and an attractive brunette stood. Mr. Atkins introduced us to Michelle Baker then left us to her. I could easily understand why she would be chosen as a guide. She was knowledgeable, bubbly, and gregarious with an excellent sense of humor. We had a great time with her over the next hour and I had to agree with her. Lesley was an interesting and friendly place. We were stopped and greeted several times by students and staff alike. I could tell by the expression on Barbara's face that she would make every effort to enroll.
It was almost five by the time Barbara had finished her application and had received Mr. Atkins' approval. "I'm just looking for a reason to take my wife out to dinner. She told me she'd thrash me if I didn't accept you, but I would have under any circumstances. I think you'll fit in well here." He recommended a real estate agent in the area and marked the address on our map. We shook hands and left, with Barbara elated and me relieved. Now we only had to find a place to live.
Rather than return to our motel in nearby Belmont I drove us into Boston toward Faneuil Hall and Durgin-Park. I had heard about this place when I was here with my parents, but Dad didn't want a big meal. Now, even after a big lunch I was starving, I guessed from all the nervous energy I had expended during the day. Apparently, Barbara agreed because we each ordered their huge prime rib as we sat side by side in the middle of a long table with about twenty other patrons. I enjoyed the company and it seemed that they did, too.
Several diners asked why we were here, immediately recognizing our New York accents. We explained that I was headed to Harvard and Barbara to Lesley and that brought another whole series of questions and comments. But when someone noticed my height and asked if I played basketball Barbara couldn't contain herself. You would have thought that I could walk on water to listen to her, but when she said the words "All-American" the men at the table went wild. They wanted to know all my statistics and were disappointed that I didn't know most of them. "I only know that we won 129 games and five state championships in a row. That's all that matters." Then Barbara mentioned that I played baseball, too and I was relieved when our huge slabs of meat arrived.
We were stuffed when we left the restaurant and eating like that always makes me tired so, by the time we arrived at the motel I was ready to sack out. Barbara, however, had other ideas. Remember that part where she told me she was going to show me her love every minute of every day? She wasn't kidding. First, she dragged me into the shower. It was close quarters in the tub—so close that Barbara's succulent breasts were constantly rubbing into my body as she carefully ran her soapy hands over my torso and especially over my cock which responded strongly in spite of my exhaustion. Who would ever think that taking a shower could be so much fun?
Finally, Barbara handed me what was left of the tiny bar of soap and I had the opportunity to return the favor. After more than a week of pain she was at last able to tolerate my touching her back. There was still discomfort, she told me, but that was all. I rubbed in the ointment until it dried, but the bandages were no longer needed.
"I'm looking forward to doing missionary again," she whispered as we climbed into the bed. "I enjoy wrapping my legs around you and forcing you as deep as possible into me." I thought that was a great idea, too. As predicted, Barbara had gotten her period on Saturday while we were at the bungalow. I would never have guessed how horny having it would make her. Her only restriction was no oral on her. Twice she had sucked me to completion, swallowing every drop my testicles and prostate could produce and I had always thought that was a lot.
Tonight, it would be cowgirl. For one thing we still had to consider the injuries to her back. For another, Barbara thought it would be neater. She would rush to the bathroom to insert a tampon then return to me with a wet washcloth to wipe her blood from my organ. That's what she had done almost a dozen times over the past four days although being home with my parents and sisters had crimped our style considerably.
Barbara pulled the bedspread and blanket down as I lay on the left side of the double bed. She carefully placed her body perfectly on top of mine, her incredible breasts easily within my reach, as her lips sought and found mine. Her tongue spent more time in my mouth during these sessions than it did in hers. Barbara's love and passion for me never failed to amaze. Reaching between her legs I found her extremely wet and eager. I grabbed my rod and aimed it in the direction of Barbara's slit. She did the rest, beginning with a slow sensual rhythm.
I was tempted to move my hands behind my head so I could relax and watch Barbara in action, but her firm breasts with their hard swollen nipples were irresistible. I rolled them gently between my fingers while massaging each orb, knowing how much Barbara loved tit play. Sure enough, she threw her head back and drove that big sensitive clit into my hard muscles. In less than a minute she was humping me with abandon, developing the friction that would bring me to my inevitable climax even as the friction on her clit was doing the same for her.
I had read in the Kinsey Report that simultaneous orgasms were extremely rare. I wouldn't know from our experience because Barbara and I had achieved that goal almost every time and from the tremors in our bodies I guessed we'd reach it again tonight. Suddenly, Barbara reached for the other pillow and held it to her face. It swallowed her scream just as my hips drove into her, lifting her body easily and holding it there until both of our climaxes had ebbed.
I had shied away from wrapping Barbara in my arms for fear of hurting her, but tonight she pulled my arms up and around her body. "Damn, Jack, but I've missed this. I've always felt so loved in your arms. Unfortunately, I have to get up." She kissed me and jumped out of bed, trotting to the bathroom. It was fascinating watching her insert the tampon then washing her groin with the wet cloth. Barbara and I were very open with each other. We pissed and moved our bowels in front of each other and I'm sure we'd wipe each other if necessary.
Barbara cleaned me then rinsed the washcloth in the basin and returned to lie on my body as she had every night since we had begun making love. I pulled the blanket over us, kissed Barbara and turned off the light. We fell asleep almost immediately after a long but productive day.
* * * * *
We were up early and asked the motel office where we could find a decent breakfast. They sent us up the road to a big shopping mall where there were several restaurants in outbuildings. We found one that was like a diner—well, it was the closest thing we could find. I assumed that diners weren't all that big in Massachusetts. We ate heartily not knowing what we might find for lunch.
Following our map we arrived at the real estate agent's office just after nine. Sara Kline was a woman in her forties and it was obvious that she was a native from her accent. She had several ideas that we found helpful. She suggested that we look in neighboring Somerville, a blue-collar community nearby because property values were somewhat lower there and also that we think about buying if we planned to be here for at least four years. "I'm sure you're aware of the problems with renting. When you leave you get nothing back. On the other hand, you are responsible for maintaining the house and yard if you buy. Here that means shoveling a lot of snow."
She drove us around for more than three hours, first showing us several apartments. They were much as Mrs. Atkins had described. The hallways were littered and there was loud music bursting from apartments even though it was only mid-morning. Next she showed us several houses that were for rent. While they were quieter, they were all in poor physical condition and one house had a front porch that I was sure would collapse under my weight.
Finally, she showed us four houses that were for sale. I remembered several things my parents had said about when they were looking. I checked floor plans, knowing that nothing we looked at would be ideal. We wanted three bedrooms—a fairly big one for the master and one for a study center. The third we could use for storage or as a guest room in case we had a little visitor for a weekend. I knew that Carole would love to come for a few days. I also wanted at least one and a half baths and an eat-in kitchen would be a plus. The first two we saw were too small. One had windows that were ancient without working storm windows. Replacing them would be a major expense. The second had terrible water pressure and the third bedroom was smaller than the closet in Big C's bedroom. It helped that I had worked summers and weekends for my dad. I checked out all of the plumbing to make sure it was up to snuff with copper supply piping and galvanized and cast-iron wastes. I also checked out the fixtures—sink, basins in the bathrooms, toilets, and tubs.
The third house was a big improvement. There was a small nook off the kitchen where we could eat most nights and the master bedroom was twelve by fifteen—big enough to handle most bedroom furniture sets easily. There was also a small powder room—basin and toilet—between the kitchen and living room. It had a full basement with a decent oil burner that had been replaced only five years ago. It was on a slight hill so water from snow or rain would drain away from the house. The lot was small, but that was the norm in Somerville.
The fourth house was okay—better than the first two, but not as good as the third. Mrs. Kline told us that the husband had been transferred and that they were eager to sell. Asking $18,500, we offered $16,500. I knew that they would come back with a counter offer and we'd make another before we settled. How could I know that? I'd had two flashes while riding in the car.
