This is my second story for Literotica. I would greatly welcome comments, suggestions, or just encouragement from any of you out there. Hope you enjoy this one.
*
I still hate my alarm clock. I still hate being woken up suddenly. I much prefer waking up slowly, enjoying that time between waking and sleeping; where dreams and reality mix.
That morning, as I awoke my hands were rubbing my ample breasts, gently kneading them and causing my erect nipples to rub against my bedsheet. As my arousal increased I allowed one hand to touch and start to squeeze a nipple, while the other moved down to my fleshy mound. A finger rubbed gently up and down the soft velvety skin at the meeting place, until it felt a hint of slippery moisture. It pressed on the moist spot, the lips parted and my finger slid in to the warmth, in towards the source of the moisture. It pressed into the softness of the opening to be rewarded by a small gush of the juice it was seeking. My moist finger now moved up between the lips and onto my little pleasure bud. Had my finger been dry that touch would have been painful, but the lubrication it had sought made the almost-pain into the greatest pleasure. The greatest, that is, until it started a regular slow circle of massage. Each time my finger passed over the most sensitive place I felt my whole body being tensed and pressurised. The pleasure and pressure increased and increased until I exploded in to the final ecstasy.
All of which was very strange. I was a 19 year old male virgin. In those days kids had a lot less sexual experience. There were stories of terrible diseases, the risk of pregnancy and shotgun marriages, and for girls the shame of being thought 'loose'. For many their first sexual contact would be clumsy ignorant fumbling on their wedding night. I had never seen, and certainly never touched a naked female breast. My experience of the more private female parts was zero. So it was very strange that in my dream I had been so accurate as to the anatomy and feelings of the female body. I, at the time, had no way of knowing that my imagination was correct.
I had good reason to know about the shame of unwanted pregnancy and 'loose' women. My mother was just such a loose woman, and I was the result of just such a pregnancy. My father, however, had got away with it. He was just one of my Mum's many encounters. She now ran a small shop selling cigarettes, newspapers, and odds and ends, but there were still evenings or afternoons when she would give me enough money to go to the cinema, and tell me not to come home again before such and such a time, and there were still women in the town who would "Not be seen dead in that shop with that woman." It was perhaps because of her experience that she had always made sure that I should not risk my, or any girl's future for momentary pleasure or excitement.
The town was small, but as was typical in those days it had all the shops that most people needed for their simple inexpensive lives. There were a couple of other shops like my mother's, several butchers, a drapers, a small furniture shop, and so on.
There were also a couple of greengrocer's shops, one of which was next door and part of the same building as our own. This was another shop that some people would not be seen dead in, because in those days the prejudice against those with non-white skins was a lot more common, and there were a lot fewer people with black or brown skins in England, especially in small market towns like ours. She was the only person of Indian origin that most people had ever seen, and although she had by far the best quality and value vegetables in the town, many could not bring themselves to buy them from her. She was, and still is, a lovely woman, both physically and in character, and she and my mother were great friends. I can remember the sound of their voices in the evening coming up from the little kitchen behind our shop as I drifted off to sleep. The soft murmur, and the occasional chimes of laughter as they chatted and played cards or dominoes together was my lullaby. We all called her Sunny, although her name was something more complicated that we could never pronounce properly, although our attempts to do so would cause more laughter from her.
Sunny grew many of the vegetables she sold, which accounted for their quality. We were never short of vegetables. There were long gardens behind both our shops and as my mother had no skills or inclination to be a gardener Sunny used both back gardens. I enjoyed helping Sunny there, and on leaving school had started working for the local council, hoping to work in the Parks department, but as my school results were quite good, I had been promoted into a boring clerical job in the offices. While my colleagues would leave work and go to the pub, I would go home, looking forward to some fresh air and working with Sunny in the garden. I must admit that there were other ideas in my shy teenage mind as well. Sunny used to wear western clothes when serving in the shop, but she was uncomfortable in them, and for her gardening she wore indian clothes. These revealed a lot more about the shapes underneath them, and I would often position myself so as to get the best view of her as she worked. Although at the time I thought that I did this secretly, I now know that in fact she really enjoyed being watched and admired, and would even fulfil my fantasies and let the fabric slip a little revealingly from time to time.
Her religion meant that she was vegetarian. She would cook dishes that were totally strange to our tastes, at least they were strange at first. She often gave us samples of her dishes, and we grew to like and look forward to them.
Neither of our shops were too busy, and so in time the adjoining wall was removed, and Mum or I would mind both sides, while Sunny would work in the kitchen or garden. She was able to grow more, and even devoted space to growing her own herbs and some spices. I was able to leave my office job to help.
I now realise that it was on the day before my waking dream that I had been into another ladies bedroom for the first time. By another lady, I of course mean one that was not my mother. Sunny had asked me to go upstairs to her room to help her to move furniture around. We had moved a wardrobe to another room, and moved her bed onto a different wall. Her bedroom was the mirror of my own, and I now realise that following the move, her bed and my own were parallel, separated by the thin brick wall.
That evening Sunny had again cooked for us, and among the other dishes there were a few small spicy lentil balls. When you bit into them, inside the crusty exterior was a soft spicy green filling, made from spinach or similar leaves and herbs. Sunny and I ate them between us, Mum did not have any. When I went up to my bedroom I felt that there was something odd in the way that both Sunny and Mum told me to sleep well.
So I had this strange and wonderful dream.
After the dream, when I was fully awake I got dressed and went down to breakfast. Again, there was something odd about the way in which my Mum asked if I had slept well. I ate some toast, then took my tea, and an extra cup through into the shop, where I gave it to Sunny. She tried hard to keep a straight face when she asked me if I had had sweet dreams, but my embarrassed response made her face break into a huge grin as the laughter broke through. Have I mentioned just how incredibly attractive she was, and still is, when she smiled or laughed.
"Your Mum said that it was time you knew, although I think that I might have gone a bit further than she expected."
I stood there not understanding what she had said.
"So now you know!"
