"There's a girl on the phone for you." Tom's mother was looking at him with a knowing smirk. "Someone named Cindy."
"You asked her what her name was?" Tom was bristling. He'd only been home for a day and he was ready to go back to school. How had he ever managed to live here? It was too hot, it was too crowded, there wasn't enough food. His brother had taken over the bedroom, so that he had to sleep out on the living room couch, with the dog. Probably just as well. He still was afraid his brother was going to barge into the bedroom while he was changing, that his brother would see how swollen his cock was ...
"I didn't ask her," his mother interrupted his train of thought. "She called and asked if this was the Waterson residence, and I said yes, and she said this is Cindy may I talk to Tom please. She sounds," his mother added, "like a very polite young lady."
Oh yeah, Tom thought to himself, fucking bitch nearly tore my dick off. That same piece of anatomy was attempting to spring to attention at the thought of her.
"I thought your girlfriend's name was Lisa?"
"It is Lisa." He went out to the kitchen to answer the phone before his mother could continue her interrogation.
"Tommy, is that you?" Cindy's voice seemed faint. She was, after all, a continent away, back in California to see her mother for the holidays.
"No, it's fucking Santa Claus." A sigh from his mother made him regret that. She was nowhere to be seen. With a panic, he realized that she might be listening in from the line in the den.
"Well, fucking Santa, you can slide up my fucking chimney any time. Only the next time, maybe up the big one."
"Cindy, please." He was sure he was hearing little gasps in the background. His mother, outraged. No, his mother trying not to laugh.
"At least to start."
"How is Palo Alto?"
"Boring! Boring! Boring! And it's rainy all the time now. I'm coming back just before New Years. I'm going to spend New Years back with my dad. Happy New Years sixty-nine. Maybe it's going to be our year." She giggled, and Tom gave a little groan. "Well, it's okay. I'd rather fuck anyway. How about you?"
"Either is okay."
"No, silly, when are you coming -- I mean returning?"
"I'm back for track practice the next week."
"Great. I'll see you then. You know Lisa isn't coming back until the term starts. Maybe we can do a little more chimney sweeping in the meantime."
No, that's what he should have said. No way in hell. He was in love with Lisa. Well, he liked her a lot, a whole lot. She was beautiful and sexy. She was the first girl who had gotten naked for him, who had let him kiss her nipples and her clit. They had never actually had true sex, but they had climaxed together many times. Well, not that many, a few dozen, perhaps. The last night before she had to leave for home, they had lain together naked in her bed and she had whispered that she loved him. And he had whispered back, so quietly that it was barely said, that he loved her too. That's what he should have told Cindy, that it was all a mistake, that he could never make that mistake again. But instead he said, "Sounds good to me," just before a click announced the end of the conversation.
It sounded so good that he had to rush to the bathroom to avoid coming in his pants. But when he got there, his poor cock was still so swollen that he could hardly bear to touch it. Damn! It was twice its usual diameter, red and aching. He wondered briefly if Cindy had given him some venereal disease. More likely, hopefully, it was just irritation from cleaning out her little chimney for so long with no lubrication.
It wasn't as if he had intended to. Really he hadn't intended anything at all. The girl had been flirting with him for a couple of weeks, but they were just friends. There wasn't anything to it. He only knew her because she was Lisa's friend. Everyone knew that he and Lisa were a number. Then, all of a sudden, the night before he was heading home, there she was, at his door. His roommate was gone already, most of the dorm was gone already. He was lonely. She was lonely. Why not share a pizza, why not have a couple of beers? His roommate had a little stash of pot that was going to spoil, wouldn't it? The cleaning ladies might find it, they were known to go through everything when the students were gone. Better get rid of it before there was trouble.
The next thing he'd known, she'd been complaining about how hot it was. She'd taken off her sweatshirt. Nothing underneath but a bra. Then she'd taken off her blue jeans. He'd never realized what a nifty little body she had, not tall and lanky like Lisa, but tiny, barely more than five feet tall, short legs, big butt, little perky breasts, like Tinkerbelle. She'd been sitting there cross legged, with her panties slid half way over, so that he could see her pussy lips poking out on one side. At that point, Tom had done the polite thing, and asked her if she wanted to go to bed. No fumbling, no kissing, none of those pathetic groping attempts at breast or groin. Not even a preliminary kiss. He had just asked, and she had removed her remaining clothing and stretched out on the bed, her knees drawn up to expose herself completely to him.
She had not realized that it was all bluff on his part. Well, maybe she knew. For all he knew the girls talked to each other. Maybe Lisa had told her that he'd never gone beyond a blow job and some pussy licking, maybe rubbing his cock between closed thighs in simulated sex. Never actually inside. Lisa wanted to remain a virgin, technically. So he was still a virgin, technically. Maybe.
Certainly he had been for sure, up until two nights ago. Then Cindy had shown up, and they'd gone to bed. Well, it wasn't that simple. She had taken off her clothes and lain down on his bed and he had just stared at her for a while. Then he'd had the presence of mind to take off his own clothing. That was a good start. He knew well enough that he had a beautiful body. He could hear a little gasp of admiration as he took his shirt off. Not so much so when he pulled off his pants. Okay, he was no giant, but he was big enough. Bigger than his teammates. They'd had a little contest, one day after soccer practice and he'd come out the winner in length, if not in thickness. Maybe she was used to something wider? He stared down at his cock now -- twice as thick as it had been. Maybe it would stay like that. Maybe ass fucking would make it grow.
He had stared at her, at her breasts, at her expectant face, at her pussy lips spread for his delectation, and he had withered. Even now he was flushing in embarrassment at the memory. He remember reading Ovid's Art of Love, that line about wilting at the very moment the gates were opened wide, and he'd realized it was happening to him. This girl probably did not weigh a hundred pounds, and she was making him tremble in terror. What was that other line from Ovid? They lick, not fuck? That was an idea. He'd knelt down at the bottom of the bed and pressed his tongue into her tangy flesh. And she had liked that, she had liked that a lot. But just when it had seemed like she was really liking it, she'd told him that she didn't want to come that way, and she'd pulled his hair to get him up on top of her.
He hadn't been so scared since the time in high school he'd dared to ask out the Swedish exchange student. He was still completely limp, not just limp, shrivelled, cold, numb. He wasn't even sure if he still had a penis. So he'd started to rub between her legs, the way he did with Lisa. That was all Lisa wanted, it was all he was really prepared to do. Then, something had happened. He had started to get hard. He'd started to enjoy it. He'd just kept rubbing. There wasn't as much friction as he was used to with her legs pulled up like that, so he'd rubbed back further, back between her cheeks. And she'd given him a little quizzical look, a little grunt of surprise, and he'd been inside her.
Or was he? Maybe he was just trapped in between her cheeks. He had reached down to feel that he definitely was not in her pussy. He had stuck a couple of fingers in there, he had rubbed her clit a little, and she had come. She had come several times before he finally had ejaculated. "That was real," she'd said, and she had pulled on her clothes and left. He had expected that she would never talk to him again. But now she'd called. Now she was waiting for him. Well, not waiting for him yet. Soon, very soon. Five days to Christmas, twelve days until New Years, two weeks until he could be back in bed with her. That really was not so soon after all. The thought of all that waiting was too much to bear. He pressed against the sink, gave a few careful tugs, and spurted out two days of pent up desire.
When he came out of the bathroom, his father was waiting for him. "Tom, we need to have a little talk."
"A talk?"
His father was squirming in discomfort. "Your mother was saying ... Tom, you are away at college now, you may be having ... experiences ..." His father gave Tom a pleading look. Tom said nothing. He tried to keep his expression completely noncommittal.
"Tom," his father went on, "we raised you to be a gentleman."
"Yes sir." That was enough to make Tom flush with embarrassment.
"Tom, you mother ... we ... think you should have this." His father handed him a small package, gaily wrapped. "Merry Christmas."
His father fled. Tom opened the package. It was a ten pack of Trojan Natural Lambs.
"Did you talk to him?" It was his mother's voice, in a whisper that was too loud.
