Introducing Sharon--Still Thursday
I drove home that night with my mind going ninety miles an hour. I had this beautiful young girl who wanted me to teach her all about sex. She was starting from nothing . . . a clean slate for me to write on.
I could probably turn her into anything I wanted, a sex slave, a loving wife, or a raging pervert if I wanted to. She would believe anything I told her. She trusted me completely.
It's a good thing for her, that she had chosen me. I'm no saint, but I like women. I respect them, and I wouldn't ever do anything to hurt them. Especially a nice young virgin. But did I even want to do that? To take on the responsibility for her future?
She might fall in love with me, or I might fall for her. Maybe she was just teasing me, or trying to sucker me into her destructive cult using sex as bait. I tended to think she was completely guileless, but you never know. Those cults are insidious when it comes to recruiting.
Finally, the thought ran through my head . . . was I being cocky, thinking I was qualified to train anyone in sex? Then I realized, that I wouldn't knowingly do anything to hurt her. She could do worse . . . much worse.
Then there was Sharon, my sometimes fuck buddy. I still had a thing for her, even though we split as a couple a few years back. Sharon and her parents lived in the house next door to me and my parents. Sharon was literally, 'the girl next door'.
We were children growing up together. As kids, she was my best friend and playmate. Our parents thought it was cute. We discovered the differences between girls and boys together behind our pool house, and graduated to playing doctor . . . often. We went on group dates in our mid-teens, and dated through high school. We gave each other our virginity on Prom night. How conventional!
We went off to college together, both studying business, and that first year, we spent more nights together in her dorm room, or mine, than apart.
We shared an apartment for the next three years of college. We were inseparable, and I was convinced that after graduation, we would get married. Our parents had always assumed we would, and were on-board with it . . . even pushed us together.
In our final year, Sharon announced she wanted the freedom to explore other possibilities, and wanted an 'open relationship'. A month later, she announced she was bi-sexual, and was seeing a girl, but wanted us to be friends and occasional fuck buddies. I was devastated! For me, there could be no-one but her.
We finished the year living together, and only slept together a few times. I went home to start my import business with seed money from my father, while she went to the Wharton School of Business in Philadelphia for her Masters. The summer before she left, her parents sold their house and moved to an even more upscale area of the city. I lost track of her for the next few years . . . not even a phone call, and her number had apparently changed.
There was a new building downtown that housed a shopping mall, underground parking, commercial businesses, restaurants, bars and some high-end apartments on the upper floors, along with swimming pools, and gymnasiums, and even a movie theater. A person could live there and never have to go outside for anything. It was dubbed the "Arco", short for arcology, and that's pretty much what it was . . . a city in a building.
About three months before my conversation with Kathy, I had finished some shopping for clothing at the Arco, and stopped in at one of the the bars, 'Rachel's' for a drink and to check the place out. I was sitting at the bar, minding my own business, when I felt a pair of warm wet lips and a tongue sucking my right earlobe.
A chill went up my spine, and I involuntarily ducked and looked up just in time to hear Sharon's familiar voice saying, "Hi sailor! Come here often?"
Surprised, but never at a loss for words, I replied,"Do that again and that'll be twice I came here. Hi, Sharon, I'm happy to see you!"
"Exactly how happy are you? Stand up and let me see." She called to the bartender, "Excuse me, Rachel? Can I get my usual, and put both of these on my tab, please. Thanks,"
"I am standing, at least part of me is. Where have you been all this time? I totally lost track of you when you went off to graduate school, and your parents moved. I couldn't even find them to ask about you"
Rachel brought Sharon's white wine.
"Thanks, babe!" she nodded to the bartender, then turned back to me, "Awww, you still cared about me? That's so sweet! I was a victim of circumstances, I guess. I graduated Wharton with my Masters. I really had to focus on that, and I had a string of failed relationships, male and female. I came home and started working for my Dad and got too busy for anything. I missed my buddy, but I was ashamed of how I treated you. I'm so sorry. Do you think you could forgive me and be friends again?"
"Geez, Sharon, you hurt me pretty bad. I've been off girls ever since you blew me off. I don't want to set myself up for that again, ya know?"
"I know, I was a bitch, but it was a shock when I found out I like girls, and I wasn't thinking of anyone but myself. I didn't mean to hurt you. I did love you, you know."
"So you said . . . repeatedly!"
"It's true, and I think it still is, I just like girls, their softness, their gentleness, and no man eats pussy like a girl, even you, although you were very good. I also happen to like fondling tits, the taste of pussy, and making another girl cum on my tongue."
"Thanks, I think . . . that's three things we still have in common, but I wasn't enough for you."
"Sad to say, but yes, that's true. It's not something I have control over . . . it's just the way I am. On the other hand, a girl, exclusively, is missing something, too. I miss your strong arms around me, feeling protected, safe. I miss your kisses, I miss your wonderful cock thrusting inside me until it explodes. I miss sucking you, the feeling of having you in my mouth, and the taste of your cum. Shit, I'm getting wet just talking about it."
"And I won't be able to walk out of here without embarrassing myself. Maybe if I hold this shopping bag in front . . ."
"So I still turn you on?"
"Sharon, you could literally raise the dead talking like that and looking as good as you do."
I noticed the bartender leaning a little in our direction. I guess our voices had gotten a little louder as the conversation went on.
"Take him home, for God's sake, or just get a room . . . you both want to!" the bartender said.
Sharon smiled, "Want to go somewhere?"
"My place or yours?"
"Where do you live?"
"My parents house."
"You still live with your parents? Seriously?"
"My parents moved to Florida a couple of years ago. They left the house to me."
