Wendy

Ellen

If you read part one you will recall this took place during a more quiet era; when young men carried draft cards and the mere mention of “69” would elicit a howl from bystanders.

“What color was the shirt?” I recognized the voice and I considered hanging up, I had resolved to abandon the idea of having her write the contract, I wanted to forget the idea and to forget Wendy. I had also resolved to never touch wine again. Especially Chardonnay!

“What color?” I stammered.

“This is Wendy calling; I’ve got the first draft of your contract done, can you come over take a look at it, say 7:30?”

“You didn’t answer my question about the color of the shirt.” were the first words out of Wendy’s mouth when she opened the door.

She was jovial; almost giddy with excitement. She was dressed in the same tight pants but the loose blouse was replaced by a sweater, white with a red trim along the V-neck. The sweater stretched tight across her small breasts. Odd, I thought. Her petite breasts did not fit the rest of her body.

The same giant white beads adorned her neck. They were not pearls after all.

“Blue, I think. No plaid; black and blue I guess.” wondering what the hell difference did it make. I took my place at the end of the table and waited expectantly for the contract to be reviewed.

“This is a different cheese; it has a good bite. I hope that you like it,” she commented; grinning mischievously as she pushed a glass of Chardonnay my way.

I was livid.

“Where’s the contract?” I muttered, through clenched teeth.

Unruffled, she produced a single sheet of paper which I accepted with my left hand while lifting the glass to my lips with the other. My five points had been expanded into three sentences each; replete with legalese and typed neatly. There were no spelling errors but the document was devoid of those standard phrases one would expect to see in an agreement of this magnitude.

“One of our standard purchase orders would probably work just as well,” I said for effect. No response.

I did not look her way but sensed that she was not paying attention as I tried once again, “I’m planning on visiting them the day after Thanksgiving and would like to go back with an agreement.”

Pulling a pen from my pocket; I jotted down some suggestions in the margins, admonishing myself for not having brought a pen with red ink.

I replaced the paper on the table and took a long gulp of wine; judging that one more would drain the glass. I would then prepare to leave.

“Blue and black plaid?” she asked, “no white or other colors? Which way did the blue run?” Demonstrating, Wendy crossed her chest with her finger, first up and down, then sideways.

She reached for the paper and slid it into the briefcase next to her seat that I had not noticed. It was a narrow folder and maroon in color. Judging by the look; I’m sure that it was made from smooth Italian leather. I wondered if that was her only such case then suspected it probably was not.

I looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. The carpet, furnishings, wall covering and her briefcase all looked expensive. I could not help but consider the contrast.

As Marcie had claimed, Wendy came from a good family. I had considered my family good but it was not the same. She had lived a privileged life which she took for granted while I had immersed myself into the every day operation of a small business in which I had no stake.

I imagined that Wendy’s greatest worry in life had been deciding which color her brief case would go with one of the many outfits she wore! My main worry was how many gladioli to order and how they would be treated.

“Which way?” Wendy brought me back, her finger still making the crossing motion.

“I don’t remember”, I answered and reached for my glass again. I was not about to touch the cheese.

“Oh,” She said thoughtfully. “Not to worry. Did Marcie find out?”

“No”.

“Did she leave you alone with Ellen again?” She looked expectantly at me as she poured a second glass of wine for herself and then refilled my glass. “Did you do her?”

I cracked up; the anticipation on her face was almost juvenile.

I leaned back in my chair and told her about Ellen and myself. The morning after our dance lesson, I had discovered the record player was still turned on.

Thank goodness Marcie had not noticed. Nor did she seem to notice. Both Ellen and I had slept in our clothes. She was in a contemplative mood.

Ellen had found me in the greenhouse. Marcie made no move to separate us; she seemed to have been in a daze, we noticed and wondered if something had happened the night before. She had come home early and had proceeded directly to her room, thank goodness. We wondered if she would be going out with Tad that night. We both speculated about Marcie and the mood she seemed to be in.

I was in the process of getting the greenhouse ready to close down for the winter. We had sold most of the Christmas plants and there was no need to heat it until spring. Ellen sort of hung around, helping me move things out of the way so that I could hose down the racks and clean the floor before cutting off the water. For the most part though, she watched as we conversed.

She talked about what a guy my age needed to know about kissing, petting and making out. I was a little embarrassed to hear her talk like that, especially when the subject of oral sex came up. I attentively listened to her descriptions. No-one and certainly not a female, had ever spoken to me so frankly about sex as Ellen had done that morning.

One minute she was speaking seriously about tongue rigidity; the next minute she would demonstrate her point by trying to stick her wet tongue in my ear. She succeeded.

I secretly hoped that Marcie would leave us alone and for the most part she did.

It was during this talk that Ellen sternly admonished me. “Never fuck and tell. That’s the worst things a guy can do.”.

“You can tell now, about Ellen I mean,. You’ll probably never see her again.”

I had almost forgotten Wendy was in the room. Looking her way I leaned forward and revealed, “That’s not her real name.”

Wendy grinned.

While we were having lunch Marcie got a phone call. Since we only have one phone and it’s in the dining room, she motioned for us to leave so that she could talk in private.

She stayed in the house until mid afternoon.

By that time Ellen had me so worked up I was walking in circles. Besides the graphic sex talk she was playing grab ass with me.

With all the distraction that she was causing, it took much longer to close down the greenhouse than it had the year before.

Marcie announced that she was going out to dinner with Tad and that we would have to fend for ourselves. I was cautiously ecstatic but Ellen couldn’t leave it alone.

“Is that Tad for tadpole or is that Tad for little one?” she asked Marcie tauntingly.

I tried to wave her off but Marcie did not answer.

“Too bad you’re going out Marcie, you could see Cotton dance, he’s learning real fast, or should that be really fast?”

Marcie bristled, “I think it is really fast’ and his name is not Cotton.” She paused and gave Ellen a cruel stare. “Tad is short for Thaddeus, he prefers Tad. It’s better politically”.

“I don’t blame him.” Ellen countered.

I was on pins and needles until we heard Tad’s car pull up. Marcie left some final instructions about what we were to eat; what time to turn in and if we insisted on using the record player to turn it off. Ellen and I glanced at each other.

After we ate, Ellen headed for the bathroom. “I’m going to get ready for bed and I suggest you do the same. We don’t want her catching us with our jeans on; that was quite a close call last night,” she flashed a naughty grin at me.

I cleared the table and washed the dishes; the shower was running full blast. Getting ready for bed was simple. I slept in my underwear.

We danced to the same records as the night before, slowly and very close.

Frank Sinatra crooned. ‘I’d like to get you on a slow boat to China.’

Ellen’s hair was damp from the shower and it smelled like violets or rather how I supposed violets would smell. The record changed.

‘Blow me a kiss from across the room’ ‘Tell me I look nice when I’m not’

Half way through the second song her robe came untied at the waist. Somehow, my right hand had found its way inside the robe and we danced closer, barely moving.

Ellen stopped completely and took me by the hand.

She pulled the T shirt over my head, stepped back and ran both hands over my chest. I could see her face by the light coming from the bathroom; I could see a look of determination. This girl was on a mission and I was her prey.

There was a chill in the room, not from her hands which were smooth and warm and knowing, nor from the temperature to which I was oblivious.

It was from the excitement of being with a member of the opposite sex pressed up against my chest and the prospect of being on the verge of necking with her.

Ellen made two sudden moves. Her robe was flung one way as she bent in half and deposited the nightgown at her feet. She came into my arms and started necking with me. The player made a ‘clicking’ sound as the arm shifted to let another record drop; I had no idea what was playing. Time seemed to stand still.

She slowed things down and we explored one another, our mouths locked together like a vice. I was fascinated with the curve of her butt; letting my hands rest there before squeezing her.

Moving cautiously at first I moved my hands up, down and around her ass cheeks; then with abandon as I became increasingly turned on by the feel of her.

Ellen giggled, “Remember what I told you?”

I nodded and felt a shiver graze my shoulders.

This was rather like a ‘paint by the numbers’ picture; Ellen’s step by step instructions were easy to follow.

I was absorbed with worry, ‘Would being caught naked on the couch be preferable to Ellen being caught in the same position in my room?’

Ellen brought me out of my guilty trance by pressing my lips to her breasts. Step one was under way. The nipple of her left tit rattled around between my lips, then hardened and fairly bounced against the pressure of my tongue; I switched tits and got the same reaction, ‘This was fantastic.. Why go to step two?’ I wondered.

I glanced over at Wendy; her mouth was slightly open with her head tilted backwards, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. He pupils were noticeably dilated and she stirred as if this was an intermission. She licked her lips and closed her mouth. I proceeded to continue with Ellen.

Gripping my head firmly in both hands, Ellen moved it downward. Reluctantly I gave my tongue a rest and kissed my way to her navel which I circled, making great smacking sounds as I did. It was at this point that I discovered that she was ticklish because her tummy began to ‘giggle.’ This amused both of us so I exaggerated the sounds for a while before moving on to step three; this time without any prompting from Ellen.

Ellen gasped when my lips touched her inner thigh, just inches from the V where her legs met. It was thrilling to have such a dramatic effect on someone. Sex Ed. had not been invented; I was learning by doing.

While sliding down her body I had reached the end of the couch and dropped down to the floor. This took the pressure off my cock which, up until that point had been pinned in one uncomfortable position after another. Ellen had moved her body so that her legs were stretched across the armrest at the end of the couch.

I forgot the steps and plunged my tongue into her opening, ignoring what I perceived to be a rancid taste. I was totally absorbed with the reactions from her legs; they alternated between opening wide then wider, before collapsing around my head, gripping me tight, then loosening and spreading wide again. I lapped, she bucked and jerked; it was exhilarating.

After a while, I felt a tug on my hair and moved back to the couch. Ellen was gasping for breath; her body was hot and wet with perspiration.

To my surprise, she pressed her lips to mine in a series of short breathless kisses; followed by a lip lock that sucked all taste of her from my mouth.

“Cotton, that was marvelous.” She whispered.

It was not until the next morning that I remembered the ‘magic button’ that I was supposed to have found. No matter. Ellen’s butt had moved upward so fast I had bitten my tongue! Her body shook; fit-like. At one point, I think she screamed my name in an inaudible gurgle. Her pelvis moved up and down before slowly moving to a halt.

I got up from the chair and walked around the table. I stopped in front of Wendy and leaned over. Her expensive chair was not very comfortable and I needed to stretch my back.

Wendy watched me intently with a little girl lost expression, one of wonderment. Her feet were on the floor and I rested my hands on her legs, just above the knees. She continued to watch me, puzzled but without alarm. Her mind must have been as much of a blur as mine was.

There was no purpose to my action. I had no idea why I was standing there mute with my hands on her legs but my back felt relaxed so I remained in that position for what seemed like minutes still in a state of suspension. I opened her legs wide, closed and then opened them once again. There was no resistance. Wendy was a like rag doll.

Then I noticed it. A spot at the V where her legs met.

“Hey!” I suddenly removed my hands from her legs and straightening up said, “You haven’t told me yours”.

“My what?” she looked at me, confused.

“Your first time, that was the bargain.” I reminded her.

“Would you ah, would you like some coffee?”

It was then that I observed the table, the empty wine bottle was turned on its side resting on the cheese tray which was also empty. “Sure,” I said, not really interested in coffee at that hour.

I followed her to the kitchen which was small but immaculate. The entire area was decked out in white, even the appliances which made for a very sterile appearance. Everything was arranged within reach, galley style. In addition to the usual things one would find, there was a dishwasher and at the far end a clothes washer and dryer.

Ellen measured some coffee grounds in the percolator. She placed the usual things on a tray; cups, saucers etc. then turned toward me.

Hesitantly and without looking at me, she began.

“There were two but I’ll tell both,” she said, looking at me. I was reminded of how big a girl she was.

‘Two first times?’ I was tempted to ask but she was speaking so softly that I did not want to spook her. I nodded.

“The first was so awful. I would just as soon skip over it but I don’t want to cheat you. It was my freshman year in college. I wasn’t very popular.” she checked to see my reaction and I gave her a sympathetic nod, “He was a junior and not very popular either so we were well suited for one another.”

She took a gulp of air and leaned back against the counter top, giving me a view of her profile but not a head on look at her facial expression.

“He was more experienced than me, a lot more experienced” She made a little sucking sound and I scolded myself for what I was putting her through.

“After a month of seeing one another I would say that they really were not dates, he did not have much money and he wouldn’t let me pay so we usually hung around with his friends or took in free entertainment. I wouldn’t call them dates either.” She checked the coffee maker which was still perking, frowned and checked to see if I was paying attention. I was.

“All this time he pestered me for sex. We both lived in dorms which forbid visitors from the opposite sex visiting so one day I asked him where he proposed doing it; assuming I was inclined but which I was not. I only raised the question to throw up a road block but of course he took it to mean I was agreeable if only we had a place. ‘Stupid me!’” She laughed at herself, only briefly. I remained silent.

The coffee had by now finished perking. She poured two cups and I carried the tray back to our seats. This time I sat next to her on the love seat; telling myself it would be more comfortable and easier to reach my coffee cup which I almost knew she would not want removed from the tray.

“It was not more than a week before he found a place. One of his friends lived off campus and was going away for the weekend. ‘It was all ours, he said.’” Wendy gave me a ‘So that was that’ look. I winced.

“It was either put up or shut up,” she said. “Or in this case, put out or shut up!” She laughed and I laughed with her. Her mood was changing. I wondered if Wendy had told this story before and was revising it with each telling.

“I packed two changes of clothes and two nighties. I had my nails done and that was when I had my ears pierced. I wore this gaudy pair of ear rings to class that day because we planned on going directly to the apartment and staying Friday and Saturday nights, I must have looked like a cheap hooker; that’s how I felt.”

Wendy had drifted from jovial back to sullen. I rubbed her shoulder to show my support.

“The apartment was quite a distance from campus and he couldn’t borrow a car. He would not hear of me paying for the taxi fare so we had to take the damn bus. Here was me with this overnight bag and still wearing those dreadful ear rings. He was wearing his school clothes and I don’t think he even brought a toothbrush!”

Thinking I heard a sob I rubbed her shoulder again, then the back of her neck. It was hard for me to see the humor in the story but Wendy was almost giddy.

“We walked from the bus stop, me with my bag. It was about three blocks in a ratty part of town. We found the number. I nearly refused to go in, it was that bad. He said, ‘Come on, it’s on the third floor’.

So up we go and he still didn’t offer to carry my bag. He took my hand and expected me to keep up. There were noises coming from every apartment; radios were blaring and kids crying. You can just imagine the smell.”

“The place was filthy, I don’t know how the guy could live there, let alone study. I really, really should have left right then.”

Wendy shook her head, to and fro in disbelief. “I’ll bet you wonder how I ever became a lawyer?” she joked. She was right but I did not say so.

“He was all over me. Naturally he wanted to go right to bed and I must admit so did I. Can you understand that?” she enquired, looking at me.

“I guess,” I muttered. I had guessed right because she continued.

“The sheets hadn’t been changed in a month and the pillow cases had stains from hair oil and god knows what. If only I had thought to bring a change of linen; I was mad at myself and mad at him.”

The head shaking began again as if to say, look-at-me-I-am-so-stupid. I was glad to see that she could laugh at herself.

“I wanted to go look for clean sheets but he said there probably were none. He was busy with the buttons on my blouse. He was probably right. I wanted to turn the dirty sheets over, he said no. He reached behind me to unzip my skirt. I wanted to go to the bathroom and put on a negligee. He said, ‘Why, you don’t need it’. I wanted to hang up my blouse and skirt because the floor was dirty. Again he said ‘Why, my pants and shirt aren’t complaining.’

Wendy threw up her arms and growled, “I let this happen”.

I did not know whether to laugh with her or console her, “It happens a lot, I guess”.

“I let it happen to me. I just lay there naked, letting it happen. He plunged ahead like a bull in a china shop. I still can’t remember if it hurt or what I felt, I was more concerned about the dirty sheets on my back and my head on the oil soaked pillow case. Honestly, I can’t remember.” She started to sob so I rubbed the back of her neck. It was tensed up, all hot and sweaty. Her hair tickled the back of my hand.