I have written here once before about Tiffany, who was a young lady who lived in a house where I was a tenant when I first started out as a professor at a small New England College. (See "The Landlady's Daughter" in the Mature category.) This is another story about her.
As I had mentioned in the earlier story, Tiffany was the beautiful 18-year-old daughter of Mrs. Witherspoon, whose husband had died some time ago. In order to keep things going, Mrs. rented out an upstairs room to incoming teachers at the college until they could get settled in more permanent digs. Once I saw young Tiffany, I knew I had to have the room. I know this sounds a little like the plot of an infamous novel, but at least this girl was of legal age and in the last year of high school.
Tiffany was a petite and delicate thing of about five foot four and 105 pounds. She had strawberry blonde hair, green eyes, and her little bush was the same color as her hair. The carpet matched the drapes, in other words. If you read the first story, you'll know how I knew that.
Mrs. Witherspoon worked all day, Tiffany got home from school around 2:30, and thanks to the "friendship" that had blossomed between us, I had enjoyed having sex with her now for about three months, on an average of three—or more—times a week. She was "sexually active" to say the least, but I did manage to take the last of her three cherries (at her request.) And since we had free run of the house while her mother was at work, we did it in a number of ways and in a number of places. She was sexually adventurous and an exhibitionist to boot.
But she also came to me for advice from time to time, and this was one of those times. She entered my room, which was opposite hers on the second floor, in her usual garb of tight-fitting jeans and a thin gray T-shirt. Often at home, she did not wear a bra, and that was the situation in this case. I enjoyed looking at her good "points."
"Mr. Baxter, I need your opinion," she asked. Despite our intimacy, she still liked to call me "Mr. Baxter" rather than by my first name. I was about 20 years older than her.
"Always glad to be of help."
"What do you know about algebra?"
"Nothing."
"I was afraid of that. I'm good at English, History, Social Studies, and French. But I suck at math and chemistry."
"So did I when I was your age."
"I'm getting a passing grade in chemistry, but if I don't do better at algebra, I'm going to flunk that course."
"So what are you going to do?"
"Well, the brightest guy in the class is an exchange student from Korea named Kim Huang. I asked him if he would be willing to tutor me after school at my house. I offered to pay him for it even though I don't have much money. But he said he didn't want money, he had plenty of it, since his parents were rich. He said there was something that he didn't have which he really would like."
"And that was?"
"He didn't say. But he looked me over from my feet to the top of my head. It was pretty clear what he had in mind. He said he had never had a date with an American girl—or even a Korean girl. And by 'date', I think I know what he meant."
"Sex?"
"Yes. I don't think he's ever had any."
"A male virgin in other words. So what are you going to do?"
"Well, I don't mind offering some sex for his helping me out, It's not like I'm a virgin. But how much do you think I should offer him?"
"How much do you think?"
"Well, since he's never had it before, I wouldn't mind giving him a nice blowjob and then getting naked and doing you-know-what with him on my bed. I'm on the pill, as you know, but still I don't want to get any diseases."
"Well then, I would insist that he wear a condom. You can tell him to bring one along. That way he knows what he's going to get. You ought to have one handy too, just in case."
"Great idea. One other thing. Since my room's directly across from yours, and I like to leave the door open to circulate the air, and you usually leave your door open when you're reading, I wouldn't mind if you watched."
