The sequel to
Tracey
(Copyright 2001 by Paul. All rights reserved).
All events and characters are fictitious.
* * * * *
1.
John stepped from the bus at the stop near the bottom of Rowlands Rise and looked around. This was a part of town he didn't think he'd ever been to before and everything looked strange to him. He liked things about him to be familiar. It made him feel nervous to be out of his normal environment.
Her house was three parts up the Rise on the right hand side, Tracey had told him when he'd finally bucked up the courage to ask her out.
He couldn't look her in the face the Monday following what had happened in the photocopying room at the office. He'd convinced himself over the weekend that it had been a one off, a spur of the moment thing that she must be regretting bitterly. He found he couldn't speak to her in the lift even though she had stood close to him. He'd stared resolutely ahead at the, what to do in an Emergency, sign on the wall. It was warm in the lift or was it that he could feel the warmth of her huge tits through the thin material of her sweater. Then they had brushed against his arm as she got off at her floor. He had thought he'd seen a tear in one of her eyes when she had glanced at him as the lift doors had closed behind her. Yes, she probably had been regretting it badly.
She must have left early that evening as she had gone from personnel when he'd left work at the end of the day. He hadn't seen her in the lift on the following morning. She was avoiding him. Probably hoping he'd forget about it. Praying that he wouldn't tell anybody. Not that he would. Not that he had anybody to tell.
He'd been alone in the office that Tuesday lunchtime, manning the phones, when the door had opened and she had come in.
How her jumper was stretched to contain her tits. Tits that moved gently up and down as she walked towards where he was sitting.
He'd risen to his feet as she'd approached.
"Hello, John." She'd said.
"Hi Tracey." He'd replied staring intently at a piece of paper on the desk in front of him.
They both stood in silence for a few seconds then he looked up at her. There was a tear rolling down her cheek.
"What have I done?" She suddenly blurted out. "Why are you ignoring me like this?"
"I. I thought it would be what you wanted." He stuttered his reply.
"What made you think that?"
"Well." How to put it into words? "After what happened in there." He'd nodded towards the photocopying room. "I didn't think you'd want to see me again."
"You silly boy." She had smiled and wiped her eyes with a tissue she'd taken from the cuff of her sweater. "It's because of what happened in there I want to see you again. Didn't you like it?"
"Oh yes." He'd hurried to re-assure her. "It was just that I'd never done that before."
"Neither had I. I've only had one proper boyfriend before and we never did that."
She looked at him.
"It was fun, though." She'd continued.
She'd sat on the edge of the desk and taken one of his hands in hers. He'd felt his prick growing.
"I have to go with my Mother and sister to visit our Gran in her Nursing Home tonight." She waited for him to say something. She frowned. "I've got nothing on tomorrow." Was she expecting him? Did she want him too?
"Would you like to go to the pictures." He'd said it.
He sat down. He'd done it.
"Oh. Yes, please."
She'd leaned her head towards his watching his eyes.
"Kiss me then." She urged.
So he had. A gentle, lips just touching kiss at first. She'd pulled back when he had tried to push his tongue into her mouth.
"Not here." She'd said and ran her fingers down the side of his face.
She'd stayed with him until the rest of his office staff had started to return from lunch, letting him feel her tits and pinching one of his sandwiches.
So here he was at seven p.m. walking up the path to her house.
Number 21. It had a low wooden gate that he had to bend from the waist to reach the latch of. He opened it and heard a dog barking in the house next door. Ten paces along the concrete path with two strip's of grass and border plants and he was under the porch and looking at the doorbell and knocker. Which to use? He pressed the doorbell and heard a 'Ding, Dong' from the far side of the door.
"I'll get it."
He heard Tracey call and saw a figure approaching through the frosted glass panels.
The door opened and there she stood. She looked flushed as if she had been running.
Stepping close enough for her tits to flatten against his chest and her nipples to make their presence felt she pulled his head down to hers and kissed his lips.
She smelt lovely. Clean and fresh with a hint of a perfume as if she had just climbed out of the bath. He wished he'd taken a bit more time over his own appearance. He still wore his work shoes and trousers but he'd had a quick wash, was wearing tomorrow's shirt and he had spayed some 'Right Guard' under his armpits.
Her clothes looked good as well. A yellow blouse with just enough buttons undone for him to see the swellings of her tits, a pair of jeans that fitted everywhere and a short Denim jacket.
"Mum." Tracey called into the house and taking John by the hand. "It's John for me."
There was a movement in the room of the hallway to the right and a pair of tits, covered by a very tightly fitting sweater came out to meet them. Almost two paces behind, it seemed, a woman in her mid-forties appeared carrying the evening newspaper.
John felt his jaw drop as he saw the tits on her. She was a little shorter than Tracey was but that only further emphasised their size. John knew he was staring but he couldn't help himself. Tracey squeezed his hand, tightly.
"Sorry." He mumbled looking away for a second but despite himself his eyes were drawn back to them.
"This is John." Tracey said, introducing him. "We're going to the pictures."
Tracey's mother was smiling at him.
"Hello John." She said holding out her hand and shaking his with the lightest of touches. "You make sure you bring her home in good time after it finishes."
"I will." He stammered.
He realised he didn't know her name.
"Call me Martha." She said.
"Come on John." Tracey said almost pulling him from the house. "We'll be late and miss the start if we don't hurry."
As they walked back down the hill John had the feeling Tracey wasn't too happy with him.
"What's up?" He asked.
"Did you have to look at my mother like that?" She didn't sound best pleased.
"What do you mean?" He tried to bluff it out.
"You couldn't take your eyes off her, her things."
He was beaten.
"I'm sorry. It was just that they were, well." He dried up.