This is my first submission, (Revised to meet age requirements) and I do so only after much needed help from Paris Waterman, whom many of you know. With his encouragement I managed to keep my sanity and the story going. It is a long story, but can be read from almost any point. It will take Mr. Donald Clark through his senior year in High School and on to college.
Perhaps we will go further, but that will be up to you, the readers. At any rate, I thank you and wish you much enjoyment, and by all means, please provide your comments.
All Sexual activities occur between persons 18 and older.
Chapter 1
The Early Years -- Miss Ginger's Luscious Globes -- Becoming a Voyeur -- Caught Jacking off -- Boorish Behavior -- Birthday Presents -- The Vertical Smile - More Lessons in Love
In the beginning I was not known as 'The Sensualist,' I was, and in most quarters still remain, Donald Stevenson Clark. I was born to wealthy parents in the heart of Savannah, Georgia, with its charming period architecture, oak-lined streets and antebellum hospitality. Our home was located on Gwinnett Street, and sat across the street from one of the many small parks the city is famous for.
My greedy bastard of a father, Jeremy Stevenson Clark, was an affluent banker, well acquainted with other nefarious bankers, realtors and developers, who was kind enough to pass on after acquiring several million dollars during and shortly after the Second World War.
If you get the impression I didn't care for him, you're absolutely right. He was a miserable father. He flaunted his other women in front of my mother, sisters and I.
I detested him for the way he demeaned my mother and yet here I am, detailing my own many dalliances with the fairer sex most likely because I have his genes raging relentlessly in my testes. And I should add that because of his actions, I have never entertained the thought of marrying anyone, although I have met and bedded quite a few promising women of whom I have little doubt would have made me happy as a loving wife.
My mother, Hillary Margaret Bronson, was the daughter of a United States Senator from California. Her vivacity and wit made our home a place people wanted to visit.
I think, and there are those who support me in this, my mother possessed most of the intellect in my parentage, with my father having all the financial skill; both of which I apparently inherited and consider great gifts in helping me wend my way through a decadent lifestyle.
At any rate, there were three of us—-Maureen, the oldest--Ashley, the youngest, and myself. We were all partially home schooled as well as having matriculated at a nearby private school run by Jesuits. Mother had set her mind against sending us off to the local public schools because a friend's daughter failed to get into Harvard, thus the additional tutoring at home.
Needless to say, my sister, Maureen did not gain admission to Harvard either, and had to settle for her second choice, Vassar College.
My sisters and I were met each afternoon at approximately four PM, unless a particular school activity intervened.
My eighteenth birthday was four days away when my mother's health began causing her problems that would eventually shorten her life. She would ultimately succumb to the cancer that riddled her body, and was gone a week before her forty-seventh birthday. I was twenty-one at the time.
With the onset of mother's illness, a new tutor, a young woman, scarcely five or six years older than my sister Maureen, answered the ad mother had placed in several newspapers statewide. The young woman, named Ginger Robleski, was selected from a group of twelve applicants, and in two short weeks became one of the family.
I can still recall Mother telling Miss Ginger, as she came to be called by my sisters and I, not to spare spanking any of us if we presented her with a problem in obeying her instruction, regardless of our age. Mother made a show of giving Miss Ginger, a sturdily made pointer with which she was to apply any needed discipline. Needless to say, we were sufficiently cowed, well, Ashley was; I never felt threatened by the pointer, for I was in love with Miss Ginger from the first.
Not that any of it mattered, for we were all enchanted by her, and she proved to be an excellent tutor and prepared us all for our collegiate experiences.
________________________________________
Now, with Miss Ginger Robleski on the premises, things began to change. Perhaps I wasn't in love with her, per se, but I was certainly in awe of her physical attributes.
Miss Ginger, while not a Miss America candidate, was possessed of as fine a figure as any young woman might wish for. That's polite English for telling you she had a great pair of tits and a fine ass.
As for myself, I was nudging six feet, while impersonating a rail-thin scarecrow. My body was actually lean and sinewy from all the swimming I did on a regular basis. On making the college swim team I would fill out from working on weights and other vigorous exercises.
During Miss Ginger's early weeks of tutoring us, I noticed my older sister practicing her femininity on me, trying out expressions and posturing that had not occurred prior to our tutor's arrival.
Was it deliberate? Inasmuch as women practice every pose endlessly to see how they would appear in public, I think that, yes, it was deliberate. But my reaction provided Maureen with some means of gauging their effect on a member of the opposite sex.
________________________________________
Time passed swiftly, I was now eighteen and Ashley had her sweet turned sixteen party, and like most girls, began talking about boys constantly. However, mother had other ideas and forbid my timid sister from any dating at all. This stringent position caused poor Ashley to spend many hours languishing in front of her mirror crying and wailing that she would be an old maid for the rest of her life.
I should add that this sequestering, having been applied to Maureen when she was sixteen and until she went off to college, probably caused her to become the campus slut she became when finally free of Mother's overly protective hand.
