Ted was a very religious boy. He went to church twice on Sunday and once in the middle of the week. He was a teenager at the time he met Phyllis, but meeting her changed his life forever. He lived in Cambridge, Massachusetts, the home of Harvard, MIT, and a few other colleges.
One Sunday night the service was different. The visiting preacher was yapping about what you're going to do in life (besides masturbate). Then he produced a violin and told the small group he was going to play
The City of God
. Funny, Ted never forgot the name of that song, after thirty five years. The accompanist, the pianist, was a very attractive brunette wearing a knee length skirt. But when she sat on the piano stool, the skirt rode half way up her thighs. Ted stared, transfixed, at her thighs. Every time she tapped the tone pedals the skirt would move up a bit more.
She must have noticed Ted staring at her, because when the short service was over she came over to Ted, and introduced herself. Her smile hit Ted between the legs and his cock began to rise. "I am Phyllis," she said. "And you are - "
"Ted," he mumbled. "It's actually Theodore, but you can call me Ted .."
"Can we sit down, Ted?" she asked. She led Ted to the corner of the room where there were folding chairs along the wall. She took his hand in hers. "Do you love Jesus?" As she sat, Her dress was way up her thighs and Ted could see the top of her stockings where her legs were bare. Her skin was a creamy white.
"Yeah, I guess ..."Ted mumbled.
His cock was getting longer, elevating his trouser leg.
"How old are you?" she asked. She had beautiful teeth and wore red lipstick.
"Eighteen," Ted mumbled. He was almost 19. Her legs were gorgeous. He didn't know how long he could last before he creamed his jeans.
"Will you pray with me?" she asked.
Ted nodded. He prayed for temporary relief.
She prayed out loud, something about Ted giving his life to Christ, and maybe cutting back on masturbation. To Ted, it sounded like that. At least that was the focus of his life these days. What she said after that was a total blur. But she did ask for his address. They talked for a while, her eyes on the lump between his legs. She wanted to 'keep in touch' with Ted. She lived in Rockport, an upscale harbor town 40 miles northeast of Boston. Ted did not get
her
address because he was clueless when it came to women.
Ted was Italian and his mother was very strict about his dating. Ted didn't own a car, but in Boston the transit system is pretty good. You really don't need a car unless you want to take a girl parking. Or to a drive-in. His mother expected Ted to go to college, probably Tufts or MIT. Tufts has a great medical school. His mother came from Italy as a young girl and had only a 6th grade education. She was determined that Ted would go to college.
A letter from Phyllis arrived two weeks after he met her. It had a slight scent of cologne. Ted's mother was immediately suspicious and opened the letter. She read the letter. There surely must have been something in there about Jesus, but there was meaning between the lines. If you were a code breaker, the intent would be obvious. Phyllis wanted Ted to have a hard-on for Jesus. More to the point, for her.
"You write to that woman, right away, and tell her you're too young for this kind of stuff," his mother huffed.
What kind of stuff? Ted wondered. He had Phyllis' thighs imprinted in his brain. Ted composed a letter, thanking Phyllis for writing, but told her he was busy with studying (and masturbation) and maybe they could meet somewhere, sometimes, and discuss alternatives. The interpretation was: I need to meet you so you can suck my cock.
Two days later Ted received a letter from Phyllis. She would drive down from Rockport, she wrote, and pick him up. She suggested a movie, or driving out to Ipswich Beach. Ted was dumbfounded, because this woman was close to 30 years old. He was only 18. Didn't she have a boyfriend? Was she married? She included her phone number in the letter.
Ted called her, and he spoke briefly to her, while he was fingering his cock. Her aura was incredible, distance made no difference. His erection was attempting to emancipate itself from his jeans. She would come down on Saturday, at noon. Saturday finally came. She arrived, driving a Toyota Camry, and the car looked new.
As she drove, she told him that during the week she worked for a PR firm on Newbury Street. In Boston.
She knew he was looking at her legs, so she wore a skirt which exposed her thighs.
Most of her clients were politicians running for office in the Boston area. She laughed. "We get some weird clients," she said. "Most of our clients are politicians. Politicians are so phony. During a campaign we insist on getting paid up front. Otherwise we never get paid. We usually hire a photographer to follow the guy around , you know, for campaign literature ...
"We had a guy running for the mayor of Salem. He was not married so his campaign manager had to create an image that he was married." She went on, "We rented an empty home that was for sale. A new home. We filled the closets with women's dresses, all new of course. We put in some used furniture. Then we had a woman say she was his wife. The photographer was pretty sharp; he looked at the dresses and told us the price tags were still on the dresses.
"Of course the guy lost the election - a complete phony. Voters are not stupid. He'd have the photographer shoot him talking to a senior citizen, about health care; the lady must have been 90 years old. As soon as the photographer said 'Done ...', this bozo would walk off, leaving the old lady in mid-sentence ..."
