Smallness. It wasn't that he found smallness particularly attractive but to an interested third party it might look that way and he had to admit he did always seem to end up dating small women. Dancer types with petite figures, toned, firm bodies, small breasts. There it was again - smallness. He had a theory to explain it. Smallness simply concentrated a woman's sex appeal.
Terese was very small and very appealing. Barely five feet tall, she had small breasts and barely discernible nipples, her areolae being only a fraction of a shade darker than her sepia skin. The marks left by her bra showed more contrast.
She interrupted his reverie when she took his hand and raised it to her bosom. His fingers instinctively cupped her breast but for the most part his mind was still elsewhere and his attention soon returned to his private world. She was used to this and simply snuggled against his shoulder to wait until his 'return'. She slept.
When she awoke – how long had she been asleep? It was getting light outside – he was watching her intently. This too she had grown accustomed to. When she had his attention at all it was completely undivided. There was no doubt that she was the sole subject of his thoughts. His eyes were gentle. The catholic girl in her believed that Jesus must have had eyes like that. His hand hadn't moved from where she'd placed it over her breast. His other hand was also exactly where it had been, on the arm of the sofa. She didn't need to look down to know what had changed. She didn't need to but she still looked. Yes, there was his erection. He often watched her sleep and it always aroused him.
Reaching out, she stroked it, making it twitch warmly against her palm. He released her breast, his hand sliding down to her hip, cupping her bottom. She had a petite ass and, with her legs curled under her, her buttocks were taut and parted just enough that his fingertip came naturally to rest on her anus. Not for long though. His fingers moved an inch further as he caressed her perineum with small, circular fingertip movements. Still looking intently at Terese' upturned face, he spoke for the first time since she'd arrived.
"The Chinese called this the place of remembering." The pressure of his fingers increased a fraction and their circling widened so that each orbit momentarily brushed over the base of her labia and the lightly puckered skin around her sphincter. "They said that massaging here could make a woman remember all her sexual experiences."
"But I already remember all my sexual experiences. So do you." It was true. He was her only lover. She'd known him all her life and been in love with him since she was 11. In high school, when all of her friends had already given their virginities to various spotty lads, she had been determined to save herself for him. When, at her parent's pre-Christmas party, she'd cornered him on the stairs and kissed him with all the inept passion a horny teenager can muster, he'd politely but firmly refused her, sweetening the pill of rejection by telling her that such a thing, while uppermost in his heart's desires, would surely land him in jail. He'd expected this girl-child's crush to pass. He'd hoped she would meet a boy who'd take her mind off older men in general and him in particular.
He'd been wrong.
The following September, Terese had turned up at his house, aged 18 years and 1 day, to thank him for the card he'd sent her and the £50 inside it. She asked if he'd like to see what she'd bought with it? He nodded and, before he could stop her, she yanked her dress over her head and stood there in her lovely but somewhat scant new lingerie. She would not be denied. She was legal. She was sober and she was not bothered about the two decade age gap or the fact he'd been her father's friend since the year dot. He tried and failed to resist. Her determination and her near nudity were too much temptation. He'd been surprised to encounter her hymen and, after her first gasp of pain, had been very gentle and patient so even that first time he had brought her to climax.
Lying there in his bed enjoying their first post-coital fugue, she'd said "Thank you Michael." It was the first time Terese had used his given name – until then he'd always been Uncle Mike.
In the six months since, Terese had visited him often. From the start of their affair, Michael had taken on the role of mentor, tutoring her in the technique and variety of lovemaking. He'd started the following morning by asking her to masturbate in front of him. She was horribly embarrassed at first but did it nonetheless. He wanted to know how much she knew about her own body – not much. He taught her where all her erogenous zones were and how to experience both clitoral and vaginal orgasms. He bought her a couple of sex toys and showed her just how much pleasure her own body could give her. She learned muscle control and yoga, the uses of aromatic oils and massage. She learned to fully appreciate the beautiful, taut instrument that was her body.
Only after she had learned all this did Michael teach her how to please him. She was a quick study and soon knew her way around his body almost as well as her own. By now, she was an expert fellatrix and could keep him on the brink of coming for hours, which she frequently did.
Yes, Terese could recount every sexual experience but there was no need to – Michael had witnessed them all.
"Not all of them. Tell me about your very first orgasm."
A few months earlier, she'd have been embarrassed to talk about this but now Michael's request didn't bother her a bit. She cast her mind back several years.
