After the mind-shattering experience with Thomas and Li, I felt I needed to chill out a little. The moral trappings of my religious upbringing were causing me guilt for the first time in my life. I've done a lot of wild things in my life, but in the last few weeks I had crossed lines which perhaps should not be crossed. Lesbian incest with my adopted sister. Miscegenationous and exhibitionist sodomy; getting fucked in the ass by a monstrously-endowed black man while his girlfriend and my fiancée watched. I was doing things not even mentioned in The Bible. I felt like I was spinning out of control.
Will, bless his heart, was very supportive of me during this confusing time. He understood that I didn't want to be touched sexually and left me alone in this respect. He even submitted to my need for snuggling and backrubs which led nowhere. Still, I held strange resentments against him, as if he had been to blame for my excesses. He had not pushed me into anything, but I couldn't let go of the belief that I would not have gone as far as I did had he not been so passively encouraging.
Will suggested that I take a night class at the community college where he taught, to give me something to occupy my mind with besides sexual guilt. I decided to take him up on the offer. He'd just bought a new computer, and I enjoyed messing around with Photoshop. So I signed up for a course on that. Tuesdays and Thursdays from 7-9.
It was kind of weird being back in school. I'd forgotten the first-day anticipatory feelings of looking around the classroom as it filled up and wondering if any of these people would be friends. There seemed to be two distinct types; middle-aged people here for "life enrichment" and just-out-of-high-school kids here for a computer credit. I fell awkwardly between these two groups. I didn't feel like I could relate to any of my classmates. It was just as well. I wasn't here to socialize, I was here to learn.
Then the instructor walked into the room. All I can say is Wow. She was a bit older than me, but still younger than the mid-life faction. The first adjectives that came to mind were "crisp" and "cool." I know it sounds like I'm describing a soft drink, but that was the impression she gave off. Clean and severe. A classically beautiful face upon which a smile would have seemed out of place, with short blonde hair. She was dressed entirely in white. A white jacket over a tank-top and a medium-length white skirt. Nice legs. I mean, nice.
Despite my alleged sexual burn-out, I found myself wondering what her breasts were like under that jacket.
"Good evening," she said. "My name is Ms. Summerfield."
She spoke with an unusual, clipped accent that I couldn't place. I found out later that she was from South Africa, and had spent time in Kuwait, Paris, Berlin and Hong Kong. She wore an intriguing air of worldliness about her.
She started lecturing and I have to say I had a hard time focusing. The rhythms of her voice were hypnotic. I couldn't take my eyes off of her, especially when she sat on her desk and crossed her long legs.
Then came lab time, where everybody worked on individual computers and Ms. Summerfield walked around the room looking over everyone's shoulders. I actually started trembling when she stood behind me. I made a couple stumbling clicks and had to undo a few steps of work.
"Very good, Lisa," she said in that striking accent. I was thrilled that she knew my name already. I liked the way it sounded in her mouth. "Have you tried this?"
Then she leaned over me, close enough for me to smell her perfume, which was as foreign and as tasteful as was everything else about her. Her cool powdered hand touched mine on the mouse and guided it to a drag-down feature I'd never used before. I couldn't tell you what it was. I turned towards her and fought off a powerful but entirely inappropriate desire to kiss her neck.
Needless to say, I didn't get much work done for the rest of that class period. I walked out to the parking lot on unsteady legs. I masturbated in my car, for the first time in weeks.
To think I'd taken this class to get my mind off sex.
"How'd it go?" Will asked when I got home.
"All right," I said. I faked a yawn and told him I was going to bed.
I lay awake for hours, fantasizing and lazily playing with myself. I was hot for teacher; perhaps the first time in my life a Van Halen song title had been so relevant. I wondered if I could face Ms. Summerfield on Thursday having admitted to myself how badly I wanted her. I wondered how long I could go without trying to make the fantasy real.
As it turned out, less than twenty-four hours.
The next day was Wednesday, one of the days I went to the gym. After working out, I was in the locker room getting ready to take a shower. I have to say, since discovering the homo- side of my bisexuality, the locker room at the gym took on a whole new meaning. It's all I could do not to stare. All the women walking around naked. Every age, size, shape and color; each of them beautiful in their own way. Breasts; from apple-sized mouthfuls to huge dangling milk-gourds. Pussies; from shaved bare to daintily trimmed to full-blown fur burgers. Asses; from mouth-watering heart-shaped pears to junk-in-the-trunk ghetto booties. Nothing was hidden; tattoos, scars, miles and miles of bare flesh. And the smell. There was something so enticing about the accumulation of sweaty women.
I was just peeling off my sports bra when an especially distracting woman walked over, wrapped in a towel. Her back was to me, but I could tell she was lean and toned, a bit older than me but in better shape. Short blonde hair and something vaguely familiar about her bearing. She dropped the towel, exposing a tanned, athletic body. Her back still to me, she dried off her hair, and then bent over to towel between her toes. She bent down far enough so that I could see the lips of her pussy and some light blonde hair peeking out between her legs. Oh boy. I had a brief but intense fantasy about Putting. My tongue. Right. There.
The woman stood up and turned around. I looked away quickly, so as not to be caught staring, and pretended to be absolutely absorbed in getting my own clothes off.
"Lisa?"
I turned, startled to say the least to hear my own name. The woman I'd been checking out was looking at me now. Ms. Summerfield, my PhotoShop instructor, the woman I'd spent most of the previous night fantasizing about. She was completely naked, and this made it hard to look her in the eye.
"Oh hello, Ms. Summerfield," I said as casually as I could.
"Ms. Summerfield," she scoffed. "For Heaven's sake, call me Autumn."
Her eyes went from my face to my naked breasts, just for a second. I was both thrilled and very self-conscious. My nipples, I'm sure, betrayed my arousal. I realized something a few beats too late.
"Wait," I said. "Your name is Autumn Summerfield?"
"Summerfield is my married name," she said.
My face must have registered disappointment, because she was quick to add: "I've been divorced for years, but kept the name. My maiden name is much worse."
"What is it?" I asked.
"I will never tell."
She got dressed, all in white as she had been dressed for class the night before. Even her bra and panties were white. I was stuck; I didn't know if I should continue getting undressed for the shower, so I just stood there with my arms crossed over my naked breasts.
"Are you enjoying the class so far?" she asked.
"Yes," I said. "Very much so."
"Good, good."
She slipped into a pair of white shorts and what appeared to be a tennis shirt. I just stood there like a topless idiot.
"Listen, Lisa," she said, her accent making my boring name sound extremely exotic. "Are you free for the rest of the afternoon?"
My mouth went suddenly dry. "Yes," I said. "Why?"
"Because I'd like to take you out to lunch," she said coolly. "And afterwards, I want you come with me back to my flat."
"Flat?"
"My apartment," she said. "You're quite attractive, Lisa. I'd love to take you to bed."
I was stunned silent by her directness.
"Forgive my being so blunt," she said, "but I find seduction such a tedious process. Some find the chase to be the most enjoyable part of the game, but I've always preferred to go straight to the kill. You are gay, are you not?"
"I'm bi," I managed to squeak.
"Whatever, darling. I make it a point to flaunt my lack of ethics by fucking at least one student every semester. You're far more interesting to me than the freshman girls exploring their new-found sexuality, or the bored and horny housewives taking my course to get away from their dreadful husbands. I saw how you looked at me in class last night, and just now while I was dressing. I thought you might be as attracted to me as I am to you. Correct me if I'm mistaken."
"You're not mistaken," I almost whispered.
"All right, then, get dressed and we'll go."
"I was going to take a shower," I said.
"No," she said. "Don't do that. I prefer a sweaty cunt."
If a man had said that, I would have slapped his face. Coming from her, it gave me a chill. I picked up my sports bra and started to pull it on over my head, but she stopped my arm with her hand.
"No bra, please," she said. "I'd like to look at your breasts during lunch, so I can see what I'm having for dessert."
"All right," I said. I pulled on my blouse. My breasts are large enough that when I go braless, it's very obvious. Not to mention that my nipples were as hard as steel pellets. Autumn looked me over and licked her lips.
"Delightful," she said. "I shall very much enjoy this."
Then, surprising me, she reached out right there in the locker room where anyone could see, and pinched both my nipples through the shirt at the same time. Hard. I gasped.
"Come, Lisa," she said. "Let's have some fun."
Lunch was at The Victorian Garden Tea Room, a tiny restaurant across town I'd never even heard of. Small, intimate and cozy. I might have preferred someplace a bit larger and more anonymous. Every eye in the place was on us as soon as we walked in the door. I think Autumn enjoyed flaunting me. We'd made out in her car for a while in the parking lot and she had managed to pop the top two buttons off my blouse, swallowing them like aspirins. I was hanging out all over the place. Even our waiter couldn't help looking down my top, and he was very obviously gay.
I had a chicken salad sandwich and barely tasted it. Autumn had a piece of fresh salmon and a glass of white wine. She did all the talking, which was fine with me. She talked of her travels, of old lovers. Outside, a storm was brewing. It seemed to reflect my mood perfectly. The skies and I both anticipated a hard rain to come.
It still wasn't raining as we drove back to her place, but the sky had gone black and the wind was blowing hard. What had begun as distant, rumbling thunder was now so loud the car shook with every blast. Lightning so close I could practically smell it. The rains began just as we were pulling into the parking area behind her apartment building, coming down in fat splats. We dashed to her building as the skies opened up, drenching us. We screamed with delight.
"You look so good wet, Lisa," Autumn said. "I can't wait to peel your clothes off and drink the rain from your breasts."
She slammed me against the wall in the stairwell, kissed me harder than I've been kissed in years, her hands wringing rainwater from the blouse which clung transparently to my dripping wet tits. A neighbor of hers, a black man with a chest as big as a gorilla's, scurried meekly past us on the stairs, hardly daring to glance at us. I was too worked up to care who saw. I wanted to give myself to this woman, however she'd have me.
Finally, we moved together up the stairs and down a long hallway. Barely taking her hands or her mouth off of me, Autumn managed to fit her key into the lock and open her apartment door. She pushed me inside and slammed the door behind us.
My back was up against the wall. Autumn tore my blouse open, popping off about half the remaining buttons. My tits sprung forth and she lapped the dew from them, my nipples swelling and stiffening beneath her sucking lips.
"Such beautiful breasts," she gasped.
She got on her knees before me and peeled my shorts and panties down to my ankles. I spread my legs and leaned back against the wall, thrusting my pelvis forward.
"Mmmm," Autumn moaned. "Gorgeous pussy. Sweaty and hairy and ripe. I hate Americans who shave and perfume their cunts. I want to suck off a woman who tastes like a woman, not a little girl who tastes like artificial flowers."
She spread my lips with her hands and lapped my clitoris. Her tongue was powerful. I don't know how else to describe it. The strong muscle stroked me with pressure greater than a finger, but with the wetness and texture you can only get from a mouth. I wondered if she did exercises with her tongue to make it so strong. I pictured her doing push-ups, using only her tongue, and the unexpected mental image made me laugh out loud.
