Daren, home for his first shore leave from Norfolk since he joined the Navy, banked a shot off the boards, putting the desired ball into the pocket, and high fived with his high school buddy, Steve. While Daren went off to the Navy, Steve had stayed in Lexington, Virginia, to work in his uncle's garage rather than opting for either college or the service. Charlie, the third of the trio who had gone through school and gotten into trouble with the other two and who was struggling through his first year in community college, stood by, wisecracking that he didn't think he'd ever seen Daren sink a pool ball before.
Daren countered with the nonsensical, but understandable, quip that if Charlie hadn't sunk one too many balls, he could be off enjoying a ride on the sea with Daren. But then he apologized when he saw the look on Charlie's face go gloomy, saying he'd maybe picked up the curse of opening his mouth too much from the company he'd kept in the four months he'd been in the Navy. It had been a double hit. It had been Charlie who wanted to go into the Navy, and Daren had picked up that bug from him, and most of why Charlie was struggling in community college was because he'd gotten Shelley pregnant the night of the senior prom. He was having to hold down a job at Steve's uncle's garage to support them and the coming baby as well as going to college as his parents wanted him to do.
The trio was at a roadhouse bar just outside of Lexington, to the west, and although they weren't old enough to drink hard liquor, the owner of the bar turned a look the other way for locals and this was the only place in or near town they could enjoy pool and whiskey. After a couple of shots of whiskey to establish they could do it, they switched to beer, which they refused to admit they still preferred.
Daren was bent over the table, ready to take another shot, when Steve nudged him and whispered, "Look what just drifted in. Gotta be 36 double D jugs. Wouldn't you like to get your dick into that hot momma while you're on liberty?"
"The momma part is right. She's old enough to be Daren's momma," Charlie said.
"Them's the best ones to give a young guy a good ride," Steve said. "But did you have an opportunity to get your first ride yet, Daren, baby? They got mermaids out there in the ocean giving out to young sailors?" He and Charlie both chuckled. Daren did not. Sometimes it wasn't a good thing that three guys had been glued together since elementary school. They knew too much about each other. Steve was in the same boat as Charlie. He actually gotten there before Charlie had. His baby with Brandy was due around Thanksgiving.
Despite being, by far, the best looking—and now best squared away—of the three, with his blond, sunny looks and milky-blue eyes, Daren couldn't claim expecting any bundle of joy before next spring. He hadn't been the best looking of the three when "doing what comes natural" came to the guys before graduation and they started drifting apart, two of them into the arms of girlfriends. Daren had been on the pudgy side then. It had been the conditioning of becoming a sailor that had brought him into body beautiful territory. And his dad had been busy dying in the spring when the other two had found sex, so he'd been too preoccupied to go that route . . . yet.
"Yeah, she's a real honey," Daren said, not responding to the "have you been laid yet?" burning question. "I'm surprised she don't fall over on her face when she walks. A good face and Earth Mother hips and big butt. A hot momma for sure. I missed my shot. You're up, Charlie." He'd been looking a Cynthia, who had come into the roadhouse and rested her tits on the bar top, though, and, in looking around the room, Cynthia had seen Daren looking at her. Daren didn't know it but Cynthia was man trolling for someone just like him—a hunky young guy to enjoy and give a little training to. The acoustics in the bar were better than the young guys thought they were; Cynthia had heard two of them razzing the real cute one on whether he'd been laid yet. She hadn't missed that he'd avoided answering that.
She ordered a beer and turned on her stool, leaning back to jut her best assets out, leaned her elbows on the bar top, and watched Daren play pool while he took furtive looks at her. She'd quickly made her choice.
At forty-two, voluptuous Cynthia could still fill out a halter top and minishorts, with stiletto heels, really well. She had a good head of wavy auburn hair. It had strands of gray in it that she'd stopped fighting, but to the casual viewer, it looked like expensive, saloon-done highlighting. She knew that it wasn't her hair that men were looking at, though. They rarely looked above tit level when they addressed her. She called them Pride and Glory, and she didn't hide them under a bushel.
Cynthia wasn't a hooker, nor did she come out to the bars every night. She lived in a fashionable university neighborhood of Lexington and had a bundle of money from her earlier marriage and a good job editing complex and arcane medical journal articles and books in her home office, in a sunroom on the back of her well-kept Dutch colonial house in a well-landscaped patio garden. She didn't have to come out looking for sex from a hot young man at all, if she didn't want to, as she took in a variety of well-servicing male lodgers to keep her exercised. But now and again she wanted to let lose for an evening and, invariably, then she was in the mood for a fresh young thing to train. She was an expert in picking the guys needing honing out and landing them. This evening, in addition to bringing Pride and Glory into action, she was getting help from the young sailor, Daren's, buddies, who egged him on in giving Cynthia his virginity.
In Daren's dad's truck, in the roadhouse parking lot, Daren was sitting in the driver's seat, with Cynthia sitting in his lap, astride his crotch, leaning back into the steering wheel. Her halter top was on the floor on the passenger side, and Daren's hands were cupping and squeezing her breasts. He had his face buried in her jutted-out chest and was panting hard as his lips sucked on her nipples. He hadn't been this intimate with a woman before, and Cynthia had had to do all of the maneuvering. She didn't mind this one bit, though. The kid was learning as they went along. She was latched into the cougar thrill of picking off a virgin.
She could feel him hard and needy against her puffy slit under the two layers of material that separated them from already fucking. Cynthia could have made minor adjustments and the young stud would be inside her, although he might not have known how they got there. Taking time out to bring in protection, though, might kill the mood, and she wasn't doing it without a condom. He was muscular and young and good-looking—a real catch of the day; Cynthia had every confidence he would manage to follow her lead and get it done. She was in it for a longer haul, though, and was only slightly annoyed when she felt the wetness "down there" from the young virgin being overwhelmed by the new and different action.
No biggy, she thought. She had planned to take this one home and training him at a more leisurely pace anyway.
She slid off his lap and onto the passenger side floor, coaxing him to move over into the passenger seat. Kneeling between Daren's spread knees, she unzipped him, told him to lay back and enjoy it, and fished his young guy, on-the-rise-again, shaft out of his fly and took it in her mouth. When he was moaning deep and fully engorged again, a gift of his youth and virility, Cynthia took the cock between her breasts and rubbed him off to a second ejaculation. Daren just sat there, mesmerized, arms dangling at his side, letting Cynthia do all the work, afraid that if he opened his eyes, he'd find himself back on his bunk on ship, dreaming it all.
He lay, trembling and groaning back in the seat after she'd brought him off a second time.
"You want to come with me for a while, baby?" she asked. "I live just inside Lexington. You can follow me in your truck."
There was no question that Daren wanted to go home with Cynthia for a while. He'd been aching for his first lay for months. Of course he was the one getting laid.
* * * *
Cynthia didn't take Daren directly upstairs to her bedroom when they got to her house in Lexington. She ushered him around to the red-block patio that covered nearly her whole small backyard.
"Have a seat and let's talk a bit," she said, as they entered the backyard and moved to where they would be sitting across from each other on wrought-iron patio chairs. She had a collection of wind chimes that harmonized in various tones in the breeze without becoming obtrusive. It would cover any conversation being overheard by any neighbors who might be lurking beyond the tall basket-weave wooden fences that gave Cynthia's yard privacy. "I'm going for a cold beer. Do you want one or do you want something harder?" she asked, as she motioned for Daren to sit while she remained standing. "You were drinking both at the roadhouse."
"Is that your way of asking me if I'm old enough to drink hard liquor? I'm not. I'm nineteen."
"It was," she said, "so beer it is. Is that OK with you? If you insist—" Virginia law was eighteen to drink beer and wine and twenty-one for hard liquor. The age of consent for sex was eighteen. An experienced cougar, Cynthia often asked the one question to get at the second answer.
"Beer's fine," he said as she moved toward the steps up into the sunroom attached to the back of her red-brick Dutch colonial. "But it's a little late to ask me if I'm too young to screw, isn't it? We've already messed around."
