From Benjamin Dornier's Journal
Tuesday, August 4, 1992
It feels funny writing this because it has been quite a while since I've found time to do any journaling. There have been almost daily meetings at school related to my new job and I continue to spend my weekends at the seashore with my family. Despite fears that my wife would somehow discern my relationship with Hillary, my lovely young student and lover, that hasn't happened. And my relationship with Hillary doesn't seem to have impacted my doing my "husbandly" duties, either. In fact, several times my wife's commented that this summer's separation seems to have done wonders for our love life. I'm not sure how I'm doing it, but apparently I'm managing. At least for now. And in seventeen days - but who's counting - my relationship with Hillary won't be a problem any more because she'll be heading off to college.
Hillary and I continue to see each other daily. After her parents came home, she had to stop spending the night, something both of us hated to give up. But their return didn't stop her from staying at my house until the wee hours of the morning. It did help that I gave her a glowing mid-course report on her performance in the summer school class that brought us together. The positive report wasn't a gift, either, she truly earned it. In fact, she'd almost taken over as discussion leader and had actually spent some time after class helping a couple of her classmates with their work, something she'd have never even dreamed of doing when she started the class. I am very impressed by the changes I've seen in her as a person and I've told her so numerous times, much to her embarrassment.
She got her period the last week in July, which bugged her, maybe more than it bugged me. "I hate this," she fumed after she told me what was happening. "We...we don't have that much time until August 21st and I have to go and get my damn period."
"Well, if I understand these things," I pointed out, "If you're regular, this means you won't be getting it again until the last week in August, right?"
"Yeah, so?" she retorted.
"Then you won't be getting it the last week we have, will you?"
That observation got me a fierce hug.
It was interesting that we still managed to have a great time together the week of her period, even though we couldn't make love. We talked about a lot of things, watched TV, made dinner, and generally acted like a comfortable married couple. I found it both enjoyable and troubling because I was worried that she might feel there was more of a chance for something more serious to develop between us. And I have to admit I was feeling far too comfortable with our relationship, too. It was really odd. On Fridays, when I was headed for the coast to be with my family, I found myself looking forward to the weekends as much as I ever had, if not more. And on Sunday night, when I was headed back home, I looked forward to seeing Hillary just as much. Maybe she wasn't the only one in danger of getting too attached.
Anyhow, Hillary surprised me again this evening. We were in bed. She was lying on her belly next to me while I trailed my fingers up and down over her lovely body, something I knew she loved. She was murmuring softly with delight while I did it. The sounds she was making were sounds I'd come to love hearing. And the skin I was touching was skin I'd come to love touching.
"Ben..." she said softly. She was lying with her head turned away from me and didn't look at me when she spoke.
"Yes?"
"There...there's something I want to ask you about," she said, sounding a bit tentative.
"You can ask me anything," I replied, continuing my caresses. "You know that."
"Ah...well...um...yeah, I know, but this...I'm afraid you'll think..."
"You're afraid I'll think what?" I asked. "Don't be afraid. If you have a question, go ahead and ask."
"Well..." She paused again. "Did you ever...with your wife...did you and she ever, um, ah, do it in the...um...rear?"
I have to admit that her question caused my partially hard penis to become a lot harder almost instantly. "You want to know if my wife and I have ever had anal sex, is that it?" I asked.
"Um...ah...yeah," she replied.
"No, we haven't," I said.
"Is that because you think it's...anal sex...you think it's perverted to do that?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper.
"Not at all," I said quickly. "I don't think anal sex is perverted at all. I have to admit we tried to do it, but it just didn't work for us, so we stopped trying."
"Oh," she said. "You really mean that, you don't think it's sick or perverted or anything?"
"Not at all," I told her. "Thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, of people who engage in anal sex."
"Really?" she said. She turned her head and looked at me for the first time since our conversation started.
"Really," I said. "I think more people talk about it than do it, but a whole lot of people do it, too." I bent down and kissed her shoulder. "Why the question about anal sex?" I hoped I knew what her answer would be and found myself holding my breath while I waited for her answer.
"Well...um...when you...when you...ah...play with me down there, between my legs and all...I...um...noticed it feels really neat when you rub my...uh...anus...with your fingers," she explained.
"Oh," I said. My fingers continued their journey over her silky flesh and I hoped she couldn't feel them trembling. My erection felt as if it had gotten as hard as it could possibly get without exploding.
"And...I...I heard people talking about...you know...anal sex. One of my friends claims she did it and she says it feels fantastic. Anyhow...you're so gentle and all...I thought...um...maybe...you and I...we could..." she laid there, eyes wide as saucers, gazing at me.
"Hillary, are you saying you'd like us to try having anal sex?" I asked, wanting to be sure I wasn't hearing what I wanted to hear.
She nodded. "Yeah...I...I think I...I'd kinda like to try...if...if you want to," she whispered. "Do...do you want to?"
"I want to do anything that makes you happy," I told her. "But you need to know we have to be careful. I don't want to hurt you."
"Does...does it hurt?" she asked, sounding scared and showing a little fear in her eyes.
"It doesn't have to," I told her. "But we'll need to be careful. The last thing I want is to hurt you. It shouldn't hurt if we use enough lubrication and you're relaxed enough."
"Oh," she said, but the fear didn't totally disappear from her eyes.