Things with mom proper didn't really change as time marched on. We seemed to be able to keep our relationship relatively normal, and nothing much changed externally-and in a town of around 20,000 people, you tend to get an inkling of when people are talking about you in ways that aren't good. But there was none of that anywhere we went, we were just the same people treated the same way at the grocery stores, the restaurants we frequented, and the like.
Things with Brenda, on the other hand, were just as passionate and intense as time wore on. After the rocking sex of the first night, we woke up around 1 in the afternoon, and promptly went again, this time with her riding me cowgirl to completion, another round later in the evening where I got to enjoy finishing by fucking her tits (a first for me, and I quickly started to count it among my favorites), and one more before bed. Sunday was also spent in bed, and by Monday morning English lit, I was grinning like an idiot, despite being sore and spent. A couple of my buddies prodded me for info on who I had fucked, but I kept my mouth shut, obviously denying everything.
I had been worried about the ramifications and spillover, but the odd thing was that it didn't seem to affect our regular life together. We managed to go plenty of places, whether it be around town or even in front of family, and everything was seemingly normal. But almost all the time, one mention of her name from either of us, accompanied by the right tone of voice, and it was like a fuse was lit on a bomb that couldn't be disarmed. One time, we went for a day hike on a trip with a couple of family friends, and decided to go upward when the trail split, as they took the easier route. We got about 1/4 mile up the trail before I casually said "Hey Brenda, do you want to check out that stand of trees over there?" She quickly grabbed my arm and towed me into the brush, and within 90 seconds of us stopping, I had her bent over, crying out loudly as I surely pushed her towards one of her gloriously quaking orgasms. We fucked hard for several minutes until she sweetly asked if she could finish me off in her mouth so I wouldn't make too much of a mess of her panties, and I obviously agreed. Another time, we went to a family reunion in Washington for a few days, and everything was completely normal, but as we drove out of town, mom found a rest area and pulled off.
"Need to pee?" I asked, innocently.
"No," she replied.
"Then why are we stopped?"
"What's my name?"
"Brenda."
"Exactly," she said, full of lust. She kissed me and quickly undid my belt so she could snake her hand into my pants and grope my rapidly steeling prick. We quickly climbed in the back of her SUV and screwed like possessed rabbits, not getting back on the road for at least another 90 minutes.
The hardest thing was when one of us dated someone. I felt my first small pangs of jealousy when she dated Kirk for about 9 months, who seemed like a great guy initially. For the first four months she kept things cooled off, and I gave her space. We did have one talk about it, but she was perfunctory about the change, and I respected her obvious discomfort. Finally, one night, she came home obviously frustrated (I found out later they'd fought), and she barged into my room as I was watching some dumb Netflix show. Her eyes were red rimmed and her hair a bit disheveled, but she still looked unbelievably sexy in her knee-length dress. "Brenda needs you, baby." I didn't even think before I sprang out of bed and closed the distance, grabbing her roughly and kissing her. Within a few short moments she had my pants around my ankles, sucking me deep into her mouth, and I moved us on to the bed. We ended up 69-ing for a little while, then she got me to sit on the edge of the bed and she rode me with her legs wrapped around me until she positively flooded me with a pent-up climax of epic proportions, her screaming loud enough for three counties to hear. She quickly dismounted, getting on her knees, and she had me fuck her tits until I painted her chest and throat with a gigantic load—she knew what a fetish I had for titty fucking, and it was a joy to be back with her.
After we cleaned up, she led me back to her bed—the king sized model was way more accommodating than my narrow full, and we touched and caressed a bit. "Did you and Kirk break up?" I asked.
"No. We had a fight, but I don't think we're broken up. I don't know," she shrugged.
"Okay. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to press."
"It's fine. I...I...just missed you. I missed our connection. I missed your touch. I missed your talented tongue and your amazing cock. I guess I just cheated on my boyfriend. But I don't care. Technically you were here first, and I wouldn't do this with anyone else."
I didn't know what to say. "Oh. Um...well, that makes me happy, I guess."
"I...I can't lose our intimacy. Not yet, anyway. Maybe one day I'll be content to let it go. Probably if you get serious with a woman I'll have no choice but to step aside as gracefully as I can. But now...I...I just can't yet," she said. She was playing with my still somewhat deflated cock, and she quickly bent down to suck it into her mouth, blowing me in an almost dire manner. As I hardened, she swung her leg over and mounted me.
Our rounds that night were like an urgent, immediate need. It was intimate and romantic and passionate, but we fucked harder physically than any time since perhaps our first night. She screamed near the top of her lungs when I filled her and triggered another orgasm, and by the time we collapsed from exhaustion about 3 am, she grabbed my face and looked me in the eyes, her face as serious as I'd ever seen it. "Thank you for understanding my need. I don't know if this will ever go away, but I promise, no matter how I feel about it, if you ever need me to back off, I will."
"Brenda, I feel the same way right now. I'll take what I can get while I still can, and I'm happy for it. Thank you." We kissed a semi-lustful, somewhat romantic kiss, and as we spooned against each other, she almost immediately dropped off. I don't think I was awake another 2 minutes until I followed.
As I started my junior year of college, I transferred to University of Oregon, about a two hour drive away. I was worried about the distance and what it might mean for our relationship, but it seemed like the separation didn't really quell the physical aspect that much. I'd get a text on Friday to the effect of "Brenda wants to know if she can see you this weekend," and I'd practically start throwing my overnight bag together immediately, speeding home and counting the minutes until I could be deep inside of her, thrusting hard and feeling her cum against me. Kirk had turned out to be hiding a wife he wasn't actually divorced from yet, so she ended it with him, and things went back up the original frequency they had been at, but guilt free. She dated one other guy for about a month, but it was nothing serious. For my part, I had three not-so-serious girlfriends that year, but rationalized it to myself that Brenda had been there first, I wasn't claiming exclusivity with any of these women, and I didn't actually feel guilt about our coupling. That summer, I went home and worked a temp job for a contractor doing basic labor, and we spent the evenings together, working in her garden and having sex most nights. I loved every minute of it, and didn't want the summer to end. Then came senior year.
The first few months were totally normal, me on track to graduate in the spring, focusing on my final major credits and a couple of electives. I'd come back roughly every two weeks, Brenda and I pawing and plowing into one another as my laundry spun away in the machines. In the winter, I had one arts class to complete, and I decided to enroll in a literature and writing class on Shakespeare, which I'd always found intriguing.
***Gwen***
Professor Hinkle was actually an extremely attractive woman for someone that had to be nearing 50, to the point where it was almost a running joke on campus about the "literary cougar," but from the first day, I barely noticed her, as I was hopelessly infatuated with Gwen. She invoked a reaction I'd never felt with any other woman, making my brain and breathing simultaneously cease. She was very striking in appearance, but there was also something about her I found oddly magnetic that I'd never experienced before. Tall at about 5'11", when she wore low heels she was even height with me. She was brunette, with long, glossy hair that cascaded down her back. Her form wasn't chubby at all, but she was ridiculously curvy where it mattered, with a small waist, and an ample, beautifully round ass, highlighted by yoga pants she favored almost constantly. Her breasts were simply gigantic, at least a double D, but didn't look out of proportion on her tall, broad-shouldered frame. Her face was gorgeous, all beautiful planes and high cheekbones, bee-stung lips, and arresting blue eyes that tended to stop my thoughts every time she fixed them on me. To top it off, she had this cheeky Brit accent along with an absolutely raunchy sense of humor that I found incredibly endearing.
Several weeks into the course, I went out with some friends to the local bar by campus. My friend Helene walked in a few minutes into our gathering with Gwen in tow, which surprised us both-I hadn't realized they had known each other for several years-and she cracked me up all night long, including an odd one-up contest we somehow got into on who could tell the more disgusting joke. She won with one that involved a nun and a yeast infection that made everyone groan. I was smitten.
Still, she was technically in a position where we shouldn't date. So the day final grades were posted, I went to check the professor's breakdown on her office door, and was overjoyed when I ran into her. "Nice job on the final paper, Williams," she called out. I wheeled around and smiled.
