Harsh Notes

This story is about a man's look back at his life, and a certain coming-of-age moment. There is no underage relationship, nor is one implied. Just the first yearnings of puberty and it's lasting effect on one man. Take it as the fantasy it is. Thanks.

*****

This memory comes flooding back to me like it always does. I was just an innocent at the time, probably eighteen, but I was feeling the sexual urges that come to any young guy. Especially when in the presence of the woman of his dreams. That for me, is when it all began to go sour. It started with this one particular woman, and though it was many years ago now, the conflicting memories return to me on random, idle occasions. At that moment of life I was full of hormones and completely lacking in experience, but my fantasy life was in overdrive. At night, alone in bed, I conjured moves of seduction and dominance that would make me the "Dreamworld Don Juan." But in the daylight, with an actual beautiful, sexy, adult, female alone in her apartment with me, I was just an obedient student.

She was the perfect woman for me: exotic, flirtatious, older and more experienced, and built like a brick house! Maybe that was my downfall, my first close-up view of the forbidden fruits. But for me, it was what was temptingly revealed, and alluringly hidden beneath those flimsy tops that sparked my enthusiastic pursuit to this day. To this day, and it has been years, I can never forget my initial introduction to the trophy that all virgins dream of holding in their sweaty little hands. Nothing ever happened between us, infact I remained a virgin until much later, and even today many years past, there is still always a tune, a foreign accent or maybe a fragrance that makes me remember. But still, she was the first, I'll always remember it that way. The vision in my head always starts something like this.

Those creamy tits feel so good in my grasp. My hands fondle and balance the shifting weight of her heavenly breasts. I pinch and squeeze the tawny nipples, causing her to squeal with a passionate delight. Then I tug at them and bite them, eliciting more deep moans of desire. I take extreme liberties with her because I know she really wants it, and feels freer if she surrenders control to a dominant man. I imagine that my strong arms are tenderly wrapped around her velvety ribs from behind her, my body against her warm back. My approach is to wend my rough hands top to bottom. From her tired shoulders down her spine, and to massage their way across the slight curve at the small of her back and progress slowly up to her shoulders and neck. My straining cock presses into her skirt just above her firm ass. She feels the warmth and the pressure from my erection and I hear a soft trilling murmur escape from her lips. Those same soft, pink lips I yearn to thrust my tongue between. And the very lips I wish to see at my crotch, licking and sucking the firm shaft and purplish, helmeted head of my rigid tool.

Her body quivers with desire as my hands work their path under the silken top and explore the suddenly moist flesh of her tummy. She squirms in my grasp while my fingers ease under her sheer bra and tenderly manipulate the swelling tips of her pliant, firm globes. She purrs and writhes under the spell of seduction, unconscious to my frantic hands tearing away at her blouse and forcing the cups of her bra up her heaving chest.

She's an older woman, single and lonely, and she sparks to life in these secretive trysts where she can act-out her prurient fantasies with a young stud attentive to her needs. At our meetings she always dresses conservatively to avoid prying eyes, but will whisper to me of taboo under-garments or allow my wandering digits to stealthily explore the hidden secrets. When seated side by side, my fingers often make a sly move up her lean leg and settle snugly in her warm, inviting crotch where they daintily tickle her inner thighs. And in crowded rooms, my hand will roam freely under the firm cheeks of her ass, patting and petting so that no one will notice.

I can picture her sometimes in a sheer camisole waiting for me In private, or other times I charm her into slowly peeling off the layers of prim finery and revealing to me a lace bra and hinting that there is nothing below. I am granted easy access to her deep cleavage and can drive her to ecstasy by dropping to my knees between her toned, bare legs. I often paw at her athletic body, gripped with a passion to possess her. She is forced to slow me down, promising that if I observe the desired foreplay, I will be well rewarded for my efforts. I struggle to control my urges and when I settle into a smooth pattern I readily see the pleasures and thrills I can impart to her. And after she recovers from a few moments of orgiastic spasms she yearns to fulfil her submissive dreams. The training is well worth the payoff. In my mind I am a smooth operator, attuned to the hidden desires and repressed sexual fantasies all women are willing to explore, if only a confident, well-endowed hero should enter their lives. In truth, I was a late-bloomer whose trembling hands only ever manipulated my own over-used organ. But let's go with the fantasy, it makes a better story.

As she climbs on top of my rigid cock, she marvels aloud at how hard I get and the many times I can respond. She strokes my cock with long, supple fingers, and then strokes my immature ego with graphic depictions of my sexual prowess and how I bring her to a perpetual state of arousal where no other man possibly could. She promises to be my sexual tutor and mistress, if I only take the effort to arouse her emotions. I am given full access and complete reign over her stunning torso. She readily surrenders to my deviant requests and is an adventurous sexual partner whose only qualification is, that I take the time to bring-out her strongest orgasms. Nothing is off-limits with her: whips, lotions, toys, etc. as long as I bring her to climax. In licking her trimmed vagina, she teaches me to softly nuzzle her swollen clit, slowly mouthing the alphabet while my wet fingers toy with her outer lips and just tickle the inside of her tight ass. I count to twenty, breathing deeply as my pointed tongue twirls her wiry-haired pubes and jabs at the sweet crevice under my nose. She asks me to wet my fingers with the sticky-sweet juices welled-up in her hot, steamy vagina, then slowly insert and twist them, one finger each in her warm twat and also her tight little ass. She grips my straining knob tightly in her clenched fist as I perform the erotic tongue-lashing that sets her off. I know that in this way she controls my passions while she experiences her booming orgasms, but I consider it as a learning tool, and also the warm, firm pressure of her slippery hand on my cock is more than satisfying. I can handle it.

She has taught me to be patient when removing her clothing; caressing and kissing each exposed, tender appendage. I am "reminded" that parts other than my cock, can give her pleasure. I try to always take my time and tantalyzingly use my tongue and eager fingers to heighten her arousal and bring her mind into playful unity with her voluptuous body. And now I can kiss her neck, or nibble at her earlobes, and feel her supple body begin to squirm. I want to ravish her completely and make her my slave, but I am learning that seduction and tenderness can work to my benefit. I know now to not just rip her bra off and slobber on her big tits, I can gently circle the dark nipples with my wet, flat tongue. I marvel at the small dark nubs as they gradually enlarge and stiffen under the warm, wet pressure of my tongue and the soft nips of my teeth. Or to lightly tickle and caress those heaving globes, watching as her green eyes draw to slits and her round hips undulate under me, pleading for the ultimate pleasure that I can bring to her. She feels that if I bring her to early orgasm, she can more easily subjugate herself to me. I am constantly reminded to slow down, but then she surrenders to my domineering obsessions. Her deep-voiced pleas to me to then rape and punish her, drive me to my own forceful torrents of cum.

For my part, the sex is great. I am forever pushing against her attempts at restraint, but she can manage my impulses with her sexy, smoldering accent. I have learned to please her orally, but also now she gets so excited with my new-found "braille-method" of foreplay, that my every wish is granted beyond my wildest dreams. She is not shy when using her own fingers or exhorting me with her lewd, filthy talk. While I lick at her steamy twat, she teases me by toying with her dark nipples and driving her hips up to meet my mouth. She constantly encourages my actions with her naughty, remarks, "lick your bitch. Eat me and I will drop to my knees so that you can fuck my ass. My whole body belongs to you, fuck me and I will swallow all your cum."

She always trails a delicate scent of vanilla or wild-flowers. Her long wavy hair, rich in auburn and teak colors, is always fresh-smelling when I kiss and suck at her neck. She must bathe in fragrant oils or perhaps follow with a body wash, because her scent lingers with me long after our all-too-brief encounters. To this day my cock stretches to full length at subtle memories of her.

In many of my lurid fantasies she will mostly start by fondling my raging cock in her long, agile fingers. She teases me by saying that she can only truly "get off" by pleasuring me and enjoying the effect on my body. Then when I am thoroughly sated, she is free to relax and enjoy the thrills I can bring to her. So she always wishes to tempt me first.

She remarks often on the size and girth of my organ, teasing that it will never fit in her mouth or hungry vagina. Stroking it and licking it with languid, delicious movements, my cock starts to grow and fill with heat. She slyly whispers in her husky voice, that it builds the anticipation of what is to come. I know that it is to just restrain me from ramming it into her warm pussy or succulent mouth. But I go along. With each visit, I learn more, but most times my youthful exuberance overrides any thought to her passionate interludes. And though she moans and writhes in orgasm, I know it could be better for her.

At some sessions, my haste causes these nervous hands to yank at her flimsy shirt , always tucked so lady-like into her pleated skirt. The thin material stretches and then finally rips, the buttons tear away from the thread and clatter to the hardwood floor. My anxious hands claw at the delicate material of her bra, pushing the thin fabric up to her throat, almost choking her with my desire to have those fleshy pillows in my greedy hands. I lay her on her back and climb on top, my erection already jabbing at her barely exposed middle. I grasp her ankles in my hands and spread her muscular legs wide apart. At times like these I have no control. My cock plunges hard and deep into her moist, constricted pussy. Despite all efforts at calm, I ravish her. I thrust with abandon, driving my firm rod balls-deep against the kinky-haired pubes of her sweet pussy . Her soft blue-green eyes plead with me to be gentle. I can see she wants to offer me guidance and reassurance. She remains silent, hoping for the best. With her pearly-white teeth digging into her pouty, red lips she concentrates on her orgasm. As we both struggle with our goals, she takes my hands in hers, adeptly positioning them where she wants them. She can be stern and demanding at times, she knows what she needs and in what order it should take. My body, always too eager at this moment, wants to succeed but I am hesitant to not make a foolish miscue. In my inexperience, I mostly look to her for approval.

Then I hear it. At first just a tinkly background noise, but it grows to a shrill, solid tone. Her strong hands press my fingers into the keyboard, trying to let me hear the connection of stringing together ten or twelve notes in a row, to create a soothing harmony. It was Chopin, or maybe Beethoven, I don't know. My fantasy comes to a crashing end and I find myself sitting obediently at the old family piano.

None of this sexual stuff ever happened. I was barely eighteen and a geek, too young to make any sort of impression on a grown mature woman and she was a classically trained musician, probably ten years my senior, who I'm sure never gave me a serious thought beyond my tin ear. My hormones were in such a raging state that a gust of wind could get my cock hard. Her name was Gretchen, a nice lady who taught piano out of her home. My parents were likely paying her by the hour to bring some culture into my life. So we tinkered at the used piano in her apartment.

In those days every minute that our flesh touched, filthy thoughts kicked-in. At that age, my brain was directly linked to my cock, and both were in a perpetual state of arousal. When she tutored me in her guttural Germanic commands, instead of musical advise, I only heard "her inner slut" begging for sexual release. And in her every gesture, I imagined her voluptuous physique squirming underneath me, though I had never even actually seen a nude woman. She did have nice tits though. I understood that at an early age. I spent most lesson days sharing that hard piano bench with her, my brutally hard teenage pecker cramped under my thigh in tight jeans, while drooling and sneaking illicit peaks down the front of her blouse. I am fairly certain she caught me looking more than once, but I don't think that the idea of some doofus piano student admiring her rack either tempted or annoyed her enough to act on it.

The sheer image of those heavenly globes brought many lustful wet dreams to my restless nights. I wiled away hours in bed picturing how I would entice and enthrall this willing, sexy temptress. At the very instant of tugging at my virginal penis. With each firm pull, I imagined the enticing, husky, pleas urging me to rape and pillage her under-utilized anatomy. She wanted me to use her lusty body and thrilled to the idea of being my submissive, sexual conquest. A sensual vessel waiting for the right man to take hold of her. The warm, gooey, semen exploded on my abdomen and chest as I pictured her luscious lips engulfing my thick meat. I felt no shame, but grudgingly understood it was all just a wishful dream.

My weekly visits to her apartment lasted only a few short months. Gradually, I began to skip sessions, finding afternoon basketball or arcade games a much better attraction and my folks could readily see my reluctance, not to mention, a severe lack of musical talent. Gretchen and her wondrous breasts faded from my easily distracted mind, to be replaced by cheerleaders of my own age with their plucky pom-poms or my stash of illicitly hidden, sticky centerfolds.

The years passed in a normal, boring routine. I barely graduated college, married and divorced. Then I settled into my lazy, life's role as a senior representative for an apartment management company. I'm in my thirties now and in the course of my dull business day, I am handed a list of properties deemed to be a nuisance for the company. Some have been "destroyed" by college kids whose term has expired. Others are being sold and need to be brought to market status. And a few are listed as delinquent, meaning that the tenant has fallen far behind on the payments. That's what brought me to the third floor walk-up of a rather run-down building the company had very little interest in.

The place was graffiti-scarred and strewn with trash. The thread-bare carpet and peeling paint was all that held the old brick façade together. On a windy day the stained curtains swayed, plaster bubbled and flaked from a ceiling desperate for repair. I hesitantly tapped on the weathered plywood door of 3C. When I heard the chain being released and the creaking hinges open, I was greeted by a hauntingly familiar face. My worksheet had listed a Miss Walters as the resident. I don't even remember if that was her name but I knew immediately that this was my ex-piano teacher, Gretchen.

The years had seemingly taken their toll. The green eyes had lost some of their luster and gravity had taken it's effect on various parts of that fantasy form, but the kindly smile was the same and there was still a prodigious swelling to her chest. She didn't recognize my face or name, but I could see the fear in her big eyes when I mentioned the reason for my call. It was obvious from her second-hand clothing and the spare, used furnishings that the $1,500 I was seeking would not be forthcoming.

Her European accent still lingered as she graciously invited me inside and she was extremely pleasant while heating instant coffee and seating me on a worn but comfortable sofa. She sat next to me, folding her still lithe, muscular legs. A knitted top strained to conceal her ample bosom, with a glimpse of "D" cups peeking out. Her lips were painted a shade of blood-red but that was her only concession to make-up. To my eyes, she could make "casual" look extremely sensual. It has been so many years since I saw or even thought about her, but that "innocent" smoldering look remained. The olive-green eyes, now tinged with tears and wreathed in light crows-feet set with dark circles below, hinted at the depressed condition she lived with. And the cinnamon hair I remember from my youth, was blended with faint strands of grey. Stray tendrils hung loosely from a full bun at the nape of her elegant neck. Something about her appearance brought to mind thoughts of "the sexy MILF next door" in every guys fantasy.

When she leaned over me to pour coffee, I could practically count her ribs. That is, if her enormous boobs weren't directly in my face. Almost exactly as I dreamed they would appear, I could easily look past the few fine lines that gravity and the weight of those full cups would entail. They swung ponderously in the thin bra, just as lovely as I recalled. At that angle, only the pointy nipples were hidden from my view. Just a hint of the sinfully dark areola came to view, enough to cause the instant stiffening of my limp prick. The memories came flooding back. And a virtual calendar in my head shed pages, as our youth was revisited. It was a chore just to concentrate. I could still picture my hand squeezing her plump breast, my tongue twirling over the tawdry tip of her brown nipple and her throaty, crude desires urging me on through her seduction and capture.

Over coffee and homemade cookies, she recounted sad tales of hard luck for about a half-hour. A not-too original story I had encountered many times. An immigrant, orphaned at a young age, in a strange land, compelled to make her way in the world. Then a litany of bad breaks. I didn't even need to take notes, but I was beginning to formulate a plan. When she walked me to the door, her sweet eyes misted over as I said I would do my best for her.

It was when I reviewed her credit history back at the office, that I got my biggest surprise. It appears, that when my dad had been stationed in Germany years before I was born, he fathered a girl who eventually made her way to the States. There is no telling if either of my parents knew or approved, but there was apparently no further connection. The piano lessons were likely a fluke. So it has taken thirty-odd years to discover that I have a step-sister...or half-sister...or just some chick with my DNA and fantastic boobs!

I was able to "fudge" the derelict account info (it was the least I could do.) Nobody in the company really bothered about her building. That gave me time to think and to work on our "relationship." Working for my father twenty years ago, had been a one-time thing, and she had no idea we were related.

I understand that as a "gentleman" and a long-lost step-brother, I should reveal our ancestry and provide whatever care and support I could manage and that she might accept. Maybe the two of us could unite and talk about our lives, we could possibly arrange to meet for lunches or support each other in times of trouble. There really isn't supposed to be any other option. But there was. The option that arouses dirty thoughts in our heads and an ever-thickening cock in our khakis. An old fantasy suddenly morphing into a new opportunity. The lecherous landlord taking advantage of the distressed, underemployed immigrant with big tits, is the other choice!