Julius and Me

I was looking forward to meeting Julius's parents--until I learned that we'd only be meeting one of them. It had taken me quite a while to pry out of him the fact that his mom and dad had split up several months ago, just around the time we'd gotten together. I imagine he felt ashamed of that, given his more or less conservative outlook on domestic issues. He complained that neither his father nor his mother (with whom he'd almost lost touch) would explain the causes of their separation. They weren't officially divorced yet, but a permanent breakup seemed imminent. I felt sad, of course, but largely for the selfish reason that I really wanted to meet both parents--so that I could get a better idea of what made my lover tick.

So when we came to his family home and I was introduced to his father, Henry, I was prepared to meet a man who may have been a little saddened, even shellshocked, at the departure of his wife of more than twenty years from the premises. My own separation from my husband had been bad enough, but we'd not been married nearly that long. I don't know how I would have reacted to a breakup after all that time--and I could see at once, to my grief, that Henry wasn't dealing with the situation at all well.

He was about as down in the dumps as a man could be. It wasn't that he'd come to rely on his wife for the usual cooking and cleaning that women usually tend to in a household; like Julius, Henry was a pretty good cook in his own right. It was simply that he was feeling horribly, devastatingly lonely--and he made little effort to hide it.

If he hadn't been so morose, he'd have been an exceptionally attractive man. Quite a bit darker in complexion than Julius, he was nearly as tall (five foot eleven) and was robustly muscular in physique (maybe he worked out a lot in an effort to forget about his solitude). If he'd only smiled more often he'd be a real heartbreaker for any number of women of whatever age or race. Under that lugubrious exterior I could sense a tenderness, a compassion, and a sensitivity that he had clearly passed on to his son.

There was no way that I, as a stranger, could make even the most token inquiries of Henry as to why his wife had left him--or whether he had somehow banished her from his house. After our initial meeting, Julius and I went upstairs to put our things away in his old bedroom. As we were doing that, I said to him:

"You don't think your mom... did anything she shouldn't have?"

He glared at me in an almost hostile manner. "You mean, did she cheat on him? No way."

"And I can't possibly imagine your father doing anything like that."

"Not a chance. He's very religious--goes to church several times a week."

"Then I just don't get it. Had they been arguing, or anything like that?"

"I don't think so."

"Henry really never told you

anything

about this whole situation?"

"No."

"Isn't that odd? Don't you have a right to know?"

"I guess I do. But I can't force him--or her--to spill the beans."

But as the days passed, my heart ached more and more for this splendid man trapped in his own melancholy. And when he kept glancing in my direction, looking me up and down when he thought I wasn't paying attention, I began wonder whether--

No, there's no way I could do that. Julius wouldn't condone such a thing.

But then, on the third night of our stay, Julius himself, cuddling me absently as we lay on his queen-size bed, whispered into my ear: "Why don't you sleep with him?"

A shudder passed through me. "What did you say?" I gasped.

"You heard me," he said severely, with a scowl on his face.

"You--you want me to sleep with your dad?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"It would make him feel better. He's taken a real shine to you."

"Julius, I'm

your

girlfriend--if I can call myself that." Actually, I wasn't sure what I was in relation to him.

"You slept with your dad--and your mom," he pointed out.

"Okay, yes--but that was different."

"Was it?"

"Well, maybe there are some similarities."

"It's not as if you're related to him."

"I know, Julius, but--"

"He wants you."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Can't you tell?"

"I suppose I can. But I don't really want it to seem like--" I couldn't say those most horrible words:

a pity fuck.

Julius read my mind. "I don't think it would be that. You like him, don't you?"

"More than like! He's a fabulous guy."

"He's only eight years older than you. He had me when he was twenty and Mom was nineteen."

"You don't have to rub it in." In other words, I was closer in age to Henry than I was to Julius.

"I'm just saying..."

"Okay, fine, I'll do it. When?"

"How about right now?"

"

Now?

Are you serious?"

"Why the hell not? He's lying there all by himself in his bedroom, probably pining for you."

"He's not pining for me, Julius."

"He wants you."

"You've said that." I heaved a big sigh. "Okay, I'll go."

I pried myself out of his grasp, gave myself a quick look in the mirror (I was wearing one of my more daring nightgowns in the hope that Julius--who hadn't made any effort to couple with me in this house--might be inspired), and made for the door.

"Is this too... slutty?" I said in a shaky voice.

"It'll be fine," he said, waving his hands in a gesture that said,

Get going, lady! My dad's waiting.

So I left the room and headed down the hall to where Henry was resting.

It took a little gumption to actually open the door. Julius had told me that his father was very religious, and I sensed that his disapproval of sexual irregularities might be pretty high. But perhaps he wouldn't object if I just cuddled with him for a while--maybe that's all he wanted.

He was lying on his side on the bed, facing away from the door, so he didn't notice that I was even in the room. Was he fast asleep? I circled the bed and knelt down directly in front of him. It was then that I noticed that his eyes were open.

"Hello, Henry," I said gently.

He seemed totally unsurprised at my presence. "Hello, Sandra," he said in a deep bass voice that touched something deep within me.

"Can I...?" What should I say?

Can I help you? Can I make you feel better? Do you need some sex therapy?

That struck me as just too crude and patronizing. "Can I keep you company?" I said at last.

Without changing his expression, which remained pensive if not melancholy, he made room in the bed for me to slip in.

He didn't take much note of my almost obscene nightgown, which revealed massive amounts of my cleavage and barely covered my butt. But almost as soon as I was in bed with him, he let out a strangled cry and, clutching me in desperation, placed his head between my breasts and--

And started to cry.

Oh, the poor man! I felt a surge of sympathy for him as I wrapped my arms around his head and pressed it even tighter to my chest. He began rubbing his face back and forth in the space between my breasts, then brought up a hand and tentatively grasped one breast while he held me around the waist with the other. He was obviously not used to crying, so his sobs had a harsh, unnatural sound that wrung my heart even more.

I've long recognized that women have taken the role of the comforters of men--it's something we've been doing for many centuries. Men can't or won't find this kind of comfort with other men, so we have to take on the task. I didn't think it was my strong suit, but I suppose the mere fact of my womanhood was enough for Henry.

He was now starting to get my nightgown pretty damp from his tears, so I said softly, "Henry, let me make this easier for you."

And I pulled the nightgown off over my head, so that I was now naked.

Once again, he didn't seem to find anything strange in that. Could he possibly be engaging in a kind of wish-fulfillment fantasy that I was his wife who had come back to him? Did he even

want

his wife to come back to him? At the moment he was only interested in the magic remedy that my breasts seemed to provide him. Just as Julius tended to do, he took one of my breasts in both hands, squeezed it so that the nipple stood up hard and erect, and sucked it tenderly as if hoping to draw some nourishment out of it. I would have loved to provide that to him if I could.

Then one hand slipped down to my bottom, and he gently stroked it as if getting used to its contours. No doubt this was the first female posterior other than his wife's that he'd touched in more than two decades--so maybe the act was a sort of time machine that sent him back to his youth, when he was even younger than Julius was now, and experiencing the inexpressible thrill of discovering a woman's body--and his own.

In other words, his erection was now pressing up against my thigh. He was wearing only boxer briefs, and they were already massively distorted by his desire.

I pulled the briefs down to his knees to release that aching cock of his--a good eight inches in length. The moment I did that, he took it (as it was meant to be taken) as permission to go the limit with me, in spite of the fact that I was his son's "girl." Given that I hadn't technically been a "girl" for sixteen years, the designation was faintly absurd--and I'm sure he was just as aware as Julius and I were that I was a lot closer in age to him than to his son.

He couldn't be bothered with preliminaries--no foreplay of any kind. Henry was inflamed for copulation, and he rolled me over onto my back, got on top of me, and with only a token examination with his fingers as to whether I was wet or not (I was, of course), he plunged into me.

His pounding of me became frenetic almost at the start, but I didn't mind. He was in such dire need of this that I did whatever I could to encourage him, wrapping my legs around his hips in classic female fashion as he thirstily kissed and licked and nuzzled me wherever his mouth could reach, and stroked my face and shoulders and back and breasts and bottom with hands that seemed unable to believe that they had once again encountered a woman's flesh.

And it wasn't surprising that he came within a few minutes, letting out heavy grunts as he pumped me full of his stuff--nor did it surprise me that he refused to pull out, resuming his thrusts after only a minute or two of rest. This time he went more slowly, kissing me with exquisite delicacy as he now took my own feelings into consideration. As he began thrusting more vigorously, he let a hand stray down to my delta and managed to fondle my clitoris while he continued his motions--not an easy task for a man! But I graciously accepted his attentions, and when he came again I gave him the reward for his kindness by unleashing an orgasm that shook my whole body with a succession of tremors, almost jostling him out of me. But he remained firmly embedded in my vagina, and only slipped out when my own climax had finally subsided.

Almost immediately, though, he experienced misgivings.

Breathing heavily as he lay on his back next to me, he gasped out, "We shouldn't have done that."

"Oh, Henry," I cried, nestling up to him and pressing my body against his, "it's okay. Julius wanted this--he sent me in here to make you, um, happier. And I wanted it too. You're such a dear, sweet man."

I thought he was on the verge of crying again. His eyes did seem to fill up, but he blinked the tears away.

As I felt the two huge loads of his emission slowly leaking out of me and covering the insides of my thighs, I said, "Can't you tell me what happened between you and your wife? I don't even know her name, and neither Julius nor I know what made you two break up."

"Her name is Valerie," he said grudgingly. "She--she did a bad thing."

I was struck by that. Julius was convinced that his mother hadn't been unfaithful, but Henry's simple and bitter words told a different story. "Oh, Henry, even if she did, she must still love you."

"I don't know that."

"Do you love her?"

Now he lapsed into mulish silence. The painful grimace on his face led me to think that he did have a lot of affection for his wife--but didn't want to admit it.

"Henry, please..."

But he wasn't interested in a confession. Incredibly, he'd gotten hard again and was clearly intent on another round.

I gave up my insensitive interrogation and said, "Would you like to go into my bottom?"

He nodded briefly, as if I'd asked him if he wanted an ice cream cone.

There was some hand lotion on his nightstand, so that would have to do for lube. He plugged my butt efficiently and powerfully, draping his body over mine and (as Julius so often did) reducing me to helpless passivity. But he managed to make me come with his deft fingers, just at the moment when he bathed my anus with his third emission.

We had one more coupling, with him on his back and I riding him so he could get a full view of what I had to offer as a woman. Only then did we sink into an exhausted sleep.

*

It was the very next day that I decided to take matters into my own hands.

Making an excuse to the men that I had some errands of a personal nature to run, I slipped out of the house and made my way to an apartment building a few miles away. It had been remarkably easy to look up Valerie Welker and find out where she lived.

I didn't have any second thoughts about butting my nose into Henry's affairs. I was already so intimately connected to both him and Julius that I felt I had the right. I doubted that I would make the situation any worse, and maybe I just might make it a bit better.

When I rang the intercom for Valerie's unit outside the building, I heard a tentative voice say, "Yes?"

"Are you Valerie?" I said in a voice that I wished hadn't been so shaky.

"Yes. Who is this?"

I will say that she had a nice, high, musical voice.

"I'm, um, a friend of Julius, your son. In fact, I'm his girlfriend."

She could sense my hesitation in using that word. "You are?"

"Yes. Yes, I am. Please, may I talk to you just for a little while?"

It seemed like ages before I got a response; in fact, I was half convinced she'd just turned away and wouldn't bother to buzz me in--that she was basically telling me to get the hell out of here and out of her life. But at last I did hear the buzzer that indicated she'd unlocked the front door of the building, so I slipped in and headed up the stairs to the third floor.

When I knocked on her door, I again had to wait an unusually long time before it finally opened and I got a look at Julius's mother.

She was a white woman. A gorgeous, blonde white woman.

I suppose my expression gave away my shock and surprise. She too had a generally melancholy air about her, but now she smirked out of the corner of her mouth and said, "You were probably expecting a Black woman."

"I guess I was," I managed to say.

"Well, I'm as white as they come," she said, turning on her heel and letting me enter.

The place was small but nicely furnished, although I could tell that it was still a work-in-progress: she'd probably been in the place only a few months. She was taller than me (maybe five foot eight) and was what used to be called "a fine figure of a woman": big-boned, with generous curves at bust and hips, and a fine, curvy derrière that actually made me lick my lips with incipient desire. I shook my head to cast out such unseemly thoughts and made my way to the couch, where I sat down gingerly. Valerie took her time sitting next to me, but at last she did.

She made no effort to offer me any refreshments.

"You're Julius's girlfriend? Really?" she said skeptically and with some hostility.

I sighed. "I suppose you could call me that."

"You're a lot older than him."

"Yes."

"What are you--a teacher?"

"Yes, I'm a professor."

"A professor? At his college?"

"Yes."

"And you--?" She didn't have to finish the sentence.

"That's right."

"Isn't that a bit... irregular?"

"I'll say it is. But I couldn't help it. Julius is a remarkable man. Anyway, he's not an undergraduate anymore. He's a professional athlete. You must have heard that."

"Yes, I have."

"I intend to follow him to the Chicago area and make a life with him." That made me sound like some sort of groupie, but I didn't care.

"So what do you want from me?"

I was still a little taken aback by her anger, apparently directed toward me, so I mumbled, "I'd just like to know what happened between you and Henry."

I thought this would enrage her even more, but her face suddenly crumpled up in misery. "I can't tell you!" she wailed.

"Oh, Valerie, sure you can," I said, scooting closer to her but not feeling courageous enough to embrace or even touch her. "I want to help. Henry's a wonderful man too: I--I've gotten very close to him."

I hoped she didn't sense the

double entendre

in that remark. I was aware that she would have trouble confiding in me--a woman she didn't know from Eve--especially if it involved something so delicate as having cheated on her husband; but I trusted to what I hoped was her strong sense of female solidarity to carry me through.

So when she covered her face in her hands and began to sob quietly, her shoulders shaking with emotion, I did throw my arms around her and encourage her to place her head in the crook of my neck.

That made her wail like a banshee, and she held me in an almost asphyxiating embrace as she let the tears flow. The strangeness of having both of Julius's parents pour their hearts out to me in this way was pretty striking.

I didn't know what else to do but let her paroxysm play itself out. So I just stroked the back of her head and whispered meaningless words of sympathy into her ear. It was after some minutes of this, with time seeming to be frozen as she worked through her crying jag, that Valerie did something odd.

She pulled a little away from me, gazed at me with her tear-stained face, and then pasted a long, wet kiss on my mouth.

I recognized immediately this wasn't just any kiss--nor was it a kiss inspired by my kindness to her. This was...

Well, you get the idea. I emphatically got the idea when she placed a hand on my breast.

She looked at me again, apprehensive in case she had made an assumption about me that proved to be wrong. I was in a state of total confusion. True, my lesbian experience with Tricia (and, god help me, my own mother) had left me wanting more girl-on-girl sex; and this woman was about as desirable a female as any I'd ever seen. But she was also the mother of my boyfriend (if that was what he was)--and, to top of it, I'd just slept with her husband the night before. My vagina and anus still throbbed with the feel of his cock.

My stunned inaction may have sent a message to her. I watched in fascination as with one hand she continued to squeeze my breast like an orange while the other hand snaked down my body, slipped under my skirt, came into contact with the sopping-wet crotch of my panties, pulled it aside, and began stroking my sex.

The low groan I let out convinced her she was on the right track. With gentle but relentless efficiency she unbuttoned my blouse, removed it, pulled my bra over my head without unclasping it, and fastened her lips to one of my nipples--all while her hand was still fastened to my pussy, fondling it until her fingers were slick with my juices and I was writhing and bucking with dizzying pleasure. Within minutes I cried out sharply as my orgasm radiated from my sex throughout my body, making me tremble from head to foot as her lips remained glued to my nipple.

When I managed to recover some semblance of poise, I whispered, "Would you like some reciprocation?"

Her eyes shone with desire, but a look of caution came over her face. "Sure, dearie--but just your fingers, okay?"

I shrugged inwardly: maybe she was still bowled over (as I certainly was) by the fact that we'd "gotten sexual" only minutes after we'd been introduced. She helped things along by reaching under her skirt and peeling off her panties, which she tossed aside onto the floor. As I snuggled up to her, I slipped a hand under that skirt and found her damp pussy ready for my attentions.