It was nearly 2 when Linda parked her car in the drive. Despite her mood she was careful to leave enough space alongside her Dad's battered old Toyota so that he could get out in the morning. Last week she'd been careless and blocked the drive. He had quietly reminded her that evening that if she was going to stay out late, she should at least try and park carefully when she came home. She'd apologised, and done her little sad princess face and he'd laughed and thrown a dish cloth at her and said she was an evil child.
As she slipped out of the car she thought again how typical it was of her Dad that he was the one in the battered older car and she had the nice nearly-new one. Not brand new, Dad probably could have afforded it but one of his few flaws was his hatred of spending unnecessary money. But - he'd wanted her to have a car she wouldn't be ashamed of. And, she knew, he'd researched a load of safety tests before choosing it. He'd not said anything about that but she'd seen the magazines open with a few notes jotted in his neat handwriting in the margins. Methodical, reliable, safe, totally dependable... that was her Dad.
As she glanced up she saw a small gleam of light coming from his room. His bedside light. Once she was in and he heard her moving around downstairs, the light would go off, she knew. He always stayed awake until she came home. But he never came out to talk to her. When he'd given her the car he'd said she was free to come and go now as she pleased and he'd try and remember she was a grown-up now and he had no rights to ask her about anything that she did. If she wanted to ask his advice or just chat to him, that was of course fine, but young people at your age...
"What Dad? Please tell me your wise words Oh Ancient One? People of my age... we do what, exactly?"
Dad scowled at her. "I obviously didn't smack your bottom hard enough when you were younger."
"Afraid not, Dad. Probably too late now."
"Yes... anyway... People your age need some space and some privacy. Actually, people of any age, really. I'm just saying... I'll try and give you that space."
She was touched and also a little embarrassed. She hoped he wasn't go to try and have a repeat of the sex talk from four years ago. She'd cut that off pronto - "Dad, please, please, let's not do this. I know everything I need to know at the moment, ok? I know how babies are made, I've seen ... thingies... put on bananas, they even made us hold onto these screaming baby dolls for an hour so that we shouldn't be tempted to fall into wicked ways... so, no, please, ok?"
Dad, who was also quite red in the face, had nodded quietly. He'd stared a little dismally at the fruit bowl where as it happened a large bunch of bananas was prominent. He'd looked at the bananas, then at her, then back at the bananas, and he'd smiled a faint little embarrassed smile and she'd burst out laughing. Dad was quite cool, really, for an old person.
She was in the house now, flicking on a lamp and throwing her bag onto the sofa. Some of its contents spilled onto the cushions. She'd better be careful to pack that up. There were things in there she didn't want him seeing. Girl stuff, for that irritating time of the month. And two things her friend Angie had thrust into her hands. A 6 pack of condoms, down to 5 now. And a cream.
"You might need it, the first time. Forget all those stories about being soaking wet and everything being easy with just a tiny stab of pain before the ecstasy begins. I was petrified the first time and... well, let's just say the cream would have helped a lot."
Angie had certainly not needed it since. She was frequently regaling Linda with stories of her latest conquest. Since her first time with her second or maybe third cousin Luke (Angie had been hazy about exactly how distant the relationship was, but hadn't seemed in the least concerned about) she'd averaged a new conquest every few months. They never lasted long, Angie always found something to excuse her moving on, and Linda suspected she primarily liked the initial stages, the hunt, the pretence at being seduced.
"The first time with a new one, it's often not that great," Angie had explained to a somewhat wide-eyed Linda. "And sometimes not the second. But the third, up until say the sixth or the seventh time, when they're not so worried and they're just really into you and they're confident and you can pass on some suggestions and instructions without sounding like a nympho... they're amazing."
Linda herself hoped so. For tonight had been a first time, and it would certainly be filed under D for Disappointing.
His name was Art, short for Arthur. Funny how those two names could both capture him so perfectly. He preferred Art, the cooler name, and he did know an awful lot about cool stuff. French cinema. Art (of course). History. Literature. He was without doubt the smartest person Linda had ever been out with. And maybe just a little pretentious, with his slightly too elaborate cool hairstyle, his sandals, his way of waiting in a conversation until he could jump in with something that clearly showed that he, Art, knew Considerably More than the speaker about a topic. There was also a touch of an Arthur about him, rather fussy, perhaps a little spoilt, almost comic.
He was a teaching assistant at the college. He was twenty-two, four years older. She liked that. He seemed very confident and experienced. But, as she'd learned that evening, the fact that he was very comfortable regaling her about the progression of Hitchcock's art after he came to America didn't mean he was going to be an ideal first lover.
It had started well. Very well, in fact. He had kissed her with enthusiasm and slipped a hand under her top to cup her breast. All fine so far. More than fine. She longed for his hands to go lower, to start exploring her. But then his confidence had seemed to desert him.
"Maybe we should go slow," he'd muttered.
For an answer she'd twisted around and scrambled onto his lap, straddling him. She'd kissed him hard, pushing her tongue into his mouth. His breathing had become ragged, and she felt something deliciously insistent pushing against her groin. Angie had told her, more than once, that she just didn't know how much power girls had over boys, but she realised it now. She was the one in charge. Art - or Arthur - was just along for the ride.
Or so she'd hoped. After another few minutes of frantic kissing, she'd pushed herself backwards so she slid off his knees and down onto the floor. She pushed his legs apart and shuffled forward. His crotch was now directly in front of her.
"You have to vamp it up a bit at the key moments," Angie had said. "And a bit of bad language at the right moment can send them absolutely crazy."
So she'd looked into Art's eyes, trying to look and sound absolutely confident.
"Would you like me to suck you, Art?"
"Oh Jesus..."
She took that as a yes.
She unzipped his trousers, slowly. She thought for a moment the zip might stick and she feared for a moment her Ice Maiden routine would be spoilt by some un-lady-like inelegant tugging on the zipper, but a firm additional pull had it humming down so his fly was fully open.
Now the moment of truth, she thought. Does he wear boxers, y fronts... or does he go commando?
She stifled the urge to giggle. Ice queen, she told herself sternly.
She reached into his fly. She was amazed at how swollen the contents of his boxers seemed to be. Didn't it hurt? How was she going to wrestle that out without hurting him?
It wasn't the most elegant procedure, as it turned out, but by sliding in a second hand to assist with pulling down the waist band while the other extracted his penis the deed was done.
And there she was, Linda Hollins, finally with an erect cock in her hands.
I really should call Angie and tell her, she thought to herself, and again had to resist the urge to giggle. Angie couldn't believe she'd gone this long without actually touching one properly.
And now she had one... it was fascinating. She transferred one hand to the base and held it firmly. ("They're not like our bits," Angie had told her. "You can be pretty rough with their dicks. It can help, actually. Don't try and be subtle and gentle like you'd want them to be when going down on you or touching you. It's more like a... ping pong bat, really.") The other hand she moved to the top of his cock. Art was circumcised, she noticed with interest. The only other penis she'd seen was her fathers, at some distance a few times when she was younger and she'd wandered into the bathroom by accident when he'd been in the shower. The tip of his cock had definitely been covered by skin. She wondered if it made a big difference to the pleasure it gave and received.
This is no time to be thinking about your father's penis, she told herself.
