The Player

As soon as Vicki walked through the door, I noticed something different about the way she was dressed. These weren't new clothes, but she was wearing them differently. The only thing I could put my finger on was that her blouse wasn't tucked in. It felt different when she hugged me, too. Her movement wasn't any different, but our midsections made more contact than usual. "Mom, I have something to tell you," she said excitedly.

We walked to the living room and I sat down. I think I put it together a split-second before she got the words out. She pulled her blouse back and said, "You're gonna be a grandma!" Sure enough, she had just the beginning of a bump.

I count myself fortunate that my own happiness was more visible than the shock. "That's great!" I exclaimed. Then I stopped. "It is great, isn't it?"

"Yes!" she said indignantly.

"But you're not married," I said. I hoped my voice showed concern rather than judgment.

"Actually I am. Sort of," she said.

"When? Who? And what do you mean, 'sort of'? Either you're married or you're not."

"A couple years ago. It's not a legal marriage. We made the same kind of promises that other couples do; we just did it without a license."

"Wait, you and Bill still live in your dad's house. Is he okay with this?"

Vicki moved next to me and put her hands on mine. "Bill's my husband. And the father of your grandchild."

I didn't really have to ask, but I did anyway. "Does he make you happy?"

"Very happy. He's nice to me. We have problems like any other couple, and we talk them through. When I told him we were expecting, he went to one of those websites where they do a composite picture of what your kids would look like. He printed it out and taped it over a portrait we had made."

I reminded her, "Do you know what the laws are in our state? Never mind marriage, just having sex with him might be illegal."

I didn't raise Vicki to be a dummy. "I haven't read up on the statutes, but one time, just for the heck of it, we decided to see if there were any sex offenders in our neighborhood. There were a couple whose offense was listed as 'incest with a minor,' but none that just said, 'incest.' My hunch is that either it's legal or they only use it to get a longer sentence."

"Well, as long as you know what you're up against and Bill makes you happy, I'm glad."

Vicki didn't sound convinced. "But the baby?"

"As long as you're able to take care of him ... her, whichever, I'm not gonna criticize."

"Really? 'Cause you've talked, um, trash ... about welfare babies for as long as I can remember." (Vicki and I had boundaries that I suppose were typical. Neither one of us is afraid to use profanity, but rarely in each other's company.)

I moved my hands on top of hers. "If I ever sounded like I was criticizing the children, I'm sorry. My criticism has always been people who have kids when they know they can't afford them on their own. I never even cared when movie stars got knocked up, because I figured they probably had plenty of money."

"So you're even okay with the fact that it's my brother?"

"I'll be honest. If you were my son and daughter, if nothing else, I think it's safe to say I'd be grossed out and maybe worse. But he's not my son, and if he's good to you, I won't hold your dad's affair against him. Besides, a half-brother's pretty close, but this won't be the first member of our family whose ancestors overlap some."

* * *

I was a junior in college. My boyfriend Ted had just broken up with me because I wouldn't go to a wedding with him out of town, the weekend before I knew I was going to have a big test. On the Thursday of the weekend before that one, my friend Wendy invited me to a party the following night. A senior was throwing it at his apartment, and it was mostly his older friends. I saw one guy who was a little better dressed than the rest, and I guessed he could hold his liquor since his movements were smooth. I pointed him out to Wendy and asked, "Who's that?"

"Oh, keep away from him," Wendy warned. "Paul Francis. He's a grad student on a teaching fellowship, and he's got a reputation for bedding his students." This was back in a time when such an allegation would get you a "tut-tut," but nothing more as long as it didn't lead to anything else.

"Really!" I said, intrigued. I started to walk toward him.

Wendy tugged at my arm. "Seriously, Molly, don't!"

I turned to her and said, "I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

"How'll you get home?" she asked.

"I'll let you know," I answered. Luckily for both of us, Wendy saw a guy she'd been interested in and left me to my own devices.

I saw that Paul was drinking the last of a Miller, so I got two and walked over to him. "Hi!" I said, handing him one. "I'm Molly."

"Hi, Molly," Paul answered. "Having a good time?"

"Remains to be seen," I said. "I just got here." I touched my beer to his. "But it's looking good."

The type of guy that Wendy was trying to warn me about, you can usually put off his game by acting interested first. Paul didn't change his composure. "Glad to hear it. My roommate really knows how to throw a party."

"You live here? That seems like an important detail to leave out."

"What do you mean?" Paul asked.

"Sorry. My friend told me you're a T.A., but she didn't mention that this is your place."

"Oh, I don't live here. What I meant is, my roommate, Craig, helped Scott throw the party. I live upstairs."

"So, what do you teach?" I asked. I hoped it wasn't as trite as, "What's your major," even though it was basically the same question.

"Music," Paul answered.

"So I guess your technique is to break out the guitar and see which girl swoons?"

"Trumpet. Not that you can't make good music, but it's not the kind that gets chicks into bed, if that's what you mean."

A few years ago, I read that even if you're not drinking alcohol, the belief that you are can make you act like you're drunk. I'd barely opened one beer, so I guess that was my excuse for my behavior for the next few minutes. I giggled as if I were drunk and asked, "You mean a horn doesn't make 'em horny?"

"Nope, it's only good for when they're already horny."

I leaned in and whispered, "What if I told you I AM horny already?" I could see where his dick was. I ran my finger down his thigh, making sure I was close but not quite touching it.

Paul said, "Good thing there's a party down here, so no one will hear us upstairs, right?"

A plan was forming in my mind. "Better idea. My roommate's away," I suggested. "Come back to my place."

Paul didn't need to be convinced. "Let me go get one of my performance tapes."

"Not your trumpet?" I asked.

"Musical instruments aren't cheap," Paul explained. "I don't like to take it out unless I have to. Besides, I can't squeeze you and the trumpet at the same time." He squeezed my left buttock as he said it.

I found Wendy with a guy's hands under her shirt and told her Paul was taking me home. She cooed, "Okay, see ya," as she got her hand inside the back of his pants.

I made it back to the front door just as Paul returned. Remembering what I'd just done, I asked, "Does Scott know you're leaving?"

"He will. I left him a note."

I continued my attempts at sexy repartee on the way back to the dorm, telling him how disappointed I was that I wouldn't get a chance to blow his instrument. He picked up on that one and said, "Play your cards right, and you'll get your chance later."

I made sure we walked out in the open as we got to the dorm. It's a single building with two wings where women lived and two where men lived. When I got to my floor, I yelled out, "Man on the floor!" for anyone's benefit. I saw at least one woman poke her head out. I deliberately left my door open. If anyone had asked, I'd say I was used to the rule they used to had that you have to keep the door open if there's an opposite-sex visitor. When we got inside, I told him, "My name's Francis too."

"With an 'e,' though, right?"

"I wish," I explained. "My great-grandmother was named Molly. It doesn't bother me that they named me Molly Brown, because not enough people know the theatre reference to matter any more. But my grandmother's maiden name on my mom's side was Francis, so they gave me that name, and I've had to tell everyone from colleges to the license bureau that it's spelled with an 'i.'"

"You have it easy," Paul told me. "I have a classmate, a guy, and his name is Frances with an 'e.' He goes by Frank and he doesn't let anyone see anything official unless he has to."

That kind of talk was getting way too unsexy. I motioned for him to sit on the bed. I switched my stereo to the tape input, and Paul gave me the cassette. I put it in and sat down next to him. Sure enough, it had some really nice, smooth sounds. I could tell by the sound quality that it was a professional-calibre recording. The music made me really comfortable rubbing my side against his. "Yeah, I see what you mean," I told him.

As we listened to him play, he put his hand on my thigh. If he was going for my crotch, he did a great job of making it seem accidental. When he got to the place where I'd normally balk, I leaned to the side and rubbed my cheek against his. He moved his finger just outside the crotch of my pants and traced the cresae between my leg and torso, ending up at my hip. I tried to respond in kind, but male anatomy meant that I couldn't be quite as subtle. As soon as I touched his dick, it got hard. "I told you it has that effect," he said.

I stroked his cock once, then asked, "What's that saying about, 'Music hath charms'?"

"Music hath charms to calm the savage beast."

"Beast?" I asked, and I started to take my shirt off.

"That's the version we use in class, but it's really--"

I reached behind myself and unfastened my bra. "Breast, right?"

"Uh, right. Breast!"

I pulled the left strap off of my shoulder. "Or left, Whichever you prefer." Paul pulled the strap forward and laid me back. He moved over me and licked my nipple, which hardened on contact. "Looks like you charmed it," I said. He sucked on the nipple. "Ooh, Paul," I moaned. He put his hand under my side, which slid the bra over and exposed my other tit, and he gave that one the same treatment. I could feel him trying to get his hand inside my underwear, but I wasn't ready yet. I pushed him off and toward the wall. I lifted myself on one arm and let him slide in underneath me. I rubbed my crotch lightly against his just to confirm that he was hard. He was. I rubbed harder, but it didn't do any more for me.

"Would you like to get more comfortable?" Paul asked.

"Yeah. Why don't you take your pants off, and I'll do the same?" We both had them off in the time between the songs. I got back on top of him and braced myself against the headboard. We resumed rubbing our crotches. I could see the outline of his cock, and I positioned myself so the bulge at the bottom of his underpants went between the cleft in my pussy lips. Occasionally he'd get one of my nipples into his mouth. Eventually he got a mouthful of tit-flesh and wouldn't let go. I accidentally shifted my legs and felt the shape of his cockhead at my cunt. If we hadn't had underwear on, he'd be fucking me already. "Oh, Paul! Oh, Paul! Oh, Paul!" I said. I wasn't shouting, but it was nowhere near whispering by now.

"Please, Molly! Let me!" he implored.

"Not tonight," I said, "but I'm calling you on your promise." I got off him, pulled his cock out and stroked it with my hand.

"Oh, God! Shit! Molly!" he screamed. I held his underwear down enough that his cock was pointing straight up and licked it up and down. He pulled the hem of my panties to one side and tried to finger me.

I got off him so he couldn't do anything, but I screamed, "Yeah! Paul! Make me come!"

Paul gathered himself enough to say, "I'm trying, but you won't let me."

"I'm on my period," I told him. "Wanna get together next week?"

"Sure!"

We put our clothes back on, and I escorted him to the parking lot. Because of the test on Monday, we decided on Tuesday.

On the Wednesday in between, I ran into Ted. "What did you do Friday night?" he asked angrily.

"What's it to you?" I asked.

"People told me my girlfriend had sex with a professor. Did you? Did you screw him?"

"I'm not your girlfriend, remember?"

"Then you did have sex?"

"Anyone who tells you I screwed a teacher is lying, and besides, it's none of your business," I told him.

"Maybe not, but what about your own reputation?"

"I'll worry about that, thank you."

I wasn't on my period, but I'd done what I'd accomplished. I got a B on my Art Appreciation test. Since it was a general education class, I was quite satisfied with that grade. Then I set my sights on Paul again. He took me to a nice restaurant. Actually, as college-town restaurants go, this was a four-star. I don't know if music majors get tired of talking to people who merely enjoy music, but Paul didn't. He liked to play jazz, and he was learning the new field of digital recording equipment. I told him a little about my studies and my family, neither of which was very interesting to me, but he paid rapt attention. After dinner, we got in Paul's car and I said, "Back to your place?"

"If you want," Paul said. If this was his technique, I had to give him credit for being really, really subtle about it. It turned out Scott was there. We sat on the couch and talked some more, and we managed a little bit of petting, but we didn't dare do anything else. I learned so much about music that I could have passed the Music Appreciation class instead of the art class that had led indirectly to breaking up with Ted.

On Saturday afternoon, Paul was doing his master's performance, so we made a date to go out right after that. It was nice, because we were both dressed up, him in a tuxedo and me in a strapless dress. Since we were so dressed up, we went dancing. Even though this was around the peak of disco, it was a regular ballroom. Afterward, Paul told me that Scott had gone home for the weekend. "Nice!" was all I could say.

This was better than I could have hoped. Ted and I had stripped each other's clothes off a couple times, but formal wear made it even more exciting. I'd never seen a cummerbund before, so I let Paul take that off himself. I unbuttoned his shirt and unbuckled his pants. He let them fall. I turned around and he unzipped my dress. I lifted it up and let it fall to the floor. In those days, my torso could support a strapless dress on its own, so I was wearing nothing underneath but panty hose and shoes, and the shoes were off in a second. Paul stood there in his underwear and stared at me. "Do you know how beautiful you are?" he asked.

"No, why don't you tell me?" Finally I was going to see how he managed to seduce his students.

He stroked my hair. "Your black hair. It's so wavy, it makes me think of the flying scene in the Ring Cycle." He lifted my hair up and kissed the back of my neck. "Your neck makes me wish I were a vampire." Still holding my hair up, he waved it left and right, just touching my back. "Your back and shoulders are so beautiful, your muscles are so perfect, if I were a painter, I'd use them as a landscape." He moved around front. "And seeing your breasts, I understand why they're called melons. They're so perfectly round, I just want to bite into one." He kissed the left and then the right, and he worked his way down to the hem of my pantyhose.

"What about the rest of me?" I asked.

"I haven't seen it yet, obviously," Paul answered.

"I think we should fix that," I told him. I lay on the couch and lifted my legs. Paul took each shoe off and rubbed the heel after. He knelt between my legs and pulled on the hem of my pantyhose. When my pussy was exposed, he aimed his lips at my bush and got the side of one my lips. He pulled the hose the rest of the way off and resumed his attention to my pussy. He sifted through my pubic hair until he found my lips again. He ran his fingers up and down the cleft and separated them. Soon his tongue was inside me, making long strokes from my clit almost to the perineum. I urged him to go deeper. He put my legs over his shoulders and reached way inside me with his tongue.

"Move onto your back," Paul said. I did, and he joined me on the couch.

I was ready and waiting for him to make me come by eating me, but when he got up, I could see how hard he was, and I wanted to see more. "Hey, I'm naked," I said. "You should be too." He took his underwear off and kicked it to the side. It landed on top of my dress. I'd seen longer dicks, but not one that looked as glorious in its erection. "Make love to me," I said. I spread my legs, and he accepted my invitation. I could feel each critical spot that his bulbous head touched as it got closer to my cervix. Paul kissed me on the lips. I opened my mouth, and our tongues joined as seamlessly as our genitals.

"Shit! I forgot my protection," Paul said.

"You don't need it," I assured him.

"Good, 'cause I'm coming!"

"Me too!"

I lay there enjoying how his cock felt inside me, even after it went soft. After a few minutes, he asked, "Do you have to go any place tomorrow?"

"Not till the afternoon," I said.

"Wanna spend the night?"

"I thought you'd never ask," I answered. He led me to the bed and turned the lights off. As soon as he was in bed, I found his dick. "This is your reward for eating me without asking the same," I told him. I slobbered over it and took it slowly into my mouth. I waited for his hand on my head, but it never came. That made me want him even more. I bobbed up and down, playing with his balls when I could manage it. He wasn't quite long enough to reach my throat, but I counted that as a bonus. The last time I tried to tickle his balls, I couldn't find them. I realized they'd been drawn up inside his sac, and I knew what was coming. I let him out briefly and said, "In case you're wondering? Yes, I will." I took him back into my mouth and swallowed every drop of cum he could produce.

"Damn, Molly, you're amazing," was all he could say. I got off him, and we kissed. "That's what I taste like? Hmm."

"What? I don't mind."

"I guess it's a taste you only enjoy if you know how you got it," Paul said.

"I've heard you can change the taste by eating different things," I told him. "But since I've never wanted to swallow before, I didn't pay attention to the details."

We were both getting sleepy. I turned my back to him. I didn't want to try anal sex, but his hard dick felt nice rubbing up against my butt. I lifted my leg and let it bounce on top of my inner thigh. I brought my leg back down, and he dry-humped me. It was more than a dry hump, actually. The way he angled himself, the top of his dick tickled my pussy lips repeatedly and I almost came from that! He'd already come once in my pussy and once in my mouth, so he didn't have much in reserve, but soon I felt a small load erupting. Most of it got on my stomach, but I found a little in my bush when I woke up. We fucked again in the morning before he made me breakfast, and he barely got me back to the dorm in time for lunch.

The next weekend we went to a movie and came back to my room. I really was on my period this time, so we talked and made out a little. (I lied and said it was early this time.) We continued going out, and I visited him once at his office for no real reason. By now, I'd forgotten about trying to piss Ted off.

One day Paul told me his aunt was getting married in a few weeks and asked if I'd like to join him. "Is it far from here?" I asked.

"About an hour away. I've got the hotel room; I'd just have to make it a reservation for two instead of one."

The thought of going to a wedding with him excited me, and not just because we'd be able to sleep in a bed together with no roommates. I pictured him introducing me. I imagined dancing with him and someone wanting to cut in. I even had a good dress ready, because--crap. "When is it, exactly?"