Thirty - Jill Emerson [12]
I gave him the beer and made another cup of coffee for myself. We talked. The conversation went something like this:
ME: Do you go to school?
HIM: Over at East Central.
ME: I suppose they closed the schools today.
HIM: No, I cut when there’s a lot of snow. See, I can make thirty or forty bucks in a day. My old man gives me a note that I was sick.
ME: And you just go door to door looking for work?
HIM: That’s right.
ME: You must meet a lot of interesting people that way.
HIM: Well, just people, you know.
ME: A lot of lonely women.
HIM: Well, see, all I do is I shovel their snow, see, so I don’t really get to know too much about them.
ME: Oh, I’m sure a lot of them make a play for you.
HIM: I wouldn’t say that. And you know, most of them are pretty old, see, and there’s usually kids around the house or something.
ME: As old as me, for instance?
HIM: You’re not old.
ME: How old do you think I am?
HIM: Oh, I don’t know. I’m terrible at guessing ages. But to me a person is old or they’re not, see, and I would say that you’re not.
ME: Do you think I’m attractive?
HIM: You know, I’m getting funny feelings from this conversation. Like a little lost, if you know what I mean.
ME: Aren’t you going to answer my question?
HIM: I think you’re very attractive.
ME: (opening her robe): Do you really think so?
HIM: Jesus Christ.
If there seem to be parallels between this and The Graduate rest assured that I was painfully aware of them at the time. But if I was less adept at this than Mrs. Robinson, he was neither as sensitive nor as reluctant as Benjamin, which made things somewhat easier. We went to the bedroom (I almost wrote upstairs) after a couple of urgent kisses in the kitchen and another in the hallway. He was in a fantastic hurry and seemed hard put to decide whether to undress or to have me as soon as possible. He sat down on the edge of the bed and took off his shoes and socks, then his pants, then his shirt. He had his underpants on still. I got out of the robe and kicked off my slippers. He was staring at my breasts almost as intently as I was staring at the bulge in his underpants.
I said, “You’re wearing too many clothes.”
He looked down at his underpants and blushed.
And took them off.
His penis was good sized and oddly shaped. At least it looked unusual to me. I haven’t seen that many cocks. Howie’s, three boys in college, and a few pictures and statues, but the pictures and statues were never of erect ones. I suppose they must show erect ones in the little pornography shops around Times Square. I suppose there are some women who are ballsy enough to go into one of those shops and buy a magazine with pictures of men’s cocks. I am not one of those women.
This particular cock was sort of cone-shaped, much thicker at the base than at the tip, sort of like an inverted ice-cream cone.
I got on my knees in front of him and kissed the tip of it and then took its head in my mouth.
“Oh, Jesus! Oh my God!”
He was enormously excited, and worried I guess that he wouldn’t be able to make it last. He reached for me. I climbed on top of him. His hands went immediately to my breasts. I hardly noticed them. I didn’t want to be handled, I didn’t want him to touch me at all. In fact I didn’t want him to do anything. I wanted to do, I wanted to fuck him and not the other way around, I wanted to do it.
I got on my knees and I straddled him and I took his cone-shaped cock in my hand and rubbed it across myself (say the word! rubbed it across my cunt) and lowered myself on it and it sank in, sank all the way in and this feeling went through me, all through my body, and it was like losing my virginity it was exactly like that and I came instantly