Sex in the Sky

I’m not a stalker. I’m just shy, especially around good-looking guys, and Mark was the handsomest man I’d ever seen. Adjectives fail to describe him, but what else have we to use? He’s twenty-something, tall, tan, and blonde; he has blue eyes, broad shoulders, washboard abs, and an all-over muscular look, with sinewy arms and legs, and a tight, compact ass. Although I haven’t seen his genitals–yet–I’d bet they’re just as handsome–beautiful, even–as the rest of his gorgeous body.

He works at the local branch of the county library system. I know, I know–it’s hard to believe that a librarian could be all that sexy. A carpenter, sure. A cop, definitely. A cowboy, absolutely. But a librarian? All I can say is you haven’t seen Mark, because, if you had, you’d agree: he’s sexier than any gay stereotype. Besides, he’s not really a librarian. He’s a librarian’s assistant. Basically, that means he re-shelves returned books. It’s a way to earn money, he says, while he’s going to college, where he’s studying to be a doctor. Of course, I didn’t know that when I first met–or, rather, laid eyes on–him, and that’s what I’m writing about, at the moment, at least, so I assumed he was a librarian. After all, he worked in a library.

I’m an English major at the same school Mark attends. Mrs. Matthews, my English Comp 2 teacher, had just assigned us a 15-page research paper–15 pages! Can you believe it?–so I’d come to the library in search of materials with which to support and develop my thesis that a special kind of joy, which I’ve dubbed “Boy Joy,” derives from man-to-man intimacy. I decided on this topic for two reasons. First, I believe it. Second, it earned Mrs. Matthews’ silent, but unmistakable, disapproval–not from an academic, but from a personal, point of view. She allowed me to “explore” my ideas, as she put it, but her face and demeanor informed me that, personally, she did not approve of such a topic. Perhaps she thinks man-to-man sex is immoral instead of just deliciously decadent.

In any event, instead of watching a video at home, I’d driven to the nearest branch of the county library system, which is about 10 minutes from my apartment, and it was here that I first laid my astonished eyes on The World’s Handsomest Man, as I nicknamed Mark Lane.

Too shy to approach this fabulous hunk directly, I found a table that offered me a good view of him, but also allowed me to hide behind a conveniently placed column. I could see him, but he couldn’t see me (or so I thought) unless I moved out from behind the pilaster. I had brought quite a stack of books to the table with me, to peruse. Their titles suggested my research topic: The Superiority of Male Love, Same-Sex Bliss, and The Joy of Gay Sex. As I took notes, wrote summaries, copied direct quotations, and paraphrased key passages that I thought would lend credibility and authority to my thesis, I sneaked a peek across the room at Mark, who was working behind the circulation desk, gathering book returns and placing them on a wheeled cart comprised of several shelves. What I was learning was interesting, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off Mark. Stealing glimpses of him as I worked, I was having trouble focusing on my research. I watched his muscles ripple and flex under his shirt, and I imagined myself kneeling before him, my forehead resting against the firmness of his belly, his cock in my mouth. He’d look my way, though, and these images would flee my thoughts as quickly as they’d come, as I’d return my attention quickly to the book open on my table. Although I didn’t believe that he could see me, the pillar between us, as it was, cutting off his view, I wasn’t 100 percent positive. After all, I could see him well enough, if I just peered around the side of the column. Maybe he could see me, watching him. When he gazed in my direction, it seemed to me that he saw me; indeed, it seemed that his eyes were on mine, although this perception could have been caused by nothing more than my anxiety at the chance that he might spy me spying on him.

For the next fifteen minutes, I managed to resist the numerous temptations to cast another look Mark’s way. As a result, I made some progress in my research, learning about Zeus’ love for a young boy, Ganymede, whose name means “rejoicing in virility,” whom he carried off to Mt. Olympus to serve as the gods’ cupbearer and, according to most authorities on the incident, Zeus’ lover. Although, according to one source, this myth was sometimes understood as an allegory of the soul’s ascent to paradise, it is more commonly regarded as a justification for pederasty, or the homosexual love of an older suitor for a younger lover, which also flourishes as a theme in the art of Michelangelo, Correggio, Parmigianino, and Guilio Romano. Despite the disapproval of the medieval Catholic Church of nudity in art, the Ganymede theme continued to be represented, occasionally, in such works as Annibale Carracci’s Rape of Ganymede, Pietro de Cortona’s Planetary Rooms, and Inigo Jones’ Coelum Brittanicum, and other artists also created works of the same title as Carraaci, including Rembrandt and Peter-Paul Rubens. “Zeus’ abduction of the Greek youth got a lot of press, so to speak,” I scribbled in my notes.

Plato, I discovered, had an interesting theory as to the origin of homosexual love, too. In The Symposium, he contends, through Aristophanes, that, in creating the sexes, the gods first created three human beings. One was male, the second was female, and the third was an androgynous mixture of both. The gods then split these three humans into two halves. The resulting individuals, some of whom are male, others of whom are female, and still others of whom are androgynous, seek to find their missing halves, or soul mates. Some men hook up with women, some women with men, and some androgynous males with androgynous females. Of course, some men also find other men with whom to share their lives, some women find other women with whom to settle down, and some androgynous males live with other androgynous males while their female counterparts unite with other androgynous females. All that matters from Plato’s point of view is that one finds his or her soul mate, the sex and gender of whom is irrelevant.

I also found, in one of my books, a reproduction of an Édouard-Henri Avril painting depicting anal intercourse between the Roman emperor Hadrian and his male lover, Antinous. They are in Egypt, as a view of the pyramids outside their window and the presence of a female servant, arrayed only on an Egyptian headdress, ornate collar, and armbands, indicate. She fans the two lovers, her features composed and serene, as if she has witnessed same-sex sex among men (and, perhaps, these two men in particular) many times. Antinous kneels on a divan, atop a tucked-in sheet, supporting himself on his right elbow. His left arm, bent at the elbow, is partially raised. Beside him, the emperor’s cloak lies, where Hadrian has cast it after undressing. The emperor, kneeling behind his lover, rests his left hand upon Antinous’ shoulder, his erection between the youth’s buttocks. “A timeless moment,” I observe in my notes. Maybe I would include a copy of the reproduction in an appendix to my paper, I thought. That would really meet with Mrs. Matthews’ disapproval!

Finally, I could no longer suppress the desire to gaze upon The World’s Handsomest Man, but, when I stole a glance in his direction, he wasn’t behind the circulation desk anymore! My heart sank. Surely, he hadn’t gone home? I consulted my watch. It was 6:30 PM. That would be an odd, but not impossible, time for one’s shift to end, I thought. Remembering the cart upon which he’d been stacking books, I sighed, relieved by the thought that, most likely, he was simply returning books that the library’s patrons had brought back to their places on the shelves. I returned to my studies, but I couldn’t concentrate, even on the superb, full-color illustrations of various male-male sexual acts depicted in Charles Silverstein’s and Felice Picano’s encyclopedic tome, The Joy of Gay Sex. I tried Walt Whitman’s poems about man-to-man love:

The Stranger

Passing stranger! You do not know how longingly I look upon you,

You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me, as of a dream),

I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,

All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,

You grew up with me, were a boy with me, or a girl with me,

I ate with you, and slept with you—your body has become not yours only, nor left my body mine only,

You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass—you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return

I am not to speak to you—I am to think of you when I sit alone, or wake at night alone,

I am to wait—I do not doubt I am to meet you again,

I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

Sighing, I closed my books. It was no use. I couldn’t focus, couldn’t read, couldn’t think.

Standing, I stretched, using this ploy as an excuse to look to my left and to my right, to turn and look behind me. The World’s Handsomest Man is nowhere to be seen. Maybe he’s gone to the men’s room, I thought.

If so, I’m not following him there, I told myself.

Of course, I did.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t at one of the sinks or urinals, and the doors of both toilet stalls were open, indicating their occupant-free status.

I left the restroom and walked briskly to the elevator and punched the “Up” button. After a few moments’ wait that seemed forever, the doors finally slid open, I stepped into the empty car, and pushed the button for the second floor.

Downstairs, on the library’s main floor, were the circulation desk, where Mark had been working before his sudden disappearance–I knew I shouldn’t have taken my eyes off him, I thought–the reference librarian’s desk; the reference section, crammed with general and specialized encyclopedias, dictionaries, atlases, manuals, and other resources; offices for key personnel; restrooms; study carrels and tables; and periodicals, especially newspapers and popular magazines (except Playboy, Playgirl, or any gay magazine).

The second floor contained the collections of books concerning computer science, philosophy, psychology, religion, social sciences, language, science, technology, art and recreation, literature, and history and geography.

The third floor housed special collections, rare books, and more offices. Since it seemed that, since The World’s Handsomest Man was setting books on a return cart, to return them to the shelves, he was most likely on this, rather than the third, floor. The problem was that the library was huge, running the distance of almost four blocks long by three blocks deep. Mark could be anywhere within this distance, among the stacks or elsewhere. It wasn’t quite the same thing as trying to find a needle in a haystack, but it would be similar. Still, his surpassing good looks were inspirational, and I had no doubt but that I’d manage to find him.

The library was as dimly lit as it was warm. According to the county supervisors, the county was experiencing yet another “budgetary crisis.” To keep costs down, every other fluorescent light bulb had been removed from the building’s hundreds of fixtures, new library acquisitions had been suspended indefinitely, and the air conditioner had been set to maintain a toasty temperature of 70 degrees throughout the summer, no matter how hot the days became. As cost-cutting measures, these actions seemed dubious, but, according to the local newspaper’s editorials, they weren’t really designed to curtail expenses. They were meant to pressure taxpayers into agreeing to a new tax or a higher tax to finance services that, in the past. had been provided for decades without revenue increases but were suddenly somehow unaffordable. So far, the public had resisted these attempts to coerce more money from its billfolds and purses; hence, the library’s dim warmth.

Shadows filled the warehouse-size room. The stacks were high and long, with only about four feet between each collection of book-lined shelves. In addition, along the walls, there were many nooks and crannies, some occupied with locked glass showcases in which ancient and more recent displays kept out from underfoot, attracting little attention, or with doors to offices or restrooms. About half way down the west wall, the stairs leading to the first and third floors opened. All in all, the place was, because of its size, its clutter, the dim light, its almost total silence, its shifting shadows, and its apparent isolation, a little unsettling, even a bit eerie. Among books by such masters as Nathaniel Hawthorne, Edgar Allan Poe, H. P. Lovecraft, and Stephen King, it wouldn’t be hard to let one’s imagination run away with him.

I jumped as I heard what sounded like a gunshot. I thought about running, but, by the time I reached either the elevator or the stairs, the gunman could easily shoot me. Besides, if The Handsomest Man in the World was up here, as I suspected, he might need my help. I couldn’t just turn tail and leave him to a crazy killer’s mercy. Instead, I should creep forward, slowly and silently, moving forward, in the direction of the gunshot, and pausing periodically to peer through spaces between books to see what I could see. I shivered at the thought that I might thus come face to face and eye to eye with the gunman.

A more horrible idea occurred to me. What if The Handsomest Man in the World had been shot? He might be wounded, bleeding to death, as I creep forward at a snail’s pace. Pausing to select the largest book both in area and in thickness, that I could readily locate, thinking it might be useful as a club, if not a shield, I hastened forward, darting glances down each successive aisle as I hurried past the seemingly endless stacks of books.

You can imagine my relief–and my chagrin–at discovering that the “gunshot” was actually nothing more than a book, as large as the one I carried, which a heavyset young woman with red hair and enormous tits had dropped. The sound of it’s landing flat on its back upon the tiled floor of the aisle in which she stood, about to pick up the heavy tome, had been the “gunshot” I’d heard–or thought I’d heard. She was facing in my direction, and she looked mortified. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, recovering the book and clutching it to her bosom in one quick motion. She quickly turned the cover toward her chest, but not before I’d read its title and discovered the source of her embarrassment. She was not mortified by having dropped the book, as I’d supposed, but by the chance that I might have seen her choice for reading. The title of her book was Lesbian Love: A Passionate Primer. She waddled past me, striding as quickly as she could on her stout legs. You go, girl! I thought, pleased to have found a female counterpart to my own interest in same-sex lovers.

I relaxed, not realizing how tense I’d been just moments ago, when I’d thought there might be a gunman in the library, ready to kill me as, perhaps, he’d already killed the youth of whom I thought as The Handsomest Man in the World, but whose actual name, I would learn, was Mark.

I continued my search, peering down each aisle I passed. Suddenly, as I neared an alcove along the west wall, I saw a figure dash from one of the stacks, fleeing for the stairs directly ahead of him, a wild look–an expression of fear and horror–on his handsome face, and, with a shock, I realized that it was the young man I was seeking, the librarian (as I thought of him then, although, as I have indicated, he was really but a librarian’s assistant). In seeing me, it looked as if he’d seen a ghost–or a monster.

But why?

I’m not the world’s handsomest man (that’s Mark!), but I’m not hideously unattractive, either. If I had to assign a letter grade to my looks, I’d give myself a solid “B.” (Mark, on the other hand, is definitely a “A” plus.) The mere sight of me has never made another guy run for his life or look at me as if he’d seen a demon out of hell.

Then, I realized he’d been frightened of me for the same reason I’d been afraid of the fat redheaded lesbian. The book she’d dropped had sounded like a gunshot. I’d discovered the true cause of the sound, but Mark hadn’t. As far as he could know, I could have been the gunman he no doubt had imagined, just as I had.

Laughing at the thought that he had mistaken me for a non-existent gunman, I clambered down the stairs, back to the library’s first floor.

On the way downstairs, however, I realized that the misunderstanding might not be as amusing as I’d initially thought. There was no reason that he shouldn’t continue to suppose that I was a gunman. He’d fled so quickly that he might not have noticed that I wasn’t packing heat. He might think I’m still armed and that, for some reason, I want him dead.

He wasn’t at the circulation desk. He wasn’t in the stacks or one of the offices. He wasn’t in the men’s room. He was, I found, nowhere to be seen.

Although, normally, I am hesitant to approach others, I had to know what had become of The handsomest Man in the World. Had he, terrified, simply fled the library, leaving his job behind? If so, he’d probably be fired. Had I scared him to that extent? If so, he might go to the police and, although, ultimately, I would be cleared (I hoped!), meanwhile I’d have to answer some mighty embarrassing questions. Why had I been staring at the young man? Why had I followed him upstairs? What had made the loud noise that had sounded like the report of a gun? The police might even get a court order to view the records of my library checkouts. If they saw such volumes as The Superiority of Male Love, Same-Sex Bliss, and The Joy of Gay Sex among the book titles I’d checked out, they might think I’d been stalking the youth who’d run in terror from me just minutes ago. I had to know what had become of the librarian’s assistant and under what pretext, if any, he’d left work.

Gathering my nerve, I approached the librarian stationed behind the circulation desk. In doing so, I imagined her, on the witness stand at my trial, telling the prosecutor, as she pointed me out in the courtroom as the defendant, “That’s the young man who approached me, asking about Mark’s whereabouts.” I almost decided not to go through with it, but I had to ask; I had to know.

At the desk, I cleared my throat.

The librarian, a middle-age woman, slightly overweight, in a simple dress that was uglier than it was non-descript, looked up at me, staring over her granny glasses. “Yes?” she said curtly.

“The young man who works here, the librarian–” I began.

She frowned. “Who?”

Maybe a description would help. “The Handsomest man in the World,” I almost said. Instead, I described him as “tall, with dark eyes and hair, wearing a blue sports shirt and black slacks.” He also has broad shoulders, perfect abs, a muscular build, a tight, compact ass, and, I’d bet, a gorgeous cock and balls, I added to myself.

“Oh, you mean Mark Lane,” she said, a slight smile cracking her granite countenance. “He’s a librarian’s assistant.”

Apparently, The handsomest Man in the World was liked and admired even by a Gorgon like her. So that was his name, I thought. Mark. Mark Lane.

Then, Madam Medusa looked suspicious. “Why are you asking about Mark?”

“He’s a friend,” I lied. “He asked me to meet him here; we were going to have dinner together.”

Her eyes narrowed still more as she regarded me as if I were a cockroach. “He went home early,” she said.

“Oh.”

“He said he wasn’t feeling well.”

“Thanks,” I said, relieved that he’d at least made an excuse for his abrupt departure. That meant that, probably, he’d be back. He hadn’t quit or put himself in danger of being fired. He’d be back to work. Most likely, he wasn’t going to go to the police about me, either. I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Maybe I’ll show you, some time.”

She knew her father had no clue what she was talking about. But to her, the joke was so funny. And also, very possible.

To have a man by the balls, all a woman had to do was…

I broke the kiss whilst I still could. My desire for this amazing young woman was burning but I felt that we needed to talk. ‘Jenny,’ I started, before realising I didn’t really know how to continue.

Sensing this Jenny replied to the unspoken question. ‘I’m glad it happened. I hadn’t planned it this way but when the others went out I felt I should distance myself from C & C’s teasing. From when I saw you lying on your bed naked and aroused everything just happened so naturally.’

This put me at my ease, partly because of what she said but mostly by the soft, sincere way she spoke. I then clicked that the rest of the girls had gone out. I wasn’t embarrassed for myself to be found in bed with one of their mates (ok not too embarrassed then) but I was worried for Jenny. Another realisation was pregnancy. ‘Jenny, about what happened, before I even try to comprehend why a gorgeous young woman would give herself to me, I just want you to know there’s no risk of pregnancy. I had the snip nearly ten years ago.’

‘I wasn’t worried, it’s the wrong time of the month anyway for that.’

I wondered how many single mothers had thought that before, but I decided to keep that thought private. ‘As for why you, as I said it wasn’t planned although I’ve always liked you. You listen; you care, unlike boys my age. I’ve always preferred older men but I’d not planned on one that old!’ she finished with a giggle.

‘Thanks, that really makes me feel great,’ I said with obvious insincerity, though thankful for the giggle. Jenny had cuddled up close to me and my “other” brain was telling me it’d had enough of the talking. I decided to listen. I had no idea of a future for this relationship but I sure as hell was going to enjoy it whilst I could.

Just before I did anything Jenny sent my heart reeling when she said, ‘but I certainly chose right, if unintentionally. I couldn’t have asked for a better first lover.’

Not about to contradict her I pushed her onto her back and set about kissing her face, lightly flicking her nose with my tongue before moving to her neck and ears. Nibbling her lobes, and running my tongue up and down her silky neck. I moved my mouth to her flawless breasts, taking immense pleasure in making her nipples as hard as my cock was. I gently bit and licked them before briefly removing my mouth to allow the cool air to create further sensations. My hands and fingers traced every part of her upper body, sometimes lingering, sometimes squeezing, but always touching. Hearing the change in her breathing I let my hand drift over the soft firmness that only a fit, young stomach can manage. My fingers lingered there to raise the tension as I felt her body leave the bed to try and speed my attention to the part of her body that we both knew to be the final destination. The desire to please this ultra feminine woman controlled my mind and actions. I moved down the bed to position my head above her flat stomach and just looked at the perfection before me. I stroked around her pubes, gently running my hands down the outside of her legs before letting them return up the inside of her thighs, skirting by ever decreasing amounts, the soft pleasures of her pussy with its delicate coating of black hair. The fact that Jenny was allowing me to please her I still struggle to understand, but it seems that that struggle is making my pleasure far more intense. As my eyes feasted on the beauty before them my mind wanted to remain like this forever, but at last I yielded to my body and let my mouth move to her waiting pussy. The aroma waiting for me told me all I needed to know.

Jenny was enjoying this as much as I am. I traced my tongue along the outside of her moist slit, not yet probing. By the second run over her wet pussy, Jenny was so wet that even without any pressure from my tongue her lips opened up to reward me with nectar not found on even the brightest flower. I savoured the taste as I my tongue probed deeper. Jenny was moaning and had her hands on my head directing my actions to meet the needs of her young body. I willing took that direction and moved my tongue to cover her clit. A few flicks to establish contact before letting my lips grip and suck her sensitive bud. It’s not long before I was rewarded with her first orgasm. I quickly moved my mouth to lap up the honey of my efforts. As my tongue delved deep into her pussy her hands clasped my head forcing my face hard into her sex as that first orgasm increases until she screams. Releasing me, she pulled me up to kiss her, tasting her own juices still in my mouth.

‘Now. Make love to me,’ she whispered.

I didn’t need a second invitation. Already in place my cock found her entrance as if it had known her body its entire life. No hands were needed to guide my cock as it entered Jenny for the second time. With no barrier to impede its progress my cock slowly impaled Jenny to the full. I felt Jenny wrap her legs behind me determined that this contact should not be broke. I began to move my hips, mainly forcing my manhood in and out of Jenny’s soaked pussy, but also moving in a gentle circular motion stimulating her clit with each thrust. Throughout, our lips never broke the kiss, our tongues as intertwined as our sexual organs. The tempo grew and I felt Jenny tremble with beginnings of another orgasm. This led me to even greater passion until I could not hold back much longer. Her tight pussy urged me to part with my sperm. Once I knew that Jenny’s orgasm was unstoppable I gave in to my own. We came together with both of us filling Jenny’s pussy with our come.

I was breathing hard and could feel my heart beating as I lifted myself onto my hands to save Jenny from my weight. It also enabled me to look down and study the object of my desire. Her glistening black hair framed her young beauty. I continued to look, unable to believe my luck, until I could feel my heartbeat return to somewhere near normal.

‘What are you looking at?’ Jenny asked.

‘An extremely beautiful young woman,’ I replied honestly.

‘I’m not beautiful. C&C are the beautiful ones not me,’ she argued.

‘They wear a thin veneer of beauty, you’re beautiful all through,’ I said ducking my head to give her a quick kiss to emphasise my words. Jenny’s face, already red from our exertions, went even more crimson, but her smile betrayed her. She obviously enjoyed the well-deserved compliment. Emotionally I knew that I’d need to be careful though, her body had already got through to my body. Now the softest of smiles was comfortably getting round my well-fortified defences. My soft cock was still in her and I was getting the odd twinge to tell me it was hoping for more of the same. Before I could start something I maybe couldn’t complete I heard the door bang downstairs as the girls returned from their expedition to the local shops. I expected Jenny to jump at the sound of her friends’ return but she lay still, returning my look.

‘I suppose that means we’d better get up,’ she commented after a few minutes.

‘I could stay here all day, but I think you’re probably right,’ I said as with great reluctance I rolled off Jenny. Jenny grabbed her bikini and sauntered out of the room and I heard her go into the bathroom, followed by the sound of the shower. I decided to stay where I was to give Jenny time to greet her pals. I also intended to wallow in smug satisfaction. I hoped that I would see a lot more of Jenny but it was to be her decision.

I waited half an hour before going downstairs. The weather was still a bit cloudy although it had stopped raining so I wasn’t sure if the girls would be inside or out by the pool. As it turned out they were inside lounging around telling Jenny about all the great clothes she’d missed seeing, As Cherie noticed me she shouted ‘Hi’ quickly followed by a chorus from the rest of the team. I sat down and straight away Cherie turned and splayed her legs apart to display her barely covered pussy. I looked away and I must have gone red for a few giggles followed, including one from Jenny whose voice and sounds I now had no difficulty recognising amid the others.

Amy was just as bad as the others when she said laughing. ‘What’s up Dad?

You look as if you’ve been thinking naughty thoughts.’ If only she knew. Further gentle teasing went on for about forty-five minutes until they deemed it warm enough to return to the arduous task of topping up their tans. On leaving Claire dropped her top clothes she’d worn for shopping to reveal the bikini she’d been wearing earlier making sure to bend over in a provocative manner when she stooped to collect the discarded clothes.

I went back to my study to see if I could get at least some work done that day. With Jenny on obvious display outside my window it was doomed to failure from the start. When the others were asleep or just lying with eyes closed Jenny came up to my window, lowered her hand inside her bikini briefs. I watched her finger through the flimsy material, as it seemed to delve into her pussy. Quickly she removed it, put it in her mouth and turned to dive into the pool.

‘God! I thought it’d been hard enough with the others teasing but now with Jenny joining in it would be impossible. I thought it best to take my erection away into the kitchen and prepare a salad for our evening meal. A few moments later Jenny sauntered in and stood by the door. She then repeated her little manoeuvre keeping her hand inside a little longer this time. I was as hard as ever. I complained ‘Do you know what you’re doing to me?’

‘No,’ she said innocently, ‘I’ve no idea.’

‘When the others tease I can cope, but you…’ I said rolling my eyes in frustration.

‘Yes but I’m not teasing. Teases don’t do anything about that uncomfortable bulge you’re hiding.’

With that she walked towards me and placed her hand on the bulge in question. She rubbed her hand up and down before pausing to undo the shorts I’d put on. ‘Jenny,’ I started before her hand slipped inside my boxers to grip my cock. She knelt down in front of me her hands tracing a path down my legs in the process, taking my shorts and boxers with them.

She kissed my fully erect cock said, ‘I’ve never done this before so you’ll have to tell me what to do,’ and proceeded to take me into her soft delicious mouth. The surprise and speed of her actions made the sensation so much better. I let her discover her own technique just telling her between moans how to use her tongue and how to relax her throat. I’ve always loved oral sex and maybe because my ex-wife always refused to give head I really revelled in the few opportunities that came my way. What Jenny lacked in expertise she sure made up in endeavour. It wasn’t long, especially considering what had occurred earlier, before I felt that familiar feeling of intense pleasure. ‘I’m coming!’ I managed to say expecting Jenny to withdraw. Quite the contrary she seemed to double her efforts and within a few seconds I was pumping come into her mouth. The third time in as many hours meant that the quantity was lacking but not the pleasure.

‘Not too horrible,’ she said as she stood up, ‘now pull your shorts up and come outside, Amy wants you.’ Bewildered I did as I was told and followed the grinning little minx out to the pool.

‘What took you so long?’ demanded Amy.

‘Oh! I just had a quick snack in the kitchen,’ said Jenny with the look of an angel. I’m definitely going have to be careful around this tantalising young woman I told myself.

‘What do you want sweetheart?’ I asked my daughter to change the subject.

‘Do you mind if we all stay tonight and watch a video, maybe get a Chinese?’ she smiled nicely knowing I was not only expected to agree but also pay for the meal.

‘Yes, no problem, but where are you all going to sleep?’ As I said this I had thoughts of Jenny sneaking in to see me.

‘Well C&C can share the spare room, Jenny’s small enough to share my bed and Tam and Lou can use the sofas.’ These plans killed my momentary hopes of more passion with Jenny. There was no way for her to sneak out if she as sharing a bed with my daughter. Jenny, however, had different ideas.

‘No, I don’t need to share your bed Amy,’ she said simply ‘I’ll be sleeping with your Dad.’

The manner of fact way in which she said it saw everybody in a stunned silence, especially me.

It was a long moment before anyone managed to speak. I know I was incapable of coherent thought, never mind speech. It was my daughter who found her tongue first, deciding that Jenny couldn’t possibly be sincere, ‘come on Jenny that’s not fair, don’t you think these two are enough of a torment for him without you joining in?’

‘You should know I’m no tease. Anyway where do you think I’ve been all afternoon whilst you lot were shopping,’ Jenny said with hoots of young laughter.

This stunned the others even further, especially when Jenny came over to me and put her arm around me. I had no other option, nor did I want one, but to return the hug.

Jenny did spend that and many other nights with me. My daughter after a brief period of disbelief came round to accepting us as a couple. The rest of the girls followed Amy’s lead and it wasn’t too long before the torment began again in earnest. Obviously in the girls’ eyes my liaison with one of them made me more of a target. Jenny usually joined in and at times even led them. After three months we are still together and this week Jenny, against her parents wishes, moved in with me. She has done wonders for me already; I’m fitter than ever, happier than the proverbial pig in muck and thoroughly enjoying life in general.

I cannot see it lasting forever but while it does last then I intend to savour every moment and there’s a lot of them to savour.

“Telephoneman

As usual I appreciate all comments, including criticisms. All I ask is that you tell me your sex (if it isn’t obvious) as this will help future stories.”