Lady in the night [MF]

“Do you think you’ll ever have, you know, a *girl*friend?” Dan asked me.

We were eleven, living in the small midwestern city where I was born. I shrugged and said, “I dunno. Girls are *weird*.”

That was all about to change. We grew up on the edge of farm country, and we knew how sex worked, but when the school forced us into a room once a week for an awkward description of the mechanics of human reproduction, it seemed like something was missing. Animals didn’t kiss, date, go to bars, or any of that. Humans had it rough.

My friend Dan mastered the basics first and attained near-legend status for being the first to kiss a girl in fifth grade, and he also broke the barrier of going everywhere short of intercourse two years later. Despite being average — brown-blonde hair, blue eyes, B-student — I was the first to have full intercourse. Overnight I became a celebrity at school. The experience also ruined me, as you will see further in this tale.

Fast forward to after high school. I am working at the hardware store, “saving up” for college but really not sure if I want to go, and spending my nights prowling around our small city trying to figure out what is really important in life. It’s a typical story. I am just under six feet, reasonably muscular but also a bit of couch bod, with a 6.4″ penis that will never be instantly exciting to girls like all those seven-inchers in this sub. However, I managed, if you know what I mean, and women found my presence comforting.

My problem was that I no longer really desired them. It seemed to me that after sex, we faked some more small talk and cuddling, then went on our separate ways. It was as lonely as a deserted street in winter. Having had sex a few years before everyone else, I was the first to tire of it. By itself, it had no meaning to me. I puzzled over this, and then Dan came back into my life when he called for my help in fixing up an old house. He had knocked up his girlfriend Marianne, and they were going to make a go of it in this old bungalow.

I inherited wood-working skill from my father before he fled to warmer climes (and warmer marriages). I would fix furniture and homes for people for extra money, most of which went to the Christmas pile because my mom didn’t make much in her middle management job at a Best Buy. Now I found myself ripping out old sheetrock, stabilizing joists, installing molding, and re-roofing a tiny 900 square foot house that Dan had inherited from his uncle, who had been AWOL in Costa Rica living off his retirement check from the Marines for the past ten years.

Dan was a good boss, and he would invite me over after my short shift at the hardware store, have us put in a few hours of work, then crack open a six-pack and mellow out. I would sit there savoring a Pabst Blue Ribbon (one of these words is ironic) and watch him and Marianne, cuddling together on the sofa, patting her cute little round tummy. For some reason, this always made me incredibly horny, and I would rush home to rub one out alone in the attic where no one would bother me.

After that experience, I stopped dating normal girls. What was the point of a quick fling if it just *ended*? There was nothing there, only emptiness, and then going back to do it again. I found myself envying Dan and Marianne, and thinking how pleasant it would be to have that sense of warm contentment. They had a purpose in life, where I was just… adrift. I sensed however that I might be destined to walk alone for life, and despaired of ever having a family. I had never been able to visualize myself with a family.

I was deep in these unhappy meditations, walking home one evening, when a voice caught my ear. “Hey Tyler,” said a familiar girl-next-door voice. It was Suzanne Wright, the lady who had been my English teacher in eighth grade.

“Hello Mizz… Suzanne,” I said, breathing out slowly. She struck me as gorgeous then, more so than she had been when we had terrorized her as eighth graders. She had grown into her bony frame, giving her face some curvature and streamlining her body. Her green eyes, complementing a red-blonde mane of wavy hair, bored into my chest. She must have been in her mid-thirties, I thought, based on how she had been just approaching the end of her twenties six years ago when she was unfortunate enough to teach me.

“I’d been wondering if I would see you again,” she said, stretching out a hand to touch my arm lightly. “We should catch up sometime.”

Time slowed to a standstill as my brain parsed the texture of her voice, the rhythm of her words, and the glow of those green eyes. There was more here than could be discerned at the surface. I took in the gentle sway of her walk, the elegance of her legs, and the face that I had always admired, which now had the wisdom of the world including the knowledge to stop caring about most of it. The sense of purpose in her choice of words also percolated to the top of my mind, and it came up with a quick response.

“We should do a coffee sometime… like now. I know a place. Come with me.”

In the back of my head I found myself wondering why she was not at home with children and husband. I knew she was married, and a quick peek revealed that she was indeed wearing a ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. “Sure,” she said, a smile curling around her face, and I took her across an alley, through a parking lot, and around a bank to reach my favorite hipster coffee joint, Transmission. (Before you judge: hipsters make great coffee, and girls love the quirky, offbeat, and atypical vibe these places give. The music sucks but it’s inoffensive.)

She ordered, and I tacked on mine and then slid my card over the desk before she could say anything.

“Slick,” said Suzanne, with what might have been the beginning of a little giggle.

“I’ve learned a few things in the past years,” I said. We took our foamy lattes to a table in the corner where the pulsing sounds of what sounded like a digital reggae cover of a Jewel song were least prominent. “So — ” we both said at once, then laughed.

“I’ve wondered what you’ve been up to,” I said into the vacuum of silence which followed. “Quick recap, I’m out of school and trying to figure out what to do next, out there in the mess, and not really sure of where I’m going. Basically the same kid you knew, just bigger. What have you been up to?”

She gave me a quick summary as well. Apparently her husband was succeeding at his job, and she was doing voice-over work through the net, so she had a lot of free time and was enjoying it. She had been teaching up until a couple years ago when they started trying to have kids. Knowing that was a sensitive subject, I asked instead about her voice overs, which led to her doing a bunch of funny voices, and then both of us laughing a lot up until the moment she touched my hand.

The world felt silent. “I’ve thought about you a lot, you know,” she said.

“Er… why?” I asked.

“Well,” she said, twisting the syllable into a sentence, “you were always the kid who paid attention to the big stuff. You got the point. You laughed at my subtle jokes when the rest of the class was clueless. I guess you also wrote some good papers, and you were always nice to me.”

I played with the paper from a straw. “It was a good class,” I said finally. “You really made some of those stories come alive. It was the only class I consistently did the reading for.”

“Gosh, I’m flattered!” she laughed. And so it went, we chatted more about stuff we knew from around our city, who had grown up and who had married whom, and what was happening in the world. It was the first time I felt really like an *adult*, just having a normal conversation, and so when it grew flirty, I didn’t think much about it. We were just having fun. She looked magnificent in a chaste black dress that by failing to draw attention to her curves, sucked the eyes right toward them. I noticed that she touched her hair every few minutes and her gaze had a lower intensity glow to it.

Eventually it was time to leave, so I started walking her home. On the way, Suzanne told me that she remembered me from class because it felt like we understood things together that others did not. Then she mentioned that her husband, who she dearly loved, was infertile owing to a childhood fever. She also mentioned how much she wanted babies, to make the home complete.

I didn’t mean to, but I told her about Dan and Marianne, and how much I longed for the same, but how I suspected I would be alone for life. “Oh, you’ll find someone,” she said. “With those eyes of yours, you’ll make some girl very happy someday.”

We stopped walking, and I looked into her eyes. “I haven’t been with a girl for a long time,” I said. “I’m not going to sleep with another girl until I can make babies.”

She gasped, like shock, but then looked at me with intense desire and I realized she had experienced something like a little orgasm. “Let’s go to your place,” she said. “*Now*.”

I led the way and she grasped my hand tightly like a little girl, stopping only once on the way to offer up her face to me, and I kissed her deeply. Her hands caressed my sides and then slid lower, tangling in the belt loops of my camo pants and yanking at them. We almost danced the rest of the way back to my door, then slipped inside. There the illusion broke as she burst out laughing.

Looking at the place with new adult eyes, I could see the disaster of a twenty-something male group living situation. The sofa had holes in it; a box half-full of dead pizza lounged on one arm, doubtless contributing grease spots to the scatter pattern which covered the back of the couch. A heap of clothes was decomposing stinkily in the doorway to the bathroom, and posters for mediocre bands with cool names hung rakishly on the walls. The sink fumed with its heap of dishes, and somehow I had overlooked the landslide of beer cans in a corner of the kitchen.

“Yeah,” I said, “I see what you mean.”

“I didn’t say anything,” she said.

“It felt like I heard your feeling in my head,” I said. “Let’s go to my room.”

Saying that made me feel like ten times the legend I had been after it became known that I had bedded my first girl. Luckily, my room was cleaner, and this time she pushed me up against the door and kissed me with the intensity of someone watching the apocalypse approach. She touched my face, and I pushed her arms down, then kissed her violently. Our tongues strangled each other, then began an elaborate ritual like the courtship of wild birds, or fencers in combat on an iron wire. Soon all harmonized, and I was pushing her to the bed, where she sank down with a sigh I felt deep within.

Suzanne ripped away at my pants, finally getting the fly open so that she could grasp my hardening shaft. It ached, not just with lust, but with a sense of unlocking doors to new experience. At that point, my essence distilled to a desire to fill her with my seed, sprouting infant life inside her, creating new souls. Lightning played across the sky and rain drenched the grateful earth, sending up a smell of springtime in the midst of winter.

She bathed me with her tongue, then took me into her mouth, the warmth of her cheeks and lips causing me to stiffen even further and groan like a board creaking in the night. Soon she had all of me inside of her, teasing me with that tongue, then stroking me with her lips. I would not be able to take much more of this, but no man could have; she had tapped into the pure animal, the raw lust of two people who find themselves joined in a task, ready for each other and for whatever the future brings.

I pulled back and raised her up, then gently spun her around, unzipping the dress and unfastening her bra in a smooth motion. She let the apparatus fall, then slipped off her black lace panties with one hand and flung them aside as if they were on fire. Her lines revealed themselves to me now, and I feasted on her beauty, growing even stiffer as I pushed her back onto the bed. I teased her opening with my tip, stroking the clitoris and lips, then plunged inside of her suprising warmth to find a fit like I had always belonged there. She gasped and pulled me close as my clothes scattered from me.

My thrusting began slowly, like a hidden predator stalking its prey, as I worked myself deeper into her. I felt her open up and then grip me, squeezing me with her muscles, and then slid straight to the tip of her cervix. She gasped again and ran her hands down my back. “Take me,” she breathed, kissing me deeply. “Take me and make me yours.”

This was all the encouragement I needed, and I began pistoning her with more speed and soon, with force. She pushed back against my chest and I pulled myself to her, pinning her down and dominating her with my momentum. I felt a warmth begin at the base of my shaft, spreading outward, as she began the sighs and quick breaths that led me to believe she was approaching orgasm. Pushing further down her, I unleashed both speed and force, railing her like a wild animal, without self-consciousness or intent. I let my body take over and she did the same.

Eventually she gasped one more time, her eyes rolling as she pushed herself upward and then down on me, where I could feel her muscles pulsing as she quivered and shook with waves of pleasure. At the same time, the warmth fired from within me, an uncontrollable spasm seizing me as I rammed myself deep into her and unloaded my genetic information. I roared like a feral lion, and she clasped me to her and held me tightly until the tremors subsidized, my languid member sliding from her as her tunnel sucked in the last of my seed.

I fell down next to her, breathing heavily. Then we both laughed. “I hope it’s a boy,” she said, holding her tummy. “Maybe he’ll have your eyes.”

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/9pd76c/lady_in_the_night_mf