General Fiction posted November 10, 2014 Chapters:  ...34 35 -36- 37 

This work has reached the exceptional level
After Lucille's birthday dinner, she invites him in.

A chapter in the book FRIDAYS

Friday, Dec 1st, Part Two

by Fridayauthor

The author has placed a warning on this post for sexual content.

Please see Author Notes below for the summary of this novel, to date. Thank you.
            Friday Number Sixteen, December 1st (Part Two.)
            I'm sorry, but I feel most inadequate, unable to find the perfect words needed to convey what next transpired. Mr. Anderson’s hand moved to my breast but for reasons unfathomable now or then I made no effort to stop him. He gently massaged my parts most sensitive, first one and then the other, as polite to my feelings as holding out a chair or presenting an umbrella against the rain. I steeled myself to his grazing touch, but its gentleness relaxed me to ease and I maintained my silence. I was not ignorant of what was happening and yet I felt helpless against the urge to tiptoe a step further with this man before slamming the door, before explaining why he should not, why he could not continue further. A thousand thoughts and memories began to claw their way toward my consciousness, but I pushed them aside and begged my God to let me forget for just this moment. I lay there, letting him touch me, with fingers so sensitive, causing me to slip from reality to dreams, and to feel sensations unknown before.
            When he began to unbutton my blouse I remained submissive, continuing to kiss him as he kissed me, alarmed at the beginning stir I felt in my body so long ago forgotten. Swirls of conflicts of no and yes fought like demons a level below my consciousness and I cried in my mind for Amy, pleading for answers, but she was absent from my call. The silk slipped away easily and I arched my back as he reached behind me and unfastened my bra. With boldness I would have denied possessing, I stretched out my arm and allowed him to remove my upper clothing until my frontal bareness was open to the soft grazing of his fingertips.
            I could sense he was breathing more rapidly as he lightly felt my nipples, softly holding me between thumb and forefinger while we continued to kiss. But with the pleasure of his touch came a racing heart and wave of fear he'd lose control and like the nightmare of years long past, subject me to what I'd tried so hard to bury in the cellar of my memory and forget forever. If his slightest movement had in any way seemed swift or threatening I might have had the strength to stop him, push him away as I'd done to others far earlier in their advances than his. But instead he pressed his hand against the flatness of my tummy, first touching my navel with a single finger, and then, oh so gently, he slid his whole hand downward beneath my waist until his fingertips barely touched my hair below! I must have shuddered as he paused there, fingers barely touching, unmoving, until perhaps it was my continued kissing that told him I had not yet chose to forbid him further. It was then he began to unzip my satin slacks and I knew in my heart what would surely follow if I did not now, at this moment, finally stop him! Yet, I felt powerless to halt his advance. I was in a panic, knowing neither what to say nor what to do! I so wanted him to stop, wanted him to continue, a little more, another touch, just one more moment like this to remember forever!
            As he freed the snap and I felt the lessening pressure beneath my waist band, his hand began to tremble, my first hint that he too might be as unsure as I of what was happening. I clutched him, tighter than ever, as if for security against his proceeding further, and to still the shaking I felt vibrate along my entire body. He gently pushed me from my side until I was lying flat and he was half-sitting next to me, looking down upon me in the half-light of the outside that bathed the room.
            I was sure he would speak, ask me should he, could he, and I panicked of what permission I’d give without sending him off for ever, this man so kind, this man I cared for so very deeply. Instead he turned away and began to undo his tie and remove his shirt while I closed my eyes and trembled to what was happening, what I was doing, and tried to clear my mind of any thoughts and memories; to forget past pains and hurts, to forget anything but how I felt, at this moment, only this moment, this small instant in time, only now. Once again he touched me and reached across my body and with both of his hands and raised my hips, my bottom, ever so slightly. Then he gently pulled my satin pants downward until they were about my knees. I raised one leg, and as he pulled the pant leg free, and in some sort of answer of yes without thought or reason, I pushed the trousers lower with my other foot until they fell to the floor in a tumble. He reached to my lower legs and first one, then the other, slowly peeled the half- stockings down my leg, over my foot and dropped them away. And then I could feel the unaccustomed coolness of the night sweep across my nearly naked body as I lay there beside him.
            His hand began to slowly caress my stomach atop my panties and I could feel myself getting wet below. I arched myself upward toward him and became aware that I was making throaty sounds of pleasure and a damp sweat was beginning to cover all of me. I tried to muffle my sounds, pressing my mouth to his with increased intensity, as if to snuff out to the ears of unseen ghosts surrounding us the noise of what we were doing. Rising up, he leaned over me and for a moment I was paralyzed with the thought he would crawl upon me and do it quickly and forcefully and painfully, but instead, with perfect care he lifted my bottom once more until I followed his motion and raised myself up, enabling him to place thumb and forefinger at the seam on each side of my hips and slowly, ever so slowly, with tantalizing slowness, draw my panties down and down until they were about my thighs and I was there for him.
            I had never so exposed myself to a man, never, in thirty-eight years, never. One had tried clumsily to share his pleasure through half opened zippers and pulled-away under things and the other had violated me unseen and near unconscious, amid raucous sounds, attended jeering and ripped and tattered clothing. And now I lay, my most private self, completely exposed to the total control and eyes and touch and body of this quiet man, while I fearfully, expectantly awaited what I'd thought and prayed and had sworn would never ever happen again.
            Lying beside me, he slowly began to stroke my thighs, and then my pubic hair, intertwining it in his fingers, moving lower and lower until one finger slipped to the top of my legs, still tightly pressed together. My breath was coming in quickened gasps and I broke our kiss to stretch my head backward and suck in the needed air to sustain me. I slowly eased the pressure of my tensed body. Raising a knee, I moved my panties down and opened my tightened legs ever so slightly to the warmth of his deeper touch. His palpating finger slowly stroked my wetness until he slid inside and touched me where my pleasure was like nothing I'd ever felt.
            “Let him! Let him! Let him!” screamed Amy in my ear.
            With his other hand, Mr. Anderson took my hand in his and gently moved it toward his waist and I realized with a shudder what he was asking me to do. I must have hesitated because he released my hand, as if to apologize for his boldness, but I let my fingers remain, touching his belt buckle. I didn’t pull away.
            If we were to be one, it must be both of us, together. Not like the others, like some passive object, not like my mother; together this man and I. He continued to touch me, and touch me again, and again in rhythm to our breathing and after squeezing my eyes as if to shut out was I was about to do, I began to unfasten his belt, unbutton his waist-button and unzip his tightened trousers. Both our breaths were heavy as he moved to push and kick his clothing away, until they fell to the floor with mine. He started to pull off his undershorts, but I ever so boldly placed a hand to stop him and a person I no longer knew grasped his wide waist band and slowly slid them downward, doing as he'd done to me, slowly, until his bareness too was free to the night beside me. From the loosened cloth I could feel spring the unseen part of him I so feared and wondered, not knowing the person beside him, whose hands I couldn’t control!
            We moved closer together, on our sides, our bodies pressing. I raised my top leg, crossing it over him, opening myself further to his touch. I thought he'd turn me to my back and lay over me, but instead he again took my hand and moved it to the nakedness between us and with a shock and racing heart I felt his rigid, hardness in my hand! We both moved slightly apart amid the tumble of pillows and he continued to touch me in a way I wanted to last forever as I held him, not knowing what to think or what to do. My mind twisted and whirled, so fast was everything happening, so different was this person, this me! So strange, this body-part I'd only seen in pictures and felt in pain, and so long detested. It wasn't I who felt this need to explore; who was in this world I knew so little about, doing things I'd never dreamed of doing and feeling feelings and sensations I'd never known existed.
            And then the world was black with pleasure with what he was doing to my body. A wave passed over me with a dizziness that nearly caused me to faint, forcing me to cease to think or fear or remember.
            When I knew I could stand his touch no longer he sensed I was ready for him and he began to move above me, straddling me. Though part of me cried otherwise and tears streamed down my cheeks, I made no move to stop him. I bit my lip and with my heart still pounding, I clasped him as I've never held anyone in my life, digging my nails in his back and shoulders as he slowly rose over me. I could feel the hair of his thighs brush me as he gently moved my legs apart, and then the touch of his two fingers as he slowly opened me further. I braced for him to thrust himself inside me but instead he caressed my vestibule with the tip of his penis and with his hands under my bottom, lifted me to him before inexorably sliding himself into me until I could feel nothing but the swollen heat of him in all my lower body. He lowered onto me and his weight on my thighs stretched my legs yet further apart until I raised my legs higher and encircled him. I was trapped by this man and at the same time held in a cocoon of warmth and trust and protection like I'd not believed possible. It was as if I had given myself so completely, so intimately, I was no longer a single entity, so unconscious was I of all about me or who I was or what was happening to the world I'd so carefully built. All this amid touches of awareness; the familiar smell of my pillows, the street light in my room, the music still playing; even the feel of my panties still entwined about my ankle.
            He began to slowly move in a rhythm that caused me to lose further sense of time and purpose and at last I was alone with someone else. And, as if hearing the same music as he, I cautiously raised myself to him, meeting his movements and was one with him. Slowly, ever so slowly, and then faster for what seemed like hours or an instant or all time, our intensity rose and fell until it happened and there was a rush of pleasure between us amid gasps and moans and whimpers that made me feel I'd momentarily fainted and passed from this world. For the first time in my life, I was truly intimate with another human being. I cried with joy at the intensity of the feeling.
            He remained there, my nails biting his back and my legs locked about him until I felt the beginning of his softness melt within me as he slowly slipped away and life began to resume. We lay there, moments longer, still without a word. Finally, he discreetly moved to my side where we remained together, still holding each other in silence.
            Mr. Anderson rose and began dressing in the half-light from the window and I turned away as I pulled on my panties, hooked my bra, sitting there next to him on my sofa in the half-darkness of my living room. I then rose and  nervously slipped to the bathroom for a robe.
            When I returned he was dressed and thankfully, the light was still extinguished. I faced only his silhouette. We'd not spoken a word in hours and neither of us knew what to say. Somehow we both sensed it was not the time to talk of what had taken place. Finally, Mr. Anderson broke the silence.
            He rose from my sofa, nervously kissed me, holding me much tighter than usual, and murmured something about seeing me, next Friday evening. I slowly sank down in my sofa, left with my dreams.

Earned A Seal Of Quality

Lucille, age thirty-seven, is a school teacher and a near-recluse. After her mother's death, she is trying to rid her life-time home of past ghosts. At the behest of her priest she records her thoughts and feelings in a diary. She has a strong interest in old letters found in her mother's dresser. She is having weekly Friday evening dinners with a shy church acquaintance, Mr. Anderson but shuns a more serious attachment. Part of her, a make-believe friend from childhood whom she calls Amy, is pushing her to stop fighting any hint of intimacy. Her true feelings come forth after a birthday dinner.
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