wet pussy

CHAPTER 1



As usual on fine days, Carrie Young went into Memorial Square where the first European settlers of Carlton Green were remembered with a bronze statue of a man and woman, with a young girl holding the woman’s hand, standing close together and looking into the distance and smiling.



Although the plaque below said the figures were representative, Carrie’s grandmother had told her that her grandmother had said they people depicted were the McLeod’s, a Scottish couple with their six-year-old daughter who made their camp beside the river where Carrie’s own forebears, William and Sarah Young, joined them two days later.



A guy was sitting on her favorite seat but she decided to sit with him as for some reason that seat attracted no pigeon droppings.



“Good afternoon.”



“Indeed.”



She opened her lunch packet and thought what a strange reply and on reflection though well it wasn’t really. He’d simply confirmed that it was a good afternoon.



“Um would you care for a chicken sandwich?”



“Why, are you soliciting?”



She felt like hitting the jerk and ate in silence.



“Sorry.”



She chewed in silence, looking straight ahead.



“I am sorry. Please accept my apology. I enjoy teasing women but usually I don’t offend.”



“Apology accepted.”



“Is that offer of a sandwich still open?”



Carrie had to think about that and then said yes and turned and offered the remaining sandwich.



“You have great breasts and you’re also pretty.”



Her cheeks burned and thought if he hadn’t added she was pretty she would have kicked him. “Your personal remarks are not welcome.”



“Oh. They should be because things of beauty deserve to be appreciated and I was simply vocalizing my appreciation. What’s your vocation? I think we have established you’re not a hooker.”



For some reason she didn’t bite. Surely she wasn’t becoming used to him already? “I can’t see how that is any concern of yours.”



“Sorry I was testing your tolerance. You are Carrie Young, thirty-two with a 34B bust. You teach painting across the road at Melville High and have had some success at selling your own art but critics would agree it’s a little too meticulous and stilted, that you need to let yourself go.”



“Omigod, you’re a stalker.”



He grinned, displaying good teeth. “How do you figure that out?”



“You know about me and yet I’ve never seen you before. You even know my private thoughts about my art although how the hell you have done that I cannot even guess.”



“Muriel your mother told me I’d find you here during the school lunch break. Muriel showed me some of your paintings that she purchased from you and looking at them I arrived at my own opinion.”



“All right let’s say all of that is true. But how the hell did you find out about my bra size, that’s what I want to know?”



“I looked at your puppies and guessed.”



“Who the hell are you?”



“Jack Turnbull. I have been engaged by Melville High to talk to senior drawing and art students.”



“But Jack Turnbull was painting when I was at art school. I saw examples of his work. He must be at least forty.”



“Is that so? I must correct you because I am Jack Turnbull. My mother began selling my work to her friends from the time I was ten and by the time I was fifteen she had sold almost $15,000 of my art and demanded a commission thenceforth. I now average around $8,000 a painting and usually finish one painting every three weeks. Mom remains my commission agent and these days I do pay income tax. Like you I’m thirty-two.”



“That’s all very interesting I think. And so you think I lack flair Mr Turnbull?”



“Oh please call me Jack. I think as a person you bubble so why paint as if you had a big brush up your butt?”



“Excuse me!”



Jack soothed, “Now don’t dwell on what I just said. Instead dwell on why I said it.”



“God you are so confrontational.”



“Yes and that’s such a pity, the ruination of what could have been a nice man. But I wonder why I paint with passion and why are stumble at doing that?”



“Now if you say I need to have a robust affair to ignite my passion I’ll scream.”



Jack looked at her, his face blank.



“What?”



He said, “I’d thought what might motivate you but came up short and here are you coming up with the possible answer. Now please don’t blame me; it was your suggestion.”



“I was being facetious.”



“You were speaking from the heart.”



“I was not and shut up. Oh god is this how you’ll address my students?”



“Something like this.”



“Oh god, why did I write to you with this invitation and you wrote back accepting?”



“You were simply acting intelligently and instinctively. Why don’t you approach your painting like that?”



“Oh please, shut up about me. This visit by you is about my students. I had read somewhere you sold your first paintings when you were ten. You are the sort of person I wished to expose to my students. Um or so I thought.”



“Come on, brush the crumbs off your mouth and your tits.”



“There are no crumbs. How dare you refer to them as… well use that word about them.”



“Ah I see there is hope. That is passion I see lurking. I bet you wish you could slap out my teeth.”



Carrie practically spat, “Well it’s nice to see you are correct about something.”



* * *



The eighty art students were crammed into the art room and Carrie introduced the severe looking school principal Miss Olsen to Jack. She said she had painted at high school and was good on bowls of fruit.



Jack said that figured and she looked at him quizzically while Carrie shot him a murderous glance.



Jack leapt up on to the stage while Carrie and Olsen went up the side steps to enter from left stage.



“Shut up you lot,” he yelled. “This is a center of learning, not a fish market.”



The only thing to be heard was Miss Olsen panting up the steps.



“I’ve walked around the perimeter of this room looking at examples of your work. Most of it is crap.”



There were a few nervous laughs and some feet scuffing.



“Who is Jessica Jones?”



A short blonde near the front put up her hand.



“Your painting of that girl’s face is not too bad. Here’s five bucks for it,” Jack said.



“I’m sorry Mr Turnbull it’s not for sale. I did it for me mom’s birthday. It’s a painting of how I visualize her face artistically.”



“Well great eyes. Eyes are difficult to paint. You should think about sticking with art Jess. Here’s the five bucks anyway.”



Jack said to the assembly, “I haven’t been introduced and yet Jess knew my name. How many knew I’m Mr Turnbull.”



Everyone put up a hand.



“Oh very good. Now how many of you know my first name.”



All hands went down apart from Jessica’s.



“We have two of your paintings in our house. You are Jack Turnbull.”



“Oh brilliant Jess. Now all of you tell your parents you met the famous artist Jack Turnbull today and they ought to buy another of my paintings even if it means selling the car or house.”



“Right hands up if you know what the word asshole means?”



Carrie gasped, “Oh god, sorry Miss Olsen. I’ll close him down.”



“Don’t you dare. He’s teaching and will have a reason for using that word.”



“Right kids, now accept my advice,” Jack said. “Never try to draw or paint one. They are so hard to get right. But if you must draw or paint it, draw it in a shadow.”



“Who is Todd Scott?”



An overweight kid with a slightly vacant look stood and some of the guys laughed.



“Come up here for your five bucks Todd and you take your painting home and get your folk to have it framed. If you keep up your work you may well become a highly successful artist, either a painter, a cartoonist or your could be big in computer graphics. You have captured amazing expression in your painting you have called ‘Funny Man.’ What also caught my eye are the near perfectly painted hands and feet. Like eyes and expressions, hands and feet are difficult to get right. I urge all you kids to take a good look at ‘Funny Man’.”



“Now I travel far and wide taking photographs of lakes. Can anyone tell my why?”



A freckled faced boy said, “Because you like taking pictures of lakes?”



“That’s possibly a smart reply.”



“You sell those photos for big bucks?”



“Nope miss. I like your pretty curls.”



He picked a kid with glasses with his hand up, “Yes four-eyes?”



There was a huge gasp from the kids and Jack heard Carrie behind him sigh heavily.



Jack said, “Sorry pal. We were allowed to use that expression when I was a kid. Go phone your mom and she can rush down here and kick my ass.”



“It’s okay sir. You are an artist. You’re not meant to be politically correct.”‘



“Gee thanks pal. Great thinking. You are likely to end up a college professor. Now what’s your answer?”



“You take pictures at the same place at different times to capture the uniqueness of that section of a lake. You take them home and select the best and then paint from the best photographs and then sell them for big bucks because you are smart enough to know that’s the kind of picture people want to feature in their homes, an original painting by um…”



“Paul Turnbull,” Jessica called.



“Yeah Paul Turnbull.”



“Pal I really do think you’ll grow up to be a university professor and you Jessica think about becoming a grade teacher but fostering art. You probably will be brilliant.”



“Right I look all these paintings around the walls here, three rows of them. Can anyone guess what I missed seeing?”



“Jesus?”



“No.”



“The school?”



“No.”



“Tits?”



“Keep your head down the guy who called that out but yes, I’m disappointed not to see one nude.”



Miss Olsen called, “Regulations do not allow the illustration of breasts or genitals in art classes at schools.”



“But nudes per se are not specifically banned?”



“Not that I recall.”



“Right you two kids set up a whiteboard on stage for me and Jessica you locate a bunch of color felt-tip pens for me, very thick ones.”



“While my assistants are doing that let me talk about what you need to try to do when you are sketching or painting. You need to try to visualize what you intend to illustrate. Hands up who can do that.”



“About half of you. Yes that’s about average in any group. The rest of you are better at imagining text and particularly numbers and people like you are usually excel at math. But you can always use a picture to sketch or paint from unless you are being asked to draw a set piece.”



“Now here we go. You buddy stay with the cloth to wipe off my mess when I say so and Jess you stay and hand me the colors as I ask for them.”



“I’m actually Jessica.”



“I’m aware of that but I think Jess is really cute. Why do you limp?”



There was a big gasp.”



“I had a big accident on my bike when I was five.”



“Well remember is okay to limp if you’ve had a big accident no matter if kids throw off at you. Now has your mommy told you one day a surgeon might take a look at that leg to see if he can do something with it?”



“Yes and mommy said that won’t be for a few years.”



“Oh that’s great, really great Jess. That happened to my sister when she was four and she limped for years until a surgeon fixed up her leg when she was seventeen. Late that year as a high school senior she ran fourth place in the school’s 100 yards sprint final. At college she was a crack player in the senior hockey team. She was lucky. We all hope you’ll be lucky too. Black pen please.”



Jack quickly drew something and as he stood aside many of the kids giggled.



“Could someone tell me what this is?”



“And asshole,” a boy called and the kids erupted in laughter.



“Wrong. It’s a gopher hole. Look how wide the hole it. Now I’ll pile the dirt around it. There we go. Anyone who doesn’t believe that’s a groper’s hole should leave this room now.”



No one moved.



“Right you all probably agree eyes are difficult to draw. So try drawing eyes like this.



With incredible speed Jack drew ten eye sockets.



“Blue pen please Jess.”



“Right we’ll draw the eye of an elderly woman. Here is the eye, blue just like the eye of a woman almost of any age.



“Duster please Fred.”



“My name is Mace.”



“And that was my quick way of finding out your name and remembering it Mace.”



“That’s cool sir.”



“Thanks so we rub here to narrow the eye. Red pen please Jess. Older people tend to have redness in the corner of their eyes nearest the nose. So we place a bit of red. Pink please Jess.”



“No pink Jack.”



“Right pass me the white. It’s okay to call me Jack because I’m not a teacher and as Miss Young will tell you I’m not a man deserving respect. Now a bit of white softly over the edge of the red and lo we have pink. Now we draw in an identical eye beside it but no red, just a outline of pink and above we draw longish eye lashes but turning the pen on to it’s thinner side. Purple please Jess. Now we put on some eye shadow and wet a finger and smudge it. Now what do we have?”



Kids calls out an old women’s eye and a young woman’s eye.



“Yes and on we go. We put an eye glass around this eye and do another of a child who has been crying and a twin who is laughing by just widening the eye a little and well that will do for now. And then we’ll do a bird in flight and I’ll talk about how to get everything looking right and then I’ll sketch Miss Olsen for you, not in the nude of course, only from the neck up.”



The kids appeared fascinated and Miss Young was beaming at Mr Turnbull. When Jack finished his quick sketch of Miss Olsen with the kids behind Jack moving in closer to get a clear view of him working they clapped when he tossed the last pen he used into the box held by Jess and bowed. He flipped the board around for the women to see and Miss Olsen appeared flabbergasted at the realism from such a quick sketch while Miss Young clapped and smiled proudly.



“Right my hour is up kids. Thanks for being so patient with me and please don’t repeat my rough talk to your parents. I was addressing you guys as budding artists, not school kids.”



A thin girl with chestnut hair came to the front and said, “Mr Jack Turnbull. I’m Mary-Lou Ryan and on behalf of this combined class we thank you for spending time with us. We know you have far greater flair than any of us but we have been shown how to improve our art and I’m sure everyone here will now try to draw and paint better to please Miss Young. Everyone please clap Mr Turnbull to show our appreciation.”



“Thanks kids. It was great being with kids who desire to learn. My bet is many of you will continue on to greatly improve. Just one more thing, if you really want something to love, love art. That’s what art galleries are for. Thanks.”



Miss Olsen said, “I join Mary-Lou in thanking you Mr Jack Turnbull. I cannot believe you are not a trained tutor, albeit with some rough edges that might shock some parents. But I found your presentation inspiring and am sure our children here will take great heart with their artwork. Thank you indeed.



As the children filed out Carrie said, “Dinner tonight Mr Turnbull?”



“Indeed Miss Young and please give me the opportunity to body-paint you nude.”



“Oh god,” Miss Olsen said, disappearing down the steps and out the now empty workroom at half the speed of a scalded cat.



* * *



An over-weight treble-chin guy opened the door, took a long look at Jack and said, “You don’t look like a professional artist, where’s your beard?”



“I try not to typecast just as you don’t look like a shipping clerk.”



“I’m not a shipping clerk.”



“Isn’t that just what I said?”



“Eh?”



“Do you want flowers or a bottle of wine?”



“Wine. Gee thanks, top shelf. You are welcome to visit again.”



“Even if you find I’ve been seducing your daughter?”



“Eh.”



Muriel arrived, accepted her flowers with thanks and kissed the guest. “Don’t try to work out everything this guy says Archie otherwise he’ll tie you in knots. It amuses him to confuse.”



“Hi I’m Archie.”



“Please to meet you Archie. Call me Hey You or Jack if you prefer.”



Muriel sighed and invited Jack in and he looked at the plain wall ahead at the end of the passage and she said, “You’ve noticed it?”



“Um most people would have a grandfather clock there or crossed swords or their national flag if patriotic or the family photo taken ten years ago.”



“Where’s this thing to notice?” Archie asked attempting a conversation catch-up and Muriel told him to get the drinks.



“”Oh yes. What will you have pal?”



“Absinthe but if you’re right out of it red wine would be fine.”



“Um what kind of red wine?”



“The alcoholic version please.”



“Dear just pour him a red wine, any red wine.”



Muriel said, “Carrie was running late and is now at the gym. As this is probably your last visit to this house because you’ll find my daughter too decorous for you, would you like to leave your calling card on that wall? Paint whatever you wish. Archie will bring your drink and we’ll leave you in peace. If you don’t wish to paint anything then please join us in the day room. I have placed a selection of Carrie’s acrylics and brushes on that small table over there.”"



“I’ll be delighted to rip something off for you. Please take my jacket. Oh you kiss rather well for an older woman.”



“I see. You are not the sort of person to pass unnoticed are you?”



* * *



An hour later Carrie raced through the front doorway and skidded to a halt, mouth dropping open.



“Omigod. That will look magnificent when you finish it.”



“Yeah I’ll need a couple of more visits before it’s finished. I’ve always meant to paint it but never have been in the right place at the right time to do it until now. Your mom caught me by surprise, asking me to paint something on this wall. Actually she almost insisted. Come over and kiss me and push your pussy on to my hand.”



“Why not just the pussy and forgo the kiss?”



“What? Oh yeah. Archie missed out on humor but his daughter got some.”



“Please don’t defame my father. Now kiss me and keep your hands to yourself.”



“Yes ma’am.”



“How was that?”



“Not bad. Perhaps you should ask your mom to coach you.”



Carrie sighed and said to come though with her to wash his hands.



“I’ll need to clean up here.”



“I’ll do it.”



“Oh those flowers on the chair are for you.”



“Christ you have a romantic streak?”



“I bought some for your mom and went back and got some for you.”



“Oh dear romance, you survive much too briefly.”



Jack said, “Actually I went back and bought the second lot for your mom as hostess.”



“Ah there is romance blossoming in a most unlikely manner and without reason. Come over and touch my pussy Jack.”



Jack had Carrie pinned to the wall when her mother came in and saw Carrie’s dress hoisted high.



“Tut-tut you two. Have dinner first.”



She looked at what Jack had worked on. “Oh this is rather disappointing.”



“Jack requires two more sessions before it’s finished mother. Please don’t judge an unfinished work.”



“Oh right. You go with Jack and smooch in the bathroom. If you get serious lock the door. Dinner will hold. I’ll clean up here.”



Jack kissed Carrie passionately in the bathroom and she responded robustly but he didn’t permit his hands to wander and when she pulled his hand on to a breast he allowed it to drop away almost immediately.



When he prepared to wash a couple of paint smears from his fingers he said, “Dip you fingers in pussy and give them to me to suck.”



“God no, I couldn’t do that.”



Jack busied himself washing his hands.



As he was drying his hands Carrie snaked a hand round his shoulder and he sucked the fingers and immediately knew where those fingers had been.



As they walked to the dayroom Carrie whispered, “Why did you get me to do that foul thing?”



“First of all there’s nothing foul about that. I suggest you adjust your thinking. It also symbolizes to me that you are giving yourself to me and I now know that sexually you’ll do anything I ask.”



“When?” she asked disbelievingly.

“However long it takes.”



She wheezed, “God you are sure of yourself.”



“Well if I’m not who else is there to do that for me? Are you a virgin?”



“Jack.”



“Please answer. Do not be afraid.”



“Of course I’m not.”



“Then I very, very sure we’ll be having sex whenever.”



“When?”



“Whenever.”



“I’m finding this very unsettling Jack.”



“Good. Let me touch your cunt before we enter the room.”



“Well just this once like this,” she hissed. “You are acting like primitive man.”



Carrie hoisted up her skirt and pulled aside the leg of her panties just as her mom opened the door and said she was coming to call them to dinner.



“Carrie, my god, what are you doing? Don’t embarrass Jack with such boorish behavior.”



Jack had jumped back a foot as he heard the door opening and now was a picture of innocence.



“I’m sorry Jack,” Carrie said with a killing look.



“Well you did say you had an excruciating itch and asked me to turn away.”



“Hmmm?” Muriel said. “Come along. I’ll have my eye on you two.”



Twice during dinner Jack pushed a foot out to connect with Carrie’s leg. The first time she jerked and slashed her spoon into her soup and the second time she over-reacted and almost knocked over her glass of wine.



Jack though it best to retreat and so asked Archie could he explained the Canons of Constitutional Law. The senior law school lecturer looked at Jack with awakening respect and dominated the conversation for the next half hour. His wife and daughter appeared ready to scream after the first ten minutes of pontification.



Two hours later Muriel went out and returned with Jack’s jacket and the yawning Carrie said she’d go with him to the front door.



“God Jack if you ever again ask dad anything about law when mom and I are trapped at the table we will strangle you.”



“I understand and apologize.”



“No you’re okay. Would you like me to drop my occasional boyfriend and clear the way for you.”



“What to fuck?”



Carrie sighed and said she had been thinking of films and meals out and walks in the park and visiting galleries together but yes, perhaps sex could be tagged on to the things they could do together.



Without being asked, Carrie pulled up her skirt and Jack poised, as they strained and listened for any footsteps approaching the front door.



“All clear,” she whispered, and bent her knees outwards to make it easier for Jack to get her off.



He licked his fingers and she was persuaded to lick them as well and wiping her mouth Carrie said, “I really don’t know what I’m going to do with you Jack.”



“Well just keep on sucking while vacillating,” he grinned, and kissed her goodnight. “I really enjoyed your company. I bet you are a great fuck Carrie.”



She giggled and sighed and yawned and thought that about summed up her evening.



Carrie awoke in the morning and began thinking about Jack Turnbull.



“Why am I thinking of that dumb ass?” she spluttered.



He’d acted appallingly the previous evening. She remembered telling him she’d dump her occasional boyfriend to give him a free run.



Was she mad?



She met her occasional boyfriend Fredo late that afternoon for coffee and had decided no way would she trade Fredo for Jack the tormentor.



“Um Carrie, I’ve been trying to gathering up courage to say this so here goes. Mom doesn’t think you are suitable for me.”



“What?”



“She thinks you wear your hems too high and your bras are too small for you and she hears you swear and thinks your career of a art teacher is really not suitable for parents who own the city’s fish market.”



Aghast, Carrie asked what did he think.



“Well it took me three months before I got into your pants Carrie and you still limited me to Saturday nights providing you are not having your period and…”



“STOP!” Carrie roared, enraged. She poured the remains of her coffee over Fredo’s head and told him she’d never liked him touching her because he had dirty fingernails and they always ate at fast-food outlets and never at decent restaurants.



“Get lost Frederick Meister and never speak to me again.”



Carrie arrived home her fingers twitching as if she wished to strangle someone.



She charged through the front doorway and skidded to a stop.



The mural had been completed.



“Mom,” she shouted.



Muriel hurried into the hallway. “What is it dear? Oh you’ve noticed. Isn’t it lovely?”



“It’s a real work of art mother. You have screwed thousands of bucks of professional brushwork out of our Mr Turnbull.”



“What thousands?”



“Yes mother. Although it’s a hurried broad brush semi-abstract work it’s a real painting.”



“I offered him $500 but he declined to take it.”



“Oh god mom that was a massive insult.”



“He didn’t react that way. He said it was a pleasure doing something for a mother who’d brought such a beautiful female as you into this world and had nurtured you so well.”



Carrie reeled and steadied herself. “Mom he was teasing.”



“Say what you think. I heard him say it and saw the look in his eyes. That boy has taken a real tumble over you.”



“Yes exactly. He can’t wait to tumble me.”



Her mom sighed. “It’s not a crime to wish to have sex with a consenting adult in private darling and you demonstrated to me you have tried hotly to get into his pants. Anyway he also said he’d not good enough for you.”



“Christ mom you didn’t fall for that line did you? That’s the kind of bullshit guys use to get a girl’s mother on their side.”



“Oh no dear it’s not bullshit. I think what he was really saying was you are not good enough for him.”



The last hour had been much too much for Carrie emotionally. She burst into tears and went sobbing into her mom’s arms. Muriel patted her and said, “There, there. Don’t let him get at you. I was far too good for your father but no one I’d been with could give me the sexual satisfaction he could and so I married him.”



Carrie’s head jerked up and she looked accusingly at Muriel. “But mom you told me you were a virgin when you married?”



“Oh darling you must understand all mothers tell their teenage daughters that but you are an adult now. Also you are old enough to know all mothers lie.”



“Jack arrived just after you left this morning to ask you not to ditch Fredo. He believed he’s too sexually focused for you although I can’t see how he knows that when he’s only known you for a few hours. He said since he was here he’d worked all day and finished the mural. He was just leaving when I arrived home.”



Carrie washed her face and called Jack.



“It’s beautiful, just as a mural should be, more expressive than technically perfect.”



“Just like you.”



Wondering what the hell that meant Carrie said, “Excuse me?”



“You are pretty rather than beautiful and that’s how it was meant to be. You have fire in your belly and yet you suppress it, not only with your art but you also run hot and cold over sex. I called at your home this morning to catch you before you left for school but missed you. I wanted to urge you not to dump your boyfriend over me because I’m so basic and the worldly things women wish to do and share in don’t particularly interest me. But after eating the lunch your mom left me I walked into your bathroom and from the laundry basket I pull out a pair of your panties and buried my nose into them and boom-BOOM! It hit me. I want you; you are for me. Have you dumped that guy?”



Heart-pounding Carrie squeaked yes. “But I believe I’m too good for you.”



“Well yes you would think like that having Muriel for your mother. She acts as if she’s superior to your father but I bet she found he was a sex machine and married him for that reason and he’s probably still required to prove his superiority every night.”



“Every night at their age?”



“Sure you only stop when you loose significant fitness. Or didn’t you know that?”



“Um since I’ve met you I’m not sure what I know. Life has suddenly turned full of contradictions.”



“Well sleep on it. You are under-fucked Carrie. You are so tentative about it that probably you are no even sure whether you like sex. I’ll change that around for you and we’ll drag out the artist that slumbers within you. Perhaps I can get you pregnant. Would you like that? Your kids at school admire you for your art but are you inspiring them enough to draw out the best of the best of them? If we can find ways to address that to pull them into the magic of art we’ll have that turned around as well. Now the question is: Am I too good for you?”



She said, “The answer is probably does it really matter? Two people who are unequal in some ways probably have a far better life together than two people who are equal in every way. I am so tired. It was emotionally draining dumping Fredo.”



“Fredo? What the fuck were you hanging out with a guy named Fredo? You want someone at your side with a good old-fashion name evoking solidarity.”



“Like Jack?”



“That exactly was my thought baby. I’ll see you Saturday night at your home. Your mother is calling some friends in for a cocktail party to allow them to see the mural and to meet the artist. I said yes okay providing you were there and she said she’d ensure you would be there, running the kitchen.”



“Oh thank you mother.”



“Well that’s an example of a proactive woman. You may have her genes sweetheart. We must activate them.”



“Bye Jack.”



“You don’t have romantic attachment for me yet but say I love you Jack.”



“I love you Jack.”



“Great that starts the clock ticking. I love you sweet Carrie. We must fuck on Saturday night.”



“In your dreams buster,” she snapped, thinking he was attempting to control her life. That just would not do.



* * *



Jack wasn’t worried that Carrie had snapped at him and cut the call: they both knew they were opposites so upsets were unavoidable. He’d not ask her to change and would be annoyed if she attempted to change him.



She was tired but knew around dawn she’d awake and touch herself and squirm and begin thinking about being fucked on Saturday night. Unattached women were always concerned about where their next fuck would be coming from because they were programmed to think like that as part of the reproductive cycle. She would also think how the hell had he managed to get her to suck her fluids off his fingers and offer him her dripping fingers. It was probably something she’d never done before. Well at least to someone she’d not yet fucked.



Carrie was a lovely young woman with good qualities. She just needed to be brought out of her shell to allow her creativity to bloom. This was no bullshit. His mother, who in her younger days had painted, had recognized talent in her young boy and had slowly drawn his flair from within with love and encouragement. There was something else; his mother had made Jack the confident person he was today.



Jack had been shy and performed poorly at sport because of a lack of confidence. His mother had taught him to play tennis on their lawn and joined the local tennis club so she could continue to tutor him on a hard court. When he was performing well she handed Jack over to the club pro and when Jack reached college he was already a top player for his age group.



Jack’s shyness improved and playing mixed tennis exposed him to the fairer sex and he made friends but his mother was worried that none of the girls appeared to align with him. She kept out of it until a month after he turned eighteen and high school graduation was looming. His mom took him to bed, or more accurately slipped into his bed.



To this day Jack regarded it as an inspired piece of mothering. He remembered how it happened; it just crept up on him…



The room was dark and his mother creeping into the room had awakened Jack.



“Hi darling. Let’s not make too much noise. It’s after midnight and your father and sister are asleep I think.”



Jack heard rustling and when his mom slipped in beside him realized she was nude. He was embarrassed that his dick became instantly erected and even more embarrassed when her arm appeared to brush over it and she said, “Oh goodness me. Is that all of your Jack?”



“All of what?”



“What just touched my arm? That was you penis wasn’t it?”



“Um yes.”



“Has a girl touched it like this?”



His mom circled her hand around it and squeezed.



Jack recalled feeling sensations more intent that he’d ever felt before.



“Um not in the flesh like you are doing. Um just over my pants.”



“Are you a virgin Jack?”



“Yes.”



“Would you like to have sex with me? I’ll give your some instruction.”



Jack remembered attempting to sink through the bed in embarrassment and he croaked something that obviously must have sounded like yes to his mom because she told him to feel for her breast and to stroke it softly.



He’d never forget that night, especially when his mom said she would suck his penis and then when she felt the length she said, and sounded proud, that no women would ever find Jack Turnbull was too small for her.



Later they did it. They had real sex and she said she was safe but as she was his mother he should pull out before he was ejaculating. Well he did that and fired and remembered her saying Jesus as she picked up her robe to wipe herself down and alleged it was the wettest any guy had ever made her.



Then he surprised her by wanting to go again and she limited him to getting off between her breasts. They then cuddled and talked for a while, she giving further instruction about intercourse and caring for a woman sexually and when she was just about to leave the bed he convinced her to allow him to have just one more go at vaginal sex to make sure he could work her up to want him into her again and he thus would gain that additional experience.



When they completed she kissed him and stroked his face as said that had truly been a really great bout of sex.



When his mom was leaving the bedroom she said, “That was my gift to you Jack, to awake you to sensual experiences and impart the basic knowledge to give you confidence to participate. You will receive no repeat interaction with me.”



He jumped out of bed and hugged her. “Well I’m sorry to hear that mom. You were really great to be with in that role. Thanks and I appreciate what you have done for me. I bet not many mothers in our culture would have the guts to do that.”



CHAPTER 2



There were only ten couples at the party, Muriel and Archie’s closest friends.



Muriel kissed Jack like a lover and so he grabbed and squeezed a tit and when she turned red-faced and began panting he had to tell her to calm down, that he was only being friendly.



“You’ve a nice guy Jack,” she said, trying to slow her breathing rate, “but you are fucking dangerous and totally unsuitable for my daughter.”



“Yeah,” he conceded. “Our pairing must bring back memories of you and Archie when you were our age and seemingly being such a mismatch.”



“Oh god,” she sighed. “I really did want to win that round.”



Skirting people drinking with their backs to the mural, Jack grabbed two wines and went deeper into the house to find Carrie and met her coming out of her bedroom, dressed in just a multi-colored knit top and jeans. He thought she would be been in a cocktail dress.



“Hi.”



“Hi,” she said nervously, taking the wine and sipping. “I’ve asked mom and dad could you sleep with me in my bedroom tonight and they both said yes without attempting interrogation.”



“Well I thought a 32-year old daughter who’s been living back home for almost two years since you gained this art teaching position would not have to ask permission if you could have sex.”



“It’s their house.”



He snorted and said, “It’s your family home.”



“I ought to have left the nest by my age.”



“Well leave it and set up home with me. I live in a rented house one street over from my parents’ home in the village of Yarrow, twenty miles from here.”



“No if I did that all you’d want to do would be to fuck me.”



“Bullshit. I’d want to take you to the movies, out shopping and to restaurants and we’d set up the third bedroom as your studio.”



“What for my own space in which to paint?”



“Yes unless you have some other use for a studio?”



“That’s a very kind proposal but the school authorities and senior administrators and parents would be concerned if I were to live with a partner to whom I was not married?”



“Oh yeah? Are there many teachers at your school living with a partner to whom they are not married?”



“Oh yes, several.”



“What two, five, a dozen, two dozen?”



“I would think about ten.”



Jack grinned. “So then that level of morality is not an issue?”



“Well you appear to have made that point rather convincingly and yes I have to agree that is indeed the situation. Am I expected to thank you for that?”



“Yes.”



“Well thank you. I still have to think about your invitation. It’s not something a woman should rush into.”



“No, of course not. I’ll give you a hour to think about it.”



She laughed and asked him to stop pushing, that she might take several days to come to her decision and he grinned and said he would have expected her to assess the situation thoroughly and not rush it.



Carrie lifted his hand and sucked his index finger and then said they should join the party.



“Please allow me to introduce my tongue to your pussy first?”



She was tempted but said they should join the party. He might receive expressions of interest or even begin discussions on commissions.”



“Licking and fingering your pussy means more to me right now that handfuls of dollars.”



“Ooooh,” she cooed and led him back along the passage with her fingers hooked under his belt.



Carrie proved to be correct. The Clayton-Brown’s asked Jack if he would paint a sex scene on their bedroom wall with the female looking a little like a much younger version of Sue Clayton-Brown.



“What size?”



They had no idea.



“A well-rendered painting in acrylics measuring 5ft by 4ft would cost you $24,000. Don’t have it painted on the wall because you might choose to move house or build a new bedroom wing.”



“That’s sensible,” Sue said.



“Do you want your genitals to show?”



Turning crimson Jerry said the painting was to be representative.



Jack snorted and said then it was a waste of $24,000 and they would end up in old age with a painting of strangers having sex and what kind of memory would that be?



The couple went into a huddle.



Sue said they wanted to be painted having real sex and the figures should look like them but only younger. Her skin was now beginning to show age and her belly had thickened.



“How young do you wish to look?”



“Thirty.”



“Do you want hair or no hair around your pussy?”



“God you are vulgar,” Sue said, looking around wildly but no one was near them. “Um bald.”



“So you both want genitals showing?”



The Clayton-Brown’s went into a huddle and came out of it with Jerry saying yes.



“This could take me two months,” Jack said. “I’ll have to continue with some of my other work over that period but I will put in the hours on your commission. I want money up front and I will provide you with some basic sketches for you to choose one and then you will have two days to consider any changes to that and then we are committed. I’ll have to have two sessions with you both being bare-assed and in position but insertion won’t be required.”



“Oh no-way,” Jerry said, turning white.



“Can we have sex with you watching?” Sue asked.



Jack smiled and said of course, they were the clients. He emphasized his intention was to produce a very authentic-looking painting.



Almost shaking in excitement Susan suddenly frowned and said, “Jerry is not very long.”



Jerry groaned in embarrassment.



“And I bet you’re big enough to be fisted Sue?”



She looked very pleased and they both smiled appreciatively when Jack said to Jerry, “Please don’t worry about that little freak of nature Jerry. It’s true that all men are not born equal. If you wish I could paint the impression that you must be at least eight inches long judging by the considerable amount of shaft showing.”

I have a confession to make: I am entranced by the clitoris.



Ever since I learned about it, I wanted to see one for real. I wanted to watch it swell into a blushing pearl, and tentatively wrap my tongue around it and send a girl through the roof. I did eventually tongue a girl’s clitoris, and it was every bit as delightful as I had hoped. She didn’t go through the roof, sadly.



But that wasn’t the end of it. Every lover I have, I long to see her clitoris. Because, in my mind, the clitoris is the single sexiest part of the female body. It’s almost a fixation. I love to stare at a clitoris, stroke a clitoris, tongue a clitoris, run the velvety underside of my penis on a clitoris. When I watch an adult movie, I look for clitorises. And when I read erotic literature, there had better be lots of gratuitous clitoris play, or I’ll be tempted to move on.



I always pronounce it “KLIT-oh-riss.” I’m aware of an alternate pronunciation, “klit-ORE-iss”, but I don’t like it as much. And it’s very trendy and common to talk about a “clit”, but that to me seems to abrupt. It’s a beautiful organ and deserves a beautiful name. No need to cut it short. In my mind, saying the full “clitoris” means you’re talking about a thoroughly fascinating and sexy part of the body for longer, and therefore I say clitoris and not clit. Twice as many letters, twice as sexy.



Now, there are other parts down there too. There’s the vagina, which is nice and very sexy when wet, but I feel it’s overrated. The inner labia are wonderful too, with so many shapes and sizes and colors to fantasize about. I like the way the skin folds and stretches, and I love the rich pink everything turns when a woman is aroused. And when you top it all off with the swollen purple button of an engorged clitoris? Breathtaking.



I know, I know, there are other parts of a woman too. But as of the time of this writing, I am in my early twenties and fairly sexually inexperienced. I can’t help it. The center of womanhood, especially the clitoris, is one of the most arrestingly beautiful things on this earth. I can’t help but admire it, worship it even. Nothing turns me on more than seeing a clitoris, straining past its hood, taut with desire.



Don’t take this to mean that bigger is always better. A clitoris is at its best when it looks at home in its gorgeous surroundings. Artificially enlarging it makes it look out of place and uncomfortable. In my opinion, a clitoris that relies on pumps or steroids is trying way too hard. No clitoris is naturally unattractive, but it’s easy to make a clitoris unnaturally unattractive. There’s no size contest here.



Similarly, while I drool over the clitoris to no end, I don’t want one of my own. I quite like my penis, we’ve been very good to one another. Plus, it’s always more fun to play with somebody else’s body parts. Drawing my finger or tongue along a wet clitoris’s sheer surface and hearing a woman moan is heavenly. It wouldn’t be the same if it were my own.



So what makes a clitoris attractive? I wish I could answer this question better, because this answer sounds downright silly. But the fact of the matter is, when presented with a clitoris, I always think it’s the most beautiful clitoris I’ve seen yet. Memories can’t bring back the raw lust and desire I feel when I’m looking at an erect clitoris just inches from my face, and I don’t even try. I will stare at your clitoris, maybe take a few deep breaths. My eyes will shine. I will tell you it’s absolutely the prettiest clitoris I’ve ever seen. And I’ll mean it.



Sometimes I wonder what people would think if they knew about this obsession. Guys probably wouldn’t be too impressed, mostly. I don’t know what most girls would think, though I can’t imagine they’d mind very much. It’s too bad there’s only so much you can say in public. “Hey there. I’m single, I’m tall and I’m thin, I’m acceptably good-looking, I speak fluent French, I’m studying to be a teacher, I’m a lot more thoughtful than most guys, and I get turned on by licking a clitoris for forty-five minutes straight. If we wind up in bed together, would you mind if I tried for even longer?”



An eager, straining clitoris. It makes me smile just thinking about it. I love everything about the clitoris.



I love how a clitoris swells when aroused. I love the way a clitoris turns a dusky lavender, or maybe a bright ruby red, and I love seeing its shape nestled among wet folds. I love to watch a clitoris shyly peek its head out of the hood, and I love to see a clitoris already proudly presented, haughty and demanding attention. I love to lick along the labia and roll a woman’s nipples and watch her clitoris pulse urgently.



I love to spread a woman’s cum on her labia and admire how it glistens. I love massaging that cum into her engorged clitoris, then slowly licking it off with the tip of my tongue. I like to eat a woman out until we’ve lost track of both time and orgasms, then pull back and see how her clitoris cries out for more attention, shining and throbbing with desire. I love to slowly circle my thumb over a hard clitoris and feel its firm texture among hot, soaked folds. I love to sink my penis into a woman, pumping my hard, veined flesh in and out and rubbing my thumb on her clitoris at the same time.



I love to feel a pulsing clitoris in my mouth. I love to run every taste bud along the smooth, eager surface. I love to release it, then trap it again. I love to use my tongue and dance with a clitoris; sometimes a soft, slow waltz, and other times a swift, firm ballet or a frantic, eager grind. I like to gracefully pirouette around a clitoris, lift it without warning, then catch it again in my tongue’s warm, wet embrace.



The clitoris enthralls and enchants me. The clitoris delights me.



The clitoris is a work of art.

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