CHAPTER 14: THE MOTHER
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Introduction: The sexual adventures of a prep school teacher in the 1950s and 1960s. Chapter 12 turned out not to be the last, because two more chapters were needed to deal with the sister and the mother of Melanie, the girl from Chapter 12. Chapter 13 recounted the sex with her sister. Now Chapter 14, and last, covers the final adventure.
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Chapter 13 closed on the Sunday morning of my weekend with Miranda. She and I had that night together, but I have described my experience with her sufficiently. Perhaps because of its sweetness and my sense of the end of an era in my life, I have been looking forward to writing about my time with Joanna.
Melanie ran me back to the school after my two nights with her sister. Melanie and I could not have intercourse because she was still periodic. But she promised she would collect me again the next Saturday evening, and then we would see.
However, it was not Melanie but Joanna who was driving when the car pulled up beside me. As I got in beside her, she switched off the engine, gave me a kiss on the cheek and said, 'Bad news, I'm afraid. From your point of view, anyway. Mel has gone to Oxford. Her boyfriend begged her to take him back, and she decided to give him another chance. I told her you would understand.'
'Of course,' I said. 'I hope they make a go of it.'
'That partly depends on whether he's willing to make love as she tells him.'
I made no comment, and she went on, 'Manda got an invitation to spend a weekend a few miles away with a young man she met recently. I urged her to go, because I think she rather likes him. So, you'd probably like to stay here, or do something else this weekend.'
Was that a question or a statement? I said, 'You know, Joanna, what I'd really like is to go home with you.'
'Well,' she said, 'Of course, you're welcome. The weather is good. We could have some walks, and I can cook some nice meals, probably better than the ones you get here.'
'Those things would be good,' I said, 'But I was hoping we might get closer than walking and eating together.'
She shot a glance at me, looked away and said, 'What do you mean?'
I said, 'You know what I mean.'
She looked me in the face intently. 'You don't mean it.'
I picked up her hand from her lap and held it. 'You know I do mean it.'
'But I'm an old woman, fat and past it.' She was, however, beginning to tremble and her voice was quavery.
I put down her hand and made to slip my hand under the hem of her cashmere jumper.
'What are you doing?' She asked.
'I'm trying to get my hand up your sweater, because I want to feel your breasts.'
'You mustn't do that,' she said, but her trembling increased.
'Would you like me to, though?' I asked and persisted with the sweater.
She said nothing, but did not prevent me, and she didn't pull away when I leaned across the handbrake to kiss her. Her lips were full, soft and responsive.
My hand burrowed under the lower edge of a bra-cup and was soon clasping a full, heavy breast, and relishing the big, stiffening nipple.
Suddenly I realised her bosom was actually heaving in my grasp, and she withdrew her mouth, because tears were running down her cheeks.
'Oh, Joanna,' I said, 'I didn't want to upset you.' I withdrew my hand.
'You have no idea how long it is since someone did anything like that,' she sobbed. 'Since someone wanted me.'
'I want you very much,' I said. 'Your girls are delightful and I loved being with them, but you are a mature, beautiful woman. I have thought so much about you since we met.'
'You really do mean it?'
'You know I do.'
'Since Geoffrey left, only one man wanted me, and he just used me. I felt nothing.'
I ran my hand up under her tweed skirt. In those days, before tights or pantyhose, the hand slipped over the stocking and came onto bare thigh, and encountered the suspenders. In some positions these actually held open the knicker-leg, the elastic of which came next.
As my hand reached her thigh, Joanna trapped it through the skirt and said, 'You mustn't go in there.'
'Why not? Are you having your period?'
'Oh no,' she said, 'All that's over. It's just rather wet.'
'Wonderful!' I said, 'It shows you're excited.'
'Geoffrey used to say it was like diving into a swimming pool.'
'But I'm longing to dive in,' I said, and I pressed on with my hand, to find that her ribbed knickers were, indeed, soaking. Then I slipped my fingers in and found them enmeshed in slippery wet hair.
Her trembling became shuddering as I probed about in her vulva.
'You'd better stop,' she said, 'Or I'll have an organasm.'
I had homed in on her clitoris and she was writhing with the pleasure of it.
'Why not?' I said, 'It would be delightful,' and I caressed that little, or not so little, spur nestling at the top of the forested, flooded vulva.
She reached for me, clamped her lips to mine and rocked her pelvis back and forth, shaking, and panting though her nose, till she went rigid and let out a long, deep sigh.
Fortunately, there had been no traffic or pedestrians along that twilit lane.
As she calmed, I removed my hand, which was well coated in her sweet goo, and she said, 'I told you I got wet. I used to be very quick like that, too. Geoffrey didn't like that. He wanted to finish first himself, and I could come along afterwards, provided he went on with my cloritis. But he got bored with that, and I had to do it myself. He didn't like that, either. Eventually he didn't go into me at all. He mansturbated on me.'
Her daughters' amusing versions of sexual terminology clearly originated with their mother, as they had told me. But if the language was amusing, the account of her marital intercourse was not.
'I gather Geoffrey left and moved in with his mistress,' I said.
'Yes, he did. He said she was tighter and didn't squelch. Of course, she was half my age, and hadn't had two children.'