Genevieve and I had been talking on the phone for about an hour, mostly abetting one another in avoiding our respective summer school homework assignments and giving each other a hard time. There wasn't much new to talk about since it had been only four or five hours since we'd grabbed lunch at the Union together before heading home—me to my off-campus apartment and her to her parents' house, where she had moved back in for the summer. We were ribbing each other about surviving the doldrums of July and what our collective lack of ambition meant for finding reasonable student work positions during the fall term when I heard a noise (a door closing?) over the line. There was a pause, and then Gen's voice suddenly dropped to a whisper.
"Lindsay asked me if we were having sex," Gen whispered into the phone conspiratorially.
My musings about the lazy summer ground to a sudden halt. This was...unexpected. Lindsay was Genevieve's "little" sister, a high school senior a few months past eighteen—two years younger than Gen, but half a head taller. We'd hung out a bit whenever I dropped by to kill time in Gen's parents' backyard, and I got on with Lindsay well enough, but since Gen and Lindsay were the only girls in the house and relatively close in age, my sense was that they were pretty close. I really had no idea what to read into Gen's pronouncement.
"What did you tell her?" I replied, genuinely curious.
Gen and I were, in fact, having sex. Quite a lot of sex, as it turns out, ever since I'd given my virginity to her over Thanksgiving weekend while we had the run of my apartment to ourselves. Gen was a girl who knew what she wanted. And she knew how to ask for it, be it sucking my bottom lip into her mouth and gently biting the tender flesh in the midst of an otherwise-chaste kiss to intimate that she was feeling particularly horny, grabbing both my hands and guiding them up underneath her threadbare nightshirt to cup and knead her bare breasts while we were lounging together on the floor of her dorm room in the evenings, or describing in vivid detail where and how she wanted my fingers and tongue as we carpooled to and from the college practice fields together.
I guess it would be fair to say that Gen was a bit of a hedonist; she loved indulging herself in the pleasures of the moment—she loved sampling the spicy street food from the weekend farmer's market near campus, swaying to the pulsing beat of the music at the weekend rock concerts in the Quad, the feel of the cool mist raining down on her skin as we strolled hand-in-hand through the courtyards tucked in among the downtown shops in the evenings. And for the last eight or so months, she'd also been hedonistically indulging in
me
on a delightfully regular basis: teaching me all the ways that she liked to be touched, coaching me on how to bring her off with an astoundingly long series of orgasms, one flowing right into the next, and (with an otherwise uncharacteristic
inkling
of timidity) admitting her previously undisclosed-to-anyone-else fantasy of being tied up and surrendering sexual control to someone else.
Although I'd been rather unexperienced with sex prior to dating Genevieve, I enthusiastically adopted her outlook on living "in the now" and taking pleasure when and where it could be found. We fucked like rabbits over the winter break and through the cold months of January and February, christening not only her narrow dorm room twin bed and shower, but also every room in my apartment (including the dining room table, twice), her parents' living room sofa, a stall in the basement ladies' room in the Union, a darkened corner of the marching band uniform storage room, a study carrel in the library stacks, and—frequently—in the bed of my pickup out in the fields beyond the edge of town, under the twinkling lights of the Milky Way.
I had also assumed the role of "amateur dominant" to fulfill Gen's bondage fantasy with gusto. Although our initial forays into domination were laughable—my hands shaking clumsily as I tried to bind her wrists together behind her back with an old pair of shoelaces, her easily breaking free of the knots as soon as I slid my cock into her molten pussy and her muscles tensed at the intrusion—we readily refined both our tools and our technique over the course of the spring. By the time we were ready to box up our belongings to move out of the dorms and into our summer accommodations, we needed two extra (opaque!) storage tubs to bundle up our growing collection of nipple clamps, gags, cuffs and collars, chains of varying lengths and gauges, masks, plugs, and vibrating eggs. I'd had to take an extra student loan to cover the deposit on my summer apartment, but the savings that we'd "invested" in gear for eliciting goosebumps and gasps from one another—my bringing her to the brink of cumming and holding her there for hours and hours before we finally gave in to our desires to fuck each other senseless—were dollars-intended-for-cafeteria-plans
very
well spent.
Despite Gen being extremely comfortable in the expression and exercise of her sexuality and the fact that the two of us had spent the last eight months being more or less inseparable (metaphorically
and
literally), it was pretty clear that Gen shared a much more "PG-rated" version of our relationship with her family. We held hands at her house, but that was about it (when others were around). Sex was by no means taboo in her household growing up; her parents talked openly with her about her boyfriends, healthy relationships, and sexual health. She told me that she just wasn't quite ready to break the news that their innocent girl...
wasn't...
anymore, although I had the suspicion that they already knew more than they were letting on. I didn't feel particularly threatened by Gen's dad, but there was definitely a sense of "I know how close you are... you best not hurt my little girl" tacitly communicated in facial expressions and pointed glances over the watermelon and potato salad during the family's summer backyard barbecues.
Despite what Gen's parents did (or did not) know, I was almost certain that Lindsay knew
nothing
. Yes, Lindsay was a senior, but she came off as being a more more flirty, innocent girl, sharing stories about spending time with her current beau at the local pizza parlor and blushing furiously when she caught a glimpse of Gen and I kissing one another goodbye on the front patio at the end of the evening. When Gen and I were alone, Gen exuded a smoky and intense sensuality; Lindsay's demeanor was much more "giggling girl next door." This is not to say that I didn't find Lindsay to be good company—she had an infectious laugh, piercing blue eyes, and, to be totally honest, a body that was more than easy on the eyes. She typically hid her curves under baggy t-shirts and cargo shorts, but every now and again—in her lustrous one-piece swimsuit in the backyard pool, arriving back at home from track practice in her Spandex running shorts—I could see that she was quickly blossoming into a gorgeous young woman. I was completely smitten with Gen, but that didn't mean that Lindsay hadn't crossed my mind once or twice when I lay in bed late at night stroking myself and letting my mind aimlessly wander from one fantasy to the next...
* * * * *
There was a long pause on the telephone line. I could hear Gen's breathing in the silence. "Gen?"
"I told her," Gen finally whispered. "I told her that we've been having sex since November. She looked absolutely scandalized." The line went quiet again.
I laughed out loud before I could catch myself. It seemed ludicrous to me that a self-assured, sexually liberated woman like Gen—the girl who didn't hesitate to march downstairs to check out the dorm DVD player so that we could watch her secret stash of porn together...the girl who grinned and stitched like a cat when I shot my cum across her belly and breasts... the girl who shrugged and stripped off her clothes and frigged herself to a shuddering climax in the passenger seat of my car in broad daylight on the way home from Vegas—would become so bashful about answering a straightforward, factual question asked by her sister. Gen didn't say anything, and I suddenly became concerned that I'd missed something critically important about their family dynamic over the last months. Lindsay didn't
seem
to be particularly prudish, but...
"I'm sorry Gen. I didn't mean to laugh," I back-pedaled. "It's not funny at all, it's just that—"
Gen interrupted. She didn't sound
