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Private Lessons

Category: Mature
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“Would you help me over in Reference, please?”

Richard looked up from his filing. He swiveled his head, looking for the source of the clear, but tiny voice.

“I’m rearranging and I need someone to help move the shelves and lift the boxes of books.”

He spied Sylvia, standing a little to the side and behind him. Richard nodded “ok” and filed the last two cards. He closed the card file drawer and followed her to the reference room, for which she had already started.

Richard’s role in this University Library was a small one. He worked twelve hours a week as part of his student’s financial aid package. He was new to it in this September of his junior year. He was glad to have this job. Most of his friends were washing dishes in the cafeteria. At the library he would file, shelve, or check out books. He learned a lot about using the library, which he was sure would help him when he moved on to grad school. Mostly, he enjoyed the chance to meet and talk to the many people that used and worked there.

He especially enjoyed the chance to flirt with the coeds of his choosing. He had actually gotten lucky with one of them a few weeks ago. His target of choice was JoAnne, the graduate student’s wife and coworker at the Circulation Desk. He sensed that she was lonely and wondered if he could become her lover. He thought that he sensed some return signals from her. He mused over his next steps. At any rate, whatever his conquests and prospects, he tactfully guarded them, flaunting nothing.

Richard was a good student. His sexual ambitions were normal for a young man of twenty years. He was a little unlike most of his classmates. He had a polite and unassuming nature that was not normal for his age. The college girls thought that he was good looking, which explained why his flirtations were seldom rebuffed. He was better groomed than most of the male students, but not in a “spit-and-polish”, nor in an effeminate sense.

He quickened his pace to catch up with Sylvia. He wondered if this new task would be a long one. His shift was nearly over; maybe he could get some overtime.

Sylvia Weinstein was the Reference Librarian. She had charge of all the materials available to students to find statistics, or facts or the sources of information they needed for their research.

If Sylvia’s aura had been less drab, she would have been an enticing mystery-lady to a young man like Richard. She dressed plainly. Her form was mostly hidden. Her skin was pale, but retained an olive tone at the same time. She was not very tall—maybe five-two. Her salt and pepper hair suggested age, but her smooth facial features, hair style and slender build indicated youth. Her face was neither pretty nor homely. It had some Jewish features that added to her mystery. There was no hint of makeup. She wore no jewelry except her watch. In the employees’ break room Sylvia said little. When she did, it was all business and in a voice that lacked volume but included a hint of condescension. Richard knew that she was unmarried, but nothing more. Yes, she was a real mystery lady. As he hurried to catch up with her, the barely-perceptible sway of her hips had Richard wondering more.

They arrived in the Reference Room together, and Sylvia pointed out the work she wanted performed. There was much to be done. Mostly, it was lugging boxes of dusty books and erecting the new shelves that had been delivered earlier that day. Sylvia left him to it while she busied herself across the room. By the time Richard finished it was eight o’clock, closing time.

Sylvia approached him. For the first time Richard perceived a faint smile trace across her face. “Thank you, Richard. You were a big help.”

“No problem, Miss Weinstein,” he countered. “I was glad I could help you.”

She offered no reply, but stood looking at him for a long second. The next event shocked Richard so profoundly that he could not think of any alternative but acceptance.

“You may call me Sylvia,” she said. “Come to dinner at my house on Saturday. Seven o’clock. Here is the address.”


On almost any other occasion, a young college man would relish free, home-cooked food. Richard was not all that excited. Saturday nights were reserved for fun, adventure, relaxation. He had been conscripted into reserving his night to dine with this older woman who did not interest him. Still, he had accepted. It was not in him to rudely renege when she was just trying to say “thank you”. In the end he just shrugged and decided to go along with it. She would probably be tired and send him home by ten, anyway. He would get back to the frat house in time to tap the keg.

Richard liked to be on time. At last, in the dusk he found the roadside mailbox. There was a narrow driveway that wound up a wooded grade to a destination that was invisible from his vantage point. Richard followed it in his Toyota. After about 500 yards, he rounded a curve and he was at trail’s end.

It was a small house in the woods. As he emerged from the car he could smell smoke escaping the chimney. The house was on one floor, but the architecture was too modern to be considered ranch-style. Despite the small size, Richard was sure that it had been built at some cost.

He stood leaning on his open car door for a few seconds perusing the mysterious structure. His self-imposed ennui was fading and curiosity filling the void. He snatched up the bottle of Chablis that he brought with him and strode to the door. He rang the bell and waited. A minute passed. As he waited the chill in the autumn night air bit him. He wondered if she had heard the bell. Finally, Sylvia appeared, opening the door to him.


She was dressed almost as if at work. There were the black trouser-style slacks, neither snug to her slender form, nor loose as a pajama. Her hair was arranged just as always: parted in the center, brushed back from her forehead, descending to her shoulders. It hung straight down without waves nor curls, but a slight frizz. She wore the expected shirt-style white blouse. Unlike the usual cotton, however, it was a shiny silk. Richard noticed that two, not one, of the buttons at the top were left undone. He was sure that she was unaware of it. At any rate, it revealed nothing, except a hint of a delicate collarbone.

There was, however, a huge difference in that as she opened the door an inviting smile replaced the usual taciturn exterior. Richard thought that he might have detected a trace of perfume.

“Richard”, she gushed, “I am so glad that you’re here.”

“Sorry to be late,” he answered, “It was hard for me to find your place. I don’t come this way often.”

“That’s alright. Come in!” They stepped together into the main part of the house.

Richard glanced to the right end of the house and saw the fireplace crackling.

“I was just admiring your house from the outside before I came in.”

“I know,” she replied, “I saw you.”

The answer was full of mystery. If she had seen him, why had she delayed in answering the door? Had she been angry at his lateness? She did not appear so. It tugged at his curiosity. Recovering, he thrust forward the bottle of wine.

“Richard, how thoughtful you are! It will go perfectly with our meal.” She paused. “Most young men would not have the good manners to bring it.”

Richard blushed at the compliment and shrugged. “The inside of your house is just as nice as the outside.”

“Thank you, Richard. I like it here. It was built for me by a dear friend nine years ago.”

“Oh, will there be someone joining us?” He didn’t see evidence of anyone else in the small home.

“No, he’s been gone a long time.”

Richard had the presence of mind to avoid a follow up question.

Another pause intruded. She broke the silence, “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable by the fire? I’ll finish the cooking.” With that she turned for the kitchen, located on the opposite side of the layout, the bottle of Chablis in hand.

Richard strode toward the fireplace. As if in afterthought, she called to him, “The whole house is what you see … well, except for my bedroom, of course … so I won’t bother you with a tour. Make yourself at home.”

What had the “bedroom” comment meant? At any rate it was deflating, notwithstanding his disinterest in visiting it, either alone or accompanied. Despite the irrelevance, however, he began subconsciously coveting that which was now denied to him.

As if she sensed his need to be soothed, she called again, “Fix yourself something to drink. Anything that you can find in the cabinet by the mantle is fine.”

Richard found a bottle of Drambouie and poured himself a good one. “Anything for you?” he called out.

“No thank you. I’ll be with you soon.”

Richard put a log on the fire and stoked it. As the sparks rose he took a gulp of the liqueur and glanced at Sylvia’s form at the opposite end of the house, preoccupied in the kitchen. Her strange statements confused him. As the alcohol braced him, he turned attention to the appointments in the home.

He stood in a living room-den-dining room in combination. It was dominated by the fireplace, books and wood. The furnishings had an expensive look that told of good taste, and a scale that revealed disdain for large gatherings. There was a settee not far from the fireplace, rather than a sofa, with plush pillows on either end. Small, cozy chairs were set off remotely in intimate pairs. In front of the fireplace, in contrast to the hardwood floor, lay a luxurious-looking white area rug. It was rectangular, about four by eight feet in size. At first, it appeared to be fur, but he saw that it was not. He judged the material to be long strands of silk. It was definitely not designed for walking on. He carefully placed a foot on it and felt that a pad lay underneath it.

The fireplace provided the only light in the room. He saw two unlit candles on the dining room table, which she had set with simple elegance. He perused the many books on the shelves. He found some poetry, classics, Shakespeare, histories. He couldn’t browse them all. The sparse light made it difficult to see. As he poured down the last of his Drambouie, she entered carrying a platter to the dining table.

As she lit the candles she called to him, “Would you like to pour the wine?”

His bottle of Chablis appeared, now chilled and opened, and he filled both goblets. The meal that Sylvia prepared was Snapper with a cilantro sauce, rice and a vegetable on the side. They sat down, peering at each other through the lit candles. “I hope that you don’t mind a light meal.” she said. “I didn’t bother with a first course. I don’t get much practice cooking for guests.”

He puzzled at her attempt to offer an apology that was not required.

“I think that this will be really nice, Sylvia. I can’t wait to dig in.”

“Thank you, Richard.” He thought, to his amazement, that he could see her blushing. Her voice reverted to the low volume tone to which he was accustomed at the library. “I wanted to spend some time with you before dinner.” Richard leaned forward so that he could hear her. “I’m a poor hostess. I’ll make it up to you after dinner.”

There she went again. The mysterious language, the ambiguity in her words, made Richard wish for a long pull on the goblet of wine, which he took. With the warm fire, and the recent Drambouie helping, a little buzz settled on him. It made him relax. Sylvia sensed the slight change, and smiled slightly.

Through the balance of the dinner the conversation was small talk. His courses, her books, the new art museum on campus all had their turns. Sylvia avoided further provocations. Richard found her intelligent and interesting.

They finished the meal, drained the bottle of Chablis, when Sylvia spoke up and asked, “Coffee?” Richard declined. “Too late in the day for me.”

Sylvia spoke again, “I have some ice cream that we can have for desert, Richard. Would you like some?”

“No thanks, again, Sylvia. I enjoyed the meal, and now I’m a little full.”

“But you’re not thinking of leaving already?” For the first time she appeared uneasy.

“Oh no, I just don’t want any ice cream, but I’m not ready to go yet.”

They looked at one another through the candles. Now it was Richard’s turn for ambiguity. Sylvie searched for some hint of body language that might clue her as to how to parry this young man’s advance.

For Richard’s part, he realized the double entendre only after uttering it. He wasn’t sure how he had slipped into such an error. It was an impoliteness that he blamed on the alcohol. In a way, he was unabashed at having said it. At any rate, he wouldn’t compound the faux pas with a retraction. Perhaps she hadn’t noticed.

Sylvia simply rose to clear the dishes. He stood to assist, but she stopped him. “Why don’t you tend the fire,” she said. “I’ll clean up. Make yourself another drink. I won’t be long.”

He poured a new Drambouie and sat on the settee with the fluffy pillows on it. A book about antiques was on the end table and he started thumbing through it. It wasn’t very interesting to him, so he alternately scanned it and stared into the fire. He was pensive, searching for clues to the strange happenings of this night in progress.

In the kitchen she was cleaning the dishes. She was almost done. Richard lifted his head, seeking relief from the fire’s brightness. At that moment he saw her do something that perplexed him.

Thinking that she was unseen, Sylvia dipped a spoon in the dish of remaining cilantro sauce. She lifted some of the loose fabric at the front of her blouse and poured the spoonful on it. Richard turned his head away, pretending not to have seen the staged accident.

“Oh, Richard,” she called out in feigned dismay. “Look at what I’ve done to my blouse! I have to treat this spot before it sets”

“I’ll just go change. I won’t be long. Pour yourself another, if you would like one” She disappeared behind the door into the forbidden bedroom. Richard was still working on his earlier Drambouie. He freshened it, for he was enjoying its effects on his senses.


In the anxiousness of waiting, minutes seem like hours. Sylvia’s absence was ten minutes, but in that interval Richard’s psyche traveled many paths that returned him to his starting point. He could not comprehend this mysterious woman, who was neither old nor young; was plain yet alluring; who spoke in provocative phrases that could be interpreted innocently. Why had she deliberately ruined her silk blouse, and why was this plain, older woman’s absence stirring him? The questions threatened to unnerve him.

Reason urged him to find an exit; excuse himself and leave. The nagging mystery would not allow it. He would remain to the end, until he found his answers. He raised his drink again, looking for its bracing effect to summon his courage. He was about to enter a maze with no knowledge of the ending. His youth was slipping away. Maturity endows courage. A younger man might have backed away.


At long last, the bedroom door creaked open. In the semi-darkness, Sylvia slowly emerged from her secret lair. A transformed vision of her crept into Richard’s focus. The conservative garb had disappeared. In its place was a far more exotic ensemble. From her slender hips hung a pair of loosely fitting, unbelted pantaloons that gathered at the ankles like a harem girl’s attire. The difference was that the fabric was heavier, plush, a velour in gold, piped in crimson. The top was of the same material. It was a halter that mysteriously crisscrossed her with a tied bow at the waist. Her shoulders and arms were bare, as were her tiny feet. A horizontal strip of creamy flesh, a width of only three fingers, showed at the gap between the halter and the pants. It was, indeed, a transformation.

As she advanced with slow steps toward Richard, the moving folds captured and reflected the firelight. The soft velour appeared to caress her, suggesting her desire to be caressed. As she approached closer, Richard strained to discern, to no avail, some outline of her body beneath the drape. There were only the loose pantaloons, and the halter, whose lack of form indicated bralessness.

She continued her silent, measured procession until, stopping on the white silk rug, she stood facing Richard still sitting on the settee some feet away. Motionless, arms loose at her sides, she beckoned him to her.

“Richard, come stand with me here on my silk carpet.” She added, “Remove your shoes and socks first.”

Richard obeyed, so that he was barefoot, as she was. He stepped onto the white silk rug, immediately felt the sensual effect of the rich fabric on his skin. He stood inches from her.

She looked up at him. In her subdued voice she banished any doubts he may have retained, “This is my special rug. It is too precious to display all the time. I only bring it out for occasions like this.” She, thus, revealed here designs on him.

She closed the remaining gap, creating the first contact between them. It cued him to embrace her and they shared a kiss. It was long and unhurried. It was neither a kiss of friendship nor of passion. It was an introduction as they explored the softness of their lips upon the others’. Richard looked at her face, eyes closed, nose twitching slightly as she manipulated her lips to caress his.

Breaking the kiss, but still embracing, she said, “Doesn’t it feel wonderful?”

Her ambiguity stirred him anew. Had she spoken of the kiss that they had just enjoyed, or to the feeling of the silken carpet under their bare feet? He had entered a maze with many turns. He would test the double meaning. He strengthened his embrace and bent his head down to her. They resumed. She purred her approval, the reward for his courage. This time the kiss had more passion, was more urgent. Each tongue probed the other. Muscles and inner defenses softened and relaxed.

“I hope that you truly are not too full to be comfortable,” she said, regaining control.

“No, I’m just right.”

“Good, I like to serve a light dinner just for that purpose.” Her tone portrayed some playfulness.

She pulled slowly back from him with a knowing look in her eyes and a wry smile. She placed her palms on his shoulders, and then ran them down the length of his chest, his abdomen, finally hooking her thumbs in his belt. Richard remained motionless in anticipation. She sank to her knees on the white silk rug, the pad underneath cushioning her. With delicate fingers she eased down the tab of his zipper.

Richard hardened more strongly than he ever had before. His shallow trysts with deflowered coeds did not match this erotic journey. On her knees before him was an experienced siren who knew how to unlock the instincts of a man. He trembled slightly in fear of the unknown.

“Richard,” she proclaimed it in a whispered, but projected, voice that rose over the crackling of the fire, “I am going to blow you.” She was not asking permission, nor did she say it with lewdness. It was her announcement of the path. She was leading him; he would follow.

Richard lost control of his breathing. He haltingly gasped in a breath as his excitement threatened to induce a further loss of control. Sensing this she looked up at him, understanding.

“Do you know this pleasure?” she asked him in her lilting tone.

Richard, unable to speak, could only shake his head “no”. She smiled because she had known the answer in advance.

“Then I will teach it to you,” she said as she rose to face him.


Richard trembled as she removed his clothing. She unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders. His undershirt followed, which he obediently allowed her to lift over his head. She tugged his belt buckle next and opened it. She grasped the button of his trousers. Richard became dizzy. He struggled to hold back his ejaculation.

She released the button, placed her hands on his bare shoulders. She kissed him tenderly, calming him slightly. Her subdued voice crept into his crowded consciousness.

“Perhaps you are afraid of …” she searched for the right phrase, “… erupting too soon with the excitement of this new experience?”

It was a statement more than a question. He was relieved that she understood his struggle. He uttered a gasped “yes”, but she had predicted this answer, too.

She raised up on her toes, leaned into him, her lips brushing his earlobe. He felt the velour halter on the bare skin of his chest. She whispered to him, “I will tell you how to avoid that outcome, and you will be successful if you allow me to teach you.”

“Yes, tell me!”


She bent back to her task, unbuttoning his pants, pulling them to his ankles along with his underwear. She tapped his ankle; he stepped out of the pants; she cast them aside. Sylvia stood again. She stretched her bare arms around his neck. She did not crush herself into him, but stood so that her velour-covered frame was brushing his naked body. The soft fabric felt good. The fire warmed his flank. His senses were sending signals of pleasure to his brain. He even forgot to imagine her as-yet unseen body cloaked in the velour. She turned her face up towards his and spoke to him.

“Don’t fight with yourself,” she began. “Savor every feeling. Feel what is happening in each moment. Anticipate nothing. It is expectation that blocks your senses in the present and brings you to your destination before your arrival. Let me guide you. I will do everything.”

She pressed her arms down gently, still entwined around his neck. He obediently sank down, kneeling on the silken rug. Another gentle push at his chest and he was on his back, facing up to her as she knelt beside him. He was parallel to the fireplace. It warmed his naked body. The silken rug was soothing. His throbbing manhood pointed to the ceiling. She reached out to take one of the pillows from the settee and placed it under his head.

He reached out to pull open her velour halter. She raised her hand stop him. She bent over him. Her hair fell on his face as she whispered, “I will do everything.”

She inched forward and kissed him. It was a long sensuous kiss again as he allowed the fullness of her lips to invade him. She grasped his bottom lip with her own moist two and gently suckled it. She raised herself up and traced her fingertips, then her nails across his bare chest down across his belly. “Think only of the feelings of this moment.” Thus reminded, the sensations opened him. He would accept it all, reject nothing, and keep no reserve. Each moment served its own purpose.

She repeated her gentle stroking, on his chest, his arms, his flanks, leaving his most sensitive parts untouched. He repeated her admonishments to himself and basked in the pleasure of each passing of her fingertips over him.

She paused. “Oh Richard,” she lilted, “you have such a lovely penis. I will so enjoy tasting you.” Her voice had a soothing, singing quality. He opened his eyes and found her gazing at him. Her eyes were wider open now. Her lips slightly apart, the tip of her tongue reached between to remoisten them. The glow of the fire reflected from her cheekbones. He would never again contemplate her plainness.

Without averting her gaze from him, she withdrew her hand to the bow knot that held her halter top in place. She touched it, nothing more. She watched as his eyes traveled from the features of her exotic face, to the delicate lines of her bare shoulders, down to the hand poised at the fastening. Slowly, she pulled it open. The halter loosened. She slowly unwound the coil until it fell away, her nude torso revealed to him.

Her breasts were not large; neither were they small and round. He looked up at them, tentatively hanging from beneath her shoulders like ripened pears on a tree. He was sure that a tender caress, a gentle squeeze would yield droplets of sweet nectar from the hardened nipples. He wanted to do so, and then lick the juice from them. He reached up, but she gently pushed him back, “I will do everything.”

She was pleased that her breasts had so aroused him. In her kneeling position, she bent from her waist so her nipples just touched him at the navel. She pressed slightly more so that the not only the nipples’ hardness, but the warmth of the tender flesh surrounding them could be felt by them both.

She straddled him. Keeping the light pressure intact she inched upward the length of him so that she could lightly sweep her breasts over him, using no hands, except to support her weight. The contact thrilled the two of them. Her experience allowed her to maintain her role as gatekeeper, while savoring the sensations as her breasts slowly traced him. She stopped when they were face to face. She kissed him again, a tender prelude.

She eased forward a little more and dropped the hardened pearbuds between Richard’s lips for him to suckle. He reached up his hands again to hold them, but she would not allow it. Instead, she would raise and lower herself a few inches at a time on her outstretched arm to vary the pressure and contact.

She eased back down, implanted another kiss on him as she passed by. She retraced her path until she encountered Richard’s nipples. She was pleased that excitement had hardened them. She eased her head lower and suckled them, then lightly clenched them in her teeth. She traversed her breasts the rest of way, back to his navel then dismounted him.

Sylvia straightened up and whispered, “Close your eyes.” Richard obeyed. She stretched out her arm toward his lower body. With the pads of her fingertips she caressed the silky skin of his sack. He moaned with the pleasure of it. She continued for a minute, then traced it lightly with her nails. Richard was leaking as he soaked in the pleasure visited upon him. Returning to her fingertips, she lifted his heavy nuggets gently, observing his reaction, possibly gauging the force of his eventual eruption. Her observations on both points pleased her.

Sylvia wedged her hands between Richard’s thighs and pushed sideways lightly. Understanding the hint, he spread his legs wider and she climbed between them. She formed a circle with her thumb and middle finger. Wrapping his shaft, she inched upward. Richard bent to a pike as the pleasure shook him. He lay back down, waiting for more. With her improvised circle, she caressed him; he moaned again. Fluid leaked copiously. Sylvia slipped her tiny hands under his buttocks and bent her head lower. Richard felt the caress of her hair aside his flanks. His manhood stood pointing at her open lips a few inches above. She bent lower, kissing the crown, collecting the fluid with her tongue. She rose up slightly and rolled her sampling over her tongue, shifting it from the tip to either side, as a sommelier testing a vintage.

Richard watched her relish the nectar that had issued from him. He marveled at her delight in it. He would have expected her to dislike it, accepting it only as part her servicing him. She looked back at him and smiled.

“Why are you puzzled, Richard? Didn’t I say that I would enjoy tasting you?” Her lilting song-voice had returned. She knew it was important to say it to him. He would discard any remaining reticence in delivering his full essence to her when the moment arrived.

She bent her head back down again, circling the crown. Her tongue pressed at the tiny slit. She sucked gently, letting him become accustomed to the new sensation. Suddenly, she descended quickly, burying her nose in his nest of hair. Richard felt the end of him strike the back of her throat. She pressed down a little harder. Her tongue extended out, licking his testicles. She was using every skill on him.

Richard recalled her imperative: to sense each moment, spurn expectation. For this reason he could savor every pleasure impulse of each sharpened nerve ending without yielding up his manly syrup.

She rose back up so that her lips once again encircled the crown. They kissed and massaged it, her tongue bathed it. It was as if the sensual kisses they had shared earlier had been prelude to this climactic finale. Sylvia’s hands squeezed Richard’s buttocks, making him press his pelvis upward, which served to tighten the skin of his organ. His nerve endings were exposed to the maximum. He drank in every ounce of pleasure that his body, and Sylvia’s, combined to bestow on him. He did so easily, without struggling. Sylvia’s knowledge had been well-implanted in him.

For uncounted minutes she worked on him, he accepted. At long last, she slipped her hands from beneath his clenched buttocks. She continued her sweet oral massage. She reached her tiny hands to his, pushed delicate fingertips into his palms, closed her thumbs over to secure the contact. Richard glanced down at her, brow furled as she cast her eyes upward to meet his. Never releasing him from her luxuriant lips, her eyes widened; her gaze signaled to him. Richard knew that the culminating moment was in the present.

The unending stimulus reached his source. Semen boiled from his testicles, flooded through the shaft and poured through the gateway of his crown, exploding every nerve. He watched her as she drank it all. Her eyes continued upon his all the while, until the end when they gently closed. She carefully sipped the final drops of essence from him. She appeared to savor it, as she might a favorite cocktail.


As Richard’s penis deflated, she released him, and eased her way up so that she lay on her side next to him propped up on her elbow. Neither had yet uttered a word.

Until the last few minutes Richard had, as most of his peers, thought of oral sex as the dirty part of sex. He had changed his mind entirely. It was such a noble act for a woman to give of herself so completely. He wanted to thank her, but he temporarily drained of energy and eloquence. The events of the past half hour were running through his mind’s eye, like a movie. Sylvia saw the contentment on his face. It was enough.

Sylvia reached over him to the end table where he had set his half-finished Drambouie. She picked it up and drained it, enjoying the bracer, for the act which she performed had required a great outpouring of energy from her, as well. It wasn’t the physical activity that so required it, but her simultaneous and constant attention to every detail of body and mind of two people. It was the perfection demanded of her that was so taxing, for she wanted his initiation to be a cherished experience for them both. She had risen to it and was satisfied with her work.

She remained alongside him propped on her elbow, ripened pears resting softly on his chest. Finally, she broke the silence.

“Richard, you were wonderful!” His expression changed to puzzlement, as his feelings of gratitude toward her were rudely interrupted. How could he ever understand her?

She went on before he could stammer out a question, because she knew that he was confused.

“To accept pleasure from your lover is as important as giving it. To abandon your defenses when she is at your gate is the ultimate trust. A gift is a connection between the giver and the receiver. It should bring happiness to both.”

“Yes,” he thought, “he would understand her now.” At least this part was clear to him. She had imparted her lesson in a way that was so effortless, and pleasureful to the student, yet stretching and demanding of him, too.

She bent to him and placed a kiss on his mouth. He tasted the remnants of the Drambouie, ashamed of his thankfulness that it had washed away his semen. She had drawn it from him so skillfully, savored it so willingly, yet he dreaded a kiss that might suggest the taste of it.

She finished the kiss and rested her head on his shoulder. She cheerfully announced the next activity in her lilting voice.

“Now you must taste me.”


The words, so reasonable in the circumstances, resonated through his ears like a shocking gong. He should have, but did not, consider this possibility as the logical next step. Yet, at once he knew that he could not refuse after what she had performed on him. It would be his first try at it.

“Yes, I will.” All eagerness had deserted his voice.

She sensed it immediately. “Don’t worry,” she hushed to him. “You will like it. I will make sure of it.”

She sat up, as did he. She reached for the remaining plush pillow on the love seat. She lay down on her back in the place he had just vacated, her head on one pillow. The other she inserted under her bottom to tilt her center up toward him. He was kneeling at her feet. She dipped her hand under the waistband of the velour harem pants. Only then did he remember that her nudity was limited to her upper body. She tugged at a drawstring, then returned her hands to her sides, gazed up to him in expectation.

Richard longed to see the rest of her. He leaned forward and slipped in his own fingers at either side of the waistband. She bent her knees and raised up her pelvis to assist him. He started to pull the pantaloons toward her knees. He would not do so roughly or quickly. Slowly and gently they eased passed her hips. A triangle of soft hair appeared. As the pantaloons slipped lower, there shown a glistening pair of lips. He paused, marveling that the sight struck him as so beautiful. She relaxed her pelvis back down; he pulled the velour fabric lower. Out came the creamy cradle of her soft thighs, in which she would soon rock her lover. He finally removed the pantaloons over her knees and ankles. The unveiling was now complete. Sylvia beamed a smile at the final revelation.

Her smile shone up to him, which he took as an invitation to appreciate the vision lying below him. The viewing pleasured him. The prior trepidation flew from him. He wanted to be on her and in her, to taste her and thrill her. She saw his mood change. His appetite whetting at the site of her nudity excited her.

He tenderly caressed her feet and massaged her calves. She spread her knees apart to make room for him, stretched out her arms to welcome him. He lowered himself to her. They kissed passionately for awhile. He felt his crown bathing in her wetness. He had not yet rehardened, so did not penetrate her. He wanted to linger, but sensed her growing ardor, demanding more of him. He slid lower, stopping at the pear-breasts that had thrilled him. Now he could kiss them, lick them, suck them, searching for the nectar he still was certain existed. Their softness, under the hardened buds drew him to want more. She gasped in pleasure, arched her back to press them at him. She grasped the back of his head with both hands, pulling his mouth to them. He found the enjoyment of her reaction even better than the feel of her.

He knew there was more to discover. He eased himself lower on her, kissing and licking her belly. His approach to her center was inflaming her. She gasped and pushed her pelvis up against his chest, rubbing herself on him as hard as her strength would allow her to.

Finally he arrived at trail’s end. He skipped by her bushy mound but noticed a trace of perfume in it as he passed by. He lay prone. His face was now inches away from her core. Sylvia was gasping and whimpering, shedding all reserves. She continued pushing her pelvis up at him. She had raised her legs up over him so that her thighs rested on his shoulder blades, her calves trailing on, resting her feet on buttocks. Her reveling at his ministrations warmed and gratified him. Richard inhaled her smell. It was a pleasant muskiness, not what he had expected.

He didn’t know what to do next. He turned his head slightly and kissed the inside of her thigh near its connection with her hip. She moaned in pleasure, not only at the sensation, but at the beginning. He repeated on the other side. Suddenly, her hands at the back of his head mashed his head to her gaping slit. His face was immediately covered in her woman’s ointments. She ground herself at his face. Her breathing accelerated; she gasped at the pleasure of it. She demanded more. She moved his head around to provide stimulus to the proper locations.

Richard received inspiration. He extended his tongue to taste her. In the wetness he found a hardened knob and he licked it. He heard her cry out in ecstasy from above, long and loud. She gripped his head harder so that he would not move it. He continued to massage the bulb with his tongue. Her fluids were flowed more copiously. The pleasure drove her higher and higher, scaling a precipice to seize the treasure atop it. Richard continued firmly, yet tenderly. He wanted to give her all that he was able to give. He felt energy transfer through him to her, replacing what she had expended.

When finally she crested the summit, her sweet climb completed, she tensed every muscle. As her release overtook her she issued a primal and high pitched moan. She held herself that way for a handful of precious seconds. When it was over she relaxed her tensed muscles, one at a time, until she lay flat, resting on the silken soothing rug, panting as she waited for her breath to return.

It was only then that Richard rose his face up from her wetness. He was happy for her, that she had received back what she had bestowed on him earlier. He knew that she had brought herself to this place; his soul beamed at the part that he had played in helping her.

He crawled up to lie next to her. He turned on his side, propped up his elbow. Richard surveyed Sylvia’s nude resting body, small and delicate, but containing such power. He looked at himself alongside, with his re-formed erection. Lying next to each other, they were unashamed of their nakedness.

“Sylvia, you were wonderful.”

She smiled back warmly, for she knew at that moment that he had learned well from her. She said nothing for a moment, choosing to savor the success of her teaching, and her recent climax. She only snuggled against him slightly closer, but it was enough for him to understand her approval.


After a while, she broke away from her introspection. “Come into me now, Richard.”

She lifted her knees and spread them. Richard mounted her. As they shared a kiss her wetness pulled him inside her. He drew pleasure from the warmth of her, she from the fullness within her. Both pairs of eyes were open. They opened a window into their souls, allowing them to savor their unification with the most possible intensity.

He stroked gently. She kissed him lightly, appreciating his tenderness. “Deep and strong, Richard.”

He pressed up on his knees and shifted forward, pressing into her more. He drew his arms around her back, pressing her chest and her breasts against him. Her arms respond in kind, and her pelvis press up at his, to deepen the insertion. She wrapped her smaller legs into his to give her leverage. He did not pump her with countless strokes. Each movement was purposeful, strong, demanding. He would draw back, then press back in and hold. Together, they would relish the pleasure of the single stroke. When it was fully exploited he would pull back to start anew. To slow his retreat, she gripped him with the muscles she had inside her. As he would start forward, she would raise herself up to meet him. They would achieve a slightly deeper contact. At the terminus they would pause again to appreciate. Satisfied with the new chapter, they would turn the page yet again to repeat the back and forth journey. Thus, he explored her, demanding her secrets. She would yield them one at a time.

When, at last, they climaxed together some time later, they had drained themselves into the other. He was still looking into her. Her countenance was serene. “I am so glad that you came, Richard.”

Again, she spoke with the double meaning. This time, he did not puzzle over it, but absorbed the ambiguity.

“I am already looking forward to when you come back to me.”

A disappointing dismissal; he had thought to sleep with her in her forbidden bedroom.

She assuaged him. “Richard, I have had many lovers. You are among the best.”

The limitation of the compliment did not deflate him. In their evening together she had heightened his understanding. He would return to her, learn more from her. He had not yet earned permission into her sanctum. He accepted her judgment. He craved her approval. Ultimately he would feast on it.


Thus, Richard and Sylvia became lovers. Their universe was her home in the woods. They never dated nor emerged in public. After three more of their private dinners Sylvia yielded the final room of her home to him.

Sylvia never forbade him, nor asked him, to keep her secrets. Richard did so because of his respect for her. He would not betray this mystery woman who defied age and convention to implant her knowledge in him. Neither his fraternity brothers, nor the workers at the library ever had a trace of an idea of his story. Sylvia knew this and was grateful for it. She had always had confidence in the character of her young student.

They were not jealous lovers. She told him once that there might be others, but he never saw any trace of another’s presence in her abode. He believed that she had taken none, but guarded her freedom to do so. Richard, for his part, found another. She was a coed named Christina. Sylvia encouraged him. She would listen to him recount his times with her. She would advise him as her student became Christina’s teacher. Richard enjoyed having the two lovers, shortchanging neither of them. One night in the future, the three of them would dine together at Sylvia’s house. That is an untold story.

They would entwine for the entire year of school. He left for the summer; he missed her. Christina’s charms distracted him well enough. He returned to the University for his final year. He sought her out immediately. She was pleased to see him, but put him off when he hinted for permission to come to her. At first, she politely delayed him. Finally, she explained that she had already selected another young man that she could nurture and grow, as she had done for Richard the year before. She possessed no more knowledge to impart to him. She smiled and said that perhaps they might have a last reunion sometime before he graduated. They never did, although they both hoped for it. Richard, as always, accepted the teacher’s judgment. At any rate, Christina was demanding more of him.

As the months went by, Sylvia and Richard saw little of each other. His work-study job had been transferred to a different library on the campus. He had no reason to enter Sylvia’s library except to see her. She always smiled a welcome at him, but he sensed her discomfort at being sought out too often.

During the week between final exams and graduation he went to the library to say good-bye to her. She knew why he had come. She knew that he would. There were no patrons present at this late phase of the term. In a remote corner of the Reference Room they stood silently. Her fingertips rested in his palms, the thumbs closed over, as she had done that first night.

“I’ll miss you,” he blurted out. She stopped him. She explained in her ever-present wisdom that he must not taint the sweetness of their union with sadness.

“All of my lovers are still in my heart,” she said, “as you will always be, Richard. You deserve every good thing that comes to you.”

With that she dropped her hands from his. He knew that it was time to depart.

Good-bye, Sylvia; all the best to you.” He turned and walked away slowly, his emotions raging against each other inside him.

He heard Sylvia’s voice call out to him. He turned to face her.

“Richard, you were not among my best lovers”. She had trained him to wait for the completion.

She uttered her last words to him as clearly as her tiny voice would allow.

“You were my best lover.”

She about-faced and walked slowly back to tend to the dusty books. He could not see that her eyes glistened with tears. His heart lightened, he turned and walked on.

They parted.


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