Page 17 of Education with Dad's Best Friend
Elsie’s big blue eyes widen even more as she swallows my man juice. She smiles as she licks her lips. “You aren’t sweet, Albert, but I love your taste.”
God help me. Those innocent words draw another jet out of me, and it spurts onto her belly. She scoops it up and licks her palm. It’s all I can do not to take her right there.
“You’re such a bad girl,” I say as I put my pants back on.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I couldn’t help it. Ever since we, err, I saw it over the phone. I wanted to do it for you.”
“Did you like doing it?”
“Yes,” she says. “And I would like to do it again.”
I suck in a breath, and I pull her to me to kiss her, feeling my erection forming again in my pants.
I need to take care of my girl, but the voices of people talking outside clear my head. “We’d better go,” I whisper into her ear. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to leave you aching.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll take care of myself later after I get home,” she whispers back. “And I’ll let you see me on camera.”
I would like the idea just a day ago, but presently, it irks me. I can’t stand seeing her and not touching her. Against my better judgment, I say to her, “No, sweetheart, not today. Today, I’m going to fuck you properly.”
Her eyes widen, and her mouth falls open.
I must shock her with the coarse word, so I correct myself. “What I mean to say is, I’ll give you another biology lesson, Elsie.”
She grins. “I would like that!”
Chapter 8
Elsie
After two hours in the mall, we return to Albert’s car with armloads of shopping bags. I feel like a princess. I’ve seen people being on a shopping spree on TV but never imagined myself doing the same. Albert is such a generous guy. He urged me to buy everything I set my eyes on. I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t resist.
“What exactly are you going to teach me today?” I ask excitedly. Although I’m pretty sure we’re going to have sex, I don’t know how it is done.
I’ve been curious about sex for a while, especially since my mom hasn’t been discreet in front of me. When we lived in a trailer, I would wake in the middle of the night and wonder about the noises she and her boyfriend made. The house would shake as well. At first, I thought they were fighting, and I peeked at them once. All I saw was the guy on top of Mom, but that scared me. I cried outside her room, and they stopped what they were doing. When I asked whether she was okay, my mom told me to go away. I couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night, worrying about her and ready to help her out if she cried for help. She never did, and the next day she told me they were having sex, and it was what a man and a woman did. She didn’t give me more details and told me I would find out myself when I grew up.
Ever since junior high, I’ve seen my schoolmates kissing on campus all the time, but other than that, nothing more. I know bodies must be joined together, and I guess which parts as well, but I’ve never seen how it is done. I know the positions, though, from some magazines my mom read, but again, without details on the organs. I’ve never been curious either, not until I met Albert.
Ever since I met Albert, I develop a new interest in the subject. When I see people kiss on TV or in real life, my thighs tingle, and I remember him right away. I recall his lips, his fingers, and his hard bulge.
“How many positions do you know, Albert?” I ask.
“Jesus,” he whips his head around to look at me. “Don’t tell me you know any.”
“I don’t,” I say, giggling. “I only know the names. Doggy, cowgirl, and missionary.”
He curses. “You’ll see. I know only a few, but enough to get you started.”
We enter a tree-lined street. Albert slows in front of a gated property and presses the remote control to open the gate. When we enter the driveway, my jaw falls. His house is so huge, the size of the apartment building my mom and I live in, and much more stylish. The lawn is larger than the one in front of the adult high school. There’s a fountain, and a rose garden on the side, too.
He leads me into the living room, which looks like a hotel lobby, and then the kitchen overlooks the garden. “It’s so beautiful,” I say. “Do you live here all by yourself?”
“Yes,” he says while passing me a bottle of orange juice, taken from the fridge.
I thank him as we sit down at the kitchen table. “That’s awesome. But you must spend a lot of time to clean it up and take care of the yards!”
He shakes his head. “I don’t. I have a housekeeper and a gardener.”
“Oh.” I nod. I’m so stupid. Albert is rich, and rich men hire laborers to do their housework. I glance over the interior of the house and then at the garden again. I wish I were Albert’s maid or gardener. I would love to work here, to keep his house, and to be with him.
