An Embarrassing Beginning

Not all my sexual adventures have been fun. In fact, some have been downright unpleasant. For instance, I just was passed on the way home from the post office by a woman speeding in an old burgundy Town Car, acting like she had to get home before her husband called, or something, and I was instantly reminded of my brief but painful affair with Bobby Abrams. It was doomed from the beginning.

I met her at a faculty party at the beginning of my second year as a law professor. She was the very pretty and curvaceous wife of Stan Abrams, a former Methodist preacher who was the assistant director of development. I guess you know what they do...help rich old widows get their affairs in order, making sure they remember their alma mater.

Bobby was as drunk as anyone could be and still navigate. Nevertheless, she could talk, so we struck up a conversation which became increasingly intimate as the evening wore on. Before we said good night, I had her telephone number and a tentative date for the following Friday when her husband would be in Chicago doing his duty for the university.

I called her on Thursday to see if she remembered our date. Somewhat to my surprise, she did, and we agreed to meet downtown in an out of the way bar called The Office that she knew about. At the appointed hour, I was there, sitting at a table, anxiously waiting. No Bobby.

I waited nearly an hour, and was about to conclude I had been stood up when in she rushed, all out of breath. It seems her husband's plane was an hour late and she hadn't been able to find a plausible excuse to leave him waiting along for the plane. We had a drink, and soon the conversation picked up where we had left off at the party. She was lonely and horny. But she didn't think we should go to her place because it was still broad daylight and the neighbors would probably notice.

My wife had our car. She had had to take the kid to the doctor at the last moment, and I had gotten her to drop me downtown on some cockamamie pretext or other, so I couldn't take Sybil home.

Des Moines was a very small town in those days and she and her husband were very active in the town's social life, so she was afraid she would be recognized if we tried to go to a motel.

At least we could go out to lover's lane and make out in the back seat. I knew she had a big Continental -- there's room in one of those things for a king-size bed if you go about it just right!

So we went out to get her car and guess what? In her haste, she had parked in a no parking zone, and her car had been towed. Jesus Christ! My sexual excitement was ebbing strongly when we went back to the bar to call a cab to take us out to the impound yard.

Common sense and ordinary prudence should have warned me that this wasn't going to work. But I wasn't thinking with my head. $100 later, we were back in her car going out to the woods where kids of all ages gathered to study nature in its most natural setting. The usual necking spots were all taken so we went deeper into the woods and came upon a lovely little clearing, with nobody around, seemingly, for miles. Sybil didn't have a blanket, but never mind. There were some low bushes that would make a delightful bed, so I trampled out a nest for us, while she raised her skirt and removed her panties.

She lay down and treated me to a wonderful view of her pretty little pussy, as I struggled to get my pants off. I finally gave up because she was holding our her arms and moaning her eagerness. She was so hot, her labia was dark, engorged, and unfolding like a flower. I longed to taste it but instinctively, I didn't think this was any place to be fooling around with a lot of elaborate foreplay.

I slid into her cunt so easily that for a moment I didn't think I was in, but then she began massaging and encouraging me with her unusually well trained vaginal muscles. We gave those bushes a pretty good workout for about five minutes. The woman was insatiable. Scary. She started coming the minute I penetrated her, and it seemed she came again and again with virtually every thrust I made into her.

Luckily, as it turned out, I was wearing a condom. We tidied each other up, and got back in the car. She dropped me at the corner near my house and drove on home.

The next morning, I had peculiar red spots on the backs of my hands. By noon, those red spots had turned into blisters. Then the phone rang. She had already been to the doctor and knew the worst. It seems that neither of us knew enough about indigent plant life. I had selected a lovely clump of poison ivy for our tryst. And her ass looked like my hands (which, of course, had been cupped under her ass holding her close while I fucked her).

"What the hell am I going to tell Stan?" she demanded. "He'll be on this afternoon flight from Chicago, you know." We tried to think of something plausible, and finally gave up. I don't know what she told him, but Sybil and I continued to see each other from time to time for a year or so afterwards. She got over being so nervous about the neighbors, and we spent many happy hours fucking in the big bed she shared with Stan while Stan diddled the old ladies into making suitable testamentary decisions about their estates.