Real Lovers

Part autobiographical and part fantasy. Can you tell which is which?

So, I'm 22, it's early summer and I'm just out of UCLA with an undergraduate degree in macroeconomics- the study of the large-scale economy. I'm positively bristling with knowledge of inflation, price levels, rate of economic growth, gross domestic product, and unemployment.

I'm sure to land a lucrative job any day now, and yet the thing I think about more than anything else is women.

They are everywhere. Most of them are available or can be made available. My Johnson swings my body North, South, East and West like a weathervane on an old barn.

It's funny but my mom was the one who gave me the best advice on picking up women. She told me that girls mostly want to have fun, want to be taken seriously, want you to be honest with them, and want to feel that you think they're pretty. Eye contact and a steady voice are the two most important things when asking a woman out on a date. You don't have to have a shiny new BMW, sporting a Rolex or be wearing Italian shoes- just be a confident version of yourself. Oh, and don't get down if they say no- it's their loss.

Pretty good, eh?

I couldn't wait to try it out.

For the past year, I'd been working at a local restaurant called Ginny Jones. The food was great- really fresh- and we had the biggest salad bar in the area. Management hired clean, athletic young people- probably would be illegal to do that these days- but the girls (young women) were a major distraction for me.

Since I'd been so busy at school, I'd had a lot of first and second dates, but not much more. I got a bit of a reputation, and it always got a little awkward after it became obvious that I couldn't spend the time with them they needed. Now that I was a graduate, I was hoping that could change.

One Tuesday evening, isn't that funny how we remember stupid little details like that, there was a fresh face wearing the green apron that was our uniform. She had a huge smile with crinkles at the sides of her eyes and Henna red hair. Her face was an explosion of freckles. I was smitten- yet again. The manager introduced her to the rest of the crew as Helen. I did my best to hold eye contact, but she kept looking away after a second. "Oh well, we've got plenty of time," I thought.

We had a surprisingly good night, and I was assigned to break down the salad bar and show Helen how it was done. She laughed easily and pulled her weight in the work.

At the end of the shift, I said good night and got a solid 3-seconds of eye contact before she turned to her car- a 1975 era Volkswagen Beetle- a bright yellow convertible with white rag top and interior. That was a sweet car for the time and showed that her family was doing alright financially. There I go again- economics...

I worked the next Friday, but she wasn't. The head cook, Rocky, called me aside, "That Helen gal is straight up cute. I saw you checkin' her out. You should go for that."

"You know me, I probably will but I'll give her a chance to settle in a bit." He kept looking up at me with a knowing smile all evening.

On the following night, we got slammed. People were waiting 45 minutes for a table, and we turned them as fast as we could get them cleared. Helen got a little flustered and asked me for help when she needed it. "Chris, could you get another iced tea for table 7?", "Could you help me carry this order to 8?", "Could you grab that deuce?", and "Thank you so much," as we passed each other.

We even had four tables of people come in in the last 5 minutes before closing- always a waiter's favorite. Helen and I worked all four together to let the other waiters start their closing side work so they could leave on time. By the time the last check was paid, we were a sweaty mess and the salad bar looked like it had been ravaged by wild pigs.

It was obvious that we'd be there for at least an hour closing so we rolled up our sleeves and got to it. "So where do you live?" I asked to get the conversation rolling.

"I live with my folks in Northridge, out near the University, off Parthenia."

"So, what, about a 25-minute drive."

"Yeah, I shoulda taken a job somewhere closer, but I came here with a friend and liked it a lot. My brother just bought the Good Earth restaurant over in North Hollywood. It's kinda like this. I like the food, but I couldn't work for him," she said, making a face.

"I love your car. Looks like so much fun. Is that why you keep your hair short?"

"You think my hair's too short?" she asked with concern. "Just had it done last week."

"No, it looks great. It's a good cut. Really easy to take care of, and that Henna, it is Henna right? is really cute on you." Thanks mom. I worked that in, and she now knew that I thought she was cute.

"The VeeDub is fun, but what about your car- it looks sooo cool." She was referring to my light yellow 1961 Triumph TR3 (an English MG kind of thing), which, of course, was a convertible too.

"Old cars are a pain in the ass, but when it's running good it is a hoot. I've never had a young woman refuse to take a ride with me."

"Hmmmm, maybe I should be careful."

Rocky walked by and said, "Goodnight you two," with a smirk in my direction. He wasn't very subtle and I'm fairly sure she saw it.

"Have you counted your tips?"

"No, but I had about $60 before those last tables. That was a lot of work."

We finished the salad bar and filled our salt and pepper shakers and sugar jars, and condensed the ketchup bottles.

"I made $74. I feel like I earned it."

"I made $76 but I should probably give you half of it for all your help tonight."

"Good shift," I said, as the manager walked to the front to inspect the salad bar.

"Good job tonight you two. That was nearly a record day. Helen, welcome to Ginny Jones," he said with a flourish.

As we headed out toward the parking lot, Helen asked, "Neither of us work tomorrow. Do you want to come to my house tomorrow for a BBQ? We've got a pool and it's supposed to be like 90 degrees."

I immediately noticed that her speech cadence was different. She spoke a little faster than normal and kinda ran her words together. I got the idea that she'd been practicing.

Her invitation sounded worth it just for the pool and BBQ part, and the Helen part made it a winner. "Absolutely, I would have probably gone to the beach to kayak by myself but your offer sounds better."

She looked up into my eyes and held contact for just over 3 seconds before saying, "Okay," and smiled. She scribbled down the address. Handing it to me, she added "about 3 o'clock?" and we said goodnight. I hadn't even had to ask her out.

The next day, I was a few minutes late. Navigating unfamiliar parts of town used to be much more difficult. Everybody had a copy of the bestselling book The Thomas Guide in their car. This was a comprehensive map of a region that made it easy to find where you were going. It really was an amazing accomplishment for its day, but it didn't guide you like GPS does today. I'd also stopped to pick up a 6-pack of Coronas and a big bag of Fritos.

Helen met me at the front door as if she had seen me arrive. She was wearing a black and white kimono kind of thing over her swimsuit. Her legs were exposed, and she wore white flip-flops. Going inside, I saw an attractive middle-aged woman in a floral sundress walk out of the kitchen. "Mom, this is Chris from work."

"I know dear, you explained. Genuinely nice to meet you, Chris. Thanks for bringing the beer. Would you like one?"

"Not right now, Mrs. O'Donnell, I'm good, but thanks."

"Please call me Alice, we're all adults here. I'm going to run to the store for BBQ stuff and I've got to pick up something for your father at the hardware store, so I'll be at least an hour. The pool guy was here on Friday so it should be nice and clean."

"Would you like us to go with you to help?" I asked, in an outsized gesture of helpfulness- hoping she'd say no.

"No, thank you, but I'll be fine. You two have fun. Chris, are burgers and chicken good for you?"

"That's great, I eat most anything."

"Okay. Honey, your sister is in her room and your brother will be here sometime after he finishes up with the lunch business- he said about 4:30," she said as she took some keys out of a basket by the door. She looked back at us one more time as she pulled the door shut.

"My dad's out of the country on a business trip," Helen remarked. "His job is so weird. He works for Litton Industries and a big part of the job is to fly back and forth to Saudi Arabia on the Concorde carrying checks, some of them as big as a million dollars. I guess he flies in the SST because every minute that money's not in the bank, it's losing interest. More interest than it costs for the airfare. There's a picture of him here," she said, leading me into the kitchen and pointing at the refrigerator door. Looking closely, I could see the check was, in fact, made out to Litton Industries in the amount of one million dollars. Later I found out that Litton Industries was a major arms manufacturer. No wonder they had so much money coming in.

"They never covered that kind of thing at UCLA, I'm sure it's fascinating."

"Actually, he says it's pretty boring after a while. I want to go swimming. I'll pop open a couple of those Coronas and you can change in there," she said, pointing at the guest bathroom.

"BBQ is at about 5, so we've got about an hour and a half to swim or whatever," she remarked as I came out the back sliding door.

I scanned the back yard, and it was unusual. The pool had obviously been an afterthought and occupied a space very close to the house. From the back door and the windows next to it, a good portion of the pool was not visible, being around the corner. They had a smallish back lawn and a gazebo with lots of outdoor chairs where the BBQ was already set up.

She stood up and removed the kimono. The two-piece suit beneath it was a light green with white piping. It was a generous cut. Certainly not a bikini in the classic sense, but she looked great in it. I got the impression she was watching me watch her. After a second, she took a big swig of her beer, set it down and dove into the pool splashing the deck.

I set down my towel, picked up the beer and took a taste as I watched her move through the choppy water. She was a good swimmer, strong and confident. She was a beautiful woman with a generous and strong bottom.

Stopping at the far end, she asked, "You do know how to swim, right?"

"I was on the swim team from 4th to 12th grade," I said as I did a running dive, coming up right beside her.

"Aaaah," she squeaked and swam away from me back toward the shallow end.

I pushed off, caught up and swam around her as she stood up, brushing against her as I went.

Stopping at the steps, I said, "Man, does this feel good." I really did. From my years of experience in pools, I estimated the water temperature to be about 74 degrees- cool but comfortable.

We swam around for about ten minutes, throwing a ball, splashing each other and bumping into each other. She swam between my legs several times.

She got out, took a slug at her beer and handed me mine, "Oh, you're in trouble now. That's against the rules, you know, no glass in the pool."

"Good rule," I said as I climbed the steps and set my bottle down. "Thanks for the invite- this is great. So, tell me about yourself."

"Well, I just graduated from the UC last month. Don't laugh but I majored in music. I play the Cello. They say I'm rather good. I'm in a couple of local orchestras and I've got an audition next week at a regional orchestra. You've never heard of it, but they're based in Burbank. They normally have 12 Cellos on stage at once, so how hard could it be? They've even played at the Hollywood Bowl a couple of times. I'm also exploring working with a rock band I know. I'm thinking I might be able to earn a living doing it."

"I'm also an amateur astronomer. I have a 10-inch telescope and love to go out to the desert to look at galaxies and nebulae. I even have a camera mount on it."

"Wow, that's amazing. An artist and a scientist. I'd love to hear you play sometime."

I dove in, swam down and back and by the time I arrived, she was standing in the shallow end. I put my arms out and cornered her against the stairs forcing her to sit down. She was giggling.

I moved in close, put my left arm around her and slowly went in for a kiss. The first one was small and incredibly soft, the second bigger, longer and firmer. She had her eyes closed, but she was definitely participating in the kiss.

After a dozen more kisses, I said, "Give me your tongue."

She looked at me quizzically but slid her tongue out. I took it between my lips and began to suck. As I did so, I used the flat of my hand to caress her stomach. I moved it downward, until my fingertips slid under her suit. Her body tensed just a little at first, then more as my hand continued its journey. Soon I could feel the silky fineness of her pubic hair as my fingers slid over and through it. I slowly continued and felt the soft bits at the top of her slit. I pushed just a little harder as the tip of my middle finger rolled over her clit. Still moving downward, I could feel the cleft between her labia. Helen hung onto my arm with her eyes wide open. She tried to keep her tongue out, but she was distracted and breathed raggedly through her nose. I stopped when the tip of my middle finger reached her tightly closed ass pucker, cupping my fingers a little and just holding moderate pressure over her entire vulva.

Helen pulled away from my mouth and looked me in the eye. "I'm.., Wha.., Why.., I..," she mumbled. I kept my hand still.

"Because I wanted to," I whispered. "I wanted to make it very clear that I want to be your boyfriend and your lover."

"What, yeah, what?"

"I want you to be my lover and girlfriend. Girlfriend for emotional needs, lover for physical ones." I had practiced this type of speech several times, so it came easily.

"I don't want to be shy or bashful about it. I want to tell you exactly what I want, and I want you to tell me what you want. First, I want to be comfortable touching every inch of your body. I want to pleasure you in all the ways a woman can receive pleasure from a man- without shame or judgement." I wiggled my fingers just a little and Helen squeezed my arm tighter.

"I want you to show me all the ways you make yourself cum so I can copy them. I want to hear you grunt as you cum with my fingers deep inside you. I want to watch you throw your head back and tense your stomach muscles as you cum. I want to taste your cum as I plunder your pussy with my tongue, and I want you to taste mine. I want to feel you cum as your pussy clamps down on my cock. I want to have you beg me to stop. I want it to be like a woman and man are supposed to be."

"Is that too much to ask?"

Silence.

I begin to move my hand back out, but she holds my arm tighter. With pleading eyes, she begs, "No, no. Make me cum Christopher, I can't stand it, please make me cum."

Smiling, I say, "This is the point where you get very honest with me and tell me how you like to be touched. Some women prefer to be penetrated, some just rubbed. I want to do it right." She is very wet, mostly because of the pool water, but I can also feel the greasy nectar she is producing.

Helen continues eye contact, "Okay, I... I usually start by just rubbing the whole area."

"I want you to tell me what you want as we go."

"I promise."

Leaving my hand where it is, I start moving up and down just a little. She bends her head down in concentration as if to see what I'm doing. She is quiet and she bites her lower lip softly. Her vulva is very warm under my palm.

"More."

I begin moving in a circular motion increasing the pressure with my middle finger.

"More, uh, please."

I increase the motion, making it bigger.

"Now rub around my clit with your fingertips, circles are great."

We do this for a while as the movement of her hips begin to set the tempo.

"Oh, that's great. Right there."

I continued, for probably two minutes, her eyes closed in concentration. "Anything else I can do?"

"No, this is great... wait, could you put a finger in? I can't believe I'm telling you this, but that's what I'd normally do."

I got an idea. I slid my left hand down inside her suit from the back. She opened her legs a little more and I rubbed her pussy with both hands for a bit before curving my middle finger down, inserting it and beginning to move it in and out.

"No, don't move it. Just hold it there. Telling you what to do, having permission to tell you what to do, is so sexy."

"It's the way it's supposed to be."

I stopped moving my left and increased the speed of my right hand.

"Yes, yes" she grunted.

"Put more pressure on my clit."

I am rubbing small circles around her nub with my index and middle fingers.

"That's good, ungh, good," her mouth wide open and her breathing ragged.

"Gonna cum, gonna," she said as she fell off the cliff into a sea of sensation and her hips began to buck between my hands. I could feel her pelvic muscles contract over and over. Several quite loud sounds escaped her lips, somewhere between a scream and a grunt. Eyes shut tight, she was completely inside her orgasming brain at that point flooded with the good neurochemicals, not even aware that I was there.

When she opened her eyes, it took her a moment to refocus on my face. I still have both hands down her pants. I wiggle the finger in her pussy, and she blushes as if she's embarrassed. "Wow, thank you," she says quietly.

"That was... that was amazing. Yes, I want to be your lover and girlfriend and all that stuff you said. I can't wait to get naked with you, but probably not today. Ouch, I think I bit my lip. O, geez, did I make a lot of noise? I usually put a pillow over my face to muffle that. I hope my sister didn't hear me."

"So let her hear, she'd better get used to us."

"Oh, so you're Chris," a voice observed.

We both look around and a young woman, obviously Helen's sister, is walking toward the pool carrying a beer. I quickly retract my hands from Helen's nethers, not sure if she had seen where they'd been from her vantage point.

"Don't tell mom about the beer and I won't tell her about... all... this," she said with an expansive gesture toward us.

"What did you see?"

"Plenty, and yet somehow not nearly enough- if you know what I mean. Didn't you two just meet?"

"None of your business. Chris, this is my kid sister, Susan. She just turned 19 so she knows everything."

"Nice. It's all okay by me, I just came down for a swim," she said as she removed a similar kimono and dove in right over our heads.

Helen and I got out and sat on lounge chairs in the sun.

"I could use some lotion," Helen noted, pointing at the bottle of Coppertone on the table.

"Sure, I'd love to," I said reaching for the bottle.

"I'll bet," Susan commented.

"You're just jealous."

"You have no idea."

"Actually, I think I do."

"Chris, you don't have a younger brother, do you?"

I started with Helen's legs and did a thorough job before starting her stomach and shoulders. I slid my hand up under her top, pinched her nipple and got rewarded with a squeal. I was doing her arms when a man, mid to late 20's, came around the corner from the house, "Am I interrupting?"

"No, you missed it," Susan quipped, "Apparently so did I."

"What? Whatever. Hi, I'm David, Dave or just D to my friends."

"Nice to meet you Dave, I'm Chris. Helen and I work together, and she was kind enough to invite me to the BBQ."

"Welcome then. Hi Helen. Hi Sue."

"Hi D. How was your lunch?"

"Business is good. I've got that cook problem solved and we're humming along. Can't hardly keep the salad bar stocked. No cherry tomatoes or mushrooms on the last produce shipment. Had to put out more fruit to make up for it. You can get away with that in the summer. Chris, you heard of the Good Earth?"