Genel

History Ch. 02

Babes

*** Time Travel ***

I’m wondering what the present day might have held if all those years I’d have made some very different decisions with my life. What if the very moment certain opportunities had exposed themselves I’d have dared to go in completely opposite direction to the road I’ve travelled otherwise?

I already know the answer(s)…

When the 17 year old me could have just said what he meant — when the overweight, boisterous party killjoy Diane Celery proposed drunkenly and very specifically that she come back to mine and show me how good she was in bed — he said the complete opposite.

Like an idiot, he cared more about his dick and the size of Diane’s tits when he should have cared more about his reputation and the potential bunny boiling that would and did in fact ensue.

If I’d just said no, I’d have saved myself the embarrassment and wouldn’t have had to find out the hard way that the gobby little slapper was about as appetising to my sexual appetite as was going down on a dead beached whale!

When the 19 year old me could have just kept his mouth shut when he fell head over heels for his college tutor — even though she clearly never saw him that way or in any other way either — he went and told her how he felt after college had ended and instead of his dreams coming true, he ended up dealing with a lot of embarrassment and heartache, all because he did not know when to quit. Had I shown restraint when it was needed, I probably wouldn’t be so forcefully resigned as I am today in so many situations!

When the 26 year old me was faced with a clingy girlfriend that wound up in hospital getting her stomach pumped free of alcohol on the occasional nights I wanted to spend by myself — a girl that was so tragically imbalanced by past events in her life to the point where she no longer saw what was least and most important to her — I was too afraid to tell her that being with her was one of the most unpleasant and unnerving experiences in my life and that instead of hanging onto me for dear life, she ought to let go and go face her demons on her own two feet before deciding what she could fitfully class as “life!”

All starting with the first ever crush I had — the history teacher Miss Patricia Williams — I had made some bad decisions regarding what I felt love should ideally be or what my desires truly meant to me. I had gone in the opposite direction when logic meant to move simply forwards, I had swam against the current when I felt that the effort would pay off and I had gone with the flow when I was very potentially catastrophically heading for a waterfall. Where had I been going wrong since day one?

Trying to be a gentleman when nature urged I should have just been myself, maybe…

I know now that when we make mistakes, they’re just the practical beginnings of a path not yet taken. Most of us strike lucky or take the boring route of following in someone else’s footsteps, therefore never truly gaining their own independence the moment a simple mistake leads to the end of everything they know. But those of us who make those mistakes firsthand and then go back a second time will get it right. Practice doesn’t make perfect but it does set you up for the odd winning streak.

I just go back in time occasionally and look to the day she asked me that question that led to the biggest losing streak in history. She doesn’t know; never did and maybe never will. But she doesn’t have to. I know where I went wrong and how I can put it right.

Miss Williams is sitting at her desk in one of those low-cut but long flowing floral summer dresses, a black woollen cardigan draped over her shoulders. We’re in class and the silence is deafening. So deafening that Alison Walker’s tittering and joking about the chewed-up paper spit-balls stuck in the back of Joanne Watkinson’s hair might ordinarily be as audible as the sound of a pin dropping, but right now she might as well be just saying it out loud.

Miss Williams’ eyes look up to her, her usually beautiful face currently looking like a storm that might lash out at any moment. The white beneath her eyes is exposed and somehow this makes her look deadly serious. Alison shuts up instantly.

Daniel Fitzsimmons has been at this school for five years and in all that time, he hasn’t taken a day away from sniffing every three seconds through the nostrils of the snottiest nose in Britain. His face is miserable; he sniffs; he’s every thinking girl’s first ever wet dream; he sniffs; his dad runs his own business; he sniffs; the world is on his narrow shoulders; he sniffs; it took him half a fucking hour to gel and style his hair this morning before his mum drove him to school…

He sniffs!

‘Oh for God’s sake, Daniel,’ Miss Williams whispers, dancing near the edge of her patience, and holds out a box of tissues, ‘blow your nose,’ to which Daniel responds by miserably getting up and taking a handful of them before sitting back down again. He sniffs once more. Miss Williams looks as if she’s about to Ataşehir Yabancı Escort lose her temper. It stops.

The room is silent and without warning, she turns those two very tired looking eyes to me and I don’t know why. She can’t be mad at me for any reason… at least I hope not. I try a quick smile and to my surprise, she looks back down at the mass of paper before her, lying in a mess on her desk and although no smile is returned or even a hint of one is present, the storm is mellowed and the room brightens somehow.

She gets up from her seat, bringing the mess of paper with her. She is at the northwest corner by the window and I am at her far opposite in the southeast corner. She begins her overbearing and often frightening tyrade by slamming a set of papers down in front of the class’s unruly ginger joker Ian O’Callaghan.

‘F!!!’ She says with force but doesn’t shout and Ian is devastated although he should have seen it coming. Starting to pay attention only a few weeks before our exam coursework begins does not make up for years of lost interest.

‘F!!!’ She says, flinging a ragged looking pile of paper at Chris Callahan, who’s sitting right beside Ian. ‘Is it an Irish thing or is your stupidity becoming infectious, Ian?’ she asks as a broad grin on the redhead’s face widens at hearing his mate’s grade. The room erupts into nervous laughter.

‘Silence!’ she shouts and the room is immediately void of all noise.

‘E!!!’ she continues, strolling across the room, and, ‘E, E, F, D, D, F, D, D…’

‘C, I’m impressed, Gemma, you’ve improved marvellously,’ Miss Williams says and the tone of her voice brightens drastically. The class turns to look at Gemma Hornsby, making her feel uncomfortable but Miss Williams is there to stand by her. ‘Don’t anybody turn around and look at Gemma, nobody so far can afford to pay attention to anything but themselves with the way these grades are going,’ she says sternly and faces off against the children sitting before her.

‘I said TURN AROUND!’ she speaks louder, just an inch away from yelling the roof in.

‘D, D, E, C, D…’

‘C+ — well done Daniel Fitzsimmons…’

I’m growing ever more anxious as she gets closer to me. I’ve been at the business end of her wrath on a number of occasions and it’s not pleasant. I don’t even know how the others can laugh it off. It frightens me sometimes but that’s the plan, I know looking back. It’s just reverse psychology.

Then her hand slams down on the desk next to me and I jump in my seat. The four horsemen of the apocalypse have just knocked on the door and asked for someone going by my name. How dare they, dirty bastards. I look down, a bunch of A4 paper is scrunched up in her tightly balled fist and I’m a moment away from asking my history teacher in front of all the other kids to phone my mum and request a clean pair of underpants.

My heart is switched to rapid fire, spraying the inside of my chest with screaming bullets. I break into the beginnings of a nervous sweat and my eyes dart to the grade before they see the name in the top right hand corner.

But she’s looking at the other gobby bitch she’s seated next to me, yet again and so my eyes dart back to the top sheet again to see a name that is not my own.

‘What a surprise,’ she says and Joanne Heffer’s face, usually fixed in a dull, idiotic snarl, lowers in defeat. ‘Unmarked!’

I let out a breath, clearly too loud, and just as I’m about to regret it I feel a warm hand touch my shoulder. I’m sitting forward at first but suddenly I’m drawn back and then my head is resting firmly between her breasts. They’re firm but soft like cushions. I feel queer. It’s the only way I can describe it. Is she going to break my neck between them as a final act before dismissing the class, as a way of saying, ‘fuck it all, I quit!’?

Miss Williams doesn’t speak at first, doesn’t speak at all as she stands over me, her other hand now ruffling the hair on top of my head after my work is left lying in front of me, the grade scribbled angrily in red and cut off by an imperfect loop.

She heads back to her seat behind the desk and sits down in silence, eyes deadly serious and contemplating what to say that doesn’t involve words such as twat, bastard, shit, bollocks, retard or dumbass.

‘Well, anyone checking up on the rubbish I wasted my entire weekend marking might get the impression I wasn’t making the effort to teach this class anything but how to be the biggest bunch of morons in this school,’ she began, ‘if it wasn’t for Daniel Ashley.’

The class turns to look at me. I die of embarrassment. That’s another beating at break time, if not just a bullying for the rest of the month. My head sinks down into the paper before me, the mark in that imperfect loop reading “B Plus.” Just for good measure, Miss Williams repeats the grade to the class and then asks-

‘Daniel, do you want to come home with me?’

‘Do I!?’ the kid in the corner breaks out. The time traveller’s work Ataşehir Yeni Escort here is done. ‘Do you know the size of the huge boner you just gave me? Let’s ditch this bunch of losers and go fail at making babies!’

Well, that’s the beauty of daydreaming about the past. There are no consequences for what has long since passed. However, like I said about mistakes leading to winning streaks…

*** The Bedroom ***

My hand was in hers as she opened the door but just as she crossed the threshold of the hallway into the bedroom, she stopped me and leaned against the frame on her shoulder and looked at me seductively and somewhat drunkenly. But clearly in her eyes I could see that the smile drawing across her face in the darkening house was just a facade for hiding a more urgent need.

Respectfully I knew I had to hold back for as long as I could. Fifteen years could not be accounted for with a quick fifteen minutes of tearing clothes, awkwardly fumbling and amateurish poking around. This wasn’t the movies. She was real, whole, hungry and needed to be fulfilled.

Neither of us were drunk in reality but the moment itself was intoxifying and the thickness of the atmosphere — the near smothering nature of the tension between us — surrounded us like a fog, cutting out the rest of the world.

I had grown bold in my moves since the kitchen. My hand snaked across her hip, my face only inches from hers, and moved up to her breast. Her mouth opened in reaction to me and it was then that I took her lower lip between both my own and sucked on it gently, leading to a suddenly passionate snaking of tongues and deep, sensuous kissing. Her body seemed to soften against my touch as my hand reached up to her cheek and then began to wander down her neck behind her ear and then beyond.

I grew hard against her belly and she pulled me closer, pushing her belly harder back into me as both her own hands acquainted themselves with my behind. She liked what she found, clearly, squeezing my buttocks with claw-like fingers and drawing a trail of scratches across them through the fabric of my trousers.

At that moment, Patricia and I were both leaning into the doorframe. But a moment later she had turned on me and I was pressed against the bedroom wall just beyond the doorway, my shirt suddenly unbuttoned all the way down to the last and her hands clawing at my chest. Then one hand snuck down to my crotch and I was in the grip of this sex-starved older woman, her breasts heaving out through the neck of her dress and pressing up against my bare flesh. As we continued to snatch kisses from each other’s wetting lips, we were becoming more breathless, having become so unwittingly lost in the heat before the oncoming night.

‘You fantasised about these lips,’ she panted, pressing them fully up against mine and sucking on my tongue. ‘Wrapped around your hard cock…’

All I could manage was a groan of approval as she literally fought her way inside my mouth with her own tongue, slithering in to meet mine and tease me where I stood while she unzipped my trousers and slipped her hand inside against my already straining erection.

‘Well in my fantasy, you have to earn it!’

She stepped away from me, backing off and leaving me standing there, witness to a woman half undone. Her dress had become creased and twisted by our restless embrace, her hair gone wild where it had pulled free in our excitement.

Behind her lay a large double bed, which I could make out only by the amount of the floor taken up by the darkness of night. I searched hastily for the light switch on the wall and when the room lit up and I could see her face again, I was almost shocked by the lust in her eyes.

‘Undress,’ I told her.

‘Undress me,’ she replied, to which I couldn’t refuse.

I approached her, taking the shoulders of her dress and pulling them to either side, applying my lips and tongue to each shiny smooth curve of her dark skin before attacking her neck wetly. My hand attended the buttons at her front just between her breasts and I tugged at each one in deliberately slow and intently.

The dress fell to the floor and I took a step back to soak up the view. There she stood, the object of my rigid lust, hardly different from the image I had in my mind of what she would look like. Contrast to the colour of her chocolate coloured skin, a white lace bra barely managed to encase her massive bust but nonetheless enhanced the hourglass shape of her body. A matching white lace pair of panties hung for dear life at her hips, just itching to be peeled away to reveal a darker and most probably soaking wet pussy.

‘End of the bed,’ I insisted, to which she obeyed, taking a seat with her legs crossed almost prudishly.

‘Take your shirt off,’ she then replied, ‘so I can wrap my legs around your bare shoulders.’ The shirt flew across the room, hadn’t even landed on the thick carpet before I’d pushed her down against the bed and laid myself on top of her, feeling myself starting Ataşehir Masaj Salonu to go crazy with the feel of that white lace being the only thing left between me and those gorgeous big tits of hers.

I planted soft but frequent kisses on her lips before moving to her neck, travelling down to the V of her collarbone and diving down between her deep cleavage. To put my lips to those breasts for the first time, I went wild with desire, wanting more and never having enough. But I knew I would return to them later, when she would reveal herself to me fully.

I continued to kiss my way down her belly and then came upon her lace panties where I stopped only to lift her feet to rest against my chest. Her eyes were on fire, her breathing shallow and rapid.

‘You’re so fucking sexy,’ I growled, tearing away the slight garment of underwear rather than peeling them off slowly as intended. For a moment, her legs clamped together before me, feet in the air. But then when she opened herself to me and I saw the wet, hairless slit of her burning sex, I nearly shot in before knowing what else to say.

‘I heard a smooth pussy impresses the boys,’ Patricia purred, ‘what do you think?’

*** Earning It ***

I was down on my knees, her feet planted firmly on my shoulders and running my tongue slowly up from her gushing slit to her clit, much to her delight. She was so smooth against my tongue, I was almost coming already just thinking of my cock plunging into her, being met with a river of her own excited juices.

‘I’m very impressed,’ I said, hugging her thighs with my arms and using my own strength to move her hips in time with my rhythmic licking. I plunged my tongue in and licked outward, causing her to moan softly and so began to repeat the motion until her moaning became louder.

‘Ohhh, you’ve definitely earned it,’ she sighed, but I wasn’t done. I searched to pull back the hood of her clitoris with the tip of my tongue, swirling around the stiffened pink bud and looking up to see her eyes start to roll up beneath her eyelids. Blindly, as she held onto her own white lace encased breasts, cradling herself through the beginnings of our first orgasm, she fetched them out as if to entice me away from my duty, revealing their full magnificence. As if it wasn’t enough for me, she began to pull and tweak at the large black nipples.

I began to fuck her with my tongue outstretched, no longer wanting to hold back but to make her lose composure. I wanted her to be vulnerable before me, to see her out of control before she would experience my hot, rigid length.

Her mouth widened but she repressed the scream and her eyes widened in disbelief. She gasped, ‘what the fuck are you doing to me?’ while all the same she began to drip so much come that I couldn’t lick it all up in time.

‘Getting you ready for me,’ I laughed, face firmly lodged between her tightened thighs, ‘if I have to earn anything, I want it to be something amazing.

‘Stand the fuck up and I’ll give you amazing,’ she growled, trying to roll off her back with her knees still tucked into her ribs.

I got to my feet, the first thing I could see being the huge outline where my cock had grown so amazingly hard. My zipper had already been unzipped and when Patricia sat up to face me, it wasn’t long before she was fishing me out of my boxers and pulling my engorged length out through the hole and into her mouth.

She attacked me with one long, painfully slow sucking motion, taking my entire length in one swallow before withdrawing me from her incredibly hot and wet mouth. She looked up to me again.

‘This is nice,’ she said thirstily, going back for a repeat performance before withdrawing me again. ‘This is really nice, look at the size of it, I can’t even get my hand around it,’ she marvelled again.

‘It fits your mouth perfectly though,’ I said, jaw soon dropping as she began to tease the head of my cock with her full lips before sucking me back in and going to work on me.

Patricia started at a slow and steady pace, her cool tongue flicking gently at the underside of my erection and swirling around me like I was a giant lollipop. Before long she was taking half of my length into her mouth and loudly sucking on me, the roughening sensations starting to make me feel ever so sensitive. Her hands cupped my buttocks, pulling me closer into her mouth as she sucked harder and faster and all I could do was watch, not realising that she had stolen my breath and I was just hanging there in surrender of her soft lips and tongue, growing ever more faint with every smooth stroke.

I was so hard, I thought I might pass out from the lack of blood circulating around my brain, not that I needed one to know what I would be doing to her only moments later. She finished me off with one last long sucking stroke, removing me from her mouth as wetly and as smoothly as the most virgin pussy could feel, sitting back to unhook her bra and remove the last piece of her clothing.

‘Now, take your pants off,’ she demanded, looking up at me like a woman possessed, ‘take it all off and go sit in that chair behind you,’ she added, nodding with her head to a wooden chair, its back to a dressing table and large wall mirror. I needed no retelling and was naked, hard and seated before her, awaiting her next move.

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