Erica's Mentee Pt. 02

Maybe a week later, while I worked night shifts, Beth caught me unaware. I asked her about Tucker, her 18 year-old only child and my shame-inducing recent crush after a brief kiss at the department beach party. She told me he couldn't stop talking about me. About how cool I was, how we listened to the same music, and how Erica was going get a piercing with him. I was worried my face had betrayed a slight blush, but kept myself collected. Did he tell her about what happened during the fireworks!?

Beth grimaced, "I'm not trying to put words into your mouth. You can tell me if you didn't say that, it's just that he's asking if I think you will... get a piercing with him?" I was taken aback for a long moment. She thought she knew so much, that she had psychoanalyzed her son though one key fact was still missing. This wasn't some imaginary crush: Tucker Green and I had kissed, and I had watched him masturbate in the bathroom presumably to that very same experience he had just had with his mom's coworker.

Right then and there the internal truth about our last time together moved from memory to physical longing. I could feel it move down my spine, across my hips, and between my legs until down below, my pulse quickened.

For now though, I had to act natural.

I answered her: "I would totally get a piercing with him, I'm glad you brought it up." She looked relieved, and I continued, "Do you think this weekend would work?"

Beth asked me if I would want his phone number to make plans. I pretended to add it to my phone as she recited it to me, though she didn't know I already had it and had been craving to text him behind her back. The fact that she was now inviting me to make contact made my hairs stand on end with tingling excitement.

On night shift, I get the whole weekend off, from Friday morning until Sunday evening. So after a few texts, Tucker agreed to go with me to Polly Pelican Tattoo and Piercing near the UNCW campus. He made reservations with a piercer for Saturday mid-morning and after a brutal week, I was excited to hang out with someone who didn't work at the hospital. We could talk about anything not related to medicine. By text he seemed cheerful throughout the week but once we finally met up and he climbed into my truck the mood had changed. I was wearing jeans, a sleeveless turtle neck, and huge sun glasses. A venti Starbucks mocha overflowed with whipped cream in my center console. He picked up the latte I bought for him and took a sip. As I rolled down the sunroof I saw him spy at the slight imperceptible black fuzz of hair returning to my armpit. For the most part I looked feminine enough but seeing him peer at me at that moment made me wonder if he had an pit or hair fetish?

Trying to play the part of caregiver, I asked him about school this week. He beat around as best he could until suddenly I felt the dam break.

"I got a handjob. And I really liked it." This surprised me. I didn't think he would be so explicit with his unofficial godmother.

"You did, now, did you tell your mom about this?"

"No."

"That's okay, everyone deserves privacy. But I'm sure she would be supportive if you shared. She wants you to have a safe and healthy sexual experience."

Then he dropped the twist, "It was from a guy."

There was the start of a long pause. But I didn't want him to feel any stigma so I broke the silence, "that's one hundred percent normal too."

I could see the tension in his body disappear. He took a long sip of coffee then said, "I was worried you would be angry."

"No one is angry. Most people are not bigots, even if it doesn't feel like that."

"He was really cute. He's in chorus and invited me over to play Halo. Then after a few games he asked if I was circumsized."

He told me more and more. About crushes he had had back at his old school. About being confused and trying to read about it in the encyclopedia without much success. Finally we made it to the piercing store and parked. A big breasted goth welcomed us for our appointment. We signed the forms and she helped Tucker pick a shape for his stud. He held my hand for my piercing and I held his. It was cute.

On the drive back the plot thickened. There was a big coed party tonight. That bully on the track team was suspicious Tucker was queer and had given him an ultimatum: show up Monday with his fingers smelling of pussy, or else.

Tucker was hoping this piercing would help him get some action from the opposite sex that night, but obviously was still nervous. I gave him a lot of reassurance but again I was shocked at the cruelty of the situation. But what could I do? I knew he would be able to flirt, high school girls would fall hard for a piercing. He'd get by. I hoped. So I dropped him back at his house and drove off, worried like a big sister would be.

At home I made tacos, took a nice bath, drank two glasses of red wine, and passed out on the couch feeling a little jealous Tucker was getting more action than me.

More than twelve hours late I woke up to his text.

"Hey"

I wondered was he was up to, a text like this was unexpected. "Hey you good?" I replied.

"No"

"How was the party?"

"I didn't go, too nervous"

Now I was worried. I was afraid he was in for a world of hurt if that bully went through with his threat. But I couldn't tell his school or his mom without breaking his trust. My mind raced for a solution. Did I know any highschool sluts? I couldn't watch such a sweet teen suffer. But the secrecy of the matter had to be preserved. From his mom and anyone else who might be biphobic.

I realized I had to cross another boundary and tried to scare myself away from the truth staring me in the face. "Is your mom home?" I texted.

"No" then he sent another text after a long pause: "She's working today."

That's right. She was Sunday day shift, and in a few hours I would take sign out from her and start my next week of night shifts.

My heart began to beat quickly. This was absurd. I couldn't. He was my coworker's son.

But this also had to happen quickly or I was going to be late to work. I gave him a call and told him to stay put. I would be over soon with an idea.

I was up. The dishes would have to wait. In the bathroom I rolled my deodorant stick down either side of my pits. The burning powder fresh scent mixes with musk and sweat. It smelled chaotic, like a rock concert. Did my plan have a chance? Would he be turned off by a horny and exhausted thirty-five year old with a desperate solution to both their problems?

He wasn't. It didn't take too much convincing once I arrived at his house. Soon he was deep into my nethers, two knuckles wide and three deep. I was so wet he could basically swim between my labia. It had been kind of a blur.

"No romantic feelings," I told him just minutes ago. "I just don't want you to get hurt, especially if I can help protect you from that asshole." He had been stuttering something with embarrassment until I grabbed his hand and ushered him to silence. With my other hand I prepared the way by untying the loop holding my sweatpant drawstrings. He didn't say anything about my bush. Not that he would know any better. He was essentially a finger-fuck virgin. But he learned quickly.

There was silence after I came. For a minute the two of us panted in unison. Then I felt his fingers leave my clitoris as my labia closed once more like theater curtains at the end of a show. Slowly his soft hand slid up my pubic bone, then over my happy trail, up over my belly button and to the base of my ribs. Each fingertip lifted away one by one and I shivered. Again we heaved a big sigh together but this time, his hand was between our two noses, inches apart from our gazing eyes. We inhaled together and enjoyed that wet copper fragrance of my lusting pussy.

"Don't wash your hands," I whispered to him, then slid my thong and sweatpant bottoms back up onto my hips.