A Polite Pervert Pt. 04

It was a weekday afternoon in October when I got the call from my office's Reception desk telling me I had a visitor. "She's a bit of a mess," the caller added.

This last bit was said with a bit of chuckle, so I suspected the receptionist was joking, but I still moved with some urgency when I learned that my visitor was Lynette. The last time I had seen her in "a bit of a mess," she had been having a panic attack in the middle of Grand Central Terminal.

I hurried downstairs to find the receptionist wasn't kidding. Lynette really was a mess, but not the kind I had been worried about. The current mess was far more prosaic. Literally garden variety. Lynette was sweaty and dirty. Her straw-blond hair was in a pony tail, with long loose strands plastered to her cheeks. Her shirt was what told the story. It was streaked with dirt, and bore the logo of a well-known New York charity.

Lynette had been volunteering with a charitable organization that was committed to beautifying New York public spaces. It was in cooperation with her college, and I think she may have been getting work-study credit for it. She had spent the morning weeding an ornamental garden at a school playground in midtown, and she was as filthy as you might expect.

A smile lit my face once I had taken in the full picture. I was genuinely happy to see her, but I was also relieved that she was OK. She smiled in return when she saw me approaching, and despite her current condition, I couldn't resist giving her a hug.

"Oh no!" she protested. "I'm so gross!"

"You're sweaty," I countered. "There's a difference." Truth be told, the last time I had seen Lynette sweaty was the one time I had gone down on her, and the associated sense memory was more than a little arousing.

Lynette had class in a few hours, so when she was done with the gardening project, she had called our mutual friend Olivia to see if she could get cleaned up at her place. But Olivia lived way uptown in Morningside Heights, a half-hour away by subway. Olivia had noted that Lynette was only a couple of blocks from where I worked, and suggested giving me a try.

"So, is there a ladies' room here I could use to clean up a little?"

I was suddenly very excited. "Two minutes," I told her. "You wait here. I'll be back in two minutes." I trotted back to the elevators and scurried to my desk. I grabbed a business card and something that had been sitting at the back of my top drawer for several years, then bolted downstairs again. It took more than two minutes, but Lynette was gracious enough not to point this out.

"Here you go," I said as I slipped the thing I had retrieved into her hand.

Lynette peered down at her palm quizzically. "Keys?"

I wrote the address of my apartment on the back of my business card, then handed her that as well. She had been to my place before, but was so disoriented at the time that I had to carry her upstairs. I wasn't sure if she would remember where it was.

"Here's the address," I said, then picked up one of the keys. "The square one is the front door; the round for the apartment door."

"These are your apartment keys?"

"Yeah, you can get a proper shower there. Towels are in the closet by the front door."

"Wow," she said. "That's really nice. Thank you. So, I can just drop these off here again when I go to class?"

"No need," I replied. "You're going to keep these. It's a spare set, so you can hang onto them."

You're probably as confused as Lynette was at this point. Was I really giving apartment keys to a woman I had only known for two months? A woman who had demonstrated emotional issues the first day I met her?

And yeah, I concede this was an impulsive decision, but it was also one I'd been mulling over for a couple of weeks now. There were two problems I was trying to solve here.

The first problem was actually Lynette's. Lynette suffered from severe anxiety, which at its worst manifested as panic attacks. Anxiety derives from stress, and the only way to handle stress is to relax. But Lynette had no place to relax.

Since moving to the East Coast, Lynette had been living with her aunt in Scarsdale. Aunt Lucy seemed like a nice enough woman, but in the end, Lynette was just a guest in her home. She slept in a guest room, lived out of a suitcase, and the arrangement was understood to be temporary. Lynette was never alone in that house, and could never be totally relaxed.

So she spent as much time in the city as she could. That was usually three times a week--twice for classes, and a third time for theater outings with Olivia and me. While her school was a safe place for her to spend time, it was hardly private. And while she always seemed happy to be spending time with us, that time was usually spent in public spaces like theaters or restaurants.

Having had my own apartment for four years at this point, I fully appreciated the privilege of having an exclusive, private spot to yourself. Having a door that you can lock, a place where you can let your guard down without worrying about who was judging you, does wonders for your personal serenity.

Which is why I had already offered that space to Olivia, who had serious body insecurity issues. Living with three roommates in a two-bedroom apartment ensured she never spent any time naked, which meant she never had time to come to terms with her own body. So I had volunteered my apartment as a place where she could have some privacy. A place where she could be nude in peace.

"You're spending a lot more time in the city these days," is how I explained this to Lynette. "You need a place where you can decompress. Where you can get some peace and quiet when you need it. Take a nap. Watch TV. Whatever. My apartment is empty for ten hours a day. I want you to feel free to use it when you need it."

Lynette looked like she was going to refuse the offer on pure instinct, but she paused long enough to consider the possibility. "That's really sweet," she said at last.

It wasn't. Because the second problem I had been mulling over was how I could fuck Lynette. We had been getting together every week for the last couple of months, but it was always as a threesome. Olivia was always part of our group dates, and had in fact been the one to invite Lynette along the first time. And when the show was over, we walked with Lynette to Grand Central to send her back to Scarsdale.

And I wasn't sure how to break the pattern. Olivia was still my best friend, so I wasn't really interested in cutting her out of our weekly theater outings. Even if I were, I couldn't imagine asking her if she was OK bowing out so I could have private time with her friend. For Lynette's part, I also couldn't think of any credible way to say, "Hey, instead of going home tonight, how about coming back to my place so we can bone?"

Though I had been starting to wonder if that was the right approach. With each passing week, Lynette had seemed progressively more reluctant to leave us at the end of the night. The worst instance had been the previous week. Olivia had discovered it was Lynette's birthday, so we took her out to dinner and a show. At dinner I had given her a present. It wasn't much, just a bracelet set throughout with various shades of amber. It was very pretty, but it was just a trinket. I had spent maybe two hundred dollars on it.

Lynette was absolutely overwhelmed by it. You would have thought it was an engagement ring from her reaction. She protested a bit, complaining that I was already spending too much on her with all the shows I had treated her too. Not knowing what else to say, I offered the explanation, "It reminded me of you. It's pretty. You're pretty. You belong together."

She actually cried at that point. I guess she didn't have a lot of experience with men giving her jewelry. She seemed to love the bracelet, but had no idea how to respond to it. When we took her to Grand Central, she had dragged her feet so long saying good night that she nearly missed her train.

I spent a good portion of the last week cycling through various ways I could have invited her to spend the night. Making her comfortable with the notion of spending time at my place seemed like a good first start. And that's why I offered the keys.

Sweaty and grimy as she was, Lynette treated me to an enthusiastic embrace before leaving for my apartment. The faint aroma of her sweat lingered on my shirt for the rest of the day, and I admit I found it more than a little arousing.

I was skeptical as to whether Lynette would actually feel comfortable enough to take me up on my offer, but over the next few weeks, it became apparent that she was in fact visiting my apartment on a fairly regular basis. I used the same system to track her comings and goings that I had developed when I first gave Olivia her own set of keys--hospitality.

For Olivia it had been hard lemonade. I kept a six pack in the fridge at all times, and when one was gone, I knew she had dropped by. For Lynette I did the same thing with her beverage of choice, Sprite. It took nearly a month for that first six pack to vanish, but it was tangible evidence that she was in fact visiting.

The Wednesday after Thanksgiving I came home to discover more than just evidence.

Getting home that night had been a frustrating experience. It was the night of the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree lighting, which means most of midtown Manhattan was a logjam of tourists and police barricades. I had been through a few of these already, so I knew the best shortcuts available to avoid the worst of the crowds.

It was already dark by the time I got back to my apartment, but even though the apartment lights were off, I could tell I wasn't alone. I could hear fitful, labored breathing from the moment I opened the door. Though the sound was alarming, I thought I knew what was happening. I let the door close, then stepped softly into the apartment. I turned on the desk lamp, the dimmest light in the room, just to make sure I was right.

The silhouette in my bed was both feminine and familiar. I could tell from her slender frame it was Lynette, still fully dressed on top of the covers. Though she was awake, she did not react to my entry. She seemed to be focusing all of her energies on controlling her breathing.

I didn't bother asking her if she was all right. It was obvious she wasn't. Nor did I ask her what was wrong, or what happened. That didn't matter right now. Instead, I just slipped off my shoes and jacket, then crawled into bed behind her.

I slipped my left arm around her shoulders, then reached around with my right hand until I found hers. Her fingers were trembling, so I took both her hands in my own to steady them.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't be here. I should have just gone..." She didn't say where she should have gone. I had noticed that she never referred to her aunt's place as "home." At the end of the day she went to Scarsdale, or to Lucy's place, or just "upstate." Never home. Never any hint it was a place she wanted to be.

"I'm glad you're here," I assured her. "If you're not feeling well, this is exactly where you should be."

"You shouldn't have to deal with my crazy bullshit."

"I enjoy having you here. You're welcome any time." I let go of Lynette's hands to stroke the side of her face. Her skin was moist, but also cold. Clammy would be the right word.

"I wanted to see the tree," she explained. "I had no idea there would be so many people. I tried to leave, but there were barricades everywhere."

"It's a madhouse out there," I confirmed. "Happens every year."

"Then I started feeling dizzy, and my head hurt, and I didn't know what to do."

Her breathing was intensifying, which we absolutely didn't need right now. I wasn't sure she was having a panic attack at the moment, but she was clearly on the verge. My only priority right now was getting her to relax.

"You were right to come here," I told her. I started to massage her temple. "Do you still have a headache?"

Lynette nodded. I slid my hand down to her neck and continued the massage. Her skin felt weird. It was rubbery, like I was massaging putty. Between that, the dizziness, and the trembling hands, I thought there was more than just anxiety at work.

"I think you're dehydrated," I told her. "Have you eaten?"

She thought for a moment. "I had breakfast. At Lucy's house."

Breakfast. Probably a slice of toast twelve hours ago.

"I'm making you dinner," I said. On a whim, I kissed her on the back of the head before moving to the kitchenette. I surveyed the contents of the refrigerator and found a large bottle of a sports drink I had bought months ago. I grabbed it and a bottle of Lynette's Sprite and mixed a 50/50 blend in a juice glass.

I helped Lynette sit up and put the impromptu cocktail on the desk at the foot of the bed. "Drink this," I told her, then returned to the stove to heat up a can of soup and a couple grilled cheese sandwiches. It wasn't an ambitious meal, but it was something I could have ready in just a few minutes.

Lynette had finished her drink by the time the food was done, so I poured her another. She downed that one by the time I had ladled out the soup, so I refreshed it once again, then set the soup and sandwiches on the desk.

She ate hungrily, devouring half her sandwich in four generous bites. As she turned her attention to the soup, I moved in behind her and started massaging her shoulders.

"That's so good," she moaned, and it took me a moment to figure out she was talking about the grilled cheese.

"Gruyere and goat cheese," I told her. "On brioche."

"That's goat cheese?" she asked. "My mother always told me I didn't like goat cheese."

She had drained her glass again, so I refilled it once more before returning to the massage. She was wearing a brown cotton dress with a floral pattern and a long skirt that reached her ankles. I would have called it prairie style, though I don't know if that's the right term. Like most of Lynette's clothes, it looked like it had been around a few decades. And like all of her clothes, it was an outfit I had seen before. Lynette did not seem to own more clothes than would fit in a suitcase.

As I rubbed her shoulders, I tried to get a sense of what she was wearing underneath. I felt straps, but they were wider than I expected. I slid my thumbs down the length of her spine, confirming that there was no bra underneath. Some kind of tank top or camisole, I thought.

"Is this helping at all?" I asked as Lynette bit into the second half of her sandwich.

"I don't know," she said, putting her hand over her mouth as she chewed. "But it feels good."

And so I continued. Up to the shoulders, up the neck, up to the base of the skull. Then down the spine again, digging my knuckles into the hollows beneath her shoulder blades, and working my way down to her lower back. Then repeat.

"Ray?" she asked after a few minutes of this.

"Mm-hmm?"

"Why are you so nice to me?"

I chuckled at the question. Because I'm hoping it improves my chances of fucking you, is what I wanted to say. Instead, I went with "It's funny. Olivia asked me that exact same question just a few weeks ago."

"What did you say?"

I put my hands on her shoulders again. "Because I like you. I enjoy having you around." To emphasize the point, I kissed her gently on the top of her head.

She didn't say anything else, so I returned to rubbing her neck. After another minute she said, "I told someone you were my boyfriend yesterday."

This took me by surprise. The notion that Lynette might be talking about me at all with anyone else had never occurred to me. "You did?"

"Olivia was there. Another girl in our class asked me about my bracelet. I was trying to say, 'my friend Ray gave it to me,' but it came out as 'my boyfriend.' I'm pretty sure Olivia heard me." She lowered her head, as if she were confessing something shameful. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say it."

"I honestly don't think it's a problem," I assured her.

"I just don't want to complicate things between you two."

"Well, I'm pretty sure Olivia has been trying to set us up."

Lynette did look up at me this time. "You think so?"

"I think she probably got a kick out of it."

I weighed my options. If she was indeed wearing a tank top under her dress, then what I was considering suddenly became a lot less risky.

I wished I had some proper massage oil on hand. This would have worked better with some delightful eucalyptus scented concoction, but the best I could do was a tube of Ben-Gay I fished out of my night table.

"This should help," I said, confident that it wouldn't. Then I unzipped her dress.

I know. My priority should have been on making sure the poor girl was healthy, not figuring out the best way to undress her. But at the time it felt like I might have been able to do both.

Lynette was taken a bit off guard by this move. She looked up at me, but she didn't object. I pushed the fabric of her dress off her shoulders and down her arms. She was indeed wearing a white cotton tank top beneath, so even though she was suddenly more exposed than she had expected to be, she was still modestly dressed.

I squirted small daubs of the ointment onto her shoulders and began massaging it into her skin, slipping my fingers under the straps of her tank top as I went. It was another minute before she spoke again.

"Ray?"

"Mmm?"

"Are you going to finish that?"

I had been nibbling at my own sandwich while working on Lynette's back, but half of it still lay uneaten. Lynette was eying it with interest.

"Go for it," I said. "I can make another after I wash my hands."

Lynette took a bite of the remaining sandwich, and once her mouth was full, I lifted the back of her tank top up.

I was surprised at just how arousing this was. There was nothing extraordinary about Lynette's back. She was a skinny girl, slim enough that I could count each vertebrae, and she was modest, so the flesh of her back was pale and untanned. What made it so exciting was the fact that it had not been offered. Exposing the naked flesh of her back without her express permission was a more audacious act than I was accustomed to. I had never been quite so forward with a woman before, and it was thrilling.

"Are you in the market for a boyfriend?" I asked.

She took a moment to swallow before answering. "I don't... I've never really... I'm not really girlfriend material."

"Not interested?"

Lynette gave an indecisive shrug. She took another bite of my sandwich, probably as an excuse to avoid talking for a few seconds. This left me to draw my own conclusions about what she was actually looking for.

Her reticence was actually encouraging. Lynette behaved like a woman who did not consider herself to be attractive or interesting, and this kind of low self-esteem was something I could work with. I realize this is a character flaw, but confident, capable women never held much attraction for me. Quite frankly, I never felt I had anything to offer them. But women who doubted their own self-worth? They melted my heart every single time. Show me a plain girl, and I want to make her feel pretty. Show me a poor girl, and I want to make her feel like a princess.

I waited for Lynette to finish her dinner, then topped off her drink again. I knelt before her and looked into her eyes.

"Are you feeling any better?" I asked, placing my hands on her cheeks.

"I think so," she replied.

Her skin still felt a little cool to the touch. "Are you cold?" I asked.

She shrugged again. "Maybe a little."

I stood up and offered her my hand. "Come on. Let's get you warmed up."

Lynette clearly didn't know where I was going with this, but she did take my hand and rose to her feet. Her dress was still off her shoulders, so she had to clutch the fabric to her chest to keep it from falling to the floor.

I guided her to the bathroom, stopping just outside the shower stall. I let go of her hand and turned on the water. As soon as I felt the water heating up, I stepped back and took off my shirt.

Lynette looked uncertain, but not frightened or angry, so I decided to go all-in. I continued undressing, hanging my discarded clothes on a hook bolted to the closet door just outside the bathroom. In just a few seconds I was standing before her completely naked.

I was in my mid-twenties at this point, and probably in the best shape I would ever be in. While I wasn't a gym rat, I exercised regularly, and the muscles in my arms and chest were noticeable, if unpretentious.

The kindest thing I can say about my penis is that it is unthreatening. It is neither small enough to elicit laughter, nor large enough to induce gasps. It is exactly what you expect a penis to be, and it does its job without complaint or drama.

Lynette wasn't looking at my penis directly, but then she wasn't looking at anything directly. She seemed to be having trouble deciding what she should be looking at.

She also wasn't undressing, so I decided I would need to take the lead on that. I stepped behind her and gently nudged her hands down far enough that I could slip the dress over her arms. As it slid to the floor she clasped her hands to her chest.

Even without her dress Lynette was still outfitted more modestly than many women you would pass on the street today. She still had her tank top on, and from the waist down she was covered in a pair of brown tights thick enough that I could barely see her panties through the fabric. She continued to stand stock still, hands demurely pressed to her chest, offering neither a protest at what I was doing nor any assistance.

And so I continued. I put my hands on her hips, then slid them inside the fabric of both her tights and her panties. I paused for a second, just long enough to give her time to object if she wanted to, then pushed down.

Lynette's ass was small, but nicely shaped. She was not a voluptuous woman, but her buttocks had a pleasant roundness you don't always see on skinny girls. Her legs were lean and as pale as her back. On closer inspection I could make out a fine down on her shins that told me she was not in the habit of shaving her legs. I found the peach fuzz she had now adorable.

Even with her tights around her ankles, Lynette was offering no help. I had to lift each foot gently off the floor to free them. I rolled up the tights and underpants and laid them aside on the bathroom counter.

She was down to just her tank top, and with her hands clasped to her chest, removing that required a bit more manipulation. I guided her elbows up just enough to get the shirt over her head, then extricated her arms like I was working a monkey puzzle. As soon as the shirt was off, her hands returned to their defensive position.

It had taken some effort, but at long last there she was, naked in my bathroom except for the amber bracelet I had given her. Naked, but unmoving. She still did not seem to have the slightest idea on what she should do now, so once again, I took the wheel. I stepped into the shower, took her hands in my own, and pulled gently until she stepped in with me.

I was still operating under the pretense that this was for Lynette's benefit, so I figured I should get to work. I positioned her directly underneath the shower head, then turned her toward the wall.

I started by washing her hair. I don't know if this is the kind of thing women actually find sexy, but the sight of the viscous shampoo oozing down her wet hair was doing wonders for my own libido. I massaged the fluid into her scalp, enjoying the cascade of suds that ran down her shoulders and back, and rubbed her temples as the shampoo rinsed away.

I'm normally a fan of bar soap, but on this occasion I was happy to have a bottle of body wash on hand. I had a washcloth at my disposal as well, but chose to do this portion with my bare hands. I squirted a generous glob of soap onto Lynette's back, then returned to her massage.

As I rubbed my hands over her back, Lynette reached out to brace herself against the shower wall. This left her breasts exposed for the first time, and while I couldn't see them from my current position, I was determined to take advantage of this development.

I coated both of my hands with body wash, then wrapped my arms around Lynette to smear the soap over her belly. It seemed self-evident that I wasn't going to stop there, so I only lingered there for a few seconds before sliding my hands up over her chest. Her body stiffened as I gently cupped her breasts, but she did not attempt to hide them again. They were small enough that my hands could cover them entirely, and I was happy to feel her nipples hardening against my palms as I gave them a gentle squeeze.

I let my hands slide down to her belly again, probing to see if she would offer any objection. It was only when I played my fingers over her thick pubic bush that I remembered the condoms.

Out of practice as I was, I had failed to plan this out fully. I had a pack of condoms in my nightstand, but realized now that I should have brought them with me here. I pondered whether I could excuse myself long enough to get them, or whether we should move the party back to the bedroom.

As I considered our options, Lynette turned to face me. Her hands moved back to their demure defensive position over her breasts. I embraced her, and she rested her head on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she said, and my heart sank as I tried to predict how that sentence was going to end. But I'm married? But I'm gay? But I'm not from this planet? None of these would have been a deal-breaker for me at this point, but...

"But I really need to pee."

I should have seen that coming. I had served her a combined forty ounces of sports drink and soda in a period of about a half hour. A quick pee break at the outset would have been a good idea.

I kissed her on the forehead. "Let me get you a towel," I said as I shut off the water. I grabbed my own towel from the rack beside the shower, then retrieved another from the closet. She smiled as she accepted it, leaving me with hope that we might not be finished.

I closed the bathroom door and toweled myself off back in the main room. It was past eight o'clock now, so I turned on the TV to see how the tree lighting was going. From what I could see, the tree was still dark, and the plaza was still crowded. A figure skater was performing in the rink at the moment, but musical guests were presumably on the horizon.

I turned down the volume and reclined on the bed to wait for Lynette. When she emerged, I was pleased to see she was only wearing the towel. The fact that she hadn't gotten dressed again made me suspect she also was not ready for the evening to end.

Lynette glanced at the TV, then sat down at my desk. She gave me the single finger "just a sec" gesture, then picked up my phone and dialed a number from memory. After a few moments, she spoke.

"Hi Lucy! It's me. So, the city's a lot more crowded than I expected, and it's kind of hard to get across town. I'm thinking I might just stay the night."

Lynette suddenly looked horrified. I think it dawned on her that she hadn't been specifically invited to stay overnight. She glanced at me with panic in her eyes and mouthed the words "Is that OK?" I gave her a thumbs up, and she returned a bashful grin.

"Right. So I won't need you to pick me up. I'll be here at my boyfr... um.. at my friend. Ray. My friend Ray's apartment. I can give you his number if you need to reach me."

She paused for a moment, listening with some confusion. "Oh, you have it already?"

That's right. I had actually spoken with Aunt Lucy the first time we brought Lynette here. Lynette had been in the throes of a panic attack at the time, so it may not have registered that I had spoken with her aunt.

"Yes," she said, playing with the bracelet I had given her. "That was him." She paused again. "Maybe. Kind of. I guess we're still figuring that out?" She glanced at me again, and I gave her another thumbs up.

Lynette said good night and hung up the phone. She lay down at the foot of the bed, her legs dangling off the edge, and looked up at the TV. The tree was still dark, and the crowd was still thick.

"They still haven't lit the tree?" she asked.

"I don't think they do that until late," I replied. "Maybe ten?"

"I'm glad I didn't stay there."

"Me too. I'd rather have you here."

She watched the TV for a moment. A local morning show personality was exhorting us to stay tuned, promising that an extra special musical guest would be taking the stage shortly.

"Aunt Lucy asked if we were dating," she said at last. "I didn't really know what to tell her."

I got up from the bed and knelt down beside her. "We're definitely dating," I whispered into her ear. "Would you like to date some more?"

Lynette just giggled, but she didn't say no. I moved to the foot of the bed and positioned myself between her knees. I kissed the inside of her thighs, moving up slowly, opening the towel she was wearing just enough to expose the glorious mound of golden hair at her crotch. She parted her legs for me, and I redirected my kisses to her vagina. After a moment, I began probing with my tongue.

Lynette pushed away from me, and I worried that perhaps I had done something wrong. I soon understood that she was just repositioning herself. She angled her body away from the wall, so that she could dangle her head over the side of the bed.

I had never seen a woman do that during sex before, and I found the sight entrancing. I got the impression that I was the only man who had gone down on her before, so I wasn't sure what prompted her to position herself like that.

This must be how she masturbates, I decided. Perhaps having her head lower than her body intensifies her orgasms, or makes it easier to cum.

Whatever the reason, it made things a bit trickier for me. To match the angle she had moved to, I had to move partially under the desk. It was uncomfortable and awkward, but I was not going to let it deter me. I got back to business, lapping at her pussy enthusiastically, alternating between tickling her clitoris with my tongue and inserting it as deep into her vagina as I could manage.

And the payoff was immediate. Lynette came after just a couple of minutes, arching her back and clutching at the blankets. Her head slid even further toward the floor, and she let out an adorable little hiccup.

After a minute of decompressing, Lynette hauled herself back up onto the bed and laughed weakly. "I feel so much better," she said. "My headache is completely gone."

I extricated myself from the desk and stood. Lynette directed her gaze toward my erection, then folded her hands across her stomach..

"Did you... want to?" she asked.

"Have you ever?"

She shook her head. This upped the pressure considerably. Lynette was a little younger than me, having just turned twenty-five last week, so it wasn't ridiculous for her to still be a virgin. But if this was her first time, I wanted to do what I could to make it a pleasant experience for her.

"We'll take it slow," I promised.

I reached into my nightstand and fished out a box of condoms. It had apparently been a while since I'd needed one, as there were still eight left in the box, and I couldn't even remember when I had bought them. Lynette watched with curiosity as I tore one open and slipped it over my erect penis.

I lay down on the bed, positioning myself on top of her, but doing what I could to avoid putting my full weight on her.

Leaning on my right arm, I peeled back the towel with my left hand. The moment I did so, Lynette closed her eyes. This was the first chance I'd had to really drink in the sight of her naked body, but apparently she did not have the same appreciation for it that I did. This was understandable. I'd never met a woman who enjoyed looking at her own body as much as I did, and Lynette did not have the kind of figure that inspired vanity.

Lying on her back, her breasts flattened out to the point where they were almost indistinguishable. She had a band of freckles on her neck and shoulders that I thought were cute, but which experience had shown many women considered unsightly.

Her crowning glory was the breathtakingly full crop of golden hair framing her vagina. I ran my left hand down her stomach and stroked her bush as I would a cat.

I realized that, although we had shared a good deal of intimacy, and I had successfully made her orgasm twice now, we had so far never kissed. She had given me a peck on the cheek after her birthday gift last month, but our lips had yet to meet. I thought this would be a good time to correct that.

I lowered my lips to hers, and she did not react. I pressed my mouth against hers a little harder, but still she kept both her eyes and lips shut. Trying to coax a response, I opened my mouth a little wider and ran the tip of my tongue over her lips.

She got the message, and her own lips parted a bit. I probed a bit more, running my tongue over her teeth. She responded, lifting her head a bit, parting her teeth, and nibbling gently on my lower lip. Her tongue stayed chastely in her own mouth, and I decided not to press the point at the moment.

As loath as I was to end my inspection of Lynette's body, I thought it was best to return to business. I positioned my cock at the opening of her vagina, and pushed forward gently.

It didn't go in. Lynette winced, and I backed off. I paused for a few seconds, then tried again. Again, I failed to penetrate her.

Lynette was not a tiny woman, but her vagina was tighter than I had ever experienced before. It's possible this was because she was the first virgin I'd slept with, or it may have just been how she was built. Either way, I was concerned that I might be hurting her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, as though she had done something wrong.

Nope, I thought. There is absolutely no way this can't happen. I'm stiff as a board, Lynette's vagina is well lubricated with both her own juices and my saliva, and I'm even wearing a condom. We could figure this out.

Maybe she was just too tense. If this was her first time, her nerves may have just been causing her to tighten up. I just needed to find a way to relax her.

Well, I figured, she's clearly uncomfortable being naked. That was something I could fix easily.

"Come on," I said, lifting up the duvet cover. "Let's get you warmed up again."

Lynette eagerly slipped under the covers, rolling on to her side into a fetal position and gathering a generous helping of blanket into her arms.

I slipped in behind her, enveloping her in my arms. She was clenching the blanket so tightly that worming my arms in took some effort, but I was able to squeeze my left arm around her shoulders from below. Her hands were once again clenched over her breasts, so I put my right hand on top of hers, for want of any better ideas.

After some gentle probing, I was able to maneuver the tip of my penis back to the opening of her vagina. For a few moments I just lay there, then I started swaying my hips gingerly, back and forth in tiny increments, waiting for the lubricants to do their job.

It was unmistakable when it happened. My cock shifted by maybe half an inch as it finally penetrated the opening, and Lynette gasped. I rocked back and forth gently, like I was trying to coax a car out of a snow bank, and with each motion I was just a little deeper inside her.

After about a dozen of these micro-thrusts, my cock was sliding freely in and out of Lynette, and I felt comfortable enough to increase the speed and force of my movements.

And that's when she bit me.

It didn't hurt, exactly. I mean, it hurt a little. But it was like when you're playing with a cat and all of a sudden it decides to chomp on your hand. There's a little pressure, but you know it's not trying to hurt you. Lynette just abruptly opened her mouth and locked her teeth around my left forearm.

I absolutely did not see this coming. I had never heard of a biting fetish, and no woman I'd been with previously had done anything like this. And that's what made it so hot. I had assumed I would be directing the show this evening, and for Lynette to throw in a surprise like this at such a crucial moment made a world of difference. An evening of fairly textbook sex suddenly got just a little bit freaky.

I intensified the force of my strokes, and Lynette's breathing quickened to match. I wriggled my right hand beneath hers, forcing them away so that I could lay claim to her breasts. Once I had her right tit in my hand, I was glad we had shifted position. Lying on her side allowed gravity to give her breasts a bit of shape that was absent when she was on her back. It was still barely enough to fill my open palm, but it was something.

I thrust into her again and again, and after a while I realized I could probably do this all night. The combination of the condom and the tightness of her vagina had a desensitizing effect that ensured that ejaculation would take a conscious effort. This gave me the luxury of time to consider where I wanted to go from here.

I decided I wanted to see if I could make her climax again. I had found cunnilingus to pretty much guarantee an orgasm, but straight up fucking was less certain. In her current state, I thought I had a pretty good chance at getting another rise out of Lynette.

I reluctantly let go of her boob and let my right hand wander down to her pelvis. I gave her pubic hair another few loving strokes, then pressed my fingers down to her pussy. It was not an easy task. I had to stretch my arm about as far as it would go to make it down there, and Lynette had her thighs pressed firmly together at this point. I inched my fingers down further, forcing them between her legs until I found her clitoris.

The effect of this on Lynette was dramatic and immediate. She unclenched her fists and thrust her hands out from beneath the covers to seize my left arm. She grabbed it with both hands and pushed her head forward, as though she were trying to force my arm to the back of her throat. Her muffled gasps became more high pitched and frenetic, and she was now moving her hips to match my own.

Less than thirty seconds after I started massaging her clit, Lynette forced her hips down into mine with all of her strength. Her whole body shook, and I could feel the inner muscles of her vagina spasming. The sensation felt like a hand massaging my penis, and I felt no need to wait any longer. I held her as tightly as I could and let myself cum inside her.

After about a minute, Lynette let herself relax. She opened her mouth and let my arm fall away. A string of drool stretched from her lower lip to the skin of my forearm, and she clumsily wiped it away.

Not wanting to risk any leakage from the condom, I withdrew from inside her while I was still hard. My cock began softening as soon as it was free again, but I was confident the condom would stay in place for a little while.

"Is it always like that?" Lynette whispered softly.

No, I thought. That was really pretty good. It may be hard to top. But what I said was, "Stick around and find out."

I don't even know if she heard me. She was asleep almost immediately. I let her doze for a few minutes, then extricated myself carefully from the bed to dispose of the condom. The TV assured me the tree lighting was just moments away.

I turned the TV off, but it did give me some inspiration. It would be a little while before I could gauge Lynette's reaction to this evening's events. I was fairly confident she had enjoyed the sex, but I thought there was a chance I could offer her more than that.

I wanted to give her a chance to sleep, so I dozed on the couch for a while. When I awoke it was closing in on one o'clock, which I figured was good enough.

After getting dressed myself, I gathered Lynette's clothing up from the bathroom and returned to the bed.

Lynette looked adorable. She slept with her mouth open, but somehow didn't snore. I had the urge to slip a finger in between her lips, but restrained myself. Instead I gently squeezed her shoulder.

She awoke slowly, blinking away her confusion until she turned to look at me. She offered the sweetest smile, which encouraged me enormously.

"Hi," she whispered.

"Hi," I agreed. "How you feeling?"

"Really good." She giggled a bit. "Really, really good."

I laid her clothes on the bed beside her. "Come on," I said. "There's something I want to show you."

She got dressed, which I watched with undisguised interest. I figured it would be getting cold out, so I added one of my sweaters to her outfit. I helped her into her coat, and we headed out.

I don't think Lynette was accustomed to being on the streets after midnight. She seemed delighted, as though she were on an adventure. We popped into a 24 hour bodega on Ninth Avenue, where I got us a couple hot chocolates. At the register I made another impulse buy, which I offered to Lynette as we left the store.

"Got you a present," I said as I handed over the toothbrush.

She laughed as she accepted it. "I've always wanted one of these!"

She took my arm as we walked, something she had never done before. She didn't ask where we were going, but it wasn't a long trip. In less than ten minutes we were crossing Sixth Avenue, heading toward the lights of Rockefeller Center.

The tourist crowds had thinned considerably, but the area was far from deserted. Maintenance crews were still at work tearing down the stages from last night's show, and street sweepers patrolled the side streets clearing away litter. But the movements were orderly and calm, a far cry from the crushing mobs that had been there just a few hours ago.

I took Lynette to a side street that I knew would be relatively empty. From there we had a good view of the tree. I wasn't sure if they turned it off overnight, but at present its tens of thousands of carnival colored lights were blazing away. There were brief moments now and again when there were no other people visible in our line of sight, and we could pretend the tree was putting on a private show just for us.

We would have to get back before long. I had work in the morning, and Lynette had a class to get to. But we could be back in bed in less than twenty minutes, so for the moment, we had no worries beyond sipping our cocoa and enjoying the lights.

When Lynette leaned back against me and rested her head on my shoulder, I was pretty sure this had been a good idea.