Contributor: Levon Sandberg
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“The Cunning Linguist” or How I Met Your Mother
The story so far:
As you will recall, when my father, Alexander Stokely, died last year at the age of seventy-six I, Jeremiah, his only son, was responsible for disposing of his earthly effects. Clearing out the attic of the house he had shared with my late mother I found an old steamer trunk, and in the bottom of that trunk I came across a locked wooden box. The box was well crafted of high-quality, dark wood – ebony perhaps - with beautiful dovetailed joints.
I assumed that it held something of great value and, unable to find the key and despite its beauty as an object in and of itself, I forced open the top, breaking the box in the process. Inside I found nothing of obvious commercial value, for it held three leather bound journals, a diary of my father’s early life, from the age of 18 until he married my mother when they were both in their late twenties.
I’ve previously shared the contents of the first two volumes, which told the story of an earnest young man’s coming of age. They covered his college days (he graduated cum laude with a Masters Degree from Ohio State in 1952) and early career as an instructor of English at a small girls preparatory school in Chillicothe, Ohio. Although those two volumes included references to Dad’s sexual awakening and early experiences with women, I chose not to share those details with you. This will change now that we come to the third volume, the one to which I have appended the sub-titles you see above.
This third volume covers the years ‘56 – ‘58, after Dad had taken a job with the biggest advertising agency in Columbus. After reading the excerpts I’m about to share you will understand why my father carefully locked these journals away. You may, however, find it difficult to understand why it is that he failed to destroy them before he died, in order to spare his heirs possible embarrassment. The answer, I believe, is that he would certainly have done so had he been given the chance, but, like most, he had no idea that his end was near until it was too late. I have no doubt that many a family secret, had the deceased known their time was nigh, would never have seen the light of day. My father’s diary is but one of many such artifacts.
So, without further adieu, I share with you now a contemporaneous account of events leading up to the union that made my very existence possible.
Wednesday, April 2, 1958
When Harry walked into my office this morning with that sad look on his face I was afraid he was back again for the umpteenth time to ask my opinion on his cigarette campaign (“The Doctors all agree - Chesterfields are the ones for me!”), but luckily I was wrong. He came by to introduce me to the new secretary that old man Hawthorne said we’re supposed to share. Her name is Angeline McAughtry, and a finer piece of female flesh I have yet to see. Have a feeling Harry and I will be doing a lot more dictating from now on, if you get my drift.
Tuesday, May 6
Angeline is working out well. She picked up the office routine pretty quickly. Now if only I could pick her up! Just kidding. You know how Hawthorne frowns on office romances. Still, this girl is quite the beauty. A little young? Yes. A little naïve? Perhaps, but still sexy in a way that’s hard to describe if you haven’t seen her in person.
Wednesday, May 21
As the weather begins to warm so has Angeline. She’s obviously comfortable around us now. Another benefit of the weather is that we get to see more of her – literally. Winter coats have given way to spring jackets, and lighter skirts and blouses. She’s quite the beauty. Amazing to think that she’s still unattached.
Thursday, June 12
Angeline is quite a woman, and quite the puzzle (but isn’t that redundant?). What I mean to say - Harry and I are comfortable enough around her now to crack the occasional off-color joke, and she almost always laughs, but it’s impossible to tell if she understands what we’re saying, or if she’s just being polite. One minute she seems a naïve young thing, and the next an experienced woman, with a smile that, Mona Lisa-like, says “I am ripe and here for the taking, if you’re man enough to handle me.” I think I am…I think I am…I think I am.
Saturday, July 5
A full description of Angel is long overdue. I’ve spent so much time staring at her the past few weeks that I can do it easily from memory.
She’s 5 foot 5” – maybe 6” at most, blonde (natural, I think, and boy would I love to find out for sure), and trim. She wears her hair about shoulder length, with bangs combed off to one side. She’s pretty, but not extraordinarily so, not movie star pretty or anything like that, just kind of girl next door pretty. Blue-green eyes, a small nose and lips that are full and a shade of pink that doesn’t really need lipstick.
In terms of figure she doesn’t have much on top, but with the style of brassieres women wear these days it’s hard to tell – those weird pointed jobs. Her hips are slim, boyish almost, but wide enough to set off the most beautiful pair of legs I’ve ever seen. And thank god it’s summer time – no stocking weather -
[Ed note: this was the pre-pantyhose era] - so the legs you see are the legs you get, and they’re absolutely flawless. Tanned, smooth, well-shaped calves set below a pair of strong but slim thighs.
Angel wears straight skirts for the most part, and looks great in them. They’re tight enough to hug her thighs but not so tight as to make her look cheap. When she stands on tiptoes to reach something at the top of the filing cabinet her calves stand out in relief and her skirt gathers itself around her perfect ass - you can actually see the muscles in her ass cheeks bulge as they work to hold her steady. To complete the picture, each cheek is highlighted from below, underlined as it were, by the line of her panties.
There’s just something about a woman in a tight skirt. To me it’s even more attractive than bare legs in a pair of shorts or a swimsuit. It must be the way that your imagination has to fill in the missing pieces. My eyes can’t help but follow the line of Angeline’s leg as it curves out at the calf, comes in at the back of the knee, and then tapers slowly out again as the thigh grows wider, climbing its way up to where it meets the beginning of the round curve of her ass. They say that a circle is the perfect form, but that warm half-circle of a woman’s ass gets my vote. And when a woman is standing, facing away from you, with her legs spread just slightly apart and the skirt hugging her bottom, and there’s that place where it falls below her ass, leaving a hollow space before the skirt grabs at her thighs again – my imagination knows what’s waiting, hiding there, and it makes me want to just drop to my knees and shove my face into that hollow spot until my nose is smothered by the warm, earthy odors that I know are waiting there.
Speaking of which, it’s getting awfully warm in here. I’m going to take a walk to cool off…
Monday, July 14
Harry’s away on his annual trip to the Michigan woods so I get to have Angel (that’s what we call her now) to myself for three weeks.
I noticed recently that if I leave my door slightly ajar I get a fantastic view. Her desk is situated so that her typing tray (no modesty panel beneath it- thank you!) faces my door. She’s very careful about how she sits while typing, keeping her legs crossed or knees touching with her legs slanted off to one side, but sometimes I can see a good 12 - 18 inches up the side of her skirt. Eventually she has to shift position for comfort’s sake, so then I get a better show as she crosses and uncrosses her legs. Yesterday I swear when her legs opened I got a glimpse of white material that had to be panties. Now every time I hear the clacking of those keys my cock starts to shiver and my concentration is shot.
Friday, July 18
Thought Friday would never get here. Asked Angel to stop for a cocktail after work tonight to celebrate her three-month raise. Still waiting for an answer. Hoping it’s a yes – need to get my shots in before Harry comes back from vacation.
She must be in a Friday kind of mood herself because she’s wearing something special – the usual straight skirt, but her blouse is some kind of pale yellow, chiffony type material that is almost see- through. You can make out the top of some kind of slip (or is that what they call a camisole?) covering her bra, and you see the outline of two sets of straps. I noticed that she’s been spending a lot of time slipping her hand beneath the front of the blouse to align those straps. She did it once as I was walking up to hand her a file folder and as she pulled her hand back out I could see the barest swelling of flesh just below her thin, delicate collarbone, and just above the top of the slip. I’m sure she caught me staring, but she didn’t flinch. Good sign.
Saturday, July 19
Angel said yes to my offer, and we stopped for a couple after the office closed last night. Nothing really happened, but by the end of the evening she had me confused and hornier than I’ve been in forever. Can’t quite figure this girl out. She comes on like an innocent type, but then does something so completely unexpected that you wonder if she knows what’s she doing or not.
We stopped at McSweeney’s, and as usual it was packed on a Friday night. The noise and smoke and heat were thick from too many bodies in a small space and we had to fight our way in the door. There was one stool open and I had Angel take it, standing behind her while she faced toward the bar. Looking at her face there in the mirror I could see that she was overwhelmed by the swirl of people and loud conversations, but halfway through her second Manhattan she began to relax.
The noise in the bar meant we had to lean in close to hear each other. As I spoke into her left ear my nose was buried in the mound of blonde hair that she had tucked behind it. Her perfume was as intoxicating as the liquor. As she became more relaxed she leaned back against me (the barstool had no back to it) and I could feel the heat from her body against mine.
In a lucky coincidence, the top of her barstool ended just below the level of my cock, which was beginning to thicken from all the close contact. Every time I leaned in closer to say something my cock brushed against the curve of her bottom. I couldn’t tell if she could feel it or not, but one time she rose up to resettle herself on her stool and I swear she pushed back against it on purpose, smiling at me in the mirror as she did so. Things were getting out of control on my end. I knew that if I didn’t back off (or jack off) pretty soon the whole bar would be staring at my hard on. I excused myself and went to the john to piss, hiding the bulge in my trousers with my hat as I walked.
[Ed note: my father, like every man in the1950s always wore a hat, and you can bet it wasn’t a baseball cap.]
When I returned there were two men I’d never seen before standing on either side of Angel and it was all I could do to shoehorn my way back into the charged, testosterone-filled atmosphere that surrounded her. Apparently one of the men had bought her another Manhattan. Good work, guys, I thought to myself: you liquor her up now and I’ll lick her up later.
As I shooed them away she seemed glad to see me back and turned around on her stool to face me. We talked as best we could in all the noise while she finished her drink. Then she stood up suddenly, saying she had to use the Ladies Room. She stumbled coming down off the stool and I moved to catch her. As she fell my hands reached for her shoulders, but she lurched to her left and my right hand ended up beneath her left arm, the palm at the side of her left breast. She put her right hand on top of mine, holding it there for the briefest of moments to steady herself before pulling it away. As she walked off I stood there trying to figure out if that stumble was a lucky accident or an accident that meant I was getting lucky. Turned out it was the former.
When Angel returned from the bathroom she looked a little green. Said when she’d gone in there she threw up and she asked if I would take her home. She dozed in the car as I drove. When we reached her apartment building she was still asleep so I reached down to squeeze her leg, shaking it lightly to awaken her. With her eyes still closed she reached for my hand and held it. She must’ve been dreaming because she began pulling my hand up toward the top of her thigh, and moaning ever so lightly. Suddenly, she opened her eyes, pulled her hand back, and blushed. She thanked me for the evening and got out, insisting that I stay in the car, that she could let herself in safely. I watched her sway her way up the walk and waited til she was safely inside before I left. I’m still wondering where my hand would’ve ended up if she’d allowed that dream to continue.
Thursday, July 24
I have Angel to myself only for another week before Harry returns from vacation, so intend to make the most of it. Taking her to lunch today, someplace fancy. Looks like she dressed for the occasion, a new summer dress, sleeveless. Shows off her tanned arms, and even better, every time she reaches to answer the phone I can see in through the side. She’s wearing a pale yellow bra to match her dress.
Friday, July 23
Lunch went well yesterday. I was the perfect gentleman and Angel seemed to have a good time, but she still keeps giving me mixed signals. We had a couple of drinks with lunch, and the conversation veered toward sex a few times. She revealed the fact that she wasn’t a virgin, but did it in a way that made me unsure if it was intentional. She spoke of having been engaged and breaking it off because the young man turned out to be someone who could not keep a secret. She said that she had shared something “very special” with him (her virginity, I assumed) and that he’d betrayed her confidence – “kiss and tell” is the expression she used, but the look in her eyes said the stakes were a lot higher than a kiss.
Friday, August 1
Harry returns Monday morning so if I’m to make my move it has to be tonight. After what happened this afternoon I am so ready to do this! The hard part will be keeping myself under control. Angel agreed to go out again to celebrate the end of the workweek. I’m going to pick a quieter place this time, and watch to make sure she doesn’t drink too much. The hard part will be keeping my hard part under control.
She wore that white linen skirt again, the one that accentuates her ass every time she walks away from me. And get this – I’m certain she went without a slip today. I could tell because right after lunch I heard her typewriter and glanced up just as she crossed her legs. Got a view up her skirt. Saw those tanned legs all the way up to her white cotton panties. It’s probably my imagination, but I swear I saw her pubic hair – a triangle of shadow between her legs. With any luck I’ll get my hands on that tonight.
Saturday, August 2
How did it go last night, you ask? Whoa! Where to begin? Well, let me just say I may never wash my left hand again as long as I live.
Even now, as I write these words, the still pungent fingers of that lucky left appendage are resting on my upper lip, permitting a mix of powerful odors to waft into my grateful nose, odors that only a few hours before were locked inside Angel’s sweet, moist pussy. Each sniff brings a flood of memories. It’s as if I’m still with her…
I’m sure you’re wondering how I pulled this off (And, not to give away too much of the story, I must admit that, sadly, it’s what I had to do when I got home last night). Well, I’ll tell you.
Angel and I agreed that we wouldn’t leave the office together, for propriety’s sake, so I picked her up behind the bus station. She hopped into the front seat and turned to give me a big smile as we drove off, heading for the Rendezvous over on the west side. The place lives up to its name, consisting as it does of a bar up front with a series of very private, high-backed booths in the back that allow couples who want to be, but not be seen, together, do so discreetly.
I parked Angel in the last booth in the back and went for drinks. One of the drawbacks of the place is that it doesn’t have air conditioning yet, but this worked to my advantage because by the time I’d returned Angel had undone the top two buttons of her blouse. As I placed her drink in front of her I could see down the front. She had that camisole thingamajig on again, and I could see the swelling of the top of her breasts rising above its lacy border.
I sat down across from her and we began to talk. The heat and alcohol made her face flush, and I could see a light coating of perspiration begin to form on her face. The flickering candle on the table was reflecting off her cheeks and it highlighted the soft, downy hair that ran along the line of her jaw. I watched her face as she talked, mesmerized by her beauty. The conversation was light at first, but by the time we were into our second drink things got more intense.
Talk turned to some of the people in the office, and before long we found ourselves assessing them on their looks, and then on their desirability, sex-wise. Angel surprised me when she said she thought Harry was the best looking man in the place. She must’ve noticed the look of hurt on my face because she reached her hand out and placed it on top of mine. “Oh, Alex, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. You’re….you’re very attractive too, don’t you know?”
I swear I must’ve blushed, because she said, “Oh, I didn’t mean to embarrass you! I guess maybe we’re getting a little too personal now, huh?”
“Angel,” I said, putting my other hand atop hers, “There’s nothing you could say to embarrass me. I feel like we could talk about anything right now, and I’d be comfortable – wouldn’t you?” I left my hand there as she nodded in agreement, smiled, and said, “Yes, in fact, Alex, there’s something I heard one of the guys in the office say about you that I’ve wanted to ask you about. Can I really ask you anything?”
I told her of course she could, but to hold on, suggesting that I get us another round of drinks first to celebrate the fact that we were getting to be such close, personal friends, and she said, “Sure. I’ll go to the Ladies Room while you do that.”
She beat me back to the table, and instead of sitting across from her this time I had her scoot over toward the wall while I sat on her left, on the outside of the booth. She turned to face me and we raised our glasses, toasting our deepening friendship. She took a long sip and put her glass down, tilting her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. We sat that way for a few moments, and I began to worry that I’d let her have too much to drink already. If I had any hope of getting into those panties I had to make sure she had enough to drink, but not too much. I wanted her a little tight – just tight enough to be loose, as it were, but not so tight that she lost her lunch like she did last week.
I watched her awhile before reminding her that there was something she wanted to ask me. She opened her eyes and, looking up at me from beneath half-open lids, she said, “Oh…right. I forgot.”
Sitting up straight she went on, “ The other day I heard Gerry Carson talking to another guy about you. He referred to you using a word I didn’t understand. He said you were claiming to be the best in the office at ‘cunnalingawist’ or something like that, and then the two of them started laughing. They shut up when they realized I’d overheard them. I asked Gerry what he meant, that it was a word I’d never heard before, and he just stammered and said that you claimed to be the most ‘cunning linguist’ in the office – in other words, the best copywriter. That made sense, but when I mentioned it to one of the girls in the typing pool later she laughed, gave me a funny look and said, ‘Honey, if you’re lucky, some day you’ll find out if that’s really true.’ So what gives? What exactly did Gerry mean?”
I’d taken a sip of my drink just as she finished speaking and some of the scotch when down the wrong pipe. Coughing uncontrollably, I excused myself and went to the Men’s Room to compose both myself and a plausible answer to her question. Fuck it, I said to myself, it must be the universe’s way of telling me that if the iron is hot (and after all, the thing nestled in my jockey shorts had been as hard as iron for days thinking about this woman) then this must be the time to strike. After splashing my face with a little cold water I looked in the mirror and said to the face I saw there, “Come on, Alex! Man up and get this thing done!”
As I approached the booth I saw that Angel had slumped back against the wall and closed her eyes again. She had a smile on her face and was nodding to the music coming from the jukebox, a Sinatra tune. I slid into the booth next to her and stared at that lovely face and body. She had her legs slightly open and her hands resting on her thighs. When I placed one of my hands on top of hers she opened her eyes, smiled, and closed them again. I moved my hand over until it was resting on the side of her left thigh and then began to slide it toward the hip and then down again to the knee. She kept her eyes closed and didn’t object so I moved closer to her and allowed my hand to slide all the way up to the side of her hip. Moving my mouth in close to her left ear, my hand pulled her hip towards me and I whispered that I was going to go get us another round. When she squirmed slightly against my hand and nodded without opening her eyes I gained the courage I needed to take the next step.
When I returned with the drinks she was gone, and so was her purse! False alarm – she’d just gone to the Ladies Room and was back before I’d taken my first sip of the fresh drink. I got up to let her in and as she went by me her ass brushed against the front of my trousers, causing my cock to stir again. Was it my imagination, I wondered, or did she do that on purpose?
We sat listening to the music and enjoyed our drinks. I sat close to her, our thighs touching now, and when I started speaking I did it in a slight whisper, forcing her to move her head toward mine to hear me better. I reached my right arm around her shoulder and began to answer the question that still hung in the air.
“Angeline, my dear,” I said, “There are two ways I could answer your question. One way would be to tell you, but better, perhaps, would be to show you. You see, the term ‘Cunning Linguist’ is a bit of a joke among the men in the office, but it doesn’t refer to our work. It’s a reference to something that men and women do together when…they’re being…intimate with each other.”
I paused, waiting to see how she would respond. When I saw the obvious interest in her eyes, and she allowed me to move in even closer, I continued.
“You see. the term isn’t really ‘Cunning Linguist’. It’s ‘cunnilingus’. Are you familiar with that word?”
Staring intently now into my eyes, her mouth open in a little circle of amazement, she slowly nodded her head back and forth to indicate that she didn’t have the slightest clue what I was talking about.
“Well how do I explain this? Angel, we all know that…um…sex can be dangerous in certain ways. What I mean…well, we know that a girl has to be careful. Some girls worry about getting pregnant, some worry about remaining a virgin for their wedding night, and some worry about both. Well, ‘cunnilingus’ is a way for a woman to enjoy the very height of sexual pleasure without worrying about any of those things.”
She nodded again, this time in the affirmative. Great - she was still with me!
“Now do you understand?” I asked.
“Well, yes,” she said, “So far, but that doesn’t really tell me what actually goes on when… you know, when the…the cunning lingishness thing happens.”
“Ah, yes,” I answered, placing my face right up close to hers, “I see. I think that this is where the showing part has to happen. Do you trust me?”
When she answered in the affirmative I moved my mouth towards her, touching her lips every so lightly with my own. “Then follow me.” I said.
When we got to the car I unlocked the driver’s side door and had Angel slide in and then climbed in after, keeping her close.
[Ed Note: in 1958 almost every car had large, bench-style seats both front and back.] I patted her thigh and started the engine. As we waited for it to warm I turned to Angel and placed my lips on hers, again, every so lightly. I knew that I had a fish on the line, and was worried that the hook wasn’t quite set. I didn’t want to spook her before I reeled her in.
I pulled away and looked at her sweet face, flushed fully red now with drink and the heat of the bar and the intimate talk, her eyes still closed, then I kissed her again, a little harder this time. My lips moved slowly against hers and when I felt hers begin to respond I let the tip of my tongue slide just into her half-open mouth, then quickly withdrew it. Her breath was coming a bit faster now, and my cock was beginning to push against its prison of white cotton.
It wasn’t easy to do, but I released her from my arms, put the car in gear, and began driving. As we rode, the radio playing a love song by Nat King Cole, I steered with my left hand, my right resting in Angel’s lap, her hands atop mine. I took us down the park road along the river and stopped under a large tree, shading us from a full moon and the highway above.
I turned off the engine, keeping the radio playing low, and took Angel into my arms. Our kiss picked right up where we’d left off. My tongue slid back and forth across Angel’s mouth until her lips parted. I explored the inside of her lips with it, then pushed further into the warm cavern of her mouth searching for her tongue. As we kissed my left hand, which had been resting on the side of ribcage, slipped up her body and came to rest under her right arm and against the side of her breast, which remained tightly bound inside her bra. I squeezed it, moving my thumb around to the front, searching for her nipple, but it was hidden beneath the layers of material.
We were both breathing hard now, and I noticed that she didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. They were resting in her lap, palms up, opening and closing in a pattern that increased as she became more excited. I took my right hand and placed it in her lap, and she covered it with both hers. I moved our now intertwined hands into my lap until the back of her left hand was resting atop my erect member. Using my hand, I pressed hers against it, shifting my body upwards to meet it, moving my hips back and forth. I had no idea if she understood what was going on down there, but as for myself, I was losing control.
Frustrated at being unable to get past the layers of clothing that concealed her breast, my left hand gave up and moved down to her right thigh, where I began rubbing my palm slowly up and down its length. After doing this for a minute or so, the next time I came to her knee I slipped my hand beneath her skirt and began the trek back up again, this time on her bare thigh. My hand was beginning to sweat, either from nervousness or the heat of her body or both, as it moved up her leg. Soon my outstretched fingers could feel cloth - material that I knew had to be her panties – and I paused for a moment. I pulled away from kissing Angel to look at her. She kept her eyes closed, and was breathing deeply but slowly, her mouth still open. I gazed at her and moved my hand higher on her leg, rotating it so that my left thumb was now between her legs and aimed directly at her pussy. When my thumb found her panties I began to rub it slowly up and down, first just a fraction of an inch or so, but then longer each time, so that finally I was moving it along the whole length of her pussy. As I did so her legs parted to allow me better access. I moved my hand so that my palm was resting against her belly and my thumb pointed downward, continuing to rub her pussy.
I moved my head toward her face and we kissed again, each of our tongues now searching madly for its counterpart. Our breath came hot and wet and so mixed together that it was as if we weren’t breathing air any longer, we were breathing each other.
As we kissed I continued to explore beneath her skirt. Her panties were becoming wet. They were beginning to stick to her body, making it easy to find and follow the lines of her pussy lips, which were swollen. I used my thumb to trace them up and down, first one side, then the other, then in a circle. Every time my thumb reached the top of her pussy it paused, pressing against the opening where I knew her clit was hiding, then resumed its circular motion. In the meantime my cock was still doing its best to get itself into Angel’s hands, which were resting in my lap. Suddenly she broke our embrace and pulled her head back to look at me.
“Hmm….Alex?”
“Yes, Angel?
“Alex…the….um…the cunninglingyness thing? You were going to tell me about that, or show me or something?
“Of course, my dear. How could I forget?”
“So what do I have to do?” she asked.
I continued to rub her pussy with my thumb and said, “Angel, all you need to do is follow my instructions and then simply enjoy it, my dear.”
Looking at me, she nodded, then closed her eyes again.
“First, sweetheart, just do this for me.” Taking my suit coat off I rolled it up and handed it to her. “Use this for a pillow and lie back.” She did as I said, taking the coat from my hand and stretching out against the door in a half-reclined position.
“Now close your eyes, Angel,” I said, “Let me do the rest.”
I took a moment to gaze at the beautiful young thing I was about to enjoy. The light from the radio on the dashboard highlighted her pink, flawless skin. I could see her breasts rise and fall as she tried to control her breath. I used my hands to slide her skirt up near her waist. Lifting her left leg I removed her shoe and placed her foot on the seat, pushing the knee until it rested against the seatback. I took her right leg and, lifting it under the knee, placed her foot on the hump on the floor.
[Ed Note: This was before the days of front wheel drive. Engines were in the front, but power was sent to the rear wheels to move the car, and this required a drive shaft from the engine to a differential in the rear that…oh, just take my word for it, there was a big hump in the floor.] I pushed her knee gently to the left until it rested against the dashboard. Her legs were now completely open and I sat back to enjoy the view.
I stared at her legs, from calf to thigh, and could see the point high up where her tan line ended, the skin above it a pale white. The cotton panties she wore were now thoroughly soaked, and I could easily distinguish the outline of her pussy, each of its lips swollen and pressing against the darkened material. A few stray pubic hairs were visible at the edge of her panties. I whispered, pulling at the hem of her panties with my fingers, “We need to get rid of this thing, darling. It’s in my way.”
Without opening her eyes, she reached down and slid her panties off. Before she could do anything I grabbed them from her hand. “These are mine now, Angel,” I said, and put the material up to my face, inhaling her scent.
I leaned back against the driver’s side door to again admire the view. Angel’s pubic hair wasn’t as light as that on her head, but she was obviously a natural blonde and now, free of the panties, her pussy appeared even more swollen, the lips pronounced and pink with blood below the surface.
I leaned forward and slowly ran my hands up the length of her thighs. When my thumbs met at the edge of her pussy I rubbed them up and down the outside. Angel arched her back, pushing herself toward my hands, shuddering each time my thumbs reached the top of her pussy and I pushed the lips together, trapping her clit between them. Then I used my thumbs to spread her lips apart, exposing everything to my gaze.
I moved my head ever closer. My face could feel the heat rising from her sex and I was becoming drunk with the smell of her. I released my thumbs, allowing her lips to come together, and I watched her clit recede but not fully disappear. I could still see a thin, rounded edge peeking through. I moved in and touched it very lightly with just the tip of my tongue, causing Angel to gasp. I moved my head away and paused to allow her to catch her breath, then moved my mouth toward her again. Again, I barely touched her clit with the tip of my tongue, then circled it very slowly, backing away again when I heard her holding her breath.
Angel opened her eyes, looked down at me and smiled. She shifted in her seat, pulling her skirt higher up and completely out of the way, and rotated her hips upward to give me better access to her pussy.
Placing one hand under each cheek of her tight, little ass, I lifted her slightly off the seat and placed my mouth very near but not directly on her pussy. Then, reaching out with my tongue, I traced the line of her pussy lips with it, down one side, around the bottom of her opening, then up the other, avoiding any contact with her clit. Each time my tongue made one of its circuits it would press just a little harder, and move ever closer to the inside of her pussy, until finally I was licking the inside of those swollen lips, deeper each time now, but still avoiding the clit, until the last time when, reaching the bottom, I thrust my tongue slowly inside her. She let out a small cry and pushed her hips against my face. With my tongue still inside her I lifted her ass higher and pulled her body toward my mouth so that my tongue could move even deeper into her.
Her juices were enfolding my lips and tongue in a wet layer of sexual aromas that made me feel as if I were drowning and I could imagine this as a pleasurable way to go.
I withdrew my tongue and using the flat width of it, slowly licked her pussy from bottom to top, pushing her lips apart with it as I went, but stopping just before I reached her clit. She thrust toward my face trying to force my tongue against it, but I resisted, pulling my head away, waiting, then moving in and down to start another long, slow lick from the bottom.
I glanced up at her face as I continued this motion. Her skin was glistening and her eyes were closed. She had one finger of her right hand in her mouth and was sucking on it. Her left hand was inside her blouse and I could see that she had pulled her bra aside, freeing the right breast. She was cradling it in her hand, using her thumb and index finger to squeeze the nipple, which was hard now.
My tongue continued its long, slow trips along the length of her pussy, with the tip pressing against her clit now at the top of each lick. I began to pause at the top, using the opportunity to circle her clit with the tip of my tongue and then flicking it once or twice before backing off to start all over again at the bottom. Each time my tongue reached that highly charged spot within her pussy her ass would jump in my hands. I stayed focused on that part of her and heard her breath begin to come in smaller, faster bursts and a low moan start in her chest. Looking up again I could see that she had freed both breasts now. Her eyes still closed, she was squeezing them and at the same time flicking the nipples with her thumbs, the pace increasing to match her breath. Her low moan slowly turned into sounds that closely resembled, but were not actual words.
“Mmmm…Ohh…..fug…FUNG! Shhhaaah...mmm…jeez… jeezie chris…uh…ahhh….huhnnnnn.”
And then, as it became obvious that her orgasm was drawing near, the sounds changed into words that I could recognize.
“Mmm…my god…..oh god…..good…..good…yes. THERE! Right there! Oh don’t stop now. Oh, Alex. Yes! Yessssss…oh my god, YES! Ohhh….”
Her whole body was shuddering now, rocking as I pulled her pussy against my face, and then she was moving on her own - up and down - bucking as she screamed out my name one last time.
Slowly her breathing returned to normal and she sagged back against the passenger side door. She moved her hands down to my face, taking my chin and rubbing her thumbs along my lips, slippery now with the juices from her pussy. I rose, pulling my face away from her hands and watched as she let them rest on her thighs, one on each side of her opening. As I looked on she touched herself there, using the thumb and index finger of each hand to rub the lips of her pussy, and continued to moan softly.
When I reached in with one of my hands to join hers she opened her eyes briefly, smiled shyly, and closed them again. She continued to caress her outer lips as I used my index finger to probe against her opening. I circled it with my finger, pushed inside up to the first knuckle, then withdrew. She took her hands and pulled the lips of her pussy apart. I slipped my finger into her again, this time a little farther, and she moved forward to meet it. When I pulled it out I moved it up to circle her clit, then down to the opening again, repeating this movement a number of times, watching her face as it registered the pleasure my hand was bringing.
I took one of her hands in mine, and put her fingers to my mouth, tasting her sex. She was beginning to breathe rapidly again and starting to moan. I pushed her other hand aside and moved my head down to start Act Two.
Keeping my finger just inside her opening, my lips and tongue went to her clit and began to flick it. Lifting it with my tongue, I trapped it between my lips and began to very gently suck on it. At the same time my finger was probing her below. Each time my finger entered her I would suck a little harder, and each time I withdrew it I would let her clit fall free, but continue to rub it lightly with my tongue.
She was calling my name now, in a strange half-moan, half-whisper, and having trouble catching her breath. I could tell from her movements that her hands were on her breasts again, and I decided to help her, putting one of mine atop hers. Together we rubbed and pulled at the nipple, both of us increasing our efforts as her breath came faster. She let go of that breast, leaving it for me as she put her hand to the back of my head, where she held it close against her pussy.
My finger was now completely inside her, and I was sliding my tongue around and across her clit, trying my best to match the speed of her moans. Within less than a minute she came a second time, holding my face tight to her pussy, and moving her body back and forth against it. Her breath slowed as she released my head from her hand.
I sat up to look at her. She was completely undone now, her skirt bunched at her waist and her blouse wide open; her bra lay unhooked and loosely wrapped around her neck and her beautiful small breasts were open to the now dank air of the car’s interior. She lay back, exhausted by what I’d just done to her, her eyes closed. She looked so relaxed; I wondered if she was asleep.
My neck was killing me. Even after using my arms to hold her up, the position my face had to assume to allow my tongue to do its work had put an awful strain on it. My forearms had paid a price as well. They were cramping up from the effort to hold her ass up in the air for so long. But goddam it was worth it. To see Angel so completely spent, to hear her moan my name, to be able to gaze unhindered at that lovely blonde pussy, and to have its sweet nectar spread about my fingers and lips? I’d do it all again, even at the risk of breaking my neck!
As for my own pleasure? Well, my cock was crying out for some attention, but funny thing about that. When Angel had calmed down and begun to readjust her clothing, I reached for one of her hands and placed it in my lap. She pulled it back suddenly, as if she’d never before touched a man down there.
She looked me straight on and said, in the slightest whisper, “Oh, Alex. I…I didn’t realize you were so…so big. You’re enormous! You’re SCARY big, I think!”
I didn’t mind her reticence. I was so sure that this was the beginning of a long and fruitful relationship that I was willing to wait for the next step. All in good time, I thought to myself. My immediate pleasure is a small price to pay for what I’m certain will be future of not just good sex, but true love and, hopefully, a life together. I may be dreaming, but that’s all right because this Angel, this real, true-to-life, honest-to-god actual angel, is the woman of my dreams. I’m so sure of it that I know one orgasm foregone now is little to give up for what I know awaits me in the future.
Sunday, August 3
Neck still stiff from Friday night’s escapades. A little anxious about what it will be like when we see each other in the office tomorrow morning. She was affectionate but shy when I drove her home Friday. Leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek before she got out of the car, and wouldn’t allow me to walk her to the door. Claimed her roommate would be waiting up for her.
As I intimated at the beginning of yesterday’s entry, after I dropped her off and got to my place I was forced to take matters into my own hands – talk about blue balls! It was all I could do to wait until I got inside my apartment before bringing myself off. In fact, as I lay in bed that night trying to fall asleep I caught a whiff of Angel’s pussy on my hand and the memories flooded in on me – had to do it again just to get to sleep.
And, for the record, still haven’t washed that lucky left hand!
Wednesday, August 6
Last few days have been a struggle. Angel never showed up for work on Monday, and when she came in on Tuesday I could tell she felt awkward around me. I could understand why she might feel that way, so I was cool about it. I acted as if nothing had changed, as if Friday had never happened, and eventually the atmosphere became more comfortable for both of us – all business, but friendly. I’m sure it’s just because Harry’s back from vacation and always around when Angel and I have reason to speak to each other. All I know is that I’m a wreck. I want this woman in my life – permanently – and I’m going to figure a way to make it happen if it’s the last thing I do! I had never thought about marriage before, but this is serious, and if that’s what it takes to make her mine, so be it!
[Ed Note: I can imagine that by now you are wondering what it was like for me to read about steamy sex involving my parents. I have to admit that it got me going – how could it not? I’d never read such a graphic account of oral sex before, and the fact that it was all true only added to its impact. I’m sure you can understand why it got me excited, and why, like my poor, frustrated father on that night back in 1958, I was forced to take matters into my own hands. I admit it. I came right along with Angel while reading the passages describing what went on in the front seat of that Buick.
But wait, you’re saying to yourself, isn’t masturbating to the image of your parents having sex a little weird? In fact, isn’t that akin to INCEST?!
I understand why you would think that. My partial defense is that…well…I won’t try to explain it. It’s easier if I just let you read two more entries from Dad’s journal.]
Tuesday, August 12
This afternoon Angel came into my office and asked to speak to me, Aha, I thought, now’s when we pick up where we left off a week ago. She looked lovely, as always, dressed in a light, summer dress that showed off her tanned legs and arms. I was enjoying thoughts of climbing up under that dress when she dropped a bombshell – she’s quitting! Fuck! I thought to myself. What did I do wrong? I was only half listening as she described how she was offered a better position at a brokerage house down the street (apparently it was one of the men she’d been speaking to when I foolishly left her alone at the bar that first night out together) and that it was a chance to move beyond being just a secretary.
Okay, I thought to myself, this is a good thing. Now that she’s no longer working here we can be together in public, be a real couple. I can work with this, I thought, and decided to play it cool. I told her I was happy for her and that I’d do anything I could to help make her transition as easy as possible. As I watched her walk out of my office, her hips swaying back and forth, I began to imagine what life with a woman like her was going to be like. And, as I write this, my cock is trying to imagine what life inside that tight little blonde pussy will be like! Excuse me if I stop for a moment to help it with that task…
Saturday, August 30
As you can see, it’s been awhile I’ve opened this journal. It’s rather fitting that this entry will use up its last few pages. The fact is I just haven’t been up to writing these past few weeks. They’ve been difficult for me because I learned that not only were they Angel’s last weeks in the office, but also, I’m sorry to say, in my life.
The optimism I felt upon learning she was quitting to take another position was shattered when she came into my office last Thursday. She looked even more radiant than usual, and I thought it was simply the excitement of moving to a new challenge, but it was more than that. She sat down across from my desk and placed her folded hands on top of it. She asked me if I noticed anything different about her appearance, and when I admitted that I didn’t, she held up her left hand to show me an engagement ring. To make a long story short, the young man she’d spurned some months before had returned. She’d had a chance to think about what she was giving up when she left him and decided to forgive him his transgressions. They are to be married in the Spring.
Ever the gentleman, I wished her all the happiness true love can bring and, ever the professional, got right back down to business, asking her if she was prepared to begin training her replacement. She said that she was, and that she was sure Cynthia – the girl Hawthorne had hired to replace her – would be every bit as capable in meeting my needs as she had been. I doubted that, but kept it to myself.
Angel called Cynthia into the office to introduce me and she seemed pleasant enough.
They made an interesting pair – Angel’s blonde hair and fair skin contrasted sharply with Cynthia’s dark brown hair and olive complexion.
I watched as they walked out and Cynthia sat at Angel’s desk. As I watched them I was daydreaming about Angel’s pussy, remembering the soft bush that surrounded it and how it matched the color of her hair, when I heard laughter. I awoke from my reverie in time to see Angel whisper something into Cynthia’s ear, and then they both turned to look my way. Cynthia blushed and it was then that I noticed her legs - long, beautiful legs. They were parted ever so slightly and before she closed them again I swear I could see a small triangle of satiny yellow material. Yellow? Silk, perhaps? No – no white cotton for this woman, I thought to myself. I began to imagine how this change might work out for the best after all…
* * *
So ends the last volume of my father’s private journal. Dad didn’t give away all his secrets, but there’s one thing of which I’m certain - he did manage to get inside that new secretary’s pants. As I’m sure you’ve surmised by now, my mother’s name isn’t Angeline, it’s Cynthia.
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