My eighteen-year-old lover and I spent a wet and wild Christmas Eve morning in my marital bed. He told his father he had some last-minute shopping for his siblings. Truth was, he already had everything purchased, and I helped him wrap it. We ended up having three uninterrupted hours of orgasmic bliss, trying a few new naughty things. Soixante Neuf (69) was his new favorite. His stamina was remarkable. And my willingness to push my own expectations was liberating.
I later drove a half an hour to my parents’ house and spent a long Weekend du Noël. I missed Oliver terribly despite family cheer and some genuine joy of the day. It was my first without Charlie in eight years.
He really meant it when he said he would make this quick and painless. My soon-to-be ex-husband filed papers just before Christmas, seven weeks to the day after I was caught and confessed. He cited infidelity. I agreed, and the lawyer Joyce insisted I use said it was smart and would make things easier. But not less painful.
I was to get the house but wanted no alimony. I speculated I would sell the house and get a small apartment. He was already living in another town in a place his parents rented out.
I didn’t want to have any connection to him. I needed this to be clean. Being with Oliver made me realize that I don’t think I ever fully loved Charlie. Not like I loved Oliver. It was a painful conclusion that Joyce was really instrumental in helping me understand.
I also had to accept that perhaps being in love with an eighteen-year-old student was not the best idea for a twenty-nine-year-old teacher. I could not see permanence nor longevity. What I could see was that my marriage was flawed from the start.
I had yet to reveal my “lover’s” identity, and Charlie finally stopped having others, like my sister, try to get a name out of me. I had not even told my own parents. I said it was better that they didn’t know. Mom wanted to know if I was going to marry the man. I told her, “Not in a million years. It’s a romantic, sexual affair that will run its course.”
Her jaw dropped, “MaryAnn Louise!” She was in scolding mode, but let it drop when Dad told her to stop meddling, or it would ruin Christmas.
My little sister, Kathryn, said, “She already has.” She had a huge crush on Charlie. “You’ll wake up one day, missing him, and want me to comfort you. Well, don’t hold your breath!” She cried and locked herself in the bathroom for twenty minutes. Very dramatic.
Did I miss him?
In some ways, especially around the comforts of domestic mundanity. Unsurprisingly, not intimately. It wasn’t like every night Oliver and I were sleeping together and having glorious sex. It was still only a few times here and there.
Times that left me sore, sweaty, and breathless.
Then on December 26, it dawned: I have no plan for New Year’s Eve.
I had considered contacting my old college roommate, Monica, who lived just an hour away. She and her husband usually had a wonderful party involving board games and way too much food.
Mom and Dad would have my aunt and uncle and enjoy canasta and Chex mix. Dear God…
Joyce and Fred were not an option as they always went to her sister’s, stumbling home in the wee hours of the morning.
Charlie and I had gone to a party at his friend’s. It had been a tradition for the last five years. I assumed he would be going alone. Or maybe not. I have to learn to no longer care.
I hoped 1979 would bring great things for my young lover and me. And with that in mind, I started thinking of ways to spend the evening and nighttime with him. It would be our first complete overnighter.
A lovely thing with Charlie being gone was that Oliver could call me on my phone if he was alone in the house or somewhere private. We started each conversation with me asking, “Ca va?” as in are you well, how is it going? He would always reply, “Oui, Madame! Trés bon!”
We would talk of the day; how we missed each other, which was ridiculous, I would tease, because we saw each other five times a week in class. He would then remind me that we were on the Christmas break and not seeing each other every day. Sweet boy…
We also mooned over what our plans were going to be the next time we would be naked together. And I am slightly embarrassed to admit that more than once we had masturbated while speaking to one another.
It was on one of these phone calls on December 27, right after I returned from my parents’, when I decided to ask him to spend the night. “Chére, I was wondering what you would think about spending New Year’s Eve together, maybe the whole night?”
He actually shouted for joy. “Yeah! That would be so cool! I wanted to ask you, but I figured you’d be doing some grown-up thing.”
“Ha! well I usually do, but it was always with…him. How do you feel about going to a hotel? Maybe some type of party or dance where no one knows who we are.”
There was a pause and I wondered if perhaps I was asking too much. He was actually in shock. “Uh, that would be unbelievable. I would be honored to be your date. Everyone will think we’re boyfriend and girlfriend, right?”
I chuckled softly at how sweet he was. “Oui, amor, they probably will. Which is why we need to go very far away from here. Let me make the plans, but you have to figure out how to get away. Some logical reason for you to spend the entire New Year’s Eve night somewhere else.”
“I will. Give me a day or so to figure out what the rest of the family is doing.”
“And we stick to our rule, no alcohol. You must promise me.”
“D’accord.” Of course, “MaryAnn, this is trés gnarly!”
My heart always skipped a beat when he used my first name. Not because it was disrespectful, but rather the opposite. It bound us to something deeper than our relationship at school.
“Marveileux. (Marvelous ) I can’t wait for the 31st!”
I knew that several of the large hotels in the city hosted to-dos. After a few phone calls, I found out that the Ambassador on the river not only had a New Year’s ball, but they were also discounting rooms for couples. I made a reservation under Mr. and Mrs. O. Kelly. I thought Oliver would get a kick out of it.
After I hung up, I had a strange feeling. “Mrs. Kelly” sounded wrong and uncomfortable. I never did see myself having a long-term relationship with this beautiful young man. Perhaps I needed to check in with him if he felt the same way.
Oliver convinced his father that his best friend Jason was having a party at his family’s vacation cottage across the state line. They would be leaving on New Year’s Eve morning and coming back on New Year’s evening.
We decided to hold off seeing one another, holding out for what could possibly be an entire night of lovemaking.
I packed lightly. A soft lace nightgown I’d purchased at an intimate store close to my parents’ house. My blue dress was an old one, but I looked really good in it. It clung to my waist and enhanced my bust. It flowed below my knees and looked quite delightful when I spun.
My sweet lover told me he owned a suit his dad purchased for special events. The challenge was sneaking it out of the house. The day before, I met him at the grocery store parking lot. It was everything I could do to restrain myself from wanting to climb into the backseat of my Datsun and have my way with him. We settled for soft kisses before he winked and said, “That’s all you get! Your rule.” Then he jumped out, hopped on his bike, and headed off.
My vagina and labia were soaking wet and tingling. I hoped I could make it to the next night.
When Oliver said goodbye to his family and hopped on his bike to drive to Jason‘s house, he had a gym bag with other things he would need. We easily hid his bike in my garage. I was thankful Charlie had insisted on tall fences to keep the neighbors’ prying eyes at bay.
After a relatively mild make-out in the kitchen, I told him we needed to go. The two-hour drive into the city was delightful. We talked about his dreams for college, the sweet thing wanted to become a school teacher. I talked about what my next steps would be and mustered my courage to ask the big question.
“Olivier, I need to ask you something. Do you think we will be together forever? Do you picture us as a couple, even…married?”
He paused, and I knew he was staring right at me. Thank God, I had to concentrate on the road.
“I love you. There is no question.… But…”
I held my breath, and my heart raced.
“This sucks big donkey, but I’m going away for the summer to work at that camp. And then I start at Purdue in the fall. I don’t see how we can, damn what’s a good word?”
“Sustain?” I offered.
“Huh, yes, sustain.”
The next silence was long, but he reached out, and I took his hand.
“Are you all right?” he whispered. What an amazing young man. I really did love him.
My answer surprised me. “Actually, I am fine. I think it’s wise that we go as long as we feel we can. But I know we are not forever.” I squeezed his hand and felt a tear roll down my cheek. “After all, you can’t take me to Prom.”
He laughed a wonderful, joyous chuckle. “Then let’s make this the dance of our lives!”
I smiled, holding back some tears, loving him more in that moment for his maturity and kindness. He was right after all. We could not sustain. I had told my mother it was a romantic sexual affair. And it had to remain just that.
As far as the dance of our lives? We did everything we possibly could to make it happen.
The hotel room was nothing special, but he thought he was in a castle. He had to share a bathroom with his two siblings, and he slept on a single bed. Being able to spend the night in a king size with me was going to be a dream come true.
We arrived at eight and unpacked our things in near silence. Oliver’s suit was sharp, and his tie was blue and red. He would look very handsome and older than his eighteen years. I was thankful for that. The air in the room was thick with anticipation. We had promised not to get carried away too soon, as we might never get to the ballroom. The draw of the bed was colossal.
I took out my dress on its hanger and hung it on the door of the closet to let it relax from being inside its bag. Oliver whistled softly. “Wow, you are going to look so foxy in that.” His arm snaked around my waist, his hand moved my dirty blonde hair, and his lips lightly touched my neck. I moaned, and my head tilted to the ceiling. His kisses grew wetter.
My voice was just one tone away from scolding the teacher. “Oh, my love. Please, we had a plan.” He pressed his pelvis against me and his hardness nestled into the split in my rear end. “Oh, damnit…” my voice whined in surrender. Surprisingly, he was the one who halted things.
“You’re right.” He stepped back. “We need to wait.”
I turned on him with a look of playful irritation. “Oh no, you don’t; get those jeans off and sit on the bed. I need to taste you right now.”
The little rascal smiled in horny triumph. He complied quickly while I tossed a pillow on the floor to kneel on. His magnificence was pulsing and dripping. He pulled back the foreskin and I was undone.
My lips wrapped around his head and my tongue swirled. I had my freshly manicured fingers stroking him while kneading his scrotum. We needed this to be quick; him for relief and me so I could have time to get ready. (And honestly, his semen in my belly as we headed down would be deliciously wicked). He was groaning and his hand moved to hold my head. He was rarely aggressive about that, only pulling my hair once, which I actually enjoyed. But tonight, it was off limits.
I pulled off, stroking faster, his shaft slick and shining. “Non, chere! It took a long time to get this hair ready. If I intend to look foxy, it must stay intact!”
He laughed and thrust up into my hands. My mouth sucked him down into the entrance of my throat.
“Oui, Madame! Je comprends!” I understand.
In a matter of a few minutes, he was grunting loudly, then quickly tried to control his volume. His wonderful wand exploded in my mouth and the hot tang of his love gushed into the back of my throat. I swallowed with moaning satisfaction. My hand had found its way to my privates and my good underwear was thoroughly ruined.
I stood and checked my hair in the mirror near the bathroom. He leaned back and a whoosh of air left his smiling mouth.
“That was far out, MaryAnn. You are incredible. Would you like me to return the favor?”
I glared at his reflection. “I am not missing dinner, despite that delicious aperitif. Now stop distracting me. I have to do a bit more than expected as my sexy underwear is now a soaked mess.”
“Sorry…?” He was so cute.
“Hmph.” I took my bag and my dress into the bathroom. As I was closing the door, he called out.
“You could just go with the nylons only.”
I called through the door, “Petite diable! (Little devil) Get dressed!”
It was almost nine when we entered the elevator with another couple, obviously headed to the ballroom as well. They were probably in their forties and had that “enjoying a night away from the kids” look. We all nodded, and my very handsome lover squeezed my hand. He had voiced a few times that he looked too young to be my boyfriend. He feared discovery, despite my styling his hair to look like he was thirty.
The woman, a sweet blonde in a dated red dress, smiled at the two of us. “You two look lovely. Have you been to this party before?”
The husband grunted, “Carol, don’t pry.”
“Oh, hush, Roger.”
I smiled. “No, this is our first. We have actually only been together since October. This is our first big public appearance.” His hand squeezed caution. Mine squeezed back calmly.
“Oh, how divine! Well, I hope you wore your dancing shoes.”
We both laughed softly, and Oliver leaned into me a bit and dropped his voice to a mock manly pitch. “I intend to make sure she is exhausted by the end of the night.”
Carol blushed as the elevator dinged the lobby and the doors slid open.
“Oh, my goodness.” She leaned toward me as we all stepped off. “I hope to feel the same if Roger doesn’t get too drunk.” She looked at my fingers and zeroed in on the light mark from what was once my wedding ring. She looked up with a knowing smile and winked. “Your new man is quite the catch, have fun!”
I smiled at Oliver and he smiled back. Roger pulled her away and they headed toward the ballroom. This was going to be a good night.
The late holiday meal was delightful. I had paid extra for a two-person table near the side. Oliver was sweet when he asked if he could have the champagne. My motherly instincts blended with my lover’s discretion. I loved the perversion of it, as I told him he was an adult now, moderation was up to him, but I thought two glasses would be all right.
Rule broken, naughtiness felt.
The band played a great mix, even some disco. Oliver was a little wild and untrained, but he loved me teaching him how to dance in a proper ballroom hold. We sweated and laughed and even danced alongside Roger and Carol (who was feeling her Manhattans).
The first ballad was a study in public restraint. We remained chastely apart in traditional form. Our aching eyes never left each other. I realized he had grown some, as even in my heels, we were now at the same eye level. My heart swelled. I was ready for midnight.
He leaned into my neck and whispered, “I can’t wait to see what underwear you ended up with.”
He spun me, and I ended up with my back to him, his hands on my waist. “Who says I am wearing any?”
The next two fast ones were a study in funk and seduction. I really turned on the heat and let myself go. It was freeing. I even removed my shoes. A laugh welled up and burst out signaling emancipation. Charlie was a done deal. My marriage was now fully past tense.
The second ballad arrived right on time as we were finishing some punch. He pulled me to him and held me like I was Ginger Rogers and he was a wolf. I had my head on his shoulder and his hand rested just above my buttocks. We swayed to a Bread song that I had loved when I was first married. It took on a sweeter context. Baby, I’m a want you…
Oliver never spoke. It felt as if we were on the verge of something important. Something…epic.
The song came to an end, and we kissed with controlled passion. It was our first in public and the feeling was better than any amount of champagne.
“I love you, Madame,” he whispered.
“I love you, ma chére.”
The hands on the large clock set up above the band was showing 11:23. Only thirty-seven minutes of 1978 left. We were back at our table, holding hands and just being. It was heaven.
I was watching the various couples dance and interact. Some were drunk, others just loving one another. The uncertainty of the future came rushing back into my head. My elation from earlier was chased away. I felt his eyes on my profile, yet I hesitated to meet them. He didn’t need my doubt.
“Let’s go.”
My head snapped toward him. “What, now? It’s only a half an hour away.”
His hand gripped mine and my entire body flushed with arousal. “It’s 1979 in New York. And I want you now.”
I gulped and my voice dropped an octave. “Oui, Monsieur. Montre le chemin. (Lead the way).”
It was like something out of a romance novel. The elevator doors closed and we were on each other as if we had switched souls and our mouths were the only outlet for correction. His hands were under my dress, on my bottom, and soon down my nylons. He broke our kiss, his eyes full of fire. “You really are without panties!”
“And steaming for you!” I growled as my hand slipped into his trousers to grapple his impressive erection. Luckily, we hit the eighth floor and practically sprinted to our room. He fumbled putting the key in the lock as I was chewing on his neck while stroking him. I didn’t care who saw us.
The door closed, and we stumbled to the bed, stripping each other. Soon he was in his socks and drawers, and I was in my nylons only. He fell back on the bed fully stripped, and I began to peel off my stockings.
“No! leave them on. For now.”
I was uncertain but stopped. My focus fell on his bouncing, dripping manhood, and I lost sense of anything else. I fell on top of him, and he grabbed my butt as I sucked his neck. He groaned and bucked, his cock pushing against my stomach. Its heat and hardness burned me, not on the skin, but deep in my heart. I ground my sex on his thigh, and the nylon sent an incredible sensation to my brain. My breath must have been in my purse because I could no longer find it.
He rolled us over and was soon on my left breast, his favorite spot to suck. There was nothing like it. It had been our first sexual contact, so it held more weight and intensity.
As always, my hand went to the back of his head, pushing him in deeper and harder. “Oh, Olivier! Je t’adore!” ( I adore you )
What happened next shocked me. I had never anticipated this kind of energy from him. He popped off my nipple, causing a moment’s sting. He sat back on his knees, grabbed my nylons, and pulled until they ripped at the crotch! The sound was frighteningly raw and arousing.
“Oh, my God!” I squeaked.
His affect was triumphant, proprietary. His face then dove into my vulva, and my thighs immediately slammed together around his head. My ankles crossed behind his back, and my entire body arched off the bed.
His mouth was electric, passionate, wet, strong, knowing, and utterly surprising.
“Fuck!”
I rarely used the word. I found it vulgar, but in the moment, I had nothing else in English to say. And the French things I thought of felt too lyrical. My fingers dug into the bedding and my head spun. He was everywhere at once, the wet crinkle of his mouth on my hairs was a sensual decadence. His tongue swirled, and his lips sucked. When we first made love in October, he had no idea what a clitoris was. Now he was a decorated journeyman in oral pleasure.
“I’m – I’m so clooossse!”
He doubled his efforts and I exploded. My body shook, my hairdo surrendered, and my voice screeched as if I was being burned. It was massively powerful and could be the biggest I had ever felt. My mind was lost to lustful bliss, intoxicated by our privacy, the dancing, the champagne, the taboo.
My climax raced through me and left me nearly boneless. I had just enough energy to pull him up. Through ragged breaths I thanked him. “Oh my…Oh baby, that was incroyable! Merci!” Kiss, kiss. “Merci, mon amor.” Kiss kiss.
His rigid tool was rubbing against my pelvis, inches from my heated and panting vagina. I reached between and he surprised me again by flipping me over. He grabbed my hips and I yelped as he pulled me up onto all fours.
“Oh God…” I whimpered. He ripped my nylons even further until they were nothing but covers for my legs.
He lined himself up, and I held still. He was going to take me. Claim his woman. And ERA be damned; I was all for it.
He thrust forward and smoothly entered me. It was heaven, bliss, and hotter than any other sex act we had performed. He was a man, no question. He plundered my depths, curves, and crevices combined. He was a lesson in control and power. He was nearly bottoming out at my cervix, and I was pushing back as if to get him deeper.
Logic and morals had left the country, and carnality had taken the lands by force. I was undone.
“MaryAnn! You’re so wet and tight. Fucking A!”
“Mon dieu! Screw me hard, Baby. Make me yours!”
He drove with a precision and intensity that shook my body and soul. He was unrelenting, and I was ascending to another ecstatic drop. The wet sounds of our coupling were all I could hear. That and his loud, primal grunting.
We were one, and we were fucking. Yes, fucking like animals!
I was raptured up. My arms collapsed, and my head flattened against the mattress.
He went on for quite some time, checking in to see if I was okay. All I could do was nod and gasp for breath. I had another orgasm rip through me, and he did not stop. Then a third and by God, a fourth! And then he met me for the fifth.
“FUUUCK!” He howled as he held me tight and erupted into my cavern. The blasts were hot then cooled immediately as they collected in a perverted pool of fertility. I lost count and nearly lost consciousness.
After he regained his breathing, I pushed back up to full on all fours, expecting him to pull out. Instead, he gently lowered me flat onto the bed, turned us sideways, and gently slid out.
The gush of fluids was met with a gush of euphoria.
“Perfect…” I murmured as he wrapped his arms around me, and I folded mine into his.
We heard a distant sound of a cheering crowd. It was 1979.
***
We slept for a while, woke up in the night with the covers over us. He must have maneuvered them at some point. We both used the bathroom, then after kissing without speaking, he mounted me on top. We made love this time, and we peaked at exactly the same time.
More rest and the next had me on top. Another orgasm, this was slow and cascading. My vagina was starting to ache, and I gave it no care.
The night was one copulation after the next. We fell asleep around five AM.
A late lunch was quiet and served soft kisses for dessert
He left my house at five. The dark street swallowed him up.
He rang my phone once to let me know he was home safe. I dared not answer.
***
When school resumed, we were surprisingly settled. There was no need to flirt nor glance. Class was just that, class. It was like we had been to the summit and were happy to be back to earth again.
The inevitable happened: the senior in high school had numerous responsibilities, and the teacher needed to be professional. Between March and April, we only had sex thrice. Something had shifted. It was still wonderfully invigorating, yet a pallor had settled.
This was going to end.
The week of his graduation, he snuck over and we had one glorious three-hour session, our grande finalé ultimo. At the end, the tears flowed as we both knew.
He could barely speak, and I was a red-eyed mess.
“I will always love you, Madame. You were my fir–” He could not finish, and I smiled and just held his face in my hands.
“And you were my first. The first to show me what love truly can be.”
I kissed his forehead. “Now go, and live your beautiful life, ma chére.”
He nodded and rushed out. I stood by the door and wept as he rode off.
***
1985
My daughter turned five last week, and we celebrated at our new home in another town. When I had informed my district that I was pregnant, they were cautiously congratulatory. I was a divorced woman who had gotten knocked up. I was politely asked to resign. ERA, where were you?
Joyce was livid. Yet she had supported my keeping Isabelle and my not telling Oliver.
After graduation, his father had moved the family to Cleveland. Oliver went off to Purdue, and I never saw him again. It was for the best.
My family loved my daughter, and my mother doted on her incessantly. I took a job at a community college as an adjunct and made enough to support us.
I was at the grocery store one Saturday in March, Isabelle asking for a shiny cereal box, when a voice spoke from behind me.
“Bonjour, Madame.”
I froze; my entire body shook.
“Maman, what’s wrong. You look scared!”
I spun; he was there. “H-how did…?”
He was taller, his hair shorter, his physique chiseled. He was…gorgeous. His familiar sly smile crept across his face, and he rushed me. The hug shocked and then I melted into him and wept. We held for quite some time.
“Maman, is that man hurting you?”
We pulled back laughing through tears. “No, Bébé, he is an old friend I have not seen in a long, long time.”
He smiled at my daughter…his daughter. She obviously had his hair.
“Isa, this is Olivier. Olivier, this is…my daughter, Isabelle.”
“Hello, mon petit chat. Vous êtes très belle.”
He roared with laughter when she responded, “Merci, Monsieur Olivier.”
He turned to me, tears in his eyes, holding back questions. I nodded. “You had a future. I made a choice.”
He watched her play with a small stuffed lion. His voice was calm and so mature. “I just heard about this from Anna Grossman from our class. She works at the same school district I do in Toledo, of all places. I asked her about KLHS, and she said you had left to have a baby out of wedlock. It was quite the scandal. After the initial shock, I did the math.” He paused. “I immediately took two days off and drove here to find you.”
“That was very…dramatic and sweet. But I don’t want anything from you. We are happy, she is happy. Maybe one day I will tell her, but for now…”
He stood straighter, now a good six inches taller than me. “I have never stopped loving you. I knew it was right back then for both of us to move on, but it isn’t now. MaryAnn, I want you in my life. Forever.”
My heart stopped. Then it raced. And then it swelled. I yanked him to me, and we kissed with such fire, I thought we might be asked to leave.
“Maman, why are you trying to eat his face?”
We exploded in laughter, and I spoke softly in his ear. “There were a few others, but no one ever sparked me. Plus, the single mother look doesn’t attract a lot of suitors.”
He chuckled.
“Oliver, I’m thirty-five, and you’re…”
“Old enough to know what I want.”
“Oh, ma chère. Are you certain?’
“Oui, Madame.”
~FINÉ~
I hope you liked the happy ending. I think they deserved it
If you did, hit the heart or even the star. And as always, leave a comment. I try to respond to them all.
Merci, Matt
