The Making of a Gigolo (15) - Agatha Roberts
by Lubrican
Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36
Chapter Eight
They finished the puzzle. There wasn't much
talking. Both were thinking about what had just
happened. His thoughts were still disbelieving that so much
of what he'd described seemed to be unknown to her. Hers were
about how much she'd apparently missed, though it was difficult for her
to imagine whether she would have liked all that or not.
When the last piece went in, they sat back. It wasn't exactly
tense, but it wasn't as relaxed as it had been earlier either.
"I should go to bed," she said.
"Me too," he agreed. "I have to say something."
She just waited.
"When you asked me to tell you all that ... I thought you were playing
a game of some kind. I thought you'd know exactly what I was
talking about."
"It wasn't that way with Harry," she said softly.
"No one ever did those things with you?" he asked.
She realized how personal that question was, but, considering what
they'd done in the last day, she couldn't take offense.
"Not really," she said. "Harry kissed me ... but not like you
do. He put his hand... down there ... but not like you
described. He rarely touched my ... breasts." She
went silent.
"You said it hurt."
She nodded.
"Every time?"
"Almost every time," she said.
"That's so sad," he said. "It could have been so much better
for you. It will be with the next man. I can almost
promise you that."
"Why?" she asked. "How?"
"He didn't take time to get you ready," said Bobby. "Most men
will and if they don't, you can slow them down ... tell them what to
do."
She flushed deep red. "I could never tell a man to do those
things!"
"Of course you can," said Bobby. "It's your body. Making love should involve both partners equally.
If he cares about you, he'll do anything you ask him to. And
if he won't, then stop everything and throw him out."
"I can't throw my husband out!" she said.
"I'm not talking about after you get married again," said
Bobby. "I'm talking about before."
She blinked. "But that's ... that's premarital sex!" she
objected.
"If you'd known how Harry would treat you, would you have married him?"
asked Bobby.
She had to think about that. Her impulse was to say she would
have. But now, after the fact ... after hearing Bobby's
description of how things could be ...
"I don't know," she said tiredly. "Things are so different
now."
"Okay, I understand that you believe premarital sex is wrong. I
can live with that," he said. "But you should at least find
out if you want a man to keep going. If he doesn't make you
want more, maybe he's not the right man. "
"You make it all sound so simple," she said.
"I think it is. Things either click and feel right or they
don't."
She stood up. Then she stopped. All those things
he'd described ... he'd been describing them as if he were going to do
them ... to her.
"Were all those things what you would have done with me?" she asked.
"If it seemed right, yes," he said. "I wouldn't have known
until I'd tried some of them."
"Like the kiss," she said. "The kisses," she corrected
herself.
"Did they feel right?" he asked.
Her eyes darted to his. "You know they did."
He nodded and grinned.
"If we hadn't talked about ... all this. What would you have
tried to do tonight?" she asked.
His eyes narrowed. It sounded like the game he thought she'd
been playing. But he knew now there was no game.
"I would have tried to kiss you goodnight." She'd handled
everything else amazingly well, so he went on. "I would have
come to your room, like I did last night. I would have sat on
the edge of the bed, then tried to kiss you goodnight."
"In bed?" She felt weak.
"Yes," he said.
She walked past him, going to the bottom of the stairs. She
felt strength come back into her knees as she climbed. Half
way up she stopped and looked back at him. He was still
standing by the puzzle.
"Give me time to change into my nightgown and get under the covers,"
she said.
Then she went the rest of the way up.
Bobby stopped at her door. He really had no idea what to
do. With women in the past, he'd gotten clear signals,
usually. That wasn't the case with Agatha.
He didn't knock this time. He was already invited ...
whatever that meant. She was lying just as she had been the
night before. The only difference was that this time she
didn't pull the covers up to her chin. They were folded
across her body, just below her breasts. Her hands lay folded
on top of the edge of the covers. He wasn't sure what that
meant either. She turned her head to look at him.
She didn't look frightened tonight.
"What do you want?" he asked, stepping toward the bed.
"I don't know," she said. Her voice was calm, but
soft.
He didn't know whether to stand or sit. He was pretty sure
she'd accept a goodnight kiss. He was less sure
whether she had left her breasts out from under the covers for him to
play with. He knew she was ... receptive ... but not for how
much. He had, after all, covered the whole gamut of actions.
"I warned you about the kisses," he reminded her.
"I know," she said.
He decided to sit down on the edge of the bed. He sat facing
the door and only turned his head to look at her.
"Can you describe to me how you feel right now?" he asked.
"I feel like I'm in some kind of dream," she said, after a
pause. "Or maybe like I'm in a foreign country, where I don't
know how to act, because I don't know what the customs are."
"It's always scary to start off in a new direction," suggested Bobby.
"I'm not scared, exactly," she said. "Not like I
was. I used to be terrified of you. But that's
gone, I think. Maybe it's like when you know you're going to
taste a new food and you're worried about whether you'll like it or
not."
"That's an interesting way to think about things," said Bobby.
"And on top of it all, you've always been told that you shouldn't eat
that food in the first place. Like tomatoes."
"Tomatoes?" he asked, not understanding.
"My grandmother used to tell me about the very first time she ever ate
a tomato. Her mother swore they were poisonous.
They come from the nightshade family, you know. And my great
grandmother wouldn't touch them because she'd always been told they
were poisonous. Then one day, when she was visiting a friend,
she saw someone eating a tomato. She laughed about it,
because she said she screamed and ran to try to stop the
person. That was when she found out her mother could be wrong
about something. She said that, until then, she'd believed
everything her mother had ever said. Just accepted it as
truth."
"I never knew that about tomatoes," said Bobby. "People
really thought they were poisonous?"
"Uh huh."
"I assume she ate one," said Bobby.
"Yes and her mother had a fit. Then, when nothing happened,
her mother still wouldn't touch a tomato. They argued about
it for years. It makes me think of Ethyl. If she
knew I kissed you today, she'd be absolutely convinced I'd burn in the
fires of hell for all eternity. But I don't feel like I did
anything wrong at all. Isn't that strange?"
"I don't think a simple kiss is all that bad," said Bobby.
"But you think about a lot more than kissing," she said.
"You don't have to worry about that," he said. "All that
stuff ... downstairs ... I thought you were just curious."
"I am curious," she said. "Like my mother was curious about
that tomato."
He chuckled. "I've never been compared to a tomato before."
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure," he said.
"Those women you were talking about ... the ones you've ... done those
things with..." She stopped.
"That's not a question," he said gently.
"I know. I'm just nervous."
"Okay," he said.
"None of them have ever complained."
"That's not a question either," he said.
"Would you stop that! I'm trying to ask you a question."
"Okay." He grinned at her.
"Have there been a lot?" she asked.
"Why do you want to know?" he asked, instead of answering her.
"There are rumors," she said. "And if the rumors are true ...
why haven't any of those women complained?" She was thinking
about the unmarried women who'd had babies. If this man had
dallied with them ... and a baby had resulted ... why hadn't they
complained?
"I guess they weren't unhappy," said Bobby.
She mulled that over. It wasn't really an explanation ... but
the common sense of it was obvious. You only complained when
you were unhappy about something. How could you possibly be
happy if a man got you with child ... and didn't at least marry you?
"This is all so hard to understand," she complained.
"What's to understand?" he asked. "You don't need to worry
about other women. You need to worry about
yourself. It's hard enough to make your own way in life,
without worrying about everybody else."
He stood up.
"Get some sleep," he said. "You'll figure things out
eventually."
"Aren't you going to kiss me goodnight?" she asked. Her
fingers twitched on the covers below her breasts.
"Is that what you want?"
"I can't just tell you I want you to kiss me goodnight," she said.
"Why not?" he asked.
"Because I'm not supposed to want you to kiss me goodnight," she said,
as if that were the most logical thing in the world. "You
said you wanted to kiss me goodnight."
"I said I wanted to do a lot of things to you," he said
softly. "But we were just talking hypothetically."
"You said yourself that you can't seduce me any longer," she
said. "Now that I know about your nefarious plan."
"You think you're safe just because you know what's coming
next?" He smiled. "Why do you think I wanted you to
know what to expect? Men are all the same, Aggie.
We all have a nefarious plan. And when you meet that man we
were talking about, and it's the right man, you won't care about his
nefarious plan anymore. As a matter of fact, you'll become an
accomplice to helping him make his plan work."
"We're only talking about a simple goodnight kiss," she said.
"I warned you about that last time," he said.
"I know."
It was the first time, since he'd come into the room, that he had a
strong feeling of at least one thing she wanted. She wanted
to be kissed again. But she obviously still didn't understand
the power of passion.
He went to her, without saying anything else, and leaned over to put
his hands beside her head. She was staring up at him and she
licked her lips, in preparation for the kiss she was sure she was going
to get. He lowered his lips to hers. He got another
signal of acceptance when she lifted her head a little, to meet
him. He kissed her hungrily and then moved his left hand to
cup and squeeze her right breast.
She stiffened and, just as he found where he thought her nipple might be, through the cloth of her bra and
nightgown he squeezed it gently. Her hand came to grip his. Hoping he was right, he rested enough of his weight on his left hand that she couldn't just
move it. He slid his tongue into her mouth and felt her nipple respond enough that he knew exactly where it was. He rolled the
hard little knob of her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, very
gently. He kept his lips pressed to hers, until her hand
stopped gripping his hand and simply held it. Then he pulled
his lips back and let his palm cover the breast, just lying on top of it.
"You cheated," she moaned. "You skipped ahead!"
"Did I tell you there are rules?" he asked. "This isn't some
game you can play. The men you meet will not play by any
rules."
To punctuate the point, he kissed her again. He did it in
exactly the same way and brought his fingers back to her
nipple. When her hand began to hold him to her breast instead
of trying to move him away, he pulled back, said goodnight and left.
Agatha felt like she should be unable to sleep. But the fact
was, she felt warm and safe and snug. She had been shocked
when his hand had gone to her breast. The feel of his fingers
on her nipple had been so new, though, and so completely different than
anything she'd ever felt before ... and so good ... that she'd given
in. She didn't remember giving in ... making the decision to
give in. It had just happened. She could scarcely believe it even now.
And his kisses had been so warm and soft. She licked her lips
in the dark. She knew she would let him kiss her for hours,
if he tried ... wanted to. And her brain told her she would
probably let him do other things too, even though they were wrong.
This wasn't at all like she had thought it would be. She had
steeled herself to receive his lustful looks and only as much physical
contact as was absolutely required to snare him. She had
known his touch would be disgusting, but had been willing to sacrifice
her own wellbeing for the greater cause.
Now, as she lay in bed, she knew what a fool she had been.
How could she go out into the wide world and succeed? She
felt like a baby, with its eyes closed, thinking it knew what the world
was all about because it could hear things. His kisses had
been pure joy, an explosion of sweet sensation. And his touch
on her breast, instead of making her livid, created something inside
her that craved more of that touch.
She thought back to the shocking descriptions he'd given ... things
he'd thought about doing with her! Her mind had told her,
even while he was giving those descriptions, that she should be
disgusted. But she hadn't been. She'd felt the
fear, but his calm delivery ... his openness about it all ... had
soothed her somehow.
He'd warned her. Multiple times. And now that she'd felt part of it, even though he'd skipped way ahead,
she was anything but disgusted.
In fact ... she wanted more.
Agatha's departure created in her a range of emotions that astonished
her. She was glad to be going home. At the same
time she felt like she was losing something precious by leaving the
B&B behind. Something had happened there that was
rejuvenating. She had felt their honest welcome. She had been
accepted as who she was and not required to think a certain way or act
just so. It was the first time in her adult life she could remember that
happening.
There had been other firsts on the farm. She had, for the first time, kissed a man she had no intention of letting court her. That same man had touched her in an intimate way that
she had never experienced before. A man had talked with her
about serious issues, which she'd never been involved in before.
There had been tears that made her feel foolish and a hug exchanged
with a woman she had hated when she first arrived. She viewed
the twins completely differently than she had before her furnace had
given out. Her attitude about Prudence Harris had altered
significantly. As she drove away, she felt like a new woman.
Back home, though, it began to seem like a dream again.
Everything there was exactly the same as it had always been.
As the feelings of euphoria began to seep out of her, she tried to keep
them by cleaning like she had cleaned at Mirriam's. That
didn't work. It was while she was moving vases filled with
artificial flowers, to dust under them, that she got the idea.
Four hours later she was exhausted. She had moved everything,
almost literally. She had rearranged the living room first,
tugging and shoving until the furniture was in different
places. From there she went to the dining room. She
couldn't change much there, but took everything out of the china
cabinet and put it back in different places. From there she
went to her bedroom and, in a burst of energy, moved everything she
could lift or shove out into the hallway. The guest room
became her new bedroom. Both rooms shared the bathroom
between them, so it didn't matter. She couldn't move the bed
itself or the chest of drawers, but that would come later.
She sat down in a chair and relaxed, looking at everything that was
different. She was sitting there when the doorbell
rang. She opened the door and felt a surge of heat in her
chest when she saw Bobby standing there.
"Sorry to just walk up to your door like this," he said. "But
I wanted to check on you."
She pulled him in, excited to show him what she'd done. He
stayed to help her move the heavy things and they completed the
switch. He had tools and she watched in awe as he
disassembled her bed and moved it, to make it reappear in her new
room. Everything from the guest room went into her old room.
Finally they were done. He was smiling for some reason.
"What?" she asked.
"I know you want to be a new woman and all that," he said.
"But isn't this a bit much?"
"Don't laugh at me," she pouted. "I'm trying."
"I know," he said. "You deserve a reward."
"What kind of reward?" she asked.
"We've never gone dancing. Do you dance?"
"I used to, when I was a girl," she said. "In private," she added, feeling like she had to be honest.
"I'll pick you up at seven," he said.
He took her to a bar in Hutchinson. She'd never been in a bar
and felt real misgivings about going into one now. She expected
loud, crude people, most of whom would be drunk. Other than a
little sip of cooking sherry (which she'd spat out in disgust) she'd
never had anything harder than some apple cider that had sat out too
long one time.
Once ensconced in a booth with Bobby, she looked around
curiously. People were laughing and smiling. There
were beer bottles everywhere, as well as glasses of various shapes with
different colored liquids in them. Bobby ordered a beer when
the waitress came over and then looked at Agatha.
"I don't know anything about all this," she said helplessly.
He ordered her something that sounded like sour whiskey, which didn't
sound appetizing at all. When it arrived, she scrutinized
it. It was a brownish fluid with a bright red cherry in it,
among the ice cubes, and a tiny little straw that stuck out.
"If you don't like it I'll drink it," said Bobby.
She took a tentative sip and was delighted. It wasn't sour at all. That made her
want to taste his beer. She made a face as the stuff got into
her mouth, but swallowed the little sip she'd taken.
"I like this better," she said, going back to the drink he'd ordered
for her.
There was all kinds of music, because the "band" was a big old
Wurlitzer juke box against one wall. She was fascinated with
it, because of all the pastel lights that made it just lovely to look
at and the way the little arm selected a record, plopped it onto the
turntable, and then music came blaring out.
Their first dance was a slow one. She felt awkward and was
sure that everyone in the place was staring at her. Bobby
held her close and she put her face into his shoulder. Little
peeks out away from them convinced her that no one seemed to know or
care who they were, so she relaxed.
They sat and she rested, sipping more of her drink. A
thumping beat got her fingers tapping on the table. It was
almost too loud to talk. Bobby stood and offered her his
hand. Again she felt conspicuous. She remembered
steps that would go with this music and did them, even though they were
different than what other people were doing. Bobby watched
her, though, and he tried to do the same thing, which was comical,
because he looked completely out of place. He grinned,
though, and it made her feel good.
Two more slow dances later, he kissed her while they danced.
Her mind told her this was part of his nefarious plan, but she kissed
him back.
An hour after they got there, she was kissing him in the booth.
On the way home, he stopped in the dark and kissed her some
more. When his hand strayed to her breast, she didn't stop
him. If anything, her kisses grew more urgent.
When he walked her to the porch, she turned.
"You want to come in?"
"Not a good idea," he said softly.
"Why not?"
"I'm really turned on right now," he said.
"Oh!" she squeaked.
She'd had three of those delicious drinks she now knew were called
whiskey sours instead of sour whiskey. She didn't feel any
different than usual, as far as she was concerned. She wasn't
aware that her inhibitions had been lowered just a tad.
"So, do you want to come in?" she asked again.
To Agatha, it was a chance to get some more of those delicious kisses
and feel the tingles she now felt as his fingers drifted across her
breasts.
To Bobby, it was an invitation for much more.
There are degrees of astonishment. The word itself is defined
in one dictionary as: overpowering wonder or surprise;
amazement. Entries you might find in a thesaurus are: awe,
bewilderment, confusion, consternation, dumbfoundment, shock,
stupefaction, and wonder. Such words are examples of the
degrees of astonishment.
Agatha Roberts experienced all of those and more, before she had time
to think about it all, much, much later.
She started out happy, as they sat on the couch and kissed for what
seemed like hours. His fingers flitted over her breasts,
something that just felt natural now. Her breasts liked that
touch.
There was a bit of consternation when, somehow, the buttons on the
front of her dress came undone. She was wearing a half slip
that night and his fingers on the skin below her bra felt like they
were producing little static electric shocks.
When his lips moved over her cheek to one earlobe and then down to her
throat, a hazy list with words that seemed to be written in letters
made of smoke appeared in her mind. It was the list of things
in his nefarious plan. The inner eyes of her brain seemed to
see a check mark appear by some of those lines in his plan.
There was dumbfoundment, when she realized she wasn't objecting as his
fingers slid under the thick material of her bra. His fingers
felt hot as they cupped her naked flesh. Amazement followed, as his
fingers touched her nipple with nothing between them and her body
arched of its own volition.
He stopped kissing her and stared into her eyes as his fingers played
under her bra, which suddenly felt confining. Her
confoundment only increased, as her own fingers pulled the bra up above
her breasts. She told herself it was only because it was so
uncomfortable the other way.
Then he was kissing her again.
Confusion flooded her as she felt herself lifted into his arms as if
she weighed nothing. That gave way to shock as he carried her
to her new bedroom, where her old bed was, and stood her on her feet by
that bed.
She was stupefied as he removed her clothing ... not by his actions -
that list in her head got another check mark - but by the fact that she
stood so docile and compliant as he did so, actually willing to let him do this.
He said nothing. She said nothing, even as she watched him
become as naked as she was. She was still standing, stupified, when he
came to pull her against him and kiss her yet again.
Amazement flooded her mind, almost wiping out that ghostly list, as she
felt the heat of her own body against the heat of his.
Thoughts of Harry flitted into her head. His paunch would
have prevented her body from being molded so perfectly to him, like she
was to Bobby.
Then there was almost constant surprise, amazement and wonder, mixed
with consternation as more checkmarks appeared beside the parts of his
nefarious plan. She knew what to expect. She knew
she should object. But the capability to resist was missing
completely. She felt like putty being molded into a new woman.
When his mouth finally found a nipple she gave an agonized groan at the sweetness of it, as electricity zipped from that nipple to other parts of her body. He went back and forth and she would have let him do that for hours, too.
There was a thing he did that had no line on the list. She
was initially horrified as his face pushed between her legs and she
even heard a horrified groan, as if from some long dead spirit - one of
her ancestors who objected to what he was doing. Then she
realized that groan had come from her own throat only to be replaced by
a sound of delight.
Her body did strange and unexpected things. Her hips, for
instance - they had muscles in them that jerked and thrust, without her
telling them to. They came to life as she felt his tongue
push into her. Her knees flopped open as if they had springs
in them. She must've had unbelievable strength in
her neck muscles, because she was able to lift her head and watch what
he did, without feeling tired at all.
Her glazed eyes watched his lips begin to travel up from there ...
could see the smears of wet his lips left on her skin. When
they reached her breasts, again, she felt like she might melt as those lips
closed around her nipples and sucked.
She lost her voice that night. It happened when she realized
her loins were full to overflowing with something hot, hard, and long
that moved in her sometimes and just filled her other times, without
causing anything remotely like pain. The list was gone, blown
away like the smoke it had appeared to be. In its place there
was a balloon. It was a bright pink balloon, and she knew it
was her sanity, getting larger and larger as something in her expanded,
until she was sure it would burst into tiny pieces of rubber that would
fly all over.
That was when she'd started screaming. Her voice
was raspy within a minute. Every outpouring of breath had the
urgent need to deflate that balloon before it burst, because she knew
she'd go stark raving mad if it did.
She was wrong.
It did burst, but it turned out that the balloon had something warm and
wet in it that flooded her whole body and made her want the feeling to
go on and on. Somehow, her body absorbed that wonderful hot
fluid and she gasped for breath, panting as if she'd run miles in fear
of her life.
The world spun and she found herself on top of him, sitting up, still
full of that wonderful hard, hot thing that she now loved.
His hands taught her what to do and his lips pulled exquisite strings
of joy through her nipples. She could almost see it flowing
into him like colored ribbons of light, as if she were feeding him her
joy.
The balloon swelled and burst three more times as, with energy that
seemed to come from all around her soaking into her body, she moved her
hips and massaged her insides with that long, thick thing.
Her world spun again and she was under him once more. She
croaked now, when she tried to make noises. Her throat was
raw. She saw the drop of sweat that fell from his chin and
felt it hit her upper chest. The bed was moving as if there
was an earthquake going on.
He growled and went stiff, deep inside her. She recognized it
as his completion. She automatically compared it to Harry's
completion, which she remembered as being composed of three things: he
had been heavy as he slumped on her; she had felt a dab of warmth
inside her; it had been hard to breathe.
It was with overpowering awe that she experienced another kind of
completion. There was an explosion of heat in her
belly. It came in repeated, almost measured jets as the thing
inside her pulsed. He didn't collapse on top of
her. She had no trouble breathing. But the most
awesome part of it all was that, for the first time in her life, she
felt like a complete woman.
His eyes had been closed while he was rigid and still. His
belly sagged as he relaxed and his eyes opened to see hers staring up
at him. Her hair was disheveled.
"I think we got a little carried away," he said.
Her legs, which had been spread wide, lifted to drop onto the back of
his thighs. She reached for his face.
When he lay down on her, to give her the kiss she was demanding, she
found it still wasn't hard to breathe.
When she woke, it was to a feeling of complete relaxation and
contentment. It was warm in the bed and she felt wonderful.
Her eyes popped open wide as she remembered. She lifted her
head. She was alone. She rolled to look at the
floor where she remembered his clothes had dropped. There was
nothing there.
She rolled back to relax again and took inventory of her
body. She felt no different than she ever had, really; just
marvelously relaxed. He'd gone, obviously. She
wasn't sure what that meant. She wondered if she'd ever see
him again, now that his plan had come to fruition.
She felt awe again. Everything had happened so
fast! There was no way on Earth she could have been prepared
for that ... no way she could have stopped it. She remembered
he had warned her, and smiled.
Then she turned onto her side and drifted back to sleep.
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