The Making of a Gigolo (15) - Agatha Roberts

by Lubrican

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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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