One for the Price of Two

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He knew it was no use denying it. Even back then tests could prove paternity. His parents were horrified, not because he had made me pregnant, but that it should be the daughter of a lowly single mother living on welfare money.

His parents were members of what in our city is called, “The Establishment.” They are descendents of the early settlers who made good. Wealthy, living in the most elegant suburbs, they once ruled the political roost and occupied all the positions of power. If that is no longer so much the case as it once was, they still have the aura of prestige and are proud of their ancestry.

Their sons do not marry “sluts” from the lower classes. They married only “young ladies” from their own class.

He had seduced me with his talk of “loving me for ever.”

I was desperately unhappy and vulnerable, living with a mother who spent most of our meagre welfare money on poker machines and booze.

I met him in a cinema where for a couple of hours I could escape the sordid surroundings of our home and the endless parade of “uncles” my mother introduced into our domestic “bliss.”

I was sixteen. He was nineteen, tall, good looking, and plausible. His talk of love overwhelmed me. Love was what I craved, and I eventually surrendered my virginity to him, painfully, in the back of his flashy car.

Of course, There was “no danger of pregnancy” he said, he “knew what to do,” except there was danger of pregnancy.

Once confirmed, my pregnancy brought about a sudden withdrawal of eternal devotion by my “faithful” lover. He fled from my presence as if from some foul disease.

There was no family capable of standing by me in my dire situation, but I am not a complete fool, and even at sixteen I was not afraid to stand up for myself. I went to his home and confronted his parents with the facts.

Of course, they denied, argued and bullied, pressing me to have an abortion, which I emphatically refused to do, while my erstwhile lover hid behind “mummy and daddy.”

The one thing they did not want to happen, and I knew it, was the revelation that their beloved son had associated with, and got pregnant, “a girl of that class.”

I make no excuse, and attempt no justification for what I was after from them. I wanted their money. I had naively given myself in what I thought was love, and had been betrayed by a young man who could have, like the rest of his type, bought himself a whore with no consequences to follow.

I was not and am not, a whore, and his treatment of me as if I were one could have crushed me, or made me stand up and fight. I chose to fight and they were going to pay.

There are lawyers in our city that are not overawed by The Establishment. They happily go in to bat for a “poor seduced young girl”, and do it for no fee unless they win the case. I got myself one of these lawyers.

My late lover’s Establishment parents were well aware of how things might turn out. Rather than have their son’s name dragged before the courts, they paid up, and they paid up handsomely, my lawyer making sure I got the right signatures on the appropriate documents, and at the same time squeezing his own fee out of them.

I was to receive the best gynecological attention and have my baby in a very expensive and secluded private hospital. Thereafter I was to receive a liberal allowance that would continue until my child’s education was complete.

I gave birth to a son, Alec. It was hopeless continuing to live with my drunken mother and her latest equally drunken lover. I had the money to get out, so I got out. I found a pleasant cottage in a quiet suburb, and settled down to caring for my son, and considering my own future. Not an easy task for a by now seventeen-year old girl.

As I have said, I am not a fool however naïve I may have been. At high school, for all my home life disadvantages, I had consistently topped my class. Had I stayed with my mother, I was destined to leave school at sixteen, however successful I was as a student. In such circumstances, I would have considered myself fortunate to get a job filling shelves in a supermarket.

Now, with money at my disposal, I could consider a more rewarding future. I planned carefully. First, I had a period of breast feeding my son. After that, I would need to devote my energies to rearing him until he started school. By then I would be twenty-two.

An enlightened State Government had provided for those who wanted to enhance their education at a latter stage of their life, and could do so taking account of their domestic circumstances. I planned to take advantage of this scheme and intended to enter an Adult Education College and build myself up to university entrance standard.

Another aspect of life that I considered was what might be loosely termed, “the faith aspect.” I had been brought up, if that is the right word, with an absence of standards in my life. I wanted something better for my life and my son’s life than had been doled out to me living with my mother. ataşehir escort I felt that I had no foundations to build my life on. It was the lady next door, Edith Palmer, who pointed the way for me.

Edith and I became friends quite soon after I moved into the cottage. She was about fifteen years older than me, and became something of a substitute mother figure in my life. She had known hard times herself with an alcoholic husband whom she had left a couple of years before I came to know her. She understood the difficulties I had to face, and was always there to help me when I was in difficulty with Alec, or when I wanted to know how to cook this or that.

I spoke to her about my life at home and my hopes for the future. When I told her I wanted some grounding in my life, she asked, “Has Alec been baptised?”

I vaguely knew that baptism was some sort of religious naming ceremony, but it had never entered my mind to have the boys baptised, having had no religious background myself.

I explained this to Edith.

Edith had strength of character that given her difficult life, I wondered at. She always seemed to be doing things for others, including me. So, I was inclined to listen when she said, “Cindy, why don’t you come along to our church. Meet our minister and some of the people. You’ll find there are quite a few who have been through hard times and found a new life. It’s a lot to do with our minister, Michael; he has a very positive approach to life.

I was inclined to take what Edith said seriously, and two Sundays later found myself attending church with Edith. Little did I know that this was to lead on to one of the most wonderful periods of my life.

There was a crèche for the children and this gave me an hour or so free from Alec, which was welcome.

Never having anything to do with the Church, I found their activities strange at first, but the delight of that first morning was meeting the minister (“Just call me Michael”). He was not, as I expected, a bright, full of bonhomie young man, but a rather serious man of about thirty-five. The delight came from the way he listened, and demonstrated that he listened by the responses he made.

Physically he was very presentable, and he had an immediate effect on my female sensibilities. To put that more plainly I thought, “He’s a sexy looking beast.” The manner in which the other women in the congregation, young and old sought his attention, confirmed my view of him.

I was a little surprised when I was introduced to his wife. She was quite good looking, but had a stern, cold manner. I wondered how he had come to marry a woman like that.

It was about three months after I started going to church with Edith, that I decided that there was something worthwhile about the place, and approached Michael to have Alec baptised. He was very receptive to the idea, and arranged to come to my home to instruct me in the meaning of baptism. The thought of having Michael to myself for an hour or more was rather exciting.

It was on a weekday evening that he called to see me and with Alec asleep in his cot, we settled down in the lounge for my instruction.

For all his seriousness, Michael had warmth that encouraged confidences. I found myself beginning to talk about my past life, including how I had become pregnant. We talked for nearly two hours, yet it seemed no time at all.

Michael made no judgmental comments, but listened intently, and gave helpful and encouraging responses. He made me feel special, and when the time came for him to leave, I felt a happier and more optimistic person, and would have liked to beg him to stay longer.

The day of the baptism with Edith standing with me at the font, I noticed how gently Michael held Alec, and I wondered if he made love as sensitively. I thought, “if only his hands would touch me.”

Over the next six months, I continued to attend church, and although there was little personal interplay between Michael and I, I came to adore him for his obvious compassion for people and his understanding of their life problems.

At the end of the six months, I decided I wished to become what is called “a communicant member” of the Church. This, I learned, involved attending, “Communicant classes.”

At the time there were no other candidates for instruction, so once again I arranged with Michael to come to my house for the instruction. This was most convenient for me, as I would not have to trouble Edith to come in and sit with Alec while I was away.

I also had the advantage that I would have Michael to myself, and on my own territory.

The instruction consisted of six sessions, one held each week.

I must explain that since my brief interlude with the father of my son, there had been no man in my life. I know myself well enough to realise that I have been blessed with good looks. I often felt men’s eye’s lustfully focused on me, and a couple of the men in the congregation, tired, no doubt, of their less than inspiring wives, kadıköy escort made overtures, but I had turned these aside.

You should know, however, that I was not inclined to sexual chastity. I had no nun like ambitions. I tried to gratify myself by masturbating, but felt that this was less than satisfactory. I wanted a man to love and who would love me.

The plain truth is, Michael had become my ideal and fantasy.

The first two sessions went quietly on the surface, but beneath the surface, and being alone in Michael’s presence, I began to feel the stirrings of sexual arousal. Just to be near him caused my nipples to become firm and stand out. I began to lubricate, and had difficulty sitting still and concentrating.

Between the first and second session, I found myself in a torment of desire for Michael, unable to get him out of my mind. He became the fantasy image during my masturbating, and I thought I would go out of my mind wanting him.

It was at the end of the second session, and as he was preparing to leave, that I was beside myself with sexual craving for him. Hardly knowing what I was saying, I whispered, “I want to make love with you so badly, Michael.”

He paused in his preparations to leave. He did not pretend to be shocked or horrified, but looked at me long and penetratingly, as if he could see the inmost secret me.

After a prolonged pause in which he seemed to be deciding how to respond, he said, “I don’t think you really would want that, Cindy. How old are you?”

“Nineteen,” I replied.

“And I’m thirty five,” he responded.

I noticed that he had not said an outright “no”.

“Age has nothing to do with this, Michael, and you know it hasn’t.”

“You know we are forbidden extra-marital affairs?”

“I know, Michael. That doesn’t stop me wanting you, does it?”

“No.”

“I’m not simply lusting for you. I really do love you.”

“It’s no good, Cindy. I’m committed to my work, and if it were discovered that I was having an affair with anyone, especially a member of my congregation, I should be finished.”

“I know that too, Michael. I know you have a wife and two children. Do you think I haven’t thought about all that? I wouldn’t want a sexual relationship between us to be advertised all over the place. If only you would come to me…just sometimes…I…could you…couldn’t you feel just a little of what I feel for you, or are you as cold as I think you are pretending to be?”

He smiled wryly. “I’m not cold, Cindy, and I’m all too aware of your attractions.”

“Then why not…”

“I’m going now, Cindy, and I want you to think about our situation. You are young and attractive. There will be young men…”

“I want you, Michael.”

“Think about it, Cindy. We’ll talk again.”

He rose to leave, and while I could conceal my swollen nipples, and he obviously could not feel the throbbing of my clitoris, he had no such advantage of concealment. I could see through the cloth of his trousers, the swelling of his manhood.

Poor Michael tried to make surreptitious moves to hide his embarrassing projection, but with a so large an organ it was extremely difficult for him.

I had only experienced one male sex organ, but it was quite clear to me that Michael’s was somewhat larger than that of my late lover, who, as I was to learn later when I was in a position to make comparisons, made a poor showing in the penis size stakes.

A shiver of apprehension rippled through me. I wondered if I had so far overstepped the mark that I had destroyed whatever relationship I had with Michael. I wanted to beg him to let me give him the ease he so clearly needed, but I restrained myself. He had said, “We’ll talk later.”

We parted at the front door. It was a strained and formal “goodnight”. Neither of us sought to touch the other. Closing the door behind him, I fled to my bedroom to strip off and masturbate. My fantasy now included the vision of Michael’s penis, and after climaxing, I wept. I wanted that organ inside me, and nothing would do now, except I had Michael.

I barely slept that night. I tossed and turned between masturbating, irreverently pleading with God to give me Michael as my lover.

I knew Michael’s wife left for her job as a librarian in the city centre about eight o’clock. I also knew his children were on their way to school by half past eight. I waited in a state of extreme sexual agitation until I knew it was safe to telephone him.

I pressed in his number and after a few rings he answered.

“Michael Sawyer.”

“This is Cindy, Michael. I must see you.”

“Shall I come now?”

“No, no. There is Alec. Could you come this evening, after he’s gone to sleep, say about eight o’clock?”

“I’ve got a Parish Council meeting at seven thirty, it will probably finish about nine o’clock. Would that be all right?”

“Yes, darling. As early as you can.” The darling had slipped in almost unnoticed by me.

“See you some time after nine, bostancı escort then?”

“Yes. Goodbye.”

“Bye.”

I rang off, shaking with libidinous tension, brought on by just the sound of his voice.

That day Alec seemed more demanding than usual. He was at the crawling stage, and seemed to get into all the places I didn’t want him to be in. I don’t suppose it was his fault really, it was just the stress and sexual arousal I was experiencing.

The day dragged on. Apart from having to attend to Alec’s needs, I could settle to nothing. The moment I started something, a vision of Michael standing before me, his penis projecting through the cloth of his trousers, exploded in my head.

Edith came in for a while, and I was irritable and snappy with her. I think she must have assumed I was ovulating, because after a while she said, “Would you like me to go, or can I do something to help?”

Dear Edith! I tried to tell her as gently as I could, that I had something I needed to sort out, and perhaps it would be better if she left me alone.

She smiled and said, “If you need me, you know where I am.”

Eventually the long day drew to a close. Thankfully, Alec went off to sleep without fuss. At eight o’clock I took a shower and prepared myself for Michael’s arrival. I decided to cheat, and slipped on a housecoat, leaving myself completely naked under it. If Michael did take me, I wanted to be as immediately open to him as possible.

Nine o’clock and he hadn’t arrived. Then fifteen minutes past nine and still no Michael. At twenty minutes past, I began to dread that he had changed his mind and was not coming.

Just before half past nine, I heard a car draw up outside my house. I was shaking and it felt as if there was a lump in my throat.

I went to stand by the front door so as to open it as soon as he rang. The bell clattered and I flung open the door.

Michael stepped straight in and seized me in his arms.

“Yes, Cindy.”

He had drawn me close to him and I felt his shaft pressing against my belly. I rotated my hips against him, and we kissed, open mouthed, tongues seeking.

Still clinging to him, I pulled him towards and into my bedroom. His hand had slipped inside my housecoat and was caressing my breasts. I struggled to undress him, but got into such a tangle that he had to break from me and strip himself.

I gasped as I looked at him and said, “Oh Michael, you’re beautiful.” Not something one usually says to a man, I believe, but the sight of his body, tall, straight and tapering down from wide shoulders to narrow hips, the strong thighs and calves sent a shiver of pleasure racing through me.

Above all the sight of his magnificent sex organ riveted me. It stood up, its purple head, the foreskin rolled back tightly from it, glistened with pre-cum. I reached down and ran my hand down his long light brown shaft. I felt a quiver of trembling anticipation run through me.

Suddenly a thought struck me that I should have considered before. “Have you got a condom, Michael?”

“No need, darling, I’ve had a vasectomy.”

I relaxed on hearing this, and since I had been in a state of arousal all day, I was more than ready for his entry. I began to beg him: “Please, Michael, don’t make me wait. Please…now…”

He lifted me on to the narrow single bed and parting my legs came between them. I felt him searching for my entrance with his penis. I drew my legs wide apart and up, and guided him into me with my hand. He was so gentle in his entry, almost as if he feared he might hurt me.

There was no pain only the delicious tightness of his shaft against the walls of my vagina. I gripped him with my vaginal muscle and he groaned, so I continued to grip and release him in passionate spasms.

He continued to move into me slowly until he seemed to reached the top of my tunnel, then he stopped for a moment. I reached down and found that he had inserted his entire length into me.

We lay, looking into each other’s eyes, his hand fondling my breasts, mine roaming over his body.

“Oh my God, Cindy, I’ve wanted you so badly.”

Having seen his erection the previous evening, I could truthfully reply, “I know, darling.”

He started to move in me and I knew he would come quickly, but I was even quicker.

I felt my orgasm building, and as I believe is the case with many women as they hang for a moment on the brink of that delicious torment, I began to beg him not to make me come.

“No, no… Michael… please… don’t make me… I can’t stand it, it’s agony.”

All the time I begged not to make me come, I was clinging to him, my legs wrapped round him, in complete contradiction to my words.

The orgasm built towards its summit, then came crashing over me in turmoil of screaming unbridled glorious anguish. As far as I was coherent at all, I was now begging Michael not to stop, ever.

As my crisis came, Michael gave a powerful thrust into me. He cried out, “Oh God, Cindy,” then I felt the first thump of his sperm against the top of my vagina. It seemed to explode out of him like an erupting volcano, adding to my already frenzied state. Then we were howling and crying out together, and as I passed my peak, I began to sob with joy.

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