Mrs. Bethany

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I think it’s probably safe to say that most people have at least two distinct sexual memories; losing their virginity, and the best sex they ever experience. For a variety of reasons, the two events are usually distinct and separate.

Most people recall losing their virginity with fondness for obvious reasons, but will admit the awkwardness of the first time encounter, based usually on the lack of experience on the part of one or both participants.

For this reason, a number of people also have a third distinct sexual memory; the first time they had a memorable sexual experience.

Mine occurred my freshman year in college.

I lived in the dorm at a school that was on the verge of liberalizing its male/female dorm segregation guidelines, but at the time still had separation of the sexes firmly in place. I had an advantage over a number of other freshmen, in that I had been able to test out of almost an entire semester’s worth of hours in English Literature, American History and had also received credit for an intro to math course.

Because I had tested out of freshman level American History, and was leaning toward a major in history, I was able to enroll in a couple of courses normally reserved for sophomores. To this day, I have no idea what I did, but somehow, I managed to catch the attention of Mrs. Bethany, one of the administrative assistants who worked in the history department. One Monday, when I was leaving the department after discussing potential ideas for my degree plan, she asked if she could speak to me for a few minutes.

Mrs. Bethany, Sandra, was in her early 40s, but she certainly didn’t look it. Her hair was what people often call “dirty dishwater blonde,” and just to look at her, it was obvious she worked hard to take care of herself. Like most academic professionals, she was very smartly dressed; on this particular day wearing a light blue skirt with matching jacket, a white blouse and navy blue heels. There was a sparkle in her blue eyes that perfectly accented her smile as she engaged me in conversation. She had a daughter, named Denise, who was a sophomore in high school, and struggling with world history. Otherwise known as Western Civilization, it was a class I was making quick work of at the moment, and she wanted to know if I would be willing to tutor Denise. I told Mrs. Bethany that I’d never tutored anyone before, but that I’d be glad to give it a shot. She smiled again and invited me to come over the next evening to meet Denise and have dinner with them.

I made the mistake of telling my roommate, Jon, about the offer I’d received in front of our resident assistant, or RA. Kerry was a sophomore majoring in business. He knew who Mrs. Bethany was, and he told me to watch out for myself. Kerry said she’d been married up until the previous spring semester, when she’d caught her husband cheating on her with one of his graduate students. They’d divorced and he’d moved to teach at another school four states away.

My roommate gave me grief about it, too, telling me that she didn’t really want me to tutor her daughter, she wanted to seduce me. I told him he was imagining things and buried my nose in the books, trying to study for the quiz I knew I had coming the next day.

THE NEXT morning, I aced the quiz. On my way to the stairs, headed for the library, I passed by Mrs. Bethany, confirming what time she wanted me to come over that night. She looked up at me, smiled and told me to be there at six p.m. sharp.

That afternoon, several guys from my floor went to the gym and played basketball, working up a good sweat. Now I had a good excuse for taking a shower before going to Mrs. Bethany’s house, just in case my roommate was right. But he couldn’t be right. That sort of thing only happened in the movies, right? And then there was the fact that my luck had never been that good. My male ego told me that Mrs. Bethany having the “hots” for me would be exceptionally good luck.

I arrived promptly at six p.m.; a couple of minutes prior actually. She met me at the front door, smiling. She had changed from her outfit that she’d been wearing that morning into shorts, covered at the moment by an apron, and a sleeveless shirt. As she led the way into her home, I watched her hips and backside as they moved in the delightful way a woman moves and I noticed the beautiful definition of her legs, normally concealed for the most part by her conservative skirts. My observation merely confirmed something I’d already decided; Mrs. Bethany was indeed attractive.

We walked past the table into the kitchen, where dinner was almost ready. She told me Denise had her ear glued to the phone and would be out in a minute, then asked me what I wanted to drink. I opted for a glass of tea.

The first time I called her Mrs. Bethany, she stopped me and told me to call her Sandy. She understood the need to keep things formal and professional at the university, but wanted things to be more relaxed between us away from the campus. She was trying to bridge the gap between the facts that I was a student antalya escort and that I was an adult, and I wasn’t sure exactly how to respond to that beyond merely seeing where it led.

Denise finally made her appearance at the kitchen entrance, and Sandy introduced us. Denise had brunette hair, green eyes, and was somewhat on the skinny side, but nonetheless with the curves on her body that gets a girl noticed by young men. What was most noticeably different between her and her mother was her lack of an upbeat personality. She acted frustrated at having to interact, and I got the distinct impression that she considered me to be an intrusion.

After dinner, Denise and I sat down to discuss her world history class. She protested that her mom was really making a big deal out of nothing; she was having no more trouble than anyone else in her class. We talked for awhile about the unit she was currently studying, and despite her protests against assistance, I was able to clarify a few points for her. Half an hour into our discussion, the phone rang and she jumped on it, answering it and then going into another room to take the call.

Sandy had been in the kitchen sitting at the table while Denise and I studied, and came into the living room when Denise left the room for her phone call. Sandy went after Denise, leaned into the doorway, exchanging comments and then walking back into the living room.

“I’m sorry,” she said, throwing herself down into a chair and sighing. “Her dad is on the phone, and he’s just causing all sorts of problems for her right now. She thinks she wants to go live with him, but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Any particular reason?” I asked.

“There’s this boy that she likes,” Sandy said. “And I don’t like him. He’s a freshman at the local community college and he’s just not right for her. I was hoping that meeting you might distract her in another direction. Wait… before I make this an even bigger mess than it already is, do you have a girlfriend?”

I was a little confused. “No, I don’t have a girlfriend, but I’m the same age he is,” I said. “What makes me different from him?”

“I can just tell there’s a difference between the two of you, and if she’s going to date someone in college, I’d like it to be someone I know I can trust,” she said. “What I’m really afraid of is that she’s going to push the issue about moving to live with her dad, and that I’ll eventually lose that fight. Her dad will let her get away with anything.”

Sandy got up to go check on Denise, and when she saw that Denise was off the phone, she closed the door so they could talk privately.

Their conversation escalated into an argument, and I could hear their voices getting louder. I really only heard two comments clearly; Sandy telling her daughter to lose the attitude, and Denise telling her mother that if she thought I was such a wonderful young man, maybe she should go out with me. I wanted a hole to crawl into, and if it wouldn’t have been rude to do so, I’d have left while they were still arguing. Sandy finally came back into the living room.

“I think you’d probably better leave,” she told me. “I doubt anymore studying will get done tonight.”

I got up to leave and she walked me to the door.

Sandy opened her front door for me to leave, and said goodnight.

I said goodnight, too, and as I started to cross the threshold and walk out of her house, she grabbed my arm.

“Thanks for being so sweet,” she said, hugging me and giving me a kiss on my cheek.

Just as quickly, she leaned back, allowing space between us, and waved farewell to me. I got in my car and went back to campus not sure what to think, but with a flushed feeling that felt wonderful.

OVER the next couple of weeks, I went to Sandy’s house a half-dozen times. Denise was never enthusiastic about studying, and stood me up a couple of times, leaving me alone with Sandy to talk. We always had good conversations, and Sandy always gave me a kiss on the cheek when I left. I was sure I had not a snowball’s chance in hell with Denise, but began to wonder in the back of my mind if Sandy wasn’t using her daughter as a reason to get me to her house.

ON THURSDAY a week later, Sandy caught me on my way to the stairs, asking me if I was busy Friday night. I didn’t really have any plans, and was kind of surprised when Sandy said she would really appreciate it if I would take Denise to her high school’s football game on Friday. I didn’t think that would work out, and said so. Sandy asked me to please do it for her, saying she would consider it a big favor. Against my better judgment, I said I would.

THE NEXT night, I arrived at Sandy’s house at six-thirty to pick up Denise. Sandy came to the door still dressed as she had been at the university that day. She invited me in, and I followed her to the living room.

She asked me to sit down, and I got the distinct impression that something was not quite right. Sandy confirmed that by telling me Denise had actually left for the game with friends thirty kemer escort minutes earlier. The two of them had argued again about the young man that Denise was infatuated with, and she had stormed off to her room, emerging a few minutes later to ask for permission to go to the game with friends, and to spend the night at a friend’s house. Denise anne had sworn she would not be spending the night with the young man, and Sandy, in an effort to preserve peace and demonstrate trust, had agreed to let her go.

I suddenly found myself out of luck on a date that had been a long-shot, anyway.

Sandy and I had both already had dinner, but she wondered if I was willing to spend the evening with her, watching television and talking. She didn’t want to spend the evening alone, and she said she remembered from her days in college how nice it was to spend an evening away from the dorm. There wasn’t really anything for me to do back on campus; by the time I got there, the Friday night movie would have been running for a good half hour, so I said that yes, I would be glad to spend the evening with her.

Sandy excused herself to go change, stepping back into the room to tell me to help myself to something to drink from the kitchen, or she could get me something in a minute. I noticed that she had unzipped her skirt and was holding it in place against her hip.

I went into the kitchen and opened her refrigerator. There were no real surprises in it; milk, soda water, tea and two bottles of wine. I closed the refrigerator and turned around to look at the cabinets. I thought I remembered which ones the glasses were in, but when I opened the first two doors, I was out of luck.

Sandy walked up behind me and asked if I needed help finding something. I told her I couldn’t find the glasses, and she laughed and opened the door that would have been my next choice. She stopped and turned to face me. She had changed into shorts, leaving her button down blouse on, but rolling the sleeves.

“What do you want to drink?” she asked. “I have wine if you would like some.”

This was back when some colleges didn’t allow alcohol in the dorms and the legal drinking age in many places was still eighteen years of age, but I voiced concern about drinking and driving.

“You won’t have that much to drink, trust me,” she said. I did trust her for whatever reason, and she poured us both a glass of wine.

I have no recollection at all as to the shows on television that night. I do remember sitting down on her sofa, her taking a seat in the chair next to me, and the two of us talking more than watching television.

She asked me a lot of questions about home; where I’d grown up and gone to school; what I planned to do after college. When we’d been talking for a while, she paused; like she was trying to think of the right way to ask a delicate question.

“How come a nice guy like you didn’t already have a date lined up for tonight?”

I told her there was this girl on campus that I liked; that we’d gone out once, but she had since given me the brush off. It wasn’t that big a deal; it was simply frustrating.

“I wish I’d had a guy like you to go out with when I was in college,” she said. Sandy had moved to the sofa, sitting next to me. “I’d never have said no to you. Did you have a high school sweetheart?”

I told her about Caryn, the love of my high school life, who was now living in Virginia, attending college there, where she’d moved less than a week after graduation. Things had soured between us after our senior prom, and had ended on a less than pleasant note.

“Did you ever sleep with her?”

I turned and looked at Sandy. I was surprised she had asked such a question, but between the increasingly personal nature of our conversation and the wine, I was running out of reasons to be genuinely shocked. I admitted that I had indeed slept with Caryn… once. It had not been her first time, she’d slept with another boy two years prior, her brother had found out about it and scared the guy away. For me, though, it was the first time. But with both of us as inexperienced as we were, it was awkward and miserable. I had climaxed; that much had been easy to determine, but she had not, and she had been unwilling to do anything else. In retrospect, that had been the beginning of the end.

“That’s too bad,” Sandy said. “You really liked her, didn’t you? You’ll always remember your first. Always.”

An ungainly silence hung in the air, despite the fact the television was playing. Perhaps because, the television was playing, Sandy got up to turn it off, saying she would rather listen to music instead. She turned on her stereo, set it to an easy listening station and turned around to come sit down again.

I had watched her carefully as she’d walked across the room. The shorts she’d changed into tonight were tighter and shorter than those she’d worn on my first visit. As she headed back to the sofa, I noticed that she had unbuttoned her blouse to the point that I could see konyaaltı escort cleavage.

“Have you slept with anyone else?” she asked.

I told her no, and shifted uneasily as she sat down beside me. It felt like the room was getting really warm, partly because I could feel my pulse racing a bit in conjunction with my cock, which was completely erect. I had a feeling that was a mixture of uneasiness, nervousness, caution, optimism and lust. The first three were because I had no clue what I was doing. The last two were because I thought I knew where she was headed, and I liked the prospects.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” she said, moving a little closer, and putting her hand on my leg, and leaning forward, offering me an improved glimpse of her cleavage.

“Nothing,” I told her. This woman was driving me insane. She was attractive, incredibly sexy, and starting to make her moves on me. The fact she was old enough to be my mother was rapidly becoming a non-existent factor. Yet, how was I supposed to tell her that she had me completely turned on and that my cock was hard? “Is it just me or is it getting hot in here?” It was a dumb question to ask.

Sandy scooted about as close to me as she could get without crawling into my lap. “It might be getting a little warm in here,” she said. Our eyes were locked together; and though it was not the effect she intended to have, she stared me down, and I looked away. I blinked myself back into resolve and looked back at her, meeting her eyes. Sandy gave no ground and showed no sign of flinching.

“Would you like to sleep with me?” she asked. I think my heart stopped. “Don’t answer just yet. Think about it for a minute.”

I sat there speechless in response as she leaned toward me and kissed me, softly on the lips.

Sandy got up, telling me she’d be right back, and walked towards her bedroom.

I reached down to adjust myself. My cock was harder than I remember it ever being before, and I wondered if she had noticed the tent forming in my pants.

I didn’t have to wonder any longer, because she walked back into the living room as I finished adjusting myself. If she was shocked or surprised, she gave no indication of it. I, on the other hand, was surprised to see that she had completely unbuttoned her shirt, allowing it to flutter with her movement, exposing her bra-clad breasts.

“Is this what’s bothering you?” Sandy asked, stopping to stand in front of me and reaching down to rub my crotch, her hand pressing down on my erection. “It’s nothing that we can’t take care of together,” she said, continuing to apply pressure with her hand, but forcing my erection to move around within my pants. She leaned forward to kiss me, tilting my head back, and applying her lips to mine with a firmness of purpose. Sandy was intent, and forced her tongue into my mouth, more to convince me of her desire than anything else, and perhaps to convince me of my own desire and the need to satisfy it.

Kissing was something I thought I had a fair bit of experience with, but Sandy quickly convinced me I still had much to learn. She pulled my lower lip between her lips and kissed me again, deeply.

My heart racing, my breathing rapid, Sandy put a hand on my chest and smiled with a soft laugh. “You’re breathing a little hard, aren’t you?” she asked. I nodded in agreement. Her breasts hung heavy in the confines of her bra, her cleavage a tempting sight to behold.

Sandy reached down and began again to massage the bulge in my pants.

“Can I unzip you?” she asked.

I nodded again, my capacity for speech temporarily eliminated, and watched as she unfastened, then unzipped my pants, pulling them open wide and then reaching into my briefs to pull out my cock. Sandy reached in with her other hand and cupped my balls. She stroked my cock with her bare hand a couple of times, causing me to shudder and inhale sharply. The sensation of her hand on my cock was fantastic, but I didn’t know how much of it I could take. I felt like I could cum in a matter of seconds.

“I’d probably better not do too much of that at the moment,” she said, allowing my briefs to close over my near virgin manhood.

Sandy placed one knee on my left and the other knee on my right and straddled me, sitting herself in my lap. I looked down and saw that not only had she unbuttoned her shirt, but her shorts as well; they were still zipped, but I could see a hint of the waistband of her panties peeking out. She took my hands in hers, and placed them on her breasts. I found myself comparing them to Caryn’s, and that wasn’t right, because there was no comparison. Caryn’s had been relatively small, young and still firm. Sandy’s were larger, fuller, soft in the way of a mature, real woman. I could only faintly feel the outline of her nipple against my hands.

“Unhook my bra,” she said pulling her shirt open, further exposing herself to me.

I shifted my hands, bringing my fingers to the center of her cleavage, and fumbled with the clasp, finally getting it open, and releasing it. Her bra fell gently open, and I sat there, stupidly paralyzed, knowing full well exactly what I wanted to do, but not doing it for fear of appearing to be too forward. My hands were a liability to me; I hesitated to peel her bra from her chest, and I would not rest them on her thighs.

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