Feature Writer: E. W. Orc

Feature Title: THE DEVIL MADE ME DO IT

Story Codes: Erotic Horror

Synopsis: Bill teaches a frustrated mother and daughter to enjoy sex.

The Devil Made Me Do It

Introduction

This is the introduction of the protagonist, namely me, in a series of stories that follow. I am an average guy who has been fortunate to have some experiences worth writing about. For the record, names and some details have been changed to protect the guilty. Some of the details have been exaggerated. But there are some true elements in each of the stories.

My name is William James Hadley, Jr. but I go by Bill. My family still calls me Billy because that’s what they called me when I was young. To our family, my father was the Bill Hadley. Actually my grandfather had been named William J. Hadley too, but he was killed in a farm accident when my father was a teenager. I was born late in 1946, part of the leading edge of the baby boom following World War II.

Like tens of thousands of others, my father enlisted within a couple of months after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. He wound up serving as an aircraft mechanic with the Army Air Corp mostly in England thus never facing combat. That’s not to say that the job wasn’t tough and dangerous. After VE day, his unit moved to Germany for a few months to support aircraft used in the occupation of Germany. While he was there, he fell in love with a German girl. Unfortunately at that time the US Army forbade its soldiers to marry German nationals. He mustered out of the military in March of 1946 and headed home. He took advantage of some family connections with a US Senator from our state to get a visa for his girlfriend. He brought her over as quickly as possible and they were married in late May. Since I was born in October, she must have already been pregnant with me before my father was discharged from the army. Our family never openly discussed the circumstances of their courtship and marriage. Once he was back, Dad got a job as a mechanic in a local manufacturing plant eventually rising to Plant Manager. We lived in the southern state where my father had grown up. Mom had three more children after me. My sister, Greta, was two years younger than I; my brother, Paul, was four years younger; and my youngest sister, Sharon, was six years younger.

Our parents pushed us all to do well in school. Dad had no chance to go to college because of the depression and the war. The same was true for Mom. But they both knew the value of a good education. Both were avid readers, a habit that my siblings and I developed as well. I especially liked history and biographies. I did well in all my classes and graduated near the top of my high school class. Even though we lived in a small town in the south the schools were quite good. That was because the State University was also there. Many of our high school teachers were the spouses of college professors and many of the students, our peers, were their children.

There had never been any question of whether or where I would go to college. We were comfortably middle class but not wealthy. It was a given that I would attend the university in my hometown. My father wanted me to study engineering, but I majored in history and philosophy with a minor in languages. I had taken four years of Latin in high school. From Mom I was already proficient in German. I took enough German in college to minor in that alone. I also took four semesters each of Russian and French. I started college in 1964 just when the war in Vietnam was heating up. Our college was a land grant school that required every male student to spend two years in the Reserve Officer Training Corps (ROTC) learning to be a military officer. I volunteered for the second two years that led to a commission as a Second Lieutenant with an obligation to complete two years of active duty service. My rationale was that it would be better to serve as an officer than to be drafted and serve as an enlisted man.

In our senior year, we had to document our preferences of which MOS (Military Occupation Specialty) we preferred. I put Military Intelligence at the top of my list. If at all possible, I wanted to avoid the combat arms like infantry, armor and artillery. I had no desire to dodge bullets if that could be avoided. Despite the military’s penchant for making the most illogical assignments, luck was with me. They had a need for translators in Europe because of the cold war, the epicenter of which was in Berlin, Germany. My knowledge of history and politics complemented my fluency in German and Russian. I was assigned to a base in Germany to spend my two years translating Russian documents and intercepted messages trying to analyze the intentions of the Russians in Eastern Europe. I had a top-secret security clearance that gave me access to material that would astound and dismay the average citizen. Although I got excellent ratings on my proficiency reports, I had no intention of staying in the army even one day past my two-year obligation. I had seen first hand how our military and foreign policies had betrayed the ideals of our nation’s founders. While I was waiting for my discharge to complete, the CIA tried hard to recruit me. However, I had no more interest in working for them than I did to remain in the military.

Even before I was discharged and went home, I had a choice to make. I could look for a job or go to graduate school. Since there weren’t an abundance of good jobs for people with degrees in history and philosophy, graduate school looked like my best choice. The G. I. Bill would cover a lot of my expenses and I was more than willing to work as necessary. The university had an excellent program in Industrial and Organizational Psychology. I had to make up a few undergraduate psych courses over the summer but I had already taken a couple of psych electives as an undergraduate. I had learned from the department head that there were teaching and research assistantships available. In a twist of fate, I actually got a job with the university teaching first year German. It appeared that finances would not be a problem.

By the time I was discharged from the army, my younger brother, Paul, was already a student at the university. He had graduated from high school when I completed my undergraduate degree. He had lived at home the first year but got into a rental house with some friends the second year. It was my good fortune that one of his housemates graduated leaving a vacancy in the house that I was able to fill. The house was located on a hundred acres in a rural area a couple of miles from the campus on Black Snake Road. It was a perfect venue for college students. The house itself was set far enough back that it couldn’t be seen from the road. There was a sizable stock pond near the house that actually had fish in it. Our landlord leased most of the land to a farmer who grazed cattle on it. There was a large barn further back on the property that the farmer used to store hay for his cattle. Our landlord lived in another county about 100 miles away. In the four years that I lived there, I never met him though I spoke with him several times by telephone. There were no close neighbors to disturb when we partied so we were able to get away with things that surely would have attracted the attention of the police had we been in town. Some of our parties were very wild.

That being said, we were all dedicated students. I completed my MS program with a 4.0 average. I found graduate school easier than undergraduate classes. I was taking fewer classes per semester all in topics that interested me. In graduate school there are no irrelevant required courses. There was, however a lot of reading. I was grateful to my parents for having raised me to be an avid reader. Despite the serious academic effort we still found plenty of time to have fun. After completing my MS in Industrial and Organizational Psychology, I hung around the university a couple of more years. I not only continued as an instructor in the language department, I secured an appointment to teach Intro to Psychology. Since my cost of living was very modest, I was able to enjoy a student lifestyle and take additional courses with a staff discount.

The tales that follow are presented in no particular order, temporal or otherwise. The reader may think of them as vignettes related only because they all feature the same protagonist and in some cases the same participants. Since it may help provide context in some of the stories, I will mention some of my physical and emotional characteristics. When I started graduate school, I stood 5′ 9″ tall and weighed 150 lbs. I had never been much of an athlete but I was in good shape from army training. As long as I had been in the army, I maintained my fitness through running and swimming. I tried to continue that in graduate school although I wasn’t as regular about it as I intended. I never thought much about it, but I wasn’t too bad looking, I had black hair that I kept short and brown eyes. I graduated high school and entered college still a virgin. I had a few sexual encounters as an undergraduate, but it wasn’t until I had been stationed in Europe that I gained my real sexual education. Opportunities abounded for US military officers and I took full advantage of them. In so doing, I not only learned the mechanics of fulfilling sexual relationship, I also acquired an in depth understanding of the feelings and motivations of many women. That understanding increased my success in seduction and made the sexual experiences more satisfying for my partners as well as for myself.

Chapter 1: The Devil Came Down to Campus

On a Sunday evening Blinker and I were sitting in the student union cafeteria with pie and coffee bemoaning the fact that the campus was so dull. Out of idleness we were brainstorming ways to stir up a little controversy in the heart of the bible belt. I don’t remember which of us thought of it, but we agreed that it would be the height of apostasy to hold a black mass in the Remembrance Chapel. The chapel occupied a central location on campus and was revered by many of our fundamentalist classmates and alumni. It had been built from the bricks of a building that had been destroyed by a fire in which someone had lost his life. There was no way that we could actually organize such an event much less get permission from the university to hold it. We could and did put an ad in the student newspaper implying that a black mass would take place at a specific date and time. We crafted a vaguely worded announcement that the followers of the Prince of Darkness would meet at the chapel at sunset a few days hence. It was easy enough to surreptitiously slip the handwritten notice into the community announcements box in the newspaper office. Later we found it quite comical to read that the newspaper had no idea who had submitted the ad nor how it had passed editorial review to actually be published.

The upshot was that on the announced day hundreds of members of the Baptist Student Union gathered at dawn to encircle the Remembrance Chapel and to pray to God to keep the devil at bay. Throughout the day there was also a large group of on-lookers who gathered no doubt to see what devil worshippers looked like when they showed up. Blinker and I were in the crowd too enjoying the entertainment that we had caused. When no satanists arrived at the scheduled time, the Baptists celebrated the efficacy of their prayers thanking God for keeping away the forces of evil. Blinker and I had a good laugh on the sidelines. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of it because we couldn’t resist the temptation to take credit for the spectacle among our friends.

A couple of weeks later I was approached by Cal Simpson, an associate professor from the Educational Psychology department. He started to tell me that he was a member of an adult group at the First Baptist Church that was studying comparative religions. He mentioned that they had had as guest speakers a Catholic priest, a Jewish Rabbi and representatives of other religions. Then came the shocker; he invited me to speak on my religion. I had been raised a Christian but as I pursued my education and matured, I had come to the conclusion that all religion was a travesty. I considered myself an atheist. I told him that I doubted he was aware of my religious views.

Then he said, “Oh yes, I know all about you. You are a devil worshipper.”

Momentarily stunned, I quickly assumed that he must have heard about the prank we had played on campus and had taken it seriously. My first thought was to refuse, but then I reconsidered. It occurred to me that it might be entertaining to beard the Christian lion in his den. I asked him to tell me just exactly what he wanted me to do. He told me that the group was comprised of about 20 to 30 adults mostly college educated. I would be expected to give a summary of my religion and then answer questions. He emphasized that it would be very informal and friendly. Thinking that Blinker and a few others might want in on the fun, I asked whether I could bring a few friends.

“Sure,” he replied. “Bring anyone you like. The next meeting of the group for which we need a speaker is in two weeks. We meet Sunday evenings at 7:00. Shall we schedule you for that date?”

“Yes,” I agreed, “I can be ready by then. Do you need to know who will accompany me?”

He said that as long as he could count on me, it wouldn’t matter who else came. He told me the exact room at the Baptist church annex where the meeting would occur and we parted company.

Now I faced a dilemma of what to say about my religious beliefs. Not really being a Satanist, I didn’t want to portray myself as one. I did own a copy of Anton LaVey’s “Satanic Bible” but I didn’t want to present myself as a follower of LaVey either. Moreover atheism is simply disbelief in the supernatural. Atheists, in general, have no atheistic code of beliefs to proselytize, as do the theists. I did have a pretty strong sense of what I believe and what I considered to be a useful basis for morality. I would later come to understand it as the Non-aggression Principle. In the end, I pulled some talking points out of LaVey’s book without attribution. Intending to stir up maximal controversy, I selected a passage from “Man and His Gods” by Homer W. Smith to close the presentation:

“Many reasons have been given for the ‘fall’ of the Roman empire, most of them but partial answers or mere guesses. Be the true causes what they may, it was not in the nature of the new faith to oppose the process of disintegration. At the opening of the Christian Era there had been schools in every considerable town, and many advanced academies in the great cities; these the Christians gradually allowed to die out, maintaining only a few theological seminaries. They were from the first not interested in the examination of nature, since the end of the world was so close at hand; by the time they had become accustomed to an indefinitely continued existence all natural knowledge had come to be identified with paganism, or interpreted as contrary to revelation and, in either instance, savoring of evil. Galen (?130-200) the physician, Ptolemy (?100-160) the geographer, and Diophantus (fl. ca. 250) the mathematician, were the last in their respective fields to follow the classic traditions, as Lucian (125-200) was the last exponent of Hellenic skepticism, and Julian (331-363) the last emperor to defend religious tolerance. The temple schools of Asklepios had been shut and public lecturing by nonofficial teachers had been practically prohibited in Rome and Constantinople in the fourth century. Under an edict of Theodosius, Bishop Theophilus in 389 destroyed the Serapeum in Alexandria, and with it nearly all the works in the only remaining pagan library of importance in the world. In 529 Justinian closed the schools at Athens, the last to teach Greek philosophy, and the intensity of this emperor’s persecutions brought about within a short space of time the forcible baptism of 70,000 persons in Asia Minor alone, and so alienated the population of Egypt and Syria that the way was paved for the spread of Mohammedanism. The Christians preferred prayer and exorcism to pagan magic, religious to geometric theorems, the gospels to any other literature. So fallible was reason held that Pope Gregory the Great (540-604) condemned all literature and intellectual effort, and in the East the laity were forbidden to read even the sacred book.

“Self-mortification, squalor and physical uncleanliness became esteemed Christian virtues — with some justice Anatole France said that Christianity killed the bath, for at the opening of the Christian Era the Roman baths were famous. It was the widespread custom of mixed bathing in the great public baths which first caused the Christians to condemn them, but later the bath in general was condemned because it afforded pleasure and was a mark of vanity. Christianity undermined the family, the unit of the social system, by teaching that celibacy is an exalted virtue; and by its emphasis on continence it directed the sexual impulse into physical and psychological perversions. It dogmatically relegated women to an inferior position, socially, politically and intellectually, and by making a sacrament of marriage it permitted wives to become chattels and husbands boors. It supplanted courage and initiative by resignation: Providence had arranged things in their order, the rich and the poor, the well and the sick, the wise and the ignorant; and to question Providence was to question the wisdom of God. Misery was to be tolerated patiently in anticipation of everlasting glory. It did not highly esteem either personal or political freedom, and in no case was it prepared to fight for them. By its fallacious philosophy of free will and the countersense of predestination it obliterated education and experience from ethics and obstructed objective inquiry into the human mind. It rent philosophy by its dualisms of secular and holy, reason and faith, natural and supernatural, good and evil, and by its insistence that uninformed faith is a higher form of knowledge, that no earthly betterment could outweigh the overwhelming issue of salvation or damnation which awaited man after death, it paralyzed all curiosity and intelligent examination of the natural world. For the love of life it substituted the fear of death. For the sense of the dignity of man, fundamental to the precepts of the Stoics and of Cicero, Seneca, Marcus Aurelius and other Roman moralists, it substituted the doctrine of personal inadequacy, the sense of guilt, and the habits of self-doubt and self-abnegation. In its cardinal doctrine of sin, for

which it crucified the Christ, it promulgated a belief which was to crucify the whole of the western world for centuries to come.”

Naturally I talked it up among my friends getting their feedback on my planned presentation. I even got some good suggestions from them that I incorporated into my address. Blinker wanted to go and his girlfriend, Marlene, agreed to accompany us. Studly and my brother, Paul, wanted in, too. The final member of our party was Barry Cutler, one of Blinker’s friends from his hometown.

When we arrived at the Baptist Church annex shortly before 7:00, I realized the first of my errors. I had been led to believe that we would be presenting to an adult class of about 30 professionals such as college professors, lawyers, school-teachers, etc. It had never occurred to me that organizing the list of guest speakers could be a game of one-upmanship in the program committee. You get a Rabbi; I’ll raise you a devil worshipper. Of course to get the recognition he sought, Cal had to let everyone in the congregation know what he had accomplished. Since the First Baptist Church was the absolutely largest church in the community to which 70% of the entire population belonged, that was a lot of people. The chance to see a real, live Satanist was an irresistible attraction.

The small classroom was packed; standing room only. There were even people in the hall who couldn’t fit into the room. There was barely room for us, the invited speakers. People of all ages had shown up from teenagers still in high school to geriatric seniors. To my horror I realized that I personally knew a lot of these people as my former high school classmates, teachers, merchants, etc. From the expressions on many faces it was clear that there was a lot of hostility. I’m sure many people wondered from under which rock I had crawled. Others probably thought to themselves, ‘He seemed like such a nice young man; where did he go wrong?’

Well, we were there and there was nothing to do but go through with it. I started with a statement that we believed in the affirmation of life and rejected all religious teachings that proscribed normal non-coercive behavior such as sex, gambling, drinking, dancing, etc. I avoided the word, ‘atheist, ‘ and explicitly denied worshiping the devil since I denied any belief in the supernatural. The talk was quite short and I closed with my planned quote from Homer Smith. Then the meeting opened for questions and answers. We were immediately bombarded with questions many of which were accusations of immorality and worse rather than real queries for information. Shortly thereafter all formality broke down and we were individually conversing with small groups of attendees. At that point the majority of people started to leave, but a few stragglers kept us there about another 30 minutes. I found myself talking with a woman who had introduced herself as Monica Stuart. She was a very attractive woman in her mid to late thirties who was obviously flirting with me despite her wedding rings.

At one point she said, “You’re a very dangerous man, you know?”

When I asked why, she responded, “You are saying what our children want to hear. They don’t understand why they have to forgo pleasure now to make a better future.”

“And what about you, Monica?” I queried. “Have you put off your pleasures long enough? When in the future do you get your reward?”

She blushed and stammered, “I, … I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Before I could answer, I was distracted by a tug on my jacket. I turned to my left to see a very cute, blond teenager walking away.

“That’s my daughter, Amanda,” Monica said. “I would appreciate it if you would stay away from her.”

“And you, Monica,” I replied. “Do you want me to stay away from you too?”

“What do you think?” she retorted, clearly uncomfortable with the direction our conversation had taken. “I’m a married woman with a family.”

“Of course,” I agreed as I handed her my card. “But if you have any further questions about tonight’s presentation, I can be reached at the number on the card. It’s been very nice meeting you and talking with you. I have to go now. My friends are waiting for me.”

“It’s been nice meeting you too, Bill,” she said politely, if not sincerely.

Chapter 2: Corrupting the Daughter

While in the military service I had met dozens of women like Monica, most of them the wives of fellow officers. They had married just out of college and devoted themselves to their husbands. All their lives they had sacrificed themselves to the wishes of others beginning with their parents and continuing with their boyfriends, husbands and families. The boyfriends, husbands and families took them for granted as they were focused on their own interests and ambitions. These women were starved for attention and affection. They were easy prey to any unscrupulous man who would listen to them and tell them what they longed to hear. Monica was very attractive, indeed. She stood about 5′ 6″ with a slender frame. She had the same blond hair and blue eyes that she had passed on to her daughter. I guessed her weight at 115-120 well-distributed lbs. If she called me, I would be happy to listen to her and tell her what she needed to hear. I had little doubt that she would call within the week.

On the way home my friends and I talked about our impressions of the meeting. In his usual paranoid persona, Blinker commented on the hostility of some of the audience and speculated darkly on the possibility of reprisals. I scoffed at his concerns. Paul and I discussed the reactions of the people who knew us since our childhood. They were obviously surprised to find out how deviant from community norms we had become. Barry, the horndog, wanted to know how to get in touch with some of the cute high school girls that had been there. Marlene and Studly just took it all in with quiet amusement. We had all met at the house on Black Snake Road where Paul and I lived, though none of the other participants lived there, Since the following day most of us worked or had classes, everyone dispersed shortly after we arrived home. As I was hanging up my coat, I felt a scrap of paper in the left pocket. When I pulled it out, I read a hand-scribbled note:

Mandy
555-1644
3:30-5:00
ONLY!

It was clear that Mandy must be Monica’s daughter, Amanda. Perhaps like Monica, she wanted someone to tell her what she longed to hear. Despite Monica’s admonition to stay away from her, I resolved to give her a call.

In the university employee hierarchy, instructors are the low man on the totem pole. Most of us were graduate students working our way through school. The only positions lower are the graduate assistants who are virtual slaves to the professors they serve. Classes are assigned by level in the hierarchy. Thus I taught classes in German 101 at 8:00 every morning Monday through Friday. One section met 8:00-8:50 MWF, the other met 8:00-9:15 TT. It wasn’t really that bad. After two years in the army, I didn’t mind getting up early. Plus it meant that I got most of my work out of the way the first thing in the morning leaving the rest of the day free for my own studies, classes and leisure activities.

My last class on Monday ended at 3:00. Rather than hang around campus as I often did, I headed home to call Mandy. Not wanting to appear too eager, I waited until 4:00 to call. The phone rang. The voice answering the call sounded like a teenaged girl, “Hello.”

“Hello,” I said, “My name is Bill Hadley. I was given a note to call this number and ask for Mandy. Would you call her to the phone, please.”

“This is Mandy,” she replied. “Thanks for calling Mr. Hadley. I heard you speak at the Baptist church. I heard you tell someone that you would be happy to answer questions. I have some questions that I didn’t want to ask in front of my friends.”

“OK,” I said, “First of all my friends call me ‘Bill’. Mr. Hadley is a bit too formal, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” she answered with an uncertain voice.

“Secondly,” I continued, “Do you want to ask your questions now or did you have something else in mind?”

“I’d really like to ask my questions face-to-face if you don’t mind,” she said. “Besides we don’t have that much time before my mother gets home. Could you meet me at the university library some afternoon? I have a current events paper to work on so I can get my mother to take me.”

“I could do that.” I agreed. “In fact tomorrow afternoon my schedule is clear. What time would you want to meet?

“I can’t go until after school,” she said. “I could be there by 3:30.”

“OK,” I said, “I’ll wait for you in the main reading room toward the back. You know what I look like. By the way, what is the topic for your paper?”

“It’s sooo boring,” she groaned. “I have to write about the cold war and its historical context.”

“Well,” I said, “You’re doubly in luck. I have an undergraduate degree in history and I just completed two years with the army in Europe translating Russian documents. You might say that I am an expert on the cold war. I’m sure I can help you get a good grade on your paper.”

“Oh, wow,” she exclaimed with delight, “That would be so cool.”

“It’s a deal, then,” I replied. “I’ll see you in the library tomorrow afternoon at 3:30.”

We each said ‘goodbye’ and ended the call. She was going to be so easy. I was sure that if I wanted to I could have her virginity within a week. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to do that, but I intended to play it by ear. I went to my room to do some reading for my courses. It was a little over an hour later when the phone rang again.

I picked up the receiver and said, “This is Bill Hadley, may I ask who is calling?”

The voice on the phone answered, “So formal, Mr. Hadley, this is Monica Stuart.”

“It’s nice to hear your voice again, Monica,” I said. “And please call me, Bill. To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

“You are very charming, Bill,” she replied, “Not at all what I expected of a devil worshiper.”

“I must be quite inept as a speaker,” I said, “To have left you with the impression that I believe in anything supernatural.”

“No,” she admitted, “You were very clear about that. I was just trying to pull your chain. After all, you are a very disturbing young man.”

“It was not my intention to disturb you,” I lied. “I must offer you an apology for having made you feel uncomfortable.”

“Well,” she said, “You did say some things that I find disturbing. That is why I called. I would like to discuss them further to be sure that I have understood you correctly.”

“If I have bothered you,” I replied, “Further conversation would be the least I could do to make it up to you. Did you want to have that discussion now or are you suggesting an alternative?”

“I would rather have that conversation face-to face,” she answered. “Are you available tomorrow afternoon after 3:30?”

“Unfortunately,” I said, “I have a tutoring obligation at that time. However my schedule is clear on Wednesday after 3:00. Would that work for you? If so, where would you like to meet?”

“Yes, Wednesday works for me,” she said, “I believe that I can meet with you Wednesday afternoon. I teach at the high school so the soonest we could meet would be 3:30. Are you familiar with the Left Bank Coffee Shop?”

“Yes,” I said, “I know where it is. I shall be happy to meet you there at 3:30.”

Having agreed on the time and place of our next meeting, we concluded the call. I marveled that the daughter and mother both asked for face-to-face meetings. It was clear to me that they each had more on their minds than getting answers to questions about atheism. There was no way for me to know just how far they were willing to go for the answers they sought. However as Joni Mitchell’s lyrics say, “Life is for learning.”

I arrived early at the library and staked out a table at the back of the reading room as I had promised. Mandy bounced in shortly after 3:30. She scanned the room for a moment or two, spotted me and headed back. When she arrived, I stood up to acknowledge her arrival and sat back down as she took her seat. She sat across from me putting her book bag on the table. She was quite cute. Standing about 5′ 2″ she couldn’t have weighed more than 100 lbs. She had small breasts and an ass that were perfectly proportional to her height and weight. She was wearing her hair in a ponytail. Had it been free it would have hung down to her shoulder blades.

“So,” I asked, “Are you ready to do some work?”

“Sure,” she answered, “Are you ready to answer some questions?”

“Yes, of course,” I replied, “But first I suggest that we tackle the subject of your paper. Your topic is so vast that one could easily write a book on it. In fact, several books have been written on that topic. I have taken the liberty of checking out a couple that may help you. You won’t have to read all of them. I just recommend you read the introductions and the sections I have listed to get an idea of how to narrow the topic. I suggest that you start by narrowing the topic and then prepare an outline for your paper. A paper like this should have an objective. You need to decide what point you want to make to the reader. Once you have decided what point you want to make, the rest is an exercise in lining up the evidence to support your point. If you follow this approach, you will produce a paper that would earn an A in a college level course.”

“I don’t know,” she said skeptically, “That sounds like a lot of work to me.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “It will take some effort. Tell me, Mandy, what kind of grades do you get?”

“Mostly Bs and Cs,” she admitted.

“Do you like to learn?” I asked. “Do you like to read?”

With a brightened smile, she said, “I love to read. Just because I’m blond, I’m not an airhead, you know. It’s just that everything in school is so boring.”

Trying to be conciliatory, I said with a softer voice, “I never thought that you are an airhead, Mandy. I assumed that you are intelligent. I would not have offered to help you with your paper if I thought otherwise. But your grades are significantly below your ability.”

Pausing for a breath, I continued, “I don’t doubt that you find your classes boring. Most teachers don’t know how to make a subject interesting. The whole school system is geared to deliver canned content to the average student. For the above average student, school presents more of an obstacle to learning than any assistance. Too many smart kids just give up and go with the flow. The trick is to understand the system so you can get as much as you want from it. The rest you have to get on your own. If you like, I think I can help you learn how to get what you want if you really want it.”

With eyes looking down at the table, she said hesitantly, “I think I’d like to try.”

“OK,” I said, “That’s a good enough start on the paper for today. Now I have to try to answer your questions. How much time do we have?”

“My mom’s supposed to pick me up between 5:30 and 6:00,” she answered.

“That’s plenty of time,” I said. “How would you like to go to the student center for a soda?”

“I’d like that,” she said.

We walked across the quad and found a table in a corner of the student center cafeteria. I purchased our soft drinks and we continued our conversation when I asked her what kind of questions she had that she didn’t want to share with her friends.

“You know,” she said shyly, “What you said about things that feel good but are sins.”

“Ah,” I said, “The whole concept of sin. Let me see whether I can help you answer your own question. Do you believe that God loves you?”

“Of course he does,” she said, “Every Christian knows that.”

“And God created man,” I continued, ” … With a strong sex drive?”

“Well, yeah,” she retorted, “God told Adam to go forth and multiply. You have to have sex to make babies.”

“And yet,” I countered, “The Christian religion teaches that except for procreation by married couples, sex is a sin for which you can go to hell. So what you are telling me is that the God who loves you gave you a strong desire for sex but restricted the circumstances when it is acceptable to have sex. In other words, he forces you to torture yourself by abstaining from sex that he gave you a strong desire for. Does that sound like a loving god to you? Or does it sound more like something a sadistic demon would do?”

“It’s not really like that,” she mumbled.

“I see,” I replied. “Tell me, Mandy, how often do you masturbate?”

She turned bright red and stammered, “I, … I, … what makes you think I do that?”

“How old are you, Mandy?” I asked.

“Fifteen,” she said.

“Then,” I laughed, “I would assume you’ve been playing with yourself for at least two or three years, probably longer. There are two kinds of people in the world, those who admit to masturbating and liars.”

She just scowled at me and said nothing.

Then I asked in a softer voice, “Who are you hurting, Mandy, when you masturbate? In my opinion you are not hurting anyone, not yourself nor anyone else. What kind of god would send you to hell for making yourself feel good without hurting anyone?”

She looked at me with a dejected expression and said, “You think I’m really stupid, don’t you?”

“No, Mandy, I don’t think you’re stupid at all,” I replied. “I think you are a beautiful, bright young lady. The more I get to know you, the more I like you. I was raised a Christian too. I was taught the same things about God and his commandments that you were. It’s just that eventually I couldn’t reconcile all the contradictions in the Christian faith with my own experience of reality. I had to make a choice between faith and my own judgment. You know which choice I made.”

“What about your friends and family?” she asked. “Don’t they hate you for becoming an atheist?”

“No,” I said, “I get along with my family and friends as well as anyone and better than many Christians. I just keep my opinions to myself when expressing them doesn’t matter and would hurt the ones I care about. To be sure, there are a few former friends who turned away when they found out that I had rejected their faith. From my point of view, that is their choice. In a couple of cases I regret the loss of their friendship, but not enough to sacrifice my integrity just to make them feel good.”

“What about me?” she queried, “How do you feel about me and my faith?”

I reached across the table to take her hands, saying, “It is in the nature of things that you have to choose what you believe. As long as you want to ask me questions, I will try to answer them as honestly as I can. I have no monopoly on truth. All I can do is tell you what I believe and why I believe it. In the end you have to decide for yourself. You have doubts about your faith. You had them before you ever met me. Something I said Sunday night spoke to your doubts. You wouldn’t have given me that note otherwise. Even if you had never met me, you would have to deal with your doubts eventually.”

I released her hands and sat back. “What about you, Mandy? Have I upset you enough that you don’t want to see me again?”

“Oh, no,” she said, “I have more questions than ever.”

Glancing at my watch, I said, “We’ll have to save them for another time. It’s getting close to 5:30 and we need to get you back to the library before your mom comes to pick you up. When would you like to meet again?”

“Can we meet again tomorrow in the library at the same time?” she asked.

“I’m sorry,” I replied. “I have an appointment tomorrow. But we could meet Thursday if you are able.”

“I’ll have to see if Mom can give me a ride,” she said. “It shouldn’t be a problem. She’ll be happy that I am working on my paper.”

“Good,” I said. “And don’t forget the homework I assigned you. I want you to read the sections of the books that I marked for you and have at least two or three topics to choose from. If you can decide on a topic, I’ll want to see your objective and a first draft of your outline.”

We left the student center hand-in-hand to walk back across the quad to the library. I gave her my card so she could call me to confirm our meeting on Thursday. Then I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek on the library steps before leaving to find my car. As I drove home, I speculated about where I wanted to go with Mandy. I had hoped she would be at least 16 since that was the age of consent in our state. Before I took her too far, I would have to assess the risk and consequences of getting caught.

Chapter 3: Corrupting the Mother

On Wednesday afternoon, I arrived at the Left Bank early and took a booth in a corner that was relatively isolated. I told the waitress that I was waiting to order until my friend arrived. She brought me a glass of water to hold me while I waited. Around 3:40 Monica walked in, looked around until she spotted me and came to the booth. I stood until she was seated before reclaiming my place. The waitress came to take our orders and we made small talk until our coffee was served.

I started by asking, “What was it I said or did that so disturbed you?”

“You implied that I do not enjoy my life,” she answered.

“Well, do you, Monica?” I retorted. “Do you enjoy your life as you think you should?”

“I’ll have you know I am a happily married woman,” she exclaimed heatedly. “I have a wonderful husband who is a successful university professor and a wonderful daughter. I even have my own career as a teacher. You know nothing about me. How on earth can you be so conceited as to suggest that I am not happy?”

“You are, of course, correct that I know very little about you,” I admitted. “I will tell you what I have observed and you may correct my misunderstandings. I am guessing your age at mid-30s. You are teaching high school so you have at least a bachelor’s degree and probably a master’s. You have a daughter who is around 15 to 16 years old. Putting that all together, I deduce that you became pregnant as an undergraduate. I do not presume to guess whether that was before or after you married Prof. Stuart. I do surmise that you completed your undergraduate degree and then worked to support your husband through his graduate program. If you do have a graduate degree, you earned it after your husband completed his PhD while still working and raising your daughter. I don’t know whether you have any other children but I am guessing not. Since you warned me to stay away from your daughter, I presume that you are very protective, possibly in hopes that she will avoid mistakes that you feel you made.”

I paused to take a sip of my coffee and continued, “You have sacrificed almost everything for your husband and daughter. I am guessing that they are a much higher priority to you than you are to them. I suspect that their indifference to your feelings saddens you. And that is why I asked you, when will you get your reward. So tell me now how much of that is wrong.”

Monica sat across from me, mouth open, with an astonished expression on her face. I could see the corners of her eyes glistening with the beginnings of tears. “How did you learn to read minds?” she gasped softly. “Did you sell your soul to the devil for that power?”

I reached into my pocket for a packet of tissues and leaned across the table to dry her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I see that once again I have said something to disturb you.”

Abruptly she stood up and grabbed my hand. “Please,” she demanded with a low voice, “Take me away from here. I don’t want to break down in public.”

I threw two dollars on the table for the coffee and led her to my car. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I asked her, “Where do you want to go?”

“Somewhere private,” she sniffled.

We drove in silence as she leaned against the door with her face turned away from me. I headed to our house on Black Snake Road. As I pulled up in front of the house, I was glad to see that there were no other cars there. That meant we would have the house to ourselves. She was still sniffling when I opened the car door, took her hand and led her into the house. As soon as the front door closed behind us, she wrapped her arms around me and sobbed with her head on my shoulder.

We stood there for about five minutes with her weeping until she slumped against me and said, “I think I need to sit down.”

I led her to the sofa and sat down beside her. She snuggled up next to me with her head on my shoulder again for another five minutes. I put my arm around her shoulders to hold her. When her tears and sniffling had abated, she raised her head and looked at me.

“I don’t understand you,” she said. “Any other man would have taken advantage of me when I was most vulnerable like that.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Monica,” I said, “I would like nothing more than to take you to my bed and make love with you. You are a beautiful and sensitive woman. You deserve more than you are getting from those you love. But I will not do anything to make you feel worse than you already do. If and when you want to make love with me, just let me know.”

She stood up suddenly and said, “Do it! … Do it now. I don’t care what the consequences will be. I need you now. I need you to make love to me.”

I picked her up with one arm under her thighs and the other under her shoulders. I took her to my bedroom, kicked the door closed and laid her gently on the bed. I leaned over to kiss her while unbuttoning her blouse. She put her hands behind my head and kissed back passionately with lots of tongue action. As soon as I had her blouse unbuttoned, I pulled her to a sitting position so I could unclasp her bra. I took off her blouse and bra. I unclasped her skirt at the waist pulling down the zipper in the back. She was moaning softly as I laid her back down and began fondling her breasts.

“Oh God,” she groaned, “That feels so good.”

Taking that as permission to continue, I kissed my way from her lips over her neck and shoulders to her breasts. I alternated from one breast to the other sucking one nipple while lightly pinching the other. I could feel her hips starting to flex as she became more aroused. She started to pant with little moans interspersed among her gasping breaths. I kissed my way over her belly while sliding her skirt over her hips toward her knees. Having already kicked off my shoes, I paused long enough to strip off my shirt, slacks, underwear and socks. When I pulled her skirt over her knees to the floor, all Monica had on was her panties. I pushed her legs apart and leaned back over her to kiss her again pressing my hard cock against her panty-covered pussy.

“Oh my god,” she moaned. “I’m so ready. Do it to me, … put it in, … put it in now, … I need it.”

I slid back down her body grasping her soaked panties at the waist and pulling them off. I could smell her arousal and feel the wetness on my fingers. As her panties slipped over her feet, I lifted her left leg running my hands from her ankle to her knee and back again. I started to suck her toes.

“Jesus Christ, what are you doing to me?” she growled with a husky voice

“I’m just revving your engine before we take off for the stars,” I gasped.

“Oh god, Bill, I’m ready now,” she cried. “Don’t make me wait.”

I ignored her as I gave her right leg and toes the same treatment. She was twitching and shaking when I pushed her knees farther apart and licked my way up her thighs to her center. Her hips levitated six inches off the bed the first time I licked from the bottom of her slit to her clit. She was fully aroused. Her pussy was open and leaking juice. It took only a couple of minutes munching her love button to bring her to a thundering, squealing climax. As she gasped for breath in the aftermath, I rotated her ninety degrees on the bed and crawled between her legs. I pulled her knees up and apart positioning my dick at her entrance.

She looked up with heavily lidded eyes still panting, “Oh yes, Bill … Do it … Put it in … Do it to me … Do it now.”

I started to ease in surprised at how tight she was. Monica, however, didn’t want any part of slow or gentle. Just as the head passed her lips into her channel, she slammed her hips up embedding half my cock in her clasping sheath. Another two hard thrusts and she had me balls deep in her cunt. I got with the program thrusting back in sync with her.

“Oh yes, Bill,” she moaned in time with her thrusts, “Fuck me, … do it hard, … I need it, … I need it so bad, … fuck me harder, … oh god, … I’m gonna’ cum again, … make me cum, Bill, … make me cum again.”

Between her tight cunt and talking dirty, it was all I could do to hold back trying to let her cum again. She was too much for me. I could feel a massive release taking me over. I jammed my cock as deep in her as I could and squeezed her tight. She must have felt my cum filling her cunt because moments later she, too, went rigid with another orgasm. When my dick finally stopped spitting baby juice, I rolled over to my back to keep from crushing her. My deflating cock slipped out of her slick tunnel. She ended up half draped over me with her head on my shoulder, her leg crossed over mine and her pussy leaking our combined cum onto my leg.

When our breathing had slowed to a tolerable rate, she looked up and me and said, “That was unbelievable. I’ve been married almost 16 years. My husband has never made me feel like that. I thought I enjoyed sex, but I had no idea that anything could be that intense or feel so good.”

“I hope I haven’t caused you problems in your marriage,” I said.

She laughed, “My marriage was already in trouble but I couldn’t admit it until you rubbed it in my face. I’ve just cheated on my husband for the first time and I don’t even feel guilty. I don’t want a divorce, but something will have to change if our marriage is to survive.”

“Well,” I said, “I have some ideas of how to help, but for now we probably should take a quick shower and get you back to your car.”

“Oh my god,” she exclaimed with a panicked voice, “What time is it.”

“Relax,” I said, “It’s only 5:00. We can take a quick shower, dress and still have time for you to get home by 6:00.”

“I would prefer to stay here with you,” she whispered, “But that would surely cause more problems than I am prepared to handle.”

I dragged her reluctant to the shower where we washed each other being careful to keep her hair dry. She left her panties with me saying that she didn’t dare wear the smelly thing home. I gave her a last hug at her car. We promised to make another time to get together. She told me that it would be best if she called me. I was not surprised to have her in my bed, but I had thought it would take more than one meeting. I hoped that she was on the pill. Everything happened so fast that I forgot to ask whether I should use a condom.

Chapter 4: Mandy Gives it Up

Thursday afternoon I arrived at the library precisely at 3:30. I took the same table at the back where I had previously met with Mandy. Five minutes later she arrived. I was quite surprised to learn that she had read all the material that I had assigned and had listed three potential topics for her paper. We discussed the topics and she settled on the role of American industrialists in motivating the cold war. She chose as her objective to convince the reader that the cold war was motivated by war profiteering rather than by a defense against communism. I was ecstatic and gave her a reference to Antony Sutton’s new work, “National Suicide: Military Aid to the Soviet Union” that had only recently been published. We agreed that she would draft an outline of the paper by our next meeting. Then she stunned me by asking whether I could tutor her in some of her other courses. After some discussion, I agreed. She convinced me that while she wanted to work to her potential in school, she would need my help. Having allowed enough time before her mom would return to pick her up, we walked across the quad to the student center for a soda.

As we sat at a table enjoying our soft drinks, she said, “I’ve thought a lot about what you said Tuesday about religion and sex. My problem is that I don’t really know very much about sex. I admit that I’ve been rubbing myself for years because it feels good. But that’s it. I’ve never even kissed a boy. There’s no sex education in school and Mom won’t tell me much except that boys want to get into my panties and I shouldn’t let them do it. My friends don’t know any more than I do. How am I supposed to learn what I need to know? Can you help me, please?”

“What do you have in mind,” I asked.

“Maybe you could start by teaching me how to kiss,” she suggested.

I responded, “You do understand that I could go to prison if I did that and anyone ever found out. The age of consent is 16 in this state and you are only 15.”

“Please,” she begged, “I would never tell anyone. It would just be a kiss. How bad is that?”

“Unfortunately according to the law it’s bad enough to send a man to prison,” I countered. “But perhaps there is something we could do. Do you have an idea of when and where we could get together for these kissing lessons?”

“How about Saturday morning at your place?” she said.

“How would you get there?” I asked.

“I’ll meet you at the library at 9:00,” she answered. “I’ll tell Mom to pick me up at 1:00. I’m sure she will do it. I showed her what I have done so far on the paper. You were right; she was impressed.”

“OK,” I agreed, “The library at 9:00 it is. We’ll work on the paper for about an hour. Then we’ll go to my house for a while. I’ll even fix you lunch.”

We stood up to walk back across the quad. She gave me a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek saying, “I really appreciate what you are doing for me.”

“You’re the one who asked for help,” I said. “Good things often come to those who seek them.”

I left her on the library steps and headed home. I fixed a light dinner and retired to my room to catch up on my reading. Around 8:00 Monica called. When I answered the phone, she told me that she needed to see me again. She suggested Saturday morning, but I told her that I had a commitment until early afternoon. We agreed that she would meet me at the house at 2:00.

Saturday morning at 9:00 found me sitting in the library waiting for Mandy. She arrived about ten minutes late but was unable to contain her excitement.

“I am so up for this,” she gushed.

I grinned broadly, “I’m looking forward to it too, but first we have to do some work. You will have to have something to show your mom for the time you spent here.”

“You are such a slave driver,” she pouted. “Don’t you ever blow off responsibility and just do what’s fun?”

“Believe me, Mandy,” I replied, “I know how to have fun. I also know how to find a balance so that having fun doesn’t cost me a price I’m not willing to pay. Now show me what you have done since Thursday.”

She pulled a notebook from her book bag that contained the draft outline of her paper with an opening paragraph presenting her objective. I read through both quickly identifying several ambiguities and inconsistencies. Rather than pointing them out directly, I began asking her questions that forced her to understand how another person might perceive what she had written. It gratified me to see that she took notes on all the questions I asked. After about an hour, she had satisfied me that we had covered all the major points. I told her that she had done an excellent job. I expressed the opinion that completing the paper would be relatively easy given the work she had done. She beamed with delight. She packed all her papers back into her book bag as we prepared to leave. I had told her where I was parked so that we could leave the library separately and meet at the car. I was becoming concerned about being seen with her too often. She did not share my sense of paranoia, but agreed to comply with my precautions.

We got in the car, buckled up and headed out. Mandy quickly noticed the gift-wrapped package lying on the seat between us.

“What’s that,” she asked.

“I’m glad you asked,” I replied. “That’s a present for you.”

“May I open it now?” she pleaded.

“Of course you may,” I said, “It’s your present.”

She quickly tore off the wrapping paper squealing with delight when she saw the new copy of “The Joy of Sex.”

“I’ve heard about this book,” she said, “But I’ve never seen one. I don’t even know anyone who has seen it.”

“I’m not surprised that you’ve heard about it,” I said. “It was on the New York Times best seller list for weeks. From what I’ve heard there hasn’t been anything like it since the Kama Sutra was translated to English in the last century.”

I’m not sure that she even heard me. She was already leafing through the book scanning the table of contents and chapter headings. When I stopped the car in front of the house, she bounded out and ran around the car to hug me.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she exclaimed. “I can learn so much from this book.”

“Just be careful that your parents don’t see it,” I said. “If your mother finds out that you have a copy, she’ll want to know where you got it. I doubt she will be very happy to find out that you are seeing me, especially if she learns that I gave you what amounts to a sex manual.”

“Yeah,” she laughed, “If I get caught with this, I’ll be grounded until I graduate from college.”

She grabbed my hand practically dragging me into the house. She dropped her book bag on the floor next to the sofa and plopped herself down on it.

Looking up at me, she said, “It’s time for you to keep your promise. You have to teach me how to kiss now.”

I sat down beside her saying, “It’s best to start light and gentle. Just follow my lead.”

I put a hand behind her head and pulled her toward me. My lips were slightly parted as they made contact with hers. At first the kiss was just lips to lips contact. Then I softly caressed her lips with my tongue. I pulled my tongue back so she could do the same. She got the message; I felt her tongue gliding over and around my lips. A minute or so later I could feel her breathing a little faster.

I pulled back to ask, “How are we doing so far?”

“Oh my gosh,” she gushed, “That makes me feel tingly all over.”

“Then I think we’re ready for some more,” I responded. “This time open your mouth a little more.”

We rejoined our lips and I inserted my tongue a little farther into her mouth. At first I ran my tongue over her teeth. Then we began the tongue duel. I pulled her closer to me with one hand between her shoulder blades and the other on her lower back at the waist. I started leaning back until I was lying on the sofa with my legs hanging over the edge. Mandy was lying on top of me with her breasts pressing into my chest. I thought that I could feel her hard nipples through her clothes and mine although it was probably my imagination. I was not imagining the way she was instinctively rubbing her crotch against my hard dick. Suddenly she pushed away from me with an embarrassed expression on her face.

“I’m so sorry,” she whined, “I think I peed. I feel wet down there.”

Caught by surprise for a moment, I sat up and looked at her. Then I laughed, “You didn’t pee, sweetie. You’re just getting turned on.”

It was clear from her puzzled expression that she did not understand.

I tried a different approach, “What happens when you masturbate,” I asked. “You get wet down there, don’t you.”

“Yeah,” she said, understanding creeping across her face, “But why?”

Your body is preparing for sexual intercourse,” I answered. “It produces lubrication in your vagina to help the penis enter you. In fact, that’s why it’s important to have foreplay starting with kisses and caresses. It makes your pussy wet and gives the man a hard dick so he can put it in you and make a baby.”

The ‘Ah Ha’ expression on her face was priceless.

Changing the subject, I suggested, “Let’s take a break and have some lunch. I’ll try to explain more while we eat.”

“OK,” she agreed, ” But do you have a clothes dryer? I think I need to dry my jeans and panties. Do you have something I can wear while they are drying?”

“Yes,” I replied, “We have a dryer.”

I pointed her toward my bedroom to change telling her that there was a robe hanging in the closet. I was in the kitchen boiling some hotdogs when she returned carrying her jeans and panties. She was wearing one of my t-shirts that barely covered her crotch. Her nipples denting the front of the t-shirt made it clear that she was wearing nothing underneath. I directed her toward the laundry machines while I set the table with paper plates, mustard, ketchup, relish, potato chips, sodas and hot dog buns. A couple of minutes later she bounced back into the kitchen just as I was taking the hot dogs off the stove. As soon as I had put them on the table, she gave me a kiss and a hug with her arms around my neck. That caused the t-shirt to ride up exposing her charms. I put my hands on her bare ass to pull her tight against me. We were both practically panting when we separated.

“You know, little girl,” I gasped, “That’s very risky behavior. If you were with any other boy or man than me, you’d already be bent over that table with a hard cock in your pussy getting pregnant.”

She jerked herself away from me stunned as I added, “I guess we’ll have to add some classes on risk management in sexual relationships to your curriculum. Now sit at the table and let’s eat lunch.”

She sat down, looked at me with almost teary eyes and said with a very soft voice, “I’m sorry.”

I looked at her across the table and said, “No, Mandy, I’m the one who should apologize to you. I shouldn’t have spoken to you so harshly. It’s just that you scared me. You had me so hot that I was ready to take you then and there.”

“You could have, you know,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t have minded.”

“Oh baby,” I said, “Your first time should be special. That wouldn’t be the way to do it. Besides getting you pregnant would be bad; very, very bad.”

We ate our lunch while I gave her a synopsis of human reproductive biology. I tried to emphasize that just describing the process of making love would not fully prepare her for the experience.

“So,” she asked, “If just talking about it isn’t enough, will you show me?”

“Tell you what,” I responded, “I’ll give you an introduction to foreplay. But I don’t think you are ready to go all the way today. Are you good with that?”

“I’ll take what I can get,” she grinned.

I took her hand and led her to my bedroom. I stood behind her and told to take off the t-shirt. She grasped the hem of the t-shirt with crossed arms, pulled it over her head and tossed it onto the bed. She started to turn to face me, but I stopped her by grasping her shoulders.

“Do you know about erogenous zones?” I asked.

“No,” she answered looking over her shoulder, “What’s that?”

“It’s a part of your body that responds to stimulation with sexual arousal,” I said. “Some erogenous zones are obvious like your breasts and genitals, but you have others too. What gets you hot varies from person to person and probably from time to time. The only way to find out is to experiment.”

I started kissing the back of her neck. When she started to shiver, I whispered in her ear, “For example, for some women, the back of the neck is very sensitive.”

I reached around her to cup her boobs in my hands. She moaned as I gently caressed them and pinched her nipples. She was panting lightly when I started to move my caresses down over her belly. I pulled her back against me so she could feel my hard cock pressed against her lower back. I slid my hands down to her upper thighs bypassing her center. She trembled and sighed as I pushed her knees apart before moving my hands back up the insides of her legs to her pussy. I put my left hand back on her boobs while I caressed her vulva with my right.

Her knees started to buckle and she groaned, “I don’t think I can stand up.”

I pulled my hands away and turned her around to push her gently back toward the bed. When the backs of her legs hit the bed, she collapsed onto it with her legs draped over the edge and spread about a foot apart. I lifted a foot to lightly rub up her leg. I was trying to stimulate her without tickling. From the sounds of her moans and the twitches of her hips it seemed to be working. She responded particularly strongly to feather light strokes behind her knees. By the time I reached her upper thighs, her legs were widely spread leaving her pussy open and exposed. She was fully aroused; her inner and outer labia open and gleaming with her secretions. Her clit was engorged protruding from its hood. Her hymen encircled her pussy opening, guarding the entrance to her treasure.

“I wasn’t going to do this,” I said softly, “But I can’t help myself.”

I fell to my knees between her legs, lifted them onto my shoulders and lowered my face to her crotch. She had pushed up on her elbows to see what I was doing. I gave her a lick from the bottom to the top of her slit.

She squealed and exclaimed, “Ewww! Gross! You can’t lick me there; that’s where I pee.”

I gave her another lick gratified to see her hips elevate off the bed slightly despite the fact that she had no leverage with her legs draped over my shoulders.

“Let me do that a couple of more times,” I replied, “And then tell me to stop.”

Apparently she lost her capacity for speech. Thereafter all I heard were moans and squeals between her panting gasps for breath. I continued to lick her, pausing to suck on her clit with each lick. Her squeals increased in frequency as did her hip thrusts in sync with my licks. I was having a hard time keeping my face on her pussy when she went rigid, locking her thighs against my head. It took several moments before she relaxed her legs enough that I could pull my head free.

I gently lowered her legs back to the bed and asked, “Now, sweetie, what do you think of foreplay?”

It took almost half a minute for her panting to slow enough to respond. She looked up at me with barely open, glazed eyes and croaked, “What? … Oh wow.”

I crawled onto the bed beside her, pulled her body tight against me and kissed her gently.

“Would you do anything I told you to for more of that?” I asked.

She nodded in assent.

“That’s risk management lesson number one,” I said. “Never get in a situation where your passion can overrule your judgment causing you to do things that can harm you. A few moments ago you would have been happy to have unprotected sex with me because I had you so aroused you would have done anything I wanted. But the last thing you need is to get pregnant. Now that you know how powerful those feelings can be, you should have the motivation to stay away from that kind of trouble.”

“But what if I want those feelings again?” she whined. “What if I want to have sex?”

“I didn’t tell you that you shouldn’t have sex,” I countered. “I am telling you to make sure you are protected against pregnancy and disease. Make sure that you are having sex with someone you want to have sex with. Don’t get in a situation where you are with someone you don’t want to fuck and can’t stop it from happening.”

I paused to take a breath before continuing, “Now we’d better get you dressed and back to the library before your mom comes to pick you up.”

“I can’t put my clothes back on,” she griped. “You made me wetter than I was before.”

“I think we still have time for a quick shower,” I grinned, “If you promise to behave while I wash you.”

She smiled a devious smile, “I think I can do that.”

I took her hands to pull her to her feet. Without warning she bounded toward the bedroom door headed for the bathroom. I was right behind her when I heard Paul give a wolf whistle and exclaim, “Wow!”

Mandy blushed bright red from head to toes as she raced for the bathroom. The door almost slammed in my face. I came in with her and shut the door behind us. She stood there naked with her hands over her face moaning, “I’m sooo embarrassed.”

“Well,” I said, “That’s what can happen when you run around naked in a house full of guys. You start the water; I’ll go round up your clothes.”

I went to the clothes dryer to retrieve her jeans and panties. On the way back, Paul accosted me, “I hope you know what you’re doing with that jail bait? I don’t want to see you get in trouble.”

“I’ll talk to you later,” I replied as I headed back to the bedroom to get the rest of Mandy’s clothes.

I entered the bathroom to find Mandy already in the shower. I put her clothes on the counter and asked her whether she wanted me to join her. She told me that she wouldn’t be responsible for what would happen if I got in the shower with her nude. I realized then that we didn’t have time for a shower together. I left her alone to finish washing and dressing. She came out of the bathroom freshly scrubbed and dressed. We gathered up her books and book bag and headed for the car. At the last minute I ran back into the house to put a fan in the bedroom window. I wanted the room aired out before Monica arrived. I dropped Mandy off behind the library at 12:45 having agreed to meet again at our regular time on Tuesday. I went back home to change the sheets on my bed and put the dirty sheets in the wash. Paul left around 1:30 to meet some friends. I was alone sitting on the sofa reading when the doorbell rang promptly at 2:00.

I opened the door to find Monica standing there on the porch. She looked like a movie star with her brown wool skirt and tan cashmere cardigan sweater. Two-inch low heels, large designer sunglasses, a floppy brimmed hat and a very large shoulder bag completed the ensemble. Without even saying hello, she brushed by me to enter the house.

Then she said, “Bill, we need to talk. But first I need to use your bathroom.”

I took a seat on the sofa amused by her staged dramatic entrance. I was eager to see what she had planned to do next. A couple of minutes later she rejoined me in the living room and sat next to me on the sofa. It was obvious from the way her stiff nipples poked out against the soft cashmere of her sweater that she had shed her bra. I speculated whether the rest of her underwear had migrated to her oversized handbag.

“Bill,” she started, “I left here Wednesday in turmoil and I have been in turmoil since then. I’m still not convinced that you can’t really read minds. Everything you said that you deduced was correct and more. I was dating Jonathan when I was an undergraduate. He married me because I got pregnant. Fortunately, my parents supported us so I could complete my degree. It was rough trying to keep house, care for an infant and keep up with school work, but I did it.”

She paused to take a deep breath before continuing, “When we graduated, I got a teaching job while Jonathan continued in school until he got his PhD. Even though he got a university position, I still had to work to help pay off his student loans. As the spouse of a university employee, I got a discount on tuition and books so I was able to complete my masters in education. That time of my life was even more demanding. At least Amanda was in school. But I had to raise her, keep house, work and take graduate classes. Jonathan is very old fashioned about many things. To him, there is woman’s work and man’s work. The woman is supposed to take care of the house and raise children. The man brings home the bacon. The only reason he let me work was that we couldn’t have survived without my income. When he had advanced enough to support the family on his income, he wanted me to quit my job. I refused. I just couldn’t give up something that gave me such a sense of accomplishment.”

“Given your husband’s attitudes,” I interjected, “I’m surprised that he didn’t insist that you have more children.”

“I think that is a big conflict area for Jonathan,” she said. “Our religion tells him to go forth and multiply, but he isn’t really comfortable around children. In fact, he isn’t all that comfortable around people in general. After having Amanda, I insisted that we use condoms until he completed his education. Then we struggled to make ends meet while paying off his debts and completing my education. By then Amanda was 11 years old and I didn’t think I could handle that big an age gap in my children.”

“That reminds me,” I said, “What kind of birth control are you using now? I didn’t use a condom on Wednesday. Are we risking an unplanned pregnancy? How would you explain that to Jonathan?”

She looked down and said softly, “I think we’ll be OK. I just finished my period last weekend. But when we do it again, you have to use a condom.”

She looked up into my eyes with a wan smile, “I guess I just admitted that I am going to cheat on Jonathan again. Before I met you I thought I had a good sex life. Jonathan and I make love once a week, most often on the weekend. He usually gets me off but our sex is plain vanilla. I wouldn’t dare suggest oral. He thinks that would be the devil’s own perversion. We’ve never used any position other than missionary. If it weren’t for my reading women’s magazines, I wouldn’t even know that there are other positions. His idea of foreplay is rubbing my breasts and vagina until I get wet. Then he sticks it in and fucks me until he cums. I usually cum too, at least half the time. If I don’t cum before he’s done, I rub myself until I get off.”

“But you,” she continued, “You rocked my world. I never knew I could experience what you did to me, … what you made me do. You made me wake up and I want more of those feelings. If I can’t get them from Jonathan, I’ll get them from you.”

“What are you trying to do, Monica,” I asked. “The last time we were together you said that you don’t want a divorce.”

“I don’t want a divorce,” she agreed. “But after what you showed me, I can’t go back to my previous dull sex life either. I want you to teach me how to convince my husband to give me what I need. I believe you can do that if you want to.”

“Will you help me?” she pleaded.

“I can try,” I said, “But you need more than teaching him how to please you in bed. The harder part will be getting past his cultural views of man and woman. You will not be satisfied until he really sees you as a human being with needs for love and support. I haven’t met him and I could be wrong, but your description suggests that he only sees you as a wife and mother and not as an individual person. Since you describe him as someone uncomfortable with others, he may see everyone in their cultural roles that, by the way, sound very old testament. He probably sees himself that way too.”

“Do you think we need counseling,” she asked.

“I’m no clinical psychologist,” I responded, “But I don’t think you will get much result from counseling or therapy as long as he doesn’t admit that there is a problem. I think you need to shake him up some way. You need to get him out of his familiar environment and put him in a situation where he has to break through his protective walls to survive, at least figuratively. At the moment, I don’t have a clue of what to suggest to accomplish that.”

“Well,” she said, “You’ve given me something to think about. What you are saying makes sense. But for now, I have some of my own inhibitions to break through and I know that you can help me.”

She stood up, took my hand and led me to my bedroom. As soon as I closed the door, she embraced me. She looked into my eyes shyly and said, “I’m ready for another lesson, teacher.”

I started with a passionate kiss. She wrapped her arms around me to hug me tightly. After a few moments of her grinding her pelvis against me, I gently pushed her back a step. I kissed again lightly on the lips and began unbuttoning her sweater. When it was completely unbuttoned, I pushed it back over her shoulders exposing her perky breasts. I leaned over to kiss each one in turn nibbling on her nipples until they were hard little nubs.

Before I could proceed, she whispered, “My turn.”

She grasped the hem of my pullover shirt to pull it off. I raised my arms over my head to help. She tossed the shirt on the bed and rubbed her tits against my chest while again pressing her crotch against me. She stepped back and began kissing my chest and biting my nipples. I groaned as I felt my knees weaken. While giving my chest oral attention, her hands were working on my belt unfastening it so she could unsnap and unzip my pants. She pushed my pants and boxers down my thighs and pushed me back to fall on the bed. As I propped myself on my elbows to a half sitting position, she was pulling off my shoes and socks. With those impediments out of the way, she grabbed the cuffs of my trousers to pull them off and toss them aside. She disposed of the boxers to stand before me looking down at my naked body.

She said softly, “I guess I’m overdressed now.”

With that she started to sway as if to some imaginary music. She reached behind to unfasten her skirt. She wriggled her hips causing the skirt to slide over her waist and down her legs to puddle on the floor around her feet. She confirmed my suspicion that she had lost the panties with her bra. Then she knelt between my legs grasping my cock.

“I want to learn how to give a blowjob,” she said with a husky voice.

“Be my guest,” I replied. “You can start by licking it all over like a lollipop. When you suck on it, use your tongue to massage under the head. Just watch the teeth. A scrape would hurt.”

She lowered herself to her knees between my legs leaning over to take my cock in her hand. She started licking the head and then the shaft. When she had it slick with saliva all over, she took the head into her mouth rubbing the bottom with her tongue.

“Oh god,” I moaned, “That feels so good.”

Still holding the base of my shaft with her hand, she began bobbing her head up and down trying to take as much of my cock into her mouth as she could. She was able to get about four inches in before she triggered her gag reflex. She pulled back coughing.

“I guess I tried to take too much at once,” she choked.

“Don’t worry,” I consoled her, “You’re doing great. But for now, I can think of a better place for my dick than your mouth.”

“I’m sorry,” she said with a sad voice, “It’s my first time and…”

“You’re doing great,” I interrupted. “But if you keep that up, I’m going to cum in your mouth and I’d rather cum in your pussy.”

I reached over to get a condom from the night table and handed it to her telling her put it on me. She tore open the packet and rolled the rubber over my rigid rod. I grabbed her hands and pulled her towards me as I lay back down across the bed. After a moment’s confusion, she got the picture and crawled onto the bed to straddle my hips. I lined my sheathed dick up to her slot. She lowered herself slowly onto me, her hot wet pussy clutching my cock. I slid my hands from the tops of her thighs across her belly to cup her tits. As she slowly bounced up and down with her eyes closed, I fondled and caressed her boobs with intermittent pinches on her nipples. Every time I tweaked her nips she would give a little squeak and bounce a little harder. Three or four minutes later she began to pick up the pace. I was more active too thrusting back in sync with her bounces. She leaned closer to my chest grinding her clit against my pubic bone with every down stroke. Her squeaks had turned to moans and squeals.

“OH god, … oh my god, … oh, … oh, … aarrghh,” she squealed as she collapsed on me.

I could feel her inner cunt muscles fluttering over my prick driving me to release despite the numbing effect of the rubber. I wrapped my arms around her holding her tight as we both enjoyed the after effects of our orgasms. As we both regained control of our breathing, I felt my cock start to soften. I rolled to my right causing Monica to slide onto her side. I reached between us to grasp the base of the condom so that it wouldn’t be left in her pussy as my flaccid cock pulled out. Then I rolled back onto my back and sat up.

“Give me a moment to dispose of this,” I whispered. “I’ll be right back.”

Monica just murmured, “Hurry.”

I went to the bathroom to flush the used rubber. I took a clean washcloth, wet it with warm water and washed my cock and balls. Then I rinsed it out thoroughly and took it with me. Entering the bedroom I saw Monica lying on her back with her eyes half closed. I walked up to the bed, pushed her knees apart and washed her vulva with the wet washcloth. After tossing the washcloth back into the bathtub, I rejoined Monica on the bed.

I took her in my arms, kissed her and asked, “Have you heard of sixty-nine?”

“I’ve heard people talk about it,” she answered, “But I only have a vague idea of what it is.”

“It’s a way we can get rejuvenated,” I said.

I scooted to the center of the bed and lay on my back. I told her to get on her hands and knees with her pussy over my face and her face over my dick.

“Now,” I asked, “Does anything come to mind?”

Without hesitation, she grasped my cock and took it in her mouth. I groaned as she swirled her tongue around the bottom of the head. I raised myself up on my elbows and took a swipe with my tongue along her furrow. I guess I was lucky she didn’t bite my dick in surprise. She continued to suck and I continued to lick until I felt that I was getting too close to the edge. I pulled out from under her and grabbed another rubber while telling her to stay put. As soon as I had rolled the rubber on, I got on my knees behind her lining my prick up to her pussy. Holding her by the hips I slid into her slowly until our pubes were meshed. I started stroking in and out of her slowly. I let my hands slide from her hips to her tits. As I started going a little faster, Monica started a low moaning. I was going faster with Monica pushing back at me. She was panting between her moans and I was grunting. I couldn’t hold back. I grabbed her hips tightly thrusting in as far as I could while I filled the condom. Moments later I felt her trembling in what I assumed was an orgasm.

I pulled out of her holding the filled rubber, tied it off and tossed it onto the night table. I flopped onto my back and pulled her onto me. She snuggled up to me with her head on my shoulder and her right leg draped over mine. I had my right arm around her shoulders pulling her close to me.

When her breathing had slowed enough, she said, “What am I going to do? I can’t leave Jonathan, but you make me feel so good.”

“You need to teach him how to make you feel good too,” I answered. “You could try more foreplay. Work on him the way you worked on me when we started today.”

“I’m afraid,” she whispered sadly. “I don’t know how he will react. I do know that he believes oral sex to be a perversion.”

“Just start slowly,” I advised. “Start by touching and kissing him all over. See if you can get him to do more than rub your breasts and pussy. Show him where else you like to be touched and kissed. If you’re lucky, he’ll like your touching his erogenous zones and will be more willing to reciprocate.”

“Yes,” she said speculatively, “Maybe that will work.”

She wriggled against me snuggling some more before she continued, “I have another question. How are you able to read minds? How did you know all my secrets?”

I chuckled, “You are not as unique as you might think you are, Monica. I’ve met a lot of women whose stories are similar to yours. Let me give you an example. I took an interviewing course from the clinical psychology department. They recruited other students whom we interviewed. We were supposed to learn as much as possible about the other person in a one-hour interview. It was amazing to me what people would reveal about themselves knowing that the interviews were not confidential. One girl I interviewed was a graduating senior. She was engaged to be married soon after graduation. By the end of the interview she was in tears. She confessed to me that she wasn’t sure she loved her fiancé and that she was too young to marry. But everyone expected her to get married and there was incredible pressure to go through with it. She was afraid that her family would disown her if she didn’t.”

“What did you tell her to do?” she asked softly.

“There wasn’t much I could do,” I replied. “I referred her to the student counseling center, but I’m not very confident that would help. Personally, I think she should put off the marriage and try to help her family understand why she feels unprepared for marriage. But I don’t know anything about her family or her other circumstances. There was no way I could learn enough in a one-hour interview to be able to advise her how to make such life-altering choices.”

“Part of the point,” I continued, “Is that I have met many women who made the choices that family and friends wanted them to make without sufficient regards for their own needs. When I was in the army I met several such women who were the wives of my fellow officers. They were easy to seduce because they were desperate for the attention and recognition as individuals that they weren’t getting from their husbands. I have concluded that one cannot be happy unless they take care of their own needs as well as the needs of those they love.”

I rolled to my shoulder to look directly into her eyes and said, “Monica, you should start taking care of some of your needs.”

With moistening eyes, she replied, “I’m trying. That’s why I’m spending time with you. I know it’s cheating, but until my husband gives me what I want, I’ll get it from you.”

“That’s my good fortune,” I smiled. “You are a beautiful woman and I love having you here in bed with me. Now snuggle up to me so we can enjoy the moment.”

She did. We lay there together kissing and gently caressing each other until she had to clean up to leave. She took a shower, retrieved her underwear from her oversized handbag and dressed. She gave me a last hug and kiss before leaving to return to her family. We agreed to meet again at the same time a week later.

The following Tuesday and Thursday I met with Mandy in the library from 3:30 to 5:30. She was making very good progress on her current events paper. I reviewed what she had written and helped her uncover flaws by judicious questioning. I warned her that she needed to be prepared to prove that she had written it since it would be so much better than anything her classmates would turn in. In time she was able to answer questions about all the references she cited including biographical information about the authors. I also encouraged her to have her mother review any written assignments, especially work done for her English class. I had come to the conclusion that she and her mother would both benefit from a closer relationship. I did help her with some of her other courses. As with the development of her paper most of my help was delivered using the Socratic method of challenging assumptions and interpretations taken from her textbooks or other assigned reference material. As I had told her, Mandy was a bright girl and caught on quickly.

She was clearly frustrated with our concentration on academic subjects at our library meetings. She had also been studying The Joy of Sex and was eager to practice some of the activities described therein. I agreed to bring her out to the house the following Saturday morning. I was both nervous and excited about that promise.

On Saturday morning at 9:00 we met at the library, as was our custom. She was wearing a light pullover sweater and a skirt instead of her usual jeans and casual top. As always she had that kind of cheerful energetic enthusiasm that is hard to describe with a single word. “Perky,” “bubbly” and “bouncy” come to mind but even together they are not adequate. However she could be best described, I enjoyed spending time with her whatever we were doing. When she arrived, I spent thirty minutes giving her paper a final proofread before we left for the house. As we had done the previous Saturday, she left first to meet me at the faculty lot where I had parked. On the way, she regaled me with comments on what she had learned from “The Joy of Sex.” It appeared to me that we were in for a hell of a morning.

As soon as we arrived, she bounded out of the car, took my hand and dragged me towards the door. We went straight to the bedroom. I shut the door and turned to take her in my arms.

I kissed her and asked, “Where do you want to start?”

She looked up at me shyly, “I want to make you feel good the way you made me feel last week. I, … I want to suck your thing, … your cock.”

“OK,” I agreed, “First let’s undress each other and get on the bed.”

I started by grasping her sweater at the bottom. She raised her arms over her head enabling me pull the sweater off and toss it to the side. I reached around her to unhook her bra in the back. She lowered her arms letting the bra fall to the floor. Then she started unbuttoning my shirt. As soon as she had it off, I pulled her to me to feel her breasts with their hard nipples pressing against my chest. She moaned as I kissed her and then pushed me back to tackle my belt and zipper. She had my pants and boxers to my knees when she realized that she needed to dispose of my shoes first. I sat on the edge of the bed and raised my legs to help her accomplish her mission. She quickly pulled off my shoes, socks, trousers and underwear leaving me naked.

As she stood up I grabbed her hands to pull her towards me. When she was positioned between my spread legs, I reached behind her again to unfasten her skirt and pull it over her hips. That left her clad in brief bikini panties that I quickly pulled down too. She kicked off her shoes and knelt between my legs taking my cock in her hand.

“I’ve never done this before,” she whispered as she leaned over to take the head of my cock into her mouth. “Please tell me what feels good so I can do it right.”

“It feels great so far,” I groaned, “Just be careful of your teeth and you’ll do fine.”

She continued massaging the head of my dick with her lips and tongue. She didn’t try to get much more into her mouth but what she was doing felt wonderful. She was also holding the rest of the shaft stroking it slowly. I just laid back and enjoyed. After several minutes I felt myself ready to blow.

I raised my head and moaned, “Watch out sweetie, I’m almost there. If you don’t want a mouthful, you’d better pull off now.”

She ignored me, sucking and stroking harder. I could see the surprise in her eyes as I filled her mouth with cum. She swallowed two or three times but a little bit still dribbled out of the corners of her mouth and over her chin. She grinned with delight as I pulled her down on top of me and kissed her.

“Pretty good for a first time,” I said, “You made me feel really good.”

“I tried,” she said, “The book was really helpful.”

I kissed her again and asked, “Do you want me to return the favor?”

“Not now,” she said huskily, “I want you to make me a woman. I want to do it now.”

“It could hurt the first time,” I said, “It might be better if I go down on you first to get you really wet.”

“I already took care of that with a carrot,” she admitted. “It did hurt when I broke my cherry, but I wanted my first time with you to be extra special.”

I hugged her again and kissed her saying, “And I want your first time to be extra special too. We should do it with you on top. That way you get to control everything and go at the pace that is best for you.”

I scooted back and around until I was centered on the bed with my head on a pillow. I reached over to the night table to grab a condom. As I opened the packet and rolled the rubber over my dick, Mandy moved to straddle me with her wet pussy on the underside of my resurgent cock. She put her hands on my shoulders and began rocking her hips to slide her slit up and down my newly sheathed rod. I reached up to fondle her tits and to pinch her nipples. I could feel her dripping onto my balls as she slid her gash up and down my dick. We were both moaning almost in unison when she paused to raise up on her knees. She reached between her legs to grasp my cock and position the head at her entrance.

“Oh GOD,” I groaned as she lowered herself slowly onto my prick.

It took her four or five strokes to completely embed my cock into her cunt. I couldn’t believe how tight she felt having never had sex with a virgin before. It seemed to me that she struggled a bit to get used to being stretched that much. She was gasping and moaning too as she set up a rhythm stroking up and down slowly. Once she had set the pace, I tried to thrust up in sync with her strokes. We both panted as we pursued the primeval dance of life. I could see the flush spreading over her torso as we moved closer to climax. Our hips were moving much faster when she collapsed onto me.

She flexed her hips and gasped, “Oh my god, … oh god, … oh god, … I’m almost there, … I’m cumming, … I’m cuummming!”

The rubber had deadened my sensitivity enough that I wasn’t yet close to cumming. I continued to pump into her bringing her back to another orgasm. Finally the sensation of her cunt muscles rippling over my dick a second time brought me to the edge and beyond. I pulled her tightly against me as I felt myself filling the condom. Afterwards I had no strength to do anything except lay there panting with Mandy on top of me, both of us gasping for breath. I did have the presence of mind to grasp the base of the condom and pull it out of her snatch before my deflating cock left it in her. She sort of slid to my side still half draped over me.

I turned my head to face her, kissed her again and asked, “Was it what you hoped it would be?”

“Oh god yes,” she gasped. “Thank you, … thank you, … thank you.”

“Thank you,” I responded as I hugged her tightly. “It was wonderful to share such a special moment with you.”

We lay there holding each other. After several minutes, she raised her head to look me in the eyes and asked, “Do we have time to do it again?”

We did. I rolled her onto her back and took her in the missionary position pausing long enough to put on another rubber. I brought her to another squealing orgasm before filling another condom. Afterwards we lay there together another half hour almost dozing and enjoying the afterglow of our lovemaking. Realizing that we were running out of time, I finally dragged her into the bathroom for a shower. We showered together. Even though she wanted to go another round, I somehow managed to resist the temptation so that I could get her back to the library before Monica arrived to pick her up. Later I spent a pleasant afternoon with Monica leaving me exhausted when she left at 5:00.

Chapter 5: Revelation and Reconciliation

The next two weeks were pretty much the same. I tutored Mandy on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. We spent Saturday mornings trying out acts and positions that she read about in The Joy of Sex. I then spent Saturday afternoons teaching Monica to release her inhibitions and open herself to sexual ecstasy. We might have gone on like that for several more weeks had Monica not put two and two together. The answer she got did not please her.

On the third Saturday, Monica strode through the door with an almost grim expression saying, “We need to talk.”

Though alarm bells were ringing in my head, I replied as calmly as I could, “Fine, will the living room be satisfactory?”

“In private,” she rejoined.

“There is no one else here,” I told her, “And I don’t expect anyone for at least a couple of hours.”

I walked into the living room and sat on the sofa. I expected Monica to join me, but she sat on one of the recliners instead.

“I will talk and you will listen,” she started.

I nodded indicating that she should proceed.

“Until recently,” she said, “My daughter, Amanda, has been an average student making mostly ‘B’s and ‘C’s. On her most recent report card she had earned all ‘A’s.”

“Perhaps she had been working below her potential,” I offered, “And has now decided to put more effort into her studies.”

“Clearly,” Monica responded with sarcasm in her voice. “The most remarkable effort was made on her social studies paper on the cold war. She asked me to proofread the final copy. I have never seen such a well-written paper, not in high school, not in college and not even in graduate school. At first I thought she had bought it. But when I questioned her, she demonstrated that she knew the material down to biographical information on the authors of her references. When it was returned by her teacher with an ‘A+’, I asked a friend to take a look at it. My friend is the Head of the History Department at the University. He told me that very few of his graduate students were capable of producing a paper that well written. Moreover, her principle reference, an obscure work by someone named Antony Sutton had to be ordered on inter-library loan. The University library doesn’t even have a copy. ‘Where, ‘ I asked myself, ‘could Amanda have found such a reference?'”

“She must be very resourceful,” I commented.

“Indeed,” Monica spat back at me. “I began to wonder who could have influenced Amanda to choose that topic. I recently learned that there is a graduate student at our university who was formerly a military intelligence officer in the Army. He was stationed in Germany, a country reputed to be the center of cold war activity in Europe. I began to wonder whether my 15-year-old daughter was seeing this older man. Well, Bill, do you think my daughter is fooling around with a man almost twice her age?”

“That sounds rather accusatory, Monica,” I retorted. “If you have something to say, why don’t you just say it in plain English?”

“Very well,” she said, “Are you having sex with Amanda; are you molesting my daughter?”

“I don’t think I am molesting her,” I replied, “But to answer your question, yes, we’ve been making love for about a month now.”

“You bastard!” she exclaimed as she stood up abruptly. “I’ll see you in hell for this.”

“Sit down!” I bellowed.

She sat and glared at me.

In a more reasonable voice, I continued, “Before you go off half-cocked to follow through on your threat, you might want to think about all the implications. For starters, what will be the consequences for Amanda’s reputation if you accuse me of molesting her? What if she refuses to testify against me? You might want to be sure of that before you go ahead since it also has implications for your relationship with your daughter. What about the consequences for your marriage? What would happen if your relationship with me became public knowledge as a result of a trial? Now are you ready to talk about this like adults without letting your anger override your common sense?”

“I don’t know,” she sniffled, “I can’t believe that you betrayed me like this. I told you when we first met to stay away from her.”

“Yes, you did tell me that,” I agreed. “But I did not make any promises to you. When Mandy approached me, I arranged to meet with her to answer her questions much as I did with you.”

“But you didn’t have to seduce her,” Monica retorted.

“I’m still not sure who seduced whom,” I said. “She had questions about sex that I answered as honestly as I could from my point of view. She should have felt comfortable enough to ask you those questions but we both know now that she came to me first. Only she can tell you why she made that choice. In any case, she wanted more than verbal answers and I had no reservations about teaching her what she wanted to learn.”

“Just for the record,” I continued, I have spent much more time tutoring her over the past five weeks than we have spent in sexual activity. She is a very bright young lady who has not been motivated by the mediocre education she is getting in our public schools. You should understand the problem as well as I do since you teach there too. And I do not blame all the teachers although there are many who have no business in a classroom. The whole educational system caters to the average with the principal lesson being obedience to authority. I want to emphasize that she is a young lady, a woman. She is no longer a child. I am trying to teach her to take control of and responsibility for her own sexuality so that it can’t be used against her. I will not apologize for that.”

“I, … I don’t know what to say,” Monica stammered.

“You don’t have to say anything to me,” I replied. “But I think you need to talk with Mandy although I am afraid that you won’t handle it well.”

“I, … I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

“You already accused me of betraying you,” I answered. “Are you jealous of my relationship with Mandy?”

“Of course not,” she exclaimed, “How could you suggest such a thing? I’m a happily married…”

She clasped her hands over her face and started sobbing uncontrollably. I got up, walked the few steps to her chair and pulled her to her feet into an embrace. I rubbed her back as she wept with her face buried into my shoulder.

I tried to console her, “It’s alright, Monica. Really, we can work through this.”

“I don’t see how,” she sobbed, “I’m cheating on my husband and I’m competing with my daughter for the attentions of the pervert who seduced us both. Oh God, we’re all going to hell.”

I tried to console her saying, “We’re not going to hell. If there is a hell, it is the one we make for ourselves here on earth trying to do the impossible and feeling guilty for failing to do it. You’ve accepted some false assumptions and tried to live your life by them. It hasn’t worked and it never will work. You need to let it go, Monica.”

“I, … I don’t understand what you mean,” she wept.

“For starters,” I replied, “You aren’t a bad person for wanting some pleasure in your life. You don’t owe your husband and daughter all your attention. You deserve some love and attention from them too. Secondly, you are not protecting your daughter by keeping her in ignorance of her sexuality. You are not protecting her by hiding your mistakes from her. She needs you to be there for her. You need to explain sexual attraction to her and to help her understand how to enjoy physical relationships without suffering the unpleasant consequences of bad choices. If you let her know that you have discovered what she has been doing with me, you have to be very careful not to condemn her actions nor mine. If you condemn our having sex, she will take it as a condemnation of her personally. You have to let her know that you love her no matter what she does. Sooner or later, we will stop seeing each other. She eventually has to develop relationships with young men closer to her own age. She is too young for me. Even so, I suspect she will feel some grief when we separate. For that matter, so will I.”

Still sniffling with my arms around her, she looked up and said, “I don’t understand myself. I came here very angry with you and now I don’t know what I feel or what I should feel. I’m going to be sad when we separate too. We are going to separate, aren’t we, Bill?”

“Yes, Monica,” I sighed, “Yes we will separate. Your future is with your husband and your daughter. And you have to be strong for yourself so you can be strong for them. You have to take your place in helping Mandy to grow into a strong, confident woman. I’ve planted the seeds, but you have to nurture them so that they will grow and mature.”

She still had her head on my shoulder as she whispered, “We don’t have to separate today, do we, Bill? I’m in no shape to go home like this. Can we rest in your bedroom for a while until I can get myself together?”

I led her to the bedroom where we undressed and crawled under the covers. We made love but we also spent a lot of time talking about Mandy and her husband. She was much more composed when it was time for her to leave. We had agreed that I would taper off my relationships with both her and Mandy. For her part, she would start spending more time with Mandy trying subtly to instigate discussions of love and sex.

That is just the way it played out. Monica got more involved with Mandy’s schoolwork and they developed a closer relationship. I tapered off my meetings at the library with Mandy pleading competing obligations for my own graduate studies. After another three weeks Mandy confessed to her mother that she was having a sexual relationship with an older man. Monica played her role perfectly showing concern for her daughter’s wellbeing without condemning her behavior. She arranged for Mandy to get a prescription for oral contraceptives on the condition that Mandy keep it confidential. Monica also made some progress with her husband although I believed that it would take much longer to break through his defenses and loosen him up as much as Monica needed.

Over the next year or so that I still worked for the University, I kept in touch with both Monica and Mandy. Following Mandy’s sixteenth birthday, Monica permitted her to start dating with some limits. Since I was still in touch with both of them, I knew that Mandy was not promiscuous. For one thing, her grades and academic standing had improved dramatically. As one of several consequences, she was much more careful about her reputation. I also like to think that I had helped her understand the potential consequences of her actions. There was no doubt that with her closer relationship with her mother, Mandy didn’t want to do anything that would seriously disappoint her. Nevertheless occasionally one of them would let me know that she wanted to get together with me, occasions that I enjoyed immensely. If anyone would have asked how I was able to fool around with a mother and her underage daughter, I would have answered, “The devil made me do it.”

THE END

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THE DEVIL MADE ME DO IT

The Devil Made Me Do It

Introduction

Chapter 1: The Devil Came Down to Campus

Chapter 2: Corrupting the Daughter

Chapter 3: Corrupting the Mother

Chapter 4: Mandy Gives it Up

Chapter 5: Revelation and Reconciliation

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Chapter 2: Corrupting the Daughter

Chapter 3: Corrupting the Mother

Chapter 4: Mandy Gives it Up

Chapter 5: Revelation and Reconciliation

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