Egg Rolls and Fortune Cookies

Although I'd been with prostitutes, none of them had ever let me touch her. They always placed me where they wanted me to be and got things over with in a few furious seconds of bouncing chaos. This was different. Kim was not only letting me touch her, but giving me a guided tour of her private places. I was astonished at the complexity of it. There seemed to be no end to the folds and flaps that made up her womanhood. Pressing deeper now, she placed my finger inside the steaming furnace of her sex.

"It's like a flower," I whispered in amazement.

"Would you like to smell the flower?" She tugged at my hand and brought it to my nose. The heady fragrance brought a fresh lump to my throat. I wanted to speak but could only groan softly. Then, pressing my still-wet finger to her mouth, she brushed her lips from side to side across my finger before taking it into her mouth and sucking on her own syrupy sweetness. As she guided my finger back down between her legs, she kissed me again, allowing me to savor the taste of her that still lingered powerfully on her own lips.

Now she settled my finger at a place above her entrance and pressed it there, moving it slowly back and forth.

"Can you feel that?"

"Yes," I moaned. It was a small protrusion, a fleshy but firm fingerling.

"That's where it feels best. I'll show you." She moved the tip of my finger up and down the short length of the thing, gradually shifting to a circular motion. I matched my movements to hers and soon she, too, was groaning softly. After a few strokes, her hand fell away and she began to breath more heavily. Somehow I knew to press just a little harder and to gradually move a little faster as Kim's breath came in short noisy gasps.

Suddenly her hips began to buck spasmodically and she cried out again and again with a high savage squeal. I knew she could stop me if she wanted, so I stayed with her, pressing harder and probing deeper as her every muscle contracted again and again. My hand was covered with her fluids and the dampness spread to the sheet beneath her.

Panting heavily now, she turned toward me and pushed my down on my back against the mattress. Quick as a deer she was straddling me, groping wildly for my erect penis and enveloping the surging shaft of it with her fiery sheath. With her hands on my chest she knelt astraddle my body, and bounced with long insistent strokes. I tuned to her frequency and thrust my own hips into her each time she descended on mine. On and on it went, the two of us locked together in pleasure. Somehow, having her on top delayed my own climax deliciously and we howled together like mating wolves as the ecstasy continued. Finally, Kim's hands on my chest found my nipples and she rubbed the newly discovered love buttons with a frenzied friction. I could feel the orgasm building inside me ready to explode when she grabbed both nipples and pinched them hard. Wave after wave of pleasure broke over my reclining body as the spewing geyser erupted into her. I could only stand it for a few seconds before it forced a scream from deep inside me and I collapsed limply against the soft mattress. Kim leaned forward and pressed her breasts into mine and laid her cheek against mine. We were both weeping.

You might have expected that Kim and I would become lovers after that. Well, we slept together a few more times as Kim completed my "course of instruction," but we actually became something more than lovers; despite our ages, we became good and close friends. Of course, I was hopelessly in love with her, and I think she loved me, too, but not in the same way. For almost a year I worked for her part time, cleaning and doing repair work at her salon. I do know she paid me a lot more than any of the work was worth. But to her, I always remained her student; a dear one, perhaps, but a student nonetheless.

What she got from our relationship was the satisfaction of seeing me mature into a man who not only could love a woman, but who could respect and empathize with her, as well. But I gave her something else, too. I don't think its bragging to say that I helped to steer her back toward the direction her life was always meant to take. Within a year, she'd sold out her business and moved back to California, but we've always stayed in touch with cards and occasional letters.

Me? I finished my degree at UNR, and then went to Texas on a graduate fellowship. I was hired by the University of New Mexico where I still work. I see Kim occasionally at conventions and, most recently at the Aspen Writers Conference this last summer. She doesn't do hair anymore; she's head of the department of modern languages at one of the UC campuses in central California. At fifty years old, she's still more beautiful than most women half her age.

Most of her colleagues in California are about her age, or even older, and, frankly, some of them are kind of stuffy. Even as an Associate Professor, I guess I still don't look or sound much like an English major, so I'm used to the occasional supercilious looks I get from some of her distinguished colleagues when I address Professor Champion simply as "Fortune Cookie."