Hero Worship

"We're not doing this, Rachel. I meant what I said." But, not before he got a full frontal view of her naked body. He was a war with himself. He wanted to be good with her; to be her rescuer, her protector, but he had not been with a woman as young as Rachel in a very long time. Her sweet young body tempted his libido. She pouted as she picked up the towel and headed to the bedroom to get dressed. She didn't bother covering herself as she walked away, her bare ass sashaying down the hall. Steve felt his lust rising. He shook his head in an attempt to vanquish those libidinous thoughts.

On the train ride into the city, Rachel leaned against him with her head on his shoulders. He felt the warmth of her body pressed against his. He smelled the sweet scent of her hair, and for a moment, he let himself imagine they were together as a couple. He questioned his recalcitrant position on the matter. Why was he so unbend-able with respect to sex with Rachel? She obviously wanted it. And, she seemed very mature for age. He being the elder person here he felt a responsibility to her he couldn't quite grasp, and he started to doubt his own authority on the matter. This made him take a mental inventory of where he was in his life. He took a trip down memory lane and in his mind he saw all his discarded ex-girlfriends looking disapprovingly at him. Where he'd once seen himself as a playboy, sampling women in a noncommittal lifestyle, now alone at thirty-six he started to get a sense of the loss he perpetrated on himself and others. He thought of the two ex-girlfriends he'd actually fallen in love with. One in particular that he'd often thought about, and he daydreamt of them married and with a child. For a moment he thought, if the child was a daughter, would she grow up to be like Rachel. She could do worse than to grow up as mature and level headed as Rachel he mused. But, this only endeared him more to Rachel. As the train rumbled toward the city, he thought briefly of a baby made between the two of them.

It started to rain while they were walking through SOHO, so they ducked into a bookstore to wait it out. The book store doubled as a coffee shop. They both ordered espresso drinks, him a cortado, her a latte, and then settled into perusing the book shelves. Steve loved bound books. He had an e-reader, but loved reading an actual bound book. "There's just something more I get from reading a real book, it's more tangible, I can feel the essence of the words on the page," he said to Rachel as he picked up a book and smelled the binding.

"Ah...I've been hearing good things about this author, and I'd like to read a few chapters to see if I like his style," Steve said as he motioned to an over stuffed chair were he wanted to park himself for a while. Rachel found something to read and parked herself in an adjacent overstuffed chair.

After two chapters, he decided this author was not his type of author. He looked up and saw Rachel reading in the chair next to him. He saw something of Rachel's mother in her face, especially her lips; those lips of her mother's that he had intimately become familiar with. Steve's mind drifted to Samantha's lips, and the day he met her...

~ The Thank-You-Fuck ~

It was mid August, a month after the police swat team and their crotch biting dogs apprehended John Dexter and freed Rachel. It was mid-afternoon, and Steve had just finished showering after a sweaty run. He heard a knock on the cottage door. He wasn't expecting anyone. Jane and Steve were in a fuck-buddy relationship, but Jane always texted before she came over. He wondered who it could be as he wrapped a towel around his waist and made his way to the front door.

"Hi. I hope I'm not disturbing you? My name is Samantha, Samantha Hunt. I'm Rachel's mom. Can I come in? I'd like to talk to you for a few moments."

Steve was taken aback. He wasn't prepared to address anyone in Rachel's family, let alone her mother. What if she was here to give him hell for not going to the police sooner than he had. He didn't really want to deal with that, but what could he have said to have gotten rid of her politely.

"I...ah...yeah...I guess...come in...yes...come on in," he stammered.

Samantha entered the cottage and then extended her hand to him; they shook hands and exchanged greetings. At the time, Rachel's mother was thirty seven years old, only four years older than Steve, but she dressed younger than her age. His first impression was that she was barely getting away with wearing those clothes. Her halter top was straining to contain what appeared to Steve to be naturally large breasts, and the short shorts she wore that day were too tight, and informed him that she was probably a sexually liberal woman. Overall, she looked to be in fairly good shape for her age, but motherhood had not left her unscarred. Her breasts looked like they might sag more than a fair bit if her halter top wasn't helping to support them. Her stretch-marked midriff sported a sexy small tummy bump, with some of it hanging over the waistband, and her thighs bulged a little out of the bottom of those hot pants.

"I've come to thank you for saving my daughter's life," Samantha said.

Steve felt the pangs of guilt he'd been carrying around for over a month in his gut. "I should have gone to police right away. I'm sorry..."

"But you did go to the police, and it saved my daughter's life. You are our hero," Samantha interrupted him, as she moved close to Steve and then knelt in front of him. Her movements shocked him for a moment. He thought she was bowing to him, as one would genuflect to worship a hero, after all she did use the 'hero' word. But, when she raised her right hand and started massaging his cock beneath the towel covering his crotch, he knew then exactly just what type of hero worship she had in mind.

"This is not necessary, Mrs Hunt," he said as he took his left hand and pushed her hand away from his crotch and held her hand off to his side. She simply replaced her right hand with her left and continued to massage his growing cock as she smiled up at him and said, "You're not going to deny me my chance to properly thank you, are you, Steve? What's the matter. Is your girlfriend here?"

"No. She's not here, but that's not the point... ," he started to say.

"I work in the District Atorney's office too, Steve. I'm a legal secretary there. I know you've been hooking-up with Jane," Samantha interrupted with a big grin. "And, I know she's in court today," she added, all the while massaging Steve's cock beneath his towel with her left hand.

He grabbed her left hand with his right hand and moved it out from under his towel and held it away from his crotch. His right hand had been holding the towel around his waist, so now the towel fell to the floor, and his cock sprang up to Samantha's face. Presented with the object she'd come to thank, she simply extended her head forward and sucked in his cock while he continued to hold her two hands out to the side.

Once he felt the warmth of her mouth, Steve lost all of his self control. "Well, I guess if you just have to thank me," he relented. He let go of her hands and placed his on the back of her head and caressed her blond hair as he gently guided her head in and out. She then reached for his balls with her right hand as she grabbed his ass with her left hand.

She sucked him like a human vacuum-cleaner. Apparently she didn't go for the licky-licky type of giving head, he thought, as she sucked him hard and fast. Steve wasn't use to this. Samantha was giving him the most aggressive blow-job he'd ever had.

"Oh...my God...you're sucking...sooo hard...oooooh...jeez...you're gonna make me cum," he uttered.

This only encouraged her and she sucked him faster and harder. "Sleeuuk..kuk...kuk...," drool, drool, "Sleeuuk...kuk...kuk...," drool, drool, the sounds of her messy blow-job filled the room as she swallowed him deeply.

She pulled her mouth off him to catch her breath, and as she did, she moved her left hand to his cock and jerked him off while she continued to massage his balls with her right hand. When she returned her mouth to his cock, she kept her hand on his shaft and stroked up and down his shaft, following her mouth as she sucked in and out his swollen mushroom head. She drooled all over his cock, and when her fingers around his shaft were sufficiently wet, she removed them and reached around to his ass and placed a wet finger on his anus.

"Ohh...Jesus...," he uttered and bucked as her wet finger probed at his butt-hole. Anal play was not something Steve had gotten into, yet, so this new-to-him stimulation was pushing him to his limits as the human vacuum-cleaner continued to suck his about-to-explode cock.

"I'm about to explode," he yelped.

She grabbed the head of his penis and squeezed it hard as she pulled on his balls. When his urge subsided, she replaced his cock in her mouth and her finger in his ass. She sucked him a little lighter and slower as she resumed, but soon her vacuum-cleaner ways kicked in and she was once again taking him to his limits.

She pulled off him. Panting, she said, "I can sense you're about to unleash a load in my mouth any moment. You know, Steve, I originally came here to give you a thank-you-blow-job. But, that cock of yours is so nice...so sweet...so big. I need that big beautiful thing inside me. What-cha say you fuck me?"

Rendered speechless, he simply nodded.

She tore her clothes off and then slouched on the couch with her butt near the edge of the cushion, her knees up and back, her feet near her butt, and her legs spread open. She fingered her clit while Steve got on his knees and shuffled between her legs. He moved his head between her open legs and went down on her. He wasn't there long. She used her fingers to pull his head up and away from her crotch. Steve looked at her puzzled, as if he wasn't doing a good job eating her. "Honey, normally I'd love to have you eat me. But, I need you inside me, now," she added, removing his doubt.

He moved up and aligned his pulsating cock with her waiting pussy. He planted his tip at her parted lips and then drove into her. He fucked her slowly at first in an attempt to stave off his orgasm, as her vacuum-cleaner blow-job had left him near the edge. Samantha's vagina was a little looser than all the other women he'd fucked, and this allowed him to regain some of his control. He enjoyed the feeling of her silky pussy and slipped into a smooth and easy rhythm.

"I want it fast and hard," she begged. He picked up the pace and started slamming into her pelvis. She grabbed his ass to assist his thrusts; he got the hint and pounded her even harder.

"Harder...," she begged, as he slammed his hilt to her clit.

She signaled her orgasm first. Her moans and short breath set Steve in motion to deliver his own climax into the mix. Soon they were screaming the orgasm song together--a duet of moaning, shuddering and panting as they climaxed together.

Exhausted, Steve pulled out of her and collapsed on the floor still panting. He couldn't understand why he felt so spent from just one fuck. Something was settling in on him, some force, a blanket of self-reproach.

Steve was now in a fuck-buddy relationship with Samantha as well as Jane; at least for the next week, since he'd be leaving the Adirondacks late August to return to campus for the fall semester. He saw her three more times that week. Steve had tried to enjoy fucking Samantha, but each time he felt his shame for not going to the police immediately creep into his session with her. Samantha's insistence that he was still their hero notwithstanding, the last fuck session they had, he couldn't cum--in fact, he lost his erection while inside her. His guilt had come home to roost.

That roosting guilt would dog Steve for the next few years. When he got back to campus that fall, he tried to resume his normal playboy life, but he was not the same. His dating suffered. Restless, his six month to a year and half relationship lifespan was cut to a month, at most. He hopped from relationship to relationship, but felt unfulfilled; the past always there--haunting him; interfering with his sex life; busting his ego. He chalked it up to getting old; he thought his sexual prowling days were behind him.

~ Sexual Healing; Sexual Closure ~

"I'm sorry...I"m sorry...I can't...," Steve muttered, asleep in the SOHO bookstore chair as he dreamt of his last time with Samantha, that failed attempt at intercourse.

"Steve...wake-up....Steve...," Rachel whispered as she shook him gently.

"What...ah...Oh...I guess I dozed off a bit," he said as he blinked his eyes and came to.

"I guess that book is a winner then," she remarked sarcastically. "You were talking in your sleep. What were you dreaming about?"

Not wanting to disclose that he had been dreaming of her mother, and the last time they made love, or at least the last attempt that ended limply, he muttered, "Oh, nothing much...just some political shit going on at the school; some administrative crap."

She didn't believe him, but left it at that. The rain stopped so they left the book store and resumed their day wandering the city. They hit a few art galleries, and some boutique clothing shops, where he bought her some new pants, a blouse, and a sexy little black dress, which she left on.

Dressed in her little black dress, they walked the streets of the city. They found a quiet little place to have dinner. It was a little early for dinner and the restaurant was almost empty. They were seated in a quiet corner.

"I need you to make love to me," Rachel suddenly blurted out after they placed their order.

She had a way of dropping those bombs right when he least expected it, when there was a quiet lull in the conversation, when his mind was hanging on another thought.

"Rachel, I've already told you, no." As soon as the 'no' word came out of his mouth he felt as if he was someone else, a father telling a kid he couldn't have a toy. Again he felt conflicted; he didn't want to be that guy.

"But you haven't really given me a good reason why not," she said.

He didn't say anything; he just looked at her pensively. His feelings were bouncing somewhere between irritated, and turned-on. He couldn't tell whether he was he irritated with her for continuing to bring it up, or if he irritated with himself for not giving in to her. He couldn't quite grasp why he held this abstinence position so tightly when it came to her. Paradoxically, her persistence weakened his resolve, and he felt his lust swell within him.

"I do not need to be saved, Steve. I don't have a reverse savior complex, and you don't seem like the type that has the savior complex," she said, between sips of water.

"How do you know that?" he challenged her.

"Because you would have already been in my life, trying to be my savior, a big brother, a father figure, or some shit. I wouldn't have had to come looking for you," she said. "My mother mentioned to me how she's tried to contact you several times. She said she surprised you the first time and you actually answered your phone. She told me that the two of you had a brief conversation, but that you didn't seem to want to be bothered. You wouldn't answer her other calls, or call her back. She feels you're still suffering with guilt."

"You say you need to have sex with me. Why?"

"Because I fantasize about you. Not you--you, until yesterday, I hadn't even met you. I didn't even know what you looked like, outside of my mother's description of you; but rather it's been the thought of you--I fantasize about the mystery man who saved my life making love to me. I want to stop fantasizing about it."

"So you figure if we do it, you'll stop fantasizing about it?"

"That's the way it usually works," she said with a knowing smirk.

"How do you know that I won't be so good in bed that you'll fantasize about me even more?" he added jokingly, but then he felt stupid for making a joke at that moment.

"Well then I'll have something real to fantasize about, not imagined.

"Look, Steve, I know I've said I'm well grounded and all healed and stuff...from what happened. And, I am, for the most part, but I still have a hole in my soul, and I need to heal...," she said, her voice trailed off and her eyes downcast.

She suddenly and for the first time looked wounded to him.

"A hole?"

"Yes...it's not easy for me to explain."

"Try me," he added.

"Well...as I've said earlier, I wasn't a virgin before the abduction. And...this may shock you a little...," she paused, looking at him for any sign of disapproval.

He gave her a look that said: 'Go on...I'm listening.'

"Well...I use to like it...sex that is. I always enjoyed sex, even as a young teenager. Before the abduction...before all that..." she said quietly and with a little blush. Her shoulders rolled in as she withdrew.

"Okay, that's nothing to be embarrassed about," he added.

"Well...I remember my struggles to keep that a secret. It's not easy for us girls to be ourselves in that matter, especially in high school. Boys want you to do things for them, but then they'll use it against you sometimes. It's pretty fucked up actually. It makes no sense. Other girls too, they're the worst. They'll brand you a slut and they don't give up...they're relentless," she added.

"Were you bullied in that way?" he asked.

"No. Not directly, but I had girlfriends that were. I was lucky enough to learn from them, and smart enough, I guess, to just skirt that line. Either that, or the boys I choose were nice...not assholes."

"May I ask how old you were when you lost your virginity?" he inquired uneasily. He wasn't sure if that was something he should be asking her at that moment, or if it was any of his business at all.

"Fourteen," she replied biting her lower lip and looking at him for any sign of disappointment.

"That may seem young by today's standards, but historically girls often married as young as fourteen or fifteen; the English nobility during the middle ages...," professor Steve started, then caught himself. He often slipped into teacher mode, even when it wasn't appropriate.

"Well...here's the thing...since the abduction I've had nothing but bad memories about it...you know...whenever someone...one of my boyfriends...makes love to me...I...I don't enjoy it now...because...just...bad memories...," her voice trailed off, as she shook her head slowly side to side and looked downcast at the table.

"That's understandable given what you went through. But, I still don't understand how I fit in?"

Rachel moved her gaze up from the table to Steve's eyes. She had a mildly painful, but exasperated look on her face, as if her thoughts were telegraphing to him, 'Just make love to me. Don't make me have to explain this any further.'

She took a deep breath, and relaxed her composure before she continued. "So...look, Steve...you're part of that whole experience for me, whether you want to be or not. You're the good part. You set the wheels in motion that saved me, but you are, or were, just a fantasy to me. Up until now, I had no reality to ground you in that event. That's why I had to meet you. And....this is hard to explain...but...I just feel...look, did you ever have anything go seriously wrong in your life, and then you've felt you needed to do something to offset that wrong? To take control and...just do something that you do have control over. I feel...I feel that I need you to make love to me to offset the bad memories from that...that awful time. When my mind drifts to that event, as it always will, I want to think of you, not him. I can't explain it...I just feel it in my gut...I just know it will help me close the wound."

Steve recalled his own tortured thoughts of his father, and how as a child he use to feel that if he could just meet him once, his father would see that he wasn't a burden, and everything would be fixed.