Mona's Reading

"You don't understand -- I need to know what to do to get him back," she sobbed.

Mona was in a desperate state. On her mom's advice she'd come to me for a tarot reading. Poor thing, her first serious boyfriend had just broken up with her, and she wanted to know what to do. At eighteen, for some reason, she could not see the value in herself, and measured her merit by whether a nineteen-year-old navy recruit could wait for her. He couldn't (boys!) and dumped her. Her self-esteem was in the toilet.

Mona was a dance champion, an honors student in high school, fit and smart and so far above the fellow who let her down so badly. Her beauty and her wit were invisible to her. If some young buck rejected her as arm candy, then she was worth nothing, less than nothing, in her own mind. The reading was done. I told her, well the cards told her, not to tie her happiness to other people. The cards told her that emotions were a fact of nature, and could no more be controlled than could a hurricane. The cards told her that her self-esteem only seemed damaged, that she had not fallen in the eyes of others.

"What others?" Mona asked with red eyes and a runny nose. "Who values me?" "What good am I?"

"Crap," I thought, "these are the questions that go from tarot to counseling."

Yes, she knew her Mom valued her. Maybe her friends on the dance team did, she wasn't sure. If she wasn't good enough for her boy friend, how could she be good enough for these other teens.

"Dear lord, teens are cruel," I reminded myself. How do I comfort her without lying or doing harm?

"I really can't even see my body! When I look in the mirror I see a fat ugly pig!"

Mona's breath came faster, she was on the verge of hyperventilating. There are times when a little contact can help, and Mona's 18, so a little contact would not automatically get me in trouble.

"Would a hug help?" I asked.

Sometimes, being a greybeard is useful. She nodded, whimpering. I began to stand up when she leapt up, covered the distance between us, and sat in my lap. Sobs broke from her, heart-wrenching sobs. "Let it go, you can be safe with me. I won't tell," I said. I my left arm went across her back, around her shoulders, my right arm cradled her head. I stroked her hair, gently, saying nothing. She turned to face me, and I don't know why, I really don't, but I kissed a tear running down her cheek. A chaste peck, followed by a whisper "If I could drink your sorrow."

Where did that come from? It was not a conscious act, or utterance.

She kissed me then, fiercely. There was a mix of desperation and defiant determination in that kiss. Full young lips on mine, a tongue piercing my mouth. She pulled back, and before I could ask anything, pulled off her shirt, fastening her mouth to mine again.

A few thoughts passed through my mind. "I've not had an 18 year old in over 30 years, boy it's good not to be licensed, man she is stunning."

She had no bra, needed none. Her breasts were high, firm, with upward tipped dark nipples. Her muscles were sculpted in fine relief -- she'd been a competitive dancer for 12 years, and it showed.

Mona placed my hand on her breast. I found her nipple, and gently squeezed. She cried out a little, and pulled my head to her breasts.

"Please, please, please love me," she murmured into my ear. I'd like to say she ran her hand through my hair, but I lost it all well before she was born. I bit her, gently, and she shuddered. I licked, gently, and she giggled, just a little. Ah, she was feeling better. Suddenly, she pulled away from me.

"Right," I thought, "her we go -- she's going to freak now."

But no, she kicked off her boots and pulled down her pj pants, the ones teenage girls so often wear these days. I can't say for sure if she took her panties off with the same movement or if she wasn't wearing any. It was not important at the time.

She dropped down in front of me, with a perfect plié, her breasts bouncing a bit, and her labia parting slightly. She grabbed my belt, put a finger on my mouth and simply said "shhhh."

Belt undone, jeans unbuttoned, she yanked, nearly pulling me off the chair.

"Easy" I said, "you might break me if I fall!"

I am certain that, unlike me, she knows what underwear I had on, because she bit my cock through my briefs before she pulled them off. She stared at my cock a moment and asked

"What is that?"

"What?" I countered.

"This," she said, working my foreskin.

"I'm not circumcised," I replied.

"I've never seen that before," said Mona before touching her tongue to my uncut cock. I tried to watch as she took me into her mouth, but the intensity of her blow job was too great, and my eyes rolled back into my head.

She began to suck me with her hands on my thighs, but soon one hand was on her breast, and the other at her pussy. She pulled me out of her mouth and told me she had only fucked one guy, the idiot who dropped her. He used a condom.

"I am not on the pill, and I don't have any condoms. I don't want to get pregnant. What can we do?"

I smiled, and told Mona that I had a vasectomy 5 years earlier, so I had no sperm. Mone smiled back, wickedly, and simply said "Goody."

She stood up and straddled me on the chair at her mother's kitchen table. Lowering herself, she swiped my cockhead along her pussy lips several times, with a little more inward pressure on each rub. Soon, the very tip of my cock was in her. Mona looked at me, and I asked, "Are you sure? You don't need to prove anything here."

"I do," she said, "to me."

With that, she sank down on me. I had not been in anything that tight, hot and wet since Jimmy Carter was president.

"Oh fuck" she gasped.

"Alright" I answered.

We sat connected for what felt like an eternity, though maybe a minute or two passed. I held her hips and moved her, slightly up and down, slightly around. I felt her clit bump just above my cock, and heard her gasp each time.

I rocked her, alternately grasping her hips and her butt cheeks. Ah, butt cheeks, tight taut toned dancer's butt cheeks. I lifted her off, and as she protested I said "I want you from behind, I want to feel your ass."

Mona bit her lip and nodded. I bent her over the table. I wiped my cock up and down her dripping pussy. I positioned my self and drove home suddenly.

"Ungghh" she gasped, arching up from the table.

I grabbed her breasts as leverage and fucked her doggie style.

"Mona, do you want to try something else?" I asked.

"Mmmmm-hmmmm" she replied.

"Mona, is that a yes?"

"Mmmmmmm-hmmmmmm!"

"Mona, I have to be sure, so push back and grind your ass against me if you want to try something different."

Grinding, pushing, she looked back and almost snarled "Yesssssss!

The butter dish was on the table. I grabbed it, and smeared a bunch on my finger. I brought my finger to her ass, and with my cock in her pussy, pushed in. She froze, gasped, arched and clenched.

"Relax Mona, it'll be ok."

I pulled my cock and my finger out and with my other hand grabbed a bit more butter. Greasing my cock and her ass, I told her to rub her clit. I felt her body shift as she reached for her cunt. I lined up at her rosebud, and pushed. She tensed, held her breath.

"Breath Mona, breath. Push back. I am staying still."

Well, I did, kind of. I flexed my cock, but I did not push into her. Soon enough, I was buried in her virgin ass.

"Oh my ass, fuck my ass," Mona moaned.

I obliged. Deep long slow strokes that sped up. I felt tiny ripples in her ass, building to a crescendo, an orgasmic tsunami. I came in her ass, and she came too, so powerfully that her knees buckled. She slumped a bit, and I pulled oust, shooting the last of my cum on her back.

"Did you just fuck my ass?" Mona asked me.

"I most certainly did," I replied.

"Are all tarot readings like this?" Mona asked.

"Not until now, but times can call for change, can't they?" I said.

I reminded her that her cards had talked about change, about how to deal with this guy who dumped her from afar. She turned, kissed me, and smiled. "I don't care if he comes back," she purred, "because I know at least one guy who appreciates my body."

We tidied the table, and ourselves, and sat back down to put away the cards. Her mother came in then, and smiled to see Mona's eyes clear of despair.

"See, I TOLD you he was an amazing reader," Mom stated with a hint of triumph in her voice.

"Mom," said Mona, "he's helped me understand things about my self I never knew. How often can I have a reading?"

Mom looked at me, raising an eyebrow.

"I think weekly should do," I replied.

Then, smiling, Mona said "Tiffany is having boy problems too. Do you think he could read for her?"

Mom said it was all up to me, and my availability. I smiled as I pulled out my calendar.