The Boy Next Door

He ejaculated into me. I felt his sperm pumping into me, and he was saying over and over again, "I love you Stella, I love you so much."

It may seem ridiculous to you, but I really felt as if I was in the garden of paradise. I had the most luscious orgasm I had ever experienced, causing me to scream and sob. His loving touch - his gentleness - made me feel almost like a tender mother towards him. I wanted to give and give again, to let him sate his hunger in me – to soothe him.

I longed to respond to his words of love, to say, "I love you my darling," but even in this moment of ecstasy I dared not. It seemed too absurd, he a boy of twenty-two and I a thirty-six year old divorcee.

He gave a gasping groan and he had finished. I waited for him to withdraw like Stan, my ex-husband, who would pull out and turn away as soon as he had shot into me.

Allen stayed in me. I had thought his loving words were like those of other men at the height of their passionate hunger, to be forgotten as soon as their appetite was appeased. It was not so with Allen. He continued to speak of his love for me, his desire and, as he saw it, my beauty (I make no claim to that for myself).

As his rod slackened within me I seemed to go into one of those post-coital dream-like states. I went back over the situation that had led up to Allen and I coming together in my bed. More than that, I recalled how I had first met him, and how the years had changed both of us.

He was eight-years old when I moved into the house next door to his parents as a twenty one-year-old bride. I felt myself to be very much in love with Stan, and longed for our first child. I never had that child. It seemed almost as soon as we were married that Stan began to change. It was as if, having, as it were, won the prize, he no longer valued it.

Before our marriage he had made love with me. After our marriage, this changed. I can only describe it as "being fucked by him." He didn't seem to care about my feelings and needs. He would simply off-load his sperm, and then turn away.

No child arrived because Stan always took extreme precautions to see that I did not get pregnant. He insisted that I took the contraceptive pill, and always used a condom himself. So even when I cheated and did not take the pill, I still did not become pregnant.

Allen was a lovely boy and he soon became a regular visitor to our house. His main concern in those days was to play with my two dogs and walk them. I supplied endless biscuits, cake and soft drinks in those years, and I suppose showered on him the affection I wanted to give to a child of my own.

As he entered his teenage years, I had expected him to cease his visits. Most young people, especially boys, want to reject the adult world and its "Thou shalt nots," at that age. Never the less, his visits did not cease.

I suspected I heard a lot more of his ventures, especially those with girls, than his mother or father did. Good and kind people though they were I don't think they would have welcomed confidences about sexual experimentation.

I was able to advise Allen about safety in sexual activity – whether the girl was using any sort of contraception, and the use of condoms, and the avoidance of establishing a long-term relationship too soon.

Stan left me for an eighteen year old girl from his office when I was thirty-four, and while the marital experience had been less than a happy one, I was distressed and confused at being left like that. "No more men in my life," I resolved. Just the sort of rash decision people make when at the height of emotional turmoil.

At that time Allen was undertaking a course in computer programming at the university. I had for some time been writing short stories that were taken up by some magazines. I wrote on an old typewriter, and it was Allen who pointed out the advantages of a computer.

With his advice I purchased a machine and immediately began to curse both it and Allen. I almost wept for my lost typewriter, but instructed by Allen I eventually became a reasonably competent computer operator, and discovered its advantages over the "old banger."

Allen had grown into a good-looking, very intelligent young man, the pride and joy of his parents. Finishing his university course he went on to work for a local high-tech company. With his knowledge of computers it must have taken considerable patience to come and sort out the tangles that "the silly woman next door got into" (my words not his).

It was one of those "tangles" that caused me to telephone him one hot night to ask if he could come and sort it out for me.

I suppose I was foolish, but I was wearing my bikini. I did not think for a moment that it would affect Allen. Over the years he had seen me in it many times. But then, I had not understood what was going on in his mind during those years.

Allen arrived and, as usual, with me seated in front of the computer and he standing behind me, he told me what to do.

When we had finished I was about to ask him if he would like a drink, when he said very quietly, "You know I love you, Stella?"

We were silent, I sitting rigid before the computer. I understood very well what he meant, but I tried to dodge the issue by taking up what he said in a way I knew well that he did not mean.

I said, "Of course, darling, we've been friends for years."

"Yes we have," he responded, "but you know I'm not talking about that. I love you, and I want you like a man want's a woman."

He had flushed me out of my hiding place, and I was out in open country, and like a hunted fox I tried to make a run for it.

"Don't be silly, Allen. You can't want me like that. I'm years older than you are, and we've been almost like mother and son, or at least, older sister and brother.

He placed his hands gently on my bare shoulders and said, "Stella, I haven't felt like a brother towards you since I entered puberty. I never said or did anything because you were married to Stan. When you and Stan divorced I still said nothing because I had nothing to offer you. I was still studying, and couldn't afford to keep a wife…

That shook me to the core. "A wife!" He had actually thought of marrying me. I decided to bring the conversation to a close, and started to say, "Now Allen…" but he cut in to finish what he was saying.

…"But now I have a profession and a good income, so…"

It was my turn to cut in. "Stop it, Allen…"

I couldn't go on. His hands had slowly moved down to my barely covered breasts and were lightly caressing them. "I love you, Stella. I want you so badly. I've wanted you for years."

I know I should have tried to physically stop him, but in truth, I did not want him to stop. I continued to make my verbal protests, "You mustn't, Allen. You can't want me. Think of your mother and father…"

He had removed my bikini top and his hands now held my full naked breasts. Stan had never been so gentle and loving. He had been rough with me, but Allen was squeezing my nipples to just below the point of pain – squeezing and letting go again. I felt my clitoris begin to throb and my vagina to lubricate.

Despite my protests, my body was making itself ready for penetration. It was as if my physical self knew what it hungered for, and was announcing that the long famine was over. Whatever my rational self might protest, my body was demanding satisfaction. It would no longer be denied the fare it craved.

Through a haze of emotional conflict I heard Allen speaking again.

"Stella, tell me you don't want my love, say I can't have your body, I'll go away and never bother you again. But only reject me if you truly want to reject me."

I tried to speak the lie – to tell him I didn't want him, but my voice failed me.

I was seated in an office chair and now Allen swung the seat round so I was facing him. He looked me straight in the eyes. "Tell me now to go, if you must."

I made a last desperate attempt to dismiss him, but all I got out was, "I…I…"

My emotions were in such turmoil I thought I might faint, but at that point, having failed to reject him, Allen kissed me. This focused me very suddenly.

His lips were soft on mine, his tongue exploring them until, unable to hold back, I opened them to let him enter my mouth. His kiss was long and searching, and when he broke away he removed my bikini bottoms. Putting his hands under my buttocks he raised my vagina and lowered his mouth to it.

"Oh God, his tongue is inside me, exploring, licking and thrusting. He's lifting the hood of my clitoris." I wanted to scream with joy at the sheer rapture that I was experiencing. " Allen, Allen, what are you doing to me? You'll drive me mad."

He stopped, but only to lift me in his arms. He carried me to the bedroom and lay me on the bed.

Any thoughts of protest or rejection were out of the question now. It was all too late. My body hungered for him. My whole being yearned for him. Yet, in the deep recesses of my mind there arose the fear, unspoken, but present. "Oh Allen, is this just satisfaction of your lust? Will you take me, then loathe me? I've been hurt before, please don't hurt me again. Don't speak to me of love, if it is only lust you feel. Don't ask for my love, only to throw it back at me."

I was ready for him – more ready than I had ever been with Stan, even at the time I loved him. My vagina was saturated and as Allen stripped I could see the precum glistening on the crown of his penis. I wanted to lick it off, but he was too urgent for me. He slid into me, and as I flexed my vaginal muscle round his shaft he gave a little cry and said, "Oh Stella, that's so wonderful."

So now I lay with him still inside me, but I was snapped out of my dream state, as I became aware that his penis was erect again and he was moving inside me once more.

The love thoughts I dared not utter went tumbling through my mind again. "Oh, my darling, my love. I want you so badly. Kill me with your love, but don't condemn me to the death of being without you."

My orgasm approached and I felt Allen moving faster in me until, placing his hands under my buttocks and with a loud outcry, he plunged deep into me. I responded by wrapping my legs round him, struggling to drag him even deeper into me.

It was the mighty instinct of procreation. The impetus to force his seed into my depths that I might be fertilised. Yes, if ever I had wanted to be made pregnant, it was in that moment with Allen. As he punched his semen into me I prayed it would impregnate me.

We began to climb down from our climax, Allen still holding me and murmuring his love and devotion, and while everything inside me screamed to respond with words of my love, I could not.

"Allen was now asking me, "Can I stay the night with you?"

"What about your parents?"

"They're away for the next two days."

"Then stay."

Allen stayed, but while he was ready to tell his parents of our new found relationship when they arrived home, I would not let him. I understood how it would distress them, their beloved son "having it off" with a thirty-six year old woman, and their neighbour to boot.

Overriding Allen's protests and his continuous suggestions that we get married, or failing that, he move in with me, it was finally agreed that he would continue to visit me much as he had in the past. The difference now being that we made love. It was quite clear that Allen's intention was to have a long term relationship with me.

Allen's avowals of love for me did not diminish, if anything they grew more ardent. I had still not declared myself in this respect. It may now seem foolish, but I feared being hurt once more, so I remained silent.

One thing was obvious. Neither of us could get as much of the other as we needed. Occasionally Allen was able to spend the night with me. To say we had sexual intercourse three or four times during that night would be to mislead. Allen would hardly withdraw from me. After ejaculating into me, he would lay inside me waiting for his penis to harden again so he could continue. It was a source of puzzlement to me how he managed to produce such large quantities of sperm, but in the end I thought, "lucky me to be the recipient of it."

If his penis was not inside my vagina, then it was most likely to be in my mouth or alternatively, his tongue in my vagina – or both simultaneously.

My breasts were a great favourite with him, and we would lie for ages kissing while his hands fondled them, fingers pressing my nipples. At times he would hold a breast and just look at it, murmuring, "It's so beautiful, so very beautiful." The he would take the nipple into his mouth and suckle me. It was almost like having a child at the breast, and I wished I had mother's milk to feed him with.

That I loved him was without question. When we were apart I craved for him – longed to feel our naked bodies pressed together in the act of love. I have said that the first time we coupled, I felt I was in paradise. It continued to be like that with every union, but more than that, it was if we were in the Garden of Eden, where all was new and innocent. Perhaps that is what sex joined with love is, an act of innocence.

The truth of love is not to be found until love is tested. Allen and I had united in the act of love many times, but it had not had a real test.

One night the test came. Allen had just ejaculated into me, and was, as usual, lying with his penis still inside me, reluctant to withdraw. I whispered into his ear, "Darling, we are going to have a baby."

He did not move, and said nothing for a long time. I thought, "Now I shall discover whether his talk of love is true. Will he want the fruit of our deeds, or will he, like so many men, flee?"

He was quiet for so long I moved to look at his face, and saw tears flowing down his cheeks.

I was at a loss for a moment, then asked, "Darling, what is it?"

"Its wonderful," he sobbed, "but will you be all right?"

"Darling," I replied, "No doubt it is wonderful in its way, but not surprising. Heaven knows how much sperm you've pumped into me, and since we did nothing to prevent it, and I'm still a fertile woman, it had to happen some time. What's more, I'm not such an old lady that I can't give birth safely. Lots of woman are having their first baby at my age."

"You'll have to marry me now, won't you," he said jauntily.

"No, I don't have to marry you, but I will if you ask nicely. And by the way, I've never told you this, but I love you passionately."

"Stella, I ask you nicely, will you marry me?"

"Yes."

"I suppose we won't be able to have sexual intercourse now until after you've had the baby?"

"What," I shrieked. "A lot you know about women and babies. You get that penis of yours into my vagina, and you keep doing that until the day I tell you to stop. And when we do have to stop for a while, I shall see to it you get some gratification."

As I suspected, Allen's parents raised hell when they heard he was going to marry me, and what's more, I was pregnant by him. What they would have said if they knew what our sex life had been like, I dread to think. As it was, they said some searing things about me.

I silently forgave them their awful remarks, and the whole picture changed once they saw their granddaughter. I think they were under the impression that I had produced the lovely little creature just for them, and I was forgiven my sins.

Allen and I discovered that we have a propensity for reproducing the species, and at present I am carrying the third member of the human race to be implanted within me. After this one, I think I shall make sure that Allen's spermatozoa are neutralised.

Just an after thought; I shall of course make sure that my beloved Allen does not give up trying to fertilise me.