Why, Of Course You Can!!

"You're a strange dude, Jeff," my brother said, and we all laughed.

*****

The day after Christmas, I helped my mother with some projects around the house. All my siblings came back over to my mother's in the early afternoon, and she made us all a late lunch -- sandwiches from the Christmas ham that we had the day before.

After lunch, I shook hands with my brother, kissed my sisters and mother goodbye, wished them all a Happy New Year, and got back on the highway headed west. I figured I would get to Fair Oaks about 7:00 p.m., and I would stop in to The Rafters, have some drinks or dinner, see if there was anyone there that I knew, and then make my decision about whether I would drive the rest of the way home that night or wait until morning.

The entire way back I was thinking oddly enough about time. It was one of the themes that I had emphasized the most in many of the books that I taught. I had often asked my classes to analyze that theme in particular in detail.

Ironically, that's what they had called me back at FOHS. It was such an odd nickname, and it was even stranger how they had arrived at it. "Time" -- wasn't it weird that I was called that name, but that I, more than anyone I knew, simply didn't have enough of it, and even when I did, how badly my timing always seemed to be?

Like, if I had waited until Sharon had arrived from Minnesota before deciding on a place to live in Fair Oaks, so that she could have helped me pick it out. Or if I had just not taken on all that extra work at school, maybe I would have had the time to keep her interested and happy in our relationship. If either one of those things had been different, maybe we'd still be together.

Or if had just lasted for a minute or two more before cumming that afternoon in South Carolina when I was making love to Hannah on the beach. We would have gotten caught, which, I realized almost immediately afterward, was exactly what Hannah wanted to happen. Maybe that's what our relationship needed to keep it fresh. She seemed to think so. Or if had decided to wait to start my Masters program, so I would have had more time to spend with her. Would we have had a better chance?

And then there was Sandi. I remembered her term paper in my Novels class - "The Element of Time in Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby." And how that afternoon when she had come to apologize to me she had said, "I know I'm way too young for you."

And of course, she was too young for me. I was 26 at the time, and she was just 16. Those 10 years represented an impossible chasm between us, one that had, not just practical, but moral and legal implications. But now I was 34, and she was 24, and those 10 years didn't seem to be such a big deal.

When I pulled into the parking lot at The Rafters, the place looked packed. It was a Friday evening, and the bar and restaurant had been closed for the last day and half, so a big crowd had apparently returned for some post-holiday revelry.

I thought that maybe Kohler, Piontek, or Bachman might be inside, but when I walked in the door, I didn't recognize anyone. At least not at first. It looked like I would be making it back to Chicago that night after all.

When I went to the bar to order a drink, there were so many people crowded around that I couldn't get near the bartender. So I pushed my way to the back of the bar, farther away from the door, to try to get the second bartender's attention. I was able to find not only a gap between customers, but an empty bar stool. I sat down.

"Mr. Miller!" I turned when I heard my name. Seated right next to me, and looking so incredibly hot that I think I started getting hard immediately, was Sandi! I guess I knew that there was a decent possibility I would see her there based on what the guys had said. Let's face it. That was the reason why I had told them that I would stop back in on my way back to Chicago. But it didn't diminish the suddenness and the immense pleasure in seeing her again.

"Sandi, oh my god! How are you?" Despite it being one of the last days of December, and 0° outside with eight inches of snow on the ground, Sandi was wearing a black, low-cut, silky, spaghetti strap blouse, revealing some frilly purple lace beneath it and cleavage that literally took my breath away.

I beamed a bright smile, and we both stood up. She was nearly a foot shorter than I was, so I had to bend over when I offered her a polite hug. When I did, she leaned her head back, so her massive bosom was rubbing against my chest. I could feel her hard nipples poking through her bra and slinky top.

Now that she was standing, I was able to fully appreciate the rest of her suggestive outfit. She wore a pair of unbelievably tight, black jeans -- bedazzled with a gaudy pattern of tiny, ornate rhinestones on the hips and back --the legs of which ended tightly around her ankles and featured on the outside of each leg, a six inch zipper that was the only thing that allowed their removal. In taking in her jeans, my gaze slid farther down her slender legs to a pair of silver, six-inch, stiletto heels that were augmented by a pattern of straps that rose to her ankles and the taut bottoms of those jeans. Under her heels, she wore patterned black, nylon stockings.

The bartender came over, and I ordered myself a Scotch and another vodka gimlet for Sandi. We sat back down. Before I could even say anything, the bartender returned with our drinks, and I paid him. We toasted to Fair Oaks High School.

It had been six years since I had seen her, and though I may have been prepared to see her again that night, I had no way of knowing what those years had wrought. That reality stunned me to my core. As she sat leaned back on her bar stool, a smile slowly washed across her face, and the diffidence of her earlier greeting -- "Mr. Miller" -- gave way to the uninhibited and licentious 16 year old Sandi, now physically transformed into a buxom, sensuous woman, who clearly had ill intent on her mind.

"I figured you would show up!" she said haughtily. "Kohler and Bachman told me they saw you the other day. They said you talked about me." I sensed that I was trapped.

"Yeah," I responded timidly, and with understandable evasiveness, "I asked them what you were up to. I understand you're working for the county. Right?"

Sandi tilted her head, as if she was measuring my rhetorical argument. "From what I was told, you talked about a lot more than where I work." This was an aggressive interrogation, for which I was ill prepared. I felt a little like I had just been called into the principal's office.

The only way to survive such a cross-examination with my dignity still intact would be to turn the tables -- to take the offensive. I fully realized that by doing so, I was, in all likelihood, catapulting myself full on into a potentially dangerous liaison with a sexual dynamo ten years younger than I.

"From what I've been told, you're the one that's been doing most of the talking... about me, not the other way around. I thought you said you were too young for me?"

"That was a long time ago, I was 16 years old, and you were my teacher." She said, moving her hand aggressively from my knee all the way up my leg until it rested on the very top of my thigh only inches from my thickening member.

"And, if I recall correctly, you said something to the effect that you couldn't be anything more than my teacher 'right now.'" As she said the last two words, she raised both hands, and bending two fingers on each hand twice, she flashed me a pair of air quotation marks that served to sting me with my own words. Then, she put one hand back on my thigh.

"If you were declaring yourself permanently off limits, why did you have to qualify it with 'right now'? Huh, smart guy? 'Right now' was eight years ago. I was jailbait at the time; now I'm 24. And how about you? You had a girlfriend then, right? I understand that's no longer the case. And finally, if you don't want me, what the hell are you doing here 'right now'!" She smiled at me with the self-satisfied knowledge that the debate student had just schooled her master.

She was a regular Clarence Darrow, and I was clearly no match for her rhetorically. "You know, Sandi, someone warned me about you once a long time ago. I should really have listened to him."

"You mean, Hackbarth?" She laughed. "I don't know what the hell he had to complain about. He seemed pretty satisfied." I nearly fell off the bar stool. Did she just say what I think she said? There really wasn't any other way that statement could have been interpreted, was there? Now, Jeff's repeated warnings about Sandi made a lot more sense, but I still couldn't believe that Jeff would have done such an immoral thing. And even if he was unfaithful, he wasn't stupid enough to put himself into that kind of legal jeopardy.

"You and Jeff Hackbarth? When?" I asked incredulously.

"The summer after I dropped out of Michigan," she said. "And if you must know, he called me, not the other way around. It was at the end of that summer, and it was just once."

I thought back to the problems that Jeff and Jacky had had that year -- their last in Fair Oaks. Now it all made sense -- Jacky's mother's illness; her leaving town; her anger with Jeff; their moving out of Fair Oaks that next year. I was still stunned by the news, but even if Jeff had done something that my conscience could not justify, at least it had been legal.

This was a lot to process, and my mind naturally drew comparisons between Jeff and myself. But Jeff and I were in two entirely different sets of circumstances. Jeff was married; I wasn't. And beyond his marital status, Jeff had a commitment to another human being, a commitment that I could only wish I would be lucky enough to have again. I finished my Scotch and looked into Sandi's eyes. I had to make a conscious decision. There was a 24 year old, voluptuous, sex siren with her hand on my leg, and one look from her made me forget entirely about Jeff Hackbarth. Still, we had a past.

"I know you had a crush on me, Sandi, but you know what they say, 'You can't repeat the past.'" I said it instinctively, as a cliché, almost without thinking of the literary significance of those famous words, and our own history with them. I didn't intend to sneak it by her, but if I had, I was a foolish man. Nothing got by Sandi Mortensen.

"Why, of course you can!" She smiled cunningly. I knew I deserved that, and Sandi was about to tell me so. "Christ, Time, did you really think you could divert my attention with some fucking Fitzgerald? You should have known better than that!" And as she said it, her hand found my cock, and she started stroking me through my jeans.

"Let's get the hell out of here," I said, just as the bartender spied my empty drink, and started coming our way. I didn't want anyone that I might have known to see what was about to happen.

Sandi threw back all of a fresh vodka gimlet, and I grabbed her coat from the back of her bar stool, threw it over her shoulders, and in an instant, we were walking out to my car in the parking lot.

It was really cold outside, but I hoped the interior of my car was a little warmer, since I had been driving for four hours with the heater blasting. I let Sandi in the front door, walked around to the driver's side, and got in. I was wrong; it was freezing inside the car.

But the weather didn't seem to deter Sandi. As soon as I was in my seat, she attacked me, kissing my face passionately, and rubbing my crotch until I was hard. "Jesus, Sandi, you are so fucking hot," I groaned, and now it was my turn to take the initiative. I kissed my way from her lips, to her ears, and down her neck, and I buried my face between the tops of her breasts. Despite the now sub-zero temperature, her skin was hot on my lips.

"You're not too bad yourself, Time! Now let me at that cock of yours!" Within seconds, she had my fully erect penis out of my pants, and was stroking it vigorously with both of her hands. It was so cold in the car that my moist dick and balls were literally steaming!

Though she seemed unconcerned with the temperature, I wanted to get someplace warm, where I could see her whole amazing body and ravish it. "So the guys told me you are living out by the lake, right by my old place, right? How do I get there?"

She looked up at me and made it clear that she had more important things to do than answer such uselessly practical questions. "I'm pretty sure you can find your way! Just get us close, and then I'll help. But right now, I'm a little preoccupied."

While she went back to her handiwork, I fishtailed out of the parking lot and onto Highway 12. I was surprised by the familiarity of the road. Everything came back to me.

When I turned on to Shore Drive, my car's heater was just starting to kick out some warmth, for which I was grateful. Otherwise, the pre-cum leaking down the head of my cock might well have been close to freezing.

When we approached the house which both Sharon and Hannah had shared with me, I let Sandi know. She stopped her stroking and looking up, told me where to turn. I entered a narrow drive, and pulled up to a small bungalow that looked remarkably similar to the house I had left five and half years ago. We were next door to John and Terri's huge house, on the opposite side of my old bungalow.

My cock was too stiff to be returned to my pants, so I just wrapped my thick, winter coat around it, and followed Sandi inside. Warm air bathed our shivering bodies as soon as we closed the door. We entered the back porch area, moved through the small kitchen, and soon I found myself in the living room. Once there, Sandi pulled off both her coat and mine, let them slip to the floor, and dropping to her knees on top of them, pulled my jeans and shorts to my ankles and took my still rigid dick into her mouth.

I was staring down at her impressive breasts and her purple, lace bra which pushed those milky, white tits together, producing the sexy cleavage that had taken my breath away for the first time less than an hour ago.

After only a minute in her hot, wet mouth, she moved to my balls, licking and then sucking first one and then the other into her mouth. The warmth in the house, along with her hot breath and saliva had my ball sack hanging loose, so she began using her finger to gently tap each of my gonads from the backside. Then, she slid her flat tongue all the way from the underside of my jewels up that crinkled sack, and holding my dick straight up, continued up my shaft and back to my mushroom head.

As she worked the head with her talent lips, her hands traveled back south again as she stroked, squeezed, and kneaded my nuts with both of her paws. Then, her right hand slid slowly behind my ball sack, where she used two fingers to massage the erogenous nether land between my scrotum and asshole. After she lightly caressed it for a minute or two, she began to apply intermittent pressure to it more aggressively, pushing into me and producing an incredible sensation that I had never before experienced.

Then, once she had generated enough saliva, she took me into her throat. As I looked down from above, I could see her lips slide half way up my shaft, as she buried my sensitive head into the soft recesses of her gullet. I could feel her undulating uvula caress the top of my engorged glans. She pulled me back out, but then drove it deeper into her, so that uvula was now tickling the ridge around my head.

She backed it out again, and this time, she went down on me fully, sliding her warm lips all the way to my pubic bone, enveloping the base of my shaft and my manicured bush. Then, she looked up at me with a few tears trickling from her beautiful hazel eyes and down her pink cheeks, while an excessive amount of spit was dribbling from the corners of her mouth, sliding down her chin and dripping into that sexy crack between her tits.

As my breathing began to quicken, and my balls started to tighten, her left hand replaced her right on my perineum, while she raised the right to the base of my shaft, gripping me as tightly as she could with her small hand. Then, after spitting copious amounts of saliva into that hand, she began to jack me ferociously. I was fast approaching a climactic explosion.

No, I thought to myself, not yet. I have to stop her. "Sandi, honey, I don't want to cum yet, please." She looked up at me, like she was a little hurt that she couldn't finish what she had started, as I gently pulled her head off my throbbing cock.

I was as hard as I have ever been in my life, and so close to the edge that I knew I had to hold myself back with a long Kegel to avoid blowing my load all over Sandi's gorgeous face. As I slowed my breathing and tried to hold on, Sandi instantly recognized my plight and deftly pressed hard on my perineum again, this time with both of her thumbs. Not only was disaster averted, but this edging left my balls primed to blow a huge load when I was ready.

"Can we go to your bedroom?" I asked.

It was a shy and submissive question, and it had the effect of unleashing a tiger. Sandi was in a zone now, and I soon realized that I was her plaything, fully under her control. "We can go anywhere you want, so long as you fuck me with that tool of yours," she said crudely. "Now, get your fucking pants off and follow me!" she commanded.

So I obediently stepped out of my jeans and shorts, and Sandi grabbed me by my erection and, pulling me by it, led me up the stairs to the master bedroom. The entire layout of the house was exactly the same as my old place, and for one strange moment as we climbed the steps, I thought both houses must have been designed and built by the same architect and builder.

When we reached the bedroom, she turned on the lights. It was bright, and even warmer in this room than it had been downstairs. "Lie down on the bed and get that shirt off," she ordered. I unbuttoned the shirt, and tossed it to the side of the bed. Then, I lay back with my head and back supported by an array of lush pillows and spread my legs, my stiff rod in one hand. "Start stroking yourself; I want that thing rock hard."

Now, Sandi began a slow striptease. First, she slid one of her spaghetti straps off her shoulder, letting it fall down her arm. Then, she turned, so her back was to me, and did the same with the other strap. Then, she shimmied, allowing it to slide down her torso and legs, until she was able to step out of it.

Now, she turned to me proudly, displaying a really sexy, purple lace, push-up bra that fully revealed that enticing cleavage. Her tits were much bigger than when she was in high school, and enhanced by the support of that bra, I couldn't believe how aroused I was by her tits alone. I continued rubbing my stiff erection.

Now, standing with her legs spread slightly and facing me, she unbuttoned her jeans and slowly slid the zipper downward, revealing the top of a purple, lace, garter belt. Once the zipper bottomed out, she began to slide her jeans slowly, tantalizingly slowly down her shapely hips and legs.

When she had them below her knees, she pulled one, then the other zipper up as far as it would go, and balancing herself with one hand against the footboard of the bed, she slide one, then the other leg of her jeans down and around her stiletto heels and off. While I stroked my hardness with one hand, I used my other hand to massage my loose ball sack.

Now, she stood again facing me in all her glory, legs even wider apart than before, displaying her incredible body and her sexy ensemble -- a matching purple, lace bra, thong, and a garter belt that was attached to her patterned black stockings which slid precipitously downward to her silver, stiletto heels.