| Teresa And Angela Based on the short stories:
PART ONE: AFTERNOON
Teresa was a sixth grader as well, though where Joann had a pair of precious little budding breasts the size of golf balls, Teresa was still flat as a board. She wore a brassiere more out of embarrassment than need. Of all their close friends, Teresa was the only one with neither budding breasts, nor sprouting pubic hair. It shamed her miserably. The bus stopped a block away from Joann's house at the corner of Livingston and Jordan. The girls got off, along with three other students, kids they knew but didn't like. They ambled down the block toward Joann's big house. "How's you little brother?" Teresa asked. Joann shrugged. "OK. He cries too much, but he's cute." "Does you mom let you play with him?" Teresa asked. Joann's mom, Angela, was a grown up version of little Joann. She had long blonde hair worn straight down to the middle of her back, huge breasts--made even bigger by the presence of breast milk--the longest legs Teresa had ever seen, and a face like a Scandinavian goddess. In fact, a grown up version of everything Teresa was not. "Once in a while," Joann said grumpily. "He's only eight weeks old, so she doesn't trust me to handle him very much." "Well, that's stupid," Teresa said indignantly for her friend. "What does she think we are? Fifth graders?" Mrs. Sanders met them at the front door. She graced Teresa with her dazzling, pearl white smile. Everything about Mrs. Sanders was dazzling. "Hi, girls," she said. "Hi, Mom," Joann muttered, trudging through the door without the slightest interest in her mother's appearance. She had zipped her coat up all the way to her chin, Teresa noticed. "Hi, Mrs. Sanders," Teresa responded timidly. As always, the sight of Mrs. Sanders took Teresa's breath away. Today she wore a sleek black dress that covered her breasts completely, while at the same time making them look frightfully exposed. She was still in high heels even though she'd been home for at least an hour. Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, Mrs. Sanders worked from 9:00 AM until noon, then came home to her baby. Tuesdays and Thursdays she took off and stayed home with Joshua all day long. How Mrs. Sanders could look like that in a tight clingy dress after only eight weeks boggled Teresa's mind. "How's your mom, Teresa?" Mrs. Sanders asked. "Oh, she's fine," Teresa answered uncomfortably. Teresa both adored and feared Mrs. Sanders. Adored her because she was so gorgeous and perfect, feared that she would instantly scope Teresa's hopeless infatuation with her, scope it as easily as an eagle scoped a field mouse. "Well, I hope you don't miss her too much while you're here. You and Joann always have so much fun. And it's always a pleasure having you stay over, Teresa. You should do it more often." Teresa was spending the next two nights with Joann and Mrs. Sanders. Her mom, also single, had been sent out of town by her boss--no, that wasn't right: she was accompanying her boss out of town on a business trip, a big difference--and with no older brothers or sisters to watch out for her, had been relegated to her best friend's mom. If Joann really was her best friend, which Teresa often wondered about. Joann leading the way upstairs, the two girls escaped Mrs. Sanders' overwhelming presence. Joann trudged up the steps just as she had trudged down the sidewalk, then did the same down to her bedroom door. From the room directly across, Teresa could here the sound of music. "Bitch," Joann muttered irritably. She threw an irritated look at her sister's closed door. Nancy was a senior in high school and six years older than the two girls. Joann hated or loved her sister depending upon the day of the week, the weather, her anger at her mother, what she had worn or not worn that day, any number of things absolutely a mystery to Teresa, an only child herself. Following Joann into her bedroom, she cast a wistful glance over her shoulder at the door, wishing for a big sister of her own to hate. "I'm changing. You changing?" Joann asked. She unzipped her coat and let it fall to the floor. "Of course," Teresa replied. She unshouldered her backpack and dropped it beside her on the bed. Removing her own coat, she watched with feigned indifference as Joann yanked the low-cut blouse over her head, tossed it on the floor and shook out her hair. "This is so weird," Joann said, fingering the waist of her jeans. "What is?" Teresa responded, unbuttoning her blouse. "You staying with me on a week night." She grinned, rather self-consciously, Teresa thought. Their friendship had always run hot or cold, and just lately it had been in the lukewarm stage heading back to warm again. When on the warm side, Teresa had the tiniest suspicion that Joann liked her as more than just a friend. This both pleased and frightened Teresa for obvious reasons. She herself was unnaturally attracted to Joann, and hid it behind a hull of iron plating two inches thick. The thought of a heated friendship with Joann frightened her silly. Joann unzipped her jeans and forced them down her legs. Teresa removed her blouse and carefully folded it and lay it on the bed next to her backpack. Both girls wore white brassieres, though Joann had something in her cups beside padding. The sight of Joann's blossoming breasts made Teresa's belly tighten and her heart flutter a bit. Her mouth went dry wondering if Joann would take off her brassiere. Teresa had no intention of taking off hers, not in front of her friend, not if she could help it. Joann's boobs might be golf ball-sized, but Teresa's were wishful thinking. To her relief, Joann went to her dresser and grabbed out a blue T-shirt and a pair of shorts and put them on. Teresa removed her pleated skirt, folded it neatly and then removed her own interim clothes from her backpack. "That's cute," Joann said, brushing out her hair. "Thanks," Teresa replied, feeling herself redden slightly. It had been the cotton top Joann complimented, but Joann's eyes had been staring at Teresa's pink and white panties while she had said it. (Joann's own panties, now hidden beneath her blue shorts, were a light green.) Teresa pulled the top over her head and smoothed it down. Then she shook out her own shorts and slipped them up her legs to her waist and zipped and buttoned them. She had nice legs, nice hips and a delicate waist, though she didn't know it yet. Once dressed, the two girls went downstairs to the basement to play on the Nintendo Wii. The game was nominally Joann's, but Mrs. Sanders insisted the player be used in the family room to keep Joann from monopolizing it for one, and from living in her bedroom for another. Mrs. Sanders was a firm believer that the bedroom was no place for young girls. "Super Mario?" Teresa suggested. "Eww, no. Yuck." "Sonic, maybe?" "Teresa! Come on!" "What then?" Teresa asked sulkily. Her best friend never hesitated to hurt her feelings. They spent the next two hours playing a game that Teresa fell in love with: Trauma Center: Second Opinion. She assumed the role of the patient in one game, the doctor in the next, a paramedic in the third. It became hilarious fun seeing who could butcher the other worse in the OR. Because she had practiced more, Joann usually performed the best slaughtering. At quarter to six, Mrs. Sanders called them up to dinner. Mrs. Sanders had changed, Teresa noticed right away. Instead of the fabulous black dress she now wore a sensible white button-down top and black slacks. Her hair was back in a pony tail and she padded around the dining room on bare feet. Teresa thought her feet were extraordinarily pretty. Ruby red polish decorated each toe nail. They were absolutely perfect, Teresa realized jealously. She wouldn't want Mrs. Sanders seeing her own ugly toe nails. "How does spinach salad and lasagna sound to you girls?" Mrs. Sanders asked. "Oh, yummy!" Teresa answered brightly while Joann only grunted. Teresa wondered what fight--or series of fights--had soured Joann's mood so completely today. As she walked around the long oval table to take her place, Mrs. Sanders redirected them both to the bathroom to wash their hands. Teresa remembered this was a strictly adhered to custom in the Sanders' household. She had to smile at the look of disdain on her best friend's face, and almost laughed when Joann rolled her eyes theatrically. Out of respectfulness for Mrs. Sanders, however, she kept her giggles to herself. "Your mom sure is beautiful," Teresa offered at the sink. Undoing her belt and lowering her shorts to her knees, Joann sat down on the toilet seat and began to urinate. Embarrassed, though she'd peed and been peed in front of countless times by Joann, Teresa edged her head around just enough to eye the space between Joann's legs. Like Teresa, Joann was still hairless down there. At least we have that in common, Teresa thought gratefully. She had not started her period and neither had Joann that she knew of, so they had that in common as well. "Does your mom nurse Josh?" she asked suddenly. Joann's raised eyebrows and wondering half-smile made Teresa blush deeply. "Why do you that want to know that?" "No reason," Teresa muttered, going back to her hands. Why the hell had she asked that? But then again, what was wrong with that? She was a girl, wasn't she, and would someday nurse her own babies. Anyway, girls were supposed to talk about stuff like this, so why was she embarrassed? You know why, her niggling conscious whispered back. Oh, shut up! Back at the dining room table, the girls sat opposite each other while Mrs. Sanders sat at the head of the table. It bothered Joann greatly, Teresa knew, that her mom had chosen to get pregnant with Josh via artificial insemination, rather than with her father. Whatever his faults, Joann still adored her dad (as Teresa adored hers), and had told Teresa numerous times that she wanted to run away and live with him in California. Teresa suspected that California had as much to do with her longing, as did her father. "So, what's on with you girl's tonight?" Mrs. Sanders asked. Joann shrugged, but Teresa said politely: "TV, I guess, or maybe some more Wii. I wish we had a Wii!" "I'm sure you will," Mrs. Sanders said, placing a forkful of salad in her mouth. Though spinach was not her favorite green, Teresa thought the salad absolutely delicious. Her mom bought salad sealed in plastic bags, with the dressing in a pouch inside the bag. Nothing like this delightful concoction. And the smell of lasagna had her mouth watering and her stomach crumping hungrily. But she was bothered by the off-handed nature of Mrs. Sanders' remark. Usually Mrs. Sanders was extremely polite and attentive to her; tonight she seemed rather distant. Sneaking a glance out the corner of her eye, Teresa saw that Mrs. Sanders eyes were staring off into the distance, a sure sign of distraction. Then she looked down and gasped. And then she choked and began to cough violently. Mrs. Sanders snapped back to the present. "Teresa? Are you all right?" She leaned forward with her left hand raised to whack Teresa on the back if necessary. "I'm . . . OK . . . really," Teresa got out between explosive coughs. At least she had caught the worst of it in her linen napkin. Joann, she noticed, sat across from her giggling madly. "Joann, your best friend's choking to death and you're laughing at her. A little concern, please!" Joann continued to laugh, which both embarrassed and angered Teresa. Teresa wouldn't laugh like that had the situation be reversed. She'd be right over there with a hand ready to smack her best friend's back, just as Mrs. Sanders' hand was raised to smack hers. Not that it would help, should she really be choking. "I'm OK," she said hoarsely, wiping her mouth. "Went down the wrong way. Sorry." "What?" Joann teased. "The horse you ate?" "Joann," her mother admonished. "Be nice." Joann continued to giggle merrily, though she did resume eating her salad. "You're sure you're all right?" Mrs. Sanders pressed. "I'm fine," Teresa lied. She was anything but fine. Totally, thoroughly humiliated, was what she was. She just prayed that she had gotten the napkin to her face before any boogers had shot out her nose. She surreptitiously searched her plate and the surrounding tablecloth for any sign of something gross. She looked at her hands and the front of her shirt. She dared not look in the napkin and kept it clutched tightly in her right hand. What had brought on this horrible business were the two, half dollar-sized wet spots on Mrs. Sanders' blouse. Centered over her nipples, they had grown a third in size since Teresa had first seen them. Mrs. Sanders seemed unaware of them. If Joann had noticed, she was keeping it to herself. Pointing embarrassedly with her right forefinger, Teresa said: "Um, Mrs. Sander. . . ?" Puzzled, Mrs. Sanders looked down at her chest. "Oh!" she yelped, grinning sheepishly. "That's embarrassing, isn't it?" Looking up, she said accusingly to her daughter: "You could have said something, Joann." Joann shrugged. "Excuse me," Mrs. Sanders said, sliding back her chair. "I'll go change." Wiping her mouth hastily, she rose and began to leave the room. Two steps from the table however, Josh suddenly broke into squalls upstairs. "Terrific," Mrs. Sanders said irritably. "Now he's hungry." Looking back at Joann, who ignored the crying and stared down at the table as she chewed her salad, Mrs. Sanders looked rather exasperated. Which was not odd, Teresa thought, considering her leaking breasts. Teresa guessed the pressure of too much milk would be rather uncomfortable. They certainly seemed full, the way they strained the front of her blouse. She guessed Mrs. Sanders' breasts had grown 50% bigger during her pregnancy and lactation. Pregnancy and breast feeding did that to you, she knew. But then Teresa realized the expression on Mrs. Sanders' face wasn't so much exasperation as injured feelings, which Teresa understood all too well. "I'll help!" she volunteered, raising her hand like a Girl Scout. The hurt expression on Mrs. Sanders' face turned to gentle bemusement. "That's so thoughtful of you, sweetie. Would you mind changing Josh's diaper while I change?" "Sure," Teresa answered uncertainly. A quick glance at Joann ascertained her friend's disapproval of this idea, but Teresa didn't know how to graciously back out of her offer. Rising awkwardly from the table--she was glad that Mrs. Sanders had remained to accompany her from the room (or more rightly, protect her from her friend's wrath)--Teresa followed Mrs. Sanders out of the dining room and to the stairs leading to the second floor. Teresa could not understand how a 38 year old, especially a 38 year old who'd just delivered a newborn two months ago, could look so good in a pair of black slacks. If there was an ounce of fat on Mrs. Sanders' body, it certainly wasn't on her rear end. It was better even, Teresa thought, than that of her 18 year old daughter's. And here Teresa was, staring at it in fascination. As though feeling the scrutiny, Mrs. Sanders looked back over her shoulder. "Thank you for pointing out my condition, Teresa." Teresa cast her eyes down to the risers as they climbed. "Sorry if I embarrassed you," she mumbled. Mrs. Sanders laughed delightedly. "I'm the one who embarrassed me," she pointed out. "I was in a hurry after showering and forgot to put in nursing pads. Which is pretty stupid, considering I always leak this close to feeding time." "Is it normal to leak?" Teresa asked timidly. Mrs. Sanders laughed again. "For me it is, yes. I've embarrassed myself before, believe me, and a lot worse than this." Reaching the nursery door, she laid her right hand lightly on Teresa's left shoulder, and then, gently and surprisingly, caressed the young girl's cheek. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you, and I thank you so much for offering to help me up here." She cast a glance down the hall toward the stairs. "Joann is being difficult for some reason the past few months and having help is rather refreshing." Teresa wanted to turn her face beneath Mrs. Sanders' hand and kiss the palm. She wanted to clasp her own hand over it and pinch them both against her shoulder. Mrs. Sanders' closeness and the scent of her perfume had Teresa feeling lightheaded and dizzy. There was no mistaking the crash of her small heart against her ribs. For one crazy instant she almost put her arms around the adult's waist and laid her head between her breasts. Teresa had loved Mrs. Sanders as long as she had known Joann. For the first time, she admitted that to herself. Releasing Teresa's cheek, Mrs. Sanders indicated the door and said, "Your charge awaits you. Diapers are on the right side of the changing table and so are the wipes and the baby powder. I'm sure he's pooped--he's always pooping, the little bugger. He's the poopingest one baby I've ever seen. So please make sure you clean him really good with the wipes and then sprinkle baby powder all over him. OK, sweetie?" Teresa was not OK. She was flummoxed. Being an only child, she'd had no practice in changing diapers. In fact, Joshua would be her first diaper change ever. She didn't even know whether she was supposed to change the baby in the crib or move him to the changing table. What if it didn't have sides? What if Josh rolled off and fell on the floor. What if he peed on her? Some friends of hers had been peed upon by their baby brothers. Yuck, she thought. Reading her indecision, Mrs. Sanders said: "You'll do just fine, dear. Put Joshua on the changing table. It has sides so he can't fall off. I keep a couple of hand towels on the side in case he pees. Cover him with one after you remove his diaper. The only time you need to worry about it is when you're not cleaning him. Usually, he's really good about not soaking you while your standing there." She grinned, which eased Teresa's embarrassment. "OK?" Mrs. Sanders inquired. "OK," Teresa agreed. She opened the door and went into Joshua's bedroom. Two walls of the room were painted baby blue and the other two were white. There was the crib of course, white and dainty and very expensive looking to Teresa's unpracticed eye, a hip-high changing table with shelves on the sides for baby supplies--the sides were raised, she noticed right away--a white dresser against one wall and a white rocking chair in the corner. Beside the chair was a white toy box with a padded vinyl top, acting as a second seat. Delicate chintz curtains covered the two adjacent windows, and the cream-colored carpet was obviously new. The room looked like something out of a showroom, Teresa thought. Or a fairy tale. All except Joshua, who lay howling on his back. Teresa hurried over to the crib. "What's the matter little man?" She inexpertly tried to pick him up, tried a second time with the squirming bundle of joy, and succeeded finally on her third try. "Support his head, Teresa," Mrs. Sanders called from the other bedroom. "I will," she called back. It was like holding a live explosive in your hands: a squirming, wailing live explosive in a diaper. Awkwardly, she walked Joshua over to the changing table and laid him down on his back. Instantly his screams intensified. "He always does that," Mrs. Sanders warned from across the hall. "Once he's picked up, he doesn't like being put back down. Just go ahead and change him, sweetie." "Wonderful," Teresa muttered. Josh was six shades into critical-condition red and worsening by the second. Tentatively, she sought out the snaps holding his pajama legs closed and yanked them apart, wrinkling her nose against the unwelcome stench of baby poo. God, she thought. It made her want to gag. "Remember to cover him up!" Mrs. Sanders reminded her. Looking around, Teresa found a three-stack of cloth diapers that she guessed were the hand towels Mrs. Sanders had spoken of, grabbed one off the top, and then didn't know what to do with it. Before she could attempt releasing the diaper's closure strips, Mrs. Sanders appeared at her side. "Like this," she said, grabbing the strips and peeling them back expertly. In less than twenty seconds she had the diaper off Josh, had him cleaned and neatly powdered, a new diaper on him and his leggings re-snapped. Then he was up and onto Mommy's shoulder where little Joshua continued to wail, though not quite so stridently. "Can you roll that up and throw it away?" Mrs. Sanders asked. For the first time, Teresa noticed a lidded white can sitting beside the changing table. There was a peddle on the front, and when stepped on, the lid opened obediently. Inside were two previously discarded diapers. "I don't dare put them in a trash can," Mrs. Sanders explained. "Not with my Joshua. It would chase you right out of the house, sweetie." Considering that Teresa could smell nothing but Joshua's present olfactory mess, she readily accepted Mrs. Sanders' explanation. "He stinks," she said apologetically. "He stinks," Mrs. Sanders agreed laughingly. The more she patted and rubbed Joshua's back, the more he calmed. Surprising Teresa, Mrs. Sanders asked: "Would you like to stay and watch?" "Watch?" Teresa immediately grew beet red. She looked pointedly at the open door and by way of the open door, Joann waiting for her downstairs. Mrs. Sanders continued rubbing Joshua's back. She had changed into a white terrycloth robe and was still barefoot. Something told Teresa there was nothing under the robe but maybe a pair of panties. She felt very uncomfortable about this. She remembered the feel of Mrs. Sanders' warm hand on her cheek and how she had wanted to kiss it. Her heart was thumping again and her underarms felt itchy. They always itched when she was nervous. "I'd love to have the company," Mrs. Sanders said, also glancing at the door. Without being told, or knowing why, Teresa crossed to the door and closed it softly. She winced at the loud snick of the engaging slide. She considered for a moment twisting the thumb lock to seal themselves in and Joann out, but then decided against it. Even Mrs. Sanders might balk at this. She turned around to watch Mrs. Sanders sit down in the rocking chair with Joshua still on her shoulder. She went over and sat down beside her on the padded chest. "Have you ever watched a breast feeding before?" Mrs. Sanders asked. Teresa shook her head. "Did your mom breast-feed you?" she asked. Blushing, Teresa said she didn't know. Mrs. Sanders nodded thoughtfully. "Breast feeding's the best thing you can do for your baby." She removed Joshua from her shoulder and held him before her face, burbling at him. "You like this so much," she said to him. "You just like this so much, don't you, little man?" Teresa giggled as Mrs. Sanders put Joshua's belly against her mouth and blew rude raspberries against him. Joshua giggled madly as well, or what passed for a giggle in an eight week old. "You pass on all the antibodies you have," Mrs. Sanders advised, "to help protect him and make him stronger." She spoke in a teacher's voice, as though Teresa were her student, and this, her class. "That's why doctors and pediatricians all recommend breast-feeding babies nowadays," she said. "Yes, ma'am," Teresa agreed complaisantly. Mrs. Sanders made a face. "Please don't call me ma'am, Teresa. My name is Angela. I'd like it if you called me that." Teresa blushed at the inappropriate suggestion. "I wouldn't feel right, calling you by your first name," she said uncomfortably. "Why not? I call you by your first name, don't I?" "That's different," Teresa mumbled. "It's only different if you want it to be," Mrs. Sanders admonished. "But for the sake of form, you can call me ma'am if you want to." "Thank you," Teresa mumbled again, gratefully. In embarrassed fascination, Teresa watched Mrs. Sanders pull back the left side of her robe, baring her breast. Teresa was shocked at the deep purple color and swollenness of Mrs. Sanders' nipple and the surrounding aureole. The nipple itself was huge, the size of Teresa's thumb halfway to her first knuckle. The oval shaped aureole was at least two inches across, maybe three in the north-south direction. Seeing the change wrought by pregnancy made her shudder every so slightly, making her own tiny nipples harden. She knew just how big a change there was because Mrs. Sanders had once changed tops in front of her and Joann while wearing a shear white bra. The change was both amazing--and a little frightening. Would they ever go back to normal, she wondered. At the sight of his mother's bare breast, Joshua began to squall again. Cradling him in her arms, Mrs. Sanders guided his tiny mouth (not much bigger around than the nipple it was sucking on, Teresa estimated) to his food supply and he began sucking hungrily. Deep in her belly, Teresa experienced a strange and embarrassing desire to be the one attached to that swollen nipple. That desire must have shown in her expression, because when she looked up suddenly, Mrs. Sanders had a ghost of a smile on her lips--and a tender look in her eyes. "You envy him, don't you?" she said softly. Teresa felt half her blood supply rush to her face. "No, ma'am," she lied, shaking her head uselessly. If her clothes were chocolate, they would have melted right off. "Don't be embarrassed by it," Mrs. Sanders said gently. She moved Joshua away from her left breast and bared the other, leaving herself completely exposed for Teresa's gaze. Gently she attached Joshua to her right nipple. "He's not done with that breast yet," Mrs. Sanders explained. "But you want to keep the feeding balanced. Otherwise, if he quit now--" She burbled at him and made cooing noises, tickling his exposed right cheek. "--he'd leave me half full and half empty, if you know what I mean." Her smile was made to elicit a smile from Teresa and it did. "Would that be bad?" Teresa asked, glad of the change of subject. Had her desire been that plainly readable? And why was she so desirous of suckling a breast? Even considering that was a humiliation. "Well, I'd have to empty myself out using a breast pump--" She tickled Joshua again, who seemed to be falling asleep. "--because you don't want one breast full and the other one empty. It's uncomfortable, and it plays hell with milk production." She tickled Joshua's cheek again, and moved him around in an ultimately futile effort to keep him awake. "Dammit!. I just jinxed myself, didn't I?" She put the infant to her left shoulder and tried to burp him. Teresa's eyes kept circling from Joshua's rubbed back, to Mrs. Sanders' slightly leaking bare right breast, and back again. Her left breast was bare as well, but currently obstructed by the baby. Joshua burped quietly, then again with more force. "That's right, little man," Mrs. Sanders cooed at him. "That's what I want to hear. No colicky baby for you, no way, right?" She smiled again at Teresa, who felt warm as hot chocolate, throughout her entire body. While continuing to rub Joshua's back, Mrs. Sanders said: "Could you get me the breast pump out of the dresser, Teresa? It's in the middle drawer. Obediently, excitedly, and quite embarrassed, Teresa jumped up and darted over to the white dresser and opened the middle drawer, the deepest of the five, and obviously used as reserve storage. In the left front corner was an open cardboard box containing a clear plastic breast pump labeled in blue lettering: Dr. Brown's Natural-Flow Electric Breast Pump. Teresa had never seen one up close before and was both enthralled, and mystified by the design. "Bring me two empty bottles as well, would you dear?" Mrs. Sanders asked. "Yes, ma'am," Teresa replied eagerly. Together with the breast pump--surprisingly heavy when she picked it up out of the box--she carried the two empty plastic bottles over to the toy box and sat down. "Put them down on the edge there," Mrs. Sanders instructed. "Oh, yeah, sure," Teresa said, quickly obeying. Leaning forward, Mrs. Sanders handed her Joshua. Mystified but pleased, Teresa cuddled the eight-week-old in her arms, holding him to her chest. The hot-chocolatey warmth spread throughout her again. Someday, she thought longingly, this baby will be my own. It brought tears to her eyes. "You can hold him if you'd like while I do this," Mrs. Sanders said. "Or would you like to help me pump?" Teresa looked up to find Mrs. Sanders looking at her expectantly. "What?" she said dumbly. Smiling, Mrs. Sanders repeated her offer. Flustered, confused and supremely embarrassed (melting her clothes again), Teresa could only blink for a few moments while she processed the correct answer. "I'd like to help," she said finally, though reluctantly. Helping Mrs. Sanders, great privilege though it was, meant sacrificing her short time with Joshua. Sadly, she stood up and returned the sleeping infant to his crib. "Lay him on his stomach, dear," Mrs. Sanders instructed. "Yes, ma'am," Teresa answered, laying Joshua gently onto his stomach. "Tuck his blanket around him, too," Mrs. Sanders further instructed. "Yes, ma'am." When she was finished, Teresa patted the baby gently on the back, rubbed his hair lightly and smiled a hot chocolaty smile. God, did she feel good inside. If this was what she could expect from motherhood, the wait would be unbearable. Reluctantly, she turned to face Mrs. Sanders again. What she discovered when she turned, made her bite her lower lip in uncertainty. In Mrs. Sanders' outstretched right hand was the breast pump. "I didn't know--" she stammered, blushing madly. Her face couldn't take much more of this darned roasting. Blinking, her mouth open, she pointed to her own chest. "You want me to . . .?" "If you'd like," Mrs. Sanders said agreeably. Teresa stared at Mrs. Sanders' bare breasts. Pregnancy and lactation had made them ponderously distended and heavy with milk. Each movement made them sway back and forth unnaturally, yet seductively, in a way that made Teresa's head feel swimmy. Her mouth was suddenly bone dry and the tongue she used to wet her lips scratched like sandpaper. Her heartbeat was slow and hard; somehow more scary than when it raced wildly. She gulped---a loud, raspy noise, and nodded. Crossing to the rocker, she took the breast pump with a trembling right hand and waited for instruction on its use. "It's simple, Teresa," Mrs. Sanders said. "See that blue thumb switch right there?" With her forefinger she tapped a blue sliding switch built into the curved handle. "After you position it over my nipple--" She demonstrated on her right, un-drained breast. "--you simply slide this up to the first position and--" Nothing happened when she thumbed the switch. "Oh," she said, looking down at the electric cord, running to the outlet beside the rocker. It appeared to be plugged in correctly. "The light's on," she murmured, indicating a small blue circle built into the switch. Experimentally, she slid the switch back to the Off position, then upward through the three powered positions. "Oh, my," she said in exasperation. Looking down at the outlet again, then back at the defective switch, she momentarily seemed at a loss for words. "Well, isn't that a damned bitch," she finally said, making Teresa giggle. She laughed herself, sighed, unplugged and set the breast pump down on the floor beside the rocker and put her hands resolutely on her thighs. "Guess we'll just have to do it the old fashioned way," she said, looking at the closet door. Teresa, misunderstanding her words, and not understanding the look at the closet door, almost blurted out, "But I--" before understanding. Then she blushed so hard it made her want to hide her face. Mrs. Sanders, of course, noticed instantly. "What's the matter, Teresa?" "Nothing!" Teresa blurted out. "I just thought--no, I meant--" She shut up before she got herself into more trouble. Mrs. Sanders cocked her head, a grin curling her lips. "You didn't think I meant . . .?" "Oh, no!" Teresa assured her, with no let-up in the intensity of her blush. "I simply meant, we'd use the old breast pump I have in the closet. It's left over from when I breast-fed Joann, if you can believe that." Her smile was reminiscent. "It's hand operated but it still works. At least I think it still works." Teresa thought Mrs. Sanders was enjoying her embarrassment way too much. She wondered if they were on the same wavelength, even. Teresa, for just a moment, had wanted so badly to do what she had thought Mrs. Sanders was suggesting, but surely she couldn't have been suggesting that. It was the old breast pump she'd been referring to, just as she'd said. The disappointment, however, was about to kill her. Smiling at Teresa, almost sadly, Mrs. Sanders said: "If I ask you an honest question, Teresa, will you answer it honestly?" Fidgeting with her fingernails, fidgeting from foot to foot like a six-year-old needing the bathroom, Teresa mumbled: "I guess so." Very softly, Mrs. Sanders asked: "Would you like to help me even out my breasts a different way?" Teresa just stood there. She no longer fidgeted. In fact, she no longer breathed. Staring at a three inch square of carpeting at the tip of her right foot, she said: "I don't know what you mean, Mrs. Sanders." "Sure you do," Mrs. Sanders replied. "I know you want to, Teresa. I've known ever since you walked in the front door this afternoon." Teresa's mind blanked. She could not think, much less process an answer to this. They absolutely, positively had to be talking about two different things. No way would her best friend's mother be offering what Teresa's jumbled mind thought she was offering. It had to be something else. It just had to be. Please! she thought wildly. Don't let her think I've been thinking that! Please don't let her think I've been thinking that! That would be sooooo humiliating! Nearing tears, ready to bolt from the room, Teresa flinched when Mrs. Sanders rose from the rocking chair and approached her. Silently, taking her by the hand, Mrs. Sanders backed again to the rocking chair and sat down. The gentle pressure of her hand on Teresa's guided the twelve-year-old down onto her lap, where she was gently turned sideways so that her legs overhung the left arm of the chair and her head fell into the crook of Mrs. Sanders' waiting right arm. Denying the reality of the situation until the moment Mrs. Sanders guided her trembling lips to the waiting nipple of her swollen right breast, Teresa closed her eyes and closed her lips around the nipple and began to suck. Like a child, she tucked her arms against her chest and let Mrs. Sanders support her completely, which, if the murmured encouragements and the hand softly stroking Teresa's long black hair were any indication, Mrs. Sanders genuinely seemed to enjoy. "Is it good, sweetie?" Mrs. Sanders asked in a whisper. Teresa nodded. The warm and surprisingly sweet milk flowed through her mouth, down her throat and into her stomach with barely no effort. It was not hard as she had expected, nursing like this, but then her mouth was quite a bit bigger than that of an infant's, her suction much stronger. She wondered distractedly how long she could remain at this breast before sucking it dry. Not very long, she imagined. She also felt indescribably guilty for taking Joshua's nourishment. "Wait!" she gasped, separating herself from the huge nipple. "Won't Joshua--?" "Joshua has plenty of mother's milk in the refrigerator," Mrs. Sanders interrupted her. "He won't suffer, believe me." Teresa continue to object until Mrs. Sanders returned her mouth to the leaking nipple. "You're doing us both a favor," Mrs. Sanders told her softly. "I hate breast pumping and Josh is none to crazy about milk in a bottle. He likes it right from the nipple, just like you. By evening me out, you help insure I won't have any complications tonight. Besides," she said lovingly, stroking the side of Teresa's face with the back of her fingers. "I've wanted you at my breast for months now." "You have?" Teresa asked, panting a little. Nursing wasn't hard, but it did throw off your breathing. She looked up at Mrs. Sanders' face, blinking in confusion. "You think I haven't noticed the way you look at me, Teresa?" Mrs. Sanders laughed. "You make it so obvious." Teresa's blush returned full force. She started to object but Mrs. Sanders returned her mouth to the nipple. "I am very flattered by your attention, sweetie," she said. "But you're the age of my daughter and I can't very well acknowledge it, much less do anything about it. Even this is insanely dangerous. I need you to promise me one hundred percent that you'll never breathe a word of this to anyone. Not even to Joann. Especially not to Joann," she added forcefully. Teresa wanted to point out that Joann was just downstairs, certainly finished with her portion of dinner, and bound to barge in on them any instant now. But the pressure of Mrs. Sanders' hand on the back of her head kept her from voicing this opinion. "I asked Joann not to bother us until eight o'clock." She looked at her wristwatch. "That's twenty minutes from now, which means you have exactly fifteen minutes to indulge yourself, sweetie. Make good use of your time." It baffled Teresa how Mrs. Sanders could make an arrangement not to be disturbed by her own daughter, much less plan an event such as this without knowledge of success, but she obviously had. Though still troubled, Teresa suddenly grew a complete confidence that anything Mrs. Sanders said about events this evening, would come about exactly as described. For the next fifteen minutes, then, she would satisfy them both, unquestioningly. Less than a minute later, Mrs. Sanders bade her sit up. "Am I too heavy? she asked, guiltily. Mrs. Sanders laughed. "You must weigh all of eighty-five pounds, young lady. No, I just want you to switch to the other breast, that's all." "Really?" Teresa asked, tucking loose hair behind her right ear. "I thought you wanted me to balance you out." "That was the plan," Mrs. Sanders said, gently stroking the side of Teresa's face. "But plans change. I'm enjoying this too much and so are you." Without another word, she lay Teresa down into the crook of her left arm, and gave up her swollen left nipple for Teresa to suckle. She again stroked Teresa's cheek. "If you weren't so old," she teased, "I'd change your diaper when you were done here." Teresa blushed her reddest yet and couldn't help but giggle furiously at the suggestion. But she also warmed all the way to her core with hot-chocolaty goodness, the hot-chocolatyness intensifying at the thought of her bare privates being gently wiped and carefully powdered by a loving hand. God, what was that feeling between her legs? She was allowed an uninterrupted five minutes at Mrs. Sanders' left breast, then switched back to the right again for another five, at which time Mrs. Sanders probed her breasts gently in examination of fullness. "Can you actually tell anything like that?" Teresa asked curiously. Mrs. Sanders shrugged, her breasts shrugging with her. "Sometimes yes, sometimes not," she said, thoughtfully. "I seem to be just a little heavier on the left side than I am on the right." Teresa was returned to her left nipple for another two minutes of pleasure, and then Mrs. Sanders sat her up in her lap. "I'm afraid that's it," she said, looking at her watch. Looking down, Teresa saw that it was five minutes after eight. "Thank you," she said, almost reverentially. Slowly, haltingly, afraid to be rebuffed at any moment, she placed her right hand over the swell of Mrs. Sanders' left breast. Mrs. Sanders smiled and placed her hand over Teresa's smaller one, then squeezed herself with both. Seeking out Teresa's left hand, she placed it over the swell of her right breast, as well. "You are such a sweet young thing," Mrs. Sanders whispered. And, with an unexpectedness that robbed Teresa of breath, she leaned forward and sought out the youngster's mouth for a kiss. Though not long, the kiss was enough to set Teresa's heart to pounding madly and her body to trembling like a leaf. A moment later, Mrs. Sanders said: "You better go downstairs now, sweetie. OK?" Numbly, Teresa twisted out of Mrs. Sanders lap and sat up. She watched breathlessly as Mrs. Sanders closed her robe over her beautiful breasts and retied the belt. When she stood up, Teresa backed away a step, then suddenly fled the room as though her clothes were on fire, startling both herself and Mrs. Sanders, who laughed at her sudden departure. Her last fleeting glimpse before she closed the door was of Mrs. Sanders standing before the rocking chair, staring after her bemusedly.
PART TWO: EVENING
For Teresa, the rest of the evening was torture. Leaving Mrs. Sanders, she went downstairs to find Joann had cleared away the dishes and put the lasagna and salad away in the refrigerator. She found Joann downstairs in the family room, sulkily playing the Nintendo. "Finished?" Joann asked in a bitter tone. Teresa's face broiled again. "Sorry. I didn't know I'd be gone so long." She wondered again how Mrs. Sanders could guarantee their privacy until eight o'clock--or even know ahead of time that it would be needed. So much of this didn't make sense. "Your dinner's in the fridge," Joann said shortly. Then, as though realizing just how upset and out of sorts her friend was, she lay down the Wii controller, smiled, and took Teresa by the arm and led her back upstairs to the kitchen. There, together, they dug a healthy portion of lasagna out of a plastic bowl, plopped it down on a paper plate, poured Teresa a tall glass of milk, grabbed eating utensils, and then ran back downstairs giggling. With her best friend back in a good mood again, Teresa could at least enjoy the rest of the evening. She certainly could not forget the incredible hour in Joshua's nursery with Joann's mother, but she refused to let it completely monopolize her mind. To her surprise, Mrs. Sanders receded far enough into the background to let her enjoy the game of Super Mario they played, and then the recorded episodes of House, M.D. (Teresa's favorite show), and one of Grey's Anatomy (Joann's favorite, but a close second for Teresa). When Mrs. Sanders called down the stairs at eleven o'clock, it caught both girls by surprise. "But Mom!" Joann protested whinily. "No arguments, girls. This is a school night. Bedtime's eleven." "But it's too early," Joann continued to protest, but resignedly now. Teresa had no set bedtime, but it was unusual to find her up after eleven on a school night anyway. "Turn off the TV, girls," Mrs. Sanders ordered. "Yes, Mom." Upstairs, both girls grabbed a Diet Coke from the refrigerator and a Vanilla Milkshake Pop Tart from the cabinet as a before-bed snack. Mrs. Sanders, still in her white terry clothe robe, appeared to shepherd them upstairs. "It's not fair," Joann grumbled. "I'm twelve years old. I shouldn't have a bedtime." On their way out of the kitchen, they encountered Nancy, still in her cheerleader's costume and glowing prettily. The name of her school was emblazoned across her chest in gold script; the letters S and H decorated each of her big breasts. Teresa guessed that, just by looking at her, she was bigger even than her mother was now. "Did I hear somebody's off to bed?" she said cheerily. "Oh, shut up!" Joann growled. "I don't need your--" "That's enough," Mrs. Sanders admonished. "From both you girls." With her right hand and a stern look, she shooed Nancy away. Giggling, the 18 year old bounced into the kitchen, where she began to recite an energetic, though un-rhythmic chant. "S...L...E...E...P!!! What do babies have to do? SLEEP! Sleep all night! YEAH!" Looking back over her shoulder, Teresa saw the older girl jump in the air in a perfectly executed leap, crying "Yeah, sleep!" again, before she opened the refrigerator door and looked inside. Just as suddenly as she had decided to torture the two girls, she had completely lost interest in them. Joann was fuming mad and muttering under her breath as they followed Mrs. Sanders up the stairs. Teresa's concentration was torn between her friend's ranting, the sight of Mrs. Sanders rear end moving beneath her terrycloth robe, and the memory of Nancy's incredibly pretty legs, tiny waist and incredibly big breasts. Nancy was so much prettier than either Joann or Teresa; it made Teresa feel almost toad like. Glumly, she wondered if she'd ever be pretty. At Joann's bedroom door, Mrs. Sanders bid them good night, then went in to check on Joshua. More than anything, Teresa wanted to follow her through that door, lock it behind her, and beg and promise anything necessary to reclaim her place in Mrs. Sanders' lap. It seemed insanely impossible that she'd been feeding at Mrs. Sanders' breasts in the first place. Totally insane. And totally insane that she shouldn't feel guilty about it. But where guilt should have ran rampant, she experienced only an aching desire. Shaking her head, she followed Joann inside the room. "I hate that fucking byotch!" Joann muttered hotly. Teresa giggled, then put her hand over her mouth apologetically at the look she received from Joann. Being an only child, Teresa had no reference points to consult about an older, prettier sister. "Sorry," she muttered. "It's OK," Joann grumbled. "I didn't mean to get mad at you. I just hate the bitch, that's all." "I can see that," Teresa said, hoping to mellow her out. Visibly attempting to shake off her bad mood, Joann turned on the TV, thumbing the volume down to nonexistent. She fiddled with the controls and a moment later had closed captions up on the screen. While she did this, she fiddled idly with the string at the top of her shorts. Teresa watched from the corner of her eye, again plagued by dread at having to remove her brassiere in front of her friend. It just isn't fair, she thought. Why can't I have boobs too? I suppose I could go into the bathroom to do it, she thought further, but that would be just as embarrassing as taking off her bra here. Adding to her consternation, Joann showed no signs of trepidation whatsoever. Teresa felt a mild form of panic settling in and wished she were home, safe in bed. She almost choked, however, when Joann asked casually: "What did you bring to wear, anyway?" She had forgotten to pack pajamas or a nightshirt! OMG! she thought wildly, the teeth of panic firmly latching onto her. It was like having a Pit Bull tear into her belly. Then she wondered, What did it matter? I'll just wear my T-shirt to bed, and immediately calmed down again. In fact, this could work to her advantage. Staying in her T-shirt meant not having to take off her bra. And then immediately botched it by saying: "Uh, I don't have anything to wear." Joann laughed. "You are such a goober. I swear you are." Looking at her dresser, her brow furrowed in thought, Joann grabbed the secretly fuming Teresa by the elbow and walked her across the room. "Just the thing for you," she said. Opening the second drawer down, she grabbed out a pink nightshirt. She shook it out, displaying the unmistakable likeness of Hanna Montana. "Eww," Teresa said immediately. Then she darted a look to if she'd just insulted her friend, or had pleased her. As typical 'tweens, they were supposed to either love Hanna Montana, or hold her in scorn. Teresa was never sure which. She thought Hannah Montana the show was pretty lame, but Miley Cyrus herself was just the absolute rockinest. Instead of looking insulted, however, Joann had a big grin on her face. "What?" Teresa said uncertainly. To her surprise, Joann reached in the drawer and pulled out an identical nightshirt for herself, holding it up before her in a big-grinned pose. "You're kidding!" Teresa said, breaking into giggles. They both fought to shut up, both of them staring at the bedroom door with identical alarmed expressions on their faces. "Do you think she heard?" Teresa whispered. "Doesn't matter," Joann said dismissively. "We're getting ready for bed. We can be noisy." In counter-point to this, Mrs. Sanders tapped on the bedroom door. "I expect you girls in bed within the next ten minutes." "Yes, Mom," Joann said, sticking out her tongue. "And no television, either. Even with the volume down, Joann." "Shit!" Joann muttered under her breath, then: "OK, Mom. Whatever you say." "And don't forget to brush your teeth before you go to bed, both of you. Teresa? Did you remember to bring a toothbrush?" That she had remembered. "Then I'll see you girls in the morning. Joann? Set your alarm clock." "Yes, Mother," Joann said in growing exasperation. She flipped her mother the bird, which made Teresa slap her hand over mouth and have to turn away to control her giggles. She thought she detected the pad of bare feet heading down the hallway, and then the soft snick of Mrs. Sanders' bedroom door being closed. "Mother-fucker," Joann said disgustedly. "She treats me like a fucking ten year old. Someday, I'm gonna--" She threw another middle finger in her mother's bedroom's direction. Though she agreed with Joann's feeling on the subject, Teresa didn't point out how close to ten year olds' they really were. Dragging her T-shirt over her head, Joann threw it on the floor, and then kicked out of her gym shorts. To Teresa's immense relief, she dragged the Hannah Montana nightshirt over her head and smoothed it down over her front. Then, in practiced fashion, she unsnapped her bra from inside the nightshirt, worked her arms out of the armholes to free the shoulder straps, and let the removed bra drop from her fingertips onto the floor. She either didn't realize that she'd just hidden herself from Teresa's gaze, or she didn't care. Feigning indifference, Teresa removed her own T-shirt and let it drop to the floor also. She worked her shorts down her slender thighs and stepped out of them when they hit the floor. Picking up the second Hanna Montana nightshirt, she listened to Joann's explanation for the two. "My mom and my Aunt Debbie both gave them to me for Christmas," she said scornfully. "Great communication, huh?" "Too bad it wasn't a pair of iPods," Teresa quipped. "That would have been awesome." "Yeah," Joann said divisively. To Teresa's consternation, Joann was staring directly at her brassiere. Fighting with everything she had to keep from hunching her shoulders, she asked self-consciously: "What?" "Nothing," Joann said, shaking her head. "It's just that . . ." She let the words trail away. Teresa wondered how she could stay so self-composed, even when staring at another girl's chest. (She didn't think the word breasts, because she had none.) "Just what?" she asked hesitantly. She had both arms in the nightshirt, ready to slide it down over her head. In this pose, it only emphasized her slim, brassiere-clad chest. "Oh, nothing," Joann said dismissively. "I don't even remember what I meant to say." With seeming indifference, she turned away and picked up the remote control and turned off the TV. While Joann turned back the bed, Teresa took the opportunity to remove her bra in a similar fashion, then went to her backpack in search of her toothbrush. Five minutes later, the girls were ready. "Left, or right?" Joann asked, indicating the waiting bed. Teresa normally slept on her left side, at the extreme left-hand edge of the mattress. She pointed to the left side, though she had an idea that was also Joann's side of the bed. As the gracious host, Joann let her have it anyway. "After you, Mademoiselle," she said chattily. Giggling, Teresa slid her legs beneath the covers and crossed to her side of the bed, patting the opposite side invitingly. "I don't do girls," Joann warned her, starting Teresa off on a fresh bout of giggles. Suddenly remembering the crack Joann had made at dinner, Teresa responded: "How about horses? Do you do them?" Joann once again lofted the middle finger of her right hand. "Do this, bitch!" Giggling together madly for the next five minutes, poking and jabbing and crying out shrilly at a particularly well placed jab, they played--until Mrs. Sanders once again came tapping on the door. "Twelve years old," she announced stonily, "is not too old to be taken over my knee and paddled on your bare behinds. Any questions Joann and Teresa?" Teresa and Joann looked at each other across the bed with big round eyes. The look in Joann's eyes told Teresa the threat wasn't necessarily an idle one. Reacting quickly, she chirped out: "OK, Mrs. Sanders! I'm going to sleep now!" followed by Joann's promise to do the same. Mrs. Sanders was quiet a moment, then said softly through the door. "That's a very wise decision, girls. Good night." "Good night," the girls answered together. Teresa wondered how Mrs. Sanders' bare hand would feel on her bare bottom. Giggling quietly, the girls returned to their prodding and tickling, until, during a temporary respite, Teresa allowed Joann to turn out the light. Her heart pounded, and she was filled with chocolaty-warmth by the knowledge that not once, but twice, she had poked her best friend in the chest and sank her fingertip into the soft flesh of her diminutive booby. And Joann hadn't seem to mind at all that Teresa had nothing in return to offer but hard-walled flesh. Once, Joann had even placed her hand over the spot where Teresa's left breast would someday be . . . and had left it there for a good ten seconds while they grappled. And for just a moment, as the two girls clutched each other tightly in order to keep the other from getting in the next good poke, a situation arose where in the darkness they had been looking into each other's eyes, panting into one another's faces, on the verge of . . . But the moment passed and became two moments and then three, and then suddenly they released each other's arms and moved away from themselves. "Good night," Joann breathed harshly, uncertainly. All you have to do is lean across and kiss her, Teresa thought wildly. She's waiting for you to kiss right now! She wants you to do it, Teresa! Do it! But like all one-sided conversations, this one ended in silence.
* * *
It was after one o'clock. Teresa could not sleep. Joann was sound asleep, on her back, snoring lightly. It didn't upset Teresa that her friend snored. It wasn't snoring keeping her awake. It was Mrs. Sanders down the end of the hall. For the hundredth time, Teresa shifted her position, this time turning onto her left side. At home, in her own bed, with no thought of Mrs. Sanders and her wonderful, milk-filled breasts, Teresa would have been out like a light. But no position gave her comfort tonight, and no amount of mind-blanking would expunge the memory of where she'd placed her mouth earlier that night. "God," she groaned miserably. She had to get to sleep. Had to, if for no other reason than to stop thinking about Mrs. Sanders. Because, like it or not (and she didn't dislike the thought, oh my goodness, no she didn't), it wasn't just Mrs. Sanders bare breasts that she wanted. It was all of Mrs. Sanders that she wanted. "Please let me sleep," she begged. As though aware of her friend's agony, Joann rolled over in her sleep and wrapped Teresa with her right leg and right arm, snuggling up so that her chest pushed against Teresa's back. This left Teresa rather shocked-feeling, especially when Joann relaxed again slightly, and the only thing left contacting Teresa's back were two small round points. It caused her to shudder, which in turn caused Joann to shudder and moan in her sleep. "Not now," she muttered. "Not now what?" Teresa asked in response, not yet aware that her friend was sleep-talking. "Mmmmm," Joann answered. Waiting a moment, Teresa asked quietly, "Are you awake, Joann?" "Yummy, yummy," he friend replied back thickly. Yummy, yummy? She startled as Joann's right hand slid between her crossed arms gripped her where her left breast should be. The next thing Teresa knew, Joann was nuzzling her neck. "Joann?" A bit of panic in her voice. Joann moaned, and wrapped Teresa tighter with her arm and leg. Her chin buried itself in the hollow between Teresa's jaw and shoulder. For a moment, Teresa tried to pinch her friend out before realizing what a nice feeling it was. In fact, everything about being held like this was nice. Clutching Joann's arm tightly across her chest, Teresa inched her rear end back until it came into contact with her friend's groin. Laying there, she smile contentedly as Joann's deep breathing slowly pushed her budding breasts against Teresa's back, and let them recede again. Chocolaty warmth, which she was beginning to identify with the Sanders household, spread through her again. With her eyes closed and her breath stealing in and out between parted lips, Teresa freed her right hand and sent it snaking down the curve of her right buttock, palm out, in search of her friend's private treasure. Teresa knew, or at least suspected, that having her leg up and over Teresa's hip had made Joann's nightshirt ride up, possibly as high as her waist. This meant that nothing stood between Teresa's probing fingers but a thin layer of green panty. And Teresa's own fear, of course. Could she touch her friend there? Did she dare? Her wide awake hand on her friend's sleeping privates? The answer was yes, she could. With infinite care, she let her middle finger contact the front of Joann's underwear, just below the waist band; Joann moaned. With her heart beating like a kettle drum, Teresa directed that fingertip down the front of her friend's panties until she felt the unmistakable outline of puffy lips, and though she did not yet know the name, the semi-circular hood protecting her friend's oh-so-important clitoris. Teresa shuddered, and Joann shuddered along with her. You shouldn't be doing this, her mind ranted at her frantically. Ignoring the words, she let her finger trace between Joann's delicately spread lips--her friend's panties were damp, she realized, almost wet, and not from pee-pee, she told herself--until reaching a void beneath the material that she knew must be the mouth of Joann's vagina. She shuddered again, a stronger and more deeply seated shudder than before, and then paused while Joann moaned in protest. Teresa held her breath. "It's not about the book," Joann moaned in her sleep. Teresa repeated, "The book?" "Mom says you have the prettiest eyes. And the sweetest lips. She wants to make love to you, you know. She told me so." "Told you so when?" Teresa whispered, exasperated. "Who are you talking about, Joann?" Joann moaned deeply and snuggled closer to Teresa's back, wrapping her tighter with her leg and arm. Teresa thought she'd just die from the torment of all this false touching. She hadn't realized she'd moved her finger away from her friend's panties. She placed it on them again, this time pushing into the depression. Sensing the pressure, Joann tightened her hips and flexed forward against the invading digit. "I like your eyes too. They're so blue," she murmured. Teresa's eyes were very blue. "And your rear end is just so cute," she said, giggling in Teresa's ear. Teresa thought she'd go mad with exasperation. "I wish I had your eyes and your rear end," Joann continued. "Especially your rear end. Right here in my hands." In her sleep, she squeezed the left side of Teresa's chest with her right hand, and Teresa's left buttock with the other. The surprise fondling--she hadn't even been aware of Joann's left hand near her backside--caused Teresa to jerk spasmodically, which in turn caused Joann to moan irritably and roll over onto her back. "No!" Teresa wanted to scream. "Don't leave!" She half-rolled over herself, ready to break out in tears, to discover her friend in the process of rolling over onto her right side. "No! No! No!" she hissed miserably. "This isn't fair!" She might have broken out in a sob if not at the very moment, a soft line of blue light appeared between the bedroom door and its jamb. Watching with bated breath, Teresa saw the door open far enough for someone to slip trough, and a shadow that could only be Mrs. Sanders stole over to the bed. Great! Teresa thought, miserably. She heard me in here tossing and turning and it kept her awake. What will she do? Snatch me out of bed and blister my bare behind? As frustrated as she was, this idea didn't bother her much. At least she'd be out of this bed, and away from her torture. She froze at Mrs. Sanders' question. "Teresa? Are you awake?" Instinctively, Teresa kept her mouth shut and her body still. Mrs. Sanders leaned closer still until Teresa could smell the scent of her perfume, also tell that the front of her robe was hanging open. In the dim light, she could just make out the outline of Mrs. Sanders' lovely right breast. Please, she thought pitiably. Don't torture me like this. Haven't the last two hours been torture enough? She sensed, rather than saw the hand approaching her face. She grimaced, then instantly made her muscles relax. The soft, warm palm of Mrs. Sanders' hand contacted her cheek. "Teresa, Sweetie, I know you're awake. Answer me, please." "Yes?" Teresa said, trembling slightly. "I've been listening to you toss and turn for the last two hours. You don't seem to be able to sleep. Would it help if you came in and slept with me?" Teresa's stunned mind refused to work. Had she just heard right? Had Mrs. Sanders just invited her to share her bed? Was the moon made from Swiss cheese? "I'm sorry," she said in a whisper. "But I didn't hear what you just said." Mrs. Sanders repeated her offer. "Really?" Teresa asked, feeling somewhere out around the orbit of Pluto. "I think it would be a good idea, if either of us want to sleep," Mrs. Sanders said sensibly. Using Mrs. Sanders' extended hand to help her sit up, Teresa scooted around and dropped her feet to the floor and stood. Waiting momentarily to assure her balance, she moved through the darkness around the foot of the bed, feeling her way along the edge of the mattress with her hands, joining Mrs. Sanders where she stood beside the sleeping Joann. "At least one of us is sleeping well," Mrs. Sanders said, pulling up the covers and tucking them beneath her daughter's chin. "The sleep of the innocent, I guess." Bending down, she planted a soft kiss on the sleeping girl's temple, took Teresa by the hand and led her out of the bedroom.
PART THREE: NIGHT
On the way down the hall, they made a detour into Joshua's room. Their way illuminated by a nightlight, Teresa followed Mrs. Sanders over to the crib. Joshua lay sleeping on his stomach in the same position Teresa had left him five or more hours ago. Looking at the nursery wall clock--a smiling red apple with huge eyes and a bulbous nose around which the second, minute and hour hands revolved--Teresa saw that it was almost two o'clock. She had to get up in four hours, she realized, with a grimace. "He's so precious when he sleeps, isn't he?" Mrs. Sanders whispered proudly. "Yes, ma'am," Teresa agreed. Mrs. Sanders laughed softly, making Teresa cant her head to look over. "Nothing," Mrs. Sanders said. "Let's go to bed." Again led by the hand, Teresa was walked out of the nursery and down the hall to Mrs. Sanders' bedroom. With each step she took, her heartbeat increased ten beats a minute, and with every step she took, she fought to bring it under control. Girl, she told herself sadly, you are one deluded sixth-grader. The only thing that's gonna happen in Mrs. Sanders' bedroom tonight is sleep. Stop imagining anything else, you moron! But she couldn't stop imagining, no more than she could not know how disappointed she'd be--crushed, really--when Mrs. Sanders tucked her in, and then turned over and went to sleep herself. You thought you had trouble sleeping before? Psahhhh! You just wait, kiddo! In the bedroom, Mrs. Sanders softly closed the door and locked it. Wordlessly, she unbelted her terry clothe robe and let it slide off her shoulders and onto the floor. She was completely naked now. Between her legs, where hair certainly should have been, Teresa could see nothing but bare flesh. She gulped, loudly. "Mrs. Sanders . . .?" Mrs. Sanders beckoned her. Teresa stood still, rooted to the spot like an oak tree. Crossing the room, Mrs. Sanders grasped the hem of Teresa's Hannah Montana nightshirt, and quite effortlessly pulled it up and over her head, letting it join the terrycloth robe on the floor. "What are we doing?" Teresa choked. She watched in amazement as Mrs. Sanders lowered her pink and white panties and told her to step out of them. Now they were both nude. "In my bed," Mrs. Sanders informed her. "You sleep nude, or you don't sleep at all." Once again by the hand, she led Teresa over to the bed and helped her slide beneath the covers. Then she slid in herself and, after turning off the single bedside lamp, lay beside Teresa, her head on the pillows. Teresa was stiff as a board, hands clutched tightly at her sides. She wanted so badly for the impossible to happen that she very nearly blurted out what she wanted to happen. Looking into Mrs. Sanders' nearly invisible face in the darkness, she smiled feebly and prepared to say good night. That's when Mrs. Sanders turned over and took Teresa in her arms. "You can never tell anyone what we're about to do, Teresa. Do you understand that?" Teresa could barely control her bladder she was so terrified. "Yes, ma'am," she whispered hoarsely. "You can make love to me now, or you can nurse from me again, whichever you'd like to do." "Nurse," Teresa said immediately. "But will I still . . .?" "Of course you will," Mrs. Sanders assured her with a soft laugh. "Why do you think I brought you in here?" Without another word, Mrs. Sanders rose into a sitting position, propped the four king-size pillows against the headboard and made herself comfortable against them. As she had done earlier, she guided Teresa to her right breast first. Curling into a small, naked ball, arms tucked neatly across her flat chest, Teresa eagerly accepted the nipple into her mouth and began sucking greedily. "You like this, don't you sweetheart?" Mrs. Sanders whispered. Teresa nodded eagerly. This was the most wondrous feeling in the world, laying here, being held and caressed by her breast-mother's loving hands, feeding on her warm mother's milk. "I love you, Mommy," she said, breaking momentarily. "I love you too, sweetheart," her breast-mother replied. She stroked Teresa's long black hair with her hand, her visible right cheek, her forehead, and down along her right shoulder to her biceps and along her forearm. Though she couldn't lay her hand flush on Teresa's flat chest due to the youngster's position, she could finger her tiny right nipple. Teresa giggled. "Tickle?" Mrs. Sanders asked. "Yes, Mommy," Teresa answered. As she continued to suckle the breast, Mrs. Sanders' ran her free hand down along Teresa's delicate waist, over her narrow right hip, and along the outside of her thigh. Teresa trembled continuously, stiffening momentarily as Mrs. Sanders' hand passed over her round little buttocks. "I'm saving that for later," Mrs. Sanders informed her. "I don't want you distracted from what you're doing. I want your concentration right here, where it belongs." she said, tapping the corner of Teresa's gently sucking mouth. Teresa closed her eyes and let her mouth continue to bring her nourishment. The milk, as before, was warm, sweet, somewhat thin, but oh, so delicious. After another minute, Mrs. Sanders indicated it was time to change breasts. "Mustn't take me down too quickly," she said quietly. "We want this to last, right Teresa?" "Yes, Mommy," Teresa agreed, curling up into a little ball on her other side. For ten minutes, Mrs. Sanders let Teresa feast uninterrupted on her full left breast, then switched the youngster back to the right breast again. By now it was obvious that she intended to let Teresa drain her of every last drop of milk, or for as long as Teresa chose to continue feeding. As far as Teresa was concerned, all night long would not be long enough. However, after half an hour of continual nursing, Teresa was forced to stop. "That's it, unfortunately, sweetie," Mrs. Sanders announced sadly. "Your stomach is quite a bit bigger than a two month-olds'. I hope you enjoyed it, though. You seemed to." Teresa laughed softly and gave each of Mrs. Sanders' nipples a loving kiss. "You have no idea how absolutely awesome I feel right now," she said. Mrs. Sanders grinned in the semi-darkness. "That's very good to hear. I wanted you to have the most pleasurable experience I could give you tonight." She touched each of her nipples in turn, as though reminding herself of Teresa's soft lips and loving tongue. Sensing what Mrs. Sanders wanted, Teresa lowered her head and sucked on each of Mrs. Sanders' nipples one last time, then, rising, placed her mouth before her breast-mother with a hopeful look on her face. Please, her eyes pleaded. Mrs. Sanders did not disappoint. Taking Teresa's face in her hands, she drew her forward and kissed her gently on the lips. Melting forward, her arms wrapping tightly around Mrs. Sanders' neck, Teresa kissed her breast-mother for everything she was worth. When Mrs. Sanders' tongue entered her mouth, she sucked it lovingly and let Mrs. Sanders teach her how to French Kiss. She thrilled at the feeling of Mrs. Sanders' hands sliding up and down her slender back; shuddering each time Mrs. Sanders clasped her small buttocks. "Thank you," she panted sincerely upon coming up for air. Mrs. Sanders once again had her face held gently between her warm hands, and laughing delightedly, kissed each feature of Teresa's countenance, twice, then a third time. "You do want to be my lover, don't you?" Mrs. Sanders asked. "I so much do," Teresa answered. "Forever." It was still beyond her comprehension or believe that she was in Mrs. Sanders' lap, both of them nude, making love as though both grown adults. "I don't want to wake up," she added. "Please don't wake me up." Laughing, Mrs. Sanders found the spot between Teresa's neck and shoulder that she knew would elicit the desired reaction from the child and kissed it. Teresa immediately shivered and crunched her shoulders together, though quite involuntarily. A moment later she was leaning into Mrs. Sanders to experience more of her loving mouth, and groaned continually as that mouth worked slowly all around her neck, and up and down each shoulder. When Mrs. Sanders finally moved her away for a look at her juvenile lover, Teresa was beside herself with arousal. "I can't stop shaking," she complained. "It's the adrenaline," Mrs. Sanders explained, kissing the tip of Teresa's nose. "And your new hormones. They seemed to have awakened your whole body." "I think so too," Teresa agreed, shivering as Mrs. Sanders' right hand played over her flat chest. For once, Teresa didn't feel humiliated at her youthfulness. Leaning Teresa back, Mrs. Sanders kissed each of Teresa's tiny nipples twice, and then sucked on each gently for fifteen seconds, nibbling gently with her teeth to bring about a full erection. Teresa thought she'd absolutely explode. She also thought that, despite being only twelve years old, there was a very good chance she was experiencing her first orgasm--or at least a precursor to such. She wanted desperately to devour herself from the inside out. Mrs. Sanders lay her palms flat against Teresa's chest. Teresa momentarily covered Mrs. Sanders' hands with her own, and then placed them over Mrs. Sanders' very large breasts. For the first time, Teresa felt a shudder pass through Mrs. Sanders' body. Watching her eyes, she saw them momentarily open wide at the same time that her lips parted and she sucked in breath. Then Mrs. Sanders grinned at her, rather embarrassedly, Teresa thought, and said: "You know I just had a mini-orgasm, don't you, Teresa?" "Yes, ma'am," Teresa muttered, equally embarrassed. "And I'm not the only one who's experiencing one, am I?" Mrs. Sanders pressed. "No, ma'am," Teresa assured her. "I don't think you are." "Do you like what's happening to you, Teresa?" Mrs. Sanders asked. "Oh, yes, ma'am!" Teresa gushed. "It's wonderful! Thank you!" Grinning, Mrs. Sanders laid Teresa flat on the bed, moved forward onto her hands and knees and straddled Teresa's body. With her face directly over the young girl's face, Mrs. Sanders kissed Teresa deeply and lovingly, inviting the adolescent to wrap her arms around her neck as she had done before, but only for a moment as she then leaned forward and placed the tip of her left breast into Teresa's mouth. Teresa immediately took possession with both hands and clutched at it, worked to extract whatever milk was left for her consumption. She did the same with Mrs. Sanders' right breast a short time later, praying for the milk to never end. Not knowing what to do with her hands, and not having the courage to touch Mrs. Sanders without permission, she simply held the breast she suckled with both hands. Mrs. Sanders seemed to read her mind. "Are you afraid to touch me, Teresa?" Uncomfortably, Teresa admitted that she was. "And why is that?" Mrs. Sanders teased, though sweetly. Plum-faced once again, Teresa shrugged and said, "I don't know." Mrs. Sanders grinned at her knowingly. "You shouldn't be so self-conscious. After all, we are lovers, aren't we?" Her face burning even hotter, Teresa nodded. "Then, as lovers, we should have complete access to each others bodies, correct?" Mrs. Sanders continued. "Yes," Teresa said, half nodding. "So, if I wanted to do this--" Mrs. Sanders reached down between them and placed her palm flat over Teresa's genitals. "You wouldn't have any objections?" Though she had nearly jumped off the bed, and her heart had staggered dangerously, and suddenly there was a mad pounding in her temples, and she certainly couldn't speak, much less do so coherently, Teresa nodded her agreement. "And if I wanted you to do this in return," Mrs. Sanders whispered, taking Teresa's right hand and placing it between her own legs, "you certainly wouldn't mind that either, would you, my darling?" Choking, Teresa shook her head emphatically. "Then what I suggest we do," Mrs. Sanders explained, "is a little exploring of each other. We can start with this, OK?" Frozen in shock, Teresa just lay there like a statue while the middle finger of Mrs. Sanders' right hand gently penetrated her labia and then delved deep into her inner wetness. As the fingertip entered her constricted vagina, Teresa gasped and felt herself arching off the bed. Both of her hands were fists and they both tried to drill through the surface of the mattress. "Am I hurting you?" Mrs. Sanders asked quietly. Teresa shook her head in quick little movements, as though petrified she'd break something, a muscle or a tendon, by moving too fast. She felt as though she'd been turned into a marble statue by the hand of a wizard. She was afraid to breath, much less talk. Inside her, Mrs. Sanders' finger continued to seek out the core of her existence. "Put your finger in me, sweetie," Mrs. Sanders invited. "It'll make it easier for you." Teresa shook her head again. Laughing joyfully, Mrs. Sanders leaned down and placed her mouth over Teresa's, waiting for her young charge to react. In tiny increments, Teresa did react, muscles retreating from their deadly seizure, the arch leaving her back, her fists un-bunching and no longer trying to force fingernails through the flesh of her delicate palms. Her legs swung open slightly, and then widened as a second probing finger joined the first inside her, lips softening and parting for her partner's tongue, and then her arms reclaimed Mrs. Sanders' neck and she spread herself wide for intimate exploration. Suddenly the fingers that had been in her vagina were now in her mouth and Teresa sucked greedily, biting Mrs. Sanders' fingers in her desperation to taste more, begged to taste herself again, a desire Mrs. Sanders seemed only too happy to accommodate. God! Had she ever tasted anything so equally repulsive and delicious? And then Mrs. Sanders said, "Wait!" "Wait? Why wait?" Teresa complained hysterically. She wanted . . . all she wanted was to . . . God, if she didn't get it she'd . . ."Please!" she said desperately. "Calm down," Mrs. Sanders told her quietly. "Relax, Teresa. You're much too excited right now. I need you to make love to me, not try to devour me whole." "But Mrs. Sanders!" Teresa objected plaintively. "Angela. My name is Angela. Can you say it for me, Teresa?" "Angela!" Teresa cried in exasperation. "Angela! Angela! Angela! Please!" Mrs. Sanders shook her head. "Right now your adrenaline and hormones are in control of your body, Teresa. I need you to relax and let your mind do the controlling. When I let you between my legs in just a minute, I don't want fingers trying to pop out my belly button, OK? OK?" she insisted. Teresa had to laugh. What Mrs. Sanders said was true. She'd been right on the verge of loosing control. Even now, the need to ravage Mrs. Sanders rather than make love to her was like a grizzly bear thrashing about inside her. Better to relax. Better to enjoy what Mrs. Sanders was rewarding her with. "I'm sorry," she said, grinning bashfully. "I'll be a good girl now." "It's not a matter of being good or bad," Mrs. Sanders told her. "It's just being in control of yourself. You don't want to hurt me, and I certainly don't want to hurt you. Never in a million years, Teresa." "No ma'am," Teresa said dutifully, then corrected herself. "No, Angela, I mean." "That's better," Angela said, smiling sweetly. She bent down and they kissed. After a time, Angela had Teresa switch positions with her so that she was on her back with the child lying atop her. It bothered neither of them that they lay 1800 to their proper position on the bed, neither being long enough, certainly not the diminutive, 4'10" tall Teresa, to touch the headboard with their feet. If asked sometime later how long they remained in their embrace, passionately kissing, Teresa's arms wrapped around Angela's neck, Angela exploring every centimeter of the child's heavenly body, neither could have told you. In reality, it was close to half an hour, a long time to remain in a kiss. Finally, Teresa raised her head and asked: "Am I a good lover, Angela?" Angela, laughing delightedly, exclaimed: "You are by far, the best lover I've ever had in my life, sweetie. You're perfect--in desire, if not in experience. I've wanted you since you were eight years old. Every time I see you I have an interior meltdown. It's like being a heroin addict in a poppy field." Though Teresa didn't quite understand the comparison, she was pleased. "You don't want anyone else then?" she asked. "There is nobody else," Angela avowed. "If somehow I could have you in my bed every night for the rest of my life . . . well," she said with a sad sigh, "I'd be the happiest woman on earth." Teresa kissed her. Within minutes, Angela introduced Teresa to the art of cunnilingus. She performed this upon Angela first; fearing justly that the youngster would simply implode over such an extremely intimate act. Exploring Teresa's lithe young body with her lips and tongue, Angela gradually working her way from nose-tip to belly button to toes. Even though Teresa knew what was coming, the thought of Angela's mouth between her legs, the knowledge of what that mouth would do to her, the realization that at some point in the near future she would return the favor, had Teresa near panic. Prolonging Teresa's agony of expectation, Angela returned to the flat expanse of the youngster's chest: teasing, licking, kissing and nibbling. After biting Teresa's right nipple hard enough to make her yelp, Angela raised her head and asked: "Do you like that, Teresa?" Teresa was unable to answer. Her eyes were starey and breath wheezed in and out of her open mouth. "I want you to remain in control," Angela told her. "You know what I'm talking about, Teresa." Teresa gave a jerky nod. "In just a minute I'll be doing something to you no one's ever done before." She grinned at her misstatement. No one had ever done anything to Teresa before. "What I mean is I'll be doing something to you that no one but your most intimate partner should ever do to you. I'll be the first, and I hope you remember this as one of the most wonderful moments of your life, Teresa." "I will," Teresa promised. "I want you to do it so much." It felt like a 220 volt cable had been wired directly to her heart the way it pounded. Angela returned to the teasing of Teresa's nipples for a time, and then slowly worked her lips and tongue down her sternum and into the soft concavity of Teresa's belly. The way Teresa's chest rose and fell, it was like she'd just run ten miles. She lay absolutely still on the mattress, her legs splayed slightly, arms resting at her sides, palms upward, fingers in a relaxed position. Forced relaxation, because she had never felt less relaxed in her life. What, she kept wondering frantically, would she do when Angela's mouth found that place between her legs? She could not imagine it. It was almost beyond imagining. She was twelve years old, and about to be ushered into the world of sexuality by a woman her mother's age. The concept boggled her. Angela's lips brushed across the ridge of her left hip, across her belly to the opposite hip. Then they returned to her centerline and a tongue invaded her belly button again. When Angela had first done this ten minutes ago, Teresa thought she'd just die. Now she thought she'd die again. It was never explained to her how incredibly erotic your belly button could be. It always tickled when she played with it herself, but Angela's tongue was like a hot wire leading directly to her power plant. Every tingle, every spasm, every jolt was immediately felt between her legs and also deep within her core. Unsure of her own anatomy, she guessed the agony centered between her legs was her clitoris. She was aware that she had become wet as a swamp between her legs. Were seminal juices even now flowing out of her onto the mattress? How humiliating that would be. Angela's tongue left the pit of her naval and after circling it for a moment, began a long, slow slide south to its final destination. With each passing inch, each tender kiss on her burning skin, Teresa's shuddering and shaking grew worse, until finally she could bear it no more and yanked her legs up and grabbed her knees. Immediately, Angela's mouth found her sopping chasm and Teresa both cried out and moaned as soft wet lips kissed soft wet lips. Then a tongue darted up her from the mouth of her vagina to the hood of her clitoris, and Teresa bit down on her lower lip to keep from crying out. The tongue repeated its passage, this time starting from a point lower, this time at her anus, which she clamped shut reflexively. And then Teresa again felt the tongue on her clitoris, and then Angela's soft lips encircling it, and then worst of all, the hard, frightening edges of teeth trying to nibble her. "Ohhhhhhh," Teresa moaned pitifully. A moment later Angela's mouth was above her own, and she rose off the pillow to meet it. She tasted herself again, sucked the tongue into her mouth to suck at it desperately for her taste, released her right knee and put the tip of her middle finger on her clitoris and began masturbating even as Angela slid two long fingers inside her vagina in the deepest penetration yet. A moment later those same two fingers replaced the tongue in her mouth. "Teresa!" "What!" Teresa said desperately. "You're loosing control again. Concentrate!" A hand grasped her right hand and clutched it painfully tight as a tidal wave of ecstasy built up within her and exploded. Orgasm, like storm driven floodwater, thundered out from her middle to her extremities and rebounded back again. "Am I--?" she gasped. "Oh, you certainly are!" Angela laughed. "Are you enjoying it?" All Teresa could do was shudder and spasm, clutch Angela's hand, every muscle and every tendon strained like overtaxed girders in a collapsing building. Horribly, Angela's left hand was somehow free and she used it to find and fill Teresa's spasming void with three fingers this time, which Teresa thought tantamount to throwing kerosene on a flash fire. Any chance at controlling herself went out the window. Teresa flung down her hands and arched her back and threw open her legs until they threatened to dislocate at the hips. And still her orgasm thundered on. "Angela!" she wailed. "I can't stop it!" And evidently Angela didn't want it stopped because there she was at Teresa's pelvis, licking her madly, tongue pushing into her vagina deep enough to lick Teresa's aching cervix, then gone from her vagina and attached to her clitoris like a suctioning device from Hell, ripping at her, gnawing her, attempting to separate flesh with her teeth. And then fingers stole up her virgin rear end, and that was more than Teresa could bear. Collapsing, she passed out immediately from hyperventilation.
* * *
It was two hours later. The lovers, finally satiated, snuggled in each other's arms. Teresa came forward and kissed Angela on the lips, and their tongues, so recently in each other's vaginas, danced lazily. "I love you," Teresa whispered. "I love you too," Angela whispered back. She ran her hand down Teresa's bare back to her bare backside, and down along her butt crack. "That's not fair," Teresa said sulkily. "Your arms are longer than mine." From her position at Angela's mouth, her hands barely encountered the swell of Angela's buttocks. Angela laughed softly. "One of the advantages of age." Probing determinedly, she located and laid claim to Teresa's anus. Acquiescing, Teresa relaxed her bottom and allowed Angela to enter her. "I never knew I could enjoy having my butt invaded," she said jokingly. "You like it, don't you?" Angela queried. "Very much," she admitted. "Then stop complaining about it, girl!" For the next five minutes, with Angela's determined finger stroking Teresa's rectum wall, and Teresa's hands exploring the terrain available to her, the lovers lazily kissed. Both, for obvious reasons, had very sore jaws and tongues. "When am I gonna get to see you again?" Teresa asked. "When will I see you again?" Angela corrected. "Yes, Mommy," Teresa sighed, though happily. God, she liked that finger up her ass. Who knew? And who could have known that a delicate twelve year old would have survived, much less excelled, at an all night lovemaking marathon with a thirty-eight year old woman--and pleasured her completely. Certainly not this sixth-grader. "Will I see you again?" she asked. "Of course you'll see me again!" Angela said forcefully. "What a stupid question. Do you think I'd let my perfect lover just walk out of my life?" "Well, no," Teresa said. "I hope not." "Well, I won't," Angela assured her, kissing the tip of her nose. "Even if I have to adopt you myself." I don't yet know whether Angela has found a way to keep Teresa in her life. I can relate only what I have read, and that is up to this point on the morning after. I do know that Teresa visits Joann's house much more than she used to, and that she spends weekends over at least twice a month. So I would say that something is happening on that front. Who am I, you ask? A friend. Someone with access to Teresa's electronic diary. Someone who knows the password. Don't worry. The true identities of Teresa, Angela and Joann are safe. I would never divulge them. Know only that I offer this tale because it is one of such beauty. I promise to add more as information becomes available to me. Until then, please be patient. No one longs to know more about Teresa, Angela and Joann than myself. Just be thankful that Teresa felt the compulsion to record her story on paper, otherwise, there would be no burning questions to ask.
THE END |