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Message-ID: <48630asstr$1091005803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: anon584c@nyx.net (Uther Pendragon)
Reply-To: anon584c@nyx.net
Subject: {ASSM} new "RTFM 2" {Uther} (MF msolo M1st) [2/4]
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Date: Wed, 28 Jul 2004 05:10:03 -0400
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If you are under the age of 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to 
read electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do 
something else. 

This material is Copyright, 2004, Uther Pendragon.  All rights 
reserved.  I specifically grant the right of downloading and 
keeping ONE electronic copy for your personal reading so long as 
this notice is included.  Reposting requires previous permission. 

All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as 
public figures in the background, are figments of my imagination 
and any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly 
coincidental.  

                              =--=
                              RTFM
                            by Uther 
                            Pendragon
                        anon584c@nyx.net

Chapter 2:

John Kostner came home from his freshman year at MIT for the 
Bicentennial Summer.  He had a job at a chemical laboratory in a 
neighboring town.  His mother had bought a new car without 
trading her old one in.  The old one was his transportation.  His 
first Sunday home, he went to church.  When he got back, he said, 
"The last time I was in church, it was that one."

"You're suggesting that you've stopped being a regular 
churchgoer?" his father asked.

"Your friends know that I'm back.  I'll attend the last service 
before I leave."

"Well, it's a place to affirm your faith.  You don't seem to have 
much to affirm."

His clothes had been unremarkable in Cambridge.  They looked 
definitely scruffy in Wilmot.  At his mother's gentle hint, John 
went down to Sears at the end of his first week of work.

Sears was the perfect clothing store from John's perspective, 
with no clerks to advise him about what was stylish.  The 
drawback was that once you had your selection, you had to hunt 
for someone to pay.  He found a short line, stood there, and 
started to figure whether summer fun programming his Kenbak would 
be good practice or build up bad habits for the bigger machines 
he programmed at MIT.  He moved up to the cashier, handed her his 
selections, and waited with his wallet in his hand.  Her words to 
him weren't a total.

"You're John ... um."

"Kostner.  By God, you're Margo."  Margo had been one of the 
popular girls a year ahead of him in high school.  He would have 
bet that she hadn't known his name then, let alone recognize him 
two years later.  If he'd been paying any attention, he'd have 
recognized *her*, by her slight build if by nothing else.  Margo 
was barely five feet tall.

"Marge.  The girls here won't put up with 'Margo.'  And it's 
Standish again.  Phil and I got divorced and I took my own name 
again."  She waved an empty left hand.  John vaguely remembered 
that she had married soon after graduation, maybe just before.  
She was holding down a cash-register in Sears, and he let an 
impatient woman through to pay.

"And you," she said.  "You're in college somewhere."  

"MIT.  Just finished my frosh year."  There were more customers 
again.  "Look, this isn't working.  When do you get off?"

"Close in half an hour.  I'm out maybe half an hour after that.  
We leave by the north door."  He paid for his shirts and left.  
He was waiting by the north door an hour later.

"Oh," she said.  "You didn't say whether you would be here."  He 
blinked.  The Margos of this world tell you when and where 
you'll meet.  You're there.

"Can I buy you a coffee or a Coke?" he asked.

"I should be getting back home.  You didn't drive, did you?"

"Sure.  Want a ride?"

First, she had to pick up her daughter, though it wasn't far from 
her apartment.  "I moved back with the folks for a while, but 
that didn't work.  Katydid is the only good thing in my life 
since I left high school."  She laid out the new pattern of her 
life.  "This woman keeps Katydid and some other kids days.  If I 
want to go out at night, I have to get a baby sitter."  She gave 
a detailed, if disorganized, report on her car and when it might 
be fixed.

The girl looked particularly alert and had big, brown, eyes.  
Otherwise, she looked like every other baby.  "How old is she?"

"Eighteen months.  She's awfully small for her age, but she's 
normal.  The doctor's tests all say 'advanced for her age.'"  
What was advanced for a one-year-old, he did not ask.  He dropped 
her at home.  She didn't invite him up since the house was a 
mess.

That was Friday.  Monday evening, he was stopped outside the 
north door from fifteen minutes after closing until she appeared.

"Want a ride?"

"Oh, John.  Thanks."

"Same route?"  She nodded.  "Look, this might be out of place, 
but...  would you be interested in seeing a movie with me Friday 
night?"

"That would be great.  Thank you."

"Dinner first?  Or is that too frazzling?"

"That would be great.  But I have to feed Katydid first.  Is 
seven-thirty too late?"

"That's fine.  They have a late showing."  They exchanged phone 
numbers, to deal with emergencies.

John's summer work was in a chemistry lab.  Mostly, he washed 
beakers and test tubes.  By Friday, however, he smelled like a 
chemistry lab.  He came home, showered and dressed in his suit.  
Marge called at the last minute and asked him to pick up April, 
the baby sitter.  He did.

The restaurant was nice.  Marge updated him on people whom he 
hardly remembered, the golden girls after whom he had lusted.  
The wallflowers, whom he had actually known, were younger than 
she, and below her horizon.  On the way back to her place she 
asked him to drive the baby sitter home.  They got out of the car 
together, and she stopped halfway to the apartment-house door.  
He was experienced enough to know what that meant and he kissed 
her.  She kissed him back and their tongues came into play.  He 
found this exciting and he tried to search every corner of her 
mouth.  Her tongue was subtler, but it was participating.  The 
next thing he was aware of was that he had developed an erection.  
He was pressed against her, but she seemed to take no notice of 
it.

She broke the kiss gently.  "We have to be getting in.  April is 
probably watching."

April was watching TV, to the extent she was awake.  After 
another look at the baby, who was sleeping, he drove her home in 
silence.  

Sunday, he rang to say "Thank you."  He suggested a mid-week 
dinner out.  Just the dinner.  She countered with a suggestion 
that she cook him a meal.  They settled on Wednesday.  

That Monday, when he got in from work, he found his mother 
reading a _MS_ magazine.

"That seems so unlike you," he said.

"You think I'm a weak woman?"

"Not at all.  But I'd bet that Gloria Steinem would consider this 
a patriarchal household."

"Who was that Frenchman who said that God would forgive him, 
forgiving was God's business?  Hmmm?

"Gloria Steinem would disapprove," she continued.  "That is her 
business.  But there is something which you overlook.  When your 
father left the bench, there were gains as well as losses  --  
not counting money.  Lloyd Kostner is simply the best negotiator 
that I have ever met.  Now wouldn't it be silly of me to sit 
across the table from him negotiating?  Hmm?"

"And, instead, you...."

"Consult with him and let him be *my* negotiator.  Works.  Who do 
you ask when you want a budget-busting computer?"

"Both of you."

"Hmmm?"

"Well, you first."

"And your father and I talk, and the better negotiator meets with 
you to get the deal we want.  Same with rules.  There are a few 
things that your father lays out because he thinks them essential 
to family living.  He enforces a few rules that I consider vital, 
as well.  But most we talk over, first.  You know, when we were 
first married, he kept asking me, 'What do you really want?'  
Took me the longest time to see what he meant.  Which was, 'What 
did I really want?"

"It does have a certain resemblance to the original question."

"But, you see, that is fairly rare.  Most people don't ask 
questions that nakedly.

"He wanted to know what I considered most important, why I wanted 
what I wanted.  Then he made quite strong efforts to deliver 
that."

"Still sounds like a patriarchy to me."

"Ah!  If I'm not careful, he'll put himself really out of joint 
to satisfy my twenty-seventh priority.  For that I can follow his 
formulae for getting there.

"You see, people seek power.  Some people want to be in charge so 
that they can make themselves happy.  Some people want to be in 
charge because that makes them important.  These idiots, you'll 
find them in every club, label proposals as 'mine' and 'theirs.'  
They don't know enough to see that what you do matters a whit.  
Anyway....

"The Lloyd Kostners of this world think that they can make it 
right.  That doesn't necessarily make it right -- Hitler was one 
of these -- but they have some chance of doing things right 
because they ask that question.  Where was I?"

"Why Dad is like Hitler."

"Much taller.  And a much worse at speaking German.

"He, your father, doesn't want to run block clubs and committees.  
He thinks that running must mean putting your interest last.  He 
does run the family within constraints that my *desires*, if not 
always my opinions, are always consulted.

"As I said, I have to beware that his own desires are not too 
scrupulously ignored."

"And how does one get one's desires put on record?"

"Your desires don't count.  Your interests, as seen by us, are 
very carefully considered."

"Tyranny?"

"Dictatorship.  Starting from when you were too small to know 
whether milk came out of a nipple or a finger."

"And now that I've grown perilously close to adult status and can 
vote and all?"

"We still have a dictatorship, only over a smaller range of your 
action."

"And if I were to demand freedom and equality?"  He had gone off 
to school intending to major in physics.  He still hadn't 
mentioned his intention to change to electrical engineering.

"The equality is the equality of a fellow head of household.  
Start your own household.  We'd wave bye-bye.  We might cry, but 
not 'uncle.'"

"Neither of us will top that line.  Let's end on it."

"Sure.  Back to the gender wars."

John showed up for dinner at Marge's apartment with a bottle of 
red wine.  Dinner was home-made spaghetti.  The baby was about to 
go to sleep, and gave him a g'night hug and kiss first.  The 
spaghetti was surprisingly good, although the kitchen in which 
they ate it was uncomfortably warm.  "The only air conditioner
is in the bedroom," Marge said, "and I have to close that door."   
The wine went down fast.  He helped her clear and took the rest 
of the wine into the living room.  Television was a great 
invention.  It *required* that you to sit next to each other.  

He reached an arm around to hug her and she snuggled next to him 
and turned her face for a kiss.   They were a high-school couple 
out of time.  He was a college (fresh) man.  She was a divorced 
woman.  It was a second date.  He wondered how far she would let 
him go.

The kiss was immediately open-mouth with their tongues in full 
play.  During it, he caressed her back and then brought his hand 
around to her breast.  The bra was rather stiff, but when he got 
his hand over where the nipple should be, the ardor of her kiss 
increased.  He stopped for breath.

"Oh Marge."  She held his face and kissed around on it.  That put 
him distant enough from her that could reach her buttons.  He 
did. The blouse was open, the bra unsnapped, the kiss again 
liquid, and his fingers inches from her bare nipple, when there 
was a noise in the bedroom.  He lost her attention and then her 
presence.  He heard crying, soothing, a flushed toilet, and she 
was back.  Her blouse was buttoned again, and he expected a 
dismissal.  She didn't need to draw the line; her duenita drew 
it for her.

Instead, Marge dropped back down in the same place.  "There.  We 
have an hour."

He reached for her again.  The bra was gone.  He felt the breast 
through the blouse and then held her in a position where kissing 
could be combined with efficient unbuttoning.  She cooperated in 
both.  After holding the smooth, soft skin of the breast for a 
moment, he broke the kiss and began a series of nibbling kisses 
down her neck and then down to the long nipple.  He kissed it 
before he had clearly seen it.  She moved to give him better 
access, and then started to unbutton his shirt.  He helped for a 
minute and then stood up.  The shirt and t-shirt came off and 
decorated her TV.  He stopped and looked at her.  Her blouse had 
come off too, and she was removing her skirt.  There didn't seem 
to be any underwear.

"Don't worry about a thing.  I'm on the Pill."

He finished stripping.  She was lying down on the couch where 
they had been sitting.  He knew, in theory, what to do once 
between her legs.  The step in between was a mystery, and the 
couch made it harder.  Two voices spoke together in his head.  
"It's going to happen," said one; "How?" asked the other.  

He climbed over her left leg and knelt in the little room 
available.  He bent down to suck at her breasts again.  A minute 
later, her hand reached his penis and pulled it forward.  There 
was less moisture than he had expected, and he had to try twice, 
but he pushed inside her and she smiled.  He kissed her again and 
then started an in-and-out motion.  She moved against his motion, 
and became silkier.  The feeling was softer than his hand and 
reached everywhere at once.   She was moving harder and faster 
under him.  He held on to her shoulder and quickened his pace.  
Then something took him over and drove him more and more 
furiously.  He tried to appreciate the smooth tunnel, but the 
charge was gathering and he felt only his own tension.  When her 
hand cupped his scrotum, he exploded.  He rammed forward and held 
there as his seed pulsed through him and into her.  He tried to 
hold his weight off her as the lassitude struck.  When his breath 
came back, he had slipped out.  He climbed off the couch, wrapped 
his member in his underpants to protect the carpet from drips, 
and knelt on the floor so he could hug her.

He hugged her bare torso, occasionally pulling up to kiss her 
mouth, her forehead, or something more interesting.

"Marge, you are wonderful."

"Thank you.  We'd better get up."

He dressed there, she went into the bedroom and came back in her 
original outfit.  The TV program seemed to have changed.  He'd 
given so little attention to the other that he wasn't sure.  The 
evening was over.  He took a last look at Katydid, who looked 
like a sleeping baby.  They hugged briefly as they kissed good 
night.  She was again wearing a bra.

                              - = - 

By God, he'd done it.  He had not only done it but he had fucked 
Margo.  But his inexperience bothered him.  He didn't want to 
tell Marge that he was new at this.  He decided another raid on 
his parents' stash of marriage manuals was called for.  There was 
no chance of detection.   They knew what they were doing.  He 
would bet that he was still the last person to visit the stash.

The next evening, his parents went walking after dinner.  He 
dodged into their room, opened the closet, reached down the hat 
box and pulled the pile of books down.  The top one was new!  
_The Joy of Sex_.  It looked good, he was in a hurry, and he took 
it and the old _The Marriage Art_.

He replaced everything else, tossed the books into his room, and 
went to the phone.

"Hello."  It didn't sound like Marge's voice.

"I'm calling Marge Standish."

"Mrs. Standish isn't home."

"Is this April?"  No answer.  "Can you take a message?   Got a 
pencil?"

Negative sounds and the phone clicked on something.  Then, "I 
have a pencil."  

"Please tell her that John Kostner called.  I'll call tomorrow."  
He spelled his name.

It was late and he was deep into the newer book when his father 
knocked on the door.  He tossed the book under the pillow and 
called out, "Come in."

His father closed the door behind him.  "I believe that you have 
a book of mine that you borrowed without permission."

"Without permission?"  He had read most of the books in the 
house.  He got both books and handed them over.

"I long ago told you that, except for my office, the *book 
shelves* are open to you.  Are you really going to plead that you 
didn't think that these were private?"

"No sir."

"Good.  I wouldn't want your intellect going too."  He sat.  
"You're being neither honest nor prudent in this whole affair you 
know.  What's between your legs has cooked what's between your 
ears."

"You should talk!  Getting that book at your ages."

"Let me make a few things clear!"  His voice was forceful, a 
shade quieter, and very precise.  All were danger signs.  "I have 
put up with you these past few weeks because '18-year-old 
arrogant snot' is a redundancy.  Look 'sophomoric' up in the 
dictionary, Mr. 'about to be a Sophomore.'  But past tolerance 
wasn't meant to be a precedent.  My relationship with your mother 
is blessed by God and State.  When we close that bedroom door, it 
is the business of no person in the entire world besides 
ourselves whether nothing happens or whether we reenact this 
whole book every night.  But, of all the people who have no 
rightful interest in that, *you* have the absolute least.  You 
make a big point about being an adult, but I've been an adult one 
hell of a lot longer.

"Now on the other matter.  I won't ask you whether you are having 
sex with this divorcee, because a gentleman always lies.  (Not 
that you are acting much like a gentleman.)  I'll tell you that 
you are having sex with her.  I'll also tell you that *you* are 
responsible for contraception.  She may be providing her own, but 
you are responsible.  You can't support a child and you have the 
duty to support any child that you have, legitimate or not.

"You don't have to tell me what you have done.  I want an 
unconditional and a conditional promise.  That you will buy some 
condoms tomorrow."

"Yes sir."

"That you will not have intercourse without them until you have 
already told me that you will not need my money for tuition ever 
again."

"Yes sir."

His father sat there for a minute, then visibly relaxed.  "That 
doesn't mean that I'm condoning anything, but I feel that 
prudence is the higher need just now."

"If you are neither condoning nor forbidding me to do it, why 
make it harder to do it *right*?"

His father looked at the books still in his lap, and smiled.  
"Buy your own."

The next evening, he stopped in another town on his way home 
from work.  At a drugstore he bought some Trojans.  The bookstore 
was about to close, but they had _The Joy of Sex_.  He bought it.

He called Marge that evening before dinner.

"This is John.  Can you talk?"

"Look, I never told you that I wasn't dating other guys."

"I never asked that you wouldn't.  I called to tell you that I 
enjoyed your dinner and to thank you for a wonderful evening."  
There was no way to avoid the double entendre.  "I was wondering 
if I could take you out next week.  I know that you need to warn 
the sitter, and my time is more flexible than Katydid's.  If you 
have a day,  I would appreciate it."

"I can always get April on a Friday."

"Dinner and movie again?"

"That would be nice."

"Want me to pick up April?"

"Please."

"You call her to arrange it."

                              - = - 

_The Joy of Sex_ provided little Comfort for John.  It assumed 
the reader knew too much.  He went back to the used book store 
and got two old manuals.  They were a little better.

Friday was broiling.  That night, he took Marge to the movies and 
found the place full of high-school students enjoying the air 
conditioning, and each other.  Between car chases in the movie, 
Marge leaned over to whisper to him.

"We were never like that."

"Not that bad.  And we are restrained adults now."

"Yes."  She didn't sound overjoyed by that comparison.

"On the other hand, nobody can identify us in the theater."  She 
giggled and snuggled closer.

First in parody of the kids around them, kids only a few years 
younger than Marge and some John's age, then in enjoyment of the 
deed itself, they petted there.  His right arm was casually over 
her shoulder, the hand coincidentally reaching the side of her 
breast.  The popcorn box was between her legs, and if sometime 
his hand missed the box, no one else cared.  Most of then were 
doing something similar.  She was not merely the passive 
recipient.  Finally, he had to move her hand back into her own 
lap.

"You don't like me?"

"I like you too much."

He parked farther from the apartment house and stopped her in the 
shadows under a tree.  They came together in a kiss.  Their 
tongues played tag while he kneaded her buttocks and pulled her 
to him so that her mound rubbed his leg.  They finally broke.

"You have to take the sitter home," she said.

"Damn the sitter."

"Nothing stops you from coming back after."

"Let's go get the sitter home, she needs her rest before 
tomorrow."

Marge was giggling as they climbed the stairs to her apartment.

He drove April to her door, watched her in, and drove back.  
Marge was wearing the same dress, but not -- he soon learned -- 
the bra.

They kissed standing.  He played with her tongue for a while, 
then broke the kiss to kiss her face and neck.  He stroked her 
back and butt, then moved to her breasts.  She pulled him back to 
her mouth and lust suddenly grabbed him.  He hugged her tight 
against him, first ignoring and then enjoying the stiffness that 
he pressed to her soft belly.  She started to remove her dress 
and he helped.

When her dress was off, all that remained was panties and 
sandals.  She tried to help him, and he hurried to strip.  They 
kissed again and she lay down on the couch.  He knelt there and 
kissed her mouth, her throat, her breasts.  His hands went 
everywhere her his mouth wasn't at the time.  He kissed her 
breasts and stroked her thighs.  He petted her through the 
panties and then helped her remove them.  He suckled her nipples 
and parted her labia.  She was moist there and he spread that 
moisture upwards.

His finger crossed the nubbin of her clitoris and she inhaled in 
a hiss.  He returned to the source of her moisture and pressed a 
finger into her.  She widened her legs.  He returned to her 
clitoral area and spread a little more moisture.  He wiped his 
finger around to meeting of her folds and then stroked across the 
clitoris again.

She touched his wrist and he stopped for a moment.  She caressed 
up his arms and across his shoulders.  He resumed his petting.  
She stroked over his chest and down across his, suddenly taut, 
belly.  He thrust two fingers into her.  She brushed her fingers 
across his erection.

He got up, went to his trousers, opened his wallet, and got out 
the packet.

He stopped in the light from the kitchen to open it and roll the 
latex on.  When he returned to the couch, Marge beckoned to him 
and he climbed over her leg and knelt there.  He kissed her belly 
once and then her breast.  He tried to find purchase for his left 
hand at the edge of the couch, gave up, and grasped the back with 
his right hand.  He felt for her with his left hand, but she was 
there before him.  Grateful he lowered himself, checked the 
position, and pushed in.

Once there, he stopped thinking about the clumsiness.  He was in 
her vagina and in her hands.  The feeling was a little different 
with the rubber, but still warm and clinging.  Only a little 
effort was needed to bring his lips down to hers and the reward 
was a wet kiss.  She cupped his hip with her hand and squeezed.  
He thrust forward and actually moved her on the couch.  She 
adjusted her legs and then thrust back.  He retreated and got 
into the rhythm.  She squeezed his butt in time.

The motion was good.  The sensation of her breasts and thighs and 
mons as he moved against them was better.  The sweet clasping and 
friction of her vagina on his stiff rod and its sensitive head 
were the best.  He stroked in time to her squeezing, then in time 
to his inner urge.  Then he drove into her with all his lust and 
pressed forward as emptied himself into her.  She was moving 
beneath him and around him.  Then his muscles softened.  Finally 
hers did too.

Gasping, he lay on her.  Then he felt himself softening and drew 
back.  His penis seemed to be shrinking out of the condom, so he 
hauled himself up.  He stood and pulled the contraceptive off 
just before it fell.  He moved to the bathroom and tossed it in 
the wastebasket.  While there he used the toilet, and washed his 
hands and penis.  She was starting to get up when he came back.

"Sorry.  That was ill-planned.  Sit there for one more moment, 
can't you?"

He sat beside her and hugged her.  He kissed her over her face as 
well as on the mouth.  He hugged her for a minute, but both of 
them were too hot.  This time, when she got up, he didn't try to 
stop her.  He was dressed when she came back in a robe.

They kissed quietly, he asked her out on the next Friday.  She 
agreed.  He left, a little saddened somehow.

That sadness didn't last past the night.  He awoke with no 
demands on his time and replayed the night.  The clumsiness 
bothered him, but the sensations had been delightful.


Continued in Chapter 3
RTFM
Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.net
2004/07/28

Thanks to Neneh for editing this. 

For another story of young man's first time with a more 
experienced woman:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/med/apprenti.htm
"The Apprentice"

The index to all my stories currently available:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/index.htm

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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