Peter Jensen THE BOYFRIEND’S DAD

CHAPTER ONE

Tamera West slouched in an easy chair, watching an old Tarzan repeat on the television and eating an apple. Her thoughts weren’t on the screen, but on her date for that night, Eddie McDonald, a big, handsome boy, with craggy features like James Colburn—only younger, of course, Eddie was going to be a senior when school started again, (but sadly, he was going to be bussed to another district. Still, there was the rest of the summer to see him, and who could tell what would happen by September?) She’d only been out with him once, last Saturday night, on a blind date arranged by her best friend, Nancy Cannon, whose steady boyfriend Jason, had brought Eddie along. And wow!

Tamera stretched out and yawned, running her fingers feline-like through her long silken blonde hair, blissfully thinking of his strong, muscular arms and how they’d held her in the backseat of Jason’s old car, of how he’d kissed her so hard her toes had curled, of how he’d tried to put his hand on her breasts, under her sweater, and of how, when she hadn’t allowed him to, he’d attempted to slide his hand up her naked thigh and under her skirt.

It made her quiver all over again with excitement, strange awakening tinglings of budding womanhood pervading her belly, breasts, and vagina. Eddie made her feel so alive, so much like a woman, even though she was only fifteen. Or—was it him, her mind cautioned, or just her own chemistry changing as she matured. Was it time, she asked herself, like her girlfriend Nancy had told her once? One day you’re a child, and the next you’re ready for sex and everything. She didn’t know, but she figured that the important thing was having the feeling of being alive and generating a tingling heat every time she thought about it and Eddie.

She moved her legs so that they were straight out in front of her, arching slightly, and then she stiffened her back and yawned. In only one more hour…

She was a beautiful young girl, much like her mother, with an upturned, freckle-splattered nose and cheeks like spots from a paint brush, and her ice-blue eyes were more cat-like and devilish than distant, as many blue eyes can be. Her ripely budding young breasts were two small firm cylinders, tapering from their swollen moorings to cherry-nippled crests, and they bobbed invitingly as she moved in the chair, for she wore nothing more than a thin bra and sheer, almost see-through panties. The day had been so hot, and she had been too comfortable to worry about dressing for her date until the cool of the evening. The way she sat now, her eyes were drawn to the thin white nylon of her panties, and the way they creased in the thin visibly dividing slit of her vaginal lips. She liked looking at it, studying the soft, pink curves and silky blonde strands of pubic hair that curled out from around the elastic legbands; she liked looking at it through her panties almost as much as she liked seeing it naked. For the last few months she had liked looking at her sensually awakening young cunt, almost as much as she had enjoyed touching it.

She had learned the delightful way her fingers could arouse her, make her thrash and oscillate with delicious sensations. She had learned to finger herself from Nancy—which was one reason that they were friends. She’d walked into Nancy’s bedroom one night when she’d been sleeping overnight there, not wearing even so much as she was now, for she’d been taking a shower; her nakedness had never given her a second thought. After all, they were both girls, and they’d seen each other in the flesh in the school locker room before, so why should it be different here? It proved to be very different.

Nancy had been lying on her bed, her back against the headboard, and her hand was between her legs rubbing her dark, thinly curled pubic triangle as fast as she could. Her eyes had been shut, and she’d been moaning. Thinking she was in pain, Tamera had run over to her and asked what was the matter. Nancy had told her to put the towel on the bed and lie down upon it beside her; and then, after the innocent Tamera had done so, Nancy leaned forward and told her to spread her legs…

The thought of Nancy’s cool fingers on her sensitive little pubic lips made Tamera blush even now, for she knew instinctively that what they had done was wrong, though such things were never discussed in her sex classes.

But, after a few moments, Tamera hadn’t wanted the strange scintillating feelings she’d been introduced to by Nancy to stop. Nancy and she had gotten together a lot after that, and Tamera alone often fondled the soft little cuntal valley between her legs. Not that she’d ever allowed the boys who dated her to finger her… never.

She was determined to be married a virgin like her mother had, and anything past necking and fondling her breasts—and that only after quite a few dates… was strictly off limits. There’d been times after a drive-in movie or a hot party or like last week with Eddie, when she’d cried her frustrations into her pillow, for she’d been aroused hotter than ever before. And then she’d had to use her fingers again for relief. She kept telling herself that in a few weeks a particular boy would no longer be important, and she would grow fond of another, and she couldn’t give in her virginity for one that wouldn’t last forever. She wasn’t ready to settle down, to truly fall in love—and so far she’d been right.

Of course, no boy had come along like Eddie before. Tamera knew instinctively that she’d have an awfully hard time keeping her moral resolutions intact with a “wow” guy like him.

There was a noise then, interrupting her train of thoughts, and Tamera looked up as the front door opened and her mother entered. Carla West, thirty-five years old and widowed, staggered into the living room with a pile of grocery sacks. She was dressed in a light blouse and shorts, the long expanse of her tanned legs provocative against the white of the cloth. Her hair was askew, however, and perspiration beaded her face, and it was obvious that she was tired from the shopping she’d done. Still, there was a fresh, young beauty about her in spite of the fact she had a teenaged daughter; firm taut breasts, trim flat stomach without the slightest stretch mark to interrupt the silken smoothness of her skin, and the same kind of pouty, sensual face as Tamera’s.

“There’s another bundle in the car,” Carla said. “I’d ask you to get it, but I can see you’re not dressed.” She eyed her daughter’s bare sun-browned body with disapproval.

“Aw, Mom,” Tamera objected. “I was just resting like this.”

“Resting to do what? Strip-tease for the neighbors?”

“I’ve got more on now than when I’m wearing my bikini, for crying out loud.”

“Listen, honey,” her mother retorted waspishly. “I don’t care if you run around the house completely naked. In fact you have a lovely body and it’s enjoyable to see, compared to most girl’s figures. But a bikini is one thing, see-through panties and bra are another—and especially when the curtains are open and everybody passing can see you.”

“Oh,” Tamera said. “I forgot.”

“Uh-huh.” Carla sighed, exhausted and too uncomfortable to continue arguing, and sat down on the sofa to the right of her daughter. “What a mess at Goodermann’s today. You’d think it was the Fourth of July or something. I’m bushed.”

“I’ll get dressed,” Tamera offered, “and get the other sack of groceries for you.”

“No, no,” Carla replied wearily. “No need. I’ll get a second wind in a little bit.”

“I have to get dressed anyway,” Tamera said, rising out of her chair. “I mean, it’s almost time for Eddie to get here.”

“Eddie? Oh, yes, Eddie, the boy you were with last week. You’re going out with him again tonight?”

“The four of us. Jason—that’s Nancy’s boy-friend—doesn’t have his car running, so we’re all using Eddie’s. Last week Eddie’s was broken.”

“Where were you today?”

“At the park. Me and Nancy, we swam in the pool there. But it was awful crowded, you know? And it sort of smelled from everybody.” She wrinkled her nose with disgust. “It wasn’t very nice.”

“I worry about you,” her mother started to complain. “Out all day, gone most of the nights… I don’t know what to do at times.”

“Don’t worry, Mom. I’m a big girl now.”

“You’re the only one left now, the only one. Some women who’ve lost their husbands don’t try to be both parents to their children, never care where they are or who they’re with, but I do.”

“You want me to put away the groceries, then?” Tamera asked, knowing what happened when her mother got wound up on the maudlin subject of just-the-two-of-them.

“I’ve got so many troubles, I don’t even sleep any more.”

“Sure you do,” Tamera said. “Don’t take so many pills, that’s all. They’re not good for you.” She didn’t mention the pints of brandy that her mother kept by her bedside. “But honest, Mom, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Nothing a good man wouldn’t cure, Tamera thought. Her mother was a very lovely woman, with a good figure and svelte, smoothly tapered legs, and she should have somebody to replace the father and husband which had been missing for six years now. It wasn’t right that her mother should deny herself the love and passion of a man, not right at all—but Tamera knew better than to bring up that subject. The few times she had in the past, her head had been chopped off, for her mother considered such talk sinful. Her mother was definitely a product of her mother’s Victorian generation.

“Well, if you must leave me alone, you must.” Carla sighed. “You know that I’m tired and need you to help me.”

“I’ll be in early, Mother, and help tomorrow. You’ll be all right this evening, won’t you?” Sure she will, Tamera thought. Nothing the matter with her except neglect. That’s why all the aches and pains; she’s looking for sympathy and interest—why, the doctor as much told me that when I saw him last. Neglect and disuse, that’s all the matter with her, neglect of mind and body. Why couldn’t she break down her old-fashioned ways and be the real woman that she is underneath those imaginary black ankle-length skirts and whale-bone corsets…

“Oh, I realize I’m only being a selfish old lady,” Carla said, smiling. “It’s your time to be out and find your man. I’ve had my love, now better luck with yours.”

“You haven’t finished loving, Mother,” Tamera said sharply. “You’re only thirty-five, and a beautiful thirty-five at that!”

“I know. I have you, dearest child.”

“That’s not what I meant! I—Ohhh, what’s the use.” Tamera turned and started across the room. “I have to get dressed now, Mom.”

Carla looked at her beautiful offspring tenderly as the almost naked Tamera padded barefoot into the hallway. She was slightly disturbed at her child, because Tamera had almost spoken—and was no doubt thinking—what she herself hadn’t dared to think at her young age. But she couldn’t stay mad or upset for long, and she felt herself warming with love and affection at the radiant, tanned body, the cornsilk hair fanning out behind her head, the way her conical young breasts beat with the rhythm of her heart, solid and not as large as her own, but then not fully developed, either. And Carla had to admire with pride her daughter’s smooth flat belly and cute navel and the gentle sloping to her thighs, where she knew there was a down of softly curling pubic hair slightly thinner than her own—at the moment covered by merely a wisp of sheer nylon—and the pink petals of her still untouched young vagina. Her tight, almost boyish buttocks swayed gently as she walked toward her bedroom, and her feet, small, with delicate toes…

Still, she couldn’t help fearing that Tamera was perhaps emerging into maturity faster than she should, and that she wasn’t experiencing the joys of childhood. Was Tamera growing up too fast? And then Carla laughed wryly, realizing that she was being foolish. She was overprotective, desperately clutching her child to her bosom because that was all that was left. No husband, not since Arnold died, and there wouldn’t be another—not so long as the memory of her one true love was still fresh and poignant in her mind. Six years… but the telegram from the Army saying he’d been killed in a munitions accident could have arrived yesterday for all the dulling effects of time. No, Tamera was of this generation, a world faster than her own. There was no cause to worry… Tamera might not be the mental innocent that she had been at fifteen—but she was still as physically pure, that Carla was sure of.

With another long-drawn sigh, Carla West lifted herself out of her chair and began taking the groceries into the kitchen. They weren’t going to put themselves away, that was for sure…

Tamera had showered when she’d returned from the park, so her dressing consisted merely of putting on whatever outfit she chose to wear that evening. She stopped before the mirror in her bedroom, gazing with satisfaction at the voluptuously curved body her attractive mother and father had given her, and again studied the way her panties outlined her slightly puffy little cuntal mound. She tugged the panties up with her fingers until the smooth round cheeks of her buttocks and the thin divide of her vaginal slit were tightly impressed into the soft nylon and she giggled with secret delight. Then she slipped into a mini-skirted jumper, the top of which covered her breasts but still gave the impression that she was naked underneath. A summer dress, befitting the heat—and good for getting a boy like Eddie all hot and bothered. But she’d handle him, she thought to herself as she smoothed out the thin, light yellow material, and she’d stop his crude passes tonight, just as she had last week, but she was going to have loads of fun getting up to that point…

She began to comb her softly waving hair, and again she looked at herself in the mirror, seeing the way the mini-skirt clung to her buttocks and was more than half way up her tanned thighs, with slight creases in front where her legs joined her hips. With sudden awareness, she realized that she could almost see the lips of her vagina—was the jumper too daring for tonight? A forbidden thrill raced through her. Well, she’d soon know!

There was a sudden, shrill blast of a born, and the “rumm-rumm!” of a car engine being revved. Eddie was here! Early at that!

She shoved her feet into a pair of scuffed loafers and ran out of her room. “Mom!” she called, “I’m going now!”

“Aren’t you going to give your mother a kiss?” Carla said from the kitchen.

“Sure,” Tamera said, and hurried into the kitchen to peck her mother on the cheek. “Now, take care,” she said.

“You take care, darling,” Carla admonished.

“I will, and I’ll be home early, like I said.”

“Scat, before I change my mind,” her mother said smiling.

Tamera was gone quick as a wink, her exit a slammed front door and the squeal of tires on the pavement as Eddie’s car roared down the otherwise quiet residential street.

Carla West went to their own car, a beat-up old station wagon, and took the last sack of groceries into the house and began putting the groceries away. She stared morosely at the stuff she’d bought. The silence of the house oppressed her for it’s emptiness. It was always thus when Tamera wasn’t home with her, and with the remembrances of Arnold and his death, the house seemed to be like a tomb to her, still as death and just as vacant.

She went into her own bedroom then, wanting to take a cooling bath and wondering if it would be worth the trouble afterwards to prepare the special steak she’d bought for Tamera and herself—before she’d known that her daughter wouldn’t be home to share it. A tear welled in one eye and she blinked it away rapidly as she slipped out of her shorts and blouse, putting them in the clothes hamper on her way into the bathroom. She placed the stopper in the tub and ran water in it—lukewarm the way she liked it on muggy summer days such as this one—and as she waited for the water to fill up, she looked down at herself in a critically detached way, as a woman does when seeing how age has affected her.

Yet her mind still dwelt on her child. She was thinking how Tamera would one day make a good wife for a man, and that no matter how lonely and sad she felt when her daughter left, it was selfish not to allow her to be with boys her own age. When the right man came along, Carla was certain that Tamera would give herself in marital relations totally and completely, just as she herself had done with Arnold. As I may yet do again…

The thought of her own secret sexual desires made Carla blush with shame, but as she gazed down at her own naked body, she had to admit that she still had much to offer a man. I’ve a good shape… and if I’m lucky I’ll be able to please another man with the same intensity and passion as I offered Arnold. Until then, I’ll hold myself in reserve, just as if I were a virgin again…

Her flaxen blonde hair was longer than her daughter’s and she experimentally let it fall down over her shoulders and curl provocatively around the ruby nipples of her cream-white breasts. God, I still look very brazen and sensual that way… then shame-faced at her thoughts, she swept her hair back up again and raised her arms over her head, stretching her breasts and loins taut, in a classic nude pose. She stood that way for a long moment, letting her eyes scan the lovely smooth flesh of her torso, having to admire in honest appraisal the flat surface of her abdomen and the tiny dimple of her navel, then the soft fluffy hair of her pubic triangle, golden and very fine. She could see the pink lips of her vagina and the tip of her clitoris peeking shyly out from the soft puffy slit of her cunt in almost childlike innocence. Pirouetting lightly, she examined the dimpled roundness of her smoothly curving buttocks and the rippling muscles in the back of her slim, tapered thighs.

Self-consciously, she wrenched her prurient thoughts away from her physical being and turned off the tap water. The tub was full now, and she stepped into it, feeling the soothing tepidness of the water banish the fetid heat of the day. She slowly sank down, relaxing, nearly contented at last as she lay with her head touching the rear lip of the porcelain. As usual in moments of relaxation, she thought about Arnold.

Arnold had been a rangy man, lean, hard-muscled and tan, alive and virile every moment Carla had known him, and the love the two had shared had had the intensity of a forest fire. She hadn’t cared that he’d been an underpaid salesman, unable to afford the finest of luxuries for her, or even that they’d had to scrimp and save for some of the necessities. She was proud of him, feasting in his sensuality and his animal eyes, his hands, his mouth, his penis… Why did he have to be called up? Why did the Army have to have one of their silly little alerts and make all of the Reserves come running, and then… Carla stifled a small sob, thinking of what must have happened when the munitions explosion had taken her husband from her forever. No more Arnold, no more hands or mouth or eyes or that wonderful iron-hard, life-giving penis…

She fondly remembered the last night they’d made love, when in their innocence they’d thought it was only going to be a parting of a few days or weeks—and even then the pain had been acute. Arnold had been naked, as she had been, and he straddled her thighs on the same bed that was now only a few feet on the other side of the door. He’d kissed her as his excitedly erect cock rubbed against her quivering, wetly aching pussy… She’d spread her legs for him, her desire building…

Carla lay in the water, shocked at her thoughts—and yet, she couldn’t help shutting her eyes and dreaming of his virile, hard penis. Holding her breath, she felt a strange series of small involuntary sensations of arousal churning through her loins as she allowed the lewd images to filter hazily through her mind.

His buttocks moved so that his penis would slide up and down in the trembling little valley of her slowly moistening cunt, and then her fingers reached out and touched it, teasing the stretched foreskin back and forth, making him groan with similar delight to the warm, pulsating sensations he was building up down between her thighs…

And it was as if Carla could feel it happening all over again. She opened her eyes and looked at her breasts and saw the nipples were turgid, jutting up from the gently floating globes of her breasts like mountain peaks on lonely Pacific atolls. A tender aching began between her legs, in spite of the revulsion she felt at what she was thinking. She moved her hand from the side of the tub, her guilt slightly assuaged by the knowledge that she was completely alone with her sinful reveries, her stomach alive with tiny fluttering shocks as exciting images poured through her body. She moved her hand because she couldn’t control it and touched her breasts, the contact of her fingers intensifying the throbbing in her vagina. Her entire being quivered in the warmth of the bath water.

Arnold was once more on top of her naked body, only lower now, his breath hot in her ear, his sensuously throbbing cock just inside the warm, straining lips of her vaginal opening. She was straining harder toward him, her inner thighs and buttocks rigid as he slipped the tip of his blood-swollen penis inside her cunt, her womb dilating open wider so she could take his full length all the way, deep… deep inside her aching belly…

A wave of rising shame made Carla momentarily halt in her fantasizing, but there was no use deluding herself. She was aroused, highly aroused, and she was alone. If only Arnold was there for her to love, for she needed release badly—desperately. It was wrong, it was sick, and yet, oh God… She continued to massage her breasts as she slowly capitulated to the physical urgency which was surging like a tidal wave of desire through her belly and loins. Only the reassuring knowledge that she was alone was left, that and the waves of her remembered embraces with Arnold that night so long ago blotted out the guilt of masturbation…

“Yes, darling… take me… take me…” Arnold’s fevered whispers reverberated through the brain of the hotly writhing young woman. She could feel his nakedness upon hers once again, pressing her breasts flat and crushing the breath from her as his cock wormed forcefully up into her waiting cunt. “Milk me, darling… Ohhhhh!”

Carla arched her back, straining her hips up off the tub bottom, her stomach and the moisture-drenched curls of her pubic mound out of the water. She braced her body by pressing the soles of her feet on the sides, lifting her left leg and hooking it on the outer rim. She cupped the creamy naked globes of her breasts in her long slim fingers, kneading their hardening flesh and causing lewd whirlpools of soaring passion to seethe deep inside her belly, as her eyes drew to the now open fluted edges of her trembling cunt down between her legs. She couldn’t… she mustn’t…

They were moving together now, harder and faster with increasingly savage strokings and pumpings, building to an explosion of ecstasy. She felt herself grow taut, her desperately straining cunt-lips locked hotly around his lunging penis like tiny hungry lips around a lollipop.

She couldn’t stand it any longer. Her right hand dropped between her wide-splayed thighs, and she squirmed her middle finger into the soft moist flesh, the generated passions so very soft, so very wonderful. She manipulated the hairline inner lips until she felt them swell with blood, and her clitoris tingled as her index finger came into searing contact with it. She gasped in total abandonment and delight as she thrashed the bath water and squeezed her breast, her hand rubbing across her sensitively aroused cunt faster and faster. Nothing existed for her in that moment except the delirious dreams of her lover, as her mind and body raced to mutual climaxes…

Arnold pumped furiously over her, his lust-hardened shaft fucking in and out demonically, and his tongue deep, deep in her mouth. Then he raised back and cried out his orgasm, the blunt cock-head of his penis raining molten jets of semen into her eagerly milking pussy, filling it in great searing spurts. She clasped his body to her, heaving her own buttocks up to meet him, not wanting to lose a drop of his precious life-giving liquid. And then… she too was cumming…

She was! Carla was there! She ground her hand in her pussy, up inside her wet, moistly pulsing channel, frothing the water around her. Her hips flailed as wave after wave of bursting release seized her like a disabled ship in a storm-tossed ocean. She stifled a cry of acute pleasure as her orgasm washed over her, making her sink back into the tub again. She lay there, not moving, her eyes tightly shut and her chest rising and falling spasmodically, as the image of her husband making love to her slowly faded away. She removed her hand from her vagina and let it drop into the water, the ever-present shame of guilt replacing her dreams…

She hung her head, ashamed. The act she’d just performed would have caused her untold anguish had she caught her daughter doing the same. What was the matter with her? Were her years of self-denial so harsh that the mere thoughts of Arnold could set her loose from sane decency? Was she so starved for sex that she had to resort to masturbation like some sex-crazed nymphomaniac? She flagellated herself for another minute with her self-abasement, and then stopped abruptly. No use torturing herself over what’s already been done, she thought, can’t go back and not do it now. Must be more disciplined in the future, watch my imagination and see that it doesn’t run away with me as it did just now.

After another five minutes, in which she furiously scrubbed herself rosy clean, she felt better, a strange warming satisfaction overtaking her as the aftermath of her climax made her glow with overall comfort and release. She stepped out of the tub, refusing to dwell on what she’d done, only thankful that nobody had seen her, and toweled herself dry.

She walked naked into her bedroom and began searching for something light and comfortable to wear, and even considered staying nude for a moment, before the recollection of what she’d done in the tub while naked made her hastily abandon that idea. She wondered as she took out a clean pair of panties where it would lead if she continued to fondle herself into completion. In the back of her mind was the dreaded truth she didn’t want to face: she wouldn’t be able to deny herself much longer the needed sex she had been so long without…