Helping Bobby Learn

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Chapter One

When I was a kid, I used to get hold of a Penthouse Forum magazine every so often. When you're a kid, you don't realize that most of those letters are bullshit - fiction that, these days, is published on any number of websites that host erotic reading. And I dreamed of doing the things I read about in those purloined pages, while I beat off like crazy.

Of course back then girls had a different take on playing stinky finger and such things. You could get your dick wet, but not easily. To be honest about it, I think the reason girls were reluctant to play was because they were so afraid somebody else would find out. Some guys were stupid, bragging about every conquest, like that would make them more popular with guys who weren't getting any at all. And once a girl got a reputation, she was stuck with it.

So the challenge, when I was a studly teenager, was to convince the girl not only that it was safe to try things (because my lips would be zipped) but to convince her she should try things. Of course I'm talking about the things I read about in the Forum letters.

And what I learned along the way served me very well, I must say. I hit college in the late sixties, and by then women's feelings about sex had gone through some amazing changes. They were still reluctant, but now it was because they knew sex could be good, but they weren't getting that kind of sex from guys their age. That's because guys their age thought with their balls instead of their brains.

For girls, there were clear and rational steps in a relationship. They all knew what the steps were and talked about them to each other. And for the girls, being on a given step was just fine. It was thrilling and sexy and made her feel grown up. It was romantic to be on one step and contemplate climbing up to the next one. And when she decided to let a boy take that next step, it was a gift to him - she was according him a privilege, if you will.

Guys, on the other hand, saw sex more like falling off a cliff. You took one step and then there was nothing you could do about it. Gravity took over and the only thing that could stop you was hitting the ground. "The ground" usually consisted of a cop, knocking on steamed up windows with his flashlight, or maybe a shrill voice saying "I have a curfew. We have to go right now!"

The point is that only very rarely did what the guys want match what the girls wanted too. So what you ended up with were horny girls who knew it could be good, but didn't know how to get their boyfriends to make it good. I learned about this during my first couple of years of college. And, by the time I was a junior, I had cultivated a reputation, and earned a nickname, which was "Cupid." I was the guy who didn't have a steady girlfriend, but who was fun to go out with, because I knew what the steps were, and would stop when told to stop. In other words, I wasn't boyfriend material. I was "the guy you can try things with and then walk away from." I know that doesn't sound very sexy, but the fact was that a lot of girls were curious about steps they weren't willing to let their boyfriends take, because if they let their boyfriends do that, then he'd think he could do it again, or take more steps etcetera and so forth. And girls hate to commit themselves to something that they don't know for sure if they're going to like or not.

Like blowjobs.

That's just one example, but there were tons of sexual activities (remember this is in the late sixties) that everybody knew about, but which were shied away from by girls just because they didn't want to get into a situation where their guy would expect them to do it again and again.

Then there were the wild girls. Or maybe they were girls who had just let things go too far, and they couldn't get back to where they thought things should be. Like I said, once a girl got a reputation, she was stuck with it. Those girls found themselves in a mixed up world where they had, at one time or another, tasted nirvana. And they somehow knew that if they could just learn how to control the man, they could taste it again someday. To them, sex could be a tool, used to control a man. But you had to be good at using that tool, and you didn't practice on your boyfriend. You practiced with Cupid, and then owned your boyfriend.

Of course in my persona as Cupid, I aimed at getting as much as I could. The whole point of being Cupid was having access to lots of different pussy, without getting entangled in any particular one. And part of being Cupid was being the best bullshitter on the block. This was bullshitting on the level of The Olympics, and the fact was that I had this mysterious talent to get women to do truly astonishing things.

Like fucking bareback.

You'd think that if a girl was going to go without a raincoat, she'd do it with her boyfriend, instead of a stranger, or at least a guy who she wasn't interested in having a long term relationship with. But girls are trained to demand a condom (it really is a good idea) and the only thing most of the intelligent ones have ever felt inside them is latex. Of course they hear stories about how good it feels to experience the real deal ... but they don't want to let their boyfriend do that ... but there's this guy who really will stop when you tell him to, and pull out if you don't tell him to stop ... and he's a nice guy with a good rep ... so if you want to see what it feels like ... just once ... go see Cupid.

Part of my success with women, which often included getting them to try many more things than they came to my house to try initially, was that I didn't play social or mind games with the girls. I talked to them like they were guy friends. I wasn't crude, but I was very open, and I asked them both what they wanted and what they thought about it after they got it. I honestly think that had more to do with making women comfortable around me than anything else. I didn't play the normal male/female mating games with them.

I could have sent a lot of letters to Penthouse, and they wouldn't have been fiction. But, of course, I didn't. And eventually one of the cheerleaders I convinced to try some things decided that, once she'd tried them, she didn't want to walk away, and my hormones finally got under control and I got married and the fun was over.

That's not fair. The fun wasn't over. The fun was actually just starting. Melody was the only woman who, both before we were married and afterwards, growled at me if I talked about using a condom. Melody wanted to be a mother, and she wanted me to be the father of her children. She got pregnant on the honeymoon. Either that or Bobby was a little bit premature, because she had him almost nine months to the day from our wedding ceremony.

And, as she gave her last push, to become what she wanted most in life, a congenital weakness in her aorta resulted in a rupture that turned out to be half an inch long. She died before they even knew there was a problem. She never got to hear her son's first cry, which I will forever believe was in anguish for losing his mother.

But other life went on, and I was all Bobby had left, so I couldn't wallow in self-pity, or whine and moan. I had a baby to raise, and that's what I spent my time doing. For the first five or six years he was my life, outside of work, which I had to do to bring in money. And I couldn't afford to get fired, so I did my job well. That's probably why I ended up as a vice president in the company, but that was much later.

It's astonishing how many things a kid can get involved in once he gets into school. There are plays, and band, and chorus, and sports. There are projects for science fairs, and field trips and birthday parties. And in the summer, when there's no school, boys want to play catch, and go fishing and ride bikes. And the fact that he has no mother doesn't mean vacations don't exist.

The point is that it was pretty easy for me to spend all my free time on my son, which is why I never got around to thinking about having another woman in my life. Melody eventually filled up a warm and sunny spot in my memories, and the pain wasn't so acute any more, but I didn't really need a woman in my life, if you know what I mean.

And then Bobby hit puberty, and parental units became passé with his age group. I was still welcome at football games, to watch him score points and posture on the field, but after the game he wanted nothing to do with me, preferring to hang with his friends.

And his girlfriend, of course.

He was a popular guy, and he never wanted for female companionship. I met them all, of course, and was interested to find out that I still had it when it came to the ladies. Not that I tried to put the moves on his girlfriends or anything. But I just naturally treated them like, and talked to them like I had talked to all those girls their age back in the day. And it turns out that in that sense, girls haven't changed a bit. They like it when a man approaches them on equal terms. And I almost always made friends with his girl of the month. Months - even years - after they broke up, those girls would see me somewhere and smile and come up and spend five or ten minutes catching up on things.

Like father, like son. Bobby ended up with a cheerleader. Her name was Courtney Rader, and she was one of those women who are scary to a lot of men.

First off, she was a stone fox. She was Asian-American, with naturally thick black hair. Instead of being short, which a lot of Asian heritage brings on, she was tall with a full size Barbie figure. She had teeth so white I was pretty sure she had a dentist on retainer to keep them that way. Her skin looked tanned, but I was sure it was also genetically dark. She wore her hair in a ponytail most of the time and liked to show off her legs, which were muscular in a feminine kind of way. She was a healthy young lioness, and when she prowled, the world would do well to take notice.

Not that she was full of herself. Not at all. If anything she was shy when we first met. I noticed that right away because I had seen her in the cheerleading squad long before she started going out with my son, and she knew how to work the crowd and get them going. I confess I'd had the odd fantasy about her myself before we actually met.

And then we did meet, and she was shy, and I treated her just like I had treated all the other girls - as if we were peers - and within a month she was hugging me when she got to the house and giving me a kiss on the cheek and calling me "Mister G." She didn't flirt, exactly, in the sense that this girl was a natural born tease, and teased every man she was around.

At any rate, I realized how serious things were becoming when, after four months, Courtney wasn't replaced by some other girl.

I hadn't thought all that much, up to this point, about what my son was doing with the girls. He was a boy and they were girls, and things come pretty naturally between them. So I assumed he was gaining some experience, and hoped he was being smart about it. I had raised him to be a gentleman, so I wasn't worried, per se. And then one night my bowling league was cancelled because a water pipe broke at the bowling alley, so I had to turn around and go back home much, much earlier than normal.

I didn't enter the house in stealth mode or anything. I wasn't even thinking about the kids, to be honest. I was trying to remember the recipe for Belgian Waffles. I had stopped on the way home to pick up whipped cream and strawberries. I had the powdered sugar, but I couldn't remember where I'd put the recipe for the batter.

The back door to the patio was open, and I heard a girl's voice say "Bobby! Stop it!" She didn't sound angry, exactly, but she did sound serious.

So I went and looked out the open door onto the patio. Bobby and Courtney were in the hot tub. They were also naked.

It was early March, and the weather had been unseasonably warm. I decided that was the reason Courtney was standing up, hip deep in the water, staring down at my son with storm clouds on her face. It wasn't cold enough to be uncomfortable out of the water. I did notice it was cold enough for her nipples to be nice and hard.

"I told you I'm not ready for that yet!" she snapped.

"Aw, come on, Courtney," whined my son, sounding like a spoiled little boy. "Brad told me you did it with him when you guys were going together."

"That was obviously a huge mistake!" said Courtney sharply. "But I don't care about Brad any more. I care about us, and I care that you aren't listening to me."

"Everybody knows that no means yes," said my son.

Which is all it took to have me out the door, striding toward the tub.

"No does not mean yes!" I yelled. "No means exactly what it means."

Courtney's eyes widened as her eyebrows rose above almond shaped eyes. Her hands came up out of the water to cover her breasts. I ignored her. I addressed my son, who was thrashing, panicked in the tub.

"When a lady says no, that's exactly what you had better be involved in," I said. "No son of mine is going to treat a woman like that."

"Dad!" croaked said son.

"Now, apologize to Courtney," I said.

"But I didn't do anything!" he howled. "She won't let me do anything!"

I looked at Courtney, who looked guarded now, rather than surprised. I noticed hickeys, one on her neck and another just above her left hand, on the upper swell of her left breast. I pointed, moving my finger to within an inch of her skin.

"That's a hickey," I said, my voice level. "She let you do that. And I think I'll point out that you're both naked, just in case you forgot."

"I didn't forget," said Bobby, clearly unable to form a plan on how to go forward in this situation.

I turned back to Courtney. She was staring at me, her hands still covering her breasts.

"You okay?" I asked.

She blinked at me two or three times, and then nodded.

"Please excuse my son," I said. "He's an idiot."

She swallowed, and then said "Um ... okay, I guess."

I think it was about then that I just slipped into my teenaged persona as Cupid. Don't ask me why it happened. Maybe all those dry years finally caught up with me.

"You're much too beautiful and sensitive to have to suffer bruises at the hands of an impatient ruffian like him," I said.

I saw her pupils dilate, and her eyebrows relaxed just a little.

"Would you like me to get you a towel, or are you going to give him another chance?" I asked.

"Another chance?" she asked, her voice high.

"Men can learn. You just have to be patient with them," I said. "If you were comfortable with it, I'd be happy to give him some pointers on how to treat a woman."

"Dad!" gurgled Bobby.

"Tell him to shut up," I said softly, looking right into her eyes.

"Shut up, Bobby," she said almost instantly, her eyes never leaving mine.

"Courtney!" he gasped.

Now her eyes left mine and pinned him.

"I said shut up, Bobby!" She looked back at me. "I think your father and I are discussing your future."

I saw curiosity in her face. I wasn't reacting like she expected me to. But that was what Cupid did ... what he was famous for.

"I remember quite clearly what boys and girls like to do," I said. "But there are right and wrong ways to go about it. My concern is that the two of you go about things the right way, so that nobody ends up ... unhappy.

She blinked again. She looked so serious.

"So ... you mean us being here ... like this ... isn't freaking you out?"

I smiled. "I am sometimes envious of my son," I said. "One such time is right now."

Her skin darkened from just above her hands, upwards. She smiled, finally.

"I feel silly."

"Trust me, you look anything but silly," I said.

"Mister G," she said, lowering her eyelashes half way. "Are you flirting with me?"

"I suppose I am," I admitted. "Not that I have a right to but ..." I turned to my son, who looked like he had just seen a unicorn, or some other mythical being. "A good women deserves to be flirted with," I finished. "Women are like fine china," I told him. "They are delicate and need to be handled with care. You don't suck at or bite fine china."

I looked back at Courtney. "You want me to go freeze a spoon to deal with those hickies?"

She looked curious again. "You know about how to do that?"

"Sure," I said. "Like I said, I was once young too."

She shot my son a look. "Yes, please. I told him to stop, but he doesn't listen to me."

"Maybe we can fix that," I whispered in a loud aside.

I left to go to the kitchen and wasn't surprised to hear water splashing. I was surprised to hear wet footsteps running after me. Bobby caught up to me as I opened the freezer door.

"I don't know what you think you're doing, but you need to stop it right now!" he hissed.

I turned to look at him. He was so agitated he'd apparently forgotten he was naked.

"I don't know what you think you were doing out in that hot tub, but you need to stop it right now," I mimicked.

Teenagers have no sense of humor.

Well some don't. I heard a giggle and looked to see Courtney standing timidly in the doorway to the patio. It turned out she'd kept her bikini bottoms on. Or maybe she'd put them back on. Who knows.

"We left our clothes in here," she gasped, and then darted for the living room.

"You, my boy are one very lucky young man," I said, watching her bouncing butt leave the room.

"Shit!" said Bobby, looking down at his own nakedness. He scampered after his girlfriend.

I stuck two serving spoons in the ice tray and, for lack of anything else to do while I waited for them to get cold, started looking for my Belgian Waffle recipe. I tried not to eavesdrop on the heated voices I heard coming from the living room. I wasn't too worried. She had stayed there, after all. I got the spoons and went to the living room, where I got my first real shock of the evening.

Courtney had put on her pants, but was still topless, standing there arguing with Bobby, who was buttoning his shirt. She was obviously quite comfortable being naked with my son. Maybe things were a lot further along than I thought. She saw me and covered her breasts again. I casually walked over and pressed one spoon to the hickey above her left hand, and the other one to the bruise on her neck.

"Hold those there for a bit," I said. She hesitated only a second or two, and then abandoned her modesty, reaching for the spoons. I was a gentleman and didn't ogle her breasts. "I'll go get some lotion to massage them with," I said.

"Okay," she said.

I was conflicted as I got some aloe lotion and contemplated what was going on in my house. Not the kids. That part was normal as pie. But for me to resurrect Cupid ... and apply his skills to a seventeen year old cheerleader again ... that gave me some pause. I realized my cock was very firm in my pants. I didn't have an erection, exactly, but I had been interested enough to start toward one, whether I was aware of it or not. She was a cutie. There was no doubt about that. And her responses to me suggested she was more comfortable with all this than I would have imagined. I wondered if she'd have her shirt on when I got back with the lotion. Then I wondered what it would mean if she did. That, of course, led me to wonder what it would mean if she didn't put her shirt on.

I got back and she had the shirt on, but not buttoned. Apparently she hadn't worn a bra to the house, because I didn't see one anywhere. I hadn't thought of "on, but not buttoned" but decided not to go overboard.

"You do the one on the chest and I'll do the one on the neck." I suggested. She just held out her fingers for me to squirt some lotion on. "I think we got to them soon enough that they'll fade in just a day or two," I said, moving behind her to begin massaging the bruise.

"I hope so," she said. "If my mom sees these she'll kill me."

"Moms are that way," I said, just to say something.

"My mom's never had a hickey in her life," sighed Courtney. "She's way too conservative for that."

"You never know," I said, enjoying the feel of her skin under my fingertips.

"If it wasn't for me, I'd be pretty sure my mom had never even had sex," said the girl.

I laughed.

"I could do that," said Bobby, clearly unhappy that my fingers were rubbing his girlfriend's neck.

I stood back. "The concept is to freeze the hickey first, to slow the circulation into the damaged area, and then massage the gathered blood back out," I explained.

"I didn't mean to damage you," said Bobby. It was the first thing I'd heard him say all night that was on the right track. "I just got excited," he added.

"You always get excited," she said. "I like that, but then you get too excited."

"I know," he sighed. His fingers replaced mine and I went to stand in front of them.

"Her skin is one of her major organs," I said. "It is delicate. Feel how smooth it is?"

"Yeah," he sighed, with feeling. Then he ruined it by trying to get some credit. "I've noticed that before."

"So skin is something to stroke and kiss, not bite and suck," I said.

"This is so weird," said Bobby. "My dad is standing here talking about my girlfriend's skin."

"You just listen to your dad," said Courtney. Her hand was still under her shirt, moving in little circles. "He's a very smart man."

"Well it's weird," said Bobby.

Cupid stepped in again. I reached out without a thought and pulled her shirt aside, baring her breast.

"Let's see how it's looking," I said.

She moved her hand, dropping it to her side. She made no attempt to cover her breast.

"Beautiful," I said softly.

I suspect she knew I was talking about her breast, which was full and quite pale. She obviously didn't lay out in the sun and bake. The tip of that breast was equipped with a tight almost black areola, upon which rested a small equally dark nipple. That the nipple was stiff meant something to Cupid. Her increased breathing rate did too.

"Thank you," she said almost too softly to be heard.

"How's that?" asked Bobby, abandoning her neck.

Cupid raised his horny head.

"We need to increase blood flow generally in the entire area," I said.

I moved behind her and gripped her trapezius muscles on both sides.

"May I?" I asked.

"Please," she said.

I looked at my son as I started in on the muscles. "Lesson one. Always ask. It's only polite."

Courtney groaned, and dropped her chin. Her head began to loll. I told Bobby to hand me the lotion. He did and I pulled the collar of her shirt down, to expose the skin. I knew that was pulling the shirt apart, but she had already made it clear that she didn't mind if Bobby saw them. I expanded down the trapezius and she shrugged the shirt off. Cupid grinned.

"Damn, dad," complained my son.

"Men never pay enough attention to what makes a woman feel relaxed and safe and good," I said as I casually ran my fingers along her naked back, pushing muscles this way and that. She was slumped forward, now. "All most men want to do is touch erogenous zones, get her going, and then jump on for the ride."

"Damn, dad!" groaned Bobby.

"He's right," came Courtney's muffled voice.

"This is so fucked up," moaned my frustrated son.

"No it's not," I said. "Courtney, are you comfortable with what's happening?"

She raised her head and said "Yes." She sounded a little surprised.

"Part of great sex is communication," I said.

"Yes!" said Courtney.

"I communicate," complained Bobby.

"No you don't," said his girlfriend. "All you do is make out and try to get in my pants."

"Well what's to talk about?" asked Bobby, clearly confused.

"Courtney?" I prompted.

"Hmmm?" she responded.

"I need to massage the front too, but that means I'm going to touch your breasts. How do you feel about that?"

There was dead silence as both teens were left speechless. Courtney wasn't speechless for long, though.

"That would be all right ... if Bobby is here."

"What?" gasped her boyfriend.

"Well, that's how I feel!" she moaned.

"This is so fucked up," growled my son.

"What she means is that she feels safe as long as you're here, Bobby," I said. "And I'd advise you stop using macho language when you're in a tender situation. You sound coarse, and coarse isn't what Courtney wants right now."

I slid my hands to the front of her shoulders. She took a deep breath and held it, going stiff. So I worked on her collar bones for a minute, until she had to breathe. I moved out to the balls of her shoulder joint and she relaxed. I told her to lean back against me and then, without warning, I smoothed my hands across her breasts, around in a circle and up her ribs, only to drag oily hands over her nipples again. She shuddered and panted.

"Damn, dad," said Bobby weakly.

"During a massage like this," I instructed, "her breasts are simply part of her skin. All the skin needs to be touched and stimulated when you're trying to increase blood flow. A lot of guys don't understand that. Breasts don't always have to be for sex." The whole time I was running my hands in opposing circles, with my fingers spread wide, touching as much of the front of her trunk as I could. Of course that included her breasts, and of course I felt her nipples respond. I heard her respond too, making tiny noises of pleasure. Just because I was treating her breasts like skin didn't mean she didn't feel anything.

"How does that make you feel?" I asked her.

"Horny," she moaned.

"Damn! Courtney!" gasped Bobby.

"Now you try it," I said to Bobby.

There was an awkward moment when he tried to figure out how to do this segue, but I told him to get his hands lotioned up and had him start on her neck and back, just like I had. I told him to feel the muscles, and the skin, and to pay attention to how she felt under his hands. I told him this could be just as much fun for him as it was for her, if he'd just get his mind off of having sex as soon as humanly possible and play around a little.

"Being horny won't kill you," I said. "And if you can't have sex, then being horny like this will make your beat off session a lot more fun."

"This is unreal," whispered Bobby. "My father is talking to me about beating off, while I'm rubbing my girlfriend's naked body ... which he just rubbed too."

"Do you want me to be happy?" asked Courtney.

"Of course I want you to be happy!" said her boyfriend.

"Then listen to your father, because he's making more sense than any adult I ever heard before."

"Ask her how she feels?" I prompted.

He looked at me like I was stupid, but did what I told him to.

"I feel like I want you to do the front," she said, leaning back against him and thrusting her breasts out.

I grinned at my boy, who looked shocked, and then chagrined.

I had to make him touch more than her breasts, but eventually she was just as turned on with him as she had been with me.

"Now kiss her neck ... gently," I instructed.

He didn't question me this time.

"It's like you're substituting your lips for your fingers," I said. "Caress her with your lips."

I saw him "get it" and start using his lips. She shuddered again.

"Ooooo I am soooo horny," she moaned. "This is not good."

"Why?" he said, stopping what he was doing.

"Because this makes me want to be bad."

"Really?" I saw him thinking about that. He wasn't stupid, just full of hormones.

"Then that's enough for tonight," I said firmly.

"Are you crazy?" asked Bobby before he could stop himself.

"And that is what just shot you down," I sighed.

"What?" He looked confused.

His girlfriend turned to him, pulling on her shirt again. This time she buttoned it.

"What he's saying is that I was vulnerable, and you wanted to take advantage of me."

"But you said you were horny and wanted to be bad!" he moaned.

"You weren't listening," I said. "She also said that what was happening was not good."

"I'm confused," he sighed.

"How many times have I told you I don't want to have sex yet?" she asked.

"More times than I can remember," he smirked.

"And do you really think I was just messing with you?" she asked. "Do you actually think I don't mean it when I say it a hundred times?"

"I don't know," he said, hedging. "You let Brad."

"I told you that was a mistake. You might notice I'm no longer going with Brad, right? That's because Brad wouldn't listen to me either, Bobby!"

I held up my hand to stop them from starting an argument.

"It's normal for you to want to have sex. It's normal for her to want it too. But she has decided that the risks outweigh the benefits of that kind of relationship right now. So she doesn't want to give in to her base desires. And she wants her man to respect that. What Brad did was only pay attention to his balls. He didn't care about how she felt. So she dumped him. She's giving you a warning that, if you act like Brad, you're probably going to get dumped too."

Courtney looked at me. "Wow. You're really good at all this."

"But I love you," said Bobby. "You can't dump me."

"You love my pu-" She blushed and covered her mouth. "You're in lust with me, Bobby, not love."

"That's not true. I care how you feel."

"Then stop pushing me to have sex!" she yelled.

"There you go," I said. "Communication has begun."

To be honest, I thought that was an aberration, a bump in the normal road my son and I were traveling on. I was pretty sure that I would never touch Courtney again - anywhere. In fact, I hoped I hadn't screwed up my son's romance, and that she wasn't afraid to come over any more.

Perish the thought.

Two nights later, which was Friday, the doorbell rang. It was Courtney. I was surprised. Bobby was at track practice. He ran cross country in the off season, so that his wind was good for football.

"He's not here," I said.

"I know," she said. "I'm just going to wait for him, if that's okay."

"Sure," I said. "Want something to eat?"

"No, you go ahead. He's taking me to the Burger Shack tonight."

"Ahhh," I said. "Well, make yourself comfortable."

She did, sitting at the kitchen table while I made tuna and noodles.

"You're really different," she said.

"We're all unique," I said.

"No I mean it. You're the first man I've felt like I could talk to in ... forever." She thought about that for a few seconds, and then remembered Mr. Simpson, her Math teacher. "But he's married. He's cute and all, but it would be weird talking to him about ... things."


"Sex," she said softly.

"I see."

"You understand how I feel," she said.

"Most women feel the way you do," I replied.

"You couldn't tell it from the way guys act."

I put the noodles in the microwave, turned it on, and sat down opposite her.

"What do you want?" I asked. I had learned a long time back that being direct was often a good idea. But she wasn't used to that yet.

"I don't know," she said.

"Yes you do." I stared at her. "What do you want from me?"

She swallowed.

"I'm confused about that."

"Does all this have to do with what happened the other night?"

She nodded. "But it started before that. I've been ... um ... interested in you ... ever since I met you. That's what I don't understand."

"You've never been interested in an older man before?" I asked.

"Mr. Simpson," she admitted. "But I already mentioned that."

"I wouldn't worry about it," I said. "Girls are allowed to be interested in any man. That doesn't mean anything will happen. The other night was a little odd, but it doesn't mean anything else has to happen."

"What if I want something else to happen?" she asked. She looked nervous now.

"That would be cheating on Bobby," I said.

"Not if he was there," she countered.

"So let me get this straight," said my son, looking across the kitchen table the next morning. "My girlfriend came over here and told you she wants to do ... stuff ... with you ... while I watch."

"How did you find out about this?" I asked.

"My girlfriend told me!" he barked.

I had always made it a policy to be honest with my son.

"Basically, that's the way I remember it," I said. "But when you came home, you and Courtney went up to your room right away. Then you went out on your date. Since I didn't hear you come in, I assume I was already asleep. Ergo, I didn't exactly have a chance to speak with you about it." He looked upset. "Did she tell you what she wants to ... um ... do?"

"No." I thought it was going to be a one word answer, but he went on. "She said she doesn't know yet what she wants to do. She just knows that she trusts you and that, for the first time in her life, she can try some things without having to worry about being able to control the environment."

"She said that?" I was amazed that Cupid's power was still so strong.

"She said that, and then said that it wouldn't be cheating if I told her it was okay, and was there."

"Hmmmm," I said slowly. "This is good."

His jaw dropped open. "How can you possibly say this is good? My girlfriend suddenly got kinky and wants to mess around with my fricking father!"

"I'll tell you how this is good," I responded. "This is good because she's thinking about doing all these things, whatever they are, with you. But she can't trust you to control yourself and she's hoping that you can learn how to do that so she can move up a few steps with you."

He stared at me. "Dad, you always told me to keep away from drugs. And I did. I'm very disappointed in you, Dad."

So I told him about college, and about Cupid. Young men don't have a tendency to think about the sexual prowess of their fathers. It's just not a topic for reflection. You know what I mean. Most people don't ever want to think about how good their parents were at things sexual. But in this case, I provided him with two things that are precious to teenagers: information, and hope.

The information itself was good, because it helped him understand why his girlfriend was acting all squirrelly. And the hope was because I explained that, if he learned how to listen, and control his urges, he could have a whole lot more sex than had been available to him before this.

The end result was that my son agreed to let me fool around with his girlfriend.

Next Chapter >>

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