Mother's New Boarder
                                   Chapter 2

     Wendy Franklin was very close to her mother.  With her father dead for
many years, the two of them could have split apart, as so often and tragically
happens, but her mother had always been fair and understanding, directing
without being domineering, and above all, loving.

     And Wendy loved her mother deeply in return.  Her mother might be old and
no longer interested in men, for example, but she had once been young and knew
what it was like to be Wendy's age. She allowed her to go out on dates and lots
of other things without a bunch of silly regulations some of the other mothers
placed on their kids -- like being home from a school prom at midnight, and not
allowing the girls to go on anything but double dates.  Her mother had always
insisted that the mark of maturity was trust, and so she made sure that her
daughter was instilled with the proper ethics and morals and then trusted her
to do the right thing.  She never tried to cling to her growing child, nor
constantly think in terms of her as her "baby," and was more than pleased when
Wendy was interested in the ways and morals of sex and reproduction, of
explaining the mysteries of monthly cycles when Wendy had first begun to
menstruate when she was eleven, went out of her way to buy training bras and
then larger ones as Wendy developed.

     There was no false prudery between them; they'd seen each other naked, and
had once even taken a shower together, but again, her mother was a modest
woman, and taught Wendy the healthy outlook to like her body and hold it ready
in pride for a man she loved to take.  And in the course of dating and going
steady, Wendy had been aroused to seething, panting excitement by a boy's
touches and kisses, been driven to almost the point of total abandonment by her
sexual instincts, which were alive and always seemed just below her surface.
But that was the difference: almost.  Her mother's love and trust and honor had
always stuck somehow, and Wendy Franklin was still a virgin, unlike most of her
class-mates, vowing to save her cherished gift of sex for the right man -- the
man she would love and who would love her enough in return to slip a gold ring
on her finger first.  Sometimes, after a long drive-in movie or heavy petting
up in the woods in a car, it took everything she held dear for her to stop, to
fight off her urges and the boy and will herself back to calmness so that she
could control her passions.

     So she loved her mother, respected her and stayed chaste because of her,
and while she complained and fought now and then as any two people will do when
together, she understood and appreciated the strain and burden that raising a
daughter single- handedly can bring.  Like that afternoon, for example, when
that adorable man came to rent the apartment.  She bitched and moaned about
having to dress and watch the shop, and her Mother snapped back at her, but it
meant nothing.  It was just part of their way, and let the steam out, for when
the big problems arose, they were always together, always communicating.  No
generation gap between them!

     Wendy thought of this as she stood in the livingroom of Clyde Brook's
home, looking at Clyde and then at herself, both of them chilled and drenched
to the skin and tipsy from drinking too much. What would her mother say if she
saw her daughter like this!  What was she going to say, because of course Wendy
was going to relate this silly situation to her first thing tomorrow.

     Clyde looked like a drowned rat, and a very unhappy and mournful one at
that, she thought, choking down a giggle.  It wouldn't do to laugh at him, she
knew; Clyde was a very proud boy, and was her latest beau, and a swell catch.
After all, she was only a junior -- or would be that September when school
started again, and Clyde had graduated last June.  He was going to college in
Los Angeles, so their two-month romance would be cooled to nothing in another
two months when he left -- but in the meantime, he was the mayor's son, lived
right on the best part of the shore, up by the Point, and had spent lots of
time and money on her.  She was the envy of her friends and she was always
thrilled when he took her out in his little red sports car, and to make it even
better, Clyde was a groovy, foxy-looking guy who was very popular and "In."  He
was tall and muscular, with brown hair cut long and pale-grey eyes stink deep
in prominent cheekbones.  His nose had a crazy little bend to it after it had
been broken in a football game -- he'd been the high school's fullback, and
known as "Battlin' Brooks" -- and a crooked smile which was both captivating
and somehow guileless.

     And at the moment, he, like Wendy, was making a dark wet pool of sea-water
on the expensive carpet in his father's home.  He was chagrined and red in the
face, angry at himself and very, very tender to any comments.  She'd soon found
that out about him, his egotistical tenderness, and curbed her often biting and
sarcastic tongue when she was with him, and after the events that had happened
already tonight, she didn't want anything to go wrong. But, still, it was
funny, and how differently the evening had begun a few short hours before...

     After her mother had come downstairs and told her that the man -- what was
his name?  David Prescott?  No, Preston -- had rented the apartment next door,
she returned to sunning herself, stripping off her blouse and lying on the
porch on a grass mat, letting her breasts soak up the tanning rays of the hot
late June sun.  It was titillating to think what the girls in the shower room
would say when she returned in the Fall with a golden glow all over, with only
her dark brown nipples accent points on her otherwise evenly tanned young body.
They'd eat their hearts out, just like they did because she was dating Clyde,
and she'd never let on that she'd gotten the tan innocently, either, and not on
the deck of Old Man Brook's mansion, or out in the water with Clyde.

     And then she showered, still tingling from the excitement of the simulated
wickedness which lying out there nearly nude had given her, and went into her
little bedroom to dress.  Her room was hardly big enough for her bed and
wardrobe, but unlike the single bedroom apartment her mother rented, she at
least had her privacy this way, and she never considered complaining about the
inadequacies.  She wasn't that kind of girl, and was simply happy that her
mother was able to make the sporting goods shop make money.  Her mother had
never said so, but Wendy had the feeling that she was scrimping and saving to
send her to college, though Wendy was having serious doubts that she wanted to
go. Secretarial school, perhaps, or something like that, but college never
really interested her much, and she had been thinking about asking her mother
if she could maybe work in the shop after she graduated and continue her real
interest: sports.  Both her parents had been athletic and her father had been a
tremendous fisherman -- not commercially, but only for pleasure -- and it had
only been a fluke that she hadn't gone along on the salmon trawler with him
that fateful day he'd drowned.  Mother, with the store to run and everything
else, had not been able since then to do much though she liked to fish and hunt
as much as Wendy's father had, and Wendy, weaned on books and fly-casting and
shotgun powder, wanted to be able to be around that kind of life, and perhaps,
she thought while she dressed that afternoon, she could work with her mother in
such a way as to allow them enough free time to do the things they liked...

     Wendy Franklin, not exactly alike physically with her mother, had the same
interests, the same concerns, the same filial bonds; she considered her loving
and devoted attitude only natural, and never gave it a second thought.  But it
was stronger than she suspected, than either of them suspected.

     She put on a nude-look, flesh-colored bra and panties, the panties snug
tight and shockingly sheer around her buttocks and the soft mound of her young,
virginal pussy.  She looked in the mirror and saw the panties crease in the
crevice between her cunt lips, accentuate them with an indecent line which ran
between the elastic band down to her vaginal area and slipped between her firm,
naked thighs.  A moment of tiny misgivings crossed her mind, her body somehow
more blatantly sexual than pure nudity, and then she quickly put on her thin,
frilly rayon blouse and darker green mini-skirt.  Her bra showed through the
blouse and the hem of her skirt was high enough so that when she wasn't
careful, her barely clad buttocks and upper thighs were visible, and though she
was dressed, she still gave off the aura of being without anything.  A good,
summer outfit, she thought; good for keeping a boy like Clyde Brooks interested
in her.

     Interested -- but not successful in his desire to make love to her.  She'd
handle him if he got too passionate, just as she always had, she thought as she
waited for him to pick her up. He'd be here at seven, as he had every night,
and they'd go to a movie or ride around or dance or whatever, and eventually
they'd start necking.  She liked necking with him, and had even gone so far as
to let him play with her titties; she sat in the livingroom and blushed at the
remembrance of that incident.  The Sunday before she'd been out in his father's
cruiser, sunbathing with Clyde beside her, and they'd began kissing, kissing
until she'd felt the hardened bulge in his swim trunks against her thighs. She
remembered his strong but gentle hands on her bikini top, and how after a while
she'd made no attempt to stop him from undoing the straps, and the tender
tingling sensations of his fingers as he'd traced over her hot, naked flesh and
then kissed her exposed, hardening nipples.  A dryness crept in her throat at
the recollection, and how close she'd come to not stopping his hand as it had
continued to wander, tauting her flat, pulsating stomach madly, down to the
thin wisp of her bikini bottom, attempting to pull them off.  She'd made the
big effort then, and they'd argued; he'd threatened, cajoled, and at last, had
pleaded, but in the end, he'd gotten up disgustedly and walked around the deck,
smoking a cigarette.

     She'd had only the uncomfortable wetness between her legs to remind her of
how close to the edge she'd strayed, and as she sat and waited for him to come
this evening, she'd made a resolution to never let it happen again.

     So far, this evening wasn't presenting any threat to her virginity.  His
parents were out, so they came to the house, raiding the pantry for dinner,
which she cooked, and the liquor cabinet for some wine.  A couple of bottles
later, she wanted fresh air and he wanted to go out in the cruiser, and they
walked down to the dock and boat-house, where he carefully and with studied
slowness removed the tarp and started the inboard engine. Then he climbed on
the boathouse dock, took her hand in an exaggerated courtly bow, and lost his
footing, falling in the water beside the boat, taking her with him.  Now they
were back in the house, sopping messes, and she felt like laughing.  It was so
stupid of him, and yet so human, and it made her like Clyde all the more.

     "I'm drenched," she heard herself say thickly, still giddy from wine.

     "Lord, I can't let you go home like that, Wendy.  Your mother would kill
me.  I mean, we've drunk too much and show it, too."

     "No, she'd understand."

     "Maybe, but I don't want to take the chance.  Anyway, the night's still
young, and once you dry off, we can go do something else."

     "I can't stay in these things," she noted, holding up a part of her
sopping skirt in emphasis.  "I'll catch my death of cold. I'll have to go home
first."

     "No, you don't.  You can use the guest room and take all your things off.
There's a bathrobe in there and towels in the john, and I'll go upstairs and
change myself.  A couple of minutes in front of the heater and everything will
be toasted dry.  Hell, that stuff you're wearing is drip-dry, isn't it?"

     Wendy cocked an eyebrow.  "No funny business?"

     "Hell, I can't promise that," he said impishly.  "Not with the cutest girl
in Reedsport running half-naked around my father's house.  What kind of
red-blooded American boy do you think I am?"

     "Well, in that case --"

     "But," he continued, "you'll have more on with that bathrobe and what-all
than when you're in your bathing suit.  And I'll be changed."

     "I recall what happened to me when I was in my bikini," she said wryly,
then put her hands on her hips jauntily and eyed him, her head tilted to one
side.  "Still, I handled you then... I guess I can handle you again."

     It was all in fun, this teasing, and helped soothe his wounded pride, and
she knew that it would be a mistake to demand that he take her home.  Besides,
it gave her a certain sensation of excitement at the thought of being near-nude
around him in a bathrobe, a little bit of prurient mischievousness that
appealed to her sporting nature.  She let her boy-friend lead her to the guest
room and show her where everything was, and then he shut the door.  In the
bathroom, she undressed quickly, stripping the cold wet garments from her skin
and grabbing a towel to rub herself. She caught her reflection in the mirror on
the back of the door and paused to study the naked image she made, her
creamy-smooth skin now a reddish hue from her rubbing.  She sat on the edge of
the tub and dried her feet, and the soft, silky hair curling in the triangle of
her young, innocent vagina caught her eye.  The wine was still in her blood,
had made her just reckless enough to agree to this absurdity of removing her
clothes, and she suddenly felt very hot.  God, she was going to have coffee
from now on tonight, because she was going to have to keep her head...

     Suddenly she bolted upright and held the towel in front of her, for the
bathroom door had opened and Clyde stood in the entrance wearing only a tight
pair of underpants.

     "Clyde!  You promised!"

     He came toward her, shaking his head.  "No, I didn't," he grinned
maliciously, and she saw the heavy sag in the front of his shorts and the big
protuberance pointing in her direction through the stretched cloth.  Before she
could protest further, he was tugging the towel away from her and gathering her
into his arms, her naked flesh pressing tightly against him as he kissed her
with fury, flattening and spreading her lips open until she uncontrollably
splurged her tongue into his mouth.  A frightened hollowness came alive in the
pit of her stomach, and she felt herself being transported out and across to
the large double bed of the guest room, where he laid her gently on the
coverlet.

     His hands commenced to explore her defenseless body as they had the
previous Sunday, only this time there was no hindering piece of cloth to stop
them from reaching her tingling pussy. They caressed her swelling breasts, and
she felt the nipples distend, and then he sucked one into his searching mouth,
causing her to whine feebly.

     "No... No, Clyde," she begged, sensing the danger.

     But it was as if she'd never spoken, his hands prowling with insane
intensity over her ribs and belly, brushing the velvety pubic hair until she
prickled between her legs and tried to squirm away.  Still his fingers
followed, splaying the tender lips of her virginal young cunt and he did his
mouth upon her own, and she groaned against him, unable to contain herself as
she writhed on his touch and embrace.

     "Clyde...  Oh God, Clyde, we mustn't!" she panted into his face.  "You
know we mustn't!"

     He slipped out of his shorts and she heard him breathe harshly at his own
nakedness, and felt the huge, hot throbbing of his exposed penis press into the
smooth flesh of her hip.  His fingers continued their assault on her tingling
vaginal passage, burrowing deeper and deeper, and she jerked and tossed, a
soul- searing moan escaping from her chest as she arched her young body and
rolled her head from side to side and ground her sweat-beaded, trembling white
thighs down into the mattress in a vain attempt to escape his worming finger
down between her legs.

     "No, no, no," she chanted, gnashing her teeth as the word ricocheted
around the walls of her mind, knowing she must stop him but not knowing how.
His penis slid down over her trembling belly, closer to the softly fuzzed
furrow where his hand was spreading the thin, slightly throbbing lips wider and
wider, but when she clamped her thighs together in protest, she sucked in a
gasp of hot air for his fingers, trapped in the hair-covered lips of her
vagina, were suddenly all the more tantalizing.  He flicked the tip of her
erect clitoris, teasing it and sending insane spasms through her whole body,
and she found to her anguish and dismay that no longer would her flesh obey her
mind; her cunt splayed open, her legs widening on their own, and he thrust his
fingers deep into the pink, moist, demanding hole of her smooth, throbbing
passage.

     "Ohhhh," a long groan gurgled from deep in her throat, and she heard
herself moaning: "You've got to stop, Clyde...  You can't...  No, no..."  And
to her amazement and confused horror, he took her unresisting hand and placed
it on the fleshy shaft of his cock and when he moved his hand back to her
pulsating vagina, she let her fingers remain there, on his penis!  She'd never
seen a naked, aroused man before tonight, much less felt one's cock!

     God, it was enormous!  She'd never been aware of their size before, only
having seen small boys' penises when she'd baby-sat and had to change their
diapers.  It would kill her if she allowed him to put it inside her, it would
split her tiny, unstretched pussy right up the middle!  But the feel of it
pulsing with heated passion in her hand was a delight to her, and
instinctively, she began to stroke and massage it, rubbing the firm skin back
and forth, and with the boldness of her actions blending with curiosity, she
couldn't keep herself from moving her other hand and feeling his testicles,
their hairiness and silky texture, and with loving abandon she held them in her
palm.  Clyde was grunting, his mouth firmly on hers, and she felt a wetness
between her thighs where his cock-head was throbbing against her, and she
wondered if he'd cum.  No... his penis was still hard as concrete; it must be
the lubricant that men produce...

     "Wendy... Wendy, I've got to have you!" he gasped frantically.

     "No, god, no..." she moaned, the shock of his plans sending lewd
excitement through her, and her pussy quivered with her physical desire for
him.  She wanted him... she wanted that huge penis she was holding to bury
itself deep, deep up in her trembling belly.  God, how she wanted him!

     "Wendy... Wendy, I can't wait any longer..."

     He rolled on top of her and tried to lever his swollen cock between her
thighs, down where his fingers were still massaging her inflamed, pink flesh.
She kissed him hard as he continued thrusting down through the upper portion of
her wet, hair-lined slit, fighting madly to reach the mouth of her smooth,
virginal passage, his every stroke sending wild sensations through her as his
cock-head rubbed the erect bud of her clitoris.

     Then, once again, something snapped inside her brain, making her revolt
from the act she was about to commit.  His long, hard penis bearing down in
determined concentration against the softness of her tender thighs and
pulsating, but still intact cunt sent warning signals charging to her mind, its
physical touch awakening her and breaking through the haze of wine-induced
abandonment.  The nearly forgotten vestiges of her principles, the morality her
mother had taught her to hold sacred, came rushing back to her with tidal wave
force, even as her young pussy angled upwards in its own betrayal to her
prurient desires.

     "No!  No, Clyde, stop!  I won't let you!"

     "Damn you!  You can't!  You can't!  I'm ready to cum!  Don't chicken out,
baby... you'll love it!  Ohhhh!"

     She pleaded, but he didn't seem to hear or care, and she reached down
between them and took his hardened cock in her hands and squeezed it only
seconds before he would have entered her with his thrusting, pummeling shaft.

     "Ahhhh!  You bitch!  You teasing little bitch!" he groaned at her.  "I'm
cumming!  God damn it, I'm cumming!"

     As she grasped the thick, ramming penis and he continued to pump wildly,
and cry out harshly, she felt his cock expand and contract in her clutching
hands, and the helpless gasps of passion poured out of him.  Hot sticky fluid
spurted and soaked her white thighs and matted her soft curly pubic hair,
running down the open crevice of soft pink flesh he had almost succeeded in
conquering, pooling on the bedspread between her open buttocks.  He collapsed
on top of her, sobbing and spasming, and she warmly caressed his cock, letting
the last of his cum drain out of her vaginal slit in a wanton display of
perversion.

     Slowly he sat up, not looking at her.  He eased over to the side of the
bed and let his feet touch the floor, and then he rose and took his underpants
from the carpet and wiped himself.  He threw the damp, soaked pants at her, and
sneered: "You bitch. What a miserable thing to do to a guy.  You're nothing but
a prick-teaser."

     Wendy, ashamed and humiliated beyond endurance, felt the sting of his
castigation and tears welled in her eyes.  "Clyde --"

     "Shut up.  Just shut up, will you?  Clean yourself up and I'll take you
home."  His words were spit out as if he was talking to a street whore of the
lowest kind.  "I don't know what ever made me want to waste my time with a
little baby like you."

     He pivoted on his heel and stalked out the door, slamming it behind him,
his loathing and disgust a thick, heavy entity in the room long after he'd
left.  Wendy sat in utter mortification and desolation for a long moment, her
heart and soul tormented to their extremes.  She took the sodden underpants
he'd thrown at her and wiped her nakedness, opening her legs to clean the
sticky, white seed from her vagina and burning loins, the pain in her
unsatisfied and still seething tender pussy almost as much a sore reminder of
what she had almost lost -- and what she had lost in the way of a boy-friend by
her refusal -- as the persistent ache in her mind.

     Slowly and disheartedly, Wendy rose from the bed and went into the
bathroom to retrieve her clothes.  Her mind whirled with doubts and
self-abasement, a torturing melange of hating herself for almost succumbing,
for allowing herself to get so carried away, for not letting Clyde fuck her and
thereby keep him... God, what should she have done?  What was the right way,
the best way? The noble words of her mother's philosophy sounded extremely
hollow in her ears at that moment, the victory for her virginity a Phyrric one
at best...

     She'd talk to her mother when she got home.  Mother would know what was
the best thing for her to have done... and do...