She has mixed feelings

We lie together on her bed, only the sound of our labored breathing filling the room until at last she breaks the silence with a soft whimper.

“Do you see now?” She asks as her slender body stretches out under mine, “There's something wrong with me. I get excited by being taken like that, what's wrong with me?” The question catches me a little bit by surprise, and Alison explains. “I want to be good, but deep down I'm nothing but a twisted harlot, I'll get pregnant and everyone will know what a whore I am.”

“No Honey.” I reassure her. “You don't have to worry about that, I had a vasectomy years ago.” I am more concerned with her dangerous self image and her relationship with sex. The sooner Alison realizes that she can enjoy sex without feeling like a sinner, the better it will be. After all, I can't keep forcing the poor thing - no matter how much she seems to want it. “You are good; don't let anyone tell you otherwise.” Alison however is not buying what I'm trying to sell. She rolls out from under me and sits up in the bed with her legs pulled tightly against her torso.

“I'm not, Mr. P,” Alison looks away and shakes her head slowly, “good girls don't leave their doors unlocked and wear sexy nighties hoping to be attacked in their sleep.” She covers her face in her hands and her body starts to twitch as her voice breaks. “What kind of woman wants to be held down and taken by ****?”

“I think you'd be surprised.” I search my mind for something that might convince her, “take Harlequins for example.” I see the confused look on her face, “You must have read some of those romance novels, they're anywhere.”

“Not in Flintfield,” Alison corrects me, “five years ago the local Walmart tried to stock them but the Woman's Auxiliary picketed the store and my father gave a sermon on the dangers of pornographic books and that very Monday the Walmart pulled all of their trashy novels off the shelves.” Alison looked proud of the way her parents stood up to the national retailer, maybe she should be too.

“Well then, you'll have to trust me on this then.” I rest my hand on her knee. “Those books are marketed to women all over the country, and pretty much everyone has an innocent young heroine who falls into the hands of a powerful man. A millionaire Greek tycoon or a dangerous desert sheik, and the **** heroine is almost overpowered and made to submit to the experienced demands of the man.” In spite of herself I feel Alison's body quiver and I can't help but wonder if the store had refused to back down, how many of those romances would have been hidden in this pretty schoolgirl's closet. “That doesn't even count the historical bodice rippers” I continue, “or John Norman's Gor books where lovely young Earthwomen your age are bought and sold like candy in **** markets of the hidden planet.

Alison doesn't say anything, but after a short silence her arms lift to wrap around my neck and her lips search out mine. The kiss goes on for a good long time and her lips cling to mine with an intensity I wasn't expecting.

“Mr. P?” Alison breathes softly into my ear.

“Yeah, Angel?”

“Can we do it again?” Even with the sensation of her firm young body pressing against me, my cock has shrunk back to nothing. I’m definitely going to have to see about getting a prescription to Viagra® or whatever new wonder-pill they are recommending now.

“Not right now, I'm afraid.” I nuzzle the soft skin under her ear, “I’m only good for one shot at a time.” As if to punctuate the thought, I glance down at my flaccid member where it lays still damp from her juices against my thigh. With a contented sigh I pull her close, and after a moment of hesitation when her body stiffens, she lets me pull her back down beside me on the bed. After a little careful adjusting, I am spooning this beautiful young woman with her ass wedged against my pelvis and her back pressed to my chest. “Let’s just lie together like this, so I can hold you.”

“Really?” I guess after her experience with Dick, she doesn’t have much experience with cuddling after sex. I slip my hand up over her belly until I cup the smooth softness of her tit; giving it a gentle squeeze I pull her even closer.

“Really,” I assure her. In the summertime, Connecticut evenings are warm enough not to need blankets so we lay together on top of the bedding without speaking.