I slip away (Start of Chapter 2)

Even though I've made my living by communicating complex concepts and problem solving, I find I have no idea what I'd say to Alison when she wakes, so as tempting as it might be to rouse this sleeping beauty with a gently building orgasm, I decide to slip away like a thief in the night. There is a soft mumble from her as I slide from the bed, but that is all as I pick up the clothes I had scattered across her floor last night and quietly closed her bedroom door behind me.

I shower, shave and brush my teeth in silence as I replay the events that culminated in last night. By the time I was dressed I am still no closer to any kind of peace with what I had done. I was able to resolve only one thing. If Alison did not want to continue with this arrangement, I would not **** her to. I had gotten by since Fran's **** without women, and there is no reason I couldn't manage with the occasional wank session here and there. I do not have to coerce a coed almost thirty years younger than me to spread her legs for me to have a life.

What complicates the issue is that Alison seemed to get off on being placed in a position where she had **** but to surrender her body to my rough demands. Her description of her earliest masturbation was as clear an indication as any of how submissive this otherwise normal nineteen year old was, and the way she puts up with Dick's treatment of her only confirms that she still craves letting a man take charge. I wonder briefly if that was something she learned growing up in the fundamentalist church environment before dismissing the question as irrelevant. The fact that Alison gets off on being held down and ravished by older men should make this easy, but the line between domination and **** seems a little blurry at times. Maybe I should be the one in Dr. Lark's Women's Studies class, although I suspect that I'd be just as confused as Alison seems to be by the contradictions between the lectures and our lives.

As I cook my fried eggs, hash browns and bacon I listen for signs of life from upstairs. It is still a little early for her to be getting up, especially on a Saturday, but on several occasions the smell of coffee and bacon in the morning tempted her out of bed and I prepare enough for her just in case. I put the extra potatoes in the refrigerator next to the eggs and finish cleaning up the kitchen but there is still no sign of company so I wander out to the yard to check how the recently painted fence looks. The cool morning air is as calming as ever and I spend close to an hour puttering around in the back yard, pulling a few bold dandelions before they could establish themselves in my lawn and pruning two of the lower branches of my apple tree.

When I return to the kitchen I have almost forgotten about Alison and I am startled to find her waiting for me sitting on the kitchen counter with a half finished glass of orange juice by her side. My initial reaction is to scold her for yet again being on the counter, but under the circumstances I decide to let it slide this time.

"Hey Mr. P." From the nervous tremor in her voice, It is pretty clear that Alison is as uncertain as I am about the events of last night.