She's calling my name

“Please, Mr. P!” There is no mistaking my name, this lovely young coed is imagining me as her fingers frantically work away “Oh, Mr. P, that feels so good ... so good ...” With her eyes shut and her mind clearly otherwise occupied Alison doesn't notice me entering her room until I am standing just a few feet from where she is whimpering in frustration. My senses are nearly overwhelmed, between the sent of sex, the sight of her beautiful body and hearing my name repeated again and again, I am as hard and randy as a teenager. Frankly I'm a little surprised she doesn't scream when she finally realizes that there is a man hovering over her bed in darkness. The combination of the light from her nightlight and the moon light coming in from the window is just enough for me to see her expression change from fear to confusion before settling into a combination of embarrassment and sadness.

“I heard you calling out.” I explain as she pulls a sheet over her nearly naked form.

“Oh, Mr. P, I'm so sorry.” I smile a little at Alison's response to my invasion of her privacy. Most people would be rightly pissed off, she however decides that she is the one at fault. I can only assume that it is her upbringing that makes her feel this kind of shame, but I am too far down this path not to take advantage of this naïve young woman.

“Are you OK?” She doesn't seem surprised when I sit next to her on the bed and gently rest my hand on her shoulder. The soft touch is all it takes to make her burst into sobs. She doesn't even try to speak she just covers her face with her hands and lets her emotions pour out. I cried like that for months after Fran's ****. Alone in my bedroom, or as I cleaned the oven for the second time in a week, even in my car as strangers walked by but Alison didn't have to be alone like that. I pull her into my arms, savoring the feeling of her soft curves but for now just trying to be there for this **** teenager as her world slowly falls apart. It takes somewhere around five minutes before her body slowly stops shuddering and her hands pull away from her tear-streaked face.

“I'm going to Hell, Mr. P.”

She doesn't fight me when I pull her back into my arms, but her words don't stop either. “I'm a sinner and a whore ... I let Richard ruin me. I just lay there and let him defile my holy temple and now even when I tried to be good ... I can't stop thinking about sex!”

“You're not ruined, Angel.” I sooth back her hair and brush away some of the tears from her cheek. “Having sex with a man doesn't ruin a woman. Unless it's an self-centered asshole like Dick.” For a second I think she is going to jump to her lover's defense, but she just lets out a loud sob and presses her face back into my shoulder.

“I am, Mr. P.” I can almost hear her parents (and mine too) projecting out in her sweet voice. “What kind of man would take a fallen Jezebel like me for a wife?” Before I can explain that almost no one cared about a bride's virginity anymore, she came out with something even more ludicrous. “How could a man even want someone who is constantly thinking about sex to be his wife and raise his children?” My involuntary laugh breaks her concentration and she pulls back to look at me in surprise and confusion. “What?”

“I've never ever heard a man complain about his wife wanting sex too much, it just doesn't happen.” We sit quietly for what seems like a very long time but was probably less than a minute - two at the most.

“I'm sorry I welched on our arrangement, Mr. P.” Her big eyes look up at me searching for understanding, “after that first time ... well, I got scared.”

“Oh, Honey, I'm sorry if I went too far.” When I consider what I almost did when I had this beauty moaning in my arms, I realize how close I came to fucking up this whole plan. What would someone as beautiful and sweet as Alison want with a broken old man like me? I start to pull away when she stops me.

“It's not you, Mr. P.” Alison looks up at me, meeting my gaze nervously, “I got scared by how much I wanted you.” It takes me a second to realize what she is saying, but there is no mistake. “I wanted you to take me right there on the couch.” Damn - maybe I should have followed her to her room the other night.

“Is that what you were thinking about when I came in?” Her eyes drop, and even in the dim light I can see the color returning to her pale cheeks. I can taste the salt of her tears when my lips find hers. It is a gentle kiss, allowing her to pull away if she wants.