Winter Mix Ch. 10: NYU

"Yes, or something," mused Becky aloud. Then, nodding her head in agreement, she said enthusiastically, "Okay! It's a date! But, you'd better get me home now, so I can be fresh and perky."

Phil turned off the dome light, turned on the headlights, then put the Cadillac in gear and pulled onto the highway again.

At eight-fifty, sixteen-year-old Patricia Maxon, with her ice-skates hung over her shoulder by their tied laces, kissed her stepdad's head as he sat sipping black coffee at the kitchen table. Then, heading for the back door, she said, "See you later, Uncle Phil. I'm in the car waiting, Mom!"

Roberta Maxon replied, "Yes, I'll be right there, Trixie." While she finished re-filling Phil's cup from the unplugged electric percolator, she said to him, "The Ice Capades are going to be in New Haven in three weeks. After skate practice, Trixie and I are going to drive up and get tickets, which means we'll be quite late getting home." Patting his shoulder, she said, "But, don't you worry, Phil. You'll be alright: I left sandwiches in the Fridge; there's fresh grounds ready to go in the coffee-maker; and of course, you'll have those football games to watch on TV."

Phil agreed, "Yes, I'll be okay. What with today being Sunday, though, the Cotton, Sugar, Rose and Orange Bowl games are all being played tomorrow. But I have other things I can do to occupy myself. Don't fret about it, Bobbie. Just make sure you get good seats for us."

"Alright, Dear," Roberta said, kissing him on the exact same spot where Trixie had. As she did so, she noticed Phil's slightly fat upper lip where Becky Barnes had started a hickey only eight hours earlier, and added sweetly, "Looks like you're developing a little cold-sore. You'd better put some Campho- Phenique on it." Then, after she returned the coffee pot to its place on the counter beside the prepared basket, she followed her daughter out the door and was gone.

Phil whooshed a relieved sigh as he heard the storm-screen close behind his wife's departure. "Bye-bye, Bobbie, good morning, Becky," he chuckled as he set down his coffee. Pushing back from the Catalina-green Formica table, he then carried his cup and saucer carefully across the entry hall's parquet onto the olive heather wool Mohawk carpeting in his formal living room. On the other side of the center seating ensemble, he stood in front of the oak bookcase between the room's two side bay windows facing the Barnes house next door.

Less than ten minutes later, without being seen himself, Phil watched through the open window curtains as Judith Barnes and her sixteen-year-old son, Barney, walked from their back door to their garage. Shortly thereafter, her peach-and-cream two-tone 1956 Ford Fairlane backed down the driveway, into the street and then drove off. Draining his coffee, he mused aloud, "Looks like the coast is clear. Might as well go get some 'cereal'." With a soft chuckle, he carried his dishes to the kitchen, pulled on his thick brown winter coat and stepped into the crisp New Year morning.

Inside the Barnes' kitchen, Phil hung his jacket on a wall rack among assorted other outdoor hats and coats. He smiled to himself at the kitschy Owl clock ticking away above Judith's Hotpoint range next to her Coldspot refrigerator. "Poor Judith," he thought to himself. "It's got to be tough to be a young-ish divorcee with two teens." Reminding himself what must be waiting for him upstairs, he muttered, "Well, one teen, now."

Phil untied, then slipped off, his mahogany leather chukka boots, parked them beneath the coats and walked across the yellow-and-white small checkerboard linoleum to the main hall. At the top of the staircase, he could see at the upper corridor's ends two open bedroom doors and, through them, enough clues to discern one was the master bedroom and the other was Barney's. He deduced one of the two remaining closed doors in the hall led to Becky. The other, if the floorplan was very much like the layout in his own home, went to a common bathroom.

Already quiet in his knit polyester-wool blend knit brown socks, Phil was absolutely silent in the carpeted hall. Testing the first door he came to, he eased it open and saw a pink-and-olive themed bath. He nodded knowingly, and closed the door as noiselessly as he had opened it. At the next door, with certainty as to what and who lay beyond it, but unsure whether she would be asleep or awake, he deployed the same careful technique and slipped through the opening as soon as it was wide enough to admit him.

Leaving the door ajar, Phil scanned Becky's tidy Colonial-styled bedroom and sensed immediately that it was unlikely this was how it had been kept when she lived at home. An ancient stuffed rabbit and a modern G.E. clock-radio sat opposite each other on a white lace dresser scarf on her maple chest of drawers. A carved redwood box, assorted perfume bottles on a glass-and-silver salver, and a silver-framed photograph of herself in cap-and-gown, rested on another lace scarf on her maple dresser. In the mirror there, he saw reflected her curved form on her maple four-poster standard bed.

Becky lay beneath a top sheet and beige electric blanket with her black locks rayed against her dented pillow. The bed's white chenille popcorn spread was neatly folded at the end of the bed and served as additional cover for what must have been her toes. Her eyes were closed in peaceful easy sleep. She looked so sweetly vulnerable that he flushed, shamed by his wrongful lust, and considered fleeing to celibate safety in his own home.

While Phil hesitated, Becky's eyes fluttered and she spied him spying her in the self-same mirror. Rising to sit in her bed's center, she said, sleepily, but with welcoming affection, "Good morning, Bad Man. I'm so glad you're here."

Phil's turmoil disappeared and took with it all his doubts about what was right or wrong. He stepped fully onto the old rose carpet and answered huskily, "Good morning, yourself. Are you still my bad girl?"

Becky laughed delightfully as she patted the mattress beside her while asking, "Why don't you find out for yourself? Of course, you'll have to take off all those hot clothes. My blanket's already on 'hi'."

Not wanting to waste time, Phil was keen to know how much time he had. While he walked toward the near dormer, he unbuttoned his autumn-gold McGregor Ban-Lon cardigan then casually laid it on the coral corduroy cushion on the window's seat and inquired, "When do you expect your mother and Barney back from church?" Awaiting an answer, he unbuttoned and removed his matching Ban-Lon polo then dropped it on the sweater.

Becky was thrilled by the preview as she saw Phil's curly haired thicket on his forearms and imagined the thatch she would find under his white bosun's-neck T-shirt. Inside her baby-doll bottoms her cunny twitched. "Oh, I must have forgotten to tell you," she said, knowing that she had not forgotten at all. "They won't be home again until very late. The Bruins, who happen to be BeeBee's very favorite hockey team, are playing the Canadiens in Boston. Mom got tickets because she knows BeeBee is also a huge fan of Jacques Plante, the Montreal goalie. Anyway, they're on the train to Beantown and are going to make a day of it. You know, mother and son bonding and all that?"

"No, we talked about church," Phil confirmed, while he unbuckled and stepped out of his brown hound's tooth wash-and-wear slacks. Unconcerned whether his red-and-green peppermint-twist striped boxers gapped critically, or not, he carefully folded his trousers and placed them on the cushion, too, while he continued, "You didn't say anything about them being out of town." Grinning broadly, he moved closer to the bed on its window side.

Becky was eager to see what she had intimately touched in the pink Cadillac, but she did not want to say so. Scooting her bottom toward the bed's headboard, she plumped her pillow behind her and looked pointedly at the elongated tuber outlined in bas relief against Phil's shorts' right leg, as she retorted neutrally, "Well, I'm sorry. I thought you were just interested in finding common ground between us, not establishing a timetable for a, uhm, rendezvous."

Phil followed the girl's sightline and smiled inwardly. Deliberately delaying her gratification, he hooked his thumbs under his undershirt, then raised it above his head and off. As he dropped it on the carpet, he replied, "I was. Doing both, I guess. You have to admit, you were pretty bold last night..."

Becky interrupted with her trademark tinkling laugh, "...this morning, you mean..."

"...Yes, 'this morning'," Phil agreed. His cock, during their repartee, had outgrown its home and inconveniently tented itself. He looked down at his not yet finished erection and conjectured, "I suppose you might want to pet your pet again, but by light of day, rather than in dashboard shadows." Seeing Becky's bosom rise dramatically behind her bloused pastel yellow rayon baby doll top, he knew his surmisal was correct and the time was ripe. He pushed his palms past his elasticized waistband and shot his boxers to his ankles.

Becky gasped as Phil's springing prong angled out from his dense pubic forest and danced excitedly in front of her. She had no real sense of proportions but its standing fat seven-inches seemed larger to her than the bone she had jacked in the dark. Her mouth opened into a small 'O' in her amazement and she reached out her right hand. He stepped closer to the head of the bed and she closed her warm soft hand around him.

Becky lightly stroked her loose fist to Phil's groin, cuddled his free-swinging heavy testicles, and then returned slowly to his prick's plump head. He watched her darkly shadowed extra large areolae swell against their thin pale semi-sheer cover. After her second trip to his nuts and back, his slit bubbled encouragingly while she felt her itching pussy squish upon itself. Releasing his cock, she threw back the electric blanket onto the folded bedspread, then raised the linen top sheet and cooed, "Come here, Bad Man. Hold me close."

Phil got up on the mattress and took advantage of Becky's seated position as she leaned against her pillow on the headboard. Inspired by the bright citrus yellow satin ribbon threaded through her top's ruffled scoop neck into a big tied bow with its long ends dangling between her thirty-five-inch C-cup boobs, he straddled her legs on his knees then growled, "I'll hold you closer than close, Lemon Drop!"

Phil pushed his hand under her baby doll top and lifted its hem high above her breasts as he cruised over their billowed sides on the way to her back. With his fingers splayed against her scapulae, he pulled her forward and tugged her upstanding milk-chocolate-colored left nipple with prehensile lips. She grunted with surprise at the suddenness and effectiveness of his tender attack, then moaned as his tongue, laving the perimeter of her puffed three-inch diameter halo, sent urgent electrical messages straight to her clit. Involuntarily, she arched her back.

As Becky's tit smashed harder against his face, Phil slid his hands past the hollow in her mid-back and under her baby doll bottoms' waistband. Flexing his wrists, he popped their full seat over her contracting half-moons and down her thighs to her knees. Then, in a wrestler's move he had forgotten since his high school days, he backed down the mattress and pulled her with him. With his head ducked under her panty and between her legs, he rolled her onto her shoulders with her head on the pillow that moments before had braced her back.

Faster than Becky could imagine, she found herself in a novel situation. Since leaving home to be on her own, she had prided herself on protecting her virginity by controlling boys. She had teased and jerked a lot of hot-blooded dates until they came in their pants or onto her hand. Superficially satisfied, they would happily leave her alone and she would find her own remedy later at home with the trusty tapered eight-inch dinner candle she kept in the drawer by her bed.

Except for Chet Monkford, who had made clumsy advances toward her at the country club before he had to take Bryce away, Becky had no experience with a grown man until she kissed Phil Maxon on the dance floor at midnight. Now he was beyond her control and she did not care. Opening her thighs, she hooked her panties behind his neck and rubbed her bare soles on his bumpy ribs. He sighted her heavy untrimmed black bush and lifted it to his salivating mouth.

Becky had never orgasmed as fast, or as hard, when she fucked herself as she did when Phil speared her vagina with his curling tongue. As her crisis crested, then re-built and broke again, she wondered with awe, "How can he know where to lick, where to press, how hard, or how quick, to dart in and pull out?"

Clamping her hands on his ears, Becky pulled Phil more snugly to her sluicing snatch and rolled her head in her pillow as she whimpered her ecstatic delight. Also unlike any boy she had encountered, he pursued his objectives in reverse priority. With his hands on her hamstrings, he tipped her until her legs were near vertical, then split them so wide and so swift that her fragile baby doll bottoms tore apart at a side seam, and fell ruined to the bed. Rearing back, he aligned his cock and powered into her tighter than tight tunnel.

Sunk to his nuts in Becky's cunt, Phil jiggled her ass cheeks and wiggled his thick hard dick against her smooth walls. She reflexively squeezed and released, then squeezed some more. He gnarred, "Am I close enough, Lemon Drop?" Then, pulling back an inch, against her tugging Kegels, he thrust again. She grunted, and then groaned, as she vised his mid-section with her inner thighs in otherwise silent answer.

With Phil buried deep, Becky orgasmed again. She flexed every muscle and gasped for air in gulping breaths as she stuttered, "Phuh-phuh-PHIL! Fu-fu-fu-FILL ME! Oh, GOD! PHIIIIIILLLL!"

Becky's excited exhortations triggered Phil's own eruption. Pulling back, then plunging forward again repeatedly, he held each time at his deepest point and crunched his abs to feel his seed pulse from his plum while his contracting walnuts banged her butt as they evacuated their strongest best swimmers into her flooding pool. Drained, but still hard and imbedded, he fell forward panting, onto his left side as she, similarly wasted, collapsed on her right. Snuggling automatically, each found peace behind shuttered eyes.