http://www.introspectiveliar.blogspot.com
Jules, ever observant, spotted him immediately the first night he walked into the Author's Meet & Greet Club. And was not happy about it.
A regular at the All Booked Up events, the club was what she loved most about her neighborhood bookstore. Since it was locally owned, not part of a chain, the bookstore rarely drew A-list authors plugging their latest best sellers. Which was fine by Jules. The club introduced her to several talented writers, just one book away from the The New York Times bestseller list. After listening to excerpts in the author's own voice, she had the pleasure of reading and enjoying books she would never have discovered on her own.
Discovering new authors was of secondary benefit to Jules. What kept her coming back to these twice a month programs was the assurance that she was always the youngest attendee. In fact, the average age of the group's predominately female regulars was about 60 years old.
At 35, this suited Jules just fine. She'd spent the last ten years teaching English grammar to 6th and 7th graders. Teaching was her calling, but she alternately loved or loathed her job, depending on the annoyance level of the students in any given class. By the end of the day even a glimpse of a non-adult had her grinding her teeth and rubbing her temples. There was a limit to the number of hours even the most dedicated teacher could tolerate surrounded by a sea of pubescent 12 and 13 year olds. And Jules' dedication and tolerance levels weren't all that high.
So in Jules off-duty time any activity that brought her into proximity of a child under the age of majority was anathema to her. Bars and clubs were safe havens and she frequented a few with her unmarried friends. But she craved adult conversations about adult topics, and the noise level at most bars assured that real conversation would be rare and inaudible. And the men met on these forays rarely sparked her intellect or imagination, but they eagerly offered what she needed right at that moment. However, once that particular itch was scratched ... make that unsatisfyingly scratched from Jules perspective, she was ready to part and put the incident out of her mind.
The biweekly meeting at the bookstore was a god-send. Kids weren't excluded but Jules never worried about one showing up for what would be a two-hour torture session for even the most bookish child. There were plenty of opportunities for conversation with similarly minded readers before and after the author presentations. And the Q&A sessions with the authors usually sparked additional discussions.
Back to that first night. He'd caught Jules attention immediately as he walked into the meeting room. In jeans, tee shirt and ball cap, he looked 16 or 17 tops. Young enough to set her teeth on edge. But before her head had a chance to start throbbing he sat down across the aisle and took off the cap. Without it, she could tell he was older than he first appeared. Although he definitely wasn't honing in on 30 anytime soon. Still way too young for this crowd.
Even the elderly regulars kept sneaking admiring peeks at him, ignoring the author and the book she was plugging. It was impossible not to. He was just so damn good looking - in a young, Clive Owenish kind of way. "If you liked that type" Jules thought peevishly. Which of course, not being dead, she did. He sat, listening intently, oblivious to the gazes. Oblivious that is until Jules forgot herself completely and openly stared at him for a good five minutes. Finally, after the duration of the stare could not be described as anything but rude, he casually turned his head towards her, smiled briefly and cocked one eyebrow in question.
Jules absolutely hated it when she blushed. She didn't have one of those delicate, petal pink colorations that just stains the cheek. Her blush started at her crotch and spread outward from there. In less than a second her entire body was a deep, pulsing scarlet. Thank god no one could see the extent of the coloration under her clothes. But she could feel the burn as it sucked oxygen and spread.
The embarrassment of being caught so blatantly ogling a man young enough to be her, well, slightly younger brother, insured that her eyes never glanced towards his half of the room for the rest of the evening.
After the meeting there was always coffee, a mid-priced, box Chardonnay and a cheese platter from the Kroger store. Most of the regulars stayed for a half hour or so, talking to the author and catching up with friends. That night, everyone surreptitiously watched the new guy walk up to the author, introduce himself, compliment her, pick up an autographed copy and walk to the counter to pay for it. Everyone but Jules. She willed herself to look at whatever point in the room was directly opposite from where he stood. As he turned to head towards the exit, the speed with which the ladies whipped their eyes away caused a light breeze to precede his progress. He smiled casually at the few who hadn't pulled their gaze quite quickly enough, but didn't speak to anyone before heading out the door.
Jules admitted that the stranger captivated her fancy for the next week or so. He served as a new and interesting topic for the daydreams that continuously looped through her mind as she explained the mysteries of diagramming sentences to a classroom full of kids that after this class, this year, would never have a reason to diagram a sentence again. By the next Meet & Greet meeting, he'd been relegated to the back of a lower drawer in her mental filing cabinet. She might retrieve him on some future occasion when her arousal needed a boost, but since she was sure she'd never see him again, he ceased to occupy a place of honor in her fantasy life.
* * *
Jules settled into her chair, and placed her purse on the seat next to hers, saving it for her friend Audrey. Over the last year, as they chatted over wine and cheese, Audrey and she realized that despite their 20 year age difference they had a lot in common. Their friendship was inevitable. They'd fallen into the habit of the first to arrive saving a seat for the second.
Jules' head was down, studying a flyer she'd picked up at the bookstore door, as she heard the sound of rustling purses, skirts and feet as someone pushed past her neighbors. She assumed the cause of the ruckus was Audrey headed her way. She jumped when a voice, obviously not Audrey's, said "May I?"
She swerved her eyes up to see him looking down at her and the purse on the empty chair. Subconsciously she realized she had that whole 'deer in the headlights' look going for her, while he looked, calm, relaxed, polite and yes, she'd admit it - fuck-able. Really, really fuck-able.
Forgetting Audrey's existence, she mumbled "sure", then reached for her purse. He reached for it as well, but the slight delay in his reach meant his hand came down on top of hers as they both moved the purse to her lap. Once the purse was deposited, she was certain he'd kept his hand resting on hers for the merest moment too long. And in that merest moment, all of the layers between his hand and the heart of her lap disappeared and her pussy actually started to purr. She was positive she heard it. Looking up into his eyes, Jules wondered if he heard it as well, but beyond a slight upturn of one side of his mouth, he looked exactly as he had before touching her.
As he sat, Jules concentrated on anything but him, finally settling on staring intently at the bisecting lines on her plaid skirt. His proximity was raising havoc with her other senses. Her subconscious was instantly memorizing the cadence of his breath and the clean, distinct scent of this man, recently showered. She could not touch or taste him, but she instinctively knew the contours of his body as he pressed against her and anticipated the crispy-sweet saltiness of his mouth. Jules was so overwhelmed by her internal feast she almost didn't hear him say "My name's Pete. I was here a couple of weeks ago and enjoyed it, so I thought I'd try again. Do you come regularly?"
In the space of those few words, Jules' fate was sealed. And like every woman at the moment she realizes she is hopelessly lost, Jules said the first and typically the worst thing that popped into her mind. "Not as often as I'd like, but you could probably change that."
She was so shocked at her response to his unconscious double entendre she clapped her hand over her mouth and stared wide eyed at him, as she felt every inch of her body flush scarlet, yet again. And this Pete, god damn his soul, rather than appearing chagrined at her discomfort just gave her a wide grin then said "And to think I almost went to a basketball game tonight. What a show I would have missed." Then just kept right on grinning.
Jules said nothing but went back to studying her skirt; valiantly hoping her color was headed back towards normal. Just as she was wondering how foolish she would look if she got up and moved to a different seat or, maybe left the store entirely, Pete said, "Were you planning on telling me your name soon?"
She tried to force her face into a smooth mask before looking at him. She failed. But did have the good sense to mutter "no" before whipping her head back down.
The author was heading towards the podium, so Pete lowered his voice and in a whisper said, "Come on, that's not fair. You have a name to put with tonight's fantasy. I need one for mine. Besides if you don't tell me, someone else will."
"It's Jules" she hissed, hoping her answer would satisfy him enough he'd leave her alone.
No such luck. "Like the singer?"
"No, not like the singer, that's J-e-w-e-l. It's Jules, like the author." Now would he stop?
"Like what author?"
She looked at him incredulously. How could anyone who had ever entered a bookstore or even picked up a book not know who she was referring to when she said 'Jules'?
"For god's sake, Jules Verne. You know, Around the World in Eighty Days, Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea? That Jules."
"Oh ... yeah. Sorry. Well, hi Jules. I'm glad to finally put a name to the face I've been thinking about the last two weeks."
Thankfully the author started speaking before Jules had the chance to spit out a retort that would only make her look more foolish. She tried to focus on the speaker's words. Unfortunately, this was proving difficult because the slightly droning voice was competing for Jules attention with the blast of male heat aimed in her direction. She tried to settle back into her chair and collect herself, but when she moved, her thigh brushed his and the intensity of that touch spelled defeat for Jules' attempt to control the situation. And she knew it.
Since she wasn't going to get anything out of the presentation, she at least had the satisfaction of assuming her neighbor wasn't either. But when she looked sideways at Pete, she was surprised to see him focusing intently to the author's narration and comments. It wasn't that he ignored Jules; he seemed to find a way for their bodies to accidentally connect every couple of minutes. He was somehow able to keep her in a state of discomfort and pay attention to the speaker at the same time. The bastard was multi-tasking!
Eventually, at some point, at some hour, on some day, the presentation ended. Jules had lost all track of time. She had the sense to rise and start looking for Audrey, when Pete lightly grabbed her elbow. "I know a place around the corner that has a great wine list. You don't want to drink the swill here do you? Besides, I'd like to talk about the book from last time, that is, if you've gotten through it yet."
She jerked her head around to look at him, ready to react to his smug challenge, but something brought her up short. She looked in his eyes, really looked. She took in the open, honest set to his face and realized he was being sincere. His smile was genuine. For some reason she couldn't begin to fathom, he was interested in her. Interested in talking to her. Interested in getting to know her. It was suddenly clear to her that he wasn't the man his looks and flirtatious banter implied. He was, in some way she couldn't yet define, more.
And before she could think about it, she smiled a genuine smile right back at him and said simply "Sure, I'd like that."
* * *
Walking to the little French cafe, Pete kept a light but firm hold on Jules elbow, squeezing it every few seconds. Which set Jules to wondering if he could bring her off just by this slight touch. She'd never thought of her elbow as being an erogenous zone, but she was rethinking that obvious error now.
As Pete held the door open, she had a moment of lucidity. "Wait. You are old enough to be served here aren't you?"
He grinned. "Yep, by five whole years. But, I'll be carded. Always am."
"Great" she thought to herself, she hadn't needed to show her ID in over a decade. Would the waiter think she was his mom?
Seating themselves at an intimate table in the bar, Pete ordered a bottle of Merlot and an order of moules provencale. The wine was wonderful, a deep musky tone with a hint of ... cherry? ... utterly enticing. Jules never had the patience for mussels, but Pete removed them from their shells and fed them to her himself. As the wine kicked in she felt uninhibited enough to sop the juices up with small bites of a crusty baguette and share those with Pete.
They exchanged the basics. She'd lived here all her life, went to the closest state university, just finished her masters, taught middle school. He'd moved here five years ago. Was a steel worker at a local shipyard, just as his dad had been and his father before that.
And then, he floored her. He actually started talking about the book from the previous meeting. He wanted to know what she'd thought about the characters. Did she think they were fully developed? Had the author done sufficient research into the period? What did she think of the ending? Was it what she'd expected?
Jules, taken aback, tried to answer him, at least as much as her slightly befuddled mind could. She thought the characters well developed although the son's motivation was hard to explain. It seemed out of character. Jules knew next to nothing about Romania, but the author certainly sounded like she knew Romanian history. Nothing really rang false. She hadn't been thrilled with the ending though. It seemed unrealistic that the son would leave his mother behind, knowing her fate, even if she insisted he do so. Jules thought authors sometimes compromised their integrity by making sure at least one of the main characters had a shot at a happy ending even when the story up to that point suggested otherwise.
Pete agreed, asked a couple more questions about the book and then looked at his watch. "I hate to spoil a wonderful evening, but don't you have school tomorrow?"
Jules looked down at her watch, winced at the time and moaned. "God yes. And the hellions always sense when I've had too much fun the night before. They hone in on any weakness they can find and take full advantage." Jules really didn't want this evening to end, but saw no way around it.
He insisted on walking Jules back to her car, even though his was in the opposite direction. This time he held her hand. Then, as they approached her car he reached his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to his side.
"I had a great time tonight. I want to see you again. Soon. Real soon."
Jules, who had the bad habit of asking essential questions at the most inopportune time, looked up at him and asked "Why?"
He looked puzzled. "What do you mean, why?"
She paused and then said, "I guess I mean, why me? I am definitely not one of those older women the magazines calls a cougar. I've never dated a man more than a few months younger than me in my life. There's almost 10 years between us. And not to inflate your ego further, but with your looks and personality you could be dating fashion models. Why do you want to see me?"
He looked at her for a moment, trying to decide if her question was genuine. He'd never asked a girl out and been questioned about why he was doing so. In fact, as he thought about it, he couldn't remember the last time he asked a girl out. He usually just asked them if they'd like to go to bed. Then they said 'yes' and that was pretty much the end of the questioning. Pete was so caught off guard by the novelty of the situation, before he realized it was happening, he was answering her question.
"I don't know exactly why I want to see you again. I just do. You're funny, intelligent, a good listener and an amazing blusher. And while I can't confirm my hunch until I see you totally naked, I'm pretty sure you are sexy as hell. You might look a little older than me, but not by much and besides you can't hold that against me. I can't help when I was born." He paused and assessed her slowly from head to toe. "And to top off all of those reasons, you sell yourself short. You are a beautiful woman and will be at any age." He paused, for a moment as if struck by something, then with understanding, went on. "You know, I think that is why I want to see you again. You are a woman. And I'm really tired of dating girls." He stopped again, trying to decide if he had hit on every reason, then went on. "Yep, that's all I've got to say. Will you see me again?"
She thought for a moment. This was definitely stepping outside her normal routine. A younger man. A beautiful, younger man. A beautiful, younger man with a brain. She'd be an idiot to say no. So she simply said "OK."
He looked at her suspiciously. "Somehow I expected convincing you would be harder than this. You aren't playing games with me are you? And what kind of answer is 'OK'? Especially for an English teacher?"
She beeped the lock on her car door, opened it and started to step in. She stopped, turning to face him again, with the door between them. "The only answer I can give. Call me." She reached up, pecked him quickly on the cheek and was in her car with the door closed.
* * *
They went out three nights later and made an effort at an actual date. He made reservations at a nice restaurant close to her apartment and she agreed to meet him there. After dinner he planned to go to his favorite jazz club, which was just a couple of blocks away. He hoped she'd like it too.
Pete was waiting at the restaurant when she arrived. She looked wonderful, and even sexier now that she wasn't in her teacher clothes. His hands were itching to touch her in places and ways completely inappropriate for the venue. He told her so and she immediately blushed. He grinned and she realized he had done it on purpose, which made her scarlet coloring even more intense. She looked at him through slit eyes and vowed to pay him back. Somehow. Eventually.
For her part, Jules had wondered if her memory exaggerated Pete's good looks. As soon as she saw him though, she apologized to her memory, vowing to never doubt its veracity again.
He took her elbow - again, as they followed the waiter to the table and she wondered - again, if she could orgasm just by that touch.
After helping her into her seat, he settled himself across from her and opened the wine list. He felt her eyes on him, looked up and saw his own hunger reflected back at him.
"My apartment's a five minute walk," she said."Let's go. If we hurry, I think I can make it." He threw a couple of bucks on the table and they were gone.
* * *
As the feeling crept back into Jules fingers and toes, her brain, still numb, struggled to come up with an appropriate description of what just happened. And Jules, whose command of the English language was buttressed by multiple advanced degrees, could only come up with 'Fuuuuuuuuuuck' as a descriptor of how his mouth, his tongue and then his cock had felt on and in her.
Feeling as though it might sound foolish if she expressed this out loud, she willed herself to remain silent until some semblance of order was restored to her brain. To pass the time until order overtook chaos, she turned her head, looked at Pete and grinned like a five year old just presented with a double chocolate birthday cake covered with pink icing and candy sprinkles. And was instantly warmed when she saw the exact same expression on his face.
Once she felt the return of basic verbal skills she attempted to express the depth of her wonder about what just happened. "That ... was amazing. Stupendous. Extraordinary." He just continued to grin, then replied, "It was, wasn't it?"
"I mean, I never, well ... what you did ... I have to admit, it's been done before, many, well I mean, several times. But never like that. Never like ... wow." Jules realized she sounded like some naive teenager with her first crush. "Get a grip," she thought to herself. "You're the mature one here." She was trying to rearrange her facial features to strike an air of nonchalance when Pete turned towards her, pulled her body into his and gave her such a thorough kiss she felt her toes start to go numb again.
Pulling away from her he sought perspective, then drank her in. " You were pretty wow too," he told her, his voice still husky and rough. "Your scent, your taste, Jules, you could be fucking addictive. If you don't have other plans for the near future, I plan to spend quite a bit of time camped out between your legs." With that he reached down, ran his fingers along her damp slit and brought them back up to the small space between their two faces. "Smell yourself. Taste it."
Jules hesitantly sniffed then reached the tip of her tongue out and flicked his fingers. It was the taste of her and of him. Combined. Intoxicating. She shuddered at the intimacy. At that, her already drenched cunt flooded with want. Which was all either of them needed to start all over again.
Jules took the initiative this time, suddenly wanting to return the favor. Lowering her head, she licked and tasted him before taking him completely in her mouth. Almost immediately, he was insistently hard again. Plunging one hand into her hair, he grasped her head and directed her movement. Jules, who had never viewed the act of sucking a man's cock as particularly pleasurable, suddenly discovered she loved giving blow jobs. At least with this man. She had no idea why her affection for the task had changed, but was lost in the moment and saw no reason to question it. As Pete pushed her further down with each thrust Jules realized she could relax her throat and take him deeper. At one point she instinctively swallowed when the head of his cock was right at the juncture where mouth meets throat. The groan he emitted told her that was a good thing.
Eventually he lifted her up off of his prick. "I need to be in you," he explained huskily. Easily flipping them both so she was beneath him, he spread her thighs, put his hands under her ass so his thumbs skimmed her cleft, settled himself into the position, then plunged. He groaned again as he felt her warmth envelope him.
No matter how many times he entered a woman like this, it felt like coming home. But with Jules ... with Jules, it felt like coming home on Christmas morning. She instinctively lifted her thighs and wrapped her legs around him so he had maximum access as he settled into the steady rhythm of fucking his woman. He allowed his hands the luxury of a further exploration of her body, introducing himself to her ears, her neck, her shoulder blades, her breasts, her nipples, her wonderful, dusky pink, ruched nipples. Nipples that proved to be so responsive to his touch, his squeeze, his mouth. His hands were moving towards her lightly rounded belly, honing in on her navel, when he felt the compelling urge to lower himself and take her in his arms. He suddenly needed to cradle her into his body. He had no choice but to go with his instincts.
He rarely fucked a woman in the missionary position. He never thought either party got much out of it. Pete now realized he might have been missing something. Maybe it was only perfection with Jules. The angle allowed him to push up into her, stroking her sensitive internal ridge. At the same time, each thrust meant his pubic bone made contact with hers, spreading her labia for him and raking the wiry hairs at the base of his prick across her clit. The sensation was so fucking fantastic. He wasn't sure how long he could last. Just as he was thinking it didn't get better than this, he felt her contractions grasp onto his cock, felt her muscles pull him into her, holding him like a vice, forcing him higher within her than he'd ever imagined possible. Then, it happened. He was aware of it instantly. Jules, he guessed, was currently oblivious to her very existence. The forcible push of her muscles, the spasms caused by her body's uncertainty about whether to devour him or expel him overwhelmed. He looked for and found the truth in her unfocused eyes. The brute strength of her orgasm was enough to pull him over as well. Eventually he collapsed on top of her and they both lay still, slowly dragging themselves back to reality.
Finally, it dawned on him he might be a little heavy. As he lifted off Jules, Pete looked down at her face, expecting it to reflect the sense of repletion he felt. Instead of the relaxed and satiated expression he expected, there were tears sliding down the side of her face disappearing into her hairline.
"Jules," he said with some alarm, "Did I hurt you? Was I too heavy? Are you alright?"
"She gave him a watery smile and gently touched his face. No, you didn't hurt me. I'm fine. You were perfect, wonderful."
He flopped beside her certain she wasn't telling him the truth, but he had no idea what was wrong. He had to admit, this was a first for him. He'd made women cry before, but not immediately after cumming in his arms. He was lying there trying to figure out what to do when she spoke.
"Can I tell you something?"
He looked at her immediately and said "Sure. You can tell me anything."
She spoke, almost shyly. "Please, don't look at me when I say this. It's embarrassing and I'll never get it out with you looking at me." Once he'd turned his eyes back to the ceiling, she continued. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way. I'm not saying this in an attempt to tie you down, to make you feel somehow responsible for me. You might not appreciate it, but, but I appreciate it so much, I just feel like I need to tell you."
She paused and he thought he would go nuts if she didn't spit it out. Finally she spoke again, almost in a whisper.
"It's just that I want to thank you. This, what we did right now, this was ... it was," she pushed the rest out in one quick breath "it was the first time I ever came just from being fucked, without anything else going on." By now of course, she was a deep, deep scarlet. Pete turned and was able to confirm what he'd suspected. The beautiful stain covered her entire body. She was ignoring his stare, intent on getting the rest of her confession out. "In books they talk about it happening all the time. So, I figured there was something wrong with me. I've never talked about it to anyone before. But tonight it happened and it was fantastic and I just want to thank you for the gift. That's all"
Pete didn't say anything. Feeling less embarrassed she glanced over at him. "You know, now that it's out there, I'm not sure why it was so hard to tell you. It's just that I'd resigned myself to it never happening and never telling another soul."
Then he looked at her and smiled. Obviously touched and looking a little smug and self-satisfied he finally said. "Thank you for telling me." He grinned. "I kinda feel like getting up, strutting around the bed and crowing. But really Jules, I don't think I can take the credit, at least not all of it. I was happy to oblige and in case you didn't catch the ending, I enjoyed it to. You should stop worrying. I guarantee there is nothing wrong with you."
They both relaxed back into quiet contentment for several minutes. Eventually Pete spoke. "I want you to know I understand how hard telling me was for you. I know what it feels like to have something you think you can't share with anyone. It sucks."
Jules was caught off guard. What secret could someone with a face and a body like Pete's, not to mention his brain, have that he couldn't share? He was the epitome of the perfect guy. The kind of guy that glides through life and troubles effortlessly melt as he passes.
"Tell Me," she whispered. "I promise, whatever it is won't make me think differently of you and you'll feel better just saying it out loud."
She turned her face back to look at the ceiling hoping that might make it easier for him. And waited.
Pete instantly regretted the moment those words came out of his mouth. He hadn't meant it to sound like he had some secret he was afraid to share. But it had. And it was true. Baggage he'd carried for so many years, intending never to pass on to anyone. Certainly not to someone he'd only laid eyes on two weeks back. As he thought about it, he was surprised to realize he wanted to tell Jules. That she was the first person he ever wanted to tell. He had no clue why he felt this way, just that it felt right. As right as it felt when he entered her, as right as it felt when they came together. And so he spoke. In a voice so small and desolate she almost couldn't believe it came out of such a big man he said quietly "I can't read."
If Jules had been another person she would have been immediately skeptical, would have assumed he was, at best teasing and at worst lying to her. No one got to Pete's age without being able to read. It would be impossible to drive a car, hold down a good job or see a doctor. But Jules was who she was. A teacher. And she knew first hand how many kids got passed through the system that were functionally illiterate.
So Jules trusted her instincts and trusted this man. Rolling over, she took his now tension taut body into her arms and said simply "tell me."
He did, reluctantly at first. He told her the tricks he'd learned to help him cope with the endless supply of written words people faced each day. He told her how, when he heard a new word he asked what it meant, then memorized the word and started using it so at least he didn't sound illiterate. He told her of his mom 'helping' him by reading his textbooks aloud, even though it only enabled his lie. He spoke of how he coaxed coworkers to read the print on plans and the work-site signs of his trade without letting them know he couldn't read them himself. He told her how dependent he was on his memory and how scared he would be if that deserted him too someday.
Pete spoke of the embarrassment, the disillusionment after he tried and failed adult literacy classes. He told her of his attempts to teach himself and the frustration he felt at his failure. And how his secret made him always feel separate, apart from the rest of the reading world.
Finally he explained why he went to the Author's Meet & Greet club. "I hoped if I heard a chapter or two read out loud, then listened to everyone's comments and questions, I would have enough background about the plot and characters that I could work my way through the rest of the book. But it didn't work. I opened the book discussed that first night and realized that it might as well have been written in Latin. I didn't recognize one word out of twenty."
He paused and then continued, sounding almost shy. "I went to the next meeting knowing it wouldn't help. I went to that meeting just to see you."
At that moment Jules knew she would help Pete learn to read. However their personal relationship progressed, Pete would be reading in a few short weeks.
And later that night, as they sat naked in her kitchen devouring her refrigerator's meager rations, Pete told Jules what he could about his problem, the specific difficulties with recognizing groupings of letters as words, the diagnosis he'd overheard teachers mention to his parents in grade school and why he thought he couldn't read. Then Jules developed a teaching plan, bulldozed through Pete's reluctance to set him up to fail again and convinced both of them that it just might possibly work.
Much later in bed, satiated yet again, one small worry entered Jules mind. Looking down into Pete's eyes, since she was still sprawled out on top of him, she asked suspiciously "you didn't pick me up just because I was a teacher did you? There was no ulterior motive, right?"
At that he gave a brief snort, short of a laugh only because a good portion of Jules' weight was now resting on his diaphragm, limiting his ability to start any noise in his belly. "Since I didn't know you were a teacher until after I knew I had to have you, I don't think so. You were too cute and too fucking sexy for me to even think about what kind of job you had. And I sure as hell never had a teacher that looked like you. I bet you have a class full of blue-balled 13 year old boys that think they've died and gone to heaven every time you sway into that classroom."
"Several classes full," she replied smugly.
* * *
As the weeks progressed Jules implemented her plans. Her literacy program was somewhat unusual, designed to fit her blossoming relationship with her pupil. Once she and Pete got through the basics of grammar and phonetics, with both disciplines eroticized in ways she'd never imagined, they were ready to start actually reading books. Knowing how bright Pete was and certain of her success, she ignored the usual adult literacy reading materials and developed a unique reading list of her own.
Jules thought it best to start with a simply written, straightforward reference book so she dug out her dog-eared copy of the original Joy of Sex for their first assignment. She also arranged a field trip to the bookstore.
If the manager of All Booked Up was surprised to see the two of them together, she hid it well. She also did an admirable job of pretending not to hear or see exactly what Pete was doing to distract Jules as she selected books for Pete's own collection of classic erotica. Fortunately the erotica section was in the back of the store and around a corner. Jules had never thought about the placement of this particular section, until Pete proved so distracting she had to suspend her book selection and focus on meeting his demands. At that point the infinitesimal part of her brain that wasn't totally consumed with what Pete's hands and mouth were doing to her, abstractedly decided that someone had been thinking ahead when they laid out the bookstore this way.
Lady Chatterley's Lover was the next book on the reading plan. By the time they'd made it through the collected works of D.H. Lawrence, and Anais Nin and were ready to tackle Henry Miller, they deemed their effort a success. Pete could definitely read. Of course they acknowledged that rapid progress was impeded by the frequent breaks required to test and evaluate the authors' detailed descriptions of various forms of copulation. But both of them understood that the quest for knowledge always came with a price.
Occasionally Jules would still have doubts. Worry that this beautiful and brilliant younger man would no longer remain devoted to her once he was fully confident in his reading skills. When she raised the issue, Pete would just laugh and reassure her by providing physical proof of his obvious affection. But after the fourth or fifth time she raised the point, Pete realized more tangible proof of his intention to be around for a long while, possibly the rest of their lives was needed.
And so, one day Pete arranged a field trip of his own. The owner of All Booked Up, now his friend and confidant, gave him a spare key to the store. At 10:00 on a Friday night, after the store closed and the manager locked up and heading home, Pete drove Jules to the store, unlocked the door and turned on just enough lights for them to find their way through the stacks. He'd had to assure Jules about a thousand times that it really was OK for them to be there, that he had the owner's permission. How else would he have scored the key?
And there in the erotica section Pete presented his teacher with two gifts. One was a small box with a simple yet elegant engagement ring inside. Exactly how Pete saw Jules. The other, which held far more meaning for both of them, filled three, complete floor to ceiling bookcases. Pete told Jules that these books were his promise of constancy to her. Still not understanding his point, she looked at him questioningly.
"For such a smart person you are so dense sometimes," he said smiling and touching the tip of her nose. "You've not only taught me to read, you've hooked me on your smutty books." When Jules started to protest he interrupted her. "Sorry, sorry, I mean your erotica. I'll never have the guts to ask another woman if she wants to read dirty, err, erotic books with me and then act out all the fun parts. So I tried to calculate how long it would take us to get through these three bookshelves. And then I talked to the owner about expanding the collection. She gave me a few publishing catalogs to look through and I found out that there is a whole lot of reading left for us to do.
He paused for a moment, looked down at the woman who had given him the greatest gift he would ever receive and said "I guess what I'm saying is you are stuck with me until the two of us get through every erotic novel, compilation or collection of short stories ever written or waiting to be written." Grinning at her he added, "I figure that might take us at least two or three lifetimes."