My Summer with Carol

This story is true in all respects except the last name of Carol.

My love for big, beautiful women goes back to the summer after I turned fifteen in 1969. As a child, I was small and slight for my age and ill-suited for a world where boys defined themselves largely through sports. I was always the last one picked when the class divided into two teams. Despite growing up without much self-confidence, I spent a happy childhood playing with a large gang of friends which included boys and girls.

Things changed dramatically after fifth grade. It seemed everyone except me was going through puberty. Suddenly, parties took on a new atmosphere. Instead of the innocent fun I remembered two years earlier in fourth grade listening to the Turtles sing "Happy Together," the music was wilder, the lights were low, and slow dancing and kissing were all but required on the dance floor. Physically and psychologically unprepared to deal with this new world, I retreated from parties and dances for the next seven years.

At home, there was no way to hide the fact that I was unwilling to attend any more parties. And every Christmas, I battled my mother over attending the big dances organized to mark the holiday season. I still remember my shame when overhearing my mother explain to another mother on the phone why I couldn't attend her party. "I'm sorry, June, but Bobby is afraid of girls."

That problem only got worse in junior high school as every else seemed to be dating except me. The fact that I didn't reach puberty until ninth grade only made it harder. As late as fifteen, I was still 5 feet, one inch and 100 pounds and looked more like twelve. I have never dated or kissed anyone and I had certainly no intentions of trying. After I reached puberty, I confronted another new world where I was now intensely interested in "girls" yet more afraid than ever to do anything about it. My complete lack of experience was paralyzing.

In other areas of my life, especially career plans, I was mature and directed. Encouraged by my father, I had long planned a career in medicine. My father helped me get a volunteer job in the research wing of a large hospital when I was fifteen. I spent two summers working in a tissue cell lab where I helped the lab technician grow cells for research projects in little covered glass dishes known as petri dishes. These were kept in the "sterile room, a tiny room at the back of the lab which was off limits to everyone except us to protect the experiments from contamination.

The woman who ran the tissue cell lab was Carol Bellano, a twenty-five year, single, Italian-American woman. Her job was quite routine and mine was even more so as her assistant. Every day, I helped her wash glassware in the sink and sterilize more glassware and instruments in the autoclave (a steam-pressure machine used to sterilize petri dishes and the like). I also helped her set up experiments, measure out powders on sensitive scales, and "feed" the cells in the petri dishes with solutions carefully dripped from pipettes.

Carol was a warm, vivacious, intensely playful woman who loved to talk and joke. A splash of life and color in a drab scientific environment, Carol's laughter frequently echoed down the long corridor of labs where stiff, middle-aged men solemnly carried out their important research.

It didn't take long for Carol and I to become fast friends since we spent seven hours a day talking to each other as we worked. I loved having someone to show off to and the fact that I had her full and undivided attention. Not a day passed without me acting up to get her to laugh. It was the closest thing I could to to flirt. For years, I imagined that making a woman laugh was somehow linked to winning her heart. In one of favorite tricks for Carol, I donned a white lab coat and did imitations of some of the doctors on our floor until she practically screamed with laughter. My other trick was to stand on the doorknobs of the door to her lab and swing back and forth, beating my chest while she cried, "Bomba the jungle boy!"

Within two or three few weeks, Carol and I were comfortable talking about everything. As I soon found out, her favorite topic was sex. Since she wasn't dating anyone and often said she was too big to be attractive to most men, her main outlet was sexual fantasy, stories, dirty jokes, and teasing. Since I was cooped up with her in a small lab for forty hours a week, I became the happy audience for her constant sexual conversation. And all I had to do for the most part was listen.

Carol told me early on how she was still a virgin, having been raised a "good Catholic girl". Invariably, she mentioned her virginity only as a prelude to a longer discussion of how sensual she was, how she thought big women were the most sensual of all in bed, how she had a collection of sheer nighties at home which she liked to wear, and how she couldn't wait to get married when all of her pent-up desires would be released. Her future husband, she promised, would spend much of his free time in bed.

The more she talked, the more hot and bothered I got. Since all of this talk was about Carol or the delights which her future husband would enjoy, I was safely excluded from this feminine desire yet given a front row seat. For the first time in my life, I could enjoy the company of a secret object of desire without having to do anything.

The more we talked, the more comfortable I became with her erotically-charged conversation. It wasn't long before she began directing teasing remarks at me or asking my opinion on these matters. By the second month of the first three-month summer, Carol was even telling me in some detail about her experiences with men and how how close she had come to losing her virginity with her only serious boyfriend. When she told me she had allowed him to "climax" her with his hand, I remember my heart began to pound. Until I met Carol, I had never heard anyone use that word in conversation. But as quickly found out, it was one of her favorite words. I found it particularly exciting when she used it as as a verb, as in her accounts of how her boyfriend "climaxed" her. I went through this image over and over, especially as I lay in bed at night, free to let my imagination wander. Needless to say, I was always the one who was climaxing Carol with my hand even though I didn't have the faintest idea how that was done.

In my young eyes, Carol was more than desirable. She was a big, beautiful goddess, a kind of Gina Lollabrigida, only bigger and more beautiful. She was about five feet five and, perhaps, 180 pounds. Because most of her weight was distributed to her hips, bottom, and especially her bosom, she exuded a boundless femininity at all times to my rapt eyes. As she moved about the lab, in close proximity, she gave off an undulating, ripe, feminine fullness which made every step a spectacle.

There were also sounds and smells which I found intoxicating. Whenever she walked, I heard her pantyhose swishing back under her white lab dress and had a kind of aural image of her upper thighs. While these were invisible, the sound of her upper thighs rubbing against each other with each step gave this hidden area a vivid presence in my imagination. It was as if I could see in a certain way into the hidden, mysterious zone of her upper thighs and especially into the area between them where they rubbed together to make that silky noise. Carol also wore lots of perfume which filled the small room and made her seem even closer. When she worked next to me, I could smell other wonderful scents, the shampoo she had used, the soap, the skin lotion she kept in her desk, and other unidentifiable feminine smells. By the middle of the first summer, I'm sure Carol realized she had a very captive audience in her new assistant.

In retrospect, I can see why sex came up so much in conversations. It was heavy on the brain for both of us. And each was a non-threatening audience for the other. She was a frustrated, twenty-five year old virgin eager able to express her sexuality primarily through talking. And since I was young enough to pose no threat but old enough to be very interested, she was even more freer to be frank and playful and teasing. As a completely inexperienced, sexually preoccupied teenager, I was very eager to talk about sex, or at least, to listen while an older, experienced woman did most of the talking. Carol was the perfect Venus for me. I could desire and enjoy her presence all day long without having to do anything myself. I suppose we were the ideal match.

Carol always wore a severe, white, lab uniform which came down to her knees and buttoned up below her neck. The only good thing was the tight fit. She always looked like she was about to burst out of it. And when she sat down and crossed her legs, her uniform rode halfway up, exposing her luscious, heavy thighs. It was impossible not to look at them when she sat down and crossed her legs since this action produced a broad expanse of panty-hosed thighs right in front of me. By the second month, Carol had begun teasing me by sitting down nearby and letting her uniform ride up, checking to see if I could control my eyes. If I didn't look, she teased me for for obviously wanting to. If I did, I got teased for that instead.

It didn't take long before I was looking a lot, especially when I thought she wouldn't notice. Most of the time, I got away with it, or at least, I thought I did. When she caught me, she often scolded me for being a "naughty scamp" or something else like that. In the first few months, I blushed every time she caught me and swore to myself I wouldn't stare so much. Of course, all such resolutions were impossible since I stated at her, on and off, all day long, five days a week. In that small lab, she was never more than 15 feet away and usually working right beside me. Eventually, I realized that catching me staring was a game she enjoyed and that her teasing and scolding was becoming as exciting as watching her when I thought she wasn't looking.

Part 2 - My Second Summer

Things were even more charged during my second summer working with Carol. Having completely passed through a late puberty, I was still completely inexperienced and fearful of any social situations involving girls my age. Much of my fantasies focused on Carol Bellano as the one beautiful woman I had established a kind of spiritually intimacy. I had grown a little since the previous summer but I was still only 5.2, my big growth spurt ahead of me. Even though I was mistaken for thirteen, I felt like a sixteen year old, at least with Carol. And I was greatly looking forward to another three months of flirting.

By the second summer, Carol and I had no secrets from each other. At least I had no secrets as I took advantage of her nurturing, experienced manner to pour out my heart. Everything that I had kept inside over the previous year came pouring out. By the end of June, Carol knew everything there was to know about me. She had become a confessor figure in whom I could safely confide all my fears, desires, and hopes. She knew I had avoided parties and dances since the beginning of high school, how I had never dated anyone, and that I had never even been kissed. Through all of these heart to heart talks, she never make fun of me for any of that. Patient and understanding, she was a tremendous source of reassurance and comfort. While erotic infatuation from the previous summer had deepened, it was also part of what I realized was a big crush.

Though I was still very shy and unwilling to initiate anything on my own beyond telling a dirty joke or feasting my eyes on Carol when she wasn't looking, I was more willing to tease her back. Seeing that the same provocations from the previous summer had less of an effect, Carol quickly upped the ante, determined to make me squirm and blush and to keep the small room where we worked charged with sexual tension.

One of her new tricks was to undo the top two buttons which ran down the middle of the top portion of her uniform. She always did this when I wasn't looking so she could surprise me, especially when she sat down or bent to put something away in one of the drawers around us. Of course, I always noticed and eventually got caught peeking at which point she scolded and threatened me with a spanking.

She also introduced me to something she described as her second most favorite activity, after swimming and pool games, which was innocent and "sensual". (Looking back, I can see how Carol made herself an expert on innocent activities which carried a sexual edge. They were important outlets for someone who was saving herself for marriage.) This was nothing more than washing hands with someone else.

The main sink in the lab was behind the door, out of sight from anyone passing in the hall. Since we handled sterile equipment and experiments, we washed our hands with surgical soap four or five times a day. Until the second summer, we had always done this separately. But one day early in June, Carol had us wash our hands together. We stood side by side, her scented presence heavy in the air, and I allowed her for the first time to caress me with her soapy hands for up to five minutes.

This may sound innocent by today's standards but it was enough to make a completely inexperienced, sixteen year old dizzy. The experience of standing alongside an older, perfumed, full-breasted Venus while she rubbed her slippery soapy hands all over my hands, squeezing and caressing and stroking between my fingers and finding all sorts of little places I didn't know I had was by far the most exciting thing I had ever done. And whether I was ready for it or not, my hands could not escape caressing hers in return.

The first three or four times we did this, I was so frightened, my hands actually trembled, especially at the onset. Between my fear and the force of her mature, sexuality which had suddenly seized my psyche along with my body, I regressed to an inner space where I could enjoy this more safely. As she took control of my hands, I felt like an eight year old boy stripped and put in the tub for a long, slow, sponge bath given by the sexiest baby-sitter in the world. At the same time, my surrender into Carol's hands were intensely sexual and grown up, as if I were a young man who had given himself the intimate caresses of an experienced, older woman.

Looking back, it was the fusion of these two spaces during my two summers with Carol which permanently marked my psyche. It was my inexperience which made this hand washing easier to handle, despite my fear. As she took my hands in hers, the gentleness of her touch allowed me to relax, safe in the knowledge that I was giving myself up to someone I could trust. Somehow, Carol knew how much I needed to be touched lovingly like that and how much I wanted to be able to touch back in the same way. In her gentle hands, I responded without conscious awareness to someone who could see beyond my fear, someone willing to initiate me slowly and patiently and give me the encouragement I needed. I later read about a nineteenth-century American utopian community where sexuality was not restricted by marriage and where young men in their mid teens were each assigned to live with an older woman for a year where they were well initiated into the joys of lovemaking. That was how I felt when Carol first began washing my hands. It was my sexual initiation with a loving, older Venus who knew me well enough not to rush anything.

I remember seeing her smile the first few times as she took control of my trembling hands and watched my excitement grow. After two or three visits to the sink, my mounting desire slowly pushed aside my fear and I began to caress her hands back, hesitantly at first, and increasingly with the same enthusiasm she showed me. As I saw that I could actually give her pleasure, I became more confident and more excited. Eventually, I would go over to the sink on my own and look over at her with a mischievous smile, at which point she would come over and we would join, body and soul, for a short time through our soapy hands. After a week or two of daily hand washing, we would look into each others eyes as we soaped, enjoying the pleasure we were giving and receiving and caressing each other in ways which mimed other, more intimate caresses.

While I felt more confident and grown up during these sessions, I never lost the sense of giving myself over to an older woman and the safe, little boy space that gave me. It was a space Carol encouraged on a daily basis, especially when teasing and scolding me for one of my many pranks or for peeking at her. In situations like that, she usually spoke to me the way one might speak to a child, playfully scolding me or threatening me with a spanking. Since I was ten years younger and completely inexperienced in sexual matters, I felt like a child in one crucial area. And in a paradoxical way, I was able to be more provocative in my staring and teasing as long as everything stayed safely within the innocent world of an older woman and a "naughty boy".

After the first month, I don't think a day passed either summer when Carol didn't call me me a "Mr Smarty Pants" or "a naughty boy" or a dozen other similar names. She never hesitated to speak to me this way if I acted up when other secretaries or female lab technicians were visiting during lunch or coffee break. And with my love of a captive, female audience, I brought on quite a bit of playful scolding like that and even an occasional swat to the seat of my pants. I remember giggling and sticking out my tongue before jumping out of range, trying in this way to tease Carol back as if to say, "you can't catch me".

By the middle of the first summer, she began turning up the heat by threatening to put me over her knee "the very next time" I misbehaved. It was always "the next time" or "the very next time" or "you think I'm kidding, don't you, Mr. Smarty Pants, but you just wait and see". I always blushed and giggled and tried to reverse the threats, making it clear I loved playing this game. Of course, I didn't want to be her little boy at all. The game appealed so much because it allowed us to say things we couldn't say directly. To play the part of a "naughty boy" was like a having a license to be naughty and I took full advantage of it as the first summer wore on.

If Carol really wanted to make me blush, she would close the door to the hall just for a minute so no one could hear, and she would come up next to me and softly scold me some more and then tell me exactly how she was gong to spank me. It was always the same. She was going to keep me in the lab after hours with the door closed and take a chair into the "sterile room" in back and close that door as well and take down my pants and put me across her lap and spank me on my bare bottom. Or she would add I had been asking for a spanking since the day I started working for her and that one of these days, she was going to surprise me.

To have this big-breasted, older Venus tell me in a quiet whisper of a voice that she was going to bare my bottom and spank me after work, and to have her say this after closing the door and coming alongside me and holding me in place put my circuits on overload. I usually ended up blushing as far back as my ears until she released me and opened the door back up again, allowing the unbearable tension to pass.

Though threats to "put me over her knee" were routine, Carol saved the more elaborate threat for private moments. And she carefully refrained from overdoing it lest her threat lose its potency. It wasn't that I necessarily believed her, but when she closed the door and took me by my upper arm and spoke to me in a soft voice so no one could hear, the game always took on enough possibility to be scary and exciting at the same time. Because she liked to hold more extreme forms of teasing in reserve, she gave me what she called a "closed door scolding" once or twice a week at most. Eventually, she added another twist by quietly announcing, "Young man, you need a closed door scolding" and walking over to shut the door. Looking back, I know I acted up extra now and then just to make sure Carol closed the door a few extra times a week. For example, two weeks into my second summer, I brought in a tiny squirt gun and squirted Carol's uniform three or four times on her big, beautiful bottom when she was bending over.

She jumped up with a squeal, swiftly accessed the situation, and without saying anything, crossed over to close the door. She walked back to me and again without saying anything, held out her hand to confiscate the squirtgun. She then promised if I ever did anything like that again, she would have me come for dinner that very night and take me directly into her bedroom where I could fuss all I wanted without anyone hearing as she put me over her knee and gave me a good spanking.

As she continued scolding me and describing what she would do, she took my left arm in her left hand, and holding me in place to her right, she reached down with her right hand and smacked me quickly four times on the seat of my pants. While the physical impact was negligible, the feel of her hand on my bottom in the middle of a scolding sent a big shock through my system. Carol held me with her left hand for a few moments and repeated her warning, again smacking my bottom through my pants. After I apologized and told her it was the last squirt gun she would see, she released me and walked back over to open the door. Only then, when our connection to the outer world was restored, did my legs stop trembling. I think it took an extra three hours to fall asleep that night and not until I had relieved my excitement two or three times. The whole episode was particularly exciting because it was clear that Carol wasn't angry, just determined.

The episode with the squirtgun also allowed Carol to add a few smacks to the seat of my pants every time she decided I needed a "closed door scolding". There was nothing I could do to escape her in that closed lab, and in any case the youngest and the oldest sides of me loved being scolded and smacked like a "naughty boy". I remember I had a number of dreams that summer in which Carol invited me over for dinner and spanked me in her bedroom before taking me in her arms and showing me how to make love to her or I went to live with her for the whole summer and she spanked me every night at bedtime before taking me into her intimate embraces.

Between the squirt gun episode and the hand washing games, we broke the ice in a big way in June of my second summer. Both events set the stage for a further upping of the ante.

Carol began unbuttoning three or four of those tiny buttons on her uniform and leaving them unbuttoned for two or three minutes, always keeping her back to the door so no passersby saw. Or she would close the door in the middle of the day, open the buttons along the top and drop a key or paper clip into her cleavage, daring me to fetch it. I'll never know whether she was serious because I was too frightened to call her bluff. I wanted to fetch that key more than anything and I even put my hand quite close a number of time to see if she was bluffing. But she ended up calling my bluff, daring me again as my nerve failed. Since I had never kissed anyone, I was hardly about to stick my hand into a woman's blouse, even into the opened blouse of Carol Bellano. Given what happened later, she might have let me retrieve those little trinkets if that's all I did. It's also clear that was her a way of testing the waters and seeing how far I would go. In the end, "fetching the key" was another safe game with a non-sexual end but one I was not ready to play. It depended on my initiative and I was only willing to do things where Carol took the lead from start to finish. At least, that was my situation in June.

Another thing Carol did at the end of the first summer and especially during the second summer was rubbing or pressing against me as she passed in the small spaces of the lab. Or she would come up beside me to surprise me as I was measuring something and allow her large bosom to press against the back of my arm. Since we worked in very close proximity much of the time, sitting side by side tending small scales and petri dishes, it was easy for her to press accidentally against me. And since she had such a large bosom, it was always her breasts which touched me.

During the first summer, I was very nervous at these occasional touches, fearful she might think I was somehow responsible. But these touches continued without any concern on her part. By the end of the first summer, I knew they were not accidental but both of us still pretended they were. Indeed, she seemed to go out of her way to press against me.

All this became fully apparent in the second summer. The lab was a rectangular room with a tall, rectangular table running down the middle. There was just enough room for two persons to squeeze by on either side. If I was working at that table, Carol would walk up to me and press her breasts into my arm and tease me for noticing. If I was standing, facing away from the table, she would squeeze by, facing me, rubbing her bosom across my whole body as she passed, usually taking her sweet time.

By the second summer, my fear over this "accidental" touching has disappeared and it had become my favorite part of the day. On the other hand, I was still much too shy to initiate any touching of any kind, even "accidental". It was a gift she bestowed on me and I was grateful to receive all such favors from this bosomy Venus.

A month into the second summer, Carol took her teasing to a whole new level. At 5:00, everyone would close up and go home. She would keep me in the little sterile room in the back, feeding the petri dishes, and close the main door to the lab to ensure our privacy. In the tiny confines of that room, she began giving little kisses to my ear and the side of my face.

These eventually changed into a wet, licking kisses which traveled all over my ear and down my neck and back to my ear and across the side of my face. From our many conversations, she knew I had never been kissed and wanted to learn. I suppose she figured this was an important part of my education and an innocent game she could safely control.

It wasn't long before she turned toward me during one of these little kissing experiments and gave me my first kiss on the mouth. This led to our first extended kissing session in the sterile room and I was hooked. The late stays in the sterile room became a daily ritual with the anticipation weighing heavily on me every afternoon. Anyone passing the lab would have assumed Carol had gone home for the day. And since no one else had the key to the lab except for house keeping, we were left undisturbed to explore the world of French kissing for about a half hour each day.

Carol would kiss me up and down my neck and face and tongue my ears while telling me what most women loved this kind of kissing. Since I could see how excited she got, I had all the proof I needed. Keenly aware of my shyness and fear in this area, Carol was a patient teacher. She took everything very slowly and gave me lots of encouragement and compliments. While her remarks gave me some self-confidence, what really mattered were the sighs and little moans she gave off during our kissing sessions. The idea that I could pleasure this luscious, older woman and make her upper body and face break out in what she called an "arousal rash" was almost as exciting as the kissing itself.

Not surprisingly, these long kissing sessions evolved over the first few weeks. They got longer and more passionate as I kissed Carol with the excitement she was lavishing on me. Emboldened by her little sighs and by my own increasing arousal, I allowed myself new liberties. We moved our tall stools right next to each other so we could embrace more tightly as we kissed. And I began brushing "accidentally" against her bosom with my arms as I caressed her face and hair and nibbled on her earlobes.

It wasn't long before my hands began roving. At first, this was over the areas we were kissing since she was teaching me to stroke the back of her neck and to rub her ear lobes. Using her little sighs as indicators, I began taking things a little further each day, after lots of preliminary kissing. One day I finally went out on a limb and moved from repeatedly brushing up against her bosom to fondling her breasts right through her uniform.

I still remember the first time I held her her incredible softness and fullness - a fullness much larger than my hand could encompass. And I remember how Carol breathed more deeply and kissed me more passionately as my hand held her there. I think I passed into a dream-state doing that. I remember my other hand finding her and how I didn't let go for the rest of that kissing session.

Fondling her became a regular part of our kissing. I tried to move on to this sooner rather than later but Carol always pushed my hands away until I had kissed her for at least ten minutes. I discovered that if I kissed her passionately for a long time, she would eventually let me caress her in ways which were forbidden at the onset. I remember kissing and stroking her face and neck and feeling her slowly opening herself up to my hands, becoming softer and more pliant and more passionate, more urgent in her quiet sighs and noises. Eventually she wouldn't bother pushing my hand away when it slid down to squeeze her bosom through her uniform. And after another few minutes of kissing, both of my hands were busy for the rest of the session. As a sixteen year old, to hold the fullness of a mature Venus and make her moan softly and French kiss me passionately was almost more than my system could handle. The thought that I was seducing this older woman, though more of an illusion in retrospect, was quite powerful at the time. Carol told me later she had very sensitive breasts and that she loved it when I stroked and fondled her there. And those were only caresses through her uniform.

For the first week after that, I was so excited by my new freedoms that I didn't push things any further nor did I have the confidence. But bit by bit, all this kissing and petting eroded both my fear and her resistance. I began stroking the sides of her body down over her hips. And one day I got her to stand so I could reach around and squeeze her luscious, big fanny through her uniform. My hands were in fanny heaven for the rest of that kissing session and it took quite a while to fall asleep that night.

Eventually, I began discreetly unbuttoning the top of Carol's uniform in an attempt to see and caress brassiere-covered bosom. This was no easy task because there were many small buttons running down the front. At first, she resisted, though never without letting me unbutton a few buttons before she "discovered" what I was doing and put a stop to it. Each day, it seemed like I got a little further. It didn't take long to realize Carol was of two minds about my latest efforts and also that she was slowly losing her resistance.

And as I saw my slow progress, I grew more determined. It seemed I might arouse Carol enough someday to unbutton the top of her uniform altogether. I also began kissing her down her neck, moving eventually into the cleavage I had uncovered and kissing her all over, losing myself in her perfumed softness. She would say no and sigh and take hold of my head to move me away only to let my head move back a few minutes later. Once again she would take my head to push me away, though sometimes she just held me there gently as if she wanted more to keep my face against her bosom, as she called me her dear sweet boy and other wonderful things like that. I remember feeling an intense desire to have her unbutton her blouse altogether and put me to her breast and I did my best to convey my desires as I nestled into her, kissing and sucking, or sometimes pushing my face against her bosom on the outside of her uniform and leaving wet marks. The thought that I was now seducing her, though more of an illusion in retrospect, was quite powerful at the time.

Sometime in the third or fourth week of daily kissing sessions, I finally managed to uncover her brassiere after about twenty minutes of kissing and petting. I was astounded at the pretty lacy pink brassiere she wore and ran my fingers over the delicate fabric and the soft, heavy fullness beneath, making many complimentary remarks which Carol loved. She loved old-fashioned lacy lingerie, as she had told me, and now I knew first hand. And the fact that Carol was larger than my hands could contain made her seem all the more magnificent and overpowering, like a Venus made to be worshipped by me.

After a few days, I managed to slide my hand inside her brassiere and was amazed at how soft and warm she was there. It was a mysterious, spongy, yielding, feminine fullness and seemed to sum up everything about my Venus. Getting my hand into her brassieres proved difficult given the tightness of the fit and the heaviness of her bosom. But I wanted more than anything to reach her nipples. When I finally touched her there, I was astonished at how hard and soft her nipple seemed at the same time and how small it was, two delicate buttons at the end of each large breast.

By the time August began, our make out sessions had progressed to heavy petting sessions above the waist. Before we left the sterile room, her uniform was usually unbuttoned at the top and her brassiere exposed though she never allowed me to take it off. My hands were free to roam at will above the waist and to plunge into her brassiere and squeeze her nipples. She also liked rubbing her brassiered bosom against my face, drowning me in the extra perfume. Sometimes she stood up while I remained seated and pressed my face into her cleavage. I didn't take me long to realize she was also making her big fanny available to my squeezing hands. I was free to rub her all over in back as long as I stayed outside her uniform. And frankly, I was so excited by what we were doing, there was nothing more I really wanted, save the freedom to remove her lacy brassiere. She has pink and white brassieres, all heavily edged with lace which made them all the more mysterious and exciting to my eyes.

Part 3 - Dinner At Carol's

One night, Carol invited me back for a dinner party with two of her female friends from work and their boyfriends. Since Carol had a pool attached to her apartment building, the two of us went swimming before dinner. That was the first time I saw Carol in something other than her uniform. She wore a white one-piece suit with all of her curves wagging and swaying freely. She had already told me how much she liked swimming because it allowed numerous opportunities for sensual play. As we splashed and wrestled in the water, she brushed repeatedly against me, her eyes dancing mischievously the whole time. During our forty minutes in the pool, I had to break away twice lest my growing excitement become visible.

Afterwards, we went back to her apartment while her friends went off to their apartments to change. Since it was still in the high 80s and Carol had no air conditioning, I just put on a tee shirt on and stayed in my nylon bathing suit which was almost dry. Carol put on a cream-colored silk blouse and a flowing, white cotton skirt which clung to her limbs. With her big hips and fanny dancing under the thin fabric and her bosom released from the prison of her work uniform to sway heavily under the silk blouse, she was intoxicating to watch. As I quickly noticed, the little gaps between the buttons on her blouse allowed occasional, heart-stopping glimpses of the white, lacy brassiere beneath. She had also applied a fresh dose of lilac perfume which made her even more intoxicating when she was close.

In the ten minutes we had before the others showed up, Carol gave me a tour of the apartment and especially her bedroom with its wonderful aroma of perfumes and feminine lotions and soaps. She also made a point of opening her lingerie drawer and showing me two of her sheer nighties. With the drawer open, I couldn't help noticing a pair of white panties covered with ruffles which lay on the top and which she quickly held up when she saw I was looking at them. I felt like I was glimpsing a secret feminine world and suddenly had visions of Carol wearing such things under her severe white uniform every day at work. To make matters worse, she announced with a sly smile that she was wearing a pair of pink panties just like the ones she was holding up. I began to wonder if all this wasn't something she had planned as part of her tour.

The sound of the doorbell put an end to my little tour just as I was getting up the courage to kiss the back of Carol's neck. She quickly returned her nighties to her dresser as I rushed out to sit innocently on the sofa. Only after I picked up a magazine did Carol open the door and greet her friend, Janice, along with her boyfriend. Janice was also in her mid to late twenties. In striking contrast to Carol, she was formal and prudish, her hair always in a tight bun. While she occasionally laughed at Carol's saucy stories at work, she never volunteered any jokes of her own. Since I had never seen Janice outside of the labs where we worked, I assumed she was an old maid before her time. It was thus a pleasant surprise to see that she had a boyfriend. Dressed in a floral summer dress instead of her white work uniform, and with her long brown hair let down, she almost looked feminine to me, amidst her natural severity.

With four guests for dinner, I realized there would be no chance for any kissing for quite some time. This didn't keep Carol from "accidentally" brushing against me throughout the evening. I volunteered to cook the burgers on the little grill on Carol's balcony. With all the moving back and forth between kitchen and the balcony which was off the living room, there were many moments when I had to pass close to Carol. Whenever I came near or she passed by, she managed to brush against me in ways which were invisible to the others. The more this happened, the more excited I got and the more intensely aware I became of her exact whereabouts at all times. To have an older, bosomy woman pressing herself softly into my arm or side while others chatted nearby put my inexperienced system on overload throughout dinner.

Carol and her friends liked to drink, as I discovered. Deprived of some outlets, she made up for it in other ways. Four bottles of wine were consumed that night. I drank three or four glasses myself over a period of two and a half hours. For a novice, that was enough to get me tipsy. Carol had considerably more than that. By the time darkness fell around 9:00, she was a little drunk and getting more playful and mischievous by the minute.

Sometime after 9:00, I got the shock of my life when I came into the living room and saw Janice through the sliding door leading onto the dark balcony. She was locked in a passionate embrace with her boyfriend and neither of them noticed me. I looked around for the other couple but they had quietly disappeared without saying goodbye.

With no one else inside the apartment, Carol asked me to help clear the table. She followed me into the kitchen with some dirty plates and quickly cornered me as soon as I put the dishes in the sink. As excited as I was, I was also terrified. All this was so environment from our quiet, secret nook at the back of the lab. And she was being much more aggressive. Instead of the slow, teasing buildup of little kisses, Carol cornered me in the kitchen and began rubbing her chest against me and pushing her whole body against me. During our kissing sessions at work, I had always remained seated on a tall stool, too embarrassed to allow any full-body embraces. As her full thighs pressed against me, I tried to turn away, frightened by the beginnings of an erection. Instead of her fending me off, I was fending her off. Each time I tried to twist away, she pressing me harder into the way, trapping my body against her and covering my face with wet kisses.

At one point, I broke away and fled, half seriously, half teasing, wanting to escape but also to go somewhere more private than the well lit kitchen just out of view of the balcony. I ran through the living room, noticing Janice and her boyfriend still locked in a passionate, kissing embrace, and fled into Carol's bedroom, shutting the door behind me. It didn't take her long to push it open, especially when one part of me wanted to be caught more than anything, despite my fear. As soon as Carol got into the room, she closed the door behind us and pushed a little button on the knob I hadn't noticed in the dim light. I hear the little click and realized we were now locked in. I thought of dashing into her bathroom but she was near the door so without thinking I retreated into a large closet and tried to hold the door shut behind me. Carol managed to pull it open and came in after me, effectively trapping me there.

With only a small lamp in the bedroom, the closet was very black dark and completely silent except for the sound of our breathing. She came up to me and pushed herself against me, forcing me back a few feet until I was up against a corner with her full length pressing against me once again. With her hands holding my head, she began giving me her wonderful, wet, licking kisses all up and down the side of my neck, tonguing my ears, and telling me playfully that I wasn't going to get away this time.

Secluded in a dark, intimate space not unlike the "sterile room," with the outer door locked and no possibility of being discovered, my fear melted as quickly as desire rose, stoked by Carol's incredible kisses which were unlike anything I ever encountered later. After pretending to resist for a few more minutes, I gave and kissed her back, at first tentatively but soon with all the passion I had mustered at work. It was the first time we had ever kissed standing, pressed against each other. For a few minutes, I tried to turn my body slightly to hide my growing erection. But those kisses and the perfumed softness of her pressing all over me wore me down and eventually surrendered to the delicious feeling of her soft thighs pushing against me there. As we kissed, a delicious warmth began flowing up and down my body and through hers as well, as if we had become one interlocked being.

After a long period of kissing like that, I found the courage to push against her for the first time and was delighted at the yielding, murmuring, kissing response of her body. I managed to turn us completely around so that I was trapping her into the corner and pressing urgently against her, into her, suddenly aware that I now had a certain power over this voluptuous, full-bodied woman. The more I pressed into her, the more her whole body seemed to melt against me, her lips opening, her arms encircling my neck and drawing me in close to her breasts, her thighs opening slowly as my loins pushed forward, opening little by little as I pushed into her, kissing and thrusting my tongue, my hands sliding up and down her sides, from her breasts to her hips, pushing myself against her rhythmically in that soft darkness, enveloped by her perfumed face and hair and arms, her thighs yielding all the way, the flowing skirt allowing me to press completely between her opened thighs as I pushed her hard against the wall. Despite the fact that we were both fully clothed, I had the experience, for the first time in my life, of taking possession of a woman as she melted against me and yielded to me her most secret, passionate, intimate spaces.

Time and space completely disappeared in that dark, intimate closet as my hands ran freely all over Carol, up and down her length from her ears and neck down over her bosom and around and down her sides to slide over her wonderful big hips, signs coming from me every time my hands reached something new which was full and soft and open to my touch. I held her hips tightly, pressing her forward against me rhythmically, thrusting gently into her softness, rocking, swaying, our mouths never breaking free, my hands eventually slide back from her hips over that glorious, fat fanny, squeezing the wonderful fullness of her cheeks in my hands and feeling the ruffled panties beneath, rubbing, circling, patting, smacking, as Carol sighed continually amidst our kissing.

As intimate as our embracing was, I had not done anything to undo any clothing. It was one think to unbutton the top of her uniform in the "sterile room" at work, where the situation and Carol's resistance did not allow things to get out of hand. It was something else to attempt undressing Carol in her bedroom when it seemed clear I could have done just about anything. In short, I was completely unprepared psychologically to go beyond kissing and petting. As aroused as I was, I was still scared by the whole situation and happy to stay in the safe confines of the closet. .

At some point, Carol broke off the kissing and whispered that she needed to use the bathroom. She pushed me out of the closet and over to her bed and told me to sit down and that she would be right back. Instead of going directly to the bathroom, she made some comment about protecting her silk blouse from all this wrinkling and pulled out a knit top from her dresser. She then disappeared into the bathroom. After she closed the door, I was alone in her bedroom, once again suddenly aware of all the feminine smells from the lotions, creams, and perfumes I could see on her vanity table. I heard her use the toilet and run the water. After about five minutes, she opened the door and emerged wearing the new top which clung tightly to every curve above her waist. I watched in complete amazement as she put the blouse on a hanger, lit a candle on the bedside table, pulled a little jar of hand cream from the drawer of that table, and turned off the one lamp in the room.

She quickly seated herself next to me on the bed and threw herself back in my arms, my hands finding her bosom immediately as I exalted in the way she sighed in direct response to my touch. I reached one hand tentatively under her knit top and thrilled when she sighed again as I found her. Within a minute, both of my hands were busy under her knit and we were both sighing continuously. Within five minutes, my busy hands had pushed her knit top up to her neck, allowing me to feast my eyes as well as my hands on the pink brassiere heavily edged with lace. When I embraced her folly, with my hands circling in back, I touched the clasp of her brassiere a few times, passing one hand over it as if caressing it while I exploring its workmanship and tried to figure out how it worked. As I did this, I did my best to distract Carol with my kisses and my other, caressing hand which had found its way under her brassiere and was lost in her warm bosom. This went on for what seemed like an eternity while I struggled to master the complex technology of her clasp. Eventually I even used both hands, without any success.

At some point in this struggle, Carol pushed me away gently and whispered for me to lit on my back with my head in her lap. She then bent down and began kissing me, her hair and hands caressing my face, her lacy brassiere pressing heavily against my face, sliding back and forth, teasing me, my mouth opening like that of a hungry, baby bird. Straightening up for an instant, Carol reached behind herself with both hands and quickly lowered herself back down, lifting her brassiere free in the same instant and burying my face in the softest, most fragrant heaven I had ever experienced. My mouth instinctively found a nipple, amazed at how hard and soft it was and how much it stuck out just for my mouth, Carol's sighs and cradling arms confirming the intense pleasure I was giving her.

The impossibility of doing justice to her bosom with my mouth and hands made it all the more unbearable. No matter how much I licked and kissed and sucked and squeezed, there was so much more left untended, begging for my attention, flowing softly over my face, trapping me there, a second nipple demanding my mouth.

At that point, I became complete putty in her hands and she knew it. The experience of mastering her voluptuous fullness in the closet changed to total surrender as I disappeared into breast heaven. At some point, I was dimly aware of her whispering for me to lift my loins and I did so automatically, half in a dream, as she slid my bathing suit down and off. I would have been mortified by such exposure in any other situation but I was too far gone to care, too lost in her soft warmth as she got me to slide parallel across her lap while she held me tightly into her breasts, telling me how good I felt and how handsome I was and calling me over and over "my dear, dear boy" and showing me with similar endearments which added to the dizziness and complete safety I felt all at once, nestled in her arms.

Once I was repositioned, I felt left her hand slide down in slow circling caresses over my chest, slowly descending in the orbits until she brushed accidentally against my stiffness, making both of us gasp and bringing an instinctive thrust from me. Again and again her circling hand passed by, brushing against me, for perhaps five minutes while we kissed or I suckled until finally her hand paused and traced the length of my excitement and lightly moved up and down, the sensation of being held in two places at the same time making me feel as if my whole body had passed into her soft, gentle possession. Her stroking, touching hand disappeared for a moment and I heard a faint click. And then her hand returned, with a thick gob of hand cream and she whispered in my ear that she was going to climax me. I gave off a loud sigh into her breast without letting go with my mouth as her hand began lightly touching me all over.

Eventually, her hand closed around me in a slippery, sliding, warm prison, sliding up and down the full length, more compliments falling like kisses on me until I lost all control and began moaning loudly into her breast and sucking and kissing her there all the more passionately as a slow fire deep in my loins slowly emerged, growing, spreading, flowing up and down my body with a liquid warmth which seemed to go everywhere, the heat building and overtaking me until I went over the edge of the precipice and fell into an abyss of cries and endless spasms, jets of love cream spurting all over the two of us, her breast reaching an infinite softness at the moment as I passed completely into her and she into me. As my cries subsided, Carol held me even more tightly, praising me as her "dear boy" or "sweet little man" and the like, her hand staying with me with a series of gentle squeezes which made me feel safer and happier at that moment than at any time before it in my life.

With her bosom still falling over my face and my mouth still glued to one, then the other, I made it clear I wasn't going anywhere. For a while, I pulled her face back and kissed her passionately while using my hands to give her bosom the attention it needed. But sooner or later my mouth returned to her nipples as she gave off another series of sighs.

In about fifteen minutes, it was apparent that Carol had a very amorous young man on her hands once again. Whispering that she had another surprise for me, she pushed me aside for a moment and stood up, her glistening breasts swaying softly in the warm candle light. In an instant, she reached under her flowing skirt with both hands and slipped something down before climbing back in bed. Only then could I see that she held pair of ruffled pink panties. I quickly regained my position with my head in her lap as Carol proceeded to tease my stiffness with the soft, textured fabric, eventually taking me fully in her hand and using the panties as a kind of glove. To me, they were a secret, soft feminine prison trapping me in a delicious interior. I had the delight of feeling like I was inside her without having to confront an experience which would have terrified me in reality. After a slow, drawn out teasing, I climaxed into the sanctuary of her panties, crying out emotionally as Carol held me tightly against her bosom, giving me the emotional safety I needed amidst such overpowering emotions. She seemed to know that many men become very vulnerable and open during an orgasm and need intimate words and reassurance then more than ever.

After that second, shattering experience, I lay for quite some time in Carol's lap and eventually, when she stretched out beside her, my mouth encircling a fat nipple, our hands on each other's faces, her other warm hand gently holding me in a special place as if she didn't want to let go of me either. At some point, the little candle burned out and we lay here in total darkness, nuzzling into each other, talking quietly and kissing.

It took longer the second time but I slowly recovered my wind and a certain friskiness. Lovemaking sometimes does that. It drains and exhilarates at the same time, opening up deep reserves of energy. Eventually, I pushed Carol onto her back and crawled up on top of her, covering her face and neck and bosom with wet kisses, she lying there now in just her flowing cotton skirt, her thighs opened for me to lie snugly between them, pressed directly against her wet loins with only the thin cotton between us, as she kissed and teased and encouraged and scolded me, her hands reaching down to rub and gently smack my bare fanny with touches which were electrifying and which brought blood surging back to my loins.

As she noticed this response to her smacking hand, she began smacking my fanny even more, reminding me that I still had a spanking coming from her someday and that she had every intention of giving me one, and that I would be invited over for dinner alone and that she would get me excited in the swimming pool after dark, when she would be free to get me very excited, and that she would then scold me for being so naughty and bring me inside to bedroom and take my suit off and put me over her bare thighs and spank for being so naughty with her. She described this scenario in more detail than I can remember, seeing how excited I was getting, as I saw, in turn, how much wetter she was getting beneath me. As she continued telling me exactly what was going to happen, moaning as I devoured her breasts and gently smacking my fanny, I exploded all over her for the third time that night as she seemed to cry out loudly herself with me grinding instinctively into her.

After that, I only remember lying on her for a long time, perhaps sleeping, half-dreaming, until I suddenly noticed it was 11:30 and I was already going to be late getting home.

I was never to repeat the experiences of that night with Carol. She apologizes for being drunk the next day and thanked me for being a gentleman. By that, she meant to thank me for not making love to her which apparently would have happened had I wanted it. At the same time, it was clear neither of us regretted what had happened the previous night. There were many more kissing and fondling sessions at the end of the day in the "sterile room" but Carol's brassiere stayed on despite my valiant attempts to remove it. And I was never invited back for another dinner so I never found out if she would have made good on her threat to put me over her knee. It didn't stop me from thinking about it a lot at night, when I put myself to sleep reliving my experiences with Carol.

I kept in touch in a distant way with Carol for at least seven years after that. Each year at Christmas break, I would have lunch with my father at the hospital and pay a round of visits on all the lab workers I had befriended in my four summers of hospital work. Eventually Carol got married and quit her job to have three children. I often fantasized about what her husband's life must have been like, going home to such a big, beautiful woman at the end of the day and seeing her at night in the sexy lingerie she showed me.