Allen put down the phone and got a fluttery feeling through his stomach. He wasn’t sure what to expect. Maria had just called him to mysteriously say she had something for him. But she said it belonged to him. Maria was also the one who went to town on Lilly’s dome the day before, presumably in a fight that Allen caused by beating off on his roof, which everyone could see.
Allen’s instinct was to accept yesterday’s stunning victory — his first blowjob ever, delivered by a fucking cop, for Christ’s sake — and lay the hell low for a long time. He was, after all, grounded so hard that he had to give up his driver’s license and car keys in addition to his Nintendo, his TV, and all of his nudie magazines.
But, without a car, video games, or skin mags, he was really lacking anything else to do with his day. So Allen decided to inspect Maria’s offer. When he knocked on her back door, at the sunroom of her ranch house, he heard Maria call out, “Let yourself in!” from somewhere in the back. He opened the door to her sunroom and stood there in flip-flops, gym trunks, and a replica L.A. Lakers jersey, with his Ray-Bans pushed to the top of his thick coif of brown hair.
Then he saw his porn, spread out on the sunroom coffee table like it was reading material at a dentist’s office. Furthermore, the TV-and-VCR combination that faced the couch, with its back to the door Allen entered, was muted but playing a porn movie: Erotic Fantasies, with the stunning Jeanette Littledove and Buck Adams locked in the sixty-nine position.
“Get yourself something to drink in the kitchen, honey,” Maria said brightly from the back. “I’ll be there in just a second.”
The array of liquor bottles on the kitchen counter left no doubt in Allen’s mind what was about to go down. His cock stirred in his pants, and he felt his pulse quicken through his carotid artery. It was 10 a.m. He would be alone for the rest of the day in the home of a smoking-hot thirty-nine-year-old divorcee who had a swimming pool and a hot tub in the backyard, to boot.
He was going to lose his virginity! To her! He was having trouble keeping his cool. Perhaps a drink would help him keep it classy.
Allen fixed himself a Southern Comfort and Coke; a typical underage drinker cocktail, and made his way back to the sunroom through a different hall. This one was lined with pictures of Maria. Publicity stills, professional portraits, Holy shit, she was a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader? Wait, she won a beauty pageant in Louisiana? She has a SAG-AFTRA card?
All of the pictures were of Maria in her twenties, with feathered Farrah Fawcett tresses, smoky eyes, long eyelashes, and that soft-focus effect that portraits of the 1970s often used. She was incredibly hot in the present day, but she was an altogether different kind of hot fifteen years ago. It made him forget that he was staring at a high probability of banging Maria in the next half-hour.
Allen was sitting on a leather couch with his back to Maria, and he heard her walking in on her heeled marabou slippers, but his attention was fixed on the porn movie. He was fascinated that Jeanette Littledove was plunging her tongue into Buck Adams’ hairy asshole. Isn’t that, um, gross or something? he thought.
“Hello, Allen,” Maria said, placing a hand on his shoulder from behind. A cloud of Givenchy perfume filled his nostrils.
“Enjoying the movie?" Maria said slyly. "What’s it about?"
Allen patted Maria's hand, draped across his left collarbone. “I’d say it’s about beautiful people fucking and sucking,” Allen said, not looking up at Maria, but loosening up with each passing minute. His cock was hard in his tight gym trunks and tented them conspicuously. He didn’t care at all; in fact, he liked the idea of sitting there with a tremendous erection and not having to conceal it for a change.
Then, holy FU—
Maria crossed over to a matching leather chair catty-corner to the couch. Allen could not believe his eyes. She was completely made up, rather like the pornstar on the screen. Her blonde hair had been teased up and blown out into a huge, golden hood. Her lips were a glossy fuck-me red, and she had way the hell too much eyeshadow and eyeliner on, even for someone who wasn’t going to leave the house. Maria was down to fuck.
Maria enjoyed the literal jaw-dropping reaction she got from the cute neighbor boy whose porn stash she had so nobly rescued. She was wearing her white robe with marabou trim — unbelted. So when she sat down, it deliberately fell open, exposing one boob, her navel, and her luxurious bush. The carpet did not match the drapes; Maria had blonde highlights and brunette roots, but who cares? She was showing Allen her puss; the first one he’d ever seen in real life.
“Do you like what you see, baby?” Maria cooed. Allen nodded slowly.
"I thought you were a psychologist or something?" Allen said, casting a thumb at all the glamour photography along the back hall.
"I am, baby," Maria said. "All of that was before I met Mitch."
Who's Mitch? Allen thought to himself. I thought her ex's name was Chuck or something.
Seeing the quizzical look on his face, Maria said, "Mitch was my first husband. I met him in Dallas. He moved us here, we split, then I married Chuck, who was already fucking every girl at the dealership, apparently."
Maria popped a bottle of André champagne. At 10 a.m.? Allen thought. Okay… Maria turned to him and showed him a small pill that she intended to put in both of their flutes.
“What’s that, cyanide?” Allen joked.
“No, babydoll, it’s a mood enhancer,” Maria said.
“What’s a ‘mood enhancer,’” Allen said, puzzled.
“You’ll see, honey, I’m taking it, too,” Maria said, showing him that she was dropping a pill in her flute as well. She actually forgot what the hell its name was, maybe Extasis del Oro or something. She and Chuck picked it up from a pharmacy near Rosarito Beach when they went to Tijuana a few years ago. She did know it worked like hell.
They toasted and drank the champagne. She sat down next to Allen on the sunroom couch and rubbed her hands all over Allen's thighs.
"You have interesting tastes in reading material," Maria said, referencing the porn mags spread out on the coffee table. "A bit typical for a young man your age, but still. Very stimulating."
One of the magazines, a Club International, was spread open to the phone sex ads on a page Allen had dog-eared. The full-page ad showed the porn star Tamara Lee from a shoot she did for Penthouse, but the ad was for a line called 1-900-CUM-TITS. Tamara was telling the reader, "I'll always give you what you can't always get!"
After about 10 minutes of chatting about porn and masturbation, what Maria liked, and what Allen liked, Allen felt a powerful wave sweep over him. It was like he crossed the sound barrier or something. He wasn’t hallucinating, and he didn’t feel drunk — certainly not after half a cocktail and a glass of cheap champagne. But God damn if he did not feel… changed? He wanted to fuck the daylights out of Maria, that’s for sure. But then, he already did. But this kind of desire felt… even better?
Well, no need to analyze it, Allen thought. Let’s roll with it. Allen put the flute on the coffee table and then stood up manfully. He removed his Laker jersey, revealing his teenage muscle tone and hairless chest. Then he shimmied out of his gym shorts, pulling his rock-hard dick down with the waistband and letting it bob free for effect. Maria gazed up hungrily at the delicious cock that she had watched Allen stroke in the mornings; now, it was here in her home. She was gushing wet and could feel her pussy lips opening like flower petals in the morning light.
