Francesca

He could not tell the difference between good sex and good-bye.

At the height of our relationship we did that almost weekly, breaking quite a few pieces of good furniture along the way.

I certainly did not want to enter a race to the bottom, figuratively or literally speaking. My anus is not a pleasure ground.

ISBN 9780-980-6137-1-1

Francesca - Part 1of An Eleventh Love

McDabb Press - 10027 Arabesque Ct, Elk Grove, CA 25758

An eBook original 2013
©opyright Morgana Trump 2013
Licensed to McDabb.com for global distribution

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Cover photograph by Marcus Ranum  ( www.ranum.com )

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1 – Francesca

Speaking as a zoologist, we were adolescent animals: We sniffed and rubbed each others genitals quite often as adolescents of every species do.

I was no different, naturally, and sought out the most successful males. I went for the boys who were fun. Fun was important to me as I do enjoy laughing when I get the opportunity.

My father was a biochemist and had tenure at the UCLA, so the nearby high school seemed a natural choice. Coming from Italian Slovenia we did not realise that it was a revolutionary hot bed, home of the Red Tide and a supreme court ruling that the school could not censor the students.

My group was involved in slightly less political pranks. We were criticised by the Latin teacher for grilling our sandwiches over an open fire on the school oval. She made the criticism along the lines that if we had showed that laxity in discipline during the war we would all be speaking German. That seemed amusing, since we were supposed to be learning German, but overlooking that illogicality, we started a Fourth Reich and decorated the schools with German flags using a peace symbol in place of the swastika.

It was very amusing and great fun. Signs for the Fürher's Bunker and Eva Braun's office began appearing in the Fourth Reich colours, there was even an advertisement advising for young Mädchen to breed for the Fatherland. We sent them to a well known gay-male-teacher's office for “further instruction”. All this caused great amusement among the more liberal staff, some of whom started an underground French resistance and began a counter-propaganda campaign.

We did other silly things like arranging rocks as art in the middle of the library or creeping the desks forward when a teacher's back was turned. One prank involved stacking all the desks and chairs in a classroom when a teacher was running late and then stretching wool from one side of the classroom to another like a giant spider web, one yard above the floor. All us students crawled under the wool and sat up, with our heads poking out through it. When she finally arrived at the class all she could see was our heads sticking out through the wool. It made her laugh and so she set some homework then gave us the rest of the lesson of to tidy up the room.

Other than this slightly creative approach to hi-jinks we were normal red-blooded mammals emerging from puberty.

Hilary was the class pants-man. He approached me very shortly after I joined the class. I could see instantly that he was a womaniser and very popular, so I decided that I would make him wait, but offer him enough hope to make him interested. He took swimming classes on Wednesday afternoons and I joined in.

I used my naturally large breasts to advantage, allowed him to stroke them on occasion and let him know that I enjoyed it.

I refused to go anywhere private with him or attend the various picnics or parties he invited me to, advising him that my father was very strict.

This was not actually the case, but it fitted the American stereotype of Italian families and made it easier to control the situation.

There were two other larger, stronger males who I found attractive, but they were not as charming or humorous in the dry way that I enjoy. By far the quickest and most amusing of the group was George, but he was just a young boy and not likely to grow into an alpha-male at all.

The women I found difficult to get along with. The silly, simpering types are the same everywhere in the world and are treated with appropriate disrespect by the men they attract.

There were a number of very serious, smart women in that class, but they were either absorbed in their studies or politically inclined, which raised a natural antipathy in me. I was amazed at how sexually active some of the girls were. There was a group that talked about working in brothels even though we were only 16 and many of them had sex with the teachers.

In my view, that is the calculated transaction-based thinking of an adult taking advantage of the instinctive adolescent exploration of genitals. But then I am a zoologist rather than a sociologist … .

Carla made me most uncomfortable. She was small, dark and broody and set her chin in a manner that seemed to invite a good knock on the end of it, which – as a pacifist – I never delivered.

She joined the class shortly after me and seemed to captivate Hilary quite quickly. I felt that it was time to move. Not that I had to do much. I simply went to the next party at his mother's house and he did the whole routine on me, including sex on the billiard table and silly games with the balls.

Carla's pout was so exaggerated the next morning her bottom lip almost touched the extra-defiant tilt of the chin.

She had had to stay the night, sleeping on a couch somewhere, because she had made no arrangements to go home. She tried to pick a fight about the best foods to eat over breakfast in the morning but there were too many Europeans in the house for her to carry her point. My mother came early to pick me up, exchanged some broken French with Hilary's mother and whisked me away to a football game with my brother. I was very happy with the result.

Hilary refused to choose between us, which I found annoying and was, no doubt, precisely why he did it. So I had to be creative to keep him interested.

I suspect Carla encouraged his pornographic urges, although those suspicions may say more about me than about either of them: I do not have sufficient information to be certain. Whatever the truth, I certainly did not want to enter a race to the bottom, figuratively or literally speaking. My anus is not a pleasure ground.

I would simply stop seeing him for a while, or keep seeing him but refuse to sleep with him. I would sleep over at girlfriends places regularly for long periods until he would drop hints trying to ascertain if I was gay. Once or twice I had sex with one of the older males in his circle. That put him in his place more effectively than anything else, but had a couple of negatives. Hilary would actually get a little hurt, a dangerous emotion to encourage in men. More worrisome for me, the men would start to get serious. One even visited my parents on a Sunday afternoon which was hair raising and gut-wrenching.

George offered the perfect alternative, he was good company, non-competitive and over the years became quite a handy lover.

At first he was useless. To celebrate our graduation, we went on a camping trip to Phoenix. Normally if you throw two teenagers in a tent, some kind of sex will occur fairly naturally. I basically had to talk him into it and he had no idea of how to approach it.

I had to show him how to get an erection by wrapping his hand around his penis: Before then, he had only masturbated by tickling the end of it. He was fascinated and totally daunted by my genitals and came just by touching my underwear. By the third and last night together I managed to get him inside me, but only just, and he was as grateful as if I had taught him to fly.

The advantage of that process was that he was as loyal as a puppy dog, said nothing ever about my relationship with Hilary and would do almost exactly what I asked him at any point. His family were farmers and woodcutters so he was fit and strong, though quite small. He was no wimp, either. I saw him stand-down bullies a number of times. He simply did not have a competitive streak when it came to matters of ball and stick, whether sporting or sexual.

I quite like sex doggy style. My large breasts touch the fabric I am kneeling on and I enjoy looking between them at whatever I can see between my legs. Since I have large buttocks as well, it feels great to have them really pounded when my lover gets excited and I can arch my pelvis to have the erogenous zone at the front of the vagina well attended to.

While it does not generally bring the penis into contact with the cervix, I do not find that instrumental in achieving a climax. If I seek clitoral stimulation it is easy to provide that myself, or ask my lover to reach around the front.

George enjoyed this too. We used to call it the Satyr and the Elephant. He would start kneeling behind me and snuffling around my rear end with his nose and tongue, fondling my breasts as he did so. When I was good and wet he would kneel upright and make bleating, howling noises while pounding away at my rear. I would wriggle and squirm against him, working all the parts of me that wanted a good rub-down against him and then when I was ready give him the instruction to go for it by trumpeting like an elephant.

He would push down on my buttocks, raising his body that little bit extra and go hard and fast. When I climaxed, I generally reared upright so that I came crashing down on his penis. His knees would buckle under my weight, my buttocks would straddle his thighs and his semen would pump into me at the deepest juncture possible.

At the height of our relationship we did that almost weekly, breaking quite a few pieces of good furniture along the way.

It seemed to keep him happy and Hilary interested. I was certainly pleased with the arrangement.

My immediate family knew George as he visited reasonably regularly. Perhaps once a month.

Like me, Mum and Dad found George delightful company but never thought of him as a serious adult. He was incredibly smart. He quizzed my father over the diagram of human biochemistry in the toilet and learned more in a few one-hour sessions than many of my father's students had in a year at university. He read up on it between visits and asked more advanced questions, impressing Dad no end.

But he was a clown at heart and a farm boy by nature. If he took study seriously he could become a great academic, but he was too impatient and enthusiastic to knuckle down to long years of hard study. I loved him as a friend but did not take him seriously as a lover.

By contrast, the extended family circle all knew Hilary as my boyfriend. He came with me to most family events and had dinner at home once a week. Given that I was living with him by this stage, that is hardly surprising.

Things got a little close one night when we had a vino novella party and both lovers came.

George turned up, for some reason, as a bionic boy. He had cut his hair very short and built a circuit using a grid of insulated wire, with components mounted on it so that the components appeared to be in his scalp and only revealed by the short hair cut. When the house lights were dimmed his head twinkled and glowed like the computers of the day.

My families friends were terribly interested in him and with a few pinot noirs under his belt he must have been a little boastful about his relationship with me. It was the talk of the family for months to come.

I decided to call it off.

~

I invited him around to our house when Hilary was not at home. I wanted it to be very clear to him when I said goodbye that I was sharing a bed as well as a house with Hilary. I decided to have a very special treat with him as a goodbye present so I ran a very hot bath and cooked one of my favourite desserts, dumplings filled with apricots and gorgonzola cheese.

When you bite into the dumpling the hot apricot and cheese squirt into your mouth. The smell of the cheese and the sweetness of the syrup is almost overpowering. It opens up the senses from inside the head and the hot, thick syrup almost obliterates all other sensation as it fills the sinuses and heads down the throat.

I showed George around the house and explained that I was going away to think about things and decide what to do, but that this would be the last time we would make love and I was going to give him a goodbye treat. He was clearly disappointed in the long term plan but the short term promise kept up his spirits and he made cooking jokes as I was getting the dumplings ready.

I told him to sit down at the kitchen table and put a napkin over his shirt.

I made him put his hand up my skirt and massage my vulva and clitoris until I was wet. Then I took a hot dumpling and gently held it between my teeth and bent over and kissed him. He was holding my thigh, his fingers millimetres from my wet labia as I bit into the dumpling and the load of hot sweet apricot and steaming gorgonzola squirted into his mouth. His eyes lurched open and he snorted out of his nostrils. I clamped my lips firmly over his and pushed his hand inside my underwear. I sucked as hard as I could dragging the gorgonzola and apricot back out of his mouth. He fought back sucking against me and reaching inside me with his fingers as if gaining extra leverage.

I took my mouth off his. “That's how I want my vagina to feel when you orgasm,” I told him, pulling off my underwear and pushing his face into my vulva. His tongue lunged at my clitoris and greedily drank the juices that were pouring out of me.

Just as he was beginning to unzip his pants, I separated from him, picked up the dumpling saucepan and said, “Now, follow me to the bathroom.”

The water was still steaming hot.

I took off my clothes, George rubbing me all over and tearing off his clothes as well. He was jumping out of his skin to jump into mine.

I explained to him what he had to do and gradually worked my way into the hot water. It was too hot to get straight in. As I was adjusting to the heat, he was working at my vulva and my clitoris with his fingers, the pleasure from my genitals merging with the deep sensations of the hot water boring into my body.

When I had sunk all of me except my face into the hot bath I murmered , “Now the mouth. Quickly”

He took a hot dumpling and followed the example I had given him in the kitchen.

The hot syrup from the dumpling was running over the edge of my lips into the bath water. The apricot had lodged itself in the back of my throat and was tickling the back of my nose. The smell of the gorgonzola cheese was thick and ripe as a randy mountain goat. His middle finger was in my vagina lifting my pelvis off the bottom of the bath. The two fingers either side were resting along the labia, massaging the entire vulva and giving the clitoris a lovely frisson with the hot water rushing past it.

I coughed out the apricot and gorgonzola into his mouth, my entire body heaving up out of the water. That pushed his finger deeper into me and I moaned back into the bath, almost drowning as I went under. I came out shaking water off me, roaring with laughter.

“That was fantastic, now below.”

I topped up the bath water to get it extra hot again and let one foot hang over the side of the bath so that my genitalia was closer to the surface of the water. I made him kiss me all over, massaging my breasts with bath oil and lubricating my vagina. When I was ready I told him so and he repeated the dumpling explosion in my vagina, underwater. This time it was him practically drowning as I came quickly and explosively once, then twice and sank back completely satisfied.

His penis was purple and veined, twitching with unrelieved urgency.

“Get in the water,” I said.

He lay back in the bath and I ran my lips over his chest and down his belly. His penis quivered and reached toward me, longing for relief. As I closed my mouth over the dark purple head, he moaned and lay back, about to let go. I pressed firmly at the base of the penis, preventing any ejaculate emerging.

“Uh Uh,” I said, “That's for Miss Jumbo's Giant Pussy” and climbed on top of him in the bath, sliding straight down onto that eager penis and sucking the semen out of him in five deep delicious strokes that seemed to go on for ever.

I had him so deep inside me that I could feel his testicles nestled under the wings of my labia. The shaft and head of his penis pulsed inside me pushing decreasing amounts of semen with each pulse.

I helped him get his shoulders to the end of the bath before I collapsed with my head on his shoulders, the pulsing continues more faintly as we lay there in the heat.

We were too exhausted afterwards for much else besides a light salad and a bit of banter about the relationship between gorgonzola and various body parts. I made sure that some of the banter referred to this being a going-away present and watched him walk away to his little white car before I went inside to clean up before Hilary came home.

~

I clearly misjudged the ability of the male of the species to separate good sex from good-bye.

As a result, this was the last time I ever gave anyone a good bye treat like that. I now restrict such kitchen techniques to repairing my marriage after major fights and other occasions that I will take the First Amendment on.

Shortly after that I went to visit some relatives in Slovenia. It was great to experience the cold again and the anticipation of a white Christmas. The weather was perfect and kept us waiting until midday on Christmas Eve, getting colder and higher day by day through the last week of advent and then just frosting everything at lunchtime.

By the time we gathered that evening the world was clad gently in white. My parents were there and we were all quizzed about when we were coming back home, who was doing what and when they were going to meet this artist husband of mine.

The next day the snow had really come down and there was shovelling and salting going on apace interrupted by snowball fights. The river ice was strong enough for skating and the entire village promenaded on the river or the bank every afternoon, just before sunset.

It was a very public event, then, when the Post-frau met my family on the ice with a parcel addressed to me. It was suspiciously small and the women of the village started to nudge each other and make motions intimating marriage.

They were right, it was a ring. It had five sapphires, separated by diamonds and the band had a trail of small diamonds all the way around it. While the villagers slapped each other on the back and pinched and slapped me in congratulations, I felt sick in the stomach.

I had shown my mother the wrapper with the return address as I opened it and looked beseechingly at her now. “O mio Dio,” she muttered. “It is the wrong husband.”

The story of bionic boy did another round for those who had not been to a wedding, christening or funeral since the winter in Australia six months ago. The men roared with laughter and headed off to the inn for an extra šnops in honour of the culo who had got his cazzo into the bride before the marriage and then sent her a ring before the cornuto had formally proposed.

I left the village the next day and spent an unhappy two weeks sight-seeing in Spain with an old girlfriend who had not planned to have my company that winter but was very good about it.

Of course, I was quite cross about the whole thing but felt partly responsible for leading George on in the way I had.

~

I met him at a coffee shop so there was no mistaking the opportunity for a repeat performance of our last meeting.

“What were you thinking?” I demanded as I returned the felt-covered, satin-lined, little box.

He mumbled something about Luke thinking that it could turn the tables in his favour and I stamped my feet and slapped the table.

“Luke is a miserable, drug-taking loser who is dragging you down to the gutter. You have to get your head out of the pub and into the university where it belongs. You know that I am marrying Hilary and you have made this very uncomfortable. You need to get yourself a life and a decent girlfriend and put all this behind you.”

“Well you can't blame a man for having one last shot,” he said, as he put the ring in his pocket and paid the bill.

Francesca is the first of eleven lovers who tell a story of love, lust and its impact on their lives.

The intertwined lives of these eleven lovers leads us up the West Coast of America and through the dying years of the twentieth century.

Carla's dominatation fantasy,

Bridie's bitter sweet holiday romance,

Kylie's inadvertent encounter with pet porn and

Luke's extraordinary tongue

all work their magic to bring this story to it's gripping, heart-rending climax.

Their story is the story of the sexual liberation a generation, and how the next generation has to shake it's obsessions, moires and habits. It is written by someone who was too young to be there but old enough to understand the long term impact it has had.

Read the rest of An 11th Love.

Individual chapters available at McDabb.com

Created By McDabb Press