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From: "Gina Marie Wylie" <gmwylie98260@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Laura Alban Hunt Ch 5 Variations on a Theme {Gina Marie Wylie} (Ff, cons)
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Date: Tue,  1 Jun 2004 18:10:04 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Laura Ch 5.doc" begin>

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	The following is fiction of an adult nature.  If I believed in
setting age limits for things, you'd have to be eighteen to read
this and I'd never have bothered to write it.  IMHO, if you can
read and enjoy, then you're old enough to read and enjoy.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	All persons here depicted are figments of my imagination and any
resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly a blunder on my
part.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	Official stuff:  Story codes: teen, Ff, con.

	If stories like this offend you, you will offend ME if you read
further and complain. Copyright 2004, by Gina Marie Wylie.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	I can be reached at gmwylie98260@hothothotmail.com, at least if
you remove some of the hots.  All comments and reasoned
discussion welcome.

Below is my site on ASSTR:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Gina_Marie_Wylie/www/

My stories are also posted on StoriesOnline:
http://Storiesonline.net/

And on Electronic Wilderness Publishing:
http:// www.ewpub.org/

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++	

Chapter 5 -- Variations on a Theme

	The next morning I arrived at the high school a bit early, and
went to the high school office.  I looked around; the campus was
large and spread out, not at all like I'd grown up with in New
York, or what Susan was used to either on Long Island. 
Everything was brightly colored, and just plain much newer than
the New York schools had been.

	The people in the office were nice, and I ended up chatting to
one of the school secretaries for a few minutes; she'd grown up
in Darien and Hartford, places where Roger had grown up.  Small
world.

Nancy Howland was a surprise; sure, she'd sounded nice on the
phone, and had described herself as tall and thin.  Tall as in
six two, thin as perhaps 130 pounds.  She was wearing a white
golf-type shirt, with the school name on the front, blue bands on
the sleeves; she was in her late twenties.  She was wearing
shorts that came down to mid-thigh, plus nice sneakers.

"I'm Nancy," she said, holding out her hand.

"Laura Alban Hunt," I introduced myself.  She looked at me, and I
looked back at her.  Nancy had cute brown eyes and brown hair
that was done up in a ponytail, a ponytail that came down between
her shoulder blades.  I bet, I thought to myself, that's pretty
when she lets it down.  Altogether very cute.

We chatted, then she led me through the halls to her office, a
bright, largish room with four desks, long windows on one side,
letting in loads of light and looking out over the athletic
fields, busy even at this hour.

I took the application and told her I'd bring it back the next
morning, along with the fingerprint application receipt.  We
chatted for a few minutes about the weather, and then I excused
myself, not wanting to bother her.

I walked back to my car, sat down and started it up, cranking up
the air conditioning.  There had been, I thought, something there
when we'd shaken hands hello.  There surely had been something
there when we'd shaken hands again when I left.  On the spur of
the moment I decided that tomorrow I'd behave like a giddy
teenager with a crush:  I'd see if she wanted to get some coffee
or something one of these afternoons after work.

I went to the DPS, the Arizona equivalent of the Highway Patrol.
They were brisk, matter of fact, and quick.  I told them there
was an office in New York that had some personal information on
me.  I wrote down the address and phone, saw the young officer
who had taken the information glance at me.  "I'll put a priority
on this, Mrs. Hunt."  Just that; he didn't offer sympathy, just
support.

It's unfair, I suppose, but it was true.  Most people who offer
sympathy, who say they're sorry are really talking about
themselves.  They are really glad it isn't them in your shoes,
pleased and happy about it.  They can't admit it to themselves,
most of them.  Surely they'd deny it if asked, but you could see
it in their eyes.  It was sickening, really.

I got home, rested for a bit, contemplated life and me.  I wasn't
sure what I wanted to do.  For the first time since I could
remember I felt like that there had to be more to life than what
I was doing.

I didn't have to work.  My parents had passed away when I was in
college, and while they had not been super rich, they had left me
a comfortable nest egg.  Roger's parents were alive and well, and
richer than most.  Roger had a trust fund that came to him on his
twenty-first birthday, two more, larger ones, on his
twenty-fifth.  Roger had made good money, had good insurance,
including life insurance.  His company had a varied 401K program,
but Roger had laughed about it.  "You never get ahead if they
find you putting money into it.  Mug's game."  Thus, I had
considerable savings in some tax-free municipal bond funds.  And
the money from the 9/11 survivors funds, that I'd placed into
another mutual fund like the others.

No, money was never going to be a problem.  I'd lived my life
since I'd married Roger content to be a mom, raising my daughter,
keeping house for my husband.  I'd been happy, and considered
feminists who thought I was nuts to be fools as well as crazy.

A little later there was a knock at the front door.  Not sure who
it could be, I went and peeked; it was Jamie.

I opened it up, and she nodded at it, and I opened it wider. 
"Where's Susan?" I asked.

She was inside now, turned and looked at me as I closed the door.
 "She wanted to talk to my mom."

I ran that around in my head, decided that I was in no position
to judge.  "I got to thinking," Jamie went on, "you might want to
talk to someone too."

I tried to keep my face expressionless.  What, Laura, are the
odds of two thirteen-year-olds propositioning you in the same
week and it's unrelated?  And don't forget the sixteen year old!

"Talk, eh?" I asked.

"Sure," Jamie replied.  "Just another four letter word that means
intercourse."

"It does," I agreed.  "What do you mean by intercourse?"

She reached down took my hands, both of them, and led them to her
breasts.  "This."

I felt a warmth spreading through my body that led me to stare
down at my hands.  I was standing in my living room cupping the
breasts of a thirteen-year-old girl, a friend of my daughter's. 
My nipples were rock hard, my middle was twisted into a knot of
desire.  Right then I wanted very, very much to have my pussy
sucked like Gail had done, like Susan had done.

I was as excited or more excited than the other day when I'd seen
Gail's nipples erect and horny, because that's what Jamie's were.
 What mine were.  Was it fair to seek pleasure from someone so
much younger than myself?  I met Jamie's eyes, saw they were half
closed, a small smile on her face.  I let go of her breasts and
started undoing her blouse.

"It's a front hook," Jamie whispered as my fingers finished with
the last button.  I reached up, undid her small B-cup bra and now
ran my fingers over her round breasts with the impossibly small
nipples.  I rubbed a little harder, wishing her nipples stood out
more so I could rub them between my fingers; but they lay quite
flat, just the merest hint of a hard tip in the center.

Reason fled; passion remained.

I leaned down and ran my tongue over one of her breasts, getting
it wet, finally centering on her tiny nipple and areola, not even
the size of a dime.  I sucked, licked some more, and lightly
brushed her nipple with my teeth, although there was almost no
way to do much more than come close.

My hands had a mind of their own, working now on the snap of her
jeans, and then pushing them down.  I ran my hand under the
waistband of her panties, pushing them aside, focusing on her
slit.  A luxuriant growth of hair, two fat pussy lips underneath.
 Moist, warm...  My finger slid easily over her clit and found
the entrance to her vagina and plunged inside.

"Oh yes!  Yes!" Jamie muttered.  "Finger fuck me!  Do it hard! 
Oh, please!"

So I did.  My finger moved like a small piston, a miniature
version of a penis.  Pressure on Jamie's clit brought continued
sounds of pleasure from her, then a long soft gasp as she came. 


"Don't stop!" Jamie asked, breathless.  So I continued to move my
finger inside her.

As a few minutes, Jamie sighed and said, "Use two fingers!"

I mentally blinked.  I'd masturbated since I was younger than
Jamie, distressingly close to twice as long as she'd been alive.
And I'd never thought of that?  I inserted a second finger into
her pussy, rubbed still harder, moving my fingers faster and
faster.  Jamie gasped, and then it was like she'd died -- a long
exhalation of breath, followed by total relaxation of all of her
muscles.

More like, I thought, looking at her face as I continued to
finger her, more like a singer hitting a long, high note. 
Pleasure and accomplishment, achievement of a heartfelt goal.

Jamie laid her head down on my shoulder, almost purring.  When
she looked up, she had a smile on her face.  She reached out and
started undoing my blouse.

When my blouse was open, she reached behind me to undo my bra. 
"Everyone is different, Mom says.  There's nothing wrong with
staying forever with one person you love; but at the same time,
there's a lot to learn meeting new people.  Everyone is
different, everyone brings a little something new to your life,
to loving."

Jamie leaned close, rubbing her small breasts against my larger
ones.  "I really, really get off, rubbing breasts."  Jamie said,
her eyes gleaming with desire and pleasure again.  "Really,
really get off."

It was an exquisitely wonderful feeling; I just relaxed, letting
the moment take me.  For quite some time Jamie was content to
brush breasts, then when she tired of that, started on my slacks.
 In a few seconds she pushed them down, and I kicked them away,
panties too.  

"Bed!" Jamie commanded.

I slid her jeans down, and she finished shedding her blouse and
bra.  Then, hand in hand, I led her to my bedroom.  I lay down,
and she crawled between my legs.  Jamie started by licking my
inner thighs like some wonderful ice cream cone, long wet strokes
that sometimes trailing into my bush, finding my clit, other
times circling the hollow of my hip.

It was like a drug, I thought.  The hormones and emotions rose
and rose, drowning out all my other thoughts and concerns.  There
was just Jamie's tongue between my legs, licking and sucking. 
The universe, life, worries -- everything vanished in the
orgasmic haze that shrouded me.

Wild, I thought, simply wild!  The world slowly came back into
focus.  Jamie was behind me now.  I was lying sideways on the
bed; no memory of having turned so.  Her hand was wrapped around
me, lightly cupping one of my breasts.  She was asleep, I was
sure.

I sighed, mostly to myself.  Gail had been good; Susan better. 
Jamie?  Oh my!  Can you connect the dots here, Laura Alban Hunt?
You are well on the way to being addicted to seducing young
girls.  The younger, the better.  I mentally shook my head; that
wasn't true.  Gail had seen my interest, and she had come on
strong.  Susan sensed my horniness, and I had responded to her
because she was horny too.  Jamie had come on to me.  I hadn't
seduced even one of them; if anything you could make the case
that all three of them seduced me.

Did I think it would matter a hill of beans if it ever got out? 
I snorted.  Nope!  Did it matter to me?  It was a fig leaf for my
conscience, I thought.  If I met a young, cute, desirable girl...
would I try to seduce her?

If it left me feeling like this afterwards?  Oh yeah!  If there
was this to look forward to, I'd certainly give it a try!

The touch on my breast grew firmer, I felt Jamie lean close and
kiss my ear.  "You awake?" Jamie whispered.

"Yes."

"Mom's going to be here soon.  Susan and I have math and English
to work on.  Mom said if you didn't feel like fixing dinner for
four, she would.  Our place or yours."

"It's not a problem."  I just needed to get double the stuff out
of the freezer.

I rolled over and faced her; there was no hesitation on either of
our parts.  We kissed long and hard.  I ran my hand down her
back, touched her bottom, and cupped it, pulling her to me. 

"Mmmmm!" Jamie said after a few minutes.  "I gotta stop!  I want
to come back and talk some other time, though!"

"Oh please!" I exclaimed, "I want that, I do!"

"I'll understand if you find someone special," Jamie told me. 
"But before then, I want to be with you again.  Not too long!"

"That would be lovely!" I smiled with pleasure at her.

"We should get up and get dressed," Jamie said practically.

We did, and as we dressed, I watched her.  I'd noticed before,
even if at the time my attention had been focused on something
else.  Jamie had not only come on strong, she'd been the one
setting the pace, the limits, telling me what to do.  Her voice
had been the conscience, stopping at the end. Gail had done the
same thing the night of the party.  Did I secretly want to be
dominated?  Or was it something the girls did, to show that it
was really them in control?  I didn't know, but I was going to
think about it.

Jamie, on a deep level, impressed me.  Jamie, Gail and even Susan
realized that there were other things besides sex, and they had
to be responsible.  What had Linda said?  No grades, no sex?  I
smiled at that; well, I'd gotten good grades and no sex; was this
payback time?

We went out into the living room; I was stunned to see Susan at
the table, doing her homework.  "I'll get my books," Jamie said,
as if what had happened was something that occurred every day.

"Linda's getting some tea in the kitchen," Susan told me, also
sounding as if every day she came home to find her mom in bed
with her best friend, having just gotten out of bed with her
friend's mother herself.

I went towards the kitchen, kind of in a daze.  Linda was trying
to drop ice quietly into a glass.  "You don't have to be quiet,"
I said, trying to decide if I should blush or laugh.

"Oh, Laura!  I just didn't want to bug you."

"It's okay," I reassured her.

"Good."  She let more cubes drop, brought down another glass, and
filled it with ice and tea.  "Be right back, don't go away."

She vanished with the glasses into the dining room, and was back
a minute later.  She took a drink from her glass, as I was
finishing pouring my own.  "Goodness!  Talking is thirsty work!"

"It is," I said, "So is driving Susan around on a warm afternoon;
thanks Linda, I appreciate it."

"Oh, it has it's own rewards."  She smiled at me, and when I
picked up my glass, held hers out for a toast.  "To rewards."

"Rewards," I echoed hollowly, not entirely sure what she meant.

"This once, Laura.  Once, I will let my hair down.  Of course,
I'm just talking hypothetical here, you understand.  I'm not the
sort of person who could do something like take a friend's
daughter home after school and make love to her for more than an
hour.  I wouldn't dream of it.  I'm a respectable mother of a
daughter of the same age."

"I can imagine it would be a bad idea to dream like that," my
voice was dry; I was trying hard not to be sarcastic.

"There you have it."  Linda nodded.  "But, you know, there are
some people who don't think that would be wrong.  In fact, they
might just think it is a pretty wonderful thing.  Now and then,
you know, people like that must meet, get to know other; women
with similar likes and dislikes.  Just has to happen, you
understand?"

"I'm sure it must," I said, finally realizing what this was
about.  A theoretical discussion.  Nothing about what I'd done or
might do, or what Linda has done or might do.  And having
absolutely nothing to do at all about what with whom.

"There are downsides to everything, Laura, so I imagine people
like that are pretty careful.  They probably don't let their hair
down with hardly anyone.  And maybe, well, who knows how they'd
want to talk about that sort of thing?"

"Carefully, I imagine."

"I'd think they would have to be very careful," Linda agreed. 
"But you know, for it to work, there might be, like, you know,
some rites of initiation, rules of conduct, those sorts of
things.  Some things a person would have to do to show that she
belonged to the group.  And of course, they'd want to keep it all
low key, out of public view."

I nodded.

"Perhaps the most important rule would be, let people choose for
themselves.  Don't push.  You can ask once, after that it's
pushing."

"Women have a hard time with men who don't know what 'no' means,"
I said.  "I imagine, most women have that down pat."

"Well, there are losers in any group, I bet.  I probably wouldn't
want to be around that kind of person.  I probably wouldn't even
want to be around someone if they weren't a hundred percent
committed to that lifestyle and the rules that would go with it.

"These people, the ones like that, Laura, they perform a service
for their daughters and their daughter's friends.  Guys, Laura,
they're pretty much jerks at our daughters' age.  As they get
older, some guys get better, but let's face it:  as moms of
teenage daughters we know the importance of keeping our daughters
away from situations where they might do something a little
premature."

"I'd hate to see my daughter or anyone else's make that kind of
mistake," I told her.

"You got it!  And so, I imagine these people kind of like to help
each other out, a quid pro quo if you will.  Facilitate their
daughters having safe sex, if that's what their daughters want."

I laughed.  "And we know what they want!"

"Oh yeah!"  Linda joined in the laugh before going on.  "So,
these women look at themselves as maybe more public spirited and
family oriented than maybe most people might think.  Of course,
they would probably be single or divorced moms, perhaps a widow,
all with young daughters.

"Then again, these women might meet the occasional fellow
traveler.  A single woman, not a mom, but one fond of girls; just
as eager as any mom, wanting to keep young girls from making
mistakes.  Sometimes, I imagine, moms might be a little tolerant
of that sort of help.  Particularly when their daughters look up
to that woman as a particularly good role model and teacher."

"It's probably not something that many women do," I told Linda. 
"So, they need help when they can find it."

"That's right.

"But, like I said, the main thing would be to let the girls
decide.  Oh, maybe these helpful facilitators might hint that
they are particularly fond of this or that person, but it would
be that girl's choice.  No pushing."

"That would make sense."

"And I imagine, now and then, a woman like that might meet
someone they thought was really special, special and a half. 
Probably the word would get around and everyone would understand
not to ask that girl until she was like, available again."

"My mom used to tell me, 'Be sure to leave the dance with who
brung ya!'" I opined.

Linda nodded.  "Something like that.  Maybe, more like not
hunting out of season.  Don't poach."

"That's probably a better way to describe it," I agreed.

"So, I imagine these people pretty much keep a low profile. 
Maybe a couple of parties a year, where their daughters can
mingle with their friends, maybe some special school outings
where they might find more helpful facilitating."

"That would be nice."

"All low key, no fuss, no outbreaks, temper tantrums, none of
that sort of thing.  And if that sort of thing did happen, older,
wiser heads would step in and see that the issues were
resolved."

"I can't stand people who make scenes," I told her.  "I keep my
temper pretty much under control; not that I haven't made a scene
or two in my day, but I'm much better now."

"Sometimes our daughters are pig-headed stupid and you need to
get their attention," Linda said and we both laughed.

"But, they're getting older, and I'm pleased at how well Jamie is
doing."

"Susan has been a marvel, she took her dad's death much better
than I did.  I don't know how I'd have gotten through this
without her."

"You have, Laura, a very, very special daughter."

The look she gave me was the final impetus to connect the dots,
not that I hadn't connected them, long before.

"I'm pretty much committed to giving her the benefit of the doubt
right now," I told Linda.

Linda nodded.  "My daughter too, but she's very much the
butterfly these days, flitting here and there; never staying to
sip the nectar from any one flower for very long.  Comes back to
the nest, though!"

I nodded and Linda went on, "One nice thing about teenage girls;
they are a lot like teenage boys, just not as clueless.  A lot of
them have one thing and only one thing on their mind,
particularly if they are in a party mood.  Sometimes I imagine
these facilitators might have to beat off fans with a stick."

"Hard to imagine," I said, but thought, hey, I never had to beat
guys off with a stick.  Just Roger had made much of an effort and
I'd been only too happy to love him for it.

"One thing I can imagine," I looked her in the eye as I spoke. 
"If my daughter had a special friend, one who I liked and
trusted, why...  I'd pretty much do what I could to help them
out.  Help them spend time together.  And since I trusted them
both, why, I wouldn't be paying that much attention to what they
did."

"Facilitators would have to be pretty careful not to actually see
things they shouldn't.  And shouldn't talk to anyone about what
they see; they probably would discourage any talk like that she
hears."

"I imagine that would be a pretty important part of the job."

Linda nodded.  "Well, I don't know about you, but I think we
should check out how those daughters of ours are doing on their
homework.  There have been a lot of distractions these last few
days."

"Go ahead, I want to do a few things in the kitchen."  Linda
nodded and went out.

I looked out the window, over the back yard, wishing I had a
better view.  I'd just given permission for Linda to have an
affair with my daughter.  I contemplated the diving board,
decided it probably wasn't a good metaphor.  Were Susan and Linda
going to have a long-term, stable relationship?  Honestly? 
Really?  A month, maybe two I thought.  A year?  Possible, but
unlikely.  Beyond a year?  Didn't think so.  Well, I'd heard
enough stories about affairs in New York; there had been times in
the fifteen years I'd been married to Roger that it was all the
rage.  How about like mother, like daughter?  Another butterfly.
Gail had pretty much said the same thing.

Had Roger ever had an affair?  I doubted it.  I hadn't had one,
either.  But there had been enough gossip about people who had
them to give me a good idea what was involved.  Most lasted just
a few weeks, before the magic wore off and boredom commenced. 
Some lasted for longer than that, but those were much less
common.  Was Linda looking for the fountain of youth?  Spending
time with teenagers to recapture her own youth?

I laughed.  Laura, Laura!  Why do you like those girls?  Does
Linda get as much of a thrill with a young girl as you do?  What
had she said -- she and I would have age issues?  That sounds
like she thinks I would much prefer a young girl than someone my
own age... and that she feels the same way.

Which brought me back to the here and now.  Jamie had made it
clear that sex between us was going to be infrequent.  I'd have
plenty of opportunity with Susan, but that would be poaching. 
Obviously part of the point is that there were other fish in the
sea; Jamie and Susan hadn't been the only girls at the party. 
Gail came to mind, and I smiled.   And the cheerleading retreat?
Why did I think that Nancy Howland might be a fellow traveler?

I smiled as I felt the delicious quiver that I had come to know
and love, run through my body.

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