An older man feeling the end of his sex and love life is renewed by the youthful girls around him
A JOURNEY INTO YOUTH – Chapter 1: Hong and Family
Concerning the findings of youth by an older man - who had long thought Life had passed him by…..
I went back to Vietnam when offered a job; the salary would be sufficient to cover a cheap hotel or room to live in, and my general daily expenses, chiefly beer and cigarettes and wonderful Vietnamese bread which was my staple diet there, and cover the expenses of my house and my wife back in Thailand, where my marriage lived in name only. But it meant I wouldn’t deplete my savings further for a while, and it also took me back to a country I loved to be in, and loved far more than Thailand as a residence away from my long-ago native Australia.
I packed a few clothes, bade my wife ‘see you’ and flew out. She had a boyfriend anyway, so her sexual/romantic needs were already being met, for perhaps a year before now I was fairly sure, and since I paid the bills, she would sign the requisite papers I needed to maintain residency in Thailand if I so chose.
I stayed in a hotel for a few days, before finding an apartment in a family house to rent: equidistant from my office and the restaurant I had been going to for years as my after-work beer drinking/newspaper reading relaxation point.
The owner of the apartment – with her house adjoining - a friend of a friend, was a single mother, and she offered me half-price rent – of a very nice, spacious apartment, kitchen, balcony, hot water shower, A/C, wifi, and satellite TV (including a TV), and a double bed in the separate bedroom, wardrobe… – if I would teach her 2 daughters English for 2-3 hours on a weekend, and even cheaper if I could accept some other kids of neighbours.
I accepted, moved my few belongings in, checked the A/C and TV worked, and went out to buy supplies for the bathroom and kitchen, a carton of beer – arranging with the drinks agent about future supplies delivered to the house; and I bought a laptop. Enough for now, I was content.
My job was not too difficult: editing English on manuscripts, stories and articles for my employer, a publishing house. For one who loves words and correctness in the English language – as I did – this was enjoyable. It also meant I had no need to wear suits and ties, nor socks and shoes – all items I had given up when entering retirement, except for funerals and weddings.
After the first week, I had met fellow employees, learned the ropes of management’s style, arranged a motorcycle taxi to and from work, and re-established my routines of prior years and my relationships with friends around the city.
On my second weekend, I began teaching the owners’ daughters, and soon realized the one ingredient still missing from my life: companionship.
These 2 girls, and others who came after, became the providers of Life within my life. They had the enthusiasm of youth for learning, the innocence of tender years not yet faced with the real hardships which were ‘out there’; they also had an inner glow which was able to brighten my moods quickly, and infectious, spontaneous laughter at times over the smallest funny matter.
They were also adorable and beautiful: the younger ones frivolous in their occasional hugs of their teacher; some of the older ones on the cusp of entering Womanhood, and enquiring minds as to what this entailed – from an ‘educational’ standpoint – and with developing bodies still innocently displayed at times, at others hidden as some inner feelings of maturity told them they were ‘changing’ and not children anymore. Some were Women already.
They were also able to rouse my slumbering body from its sexually inactive state of the past couple of years, since my wife and I had grown apart emotionally and also physically, and I just accepted my days of sex were over.
My new students fed my imagination so fervently I soon began to feel perhaps there was some sexual life still pulsing, still desirous within me, after all.
For this first day, shyness was the obstacle to be overcome, and then to begin knowing the girls, and for them to know me: their very own foreign teacher, a fact which apparently gave them great standing amongst their friends!
Hong was 15 (she told me this, but in reality I found later she was actually only 14 and a half at this time of the events to follow) while Ngoc was 12y.o. They learned some English at school, but from local teachers, and – with respect – it wasn’t always correct in grammar and didn’t always – couldn’t really - teach the nuances and inflections of proper English-English, let alone the grammar. Plus, they used American-English, and this was not correct to me!
I began by asking their names, ages, what year at school they were…all easy, standard questions they knew answers to.
As we progressed, I introduced words of a starting conversation they didn’t know, and we discussed them as I explained them. Sometimes, I threw in an easy one they would know: ‘what do you want to be when you grow up?’ Ngoc said “a teacher”, but Hong surprised me by answering “I am grown up already; when I graduate, I want to be a physicist, or nuclear scientist…something like that.”
“Can you spell ‘physicist’ for me, Hong?” She did, easily and without any second thoughts: a smart girl it seemed – or a good memory once something was learned.
‘Why do you want to be a teacher, Ngoc?” “Because I think you are funny and clever!”
“Really – why am I ‘funny’?”
“You are skinny and white, and speak English different.”
“That is all true, my little Ngoc – but that is me; I speak English with an Australian accent, and we make our words longer, that is also true, but we still speak English and we spell it, and use it, as it is meant to be. (I am sorry, but American English spells it incorrectly, and cares less about grammar than I do) – so, if I am funny, ok: I am funny.”
We proceeded; I didn’t have a lesson plan for today: as I have said, today was a ‘get-to-know-you day’ so we just had a simple, easy conversation about everyday things: home, school, friends, weekends, sports, likes and dislikes; had some water and talked about cooking –of which I am ignorant, but which Hong seemed to be almost at the level of a chef in my opinion.
It went well, I thought, and Ngoc laughed frequently – at me, with me…it didn’t really matter, she was such fun to be with, and when the time was over, she said “‘bye Teacher Steve, I had a good time, thank you.” Then she hugged me around the legs, her head buried in my abdomen, her face pointing down towards a reacting groin.
Hong was a lot quieter, but she was studious, and she came to me with a final question “Do you think I am grown up, Teacher Steve?”
“Well, em Hong” I said, using the polite term for ‘younger person’ – but not calling her a ‘child’. “You are 15 years old, but that leaves you some more years to enjoy as a young girl, before you take up the responsibility of being ‘a grown up’ person. I suggest you enjoy these years as a ‘young person’.”
Hong began to stand from her sitting position, and whether intentionally or otherwise, opened her legs – splayed them actually – and allowed her short, loose skirt, to ride up her thighs, showing me a view, a prolonged view, of her pink panties covering that area of her body I should not be looking at – but at which my eyes stared, until she finally stood upright.
“My question, Teacher Steve, was: ‘Do you think I am grown up?’ Well?”
My brain was befuddled, as I continued to stare at the front of her skirt; she smoothed her hands down it, across her pubic area, pressing the material into her crotch – I swear she did! – I mumbled “You are quite grown up for your age, em, and really quite beautiful…I mean: why do you want to be grown up so quickly Hong, do you have a reason?”
“I didn’t have any reason before today; now I want to be grown up…for my Teacher, my Teacher Steve.”
She skipped across to me, leaned up to my face, and kissed me lightly on the lips, and then skipped out with a smile turned back to me, and a laugh when outside my door – and then I breathed again. A kiss on the lips was a cultural no-no normally, and conveyed something truly serious – from a 15y.o. girl I had to consider it a child’s affectionate playfulness; if it wasn’t just this I was in for difficult times ahead.
Hong turned and asked “Can I come back if I have any more questions?”
She turned without waiting and headed to her own house, only looking back as she entered her own door: she was smiling, knowing I would have nodded agreement without verbalizing it. She didn’t need me to tell her what she already knew: their Teacher was a gentle, malleable piece of putty in at least one pair of hands.
What did I think earlier about ‘todays lesson just being get to know you…and going well’? Perhaps I made an early call on that, and perhaps my judgement about teaching them was not so sound.
My cock betrayed how much today truly had gone well: it never woke up these days, but perhaps ‘these days’ were gone when faced with young, vibrant girls – growing up fast girls – who seemed to like me as their Teacher.
I slept fitfully that first night after lessons, tormented by descriptions such as ‘paedophile’, ‘dirty old man’, and worst of all, when I thought of being ‘just an old man with fantasies’.
Thankfully, that had been Saturday, so I didn’t need wake up on Sunday – well, until whatever hour I woke up.
Or until someone knocked loudly on my door; “Teacher, are you awake?” It was the young voice of Ngoc, and I drowsily replied “Not yet Ngoc…30 minutes please.” I rolled over and slept.
Until the next shout, and this had to be Hong’s raised voice “We have breakfast for our Teacher; you have to wake up, Anh Steve!” I lay there for 30 seconds more, and then roused my naked body from my bed; “I am coming em…just a moment.”
But Hong walked in, followed by Ngoc, not waiting for an invitation.
Little Ngoc gasped at the sight before her: a naked man, her Teacher, a confused man not yet fully awake.
Hong smiled, as I stared at her – helpless to move, taken aback by a few seconds of unexpected surprises; she smiled as if she had expected it would be like this: a naked man, her Teacher, and he was waving at her: not using his hands, but a bobbing, waving cock pointing at her.
(Had I but known it, that moment of voyeurism gave Hong’s mind and body the last tear in the veil between the young girl she had been, and the grown up woman she wanted to be, and became at this moment.)
The man in question was confused and knew not where to turn; I turned my back, but that exposed my naked, skinny and bony behind to them, and finally I saw my shorts lying on the bedside chair. I fell over in my rush to get them pulled up, and the crimson of embarrassment suffused my face and whole body, and caused an instant wilting of my cock - thankfully.
I ushered them out of my room, and Ngoc ran out, now laughing, but Hong stood there nonchalantly for a few long moments of time, the smile never leaving her face; “Breakfast is ready for you, Anh; we will leave it on the table for you. Did you have a nice sleep?”
I didn’t see them much for the remainder of that day, and the following day was Monday, beginning a new week of school for them, and off to the office for me.
But my nights of sleep were to be all uneasy and restless; and my mornings began with a phenomenon which had not happened for many years: I woke with a hard cock. But I also woke knowing my night had been plagued with thoughts of young girls.
Work became busier this week as I had been accepted as a competent editor, and the hours of the day passed quickly. After work, my routine was regular as the proverbial clockwork: dropped off by my motorcycle taxi at my ‘local’; take my newspaper upstairs, sit at one or the other of my preferred tables, and drink and smoke and read – with occasional conversation with the girls who worked there, and with customers who I knew socially there.
Boring? No, it was comfortable for me, inexpensive, and I was mostly left to myself; the girls knew I wasn’t in the market to take them out for sex or one-night stands, and they also knew me as a man who didn’t get drunk and grope them as so many local men did when inebriated – or just when they thought that showed their male dominance. I also tipped them with friendliness, with no requirement for ‘repayment’ of any sort.
I was generally only interrupted by one of the 2 or 3 or 4 guys who seemed to think me gay and seemed to think I was available for their pleasure. I indulged them, gently rebuffing.
Some of them were persistent, perhaps drawn by my slim (aka skinny) body, and my long hair, whereas they were generally overweight, with beer bellies, stale breath and awful body aromas. However, I was as polite as I could be, always quietly refusing requests to have a beer in their private party rooms with their friends, but always going for at least a 50% swallow of my glass of beer: I tried never to offend anyone, but firmly told them when I had had enough shoulder-hugging, or close face words, and only wanted to read my paper and sit alone.
But alone I was, with my thoughts; with no-one to share anything with – especially my bed through the night.
The next Saturday came; I woke early, feeling a sense of trepidation confused by anticipation. I had showered and was dressed when I heard Ngoc at the door, knocking “Can we come in, Teacher?”
Ah, she/they had learned it was preferable to wait for my invitation before entering unannounced again. I called out “Sure” and opened the door for – oh, only Ngoc: no Hong. “I bought you breakfast, can we come in an hour for our lesson please?”
“That will be fine, Ngoc, thank your mother for breakfast please.”
“Oh Mae didn’t do it – Hong made it all for you; I just carry it. Bye!”
My breakfast was simple, and just as I liked, just as I bought from a lady who parked her cart every morning just around our corner, and from whom I bought on the days I wanted breakfast: a fresh Vietnamese bread roll with fried egg, sausage and some added spices and green leaf vegetables. How did Hong know to make this for me? Perhaps I had told her, perhaps she had asked the lady – however she knew and when I made my own café and sat with my breakfast dripping through my hands out in the courtyard, it was a very wonderful start to my Saturday.
By the time the girls arrived, I had made a lesson plan and was feeling slightly less apprehensive; how ridiculous: an old man virtually scared of being with a 15y.o. and a 12y.o!
After formal greetings to their Teacher, Ngoc and Hong sat on the floor, and I joined them, sitting opposite, my legs crossed as were theirs.
Ngoc was wearing shorts and a skimpy white top, her long black hair falling down over her face when she looked down at her workbook; so I gave her one of my hair-bands to pull it back in a pony tail. She was a vivacious little girl, who would mature into a beauty surely.
Hong looked as if she had taken extra care of her appearance, and was the epitome of Distraction immediately she entered the room. She also had long, flowing black hair, but she had her own natural method of rolling it up and – in a manner which had always intrigued me – somehow creating a ball which stayed up on her head without clips or bands or other artificial devices.
She was wearing a t-shirt, no bra it was clear to see; her budding mounds protruding enough to have the shirt moulding around them, and points of nipples which seemed to grow during the lesson to come (as I couldn’t fail to watch them frequently).
Her long, dark brown legs stretched out towards me before she crossed them, and her shorts pulled up tightly into her crotch, outlining the crease of her hidden vaginal slit. It was a body which did nothing to help me concentrate, so I tried to focus only on her face, but it was equally alluring: dark brown eyes which could look into my own and never blink before I had to look away; and a mouth and lips which clearly were born to kiss.
She also wore a constant smile, showing even white teeth; the smile which told me she could read, or closely guess, my thoughts at every moment.
My earlier feeling of being more prepared for today’s lesson evaporated within minutes of their arrival. But I tried, and began with polite phrases and sentences with which to greet people, to ensure their pronunciation was correct, before moving on to my lesson plan.
I had my newspaper of yesterday, a locally-produced English-language paper I bought every day when here, and an easy tool to use for lessons – indeed, it was my staple tool when teaching English, as it was 99% correct, but I always noted errors, and these I used to teach.
It was difficult, but I concentrated on my teaching; after all, I was an older man who faced the temptations of youth every day in normal daily activities.
2 hours passed swiftly, and only when Ngoc asked for a drink and a rest did I glance at the clock on the wall, and realized how well the time had indeed gone by. I got a glass of water for them each, and said they could go – once I had checked what they had written in their workbooks from our lesson.
Ngoc had written down words I had picked out for extra explanation, and had made doodles otherwise: it was a healthy lesson for a 12y.o. and I praised her drawings around words after she had repeated their meaning to me; a good memory and understanding, which pleased me further. She pleaded to go and see some friends outside, and once again came to hug me closely as her ‘bye’.
Hong waited quietly until Ngoc had run out the door; ‘What did you learn from today’s lesson em Hong? Can I see your book?” She passed it over, smiling as I opened it.
She had written in the words we had studied, same as Ngoc, and even added some explanatory notes, in Vietnamese for herself; but her ‘doodles’ were all alike – and, to me, they seemed like representations of a cock, phallic symbols/drawings. I guess I gaped somewhat before recovering and looking up at Hong. “Your words are correct, em, I am glad you were listening so well.” “What about my drawings, Teacher; I think they look like you.”
I knew my face was reddening; she had drawn large, long cocks around her words: some straight, some curved, some bulbous, and all of them dripping…pre-cum? Surely, I hadn’t been dripping the previous week when she had studied my waving cock? I didn’t know, but her doodles had ‘doodles’ of another sort dripping fluids around her study words.
I was in trouble with the capital ‘T’.
Hong captivated me, and she knew it. She had seen me naked, and now seemed to be fantasizing about my cock. She was only a girl, but she wanted to be grown-up: a Woman – well that was my male thought, and I was wrong.
As I looked at her now, I knew she was right: she was a Woman. A woman who had her sights set on something she wanted; how was I to dissuade her from this course, at this age, at this stage of development? Hong’s smile told me it was a battle lost before begun.
I had to take the initiative; “Well, Hong, they are expressive drawings – that means you are able to put on paper your thoughts or feelings. As your Teacher, what I would recommend is you make more notes to ‘express’ your understanding of our lessons – that will help you remember and to be able to use them when you speak English to people.”
I was rather smug after that speech; I thought I had skirted the issue of what her drawings truly resembled quite well – and handled it as a Teacher, not a man.
“But I did put on paper my thoughts and feelings, Teacher Steve; they are drawings of my thoughts and dreams about you, about your body, and my feelings about ‘it’…well, they give me a lot of pleasure at night when I am alone in my bed.”
“What do you feel – alone in your bed, Anh Steve?”
“Lonely” I replied; an honest answer to a direct question.
Hong’s expression changed from her somewhat supercilious smile, to a tender one, perhaps pitying me, but more likely surprised I would answer her in one word, and that word showing her my emotions.
“Thank you for the lesson, Anh Steve; I will go home now.” She made as if to come closer to me, but hesitated and went out the door.
I drank a lot that afternoon, sometimes sitting outside with my newspaper, until the heat became too much for my beer, and then inside in front of a fan, the TV on to sport, but I wasn’t watching.
My mind could only think of Hong and her change of expressions when we had the final moments of our morning’s conversation. I felt old this day, tired, and as if Life had indeed passed me by, and yes: lonely.
I managed, much later after falling asleep on the sofa for a while, to shower and wash my hair, made a café in lieu of at least one beer; but I wasn’t going out tonight: company wasn’t what I wanted when it consisted of loud, probably half/fully drunk men, or even laughing, sober people: I was melancholy this evening.
I had enough sense to not open another bottle of beer, cleaned my teeth, and went to bed.
Hong came to that same bed this night.
I was asleep, but felt the unusual movement beside me, waking enough to sit upright to see who it was; “Hong, what are you doing here? How did you get here? Where’re your mother and Ngoc?”
“Ssshhh” she whispered, putting her finger to my lips, “Sleep now, Anh Steve. I am here” and she put a slim arm across my body and pressed me to lie down again, my naked body being spooned by her nakedness. My mind was fuzzy, knowing it should force my mouth to order her out, but my body craved the comfort, and against all male instincts, I just fell asleep.
She was gone when I woke a few hours later to go to the toilet, and I naturally thought it had been a dream, until I went back to bed and could smell the lingering perfume of a female body. I cuddled the pillow she had laid her head on, and silently thanked her in my mind for relieving my aloneness if only for a short few hours.
I woke, showered, went to work, and came home: all in a daze which wouldn’t leave me. I didn’t stop for an after-work drink: I went home to think.
Hong was waiting for me, sitting on the steps to my door in the courtyard. She smiled gently; “You sleep calmly when you have someone beside you, it seems. Am I right?”
“Yes, em, you are correct. When you weren’t there, I woke up and had to go to the toilet!”
It was my attempt at a joke, but she only replied seriously; “I cannot sleep with you every night, Anh Steve; but I will when I can – I would like to do this, if you can accept me, and if you understand I am not offering…well, my body.”
I nodded, unable to speak actually, as she was – had become – so mature within just a few days it seemed, and able to decide for herself to offer me the succor of a cuddling body, a comforting body, but carefully delineating the boundaries. “I understand this, Hong; and I won’t ever do anything you have not asked me to do. But I must tell you: sometimes, I may not be asleep, and these will be difficult for an ordinary man, as I mostly am, when a woman as desirable as you is lying with him.”
She smiled now “That is when I will go home and sleep alone, Anh Steve. As now, I must go home - but not to sleep yet!” She finished with her own joke, and skipped off playfully, the younger child returning for a few fleeting moments, before she turned at her door to offer that sultry, so grown-up smile.
I went inside and sat on my sofa; I had an argument happening within myself.
As unlikely as this all sounds: an old man with a 15 year old girl; the girl offering to comfort the old man in his sleep; the girl understanding a man might want more and clearly telling him her rules.
Yes, preposterous it seemed to me, that this was even happening. But, I countered this side of the debate within my mind, with the fact that I felt more alive with all this young-old happenings than I had felt for quite some time. Hong was enticing, but drew the limits; she was desirable, but told me that is when she would go home; she was brilliantly manoeuvring me as she desired (perhaps with her own plan) but without allowing me any input into the plans.
I had to accept, and I did accept, the proffered comfort of her body to aid my sleep for a few hours, to alleviate my aloneness, to remind me I was essentially still a man with some vigour, and to show me how a woman’s wiles are so much more attuned to a situation than a man’s.
Hong, 15y.o. was educating me. She was causing me to smile.
I showered and put on good shorts and a t-shirt, took some work and my paper, and now went for a few beers, lighter in step and mind feeling calmer and even light-headed.
I joked with the girls, bantered with some of the locals who had already drunk their faces into redness, and even finished the work I had between times. Then I read my newspaper and sighed, contented. I had no thoughts of sex, just of the closeness of a girl-woman, if not to be in reality every night, then of the promise – the anticipation – of perhaps the next night.
But Hong’s next visit was not to be this very night.
Well, she did indeed visit, soon after I came home, but she didn’t stay or come back that night. Instead, she bought a friend with her: “a new student” as Hong put it.
Her name was Bich, and she spoke only a little English, but she had many other attributes to compensate for that, and Hong had brought her to meet me.
Bich was 17y.o. and a most beautiful young lady, as only a Vietnamese girl can be, when dressed in the virginal white national dress – the ao yai – of a senior student. The slim build of her body, countered by full breasts, the long flowing black hair, all in stark contrast to her white uniform, perhaps a half-size too small at the bodice now, testimony to still-growing breasts I thought subconsciously, as she stood there smiling in front of my tenting shorts – my body’s immediate reaction to such a vision.
Even my nipples felt hardened, even painful, at the sight of her.
I turned away quickly and sat on my sofa, crossing my legs over my cock, and inviting them to sit down. Hong sat she had to go home, but Bich would like to speak a little with me about lessons.
Bich sat beside me, as Hong smiled at me – her original, all-knowing smile – and waved ‘bye’ to us.
Bich spoke a little more English when Hong had gone, but I had to ask why she didn’t speak more, as most Vietnamese students are more forward in testing their English than Thai people, for example. “I grew up in the countryside, and only came to the city a few years ago; so my English lessons began late. Is that a problem, Teacher?”
“No Bich, it only means I need to structure my lessons differently for you, but it isn’t a problem at all.” I smiled to ease her discomfort and worries and we settled on 2 evenings a week to start with, and, when she felt ready, she could join Hong and Ngoc at weekends. She gave me her mobile phone number, and I phoned to check, thus giving her mine also.
She bade me a respectful ‘good night and thank you, my Teacher” at the doorway, but as she was about to head home, only around the corner she had said, she turned abruptly to say “Hong tells me you don’t like to sleep alone…I am available to help you, in return for free lessons Teacher, ok?”
I stepped back, away one pace from her proximity, and shook my head; “That would be prostituting yourself, Miss Bich, and make me a man who pays for a woman’s company (or sex). I don’t ever do that, and I will never ask you to do that.”
She nodded shamefacedly, but I gently lifted her chin and said “But sometimes, I would like to have you join me at the restaurant I go to every evening after work; there, I will buy you food, while we study English; we just read my newspaper together, it is a wonderful study tool, trust me.”
Her face lit in a smile, as she nodded “I would like that – and thank you, Teacher Steve.” She leaned across the space to kiss me on both cheeks, her soft lips lingering before she pulled away, waved ‘bye’ and scooted off, calm and happiness restored.
Bich had hardly been gone 2 minutes, just enough time for me to get a bottle of beer and sit down, when Hong phoned; “Well, is she going to sleep over?”
I had to laugh, before uttering a “No, she is not em – why would you even think that?”
“Well, you must have liked her; you must think she is beautiful? I know she would stay and sleep – what happened, Steve?” In her flustered state, she dropped respectful addresses, and just called me ‘Steve’.
“Em Hong, Bich is beautiful, as indeed you are, but I don’t buy girls to do anything, or buy them to like me, or to sleep with me. I will teach Bich what I can about English: that is what we agreed. By the way, why is this of concern to you?”
My question flustered her more, and she spluttered “Oh, well…well, I just thought she could help you be happy, when I can’t.”
I was moved by her attempt to manage my sleeping quality, but not by her manipulations; “Em, my young student, please don’t interfere like that again, ok. Do some study, I will give you a test this Saturday in class; good night young Hong, and: thank you.”
I didn’t see Hong the following day, though Ngoc came over in the afternoon, and said Hong and Bich were on the phone constantly – and she, Ngoc, was bored. So she sat with me and watched some TV, had some fruit and water, and listened intently to the English as pronounced by BBC News presenters. “I understand them a lot” she said, proudly smiling, and I replied “That is because they speak very clearly and correctly, em; I am glad you like hearing it, as I do.”
The next night was the first lesson for Bich, and the timing only allowed me an hour at my restaurant before I came home to shower, shave, put on shorts – and a t-shirt – and be ready with simple items of English to start her off with.
She arrived at my door, smiling; I probably gaped at her as she assumed she could brush past me to enter, her tight t-shirt-encased breasts heavy against me as she did so. I turned slowly, looking at the back of her truly beautiful body: her slim build, her swaying hips and buttocks, and the legs descending from a tight, white, very short skirt.
Bich wasn’t going to make teaching her very easy – if this outfit was an example of what she intended to wear! I motioned her to sit, and her skirt’s length meant she had to cross her legs to hide the crease which might have shown me between her legs. Instead, it meant her skirt rode up the back of her thighs, exposing them in all their glorious beauty: I sat away to the side of her, on the floor, and concentrated on my notes, perplexed as to how to look even in her direction to give a lesson.
It was an easy lesson, similar to how I had started with Hong and Ngoc; but, whereas with them, I had realized they were quite competent, and so made my lesson more flexible, with Bich it had to be simple the whole way through.
But she tried, and I helped her, and only when she asked me “Why don’t you look at me, Teacher – Steve?” did I become a little flustered.
“Well, em, a Teacher is expected to be concerned with teaching his students – not noticing how they are dressed or how beautiful - or not - they may be.”
“Does that mean you do notice me, or do not, Teacher?” “I am trying not to, em. I am trying to help your English – but if it helps: yes, I have ‘noticed’ you em.” She beamed “Good! You are supposed to.”
What that was supposed to mean I wasn’t sure, but a shrewd guess might be: she and Hong had planned this evening this way.
“Let’s do a little more English, shall we Bich?”
Finally, the allotted time passed, and I said “Ok, em, enough for our first night. I hope you felt comfortable with my teaching.”
“Yes, Teacher, thank you – however, I would be more comfortable if we were in bed together; that would be comfortable.” How did we go from discussing ‘teaching’ to being ‘in bed’ so fast!
“Em Bich, I am your Teacher; as desirable as you might be – as you are – it isn’t correct. Now you really should go home, it is getting late.” She pouted a little, but nodded, recognizing the finality in my voice, and the futility, at least tonight, of trying harder.
I had closed my front door after Bich took her beautiful form out and headed home, and I was cleaning my teeth ready for an early night, when a pounding on the door intruded. I ran over and opened it to Hong, agitated and blustering as she said “What is wrong with you, Steve? Bich wanted to stay with you!”
“She is now a student, Hong; it is wrong if I take advantage of her.”
“But I slept with you, and I am a student! What is different about Bich?”
“You came of your own accord, em – you chose to do this, without an invitation, only to comfort me because you wanted to. To me, that was different, that was special; you didn’t ask for anything in return, you just gave me yourself of your own free will.”
“Now I am going out for a beer, or two; I was going to bed early, but now I have changed my mind. Good night, Miss Manipulator – look it up in the Dictionary!” I spelled the word slowly and clearly, ushered her out and watched as she headed home, threw on my shirt, grabbed money and keys, and left Hong to find and ponder what I had strongly, but affectionately, called her.
Sitting at my restaurant, beer, newspaper and cigarettes to hand, I wondered if I had made the right decision: pushing Bich out, when the promise of her body was an open invitation to me to accept. Or to reject, as I had, and truly for the reasons I had told her; so I told myself again: I made the right choice.
It was in such a state of mind, I went home a little later – and found Hong waiting at my door.
She didn’t say anything, just reached for my left hand as I unlocked the door with my right.
She had a night slip on, thin cotton, hiding a body without bra or panties it was easy to see, as the material clung to every curve and bump of the young woman it was meant to cover.
She released my hand, and I headed to my bathroom, showering, cleaning my teeth, giving me some time to wonder what Hong was doing on the other side of the door.
I had no sooner had that thought, than Hong was on my side of that door, stepping under the spray of the shower with me.
“I decided to be a shower-clean virgin, as I manipulate this, my Teacher.” She placed a tiny hand around my cock, and pulled it: it responded instantly, and lengthened in her hand, swelled in her hand, and she gasped when she needed 2 hands to hold it a few moments later.
“Wow!” she said “Bich didn’t tell me that could happen!”
“Bich – you planned this with Bich?” “No, no, Anh Steve; I knew she wasn’t a virgin, so I just asked her advice on doing this the ‘first time’. I decided I wanted it to be here, my body being as clean as it could be as I gave it to you – of my own free will: again.”
Her hands had not left my cock, and it hadn’t wilted, even when my mind thought this was all part of a ‘plan’: it stayed rigid, throbbing and bobbing as she clutched it.
“Hong, this is a very big decision for a girl – a woman – and you are so young! Perhaps, now that you are extra clean, you should go home and sleep.”
“No, Steve” and I noted how her speech had become less formal with each pronouncement, “Bich told me the first time to do it fast, and accept the pain; I am ready now.”
I smiled gently down at her, took her hands from around my prick, and placed them around my waist as I hugged her. “Hong, I don’t agree with Bich; your first time is the most special one, and it should be as beautiful as it can be, as slow as it can be, and – though there might be pain – it should be as pleasurable, if not more, than painful.”
I let her try and absorb all those words; “If you truly decide on this, then I want it to be in bed, this first time. Here is the towel, em; you can wrap it around yourself and run home screaming, or you can dry yourself and wait for me: it is only your decision, my young Lady.”
She was in my bed, bare shoulders exposed, and her slip thrown on the floor beside the bed as I walked from the bathroom, naked, and cock still tumescent and bobbing.
Hong threw the duvet back, welcoming my body in beside hers.
She was 15, a naked virgin in my bed, asking to be made love to; by me, her Teacher, a Man.
It was her time for a major point in any girl’s life, or a boy’s for that matter, but I always thought it to be a more momentous event for a girl to become a Woman, than for a boy to just rut and empty his balls.
I stayed a little apart as I lay down beside her, wanting to have arm movement as I roamed my hands gently from her face and down her sleek, smooth skin, not yet touching her breasts, only her skin.
She sighed, and I leaned down to softly kiss her cheek, one side, another, and then her ears, and her throat, and when she panted, I joined my gentle lips to her hungry ones.
And then I put my hands on her breasts and my fingers on her nipples.
Hong shuddered, and I whispered to her “You can stop me at any time you don’t want more, em: it is all your decision.” She nodded, groaned out “Don’t stop” and I twirled her nipples gently within 2 fingers, stretching them, hardening them, and then I lowered my mouth to one, able to engorge a whole breast into my mouth, with my tongue taking over the caresses of her nipple.
With one hand free, I let it glide down her abdomen, feeling her diaphragm heaving, her stomach muscles bunching and tightening as I moved downwards more. Her pelvic bones sloped my hand inwards, and I reached the wisps of hair covering her groin; they seemed to be standing up to greet me, and I gently stroked them into calmness.
She was continually moaning above my head as my mouth now moved her to lie prone so I could change breasts, and I also lifted one leg over her, straddling her body but not lying down on it yet, only my cock throbbing and dripping – knowing its destination was close. I gently nipped her new nipple with my teeth, and she yelped, but at the same time she ran her fingers through my hair, dragging it away from my face and held it around my neck.
She wasn’t letting me go, and certainly was not pushing me away.
I allowed one finger to slide towards her slit; she didn’t resist, so I stroked her from top to bottom, a minimal intrusion to find her lubricant working, quickly coating my finger with her own, womanly, pre-cum.
I removed my finger and my hand from her lower body, and my mouth from her breast, and she moaned in frustration – perhaps thinking I was stopping.
I was only moving my head down, my mouth wanting her juices, and I let my hands go back to her upper body, stroking her hair and face and neck and breasts, as my tongue now descended through her waiting hair, and I slurped down her slit.
She had her legs almost together, and my cock was flowing pre-cum on to them now, but my head burrowed in and she opened them wider, and now my mouth was below her cunt’s opening, and I could eat and suck to my fill.
I did, and she writhed above me, but my mouth loved her taste, and I prodded my tongue inside her girl’s vagina, small and tight; I opened her further with a flattened tongue, and found her hooded clitoris out and inviting, so I burrowed my mouth in and used my teeth very, very gently to tease that clit. She surprised me by gushing juice down her canal, soaking my mouth and seeping out to coat my lower face and herself.
She was ready, at least in terms of physical preparedness, to receive me.
I pulled my tongue and mouth away slowly, licked my lips, and moved my face up to hers, placing my juice-coated mouth against hers and letting her taste of the nectar of herself.
And now I let my prong descend towards her vagina, only letting it touch her lips, prod only a little, and she gasped as I expected.
But I reached under her body, moved myself to the side, and picked her up to lay on top of me, my cock hard and flattened between us, as were her stiff nipples and delicate mounds of breasts, and her cunt, as I pulled her mouth down to mine, kissed her fiercely, longingly and wetly, and let her know I wanted this.
“This is where you decide again, Hong, if this is what you truly want. If you do, you sit up, and lower yourself on to my body as slowly as you feel comfortable with, as fast as you want…all up to you, as you are the mistress of your own body.”
I took my arms from around her body, releasing her: to jump up and run if so she chose, or to continue on this new path, with all its unknown perils and adventures, warnings of pain and also promises of pleasures. She sat herself straighter, placed her feet on the bed each side of my body, and looked at me. I put my hands on her hips and lightly urged her up, allowing my cock to spring up after her; I slipped my hands under her buttocks, spread her vagina wide and let her slip down on to the cock she now held straight in her little hands.
Her juices and my pre-cum helped, but it was naturally still a tight fit, and she came down slowly, centimetre at a time, her head thrown up and her eyes closed, with only a sound like a hiss from her mouth.
I felt, and Hong certainly felt, when the head of my straining cock - its own primal nature purely wanting to reach as far inside her as possible – hit the barrier of her maidenhead.
Hong didn’t even pause; she sat down heavily the rest of the way, a grimace and slight groan as she tore inside, bulging eyes, with one wet tear falling down her face, when my girth stretched her wide and my length hit the inner barriers of her womanly tunnels and caves and secret places.
She laid her slick wet upper body down to my torso, but didn’t move her newly-penetrated cunt from the invading cock, allowing herself to soak in her new feelings, and to beat her heart strongly, even as my cock beat its throb strongly inside her.
Then Hong sat up, suddenly, and lifted herself, sliding up the length of my prick, and sat down, all the way, again. She lowered her head, looked at me with a smile, and spoke, at last; “It hurt, but not bad, and now I can feel you in there, in me, and it is not what I expected!”
I smiled up at her, not doing any work, letting Hong create her own experiences of this time; “What is it you feel, my virgin Hong?”
I reached my hands up to her face, stroked her cheeks, and let her lips kiss me as I caressed them; then my hands smoothed down her sleek neck to her breasts, and I cupped them in my hands.
She sighed, her head upturned, and she lifted her pelvis again and sat down my length again; another sigh “I am thinking Bich didn’t have, her first time, what I am having mine!” She smiled, chuckled even, as she continued “Well, naturally, I have never felt anything like this before! I am full, up to here I am sure” and she pointed her finger to her belly button.
“But I do not want to talk now; this is too new and incredible; thank you, my Steve, my Teacher: my Man.”
With those words I rolled her over and I took over the making of love with Hong.
I didn’t allow my whole (50kgs) weight to pin her down, but rather held my torso up with my arms, while I slid my cock in and out slowly. Her vagina was still stretching on each inward motion, accustoming itself to this invader, but she was groaning of pleasure, not pain as I changed my rhythm.
I pulled mostly out, gave her short, shallow strokes – 5,6,7…
And then I pushed all the way in, not too fast, but all the length I had inside her all the way. She gasped and squeaked, and I felt her juices presage her first true climax during the making of love, and her fingernails squeezed into the skin of my arms as she was borne to a height of joy never before experienced.
I didn’t stop, and I had no need to cum myself yet, so I repeated my rhythm (one I had used to pleasure women in times past) but I varied the numbers of shallow strokes and long strokes, so she never knew what to expect, or when to expect it. I believe it heightened her sensuality, as she tensed after 3…or 9…or 4…waiting for the thrust which would slide along the walls of her vagina, pushing them out like a mole digging a burrow, and the base of my cock then grinding against her opened lips as the head of my cock tried to reach that belly button she felt it had reached already.
I thrust, and she muffled a scream, and writhed under me, a new peak reached for her first time, and now I felt the onrush in my balls; useless semen, with no sperm owing to a long-ago vasectomy, but still the climax of a man, and my cock grew that last extra centimetre in length and girth, and I blew what I had inside her as now she did scream, ejecting her juices down her cunt over my cock, itself sliding in and out hard and fast now, for a short time as we reached the Clouds and the Rain: that spiritual peak of satisfaction which comes only rarely to a couple making Love.
Hong whimpered under me, into my subconscious, bringing me back from the utopian climax, and I rolled gently to the side, hand under her buttocks bringing her with me, still joined into one body, but less weight and pressure on her.
I cuddled her, one arm under her neck, down her back, stroking lightly, my other hand able to reach for her breast and gently cup it and lightly fondle it and caress. My mouth pushed through her hair, fallen across her face, and I kissed her cheek, her eye – cleaning off the salty taste of some tears – and then she turned her lips to find mine, and we kissed gently and longingly, for long minutes, until my cock finally wilted and I allowed it to slip out. She whimpered and pushed her pelvis against me, not wanting to release me, but it was time.
Hong fell asleep in that embrace, but I didn’t. I marveled at the youthful form in my arms. I felt our juices mingling, still leaking from our bodies where I had transformed her into a Woman in terms of sexuality, of physicality, and I hoped emotionally – and indeed, satisfactorily and happily!
However, I also knew I was guilty of crimes as they would be seen by society - and the Police in particular of course! I didn’t dwell on it; there was nothing to be done now. If Hong told her mother, or anyone, there was also nothing I could do about the consequences.
I stroked her and let her sleep for perhaps an hour, but then I had to wake her; she dreamily opened her eyes, an instant smile on her face, as I kissed her, but told her she needed to go home. She pouted, but knew she must, even as she pressed herself against me, wanting more… but I denied her this night, even if my cock showed her it was rejuvenated (amazing to me also!) I had to get her home safely and, hopefully, without her mother and Ngoc knowing anything.
She showered, begging me to join her, but I smiled and went to get her a new towel, and put my shorts on; I did dry her, kissing her body as I worked my way down, but stopped short at areas she clearly wanted me to linger. I asked if she was hurting, sore, in pain, but she smiled all in the negative, so I only warned her tomorrow she probably would feel more. She dressed, clung to me as she kissed up to my mouth, a hand holding my cock as I ushered her to the door, from where I quietly escorted her home.
I came back to my own house, showered and went to bed, but I had no sooner let my head hit the pillow than I jumped up and went out, naked in the darkness, filled a glass with beer and searched for my cigarettes.
I sat on the sofa, drank and smoked for 10 minutes; and then I washed up, cleaned my teeth yet again, emptied my bladder and went back to bed.
Those 10 minutes had been spent reliving the past hours, and the question of: right or wrong?
After pondering for the 10 minutes, when I went to bed, I fell asleep with a smile, as my only response to that Important Question had been: It was a beautiful time of making love.
I seemed to lose track of which day it was after that night, but it had been Thursday in fact; Friday passed in yet another blur, so the following morning I had my Saturday lesson with Hong and Ngoc.
I had been rather surprised to not see Hong at all Friday evening, but she had text messaged me in the morning “Thank you, Steve. Wow!” I assumed that meant she felt happy, which made me feel happy.
Now, they flounced in to my place, sat down heavily and Ngoc seemed to be scowling at her smiling older sister; oh dear, sisterly problems, I thought.
“Anything wrong, girls?”
Ngoc jumped in with “Hong has been running around like a butterfly yesterday and today, giggling and smiling – but she won’t say what’s going on; she’s gone crazy!”
“Ok, English lesson #1 for today; a butterfly, I don’t think, can run: they fly around, land on flowers or leaves, or even your hand sometimes, and then fly somewhere else - but I haven’t ever seen one running. In English we can use the expression ‘flitting’ which means flying/jumping/running/moving from here to there and somewhere else – and it seems to have no real reason why here or there are chosen = ‘flitting’.”
Ngoc listened and then she laughed; “You are so funny Teacher Steve!” She flopped back on the sofa, giggling herself now, and could finally add “Ok, she has been flitting around like a butterfly.”
Hong was looking at me, a smile but a steely glint to her eyes, “I am not ‘flitting’, Teacher; I have a reason, and I know exactly why I have chosen where I am going.”
On with the lesson: engaging them both in discussion on most points, doing my bit to ease any remaining tension between them.
But it didn’t quite work out as I had hoped; when they had had enough studying for that morning, I got them a drink and let them relax by turning on BBC News, then a movie in English with sub-titles – it was a teenage love story something; I wasn’t really watching closely, just thinking about Hong with her so close.
All seemed fine until Ngoc blurted out “That’s it – you’re in Love Hong! Who is it, what’s his name, is he from school, did you tell Mum?”
Hong flushed; I remained quiet during this sister-to-sister conversation – well, it became a conversation – a very short one - when Hong answered “I am not in Love, I am just studying Love; you are too young to understand Ngoc, so stop talking and forget it, and go home; I am staying to watch the movie!”
Ngoc flounced out the door, muttering “Hong is in love, Hong is in love…” Then she turned around to me and, in a tone designed to ‘get back at her sister’ said “She told you, Teacher Steve, she is 15 – well, she isn’t 15 until next month!”
I looked at Hong but she said not a word.
Hong and I sat there for a few minutes in silence (apart from the TV) until she rose, locked the front screen door, and turned to me “I do know exactly where I am going now: to your bed; coming Anh Steve?”
I had tried to hide it from myself during the past few hours, as well as hide the physical evidence of my thoughts while I was teaching: but I had felt, and now felt, as horny as I had ever been, surely – due to Hong’s presence.
Perhaps Hong had seen me crossing my legs, a hardened cock forced down between them, perhaps she just knew – as she seemed to on that first day I met them – how to read my thoughts or how to know what those thoughts probably would be; she was right now as she walked to the bedroom without a glance behind: she knew I was following like a stag scenting a young doe in heat.
And the doe had her tail up and the musk was so strong the stag – like all males of all species: certain he was in control of the situation – had no chance against the female of all species.
She stripped off the clothing she had on: a dress and a bra, now not hiding pointed, hard nipples; no panties hiding the wispy bush glistening with fluid. She crawled on to the bed, her beautiful backside facing me, the crack of her arse open to my eyes, the rosebud puckered and pink within her dark brown body. Then she rolled on to her back, spread-eagled and cupped her breasts, a wanton smile on her face as her eyes locked on – into – mine.
I stripped my shorts, underpants up and over an aching cock, and t-shirt off, and we fucked like the stag when the doe had finally let him catch her.
Hong didn’t want romance this time; this time she wanted what Bich had told her to expect the first time she lost her virginity: a quick implant of a man’s cock, and an explosion of pain. I didn’t cause her pain, but, as her cunt was dripping and inviting, and as my cock was unusually hard, I was implanted within her to a deep length very quickly.
Even as I withdrew slowly, I barged back into her inviting tunnel with the velocity of that stag trying to procreate; I couldn’t do that, but I could try. Slow and fast, fast and slow, trying to last, but realizing my age and less than robust health did not give me the body power of a young stag, but rather that of an older one: a cock which could still wake up and perform, but lungs and muscles not nearly those of a youth.
Nevertheless, Hong screamed twice in ecstasy of orgasm before I knew I had to release, before my whole body collapsed in exhaustion, and with her fingernails dug into my shoulders, I reared my body up like the old stag, and ploughed my shaft to the depths of her cunt like the young stag, and my juices pumped their worthless seed at the walls of her cunt, no sperm fighting to break through to the eggs - waiting beyond perhaps for their own form of fucking and the real procreation.
After a calming down period of heavy breathing and sweat-slicked bodies joined, I lay atop her and mouthed those young breasts I did truly love. I was not aggressive, sucked gently and caressingly, before moving to her mouth and kissing her in the same manner. She sighed under me and said “I needed a snack after lesson today; thank you Teacher, thank you Anh Steve.” She sighed again “I don’t know how a woman – how a girl – can live without making love: it is the most beautiful experience in all the world of experiences!”
She slid her arms down my back and held me tightly for a minute; “But I must go home.”
She reached under, between our bodies, and helped ease my cock from within; it was rigidly limp one might say, and covered in our juices, but Hong held it in gentle fingers as I raised my body, and she seemed to be marveling at such a ‘thing’ – perhaps asking herself if she found it a monster of a ‘thing’, or a wonder of a ‘thing’. Her smile answered her own query.
Over the next few weeks, Hong came often for her ‘snacks’ as she referred to them, and our sex became more experimenting as she explored the boundaries of her pleasure zones.
Her daily life seemed to have stabilized enough for Ngoc to stop being so upset with her, but one day Hong’s mother came to see me, and she was not deceived.
Bich, meanwhile, continued her lessons, continued offering herself to me, and continued going home either disappointed or amazed I could resist her. In truth, I was rather worn out by Hong’s attentions, and she was enough for me to concentrate on at this one time.
Bich never mentioned she knew I was fucking Hong, but I had to guess she did, given the confidences they had shared on the eve of Hong’s sacrifice of virginity to me.
But into the situation came Hong’s mother, who came one evening after Bich’s lesson, and she wanted to talk.
She sat on the sofa, crossing shapely legs under a short shift dress; she had some make-up on and her hair was done nicely in a pony tail – she was only young, mid 30’s, as I knew she had given birth to Hong at a very young, teenage, age; and she was quite strikingly beautiful.
Her name was Yen, and she began by complimenting me on both daughters’ progress in English; and even in their manners and disposition – ‘for most of the time’, she added with a gentle smile. “But Hong has changed markedly” she went on, “as if she has rather suddenly blossomed, and is no longer a little girl as she was a few months ago.”
She smiled pointedly at me, “It seems having lessons with you is the major reason behind the change; almost as if you have initiated her into Womanhood, Teacher Steve.” She waited for a response for a moment – a denial of some sort perhaps - but I expected more was coming, and remained quiet.
“Indeed, so happy has she become that Ngoc refers to Hong as our ‘butterfly’ and believes she has found a boyfriend. Whether she has I don’t know, Hong just smiles if I ask her, but whatever she has found here, in your apartment, is clearly something wonderful for her, and I am happy for her to continue to feel that.”
“I only wish to experience the same wonder once, so I am here asking you to also give me what you have given Hong, and then I will be contented - knowing why she is in such good hands.”
She rose from the sofa and slowly, graciously, swayed her way to the bedroom door, paused momentarily, and went inside.
I sat for perhaps 5 minutes, finishing my beer, deliberating; and then I locked the front door, went to my bathroom off the kitchen and cleaned my teeth, washed my hands, and then I joined Yen in my bedroom, in my bed.
I stripped my shorts off, stood for a moment in the light and she stared; I slipped under the duvet, found her naked, and found her wet between her thighs when I lightly put a hand there.
“Now I know the wonderful thing she has found, but it has been a long time for me, Anh.”
“Yet, your body seems prepared, em, as if this is what you expected, and what you came for.”
“Yes, it is, so please let it begin.”
My frequent couplings with Hong, leading to ejaculations every time (even if not as strong as a young virile man’s) had enhanced my staying power, and I can only admit to some pride that I was able to bring Hong’s mother to bursting climaxes, as she released what she had been forced to withhold for many years: her desires.
I lightly kissed her mouth, between her gasps, but her breasts drew me, as I imagined Hong’s might develop to a similar size and shape, and this spurred my fingers and mouth, once I had heard her demand my cock inside her. I obliged, and my cock dug deep and wide within, as I shielded my ears from her scream, and her first panting climax which followed: I was busy trying to fit one breast within my mouth, but a very long, rigid nipple took my whole tongue’s attention, and my mouth was torn between the nipple and the breast.
I let my fingers and hand have their way with one breast, and my mouth and tongue on the other, as I varied my strokes within her cunt – not automatic fucking, without any feeling – no, not at all, she was a delight to be joined with, but I had a cock which seemed to be able to sense when the timing was working well: fast or slow, deep or shallow, rest and resume…hence the pride I felt, and deservedly so it seemed, from her her copious juices flooding out, not regularly but certainly when her stimulation was driven to her climax levels.
Amazingly, I was still with strength after some considerable time, but she begged me to finish, and some added thought directed to my cock seemed to swell its size somewhat, and Yen gasped as I drove to the end of her tunnel and hit a wall, earning a squeak of shock from her, and a burst of semen from me.
She squirmed as my cock shot her, buried as it was to her depths, and she moaned and groaned for the few spurts I was able to raise and fire.
Knowing I was done, I concentrated on gentle mouth and hands to her breasts, allowing one hand release to stroke the sides of her slim body, feeling her child-bearing hips, and the tops of her thighs. When I felt my cock wilting, I squirmed up to her mouth and kissed her lightly but fully for a long while, allowing her to calm and regain herself for herself.
She gasped “Now I understand.”
They were the only words Yen spoke – now, tonight, and in the future, she never mentioned this ‘one-night experience’, never mentioned anything to do with sex between me and her daughter, or between herself and I.
She used my shower, dressed, smiled, kissed me; and went home, leaving me to shower and ponder anew as I returned to my half-soaked bed, stripped the sheets and under-blanket for washing, and went to sleep under the duvet – dry still as we had thrown it off much earlier.
I had, and needed, 2 days to recover from her mother before Hong came for an ‘afternoon snack’, post-school/pre-dinner. I was home earlier than normal as I had some extra work I planned to do.…’the best laid plans of mice and men’ adage came to mind….
Hong said nothing, except an oblique reference to her mother’s tiredness yesterday, witnessed by the fact she had sent Hong out to buy take-away foods for their dinner, whereas she normally cooked it all; and she hadn’t eaten, but had gone straight to bed after Hong had laid out everything for Ngoc and herself. This morning her mother had been bouncy and active…it was strange, but Hong had heard other girls tell of their mothers entering ‘mid-life crisis’ and thought this may be the case.
I laughed and said I didn’t at all believe her young mother was ‘middle-aged’ or ‘mid-life’ to be going through a crisis, and maybe she had just…well, had a tiring day, and today was a good day.
Hong wasn’t really interested in prolonging the conversation, and we only got to the kitchen before she hitched her skirt up – her uniform skirt – revealing a bare cunt, and demanded something to be ‘put in there, hard’.
I began with my tongue; perhaps it wasn’t so hard, but I was thirsty before the work to come….
That completed the early evening’s conversation and lesson – and any work plans were submerged under the juices which ran down our legs and dribbled to my kitchen floor.
I showered, packed my work away, took my newspaper, and went out to have a beer (more) and buy some bread.
I contemplated the difficulties of a mother and daughter both having sex with the same man. Well, it was erotic for me, and perhaps for Hong’s mother, but I am not sure Hong would see it in the same exciting frame of mind as the 2 older people if she found out; a young girl was apt to react in a rather heated fashion when possession and jealousy came face to face with any adversary, perhaps even if that was her own mother..
I could but hope that her mother had truly meant it when she said ‘once’ to mean ‘just one time only’ and not play some devious game like ‘oh, I meant only once that first night.’
Perhaps this was my vanity thinking, so I did my utmost to concentrate on the paper and my beer.
One of the girls came over with another bottle and more ice, and said “We have all noticed how much younger you are these days, Anh Steve; whoever it is, bring them here for dinner some time, so we can tell her what a good job she is doing.”
I blushed, even more when I thought ‘oh sure, bring a 14 – nearly 15 – year old, or perhaps bring Yen, or perhaps both together!’ How would the girls working here, some of who had seen me and known me for several years, react to that!
At home that night, in bed reading, there was a light tap on the doors leading outside from my bedroom; when I quickly put my shorts on and opened one door, Hong came in, smiling “Before was good, but now I would like to sleep in your arms Anh Steve; that is better.”
She disrobed, as did I and she asked “What are you reading? It doesn’t matter; will you read to me, Anh, please?”
I placed an arm under her neck and she turned on her side, breasts resting on my chest, and I picked up my book. “It is a sad-romantic novel, actually; makes me cry sometimes. Ok, I will read to the end of this Chapter;” I checked the pages to there, 4, so I began, one of Hong’s hands twirling the sparse hairs on my nipples and chest as she snuggled into me and listened to my quiet reading.
The Chapter I was reading was mid-way through the book, the story, and it was of the unrequited love of a man and a woman. It was sad, as they spoke of what they both felt, but could never achieve in their current disparate positions in Life, and like all good stories and movies, my sensitive nature brought tears to my eyes as I read.
The tears rolled off my cheeks and fell on Hong’s hand and breasts, and she giggled for a moment, before she realized it was truly my feelings showing, and she became tender and quiet, asking only for me to explain some words; and then she seemed to fully grasp the portent of the story, and she understood: this was her, the Woman, and me, the Man.
When I finished the Chapter, I put the book on my bedside table, and we made love then; a love made slowly, fully, and the requited love which the characters in the book could not achieve.
I held her close when she had finished, my body not needing to release again after the afternoon, and we slept: as Hong had wanted, and as I needed this night.
Hong was gone when I woke for my toilet needs, perhaps 3-4 hours later, still dark, so I smiled at her disappearing apparition ability, and went back to sleep.
My eyes opened again - late it seemed, surprised my phone alarm hadn’t woken me earlier, and then realized it must be Saturday, so I lay there for a short time, enjoying the quiet and the peace and the smiles which came more easily to my soul and my body these days.
I also wondered why days and nights became blurred these days, so I was never sure at which point in time I was at this moment, or in the moment before. Life has its mysteries and surprises.
Ngoc came to the main door and knocked; I had showered, but did have my shorts on as I ruffled my hair drier; I called out to her to come in, and she called back she needed help.
She was carrying a tray with some breakfast on for me, and her study book also. I thanked her, noting she seemed preoccupied, and asked if everything is all right.
A sigh came from her; the sigh an adult might use, not that of a usually carefree 12y.o. I smiled, “Want to talk about anything Ngoc?”
“I will come back after you eat breakfast, Teacher; yes, there is something to talk about, with you, just you and me.” I nodded and she left - indecision on her young face, another sigh out loud.
I made a café, ate my simple breakfast, and washed up afterwards; it was about now when Hong and Ngoc generally began their lesson, and they duly arrived, Ngoc trailing a beaming Hong.
I went through the lesson I had planned, Hong interested and proactive, smiles of mysterious feelings on her face; Ngoc unusually not so involved in anything.
I cut the time a little short, feeling for Ngoc, and invited her to watch a movie on TV I had spotted in the guide earlier; it was a Disney youngsters’ movie, too young for Hong and she realized she wasn’t going to have alone time with me if Ngoc was sitting in front of the TV, so she said she was going home, and then going to meet friends; “See you later, Teacher Steve.”
When she had well gone, I pressed the mute button, and asked Ngoc “Do you want to talk now Ngoc?”
She babbled words out, “Now my Mum is just like Hong! They both go around smiling and giggling, like they are from another planet! I don’t know what it is, but, Teacher, it has something to do with them coming to see you…I know Hong does, and Mum came home late the other night, and – she thought I was asleep – I saw her come over here before.”
“What is it, Teacher – I hope you don’t give them some drugs or something!”
I laughed lightly, shaking my head, but Ngoc hadn’t finished speaking her mind; “Whatever you do with them, well: I want you to do with me.”
My 12y.o. student was asking to take the path her sister, and mother, had now trodden; what was a Man to do about that?