Rachel's Secret

And on some of those mornings Rachel would say, "We need to trim that beard of yours." Just as she had said the day our kisses began.

So imagine the scene of me in professorial suit and tie, usually tweed. Sometimes no tie. Sometimes a sweater with my leather bags. This 18 year old girl in a tight little pair of sweat pants and tee following me to the door, her tangle of auburn hair fallen around her shoulders, sparkling brown eyes, pressing her hand to my chest leaning up on tip toe and giving me a soft little kiss on the lips each morning. I simply started to reply, "Bye dear."

On Fridays I have a half day, and on that day Rachel actually leaves the house for school before I do. On this Friday, however, there was a teachers conference on Thursday and Friday, so she had both days off. We had our morning off together. Not a big deal, I set Friday mornings as a time to read student papers, but Rachel had another idea as to what we were going to do this morning.

She had a small beard trimmer in her hand as she stood in the doorway. Sweats and tee on, her normal morning attire.

"We are going to trim that beard."

I looked at her, "What?"

This was something she had said many many times now, but it never dawned on me that she actually meant it.

"Trim your beard," she was waving the trimmer around in her hand, standing before me with a cocked hip, and it registered what she held. I had one as well, but I did tend to be remiss, and I usually let the barber trim my beard when I got my hair cut.

"OK. Uh, let me do a few papers first, then..."

She came over and took my hand, "Uh, uh," and pulled me into the den and sat me on the leather sofa. A little pout, "Lets do it now." She had a small towel there which was wrapped around my neck and she leaned me forward away from the sofa, getting everything ready. I was following along letting it happen, because after all this was something she had said she was going to do for some time now.

I looked at her with the beard trimmer in her hand, "Why do you have one of those anyway?"

And she looked me right in the eye, again, with her 'you should know' look. I had a pause, blood rushing to my skin, and as my realization arrived she added, "I have a little beard I like to trim as well." Her eyebrow arched as she said it, that smile on her face, so precious, her eyes twinkling into mine, the enjoyment she felt when she left me speechless.

This morning she had put on a little of her lip gloss which gave her mouth a delicious shine. Her eyes a deep, dark almond shape, and the brown of her eyes bringing out the sparkling white. Her lips, in a pout, as she adjusted me getting me ready, and then she kneeled down in front of me, standing up on her knees between my legs, placing her even with me as I leaned forward.

That tension between us again. I looked at her arched eyebrows, the little strands of hair falling over her eyes that she could look through. Her warmth and smell as she kneeled before me. So sweet, her concern, how she loved taking care of me. Preening, she ran her hand across my cheek, roughing my beard as she did, assessing its length.

"You'll look so much better when this is trimmed up," she cooed, and with that the trimmer began to buzz. It was battery operated, a small narrow black razor with the right length attached to the end of it. I could tell. She seemed to know what she was doing. She swayed and held herself there between my legs as she trimmed, slowly, carefully.

Little tufts of hair falling to the floor, the feel of the razor running up my cheek, under my chin. We were so close, the angle of her there, her body before me. I could feel her breath on me occasionally. I began thinking of her stories, of what she had done, of feelings, desire, her body. Her beauty. And as she swayed before me, shaving my beard I reached my hand out and held her, simply to steady her, holding her at her side wrapping my fingers around to the back of her ribcage. Watching her eyes, she briefly glanced at me but continued to trim. I was going to hold her steady.

I could feel the weight of her, feel her breathing, this little bird, her thin ribcage and how I could wrap my hand around her side, the way she leaned occasionally against my hand as I steadied her. No acknowledgement I was holding her, touching her, and I had never touched her like this before. She had lay her hand on my cheek, pressed her hand to my chest, kissed me. But never I reaching out to her. I brought up my other hand onto her other side, and again held her. Holding her there before me. Her small frame, so light, frail even. She letting me hold her, holding my hands on her. I could feel her breathing in and out, thought I could feel her heart beating, and I could feel a slight trembling in my own finger tips.

What I did next was unforgivable.

I haven't a clue what thoughts there were. Actually, there were none. Her breathing was so even, her smell, warmth, the feel of her so wonderful. I felt a sudden compassion, connection, moment of sweetest desire. Dare I say lust. It felt so right. I stroked my thumbs up her front as I held to her so that my thumbs literally pressed over the edge of her breasts. Far enough over her breasts to feel their softness, far enough to realize she wore no bra, and I so perfectly remember how such a thought registered in my thoughts. No bra. Her soft flesh. And I began to rub the side of her breasts with my thumbs, still holding her, still 'steadying' her, as I had touched her in this way.

I looked at her, frightened, almost as a child would who had done wrong. But there was no reaction whatever from Rachel. I had gotten away with it, or rather was in the midst of doing it and being allowed. So I continued, stroking her with my thumbs, more brazen. Letting my thumbs press inward as I rubbed up over her breasts, closer in, shifting my hands a bit as I did it. She responded by shifting herself a little closer, the whole time trimming my beard. Her breathing warm on my face, her eyes not looking at me, but at her hands as she worked. She had placed her other hand on my knee. I continued, slipping my hands around now to the front, and without any excuse, cupped her breasts, palming her with trembling hands, squeezing and feeling their shape, openly rubbing her. Feeling their shape and weight, so soft beneath the fabric of her top. I held to her, squeezed and stroked at her breasts. They felt so free beneath the fabric, the thin worn fabric of the tee. Each hand covering each breast, I could feel her nipples tighten in my palm, could feel her leaning into my hands as I stroked my thumbs across her hardening nipples.

My heart was pounding as I looked at her, squeezing her breasts. I saw her eyes close a little once or twice, as she would catch her breath, each time I scraped my thumb across her nipples. A wave of pleasure? I pressed her nipple with my thumb and forefinger, watching her head tip lower and her shaving briefly stop. Her eyes again meeting mine, liquid, the pleasure in her eyes. What could I possibly say? I saw this girl in front of me, this girl and her stories. I thought of her body, her desirability, how she wanted to be desired. The pleasure in her eyes. And I did, I desired her.

She leaned away from me, and breathed out, "There. I think we're done."

I croaked out, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." She moved back and my hands fell away. She was now standing before me, and I was looking up at her. Did this even happen? Guilt ridden, what could I possibly do now? Much like that man had in her story. She stood before me in her sweat pants and tee, pulling the hair back out of her face. I was waiting for a tut tut. Something. Anything.

Finally I said, "Rachel, I'm sorry. I never intended to...."

She looked at herself and at me, put her hand on my cheek, held it there as I looked up at her, and said, "It's OK Jimmy. You do so much for me. You make me feel good. I like it when I can make you feel good sometimes too."

She took the towel from around me, and I had not even realized it was there. I was trembling, continued looking at her. Her body beneath that loose fitting morning outfit, the same one I saw each day. Knowing what her body felt like. Her hair, her smell. The feel of her hand on my cheek. This rising desire I felt. It simply cannot be. I could now imagine how her breasts felt, her heartbeat, breath. I had touched them, held them. She walked out of the room and came back with a dust pan and small brush, leaning down to sweep up, her tee falling away a bit.

I said, "I'm afraid I have become like all those other boys, those men."

She did not look at me, but said, "I didn't go running out of the house did I?"

"Rachel...."

She stopped, set down the brush and pan, and sat next to me. "Stop. Look." Gathering her thoughts, "Don't make it a big deal. It felt...good. Nice. You do so much for me. You make me feel good. Believe me, I know how to take care of myself." She had taken my hand and was rubbing my fingers, holding my hands palm up, looking at me. She laughed then and looked down at herself, "I mean, really, they are so small anyways, it doesn't matter. Does it? Anything above my waist, is yours."

I wanted to say, 'no, they are wonderful.' But did not want to go there. We paused, she let go of my hands and once again brushed my cheek, ruffled my beard and drew her hand under my chin. "Oh Jimmy. What am I going to do with you?"

I looked at her eyes, her smile. The way she held my cheek. And I said, "So, it was OK? You're sure?"

"Yes. I would tell you if it wasn't."

And my heart began pounding, her body before me, and I am now literally trembling. Temptation rising in my thoughts. How I wanted to touch her again. The feelings that were coming over me were overwhelming. "Can I. Now?"

My hand open, and palm up. Like I was begging. She looked down at herself and me, leaned back into the sofa. "Sure."

And surrendering herself to me, I began to once again draw my hands over her. Rubbing softly up and down her front, squeezing her breasts, caressing her shoulders, and down her arms. Her thin top moving to my touch, as I pushed the fabric around on her body. She lay like that with her head back on the cushion, looking at me, sighing and closing her eyes, a soft smile on her face. I ran my hand across her belly, over her navel, could feel the little indent there, and up over her breasts again. Squeezing and drawing my fingers around her nipples. Feeling her nipples tightening again. She felt so wonderful, her yielding body. Anything above the waist, I am thinking. I wanted to lay her down and stroke her back, take her top off, run my fingers through her hair. I rubbed my hand over her neck under her chin and across her collar bone, she simply leaning back in the sofa letting me. Running my hand down her sides I could feel each rib, I wanted to count every little crevice, dimple and curve on her body in that moment. I was in such a flight of fancy. Lost in feeling and desire. It had been so long.

"Mmmm." She stretched, "feels nice," she cooed to me, eyes on me now, encouraging me. I could feel her arousal. Soft sighs, and the movement of her body against my hand. Letting me stroke, touch, squeeze, caress.

I have no idea how long we were like that. This time she had not touched me. But I her. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glowed. I brushed the hairs from her cheek, and then we stopped, as if on a nonverbal command between us. The air was liquid and warm and I was hard, my cock was hard, and with subtle embarrassment I adjusted myself. She gave no notice.

The time had gotten so I needed to get ready to go.

I got up to gather my things, and she finished sweeping. As I put my coat on, she padded up to me barefoot with a big smile, "There, you look so much better Jimmy. I can see your lips now."

She put her hand to my chest and leaned in, so slow closing her eyes. I held her by the waist this time, running my hands up her side, over her ribcage with my thumbs pressing into her breasts as I held her to me, her lips pressed to mine. She lingered this time, slower and I let her, let her kiss me soft and full on the mouth. I wrapped my arms around her then and felt her chest press into me. I returned the kiss, and we let our lips close around one another. Her breasts now pressing into my chest, she was still up on tip toe. I let go and she stood back.

I could barely breathe.

Her cheeks glowed, and she was suddenly shy, turning away. "Have a nice day," looking back at me in her bare feet. Her smile, her lingering warmth.

I walked out of the house in a daze.

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Susan, a Guilty Mind and Hatching a Plan

My feelings over the next several hours cannot be conveyed.

First, an overwhelming general elation. There was this tremendous release, I believe, from a surge of testosterone that was now coursing through my body, a first in many many years. The feeling was so new to me, I wondered if I had actually been depressed. I kept looking at my hands, and remembering the feel of her flesh. But other parts of me were processing guilt and regret, and worry. What had I done? What if she were not fully honest with me? She may be disgusted with me. Of course she is going to say it is OK. What else to say, with the position of power I have she has no where to go, wants to stay in the States. Fearful of being sent back.

Guilt and worry led to thoughts of commitment on my part to never letting it happen again. It was wonderful, but a gross misjudgement. I had to convey this to Rachel, in no uncertain terms. That I had engaged in touching her the first time, one can show carelessness. But, to ask and engage that second time while sitting next to her on the sofa. It had all the making of intent, of 'guilty mind.'

What did she think of me now? Really think of me?

!!

As I rounded the corridor to my office, I almost ran right into Susan. Susan was a Fellow in my field, but a surgeon and not a researcher. We had worked together for many years, perhaps at least a decade.

"James!"

"Oh," suddenly aware of her there. "Yes." I felt as if she could read my mind.

Surprised at my simply saying yes, and nothing more, she proceeded with, "Hello." Standing and staring now at me. I was flustered at the contact as she stood right before me, and she noticed my discomfort. She was perhaps four of five years younger than me, a brunette with short brown hair; wearing a white coat, exactly as I always saw her. "You all right? You seem distracted."

"I'm just late."

"You're not! You are early. I didn't expect to see you for another hour."

I ran my hand through my hair. "Yes. Well...." Shit.

She was eying me now, "There's something different about you." I was truly positively glowing, physically I felt great. Was it all that obvious? It was my mind tormenting me not my body.

"Uh, yes, well my niece trimmed my beard this morning." I smiled trying to be nonchalant. "Like it." And settling down I began to move my thoughts back into the reality of my day, where I was. I felt like I was using my eyes for the first time.

She appraised me up and down. "Yes. That might be it. You just seem...distracted, more energy, than I've ever seen in you."

"Sorry."

"I kind of like it." She was smiling now. And I will add here that over the past several years Susan had displayed a consistent and high level of interest in me, and she at various times had not been subtle either. An interest that was held at bay due to me being in a period of mourning, but a mourning from which I suppose I have never fully emerged. She could have said I seemed happier, which at that moment was true. But I knew she would not. I was trying now to find my way around her, but she met my eyes and was keeping me in place, eying me up and down. Her cheeks flushed a little.

Was I going to leak testosterone now on every woman I met?

As I began to walk again she turned herself in beside me. "Say James." We were shoulder to shoulder now. "I've known you a long time, and we do not ever seem to do anything outside campus. What do you think about..."

I looked at her, and in a flash, realized this may be good. Susan. Yes. A way to deflect from Rachel, turn my thoughts. And I continued to listen with all these thoughts crashing about, cascading in my mind. No way she could have imagined my thoughts.

"Wouldn't it be nice to just go out, the two of us." Which I know she added because on other occasions she had tried to have a drink with me, or lunch, I tended to invite yet another colleague.

I ran my hand through my hair again, set my stuff down in my office. We had arrived at my office I realized and Susan was facing me again. Looking up at me expectant. We were like teenagers, nervous and the room was warm.

"Yes, lets do that, it would be nice. Very nice." I said with a smile.

Her eyes literally sparkled, and I noticed how pretty she was. A white lab coat does nothing for ones figure and she was not young, as I was not. She had a shapely figure, though with more weight. The kind of look a middle aged woman would have, but pretty eyes, and a narrow nose. Very pretty eyes as I looked into them, green. Something I had never noticed before.

"When?" And she continued with, "How about this weekend?"

"How about Sunday." I did not want to say tonight, and Saturday seemed to soon. I needed time for this. I needed to tell Rachel. Why? Why did I think that? Would she be mad at me? Why the HELL would I think that?

"Sunday has the possibility of me being busy in the evening. I have a patient that will be having some of their equipment adjusted. Saturday might be better, or Monday. I actually have some surgery both days, but can schedule to have the evening. I can drive over to your house and get you, if that would be all right."

"Saturday then." I said.

"We can go out to eat. Yes?"

"Yes."

And in a moment she was out the door, and I leaned back in my seat. Reveling in my body, and recoiling in my mind.

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Avoidance

The rest of the day went quickly. I knew I had a reprieve from Rachel because it was Friday and she was always out Friday nights. She may be home when I got home, and in realization of that, I stayed in my office a little later. At one point I got a text from her: 'WHEN YOU COMING HOME?' Did I really intend to miss her like this? I answered, 'DID NOT GET MY PAPERS DONE THIS MORNING.' Which was true. 'I WILL BE LATER.' I admit it, I was nervous. Did not know what to expect. She may be angry at me, I honestly did not know. I kept thinking about how I had fondled her, how she had felt, what she had said. The way her breasts felt, my hands roaming over her, the way she lay back, settled in the sofa. It was too much.

And what she had said!

'I'm yours from the waist up' and 'they're so small it doesn't matter.'

And I am thinking, they did not seem all that small.

Stop!!

So I got home late and felt relief at the empty house, a note on the table indicating where she was. I had a curfew for her of 11:30 which she assiduously followed so she did not need to provide any indication when she would be home. It would be then or a little earlier. And I also found myself going to bed earlier, again avoidance. Many times I was up when she got home on Friday night. I usually went to bed a little earlier than 11:30 but tonight I was in bed before ten, so if she had even come earlier I would be asleep.

I lay in bed going through the day, everything. Worried about Susan coming to the house on Saturday and Rachel here. What if something was said, what if?

I looked different today, Susan had said so. I smiled. I turned on my side, and fell asleep.

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Morning Tete a Tete