Chapter 4: Holly

Chapter 4

Holly

When I finally got around to contacting someone in my area, I picked the two most stunning women, and they were both named Holly. The first Holly was 29 years old with blonde hair, large breasts, a flat stomach, and saucer-shaped eyes. Three kids, divorced. The second Holly was 38 years old (actually 43, as I would later find out), with brown hair, a trim body, and eyes that smiled all on their own. One adult child, never married. I was 32, a half inch shorter than the first Holly, and 160 pounds. One kid, widower, missing a foot (I didn't put this in my profile).

The first Holly's second language was A.S.L., so I had an in. I wrote her a long message, talking about my work with Deaf children and saying that I loved her photos, that they made me want to become a photographer and take pictures of her. The second Holly was an Oxford-trained psychologist whose profile said, “Enough with the messages and 'flirts.' Tell me what you have in your kitchen.” I wrote a long message to her, explaining about the knives I bought, the various utensils, the way I cooked, and what I had in the refrigerator.

The first Holly got back to me almost immediately, much to my surprise. Due to dyslexia, she had atrocious grammar and spelling, which I will not attempt to replicate here. We messaged for a week and went out for dinner. To save on babysitting fees, I brought Trout to her house, where one of her roommates watched him, along with Holly's three children. She lived in a five-bedroom house with five roommates, including a hairy Deaf man who lived behind a stack of boxes in the living room. He came home and read a magazine while we were kissing and cuddling on the couch after dinner. Holly's other male roommates were talking about mixed martial arts.

It was all perfect except for a brief moment when I brought up politics at dinner: “I really like Barack Obama, but I wish he'd make his platform more clear.”

She said the worst thing anyone could say at that moment, “who's that?”

“The black guy running for President.”

“Oh, is that his name? I don't really follow current events.”

On the sofa, in between kisses, she opened up about her life. “You're the first person I've kissed since my wedding day.”

“You had three kids without kissing,” I asked.

“No, my second wedding. My first husband was a real asshole, but my second husband was a loser. We got in a fight after the wedding, and I never saw him again. I never filed the paperwork for our marriage, so I guess it doesn't count. Do you think I'm still married?”

“Not if you didn't file the paperwork,” I lied.

We whispered. She talked about the breasts of her two female roommates: “they totally sag. I mean, I have large breasts, but they're perky.”

“You have to show them to me now,” I said.

She smiled and took my hand, leading me to her bedroom, “okay, but you can't touch.” Trout and her two youngest were asleep on the bed. “Come into my bathroom. Sit on the toilet.”

In her shower, there were almost a dozen pairs of shampoo and conditioner. “How many people use this shower?”

“Just me, but I like different scents.” She was wearing jeans and a white tank top. She pulled the tank top off and undid her bra, exposing her breasts. “See?”

They were beautiful. I wanted to ask if they were real, but as my mouth hung open, all I could do was stare at her, her breasts, her face, her stomach, the outline of her legs under her jeans.

“Oh, shit,” she said, grabbing my erect penis. “I can't let you out of here with that.” I went to caress her breast, but she said, “ah, ah, ah, remember? No touching.” She pulled my pants and underwear down and put hair gel in her hand. She began rubbing my cock and telling me her story.

“I was raised in the Urantia Church. It was really strict. When I was seventeen, I was married off to the Deaf son of one of the leaders. I had to study A.S.L. every day so I could communicate with him. His name was Mitch, but I always had to call him 'Mister.' If I didn't do what he wanted the right way, he'd give me one of these,” she said, making a fist with her left hand. “He'd always accuse me of having impure thoughts, of secretly masturbating when he wasn't around. We never had sex. I'd just take care of him with my hand or my mouth.

“He killed my dogs,” she said as a sad expression came across her face, “all eight of them. I thought I was just doing a bad job of raising them, and they kept dying, but he was poisoning them. Finally he told me, and he raped me, only he wouldn't think of it as rape. He thought that was just how you made babies, and pretty soon, I had a baby of my own. I gave birth on the compound. I don't know what we would've done if there'd been complications. After Josiah was born, it was back to taking care of Mister, with my hand and my mouth.

“I really haven't done this to a whole bunch of guys,” she said, pleadingly, “and I don't want to do this again. See, I am married, I think. To that second guy, the loser, and anyway, it's a sin to do this before marriage. I just...”

She concentrated, squeezing harder, pumping faster, and I had an orgasm, a big one, a messy one all over her breasts.

She laughed, saying, “jeez, you're not taking care of yourself. Look at this mess. When was the last time you... you know?”

“About a week ago.”

“A week? No wonder.” She kissed the side of my penis, and it grew hard. “Again?” She sighed, and put it in her mouth. There was no more story to tell. Her face... her face. I could look at that face forever. I heard the pump of the hair gel bottle, and soon I felt a finger enter my anus. She did it without asking, as if that's what a blow job was like. I'd heard about stimulating the prostate this way, and she had it down to a tee. I didn't last five minutes.

After the second orgasm, I relaxed on the toilet seat, pulling my pants up. She washed her mouth and hands in the sink before putting her bra and top back on.

“We can't do this again,” she pleaded. “It's not right under God and the Book of Urantia. I'm sorry I did that, getting your hopes all up. It just seemed second nature with you, comfortable, taking care of you. Maybe we can get married some day, but I have to go back to Trent, my second husband. It's right and all.”

“Can I get one last kiss,” I asked, and she kissed me passionately, pressing her breasts up against me. Trout and I drove home, and Holly and I have been friends ever since.