Escapades of an Erotic Spy - Part 1 A Spy is Born (4 page)

Next door, the diffused light of a small
table lamp shone through the red curtains of the Eldridge parlor
windows. Things seemed pretty quiet over there.

Where's Beau? Is he in the parlor? Should I
go over and knock on the window, just to let him know I'm waiting?
No! Absolutely not! If I were seen, it would ruin everything. I
just need to sit and be patient. He'll be along shortly.

11:45. At least, that was my estimate since
I wasn't carrying a timepiece. Shivering, I thought to myself how
long it had been since I'd seen anyone on the streets. Wherever the
late-night travelers were headed, they must be there by now. No one
was still roaming about at this hour. Everyone was now where they
were supposed to be—except Beau.

Just wait. He'll be here soon.

11:50.

Where is he? He is coming, isn't he? He
wouldn't just leave me sitting here, would he? On New Year's Eve?
On my birthday? Oh, not Beau! Not my beautiful Beau! Please don't
tell me I've been stood up, on this of all nights! I've been
waiting so long! Oh, Beau! Where are you? How could you! How…

I heard a door opening and
closing quickly. It came from next door—the Eldridges. I froze, not
with cold, but with fear. From my dark hiding spot, I strained to
see. A moment later, there he was. Standing there on the porch. Out
of breath. Wrapped in a bulky, brown winter coat, and looking
gorgeous.
Beau.

"Hope you weren't waiting long." He
proceeded to the front door and fumbled with the key. "Getting the
girls to bed was harder than I expected. I finally had to promise
them they could stay up till midnight if they stayed in bed, kept
their door closed, and went to sleep immediately after. Told 'em
not to come wish me 'happy anything' because I was going to bed
right then."

The door was open, and Beau motioned for me
to enter. I did. It was dark inside, so I didn't venture far into
the room for fear of bumping into, or worse, breaking something. A
second later, Beau locked the door behind us. My heart was
pounding, but I felt better just knowing we were out of sight of
any passersby who might happen along the street.

I suppose, to accommodate the cat, the
McMahons had left the heat partially on. Still, the room felt cold.
Yet, by comparison to the outdoors, it was temperate.

"I'll turn on just this little lamp." Beau
was familiar enough with the layout of the house to negotiate his
way through the darkness to a small table lamp, and he switched it
on. The meager glow of the bulb was enough for me to see that I was
standing in a tastefully decorated room. Lots of nicely upholstered
chairs, elegant wall sconces, heavy wood bookshelves, and the like.
Judging only by the richness of the room's furnishings, I guessed
the McMahons had even more money than the Eldridges.

It suddenly occurred to me
as I stood there that I had just done something in the McMahons'
house that I had never done in the Eldridges' house—I had entered
through the front door. Something about that made me a little
uneasy. Maybe because it served as a reminder of the difference in
social status between Beau and me.
Did I
belong there?
Well, of course, I wasn't
supposed to be in the neighbors' house under any circumstances. No
question there. But was I the type of girl who belonged with this
boy?

"You're so quiet." Beau's
smile was both warm and calming. Whatever jitters I had gave way to
the contented feeling of simply being in his presence. Whether or
not I belonged there, I
wanted
to be there.

"I guess I don't know what I should say," I
responded.

"You don't have to say anything, I suppose.
You're here. That's all that matters."

"I'm glad to be here."

"Me, too."

We looked at each other for a few seconds,
uncertain what to do next. Finally, Beau began unbuttoning his
coat.

"May I take your coat?" He sounded so
gentlemanly. That was exactly how I had always imagined a man
should ask a lady.

My coat had more buttons than his, so it
took me longer to slip mine off, but once I did, he was right there
to relieve me of it and hang it on a coat rack next to his own. In
the dim light, it appeared Beau was wearing chocolate brown pants
and a white dress shirt that had been starched and neatly ironed. I
wore a silky, Alice blue dress with gold colored buttons and a
delicate frill about the neck, waist, sleeves, and near
ankle-length hem. It was the finest I owned, and typically brought
out only for the most special of occasions. I could think of no
occasion more special than this one.

"I like your dress," Beau said.

"Thank you." I was so pleased he liked
it.

He took a breath as he stared. "You look so
beautiful standing there."

At that moment, I felt beautiful—more
beautiful than I had ever been in my life. I was in a private
place, wearing my prettiest dress, in the company of the man I
loved more deeply than life itself. How could any girl in such a
position not be a ravishing sight?

Something brushed against
my leg and caused me to let out a squeak of fright.
What the…?

"Mr. Whiskers," Beau chuckled as he pointed
toward the tabby near my feet. It was the McMahon's cat, come to
cozy up to the visitors in his home. Beau scooped up the cat with
one hand and gave his head a rub behind the ears. "He's very
friendly. Aren't you, Mr. Whiskers?" Beau put down the cat. "Hey,
ever seen a real Revolutionary War musket? They've got one on the
wall over here."

Beau encouraged me to follow him deeper into
the room, toward the fireplace. Above the mantle, mounted on a
wooden plaque, was a long, mostly rusted weapon of a bygone age.
Beau explained to me about the gun's significance during the
American Revolution, and how the loading differed from that of
contemporary firearms. He also explained how the long-range
inaccuracy of the round balls it fired led to the command that a
soldier shouldn't shoot until he sees the whites of his enemy's
eyes. These were things Beau learned in his American history class
at the university, and he seemed anxious to share them with someone
who'd never been to college. Although I can't say I'm enthusiastic
about the history of firearms, just being there and listening to
Beau speaking to me was more than enough to keep me enthralled.

Somewhere in the room, a clock chimed. It
was midnight. He turned to face me directly. Beau and I were
standing only inches from each other. He looked nervous. I breathed
heavily.

"Happy New Year," I whispered.

"Happy birthday," he whispered back.

I felt Beau's hands touch my arms at the
elbows, then slide upwards about halfway to my shoulders. There,
his fingers tightened. I felt my body go limp in his grasp. As he
held me, he inched his face closer. His approaching blue eyes were
hypnotizing. I closed my own eyes and held my breath. A moment
later, I felt his lips on mine. It was the kiss—the kiss I had
dreamed of, longed for. It was actually happening. I tingled clear
down to my toes.

Oh, Beau! My beautiful, beautiful Beau! Take
me, my darling!

Eventually, the kiss ended. Beau turned off
the table lamp and wordlessly led me by the hand to a stairway just
to the right of the front door. I followed obediently. My obedience
was in every sense the pure eagerness of desire. I was willing. I
was yearning. I wanted this more than anything else in the
world.

Lead me, my love! Have me for your own!

We tiptoed up the stairs to the second floor
and down a corridor. My boy had a destination in mind. We passed
several open doors—the children's bedrooms, I presumed—until we
arrived at one where the door was closed. Beau turned the knob and
led me inside the room. He shut the door behind us and turned on a
small lamp atop a bureau. I could tell immediately we were in the
McMahons' master bedroom. The room's ornamentation was a
combination of the femininity of the woman of the house matched
with the virility of the man who was deemed to be the master of
this home. Dainty little jars and canisters sat across the room
from mahogany racks for shoes and ties. Between them was a bed—the
most beautiful bed I'd ever seen. Crisp white sheets stretched from
corner to corner amidst four wooden posts that jutted almost to the
ceiling. Folded halfway down the mattress was a thick green and
white quilt that looked luxurious, warm, and inviting.

There, Beau! Take me there!

Beau sat on the edge of the bed and beckoned
me to sit next to him. I positioned myself only inches from his
left. That distance was quickly reduced to zero as he skirted his
body until his hip was firmly pressed against mine. The feel of our
lower anatomies touching, even if only at the hip, was a sensual
delight. It felt naughty and incredibly erotic. What's more, it was
thrilling to know it was only the beginning of even greater
pleasures about to happen.

I'm ready, Beau! I've never been more
ready!

He placed his left hand atop my right, which
was resting on my leg just above my knee. I splayed my fingers
slightly to allow his masculine fingers to intermingle between
mine. By doing that, I also made space for his fingertips to
wriggle downward to my leg. Even through the folds of my skirt, a
man touching my leg sent shivers through me.

If only that skirt weren't there! Keep
going, Beau!

With his right hand, he reached across,
gently touched my left shoulder, and twisted my upper body toward
him.

Yes, Beau! Yes!

Without awaiting further incentive, I closed
my eyes and leaned in. Instantly, his lips were on mine. We
devoured each other—lips and tongues smacking hungrily at each
other. His right hand slid up toward my neck, then the back of my
head. I reached out with my left hand and found his muscular chest
a willing target of my eager groping. His left hand slithered up my
thigh to my waist. I wriggled my right hand around his mid-section
and cradled his back. I felt his torso lean backward, and I
followed his lead. Except for our overhanging lower legs, we were
now lying on the bed. The kissing never ceased. The fondling grew
more frenetic.

Oh, touch me! Touch me everywhere!

I heard the rustling sound of my skirt being
gathered. He was pulling it up to gain access to my legs. And then
he was there—rubbing my knee, my upper leg, my thigh. He was
feeling my drawers. There was nothing more under that. Nothing
other than me, that is.

Damn these clothes! I want them off!

Somehow my left hand found its way past the
buttons of his shirt, and I could feel his hairless chest beneath
his thin undershirt.

More! More!

A hand brushed my breast. I shivered.

Oh, do it again!

The hand circled about my
upper chest and then came back to rest on my bosom. There it
stayed. Then the fingers began to clench. I could postpone the
inevitable no longer. I reached toward my collar and began
unbuttoning the dress. Beau saw what I was doing, and he quickly
withdrew his hands, sat up, and began unfastening his shirt. He had
it off so fast. I was still undoing my buttons when he whipped off
his undershirt and sat back down, bare chested. He licked his lips
and untied his shoes as I stood to slide off the bodice and to undo
the various fasteners about the skirt. So
complex, women's clothing!
The pumps
I was wearing were easily undone and slipped off my feet. Now came
the stockings. White cotton and bulky, they were donned exclusively
for the warmth they provided on the walk over. Now they seemed so
unattractive and out of place. I sat back on the bed where I
unhooked and pealed them off as quickly as I could. That left the
camisole and my drawers.

I looked at Beau. He was unfastening his
pants. There was no question they'd be around his ankles in
seconds. I didn't want to be left behind. I turned away from my
young man, clutched the bottom of my camisole, and without pausing
even a second to think about it, pulled it up past my belly, my
breasts, and over my head. It was off. My other clothes were piled
on the floor at my feet. I saw no reason not to send the camisole
in the same direction. Then I reached for my last remaining
garment, raised my ass to provide room, and yanked my drawers down
past my knees, past my feet, depositing them on top of the pile of
clothing that only a couple of minutes ago I had been wearing. I
was now nude.

Taking a deep breath, I
turned back toward Beau, seated on the bed only a foot or so away.
He, too, was naked. And
whiz-bang!—
what a site! His
shoulders were broad. His arms so muscular it looked almost as
though he could pick up and throw a Model T. His chest was smooth
and firm, his belly slim and tight, his legs sturdy. And, right in
the middle of it all—to the glory of all things manly—was his cock.
Thick and long and standing at full attention—a magnificent
erection of, I'm guessing, somewhere between nine and ten inches.
It sprouted from a fair-hued crop of pubic hair and sat atop an
ample pair of balls. I had always imagined Beau would be well
equipped, but the actual sight of it took my breath
away.

I needed no further enticement to reach for
his manhood. I put my hands flat against either side of the base of
his glorious cock and allowed my fingers to stroke outward to the
tip.

Oh, my god! I actually touched his dick!

Beau had his own target. He grabbed my
dangling breasts, his fingers cupping their underside, and
squeezed.

"Oh, boy, have you got nice tits!" he
panted. "So big!"

"You're big, too." I let my left hand wander
downward to feel his meaty balls. I rolled them about.