In One Person

mouth—in less time than it took me to write this sentence. Yet, when I reached under her half-slip for
her
penis, she stopped me. “No—we’re not doing that,” she said.
    “I want to do everything,” I told her.
    “Of course you do, William, but you’ll have to do everything with someone else. It is not appropriate for a young man your age to do
everything
with someone my age,” Miss Frost told me. “I will not be responsible for your first time at trying
everything
.”
    With that, she put my penis back in her mouth; for the time being, she would not explain herself further. When she was still sucking me, I said: “I don’t think we had
actual
sex the last time—I mean the penetration part. We did something else, didn’t we?”
    “Talking is not very easily accomplished during a blow job, William,” Miss Frost said, sighing in such a way—while she lay down next to me, face-to-face—that I got the feeling this was probably curtains for the blow job, and it was. “You seemed to enjoy the ‘something else’ we did last time, William,” she said.
    “Oh, yes, I did!” I cried. “I was just wondering about the penetration part.”
    “You can wonder about it all you want, William, but there will be
no
‘penetration part’ with me. Don’t you see?” she asked me suddenly. “I am trying to
protect
you from ‘actual sex.’ At least a
little
,” Miss Frost added, smiling.
    “But I don’t want to be
protected
!” I cried.
    “I will not have ‘actual sex’ with an eighteen-year-old on my conscience , William. As for who you will become, I’ve probably been of too much influence already!” Miss Frost declared. She was certainly right about that, though she must have imagined she was being more theatrical than prophetic—and I didn’t yet know just how much of an “influence” (on the rest of my
life!)
Miss Frost would be.
    This time, she showed me the lotion she used—she let me smell it on her fingers. It had an almond fragrance. She didn’t straddle me, or sit on me; we lay sideways with our penises touching. I still didn’t see her penis, but Miss Frost rubbed her penis and mine together. When she rolled over, she took my penis between her thighs and pushed her buttocks against my stomach. Her half-slip was hiked up to her waist; I held one of her bare breasts in one hand, and her penis in the other. Miss Frost slid my penis between her thighs until I ejaculated into the palm of her hand.
    We seemed to lie in each other’s arms for the longest time afterward, but I realize that we couldn’t have been alone like that for nearly as long as I imagined; we truly
didn’t
have much time together. I think it was because I loved listening to her talk, and the sound of her voice, that I imagined the time as passing more slowly than it actually did.
    She drew me a bath, like the first time, but she still wouldn’t completely undress, and when I suggested that she climb into the big bathtub with me, she laughed and said: “I’m still trying to
protect
you, William. I wouldn’t want to risk
drowning
you!”
    I was happy enough that her breasts were bare, and that she’d let me hold her penis, which I still hadn’t seen. She’d gotten harder and bigger in my hand, but I had the feeling that even her penis was holding back—a little. I can’t explain this, but I felt certain that Miss Frost was simply not
allowing
her penis to get any harder or bigger; perhaps this was, in her mind, another way in which she was
protecting
me.
    “Does it have a
name
—having sex the way we did it?” I asked.
    “It
does
, William. Can you say the word
intercrural
?” she asked me.
    “Intercrural,” I replied, without hesitating. “What does it mean?”
    “I’m sure you’re familiar with the prefix
inter
, in this sense meaning ‘between,’ William,” Miss Frost answered. “As for
crural
, it means ‘of or pertaining to the leg’—between the thighs, in other words.”
    “I see,” I said.
    “It was favored by homosexual men in ancient Greece, or so I’ve read,” Miss Frost explained. “Not a part of my library-science studies, but I did get to spend a lot of free time in a library!”
    “What did the ancient Greeks like about it?” I asked her.
    “I read this long ago—I may have forgotten all the reasons,” Miss Frost said. “The from-behind part, maybe.”
    “But we don’t live in ancient Greece,” I reminded Miss Frost.
    “Trust me, William: It’s possible to