Elise Ch. 06

Literotic asexstories – Elise Ch. 06 by BillyTripp,BillyTripp
“Elise,” Chapter 6 — no sex

Sandy

I did a little bit of thinking in the last part of the week, prior to seeing Elise again at the volleyball tournament on Saturday — trying to hit “reset” a little on our friendship. Thinking about her very unusual upbringing, and the ways that, despite her maturity, perceptiveness, and fierce autonomy, it could make her dangerously susceptible to the attentions of strangers, particularly men like me who could be said to have somewhat nefarious motives. She so obviously had a craving for intelligent adult interaction, as a result openly welcoming becoming closer to me after such a brief time, that it was frightening to think that, unknowingly and despite my best intentions, I might be unfairly exploiting that vulnerability to suit my own needs and purposes.

I had done all I could so far to allow us to progress at her pace and comfort, and as far as I could see was doing a decent job of it. But I knew that, for her sake, I needed to redouble my efforts, lest she let herself get trapped in something for which she was not ready, open to, or fully informed about. What I was hoping to lead her into was a very adult thing, the kind of kink that even those with a lot of sexual experience could often mess up. She was very inexperienced in that area, or so I assumed. I’d have to get a better read on that before making a final decision on her suitability as a sub for a much older, more experienced man.

***************

It was with this mindset that I headed to Zirconia gym for the Saturday tournament. I drove this time, as I wanted to have an excuse to continue any private conversation I was having with Elise past the end of the day’s activities, if it came to that.

I didn’t know her team’s routine for the matches in which it wasn’t involved, so I just took my normal seat in the bleachers and waited for things to develop. I got the feeling that, as far as she was free to do so, Elise would try to sit with me as much as possible during those times.

I saw from the line-up for the day, that the Zephyrs would play the second, fourth, and the sixth and final match. Sure enough, just after the first match began, I saw Elise, resplendent as usual in her uniform and warmup, heading up toward me.

When she arrived, sitting next to me, I said, “Hi beautiful girl, how are things?” She quickly looked my way with a smile, then back away. “Great. Glad you’re here. It’s nice to have a rooting section of my own. Not used to that at all.”

“Well, if no one else wants to be, it falls to me. And I’m not just talking about volleyball. Because I’m not just a Zephyr fan, I’m an Elise Madrigal fan, first and foremost.”

In her typical direct way, she responded, “Why do I want to kiss you every time you say something nice like that? Must be because your saying them is something new to me.”

I replied, “Well, you better restrain yourself on that here. It might give folks something to talk about. I know how much you want to avoid that.”

“Ha. I already handled that. Thursday at practice, one of my teammates asked me who that was that I left with, after the match the afternoon before. I told her it was my Uncle Sandy, who just moved to town.”

Chuckling, I countered, “‘Uncle’ Sandy, huh? I’m going to have to get used to being referred to that way. I’m actually not one in real life.” My always devious mind was thinking that ‘uncle’ was close, but the wrong sibling. What I wanted her to call me was ‘Daddy.’ Perhaps that would happen in due course. It was my fondest fantasy at this point in my existence. “Some cover story you concocted there, babygirl.”

Elise looked at me funny for a moment, before saying, “Coach wants us down there as a team by the middle of the second set of each game before ours. So I won’t be up here for long this time.”

“Quite all right. I have all day, and apparently so do you.”

“So what do you want to talk about in the meantime?”, she asked.

I had a question I thought I knew the answer to, but I asked it anyway. “When I was asking you about the people in your life the other day, I forgot one important one. Boyfriends.”

“No, never. I look at how the boys act in my classes at school. I know what they’re trying to do — attract attention, make it look like they’re big and important, and all just to get in girls’ pants. All that stuff just gives me the opposite impression of them. Small and immature. I honestly never thought I’d get along with any of them. Add to that the fact that I think I intimidate some of them, either by the distance I keep, my silence, or that they’ve heard about that one little incident in middle school, the one I told you about. They seem to want nothing to do with me. And to be honest, the feeling’s mutual.”

This confirmed what I had suspected. “So what’s your plan for romantic attachments with men in your age group?”

In response, Elise gave out with another of her cute little harrumphs, which came out as an exaggerated ‘huh’. “There ARE no plans. And unless the men in college are a lot more mature than the boys in high school, there won’t be. I have high standards, and I don’t very well tolerate those who fall short of them. I’d rather be what used to be called a ‘spinster’ all my life, than to compromise that much.”

I decided to be a little daring, but I needed to know. “Well, how about girls, then?”

She didn’t seem to be affected at all by the question, as if she’d heard it a hundred times before. “Nope,” she answered matter-of-factly. “No interest. Although my family is starting to wonder, I think. You know — just turned 18 and never been on a date, not even to a prom or a school dance. And playing these girls’ sports. I don’t think they’re homophobic in any way, but put yourself in their shoes. Wouldn’t you wonder?”

“Yeah, maybe, but I think in their shoes I’d have talked with you enough to have a pretty good idea which way you thought you swung.”

“Well, I’m afraid that’s just one of the many things in my life about which they’ve chosen not to engage much with me.”

I shook my head at that. I honestly felt sorry that she had always had the home life she had. I quickly moved on from that. “You mean to say that no one has even asked you to prom or a school dance?”

“Oh, a couple of times. But I never accepted, mostly because I didn’t feel a connection of any kind with the boy who asked, but also because I just thought I wouldn’t have a good time.”

“So does that mean you’re not open to romantic attachments at present?”

“Oh, I’m open to them. But it looks like, if there is one, it’ll have to be with a grown man. Someone who’s older, someone who can keep up with me on multiple levels.”

“Well dear, I admire that you won’t settle. So many make a grave mistake by doing just that. I’m glad I never did, myself.”

She shifted position to face me. “That reminds me, you were going to tell me about yourself.”

So, for the next ten or fifteen minutes, I did, covering the high points: my happy marriage to Beth, cut tragically short; my daughter Rachel and how proud I was of her; my background and working career; and my retirement and move to Blanksville. Elise listened carefully, putting in a comment here and there. I was just about done when she interrupted, “Sorry to cut in, but I have to get down there to join the team.”

As it appeared that the first match was being handily decided in straight sets, I nodded. She didn’t have much time, it appeared. “See you later. Good luck”, I said as she scrambled her way down the bleachers, negotiating the rows of bench seats on those long, sleek legs of hers with considerable dexterity.

***************

It looked like an easy time of it for Zirconia in its first match of the day. The team won the first set easily, and was leading in the second, until a series of unforced errors and mis-hits handed their opponent the second set. The Zephyrs got it back together and won the third set and the match. Afterward, there was a short team meeting, which I could certainly understand after their mid-match lapse in concentration, and then Elise rejoined me in the bleachers.

As she sat next to me, she groaned out “Well, that was less than outstanding, wasn’t it?” I had my stock response to that: “Well, it’s a W. They can’t all be pretty.”

“Right. Trying to keep it in perspective, as you put it.”

So, as the third match started, we got back to talking about me. I went a little more into my dear departed wife, Beth, and what made her great and the perfect partner for me. As I was talking about the time we first met, and our relationship prior to our marriage, Elise suddenly asked, “Sandy, was Beth your submissive?”

You can certainly say I was taken aback at the question. Instead of immediately answering, I considered where we were, in the middle of the bleachers at a volleyball tournament at a public high school, other fans in reasonably close proximity to us. I glanced back, seeing a large empty spot in the top corner of the bleachers to our left, and said “Elise, babygirl, let’s go sit up there in the corner, OK?”

She understood immediately, and together we moved up to the new spot. When we were seated, I asked her, keeping my voice down, even though no one could hear us anyway, “Baby, whatever possessed you to ask such a question?”

Elise must have thought the question was out of line and had offended me, for she lowered her head, mumbling “Sorry,” so I could barely hear her.

I reached under her downcast chin with my left index finger, nudging her head up to face me, as I replied, “No, little girl, no need to be sorry; it’s quite all right. I’m not offended in the least, and I don’t mind answering and discussing it as much as you want. I really was curious as to how you came to ask that question. Could you please explain that for me?”

A bit of a nervous expression clouded Elise’s face. “The other night, before we parted, you called me ‘babygirl’. I had seen that term before, in romance novels and movies, but had never heard it used in real life. So when I got home later, I looked up the word online, reading up on it. I confirmed that it’s an affectionate expression commonly used by male dominants to refer to their female submissives, usually in a sexual context. Is that about right?”

“Yes, Elise honey, it is.”

“So you were calling me a name that a Dom would call his sub in a sexual relationship?”

“Yes. I was.”

“Why?”

This girl was truly a quick study. I couldn’t believe how sharp and perceptive she was. She had connected some dots, made an educated guess, and come alarmingly close to hitting the jackpot. I had to stop underestimating her, and suddenly realized that, in an intellectual sense, I’d better start treating her truly as an equal.

“Because, baby, during sex I was a Dom all through my marriage to Beth, and she was my sub. We were together for 40 years, 38 of them married, and this arrangement made us happy with one another every day of that 40 years. The expression, one I used with her thousands of times, is one I associate with the best times of my life, times I miss very much now.”

“And you called me ‘babygirl’ because you thought I could be your new sub?”

As forthrightly as I could manage, I answered, “I thought it might be possible, yes. I have hope of that happening, to be honest with you.”

“I don’t know what to say to that, Sandy. This is all new to me. Sex itself, at least with others, is all new to me. I have lots of questions I’d like to ask you. Would you answer all of them honestly for me? I’m legally an adult now. And mentally and emotionally, I certainly think I am, too. I can handle the answers, whatever they are.”

“To the best of my ability, sweetie. I have a feeling you’re quite possibly one of the few young ladies your age on the face of this Earth who can indeed handle the answers. I’m sorry if I’ve underestimated that — your ability to understand, that is.”

Elise looked at the match down on the court, action that we had been completely ignoring, and then at the scoreboard. “Gosh, it’s 7-5 in the second set. Time for me to get going. Meet you right back up here afterward, OK?” She pointed down to the spot at which we were sitting.

“Absolutely. I’m going to move down to get a better look at my baby–,” and stopped myself suddenly.

“Aw, that’s OK. You can call me ‘babygirl’ if you want — Daddy. I think I like that idea.”

I felt dizzy for a second at her use of that word — DADDY — and it must have shown on my face. Her satisfied smile told me she knew she had gotten to me. Still smiling, she started down, turning around to say softly, “I’ll be back. Daddy.”