She gives me nearly a full minute to appreciate her incredibly intimidating appearance. Then she barges in uninvited. Stepping right up to me, she blatantly invades my personal space. The bare upper slopes of her leather-clad breasts brush my nose; and, without a word, she reaches down and boldly gropes my crotch. Feeling my throbbing erection, she finally deigns to speak to me.
“Look how hard you are!” she breathes down.
“College has made a whole new woman out of your babysitter, hasn’t it? Or maybe it just finally fully unleashed a potential your childhood spent under my power certainly helped develop.
“In any case, beginning tonight, we’re going to set about exploring that mutual potential to the very fullest. Now get me a fucking drink, boy! I want a double bourbon on the rocks!”
“Yes, ma’am,” I manage, the honorific issuing from me unbidden. I’m immediately unmanned and continue as obsequiously as I can.
“If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to the bar, DVD collection, and a fifty-eight inch high-definition plasma-screen TV.”
“Good boy,” my hulking neighbor purrs. Then she follows so close behind me I swear I can feel her breathing down the back of my neck as we mount the stairs and make our way to the master bedroom.
Once there she moves immediately to the couch I’d placed before the TV. She opens a small black handbag, lights up a joint, and picks up the list I’d printed out detailing the entire inventory of the DVDs that I’d either acquired or inherited. Meanwhile, I go to the bar and pour us a pair of Wild Turkeys.
Normally, I don’t drink hard liquor – there’s also a keg of Beck’s Dark on tap and that usually suits me. But given my former babysitter’s intimidating new appearance and attitude – which I’m now forced to admit was quite more than hinted at in her earlier incarnation as the only true authority in my life – I feel it’s best to ingratiate myself with her as much as possible. I return, bringing the bottle and ice bucket with me. I set them down, serve her whiskey, and right away she points out a title on the sheet.
“There: Aliens. The extended director’s cut. We’ll watch that.”
Dutifully, I retrieve the disk, insert it, and begin playback. Then I take my drink and join her on the couch, careful to leave a respectful space between us. Jen, however, has other ideas.
“Scoot over here, Danny. I won’t bite. At least not yet…”
I obey and right away she wraps a big strong arm about my shoulders. She pulls me up tight against her, my short, slight form dwarfed by her big voluptuous one.
“Now keep quiet,” she orders. “This is one of my favorite movies, and I’ve never seen the extended version. I don’t want to miss anything.”
I sit and remain dutifully silent, utterly blown away to be enfolded so by this huge, gorgeous older woman.
Her left breast is squashed against my shoulder, her body is oh-so big and warm, and the heady female smell of her is indescribably delicious. As sexually, romantically, and even human contact-deprived as I’ve always been, Jen has me in heaven already. I work steadily on my drink and make no demurral as she periodically freshens us both up, even though her body weight, experience, and overall tolerance dwarf mine. Then as the film progresses, and Sigourney Weaver’s Ripley character develops from an unsure peripheral role into an aggressive, dominating force and, finally, into an absolutely iconic action-movie protagonist, the similarly powerful female sitting next to me can’t help but violate her own order. Ever more emphatically, she extols Ripley’s perfect combination of motherly nurturing and ass-kicking aggression.
“Look at her! She makes the entire squad of highly-trained male soldiers look like pussy little wimps! The only one who can hold a candle to her is the only other female in the cast: the buffed-up Vasquez, who wields the biggest weapon and is the platoon’s most effective soldier. And, of course, the two men who are supposed to be in authority are the weakest links of all: the incompetent, ineffectual lieutenant and the treacherous, effeminate company man. God, I love this movie! It’s the one mainstream sci-fi action franchise that tells it like it is: with the women properly dominant and the males exposed as the weak, limited creatures they are!”
She goes on and on in this vein, more and more exposing and alluding to the radically feminist indoctrination she’s received while away at college. This is both unsettling and arousing to me, and ever more the latter as I get drunker. Self-deluding barriers begin to break down, and I’m force to recognize that it’s the air of superiority she’s had over me from a very impressionable age, more than her will-sapping beauty and monolithic size, that form the keystone of my attraction to her.
Still, it’s a little scary hearing her scathing talk and wondering what other radical new attitudes and appetites her years at college have unleashed in her. As unbearably horny as I am, and desperate to finally have sex with this icon of aggressive femininity, even being increasingly drunk isn’t enough to give me the courage to make the first move on her. As weak and insecure as the stereotypical male she constantly derides, I slump quietly against her, clutched in her one-armed embrace and quietly waiting to follow whatever lead she takes. Then finally the movie ends, and the evening’s real entertainment gets underway.
Ripley slays the monster, adopts the child fate has placed in her care, and the credits roll. My erstwhile babysitter squeezes me even tighter against her soft warm side then, and sighs with exquisite satisfaction.
“That was so spectacular. That movie never fails to fire me up. Thank you for the invitation tonight, Danny, and for having the wherewithal to indulge my rather particular tastes. I’m most pleased with you right now.”