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My Dream of Jeannie-
It is said that a girl never really forgets her first ‘Love’. Sadly, that adage may still hold true even if her love is not returned. I can’t speak for the rest of humanity, but as for me? Well… let’s just say that statement has special meaning.
I am a woman who is older than most and younger than some, but my passion for love and life has not diminished over the years. I don’t make the reference to my age so I can claim some venerable position among the lovelorn – I well remember what it was like to be young and full of promise! And I have since found a love so strong that it leaves me breathless! I simply refer to my age to give some credence to my original statement, that even with a lifetime worth of experiences, a girl never forgets her first true love. At least I haven’t.
Her name was Barbara. Barbara Eden.
This all happened when I was a much younger woman – a girl, really. I had just turned 18 and was a senior in Highschool when Phil and Barbara moved into my neighborhood. It was at the beginning of April, and I was babysitting for them by the second weekend of their arrival. They turned into my Friday regulars as I watched their two boys, with the occasional ‘overnighter’ as long as I had my father’s permission. And although the Barbara Eden I knew wasn’t the famous television actress, the many hours spent watching reruns of the old NBC sit-com after meeting her filled my imagination.
My Barbara was 41, married to an accountant and not an astronaut, had long wavy brown hair instead of blonde, and was not quite as tall – at least she didn’t seem as tall from what I could gather by watching the television show. But like the actress whose name she shared, Barbara had an absolutely curvaceous figure and dressed to show it off.
Strangely, after the first few times sitting for them, I never saw much of Mr. Eden. He seemed like a nice enough man, but Barbara never really talked about him much except to say he was gone on a business trip. It was always her I met at the door and always her who called for any last-minute arrangements.
I grew up in a conservative household and led what could be generously called a sheltered life. I’d have to say that my understanding about life, love and relationships was not very worldly and generally my feelings were internalized; I was always just going to get married and be a homemaker. So, after graduating, I had no real skills and no real plans to move away. Barbara called on me more and more frequently until she was my only real income – something my mother found appealing because she didn’t have to worry about getting me around and always knew where to find me. I liked the extra money I earned, even though I got tired of telling my friends I couldn’t go out with them because I was babysitting the Eden boys again.
As I became a regular fixture in Barbara’s household, we grew closer and closer. I’d tell her of my abortive attempts at dating, the latest gossip from my friends, and even of my brother’s antics while learning how to drive and my father’s wild-eyed look as he stepped out of the car. In turn, Barbara would listen attentively, laughing with genuine mirth or looking grave as my stories spun out.
Barbara had a care-free and easy attitude about life. She gave me advice on dating that my mother never could. She let me know that some things were for fun and others for love. She taught me to know the difference between the two, at least as far as she saw it. She taught me that how I dress – and more importantly, how I act, could determine the outcome. To put it succinctly, she was miraculous. She taught me that I was in charge. It was a glorious feeling. She opened my eyes. Opened them not just to what was, but to what could be. She treated me like an adult, and I loved her for that alone.
One thing Barbara always did was attend lots of parties. It didn’t matter what the occasion was – Barbara had lots of friends and went to lots of parties. It was always me she called on to watch the boys when these events took place. In my mind, I felt she truly wanted me. Of course, by that time, I would arrive early. Sometimes when I had nothing to do, I would show up hours before she really needed me.
She didn’t seem to mind.
Barbara had a way of making me feel special, of sharing intimate moments no matter how benign. I bahis siteleri chatted with her as she applied make-up – plopping down on her bed as she sat in front of the mirror. She had the fullest lips that just begged to be kissed by the applicator, eyes that were somehow more expressive with the expert daub of a little mascara, hair that, once brushed and tamed, turned itself into a coif that fit perfectly with the outfit she was wearing. It was – and still is – a magic that I envied and have yet to duplicate.
It may be a sign of my cluelessness back then, but overnight parties for her were the norm. It would sometimes flip-flop between our two houses on where I stayed with the boys, but on this day, Barbara didn’t hesitate to ask my parents if I could spend the weekend at her house. Unsurprisingly, my parents agreed. Barbara took pains to make sure I was equipped to have a good time, giving me the run of the house and laying out snacks, drinks, and any special instructions. I usually kept her boys entertained with games and puzzles when they weren’t demolishing everything with their construction trucks or hunting all manner of make-believe bad guys.
On this night, after the boys had gone to bed and I was lazing upstairs in her room watching television, Barbara called to ask how they were doing. She was only checking on them, of course, but not before talking to me. I felt alive to be so involved, so important.
I distinctly remember flopping on the bed after hanging up, the television’s muted drone in the background, the light casting dancing shadows on the ceiling. I longed for the time Barbara and I spent alone, when she was not entertaining friends – like that time she sat before the mirror getting herself ready. In my fantasies, I let my imagination wander. I wanted to be just like her.
Standing, I closed her bedroom door to use the full-length mirror behind it. I turned on the light and gazed a long time at my image. As always, I was dissatisfied with my appearance. My body was too thin, my face not pretty, my breasts too small, my hips not full. I wanted to be as curvy and beautiful as Barbara. It didn’t matter that my mother told me I was special, or that my father told me I have beauty enough to crack the hearts of men. They were my parents after all.
I checked on the sleeping boys again, my heart racing at what I was about to do. Returning to Barbara’s bedroom, I stripped myself naked, standing before the mirror as I ran my hands over my breasts and belly. I wanted to be sexy – sexy like Barbara. I toyed with my nipples – pinching them, pulling at the darker nubs until they were stiff and tingling. Alternately holding and squeezing each breast with one hand, I slid the other hand down over my belly to the mound of my sex, probing the contours with my fingers, the tips pushing along the soft lips – pushing past the folds and into the interior as my other hand continued to tease and squeeze my breast.
My fingers moved, the insides felt wet and hot, the flesh soft to the touch as I masturbated in Barbara’s room. My fingers moved again, eyes fixed on my image in the mirror as I began a slow sliding of my fingers in and out of my sex. I groaned aloud, closing and opening my eyes in turn to stare at my face in the mirror, watching my fingers continue their slow movements.
I turned away to kneel on all fours as arousal thrummed through me. A light film of sweat covered my face and body, shivering slightly even though it felt a million degrees in the room. On my knees with my head down on the floor, I slid a hand between my thighs and began to finger myself again. This was a new position I had recently discovered, and one I found I liked.
It was slow and delicious, then hard and intense when I moved my fingers and hand in a piston-like motion. I felt my hair; the wayward tufts tickling my palm as I reached down. I was incredibly aroused, but I couldn’t bring myself to look over my shoulder and into the mirror again. First, the fingers were inside me, then outside again to find my clitoris. I pinched… pulled… rubbed myself to a frenzy until the climax overwhelmed my senses.
I started breathing again, but I know what brought me to orgasm was the crazy notion that if I did this in her house… no, not just her house, her bedroom! That since I did it there, we would somehow be more connected.
I canlı bahis siteleri was so naïve, but that’s all I could think to do as Barbara consumed more and more of my thoughts.
It was Halloween weekend when I realized I was in love with her. With Barbara’s inspiring me, I’d just convinced my parents to let me enroll and take some college courses for the next semester. I felt I was ready for anything. So when I say love, I’m not talking of an adolescent crush where I think the woman is beautiful and fun to be around. I’m talking about a life-altering love where I thought I could spend the rest of my days in happy bliss. It was hard to admit, but she had that kind of effect on me.
The weather was perfect. A crisp afternoon, the sky a clear blue, the air sweet and fresh. I always enjoyed autumn because it usually seemed more about the renewal of life than any other season. Everything about autumn spoke to me.
My family usually planned a low-key gathering with costume prizes for us around Halloween weekend, but this time, my mother and I found ourselves alone. Robert, my brother, had signed up for the military and my father took him on a camping trip – just the two of them. I guess it was for some ultra-secret Father/Son hunting in the woods as neither one talked about it much. My mother and I found ourselves at loose ends until Barbara called to ask if we would like to come over to her house, since she was throwing a party on Saturday night.
As my mother and I stepped into her house to mingle, I felt cramped. The house was full, with about 30 people in all. And every one of them an adult. I first saw that the men and women who attended the party were dressed in a variety of costumes, from Abe Lincoln and Uncle Sam to werewolves and vampires and witches – the fake blood and rubber knives sticking from them sending a shiver of apprehension through me.
The trick-or-treating had been done the night before, but Barbara still had candy set out in bowls made from plastic skulls and a punch on the kitchen table that was the color of midnight. Candles were everywhere, casting flickering shadows on the fake webbing that was strung throughout the house.
I also noticed that not all of the partygoers were dressed so darkly. There were doctors and nurses, Roman emperors dressed in togas, firemen and even a few I couldn’t place. More importantly to me, I was the only ‘kid’ there. Oh sure, Barbara’s sons were darting through the throng of people, squealing madly when they got a bit of candy. But as far as invited guests, I was the only girl my age there and felt distinctly out of place in my stupid princess costume, knowing – just knowing – that everyone was looking at me and wondering why I was there.
And then I saw her.
She was dressed in, so help me, a complete genie outfit; veils, sandals, and pantaloons – the color-clash of the various fabric only heightening her beauty. She had an elaborate blonde wig with sparkling nets and clasps to keep the waves in place, along with ribbons tied on her upper arms that trailed behind her softly as she moved.
She was beautiful. She was a goddess.
Barbara came over to me then, noticing my arrival.
And just like that, I suddenly felt at ease. If the one person I could ever hope to mingle with at this party sought me out… how bad could it be? My nervousness quelled; my jitters vanished. This was Barbara, after all.
“Hey Kreen!” she said, tumbling into me, pressing my lower back against the edge of the kitchen island. She tried to plant a kiss in my cheek but missed abysmally.
“Whoops! Sorry Pincesss”, she said with a giggle.
I was shocked; the tangible feeling of her breasts pushing against my own sending unknown tremors through me. I could barely understand what she was saying. I belatedly pieced together her comment, pretty sure she was referring to my costume a second ago. Maybe? I had to keep my hands on her hips to steady her. She was drunk.
Suddenly, I was scared and even more anxious that before. People were watching. I looked in her eyes, almost willing her to notice my discomfort about this whole thing. Barbara seemed to sober then.
“I need help.” Barbara said. “Please help me… keep me company tonight.”
I swallowed hard before glancing back down. I only nodded.
I watched her then; canlı bahis intently, obsessively for the rest of the night. I was her constant companion, refilling her glass or walking with her to the bathroom… it didn’t matter. We shared touches, looks, eyerolls and a general closeness that we both seemed in sync to. As long as I could be helping her, it was probably going to be OK.
Three hours and a few more glasses of wine by Barbara later, we left the house to sit on the patio. I’ve never been a drinker, but I carried around a glass that night – more to fit it than anything else. Most of the guests were gone by then, the few stragglers winding down in the living room – my mother among them.
Barbara and I had shared long looks, meaning-filled laughter and the innocent touch of fingertips by one another in the flickering stretches of candlelight as the night progressed. Somehow, I felt even more connected with her tonight, than I had that time alone in front of the mirror in her bedroom. I didn’t feel sexy or aroused, just… that I belonged. We were two kindred souls, sharing a common bond. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why or when the tension suddenly became sexual.
But it did.
Once outside, we fell on each other like ravenous wolves. The crisp air bit into our skin, but dissipated like steam upon contact, with the heat streaking from Barbara’s body into mine. She kissed me, first pressing me against the house, arms pinned above me as our lips met. The stark contrast between the cold and rough brick behind me and her heated grip making me gasp and grind further against her.
Oh, God! How confused I was about it all… but I wanted this!
Time seemed to stutter; long stretches followed by quick flashes. We were leaning against the low cinderblock wall, me straddling her straightened legs as her hand snaked up my bare back to knot in my hair, pulling lightly. Her other hand found access into my scooped neckline, and she fondled me there, echoing her caress with her tongue – mouth firm and rich on mine, tasting of unchecked lust and stale wine.
An eternity later, we found ourselves reclining in the lounge chairs, her lips working my nipples through the fabric of my top; teeth teasing, while her hands cupped me both above and below.
I moaned, and felt the echo slide down my body into hers until it hummed through the contact of her pussy grinding against my thigh. Each time we moved I had no memory of doing so. And each time, I allowed it; submitting to the desire I saw firing her dark eyes and my body answering the breathless demands she whispered against my flushed skin.
Only the sharp clang of a dropped glass and muted sounds of the guests inside the house reminded us that we were still part of the world. We had been acting like two teenagers in a parked car. Barbara pulled away and leaned her forehead against mine; her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. Far off, to the edge of my sight, a bolt of lightning came crashing down to scissor across the sky, followed by a low growl of thunder.
I closed my eyes as if warding away the storm and smiled into her mouth.
There was only Barbara… her skin scenting the air, her touch turning the once clear evening into a storm-laden tropical night. Months of longing unrealized melted away under the heat of her flesh. If I had an Achilles heel, I thought, this woman was it!
“Come for me now.” Barbara said.
I moaned against her throat. Oh, how I came! Just like in her bedroom, but this time I was in her arms, in her presence… her fingers deftly finishing what I imagined we had started there. It was where I wanted to be, and where I felt I belonged.
I saw her several times after that night, but never again as a lover… our families never connected that deeply on a level outside of my babysitting gigs. I realize now that Barbara was a very troubled woman living in a marriage she didn’t want. The divorce from her husband was ugly in its meanness, and she moved away not long after. During this time, I still sat for the boys when I could, but things were never the same. Wanting some adventure of my own, I did go to a local college and eventually transferred to university for my last year of school.
I still remember her fondly, and I can’t watch that old TV show without thinking of her. Throughout my life, the kiss I received from Barbara that night on her patio has been kind of my ‘gold standard’ for kisses. Silly, I know, but even considering all the experiences in my life, the best kiss I have ever had was from my own Genie.
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