It Started in the Supermarket

A tutor's chance meeting at a supermarket with a mother and her daughter provides him with two great things: a hedonistic sex partner and a genius pupil.

Part One

The world is an unpredictable place. You never can tell where or when you’ll meet an important person in your life. I met two of them, Fiona McNamara and her daughter Gretchen, totally by chance in my local supermarket one March afternoon in 2014.

I had just concluded a busy Saturday of tutoring pupils in reading, math and language arts. My fifth and final student, 14-year-old Jason, was not the sharpest knife in the drawer, so his session was always a challenge and not often the best way for me to end a long day on an upbeat note. My next stop was the local supermarket, which was located about a five-minute drive from my home. It was getting close to 5 p.m. and I had to pick up some necessities: milk, orange juice, bananas, and breakfast cereal. I also needed a meal for that night. I despised cooking, so I often relied on sandwiches from the supermarket’s deli section or an entire prepackaged dinner. Those were a little bit pricy, but if it got me out of the loathsome task of having to prepare a meal myself, it was worth the small added expense.

I had just picked up a dinner of ham, mixed vegetables and scalloped potatoes. I was headed for the checkout counter when I was distracted by what appeared to be a mother and her daughter engaging in an impromptu math lesson. Because of the nature of my occupation, it caught my attention and fascinated me.

“What do you estimate the cost of everything in the cart is, Gretchen?” the woman asked the girl, who appeared to be about 10 or 11 years old.

“Mom, I’ve got it roughly pegged at $67,” the girl replied confidently.

“Does that include the sales tax?” the mother persisted.

“Yes, but that’s a bit of a problem because I don’t know which items in the cart are taxable and which ones are tax-free,” the girl stated.

“As usual, we’ll see how accurate your estimate is when we get to the checkout line! Hey, Gretchen, there’s a treat for us—a bag of chocolate-covered almonds. It’s $6.95. It we buy that, too, what will our grand total be?” the mother asked.

“I know foods deemed as treats are totally taxable, so that has to be around the $8 mark. That puts the grand total at about $75, Mom,” the girl announced.

“That’s impressive!” I interrupted. “It’s not often I see a girl your age so knowledgeable about math, grocery prices, and how to figure out sales tax. Wow! You must be a joy to teach.”

“I’m home-schooled,” she happily announced. She was a cute blond-haired girl with an upbeat personality. She had no reservations whatsoever about conversing with adults.

“Yes, that’s right,” her mother proudly concurred. “My daughter is home-schooled by me. I pulled her out of the indoctrination center two years ago,” her mom informed me. “You can see the terrible effect it’s had on her learning,” she added with plenty of sarcasm.

I laughed at the remark, then I told them my name: Danny Gerrard.

“Hey, I think that’s wonderful,” I said to both of them. “I make my living as a private tutor. I’ve been preaching for at least a decade for parents to get their children out of the public school system if they possibly can. It’s broken beyond repair. And I wholly agree with you: Schools these days only exist to promote radical social agendas, not to provide any sort of proper education.”

The woman extended her hand, which I eagerly shook. “It’s very nice to meet someone who shares that opinion,” said the mother. “I’m Fiona McNamara. This is Gretchen, my pride and joy. She’s 10 going on 30.”
“Wow, a tutor!” Gretchen said excitedly. “You must be really smart on all sorts of subjects.”

“Well, I try my best to know as much as I can about lots of topics,” I told her with adequate modesty.
“Oh, you’re a polymath,” Gretchen noted.

I was pleasantly taken aback. I quickly said, “Young lady, you surprise me. Most adults don’t know that word. Good for you. You have an excellent vocabulary for your age.”

“I don’t know that word,” her mother confessed.

Gretchen chimed in, “A polymath is a noun. It means someone who possesses a wide variety of knowledge.”

Fiona glanced my way for affirmation.

“Yes, that’s exactly what it means,” I said.

“Do you live nearby?” the mother asked me. “Perhaps I could hire you. As that episode proved, I’m not as knowledgeable about some subjects as I should be, such as English lit and grammar...and vocabulary.”

“First, yes,” I said, “I do live nearby—about a five-minute drive from here on Gordon Terrace. English, history and elementary school math are my strong teaching areas. I can do a passable job with social studies and geography, too. Other subjects are iffy for me, such as science and French, so I try to avoid them.”

“I know where Gordon Terrace is,” Fiona informed me. “We live in an apartment building about five minutes away from this supermarket in the other direction, on Carter Crescent. Can we meet right away to discuss your tutoring Gretchen occasionally? Let’s do this: You go home, eat your takeout meal, and put your groceries away. We’ll do the same. Then you can drop by in about an hour’s time, alright?
”
“Sounds great to me,” I said. “I’m looking forward to it.” Fiona wrote out her address and apartment number on a blank piece of paper I handed to her.

“Since you’ve only got a few items in your cart,” Fiona pointed out, “you can go ahead of me in the checkout line, if you wish.”

“Thanks, that’s kind of you, but I want you to go first. I’m quite curious to see how accurate Gretchen’s estimate is. With the almonds included, what’s your final total, Gretchen?”

The little girl paused a moment and then said, “I’ll estimate $75.75.”

When all the McNamaras’ items were processed, the bill was $77.13. I told Gretchen—and her mom—that I was impressed that she was off the mark by just $1.38.

Fiona commented, “You’ll notice that Gretchen isn’t pleased.” Sure enough, Gretchen had a sour expression on her face. Fiona explained, “Her estimates are normally within a dollar of the true price. Any amount beyond that she considers a failure.”

Part Two

I rushed home, put away my groceries in under a minute, shoved my meal in the microwave oven, wolfed it down, and then headed toward Fiona and Gretchen’s apartment building. I figured this could be a tutoring assignment created in heaven. Fiona was an attractive woman whose hair was a darker shade of blonde than her daughter’s. She also seemed to have beliefs and values that strongly aligned with mine. Since I didn’t hear anything from her about a husband or something equivalent, I figured she was a single mom. Gretchen was adorable to me. Her math smarts and strong vocabulary skills won me over in about two minutes. She would be the ideal tutee.

I knew I had ample time to spare before I was expected by the McNamaras, so I stopped by a donut shop and purchased a half dozen as a snack for the three of us. I got to their building and Fiona let me in to apartment #316. She laughed at the treat I had brought and called Gretchen over to see what I had. “Danny, along with being a polymath, you must be psychic, too,” Fiona told me. “That’s a treat I often by for the two of us.”

“That just tells me that fate intends for me to tutor Gretchen,” I commented with a smile.

“If you are any more perfect, Danny, you’ll end up sharing my bed tonight.”

Was this woman serious? I didn’t know how to respond to that remark…but Gretchen certainly did: “Mom how can you say that to a man you’ve known for less than two hours?”

Fiona laughed and said, “Earlier I told you that my daughter is 10 years old going on 30. Sometimes she’s going on 60. Gretchen is the moralist in the family. In some ways I’m exactly like her. In other ways, I’m a bit of a hedonist.”

“Well, I’ve been tutoring for quite a few years, but I‘ve never had a discussion about taking on a new tutee begin this way,” I noted. “Let’s all sit down and enjoy the donuts I brought.”

Fiona offered me a cold drink. I accepted. She poured three tall glasses of cola for us to wash down the sugary treats. She gave me a condensed version of her life story. Fiona had been married at 20, but it did not last very long. She and her husband divorced not long after Gretchen’s birth, but she opted to retain his last name.

“Our divorce was about politics,” Fiona deadpanned. Then she said with a smile, “My husband was having an affair with the mayor’s sister.”

I almost doubled over laughing at how she cleverly crafted that statement. “Are you serious?” I asked her.

“Quite serious, sadly,” Fiona said, even though there seemed to be no sadness about her. She then explained the sordid details. “Todd, my ex-hubby, was employed at city hall. He got to know the mayor’s family quite well. Especially his chesty younger sister. I suspected nothing at all. Then one day I showed up unexpectedly at his office. I opened the door and I saw quite a sight: Helen, the buxom bimbo in this story, was on her knees merrily giving Todd a blowjob. Neither of them had a stitch of clothing on. He had the nerve to keep on fondling Helen’s tits while saying to me, ‘Fiona, this is not what it looks like!’ I told him ‘Todd, to me it looks like our marriage is over!’ It was. I saw a divorce lawyer the next day. I get a big alimony payment every month to help support my kiddo here.”

Gretchen, wise beyond her years, shook her head at her mother and remarked, “I know it’s true, but I hate whenever you tell someone that story, Mom. It’s a tragedy when a marriage ends badly.”

“Danny,” Fiona commented. “Gretchen is acting sixtyish today.”

Fiona explained that she had pulled Gretchen out of school after the third grade because she thought the curriculum “was designed to turn every kid in the school into a communist, a homosexual, or both.” She attended school board meetings with likeminded parents to complain about the “leftist agenda being shoved down the kids’ throats, the kowtowing to militant minority groups, the sexually charged books in the school library, and the abandonment of academic standards and norms.” Their protests fell on deaf ears. “The final straws were when the school board removed many classic books from the library and replaced them with twisted, obscene nonsense like Heather Has Two Mommies and began flying rainbow flags all over the place nonstop, from September through June,” she said. “I’d had enough. I pulled Gretchen out of the system in disgust. She's never been back--and has excelled because of it.”

Fiona worked with Gretchen when she could, but Gretchen thrived on the freedom to learn things on her own, either from the internet or from reference books at the public library. Gretchen regularly spent hours there if her mother was working the day shift at a 24-hour dental clinic as a combination bookkeeper and dental assistant.

According to Fiona, within a single day, at age eight, Gretchen had memorized the times table—not just up to 12 times 12, but up to 20 times 20. I tested her by asking what 17 times 19 was. Gretchen correctly answered “323” in under five seconds. I told her I was 15 years old in 1989, and using that fact, told her to calculate my current age. Within 20 seconds she knew I was 40. (“My mom is 33,” she added, to the chagrin of Fiona.) I saw a package of cheese on the kitchen counter and asked Gretchen to spell “mozzarella”. That was no problem for her. She also knew many of the world’s countries, what continents they were in, and some of their national capitals. I stopped quizzing Gretchen on geography when she correctly told me that Luanda was the capital city of Angola. Obviously, this 10-year-old was a gifted student.

I finally stumped Gretchen when I asked her to spell “fuchsia.” She didn’t know the word and didn’t come close to getting the spelling right. “See, Gretchen, you don’t know everything!” I told her.

She turned to her mother and said, “Can you hire Danny to teach me what I don’t know?” That question from Gretchen sealed the deal. It was agreed that I’d work with her on various aspects of English, plus history—as her mother put it, “without all the white guilt crapola they’re pushing in the schools nowadays.”

Before I knew it, I had spent three full hours chatting with Gretchen and Fiona. Gretchen was reminded that her bedtime was approaching. Before she headed to her room, she made one detour to the family’s desktop computer. Now knowing how to spell fuchsia, she researched it. “Ah, fuchsia is a type of flowering shrub. It’s also a bright, purplish-red color. I won’t forget that.”

I kept conversing with Fiona for about an hour, mostly about our shared concerns about modern education and what can be done to get it back on the rails. At about 10 p.m. I said, I ought to be heading home.

“Aren’t you going to sleep with me?” she shockingly asked. “I was completely serious about that when you walked into this apartment. Don’t you think it’s obvious that we’re perfect for each other and ought to be together? Gretchen is asleep. I say let’s start right now.”

Before I had a chance to say anything at all, Fiona was unbuttoning her brown blouse. When I finally said, “Absolutely,” she was clad only in her bra and panties. Then she sexily removed the bra and dropped it to the carpet. Fiona had an average build, but her breasts were the east-west type where the nipples point outwards in different directions. I was transfixed—and still fully clothed.

“Don’t be shy, Danny. Get out of your clothes this minute and follow me into the bedroom,” she ordered. I happily obeyed. By the time I had undressed, Fiona was lying in the center of the bed with her legs spread apart. “This is for you, Danny, dear,” she cooed. She wasn’t one to waste time.

I immediately started licking, sucking, and fingering her vaginal area. After about five minutes, Fiona suggested I “spin around” so she could “do” me too. Again, I wasn’t about to object. At one point we got into an amusing rhythm: She’d give a long lick; I’d give a long lick. She’d give a long suck; I’d give a long suck. That game only ended when I brought Fiona to a sloppy orgasm. Then it was all licking on my part for the next few minutes.

I finally got a chance to play with her excellent set of jugs as I moved my sucking and licking northward up her torso. Her nipples became firm quickly. The sight of them poking outwards in different directions was a total turn-on. I told her, “I want to come where a man is supposed to ejaculate. Fiona got the message and spread her legs again. I mounted her, made half a dozen passionate thrusts inside her lovely cunny—and ejaculated like a geyser.

We both said nothing for about a minute. I just breathed heavily with my stiff rod still inside her and my hands massaging her tits. I finally broke the silence by noting, “I guess you are right, Fiona. We were meant to be together. That was fantastic. I’ve never come that hard in my life!” I stayed pretty much the whole night; I made a point of leaving Fiona’s apartment at about 4:30 a.m. so Gretchen wouldn’t find me there when she woke up.

Part Three

I was supposed to show up two hours per week to tutor Gretchen, but she was such a delightful student that I usually was there far longer than that free of charge. Of course, I was reluctant to accept any money from Fiona because I was constantly fucking her at every opportunity. I figured that was payment enough. She disagreed, telling me, “You are providing a valuable service towards Gretchen’s education and you have to pay your bills like everyone else.”

We tried to keep our ongoing sexual relationship from being known to Gretchen, but someone as sharp as she was would likely catch on quickly—and she did. One night when Fiona and I were both especially aroused and playful in the sack, we paused our horizontal activities for a moment when we heard Gretchen get out of bed and head for the washroom to take a pee. When she finished, Gretchen announced in a loud voice, “I know Danny is in bed with you, Mom. I’m not stupid. Just tone it down a bit, please. I can’t fall asleep with all the noise coming from your bedroom. Danny, you don’t have to sneak off home in the middle of the night. I knew what you were doing with Mom the very first night when you brought the donuts. You’re not fooling me, either. Okay, that’s all. You can resume your fucking. Good night!”

I happily tutored Gretchen for eight years. Her home-schooling was a terrific success in many ways. Whenever she was required to prove any sort of academic achievement to the government education poohbahs, she passed with flying colors. When she completed her online high school courses as an honor student, she received several scholarships from prominent universities. She opted for a small, Christian-based college in Kansas to study both accounting and political science. She rejected many of the more prestigious schools because she “didn’t want to put up with the woke malarkey that was ruining academia.” She actually wrote that phrase verbatim in formal letters to them. Both her mom and I were impressed by her attitude and by her moxie.

About a week before 18-year-old Gretchen was scheduled to depart in pursuit of higher education in faraway Kansas, she asked me to drop by the apartment. She didn’t say why. Her mom was working at the dental office when I arrived. Gretchen lovingly hugged me and handed me an envelope containing a thank-you card. She had written a very complimentary message praising me on my tutoring abilities and being an all-round good guy to her and her mother. She insisted that her scholarship offers were largely due to me. I scoffed at that notion.

“Gretchen, you are so smart that it can’t be contained,” I told her. “I may have helped you along the way, but you can’t keep intelligence like you have a secret from the outside world for very long. It just has to burst out. You will do great things in life.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “We can’t predict the future. But I will do one great thing for you today.” At this point Gretchen gave me the surprise of my life. She started to disrobe in front of me. Apart from the occasional hug (like the one she gave me a few minutes before), we had never had any significant physical contact in eight years, much less sexual contact. This was totally out of the blue.

“Danny, I think you deserve a farewell fuck from me. What do you think?” she said with a naughty smile.

I was dumbfounded as I watched my star pupil shed her garments. Gretchen had filled out nicely as a teenager. She didn’t have her mom’s east-west style of breasts, but she had a lovely close set that she squeezed together to make them look even more impressive. She completed the striptease by dropping her pink panties to reveal a hairy bush.

“Come on, Danny,” she said, “take off your pants. I want to start off with a blowjob—and we can proceed from there.
”
This was a first for me—a sexual romp with a tutee. (In all honesty, over the years there had been about a dozen really beautiful teenage girls whom I had tutored—and whom I would have gladly fucked had I been asked to do so. Gretchen McNamara was the first one to take the initiative.) I wasted no time in stepping out of my trousers and briefs. I also removed my shirt. My penis was already rock hard at the thought of Gretchen “servicing” me.

Gretchen pushed me downward, so I was seated on the living room couch, pried my legs apart, and grabbed my stiff shaft. Before she began to pleasure me, I just had to ask her. “Gretchen, have you done this before?”

“Nope,” she confessed. “This is a first for me. I’ve never had sex. Never had a boyfriend. I was always too busy with my studies. I figure since you’ve been my tutor, and you fuck my mother constantly, you should fuck me too. It would be sort of like mentoring. However, I have read a lot about the subject lately, so I think I know what to do. Maybe you can critique my work when I’m done.” That sounded perfectly logical to me as I sat there with my fully erect penis pointing skyward.

At that point, Gretchen took my manhood into her waiting mouth and began sucking. It was truly a heavenly sensation for my lower region. Since they were just hanging there in front of me waiting to be groped, I began lovingly caressing Gretchen’s appealing tits, giving special attention to her rising nipples with my thumbs.

Gretchen suspended the blowjob for a moment to comment, “Ooh, I like that, Danny. Keep playing with them—they’re all yours today.” I obliged.

Gretchen began fondling my testicles while simultaneously licking my shaft. I was soon at the point of no return. “Jerk me off, Gretchen,” I yelled with enthusiasm. “I’m about to come—and I want to come all over you.”

It was indeed a world-class cum shot. I merrily fired three long blasts of warm semen onto Gretchen’s face, into her mouth, and onto her tits. It was tremendous. There was only one problem: Gretchen and I were so focused on her sex act that neither one of us heard the apartment door open. At about the same moment that cum blast number three struck Gretchen’s breasts, her mother, home from work early because of a power outage at the dental clinic came into the room.

None of us said anything for the longest time. The occasional drop of goo still leaked from my stiff penis. Strands of my jism hung from Gretchen’s face and her tits—which I continued to grope. There was no way to hide what we had been doing.

“I’m having a flashback,” Fiona eventually muttered. “It’s Todd and Helen the bimbo all over again.”