Waiting for Justina Volume 1

By Iona Baros

Waiting for Justina Volume 1 is the first of a five-part erotica series for men. In this first book, readers meet Evan, a shy, awkward, soon-to-be physics undergrad living with his parents while earning the last bit of money necessary for college. He is an introspective and intelligent person who is trying his best to be content with his routines. But there is more to Evan: he possesses preternatural—albeit unrecognized—sexual abilities that are bound to materialize someday. He just needs to meet the right woman.

While sitting on the beach of Lake Michigan one afternoon brooding over a failing relationship with Pauline, his caring but equally inexperienced long-term girlfriend, Evan meets Justina, a smart and beautiful woman ten years his senior who can see past his lack of confidence to his unrealized sexual potential.

Though a decade apart, the 29-year-old Justina feels deeply attracted to Evan, and the two instantly begin an intense sexual relationship. Throughout the summer’s various exploits, Evan acquires different ways to satisfy women. Evan falls for Justina, and despite her having deeper feelings toward him as well, she works to keep the relationship as casual as possible so that Evan can go away to college with considerable experience (instead of commitments) at the end of the summer.

This is the first book of a five-volume series featuring the sexual adventures of Evan, Justina, and an extensive cast of friends and lovers who come their way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Iona Baros
• Release date: Nov 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311375643

Book preview

Waiting for Justina Volume 1

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 by Iona Baros

Table of Contents

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1

Evan sits alone on Verses Avenue Beach of Lake Michigan in his neighborhood of Paradise Park, running his fingers through the dingy, dog-watered sand, thinking about the sweater his girlfriend Pauline wore the night before. The sweater came from a ubiquitous, no-frills department store at the mall, the kind of store where soft music never stops and where fluorescent lights bring out the rings under everyone’s eyes. The sweater Pauline wore last night had firefly figures stitched directly into the cloth—yellow and white fireflies on top of light blue. Last night with Pauline, while he fumbled around idiotically trying to unbutton her sweater, little bits of dry acrylic from her garment burrowed beneath his fingernails. Afterword—after he had given up trying to unbutton her sweater, that is—the feeling haunting his hands and fingers belonged to someone who had just been dragged unwillingly through the dirt. Last night in his frustration, he wondered why clothes like this existed—why women elected to wear clothes like these. Every woman he has ever met dresses in this uniform. Untouchable. Like she’s daring someone to just try and undress her.

Despite the unpleasant tactile memory of last night, there on the beach, some environmental change—a slight breeze? A change in the barometric pressure?—awakens and sends Evan’s cock flailing around inside his jeans like a large, chaotic insect feeler. He sighs, giving the silent treatment to this unruly part of himself. If he had had the courage last night—the coordination, the confidence, the something—he could have finally seen Pauline’s breasts; instead, last night, like every night, her breast were made inaccessible by some type of rough knit, the kind of cloth that mystically transmits all-synth versions of Peter Cetera’s anti-sex love songs to its owner and anyone in its vicinity.

Had he had the courage, Evan could have pressed and moved her breasts around in his hands. Something might have actually happened. But it hadn’t. Hadn’t happened. Again.

Because it never happens.

Evan, too embarrassed to truly admit it to himself, is deeply practiced in visualization. For about a year now, in most of his spare moments, Evan imagines himself calmly and assuredly unfastening the buttons of Pauline’s sweaters, slowly inching up her tee-shirts, unzipping her hoodies. In these visualizations, Pauline and the clothes she wears welcome this wanting, crave this wanting from him: the wanting is reciprocated. Reality, of course, just isn’t the same. What would happen—really happen—if he touched her the way he wanted to touch her? What if Pauline became offended at his audacity? Embarrassed? Shocked?

The risk of humiliation is too dark.

Now on Verses Avenue Beach, his cock hits the inside of his jean pocket in protest.

A beautiful older woman, maybe in her late twenties, sits down maybe three feet to his right, parallel to him. She looks deep into the water. She’s wearing a short wrap-around dress and leans back on both elbows. Her breasts are barely covered, and the wind causes the bottom edges of her dress to flicker up like matchsticks catching the current. Instead of appearing flat the way Pauline’s do, this woman’s hips and ass actually prop the rest of her body into the air. Evan sees how Pauline look so pathetically 19 compared to this woman. Pauline and Evan’s identical bodies, constructed of flailing androgynous arms and legs, might as well be made of tree branches. But this woman looks like a cloud.

Evan is unable to stop himself from looking quickly at this woman twice in rapid succession, and thankfully, she is kind enough to pretend not to notice. She is looked at all the time. Surely. He feels ashamed for having looked in the first place. He reminds himself sternly that he has a girlfriend. And then, his mantra: Pauline and I, my girlfriend of almost a year, have fun watching movies. We have the same friends. We hold hands. We kiss sometimes.

An older man and his dog pass slowly behind these two attractive strangers on Verses Beach. The older man notices how the female’s dress envelopes her body, the cloth wrapped snuggly around her like evergreen branches soothing a lost soul in the forest. The older man sends a wish to the lanky male stranger to go for it.

Go for it, the man mouths in Evan’s direction.

Otherwise, the beach on this Monday midday is desolate.

This is the fifth time Evan has looked at the older woman. His eyes are still on this woman’s thighs when the top part of her twists away from him to retrieve something from her bag. The dress hikes up as she moves, leaving a tiny space of black that he can almost see into. His cock is pushing crazily now, flailing against the inside of his pants over and over like a confused fighter challenging a wall.

Other people’s erections don’t do this; they don’t act on wills of their own.

Evan, ashamed at how many times he has looked at this woman and alarmed at his resulting erection, pushes his head down in between his knees and keeps his gaze fixated in the sand in front of him. He’d collect his things and leave if only he could get his cock to cooperate. If he stands now, he runs the risk of this older woman being traumatized by seeing a 19-year-old with a hard on. If he were someone else in some other time, he could tell her to stay twisted up, align his body against hers from behind, hike up her dress, pull his cock out of his pants.

She finds whatever she was looking for in the bag. Now she looks at him clearly in the face, her ass and elbows still supporting her, untwisted, face and body smoothly spread open.

Evan is growing frantic. Should he move to pull his shirt over his pants or put his hand in his pocket? He jerks around a bit like an insect caught in an electric lamp. The woman is still looking at him, and Evan has a sudden desire to