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The Story of D
D was a surfer chick in her mid-20s at the great University in our city. She was from Long Beach, California and studying pre-med in New England. She had never been married and had no hang-ups about men, young or old. She had short blond hair with sun-touched (and frosted) highlights, and a square, bluff face. Her eyes were hazel, her nose a cute little ramp, her chin small and angular. She had a high, intelligent forehead and a way of looking fearlessly into one's soul. Her problem was that she was studying organic chemistry and didn't have much time for socializing, especially with men who had agendas and were demanding. She didn't cook, she didn't clean, and she didn't do much foreplay. She liked to fuck and then have someone warm sleep beside her. I didn't blame her a bit. We met one day while I was walking through a park downtown and she was hustling past with an armload of books. She was short and muscular, with a swimmer's body—broad shoulders, muscular legs and arms, and places with firm meat or fat.
"Gonna read all those today?" I joked.
She was equal to the situation. "Want to carry some for me?"
I shrugged. "What's in it for me?" even as I held out my arms and she started piling them on me. They were library books about esoteric chemistry and microbiology subjects.
"You're cute. Help me out and I'll buy you a soda."
"Sounds like a fair deal."
We walked together. This was on a balmy spring day around noon. I carried her books to her dorm room, met her roommate—a dark-haired girl of 22 from up north, who wore glasses and sat amid her own mountains of reading material in a dark little cell they shared in a neo-Gothic campus building. D was true to her word and took me to a diner, where she treated us to sodas and ice cream. We talked about our lives, and she admitted that she missed having someone to hug. So I hugged her, and we drove down to the beach. "I miss surfing," she said. "It's hard to find a place with good waves in New England."
"I don't surf," I said. "I hardly even like to swim, but I hear there are great waves up at Cape Cod."
She grasped my bicep in hard fingers. "You look pretty buff. What do you do for a workout?" "I bicycle, walk a lot. I have a degree in English and am saving up for grad school, but I have a miserable job right now as night watchman. I walk miles on my rounds."
"Sounds relaxing," D said. She was ever one to look on the bright side.
"You must work very hard," I said. She sighed, "yes," and I slipped my arm around her waist. She slipped her hand around mine in a carefree, thoughtless motion. "Poor kid," I said, and hugged her. She stood frozen, with her eyes closed and her chapped lips slightly parted, waiting for me to kiss her. Which I did. It was like eating tangerines. Tangerines that fought back with energy of their own.
She spoke on her cell phone. When she took me back to her room, the other woman was gone. D locked the door and showed me the nook where they had a sturdy wooden bunk bed. "I'm on the bottom," she said. She plopped down. "Like it?" I slid in beside her. "Cozy," I said. We sat looking at each other. "You can kiss me," she said. I said: "What a deal. First a soda and ice cream, then kisses. Can I carry your books again?"
"Mm," she said. She took my face in her hands and pulled me toward her. Her tongue entered my mouth and flicked around as if looking about and seeing where to get comfortable. I guided her so that she stood before me. Her tongue never left my mouth. I took my time loosening her jeans and working them down over her solid thighs. I unbuttoned her dark blue flannel shirt one button at a time, until I could open it to reveal two pendulous white breasts like a pair of melons—laced with tiny blue veins, and with enormous flat pink nipples that puckered as I touched them.
She pulled my head against her breasts and waited as I suckled them alternately, palming them, while she pressed my head into her shirt and held me to her. I glanced up and saw that she tilted her face skyward, eyes closed in ecstasy, while a faint blue light from a clock shone on it like on the moon. She looked beautiful and almost unearthly that way. I pushed her panties down so that she stood up to her ankles in heaped clothing. I kept nuzzling those heavy breasts with my lips, while my hands run up and down the smoothness of her calves and thighs. She was not very tall, and this gave her a nice ability I will mention in a moment. She had nice wide buttocks and firm, ripe thighs that begged to be handled. When I touched the little blond tuft of hair on her Venus mound, she readily took it as a cue to part her legs slightly. I pressed my fingers between her thighs. This was a girl who soaked easily. Her cunt was drenched. I had her part her legs more, and then more, while I worked two fingers up into the jelly that she made for me. All the while, she hugged my head to her breasts. Finally, she began to weaken as I stroked her clitoris. She exhaled loudly from the heat, and slipped her shirt off. She looked blue and cool now in the dim room. I swung her gently around and laid her backwards on the bed. She was not acrobatic in the sense that long-limbed, thin women are, but she breathed loudly in and out. She made small moans, and I confess I moaned to have her. My cock was stiff and hard like a wooden bowling pin, and began to hurt from being dry and unsheathed.
When I say she wasn't very tall, I have to be more precise again. It's not just a woman's height or shortness that can make a difference in how she makes love, or how she plays with herself. It is interesting how a shorter torso on longer legs, or a longer torso on shorter legs, can affect what she does and how she does it.
Because her torso was short, and her arms long, she was able to put her fingers into herself. I learned from each of the women in my life. I think a younger man is intrigued by older women because he senses that they have lost the shyness of young girls, and if they weren't shy girls, they have lost the brashness and indelicacy they may once have had. A younger man senses the mystery of what he doesn't know. He sees the mysterious smile of the older woman, even if she is partly laughing out of amusement at him, and he longs for the adventure she takes him on. She takes him into a dark unknown that can only result in pleasure and orgasms. Each woman has her own world, her own flavor, her own nuances, her own way of inventing her place to be. Some are more interesting than others. I'll say more of this later.
D was fascinating because of her directness. You could watch how she took you to her, and, as with many women, you could readily guess what she did alone to satisfy herself. When I slipped my cock into her tight little hole, we had to go slowly. Wet as she was, her sphincter was like an athlete's muscle. She couldn’t control its strength. It guarded her precious entry like a warrior. Slowly, working together, we appeased this warrior. It seemed to hurt her a little, forcing this wild thing to open, but we got through. "You're so big," she whispered at one point. "You have a cock like a car."
"Compact and convertible," I quipped. "Sorry if I don't put the roof down. It's raining."
She nodded. "I'm very wet for you." When I did slip inside, we both gasped at the pleasure of it. She was tight and good. We both felt the meeting of our flesh in that perfect passage. The train and the tunnel loved each other and roared together. I came almost immediately, and retreated just a bit as I went limp. "Sorry." "No matter," she whispered. "I'll get you going again. Just rest a little."
"I'll rest inside of you."
"Oh yes, and suck my nipples. I love having my nipples sucked."
So I nuzzled her nipples, which had puckered up and grown into pink button mushrooms. I lay relaxed beside her, with my cock limp in the entrance. She took care of herself for a bit, and I enjoyed watching. She slid one hand down under her heavy buttocks so that she got two fingers into her cunt from below, and massaged the lower entrance where fluid pooled. As she did this, the mid-knuckles of those two fingers stroked up against the swollen area on the lower side of my erection. With her other hand, she massaged her clitoris from the front. She had a rhythmic way of doing this. She would pinch her clitoris firmly and shake it from side to side, like a lion killing its prey.
Then she'd spread two fingers and rub them up and down with the clit riding high between them. In the blue light, I saw it getting hard. I watched the little bud grow and peek out from under the clitoral hood. I listened to the lapping of waves and I put my hand on her wide belly, which shook with contractions racing through her as she came for the first time. I could feel myself getting hard again. Still sucking on one tit, I reached down beside her fingers and imitated what she did to her clitoris. I felt a firm little bundle between my index finger and thumb. "O God yes, do it that way," she said. Her eyes were closed, and her face looked upward in ecstasy. Meanwhile, the hand that had rubbed her clitoris now slid down under her butt and up so that she had one little fingernail slipping in and out of her rectum. I thought of C's delightful ass and bum hole, but how loose she was compared to D. They are all so different, these women, each a world of delight to explore!
D was the first woman I knew who was not only great at masturbating, but also liked playing with her behind. It was a novel idea to me at the time. I'd always been attracted strongly to a pretty behind (like C's exceptional ass and curvature) but I thought it was just eye candy. It never occurred to me that some women derive extra pleasure from stimulation down there. I held her breast but stopped sucking so I could get a better look. I stopped rubbing her clit and put my fingertip down there, replacing hers at the butt hole. "You can go down and watch me," she whispered. "Go on, I want to see you watch me."
I pulled out and slid around so we were head to toe. I pushed her legs up—which I find erotic, because it is such a pose of invitation—and gently inserted a finger lubricated with spit into her rectum. "Oh yeah," she said in a low groan. She now had both hands free to fan her clit and simultaneously run a five-fingered crane beak rapidly in and out of her pussy.
The crane beak is a martial arts metaphor of putting the five finger tips of one hand together in a point, almost forming a kind of cone with the hand. Her wetness made smacking sounds as she masturbated. I played with her butt hole, using two fingers to open it just a crack, and to massage it this way and that while looking at its puckered beauty. Some women are brownies, while others are pinkies. She was a pinkie—tits, cunt, and even the inside of her ass. It was so little, and yet so great to play with. She struggled up the slope of passion and came with a wail. She thrashed around, slapping the sheets beside her and rocking up and down.
Then she grasped my cock. "Are you ready, baby? You helped me out so great. You were a good boy. Now I want to see about getting you up there for a second orgasm. Are you ready, baby?"
"Oh man," I said. I was still at her lower end, and pushed her legs back up so I could soak my face in her wet cunt. I got my tongue all the way up where the birth canal starts (or ends, depending on who you are and which way you're heading). With her mouth on my dong, she had a lip-seal that was first class. She could suction a dick with precision like a German motor. I had never imagined such an exquisite blow-job. Better call it a suction-job. Several times, she released vacuum, and there was a loud popping sound. My dick almost went numb, but it stayed hard as a surfboard. After one such popping noise, she said: "You're hard as a rock, Peter. Get in me, quick."
We did a quick shift around, and I popped into that tight little cunt of hers. We rolled over so I was on my back and she rode me. I reached up to squeeze her orbs. She played with them, then reached down to gently twist my nipples. Here's a little secret. My nipples are the most sensitive part of me (aside from the head of my erect schwantz). If a woman touches them, I come. As I now did, and she came again, so that we moaned together. She rode up and down with her full breasts flopping out of control. I was afraid she would hurt herself, and pressed my palms against them for her to contain them. She wrapped her arms around my hands and her tits and then collapsed in a final orgasm that drained her. She lay limply on top of me, a firm, heavy girl. Older woman. "Just stay there," I said while kissing her face. She laughed like a drunk in her weakness while I pressed her full buttocks down and enjoyed the feel of being inside her.
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