|
The Story of T and U
I was once in a shopping mall in town, in the early afternoon of a chilly but dry winter day. I was looking for a small gift for an aunt who sometimes treated me to a hot meal. While I was in a jewelry store, an older woman in her early 30s kept glancing toward me. I ignored her at first, noticing that she was with another woman about the same age. They had that ripe, domesticated look of wives and mothers. They were bundled in expensive clothes and wore fur hats. One was a blonde with straight hair cut in a flouncy page boy. She had bright blue eyes and a pink lipsticky mouth curved in a bemused near-smile. The first one was dark-haired and dark-eyed. Her mouth was small and hungry, pursed in what I first took to be disapproval but later found was disappointment. Her eyes had a deep, dark greenness, a jungle spark, just an ember from a fire that had been let go and was near going out. They looked expensive and pampered. Some of their many paper shopping bags held clothes they had bought for themselves, while a few contained clothing and toys for little children. They did not seem to have bought gifts for the men in their lives.
I gradually began to pay less attention to the small gold charms in the display case before me, and started to listen to their whispered conversation. I caught only phrases and snatches, but it was enough to build a picture.
"I can't get him to spend an afternoon with the kids, much less me..." said the brunette. It became clear that she was the slightly older and more experienced.
"I feel like I don't exist anymore," said the blonde. "It's not right."
"You just can't get relief. I know the feeling. I think sometimes I am going to explode," said the brunette. "We do have needs."
"Oh, I know," said the blonde. She looked at the other with pleading eyes. "Is it so wrong to...?" "To want to be held? To hold someone? No, it's perfectly all right," said the brunette. "When you feel alone..."
"I just touch myself sometimes and don't know if I should start crying..."
The brunette patted the other's shoulder. "Not crying, honey. Life is too short for that."
I sighed deeply and resumed my search for just the right charm bracelet. When I looked up, the two women had left the store. I inhaled the rich scents of their passing—leather from expensive gloves and handbags, perfume filled with mystery and promise, even a dash of alkaline something that told me they'd had their hair done that morning. They were trapped in privileged lives, obligated to children they loved and men they still bedded with affection when asked for a quick fuck between football and poker night. In my idealism and naiveté, I felt repelled by their dilemma.
I noticed them two or three times as I cruised the mall for my gift. Each time, I could swear—or was I nuts?—that green-eyes glanced in my direction. I saw my reflection in a store window—tall, dark-haired, with a gaunt face under thick wavy flying dark hair—and I saw green-eyes staring after me as if I must be good to eat. Both women were very attractive. The money would not marry anyone who wasn't. I considered making a pass, though I didn't quite have the nerve, not with two of them together.
I turned around, thinking to either walk away or contemplate the possibility of reaching out to that yearning in the older woman's eyes. Green-eyes—or T—saw me looking at her, caught the moment of hesitation in my eyes, and raised a gloved hand for me to wait. She spoke aside with Blondie for a moment. Blondie brightened, nodded, smiled with those sweet pink lips, and cast a mischievous glance in my direction. I saw mischief in her blue eyes, but it was the kind that says 'not me, not this time, but I'll watch you to see how it's done,' as if she'd never flirted before. She probably was a terrible flirt, but not after marriage. Not yet, anyway. And not today.
Green-eyes left her shopping bags with Blondie—or U—who stood guard over their purchases while pretending to be looking at the wares in a toy store for small children. I saw her looking at us in the reflection of the toy store window. Green-eyes had her hands in the pockets of her coat and looked older than her years, which was pretty old for me, as she strode toward me. She looked domesticated, pragmatic, scary in her courage. She was far prettier than I had realized, when she swept her fur hat off and touched her stiffly manufactured curls with long pale fingers. What a pick-up line she had. Walking directly up to me so I could see the microscopic wrinkles around her lips and the rouge lipstick nestling in them, she said: "Excuse me, I am wondering if you know me."
"I am wondering the same thing," I said.
"You are so beautiful," she said. She had a really mellow, full voice. It was almost husky. If she were a perfume, she would be musk. The perfume that faintly emanated from her was dark and ripe, as if it was cooking in the secret spaces like under her arms, or under the strap of her underpants, or in the swamp of her crotch. "I have very little time, and I would like to just...talk with you."
"I would enjoy that."
She looked a bit dazed at her own audacity and success. "Just to talk, nothing more."
"Of course. I'll be fascinated to talk with you."
"Good. Then I can tell my girlfriend to catch a cab and take my bags with her."
"That's fine. I don't have a car to take you home later."
She looked horrified at the prospect of even thinking such a thing. "That won't be necessary. I have a car here in the mall garage." She turned and walked away. She and Blondie had an excited conversation. Blondie went "oh!" and held her fingers to her mouth and jumped up and down a bit. Then, glancing at me through the very corners of the corners of her eyeballs, and stifling an incredulous laugh, Blondie loaded all the bags into her hands so she looked like a baggage tree, and staggered away toward the still-daylight exit hall, beyond which I could see the line of yellow and blue taxis.
T walked toward me with her hands in her pockets, hardened like a criminal—a woman who knew what she wanted, how far she wanted to go, and where she wanted to take it. "You probably get someone like me once in a while," she said as we walked through the throngs side by side. "How old are you?" I told her. "You're a boy, but so handsome, so beautiful. Do you feel funny having an older woman flirt with you?"
"How old are you?" I asked, and she shook her head. Thirty-five at most, I guessed, but I managed later to learn she was just a mature looking 32. She continued: "I had an affair last year. It ended badly. I was glad to be free of him. My husband never found out. I decided never to have another affair, and to just take cold showers."
"Doesn't your husband take care of you?" I asked. I had visions of a berserker chasing me with a cleaver, and was being very cautious.
"My husband is a very wealthy man and he's usually gone on business. I know he has women everywhere he goes, but as long as he doesn't bring them or anything they may have home, I don't say anything. He is—kind. He is just—empty." She walked in silence for a minute or two. "I didn't ask for your company to complain. I wanted to enjoy a few carefree hours with you. In case you are wondering, my friend and I live two hours from here in another city, and I don't expect anyone here will recognize me." She laughed for the first time—a husky, tart laugh—and said: "If anyone does see me and comment, I'll say you are a younger cousin." She took me to a pastry place that smelled of fresh coffee, whipped cream, and candied fruit. There, we sipped black espresso with orange peel. She offered to buy me something sweet, but I thanked her and declined. "No wonder you are so thin," she said. "You don't eat sweets. You make a woman want to feed you."
"I have an aunt who will be doing that in the next day or two. I came to the mall looking for a gift."
"How sweet." In the process of our coffee and subsequent wanderings, she asked a lot of questions and got to know all there was about me. She was beginning to warm to me, and I to her. She was doing this thing women do—testing me. She had me go here and there with her, even pretending to be lost in a big department store and ending up alone together in a back stairwell amid dust and cardboard boxes. Anything to offer me opportunities to grab her, scare her, show what a cad I might be. I was congenial and well-intentioned, and would never think of acting offensively. I offered my arm, and she took it, as we made our way back to the main shopping floors. By now, she pressed against me. I felt her trembling, and asked: "Are you okay?" She looked at me shivering as if she were cold. Her lips were slightly blue. "I'm okay," she said in a still, soft voice. "Are you?"
I shrugged. "Sure. I'm fine. I am thinking I should hold you. You look kind of lost. Or cold."
"Not here." She tightened her grip on my arm and towed me along. I had known for some time where this was going—not exactly, but in a general manner—and I went with the program. We took an elevator that smelled of fresh linen and other choice goods. We rode upward and emerged on the topmost floor of a parking garage. She had a sleek new forest green Jaguar with beige leather interior. The car beeped as she rattled her keys. "You sure you don't mind?"
"I'm fine. Just don't abduct me or anything."
She laughed. "You silly boy." We climbed in. The car smelled of leather and expensive carpets and, well, money. It started up with a muffled roar. Lights popped on (like, in the carpeting for example) and hidden fans began to whisper as lukewarm air poured in with a hint of machine oil. She backed the car out, and I got my first glimpse of a pair of strong tennis legs as her coat parted and her black skirt rode up to mid-thigh. Out of habit, she demurely covered herself up. "We have a place here in town. It's something wealthy people like my husband do. It's called a pied-a-terre, a foot on the ground."
"Wow. What does he do?"
"He," she said, carefully weighing how much to reveal, "is a lawyer and an import/export entrepreneur. He is from a very wealthy Armenian family. They are very successful."
"And you?"
"I am his prize Italian-German wife." She uttered that deep laugh again. It was fraught with bitterness and self-pity, which I didn't much like. "I am the trophy bitch, the saint on a pedestal. I cannot have an impure thought." She handled the wheel deftly with strong gloved hands as we bobbed and weaved through traffic. The sunlight was just beginning to fade a bit. Street lights began to flicker on in long parallel rows as we left the center of town for a section of stately old brick houses clustered around the edges of the great university. It was where I would have expected a wealthy woman to drive.
"And your friend?"
"Same thing, only her owner is a wealthy Arab from Lebanon. Much older than her."
"Why do you marry guys like that?"
She laughed. "I don't know. Money. Comfort. It's a decision not everyone regrets. I don’t regret it much, except that I never get any affection. Men like that don't marry women for love or even sex. They get all the sex they want from mistresses and prostitutes."
"This is America," I said softly, thinking of all those ideals.
"This is life," she said.
"So your friend—?"
She put a leather fingertip on my lips. "Sshh!" We were still as she wheeled the car into a driveway, down a ramp, and into an underground three-car garage whose door opened and shut at a command from a gadget in the Jaguar's sun visor. She pulled the parking brake with a loud grinding noise that echoed in the bare concrete garage. There was very little in this place, and the floor had almost no telltale oil stains that spoke of frequent use. "We don't come here much," she said. "Mostly it's for his cousins when they come here from Manhattan or Boston or Montreal."
"Any chance of them showing up today?" She laughed. "No. They have to arrange weeks in advance. Don't worry."
I followed her up the stairs to a little lobby with mirror walls and a butterscotch marble floor. There, we took an elevator lined with velvet up several floors. We emerged in a penthouse apartment that glowed indigo with that last fading light of day. "Wow," I said, walking from picture window to picture window on thickly carpeted floors. She put down her purse and jangling keys.
She peeled off her coat, revealing a whipcrack body in a short black dress. She was small-breasted, thin—about 5' 6" when she slipped her high heels off. Padding around in nylon-stocking feet and legs, she flicked on indirect lights in a kitchen of shadows from which I had glimpses of dark marble counters, glass cabinets with interior lighting and stainless steel edges, and ultra-modern everything from can openers to wine bottle opener.
The décor of the place in general was ultra-modern, with bare smooth concrete walls almost like marble or dark glass, and long abstract wall hangings. Lots of little touches, like garnet and olive stained glass shooting slot windows in the thick walls, and fresh flowers on the sills. The fresh flowers and juice should have tipped me off.
She poured us each a heavy glass tumbler of fresh orange juice. "Here, this will freshen you up."
It did. The O.J. was fresh and cool, and quenched a burning thirst I had barely known I had. "Come sit with me," she said and plopped in a sitting area under a sun roof. The sitting area was composed of four blue corduroy chairs with chrome piping, flanked by two long couches of the same material and design, centered on a thick, smoky-glass coffee table.
She sat opposite me with one stocking foot up on the end of her couch. I sat in a chair hear her head, holding my juice. "No lights," I observed. Only the distant kitchen light and the starlight above illumined us.
"We have almost a full moon," she said waving her arm toward the bright citrine disk high up in a sky that was turning from dark blue to jet black. Like the moon, her forehead glistened with reflected and re-reflected sunlight (if one thought of it). Her facial features underwent a metamorphosis from a subdued, domesticated housewife to a fierce night predator. The weird light played odd tricks like that, and my own hands looked like they'd been dipped in that liquid green radium used to paint numbers on watch dials. I had a pleasantly spooky, expectant feeling in my gut.
She rose and went to a liquor cabinet. "Would you like a drink?" "Sure, something light."
She poured us each a tiny, long-stemmed glass of white crème de menthe in which an ice cube floated. "Cheers." We clinked glasses. She stood before me like a high school girl. "Do you like me?"
I took a sip and set the glass aside. "Yes." I leaned forward and put my hands on the sharpness of her hips.
"If this works out," she said, "I can see you again. Not often, but maybe once a month. Never call my house."
"You call me. I'll be totally discreet."
"Bring your drink." She offered her hand, and towed me across the room, through a long dark corridor, and to a huge bedroom at the other end of the floor. Across the shadowy hall was a bathroom. She reached in to flick on a light. "Gotta go?"
"Thanks." I did. I whizzed, flushed, and stepped outside. She was waiting to take her turn. As she stepped past me in that little black dress that made her look half her age, she pointed pertly across the hall. "Don't go in yet."
I caught a glimpse of the bedroom opposite. I saw a king-size bed covered in expensive white quilts, with ruffled lacy borders around the base. A sheer silky curtain surrounded the bed on overhead tracks, but had been pushed back to expose the bed to full view from the doorway. When the bathroom light shone into the otherwise dark room, the curtain looked opaque. When the bathroom door shut, I could see right through the curtain, and through the plate glass window beyond. I could see the dark sky with stars and moon, and the straight lines and quadrilles of city lights. The city twinkled with moving traffic like a windy night sky ripples with stars.
T came out of the bathroom, leaving the light on and the door half open. The sound of flushing water dwindled behind us as we entered into the bedroom. She took me aside and stood on tiptoes to kiss my mouth—our first kiss. She whispered: "Whatever we do in there, stay on the bed and work with me, because we don't have long." She led me into the bedroom. "Take off your clothes," she said while reaching up behind the back of her neck to remove a necklace of jade blocks.
As I stripped, her eyes roved up and down. She was transformed, no longer the uptight matron I'd first noticed at the mall. "You liked the blonde, did you?"
I shrugged. "You're both very pretty." I was diplomatic.
She let the little black dress fall to the floor. Off came a small baby blue bra that was loose even on those tiny breasts. Her matching silk panties fluttered to the ground, leaving me to see all there was, and I saw that it was exceedingly good. For a moment she stood with her hands behind her back, which made her flat belly protrude forward slightly. She twisted left and right. "I have to be home soon. We don't have a lot of time, and I apologize for that. I want you to make me happy for an hour."
"I'll do my best." I knelt down, and bent to the floor, with my hands caressing her small tanned feet.
She had even, pretty toes lacquered rouge to match her fingernails. I caressed her ankles, with their petite bones. I ran my palms up over the smoothness of her foreleg, and down around the taut muscles of her calves.
I kissed the inside of each thigh just above the knees, enjoying the softness of her skin. At this point, I heard her breathing hard and she grasped my thick, curly hair with both hands. I worked my way up her thighs inside and out, kissing. As I got hear her pubic hair, her grip tightened and I could feel her pulling me gently closer. I smelled dampness on her panties, and licked up the faint dew of cunt juice that had dampened her thigh.
"I've been craving you for hours," she said. "Come up here." She patted the bed. "Stand up."
I climbed onto the bed. She walked around the bed smiling as she pulled the sheer curtain closed around us.
We were trapped inside a lantern of indirect light that reflected softly on us from all sides. She crawled onto the bed, came across to me on all fours like an animal, and took the head of my cock in her mouth. Sitting between my feet, she held my cock in both hands and worked her mouth around it, twisting her head this way and that, until I felt like a ball bearing inside a speeding wheel. She licked my dangling balls. She wrapped her arms around my legs to support them, and tongued my balls so they swung back and forth. She raised her face under me so she could like the crack between my scrotum and my dong. She held my aching, huge dong up so she could get her tongue under it. Her arms had a vise-grip on my legs.
This girl was strong, and she did tongue. Oh, Mrs. T, I sang silently in my mind behind closed eyes—I'd like to take you home with me and keep you under my bed so I can call you anytime for a royal blow job. I felt her pointy tongue flick up the backs of my balls and over that little ridge that is full of sensitive nerve endings, just before my ass pucker. I felt the heat of her palms as she cupped my butt cheeks. "Small ass," she whispered breathlessly, "nice strong thighs, tiny ass cheeks, nice, nice," she whispered until her voice diminished in busy tonguing and sucking. She kissed every inch of each buttock. She did it the way a man kisses a woman's breasts—squeeze one, kiss the other. Squeeze the left, kiss the right; kiss the left, squeeze the right... She moaned as she kissed the huge dimple in the side of the left buttock, and then the similar dimple in the right buttock. I heard the splash of her fingers in her cunt, and began to massage my cock in preparation for putting it in the swim. It was still wet with her spit as I stroked it. She was behind me now, on her knees still, cupping my buttocks with her hands while running her tongue up and down my ass crack.
She rose up and stood behind me so that I felt the flat of her stomach against my tingling behind. She embraced me with her left arm, brushing my left nipple with her fingers, while her right hand reached around and took my penis as if she were helping me point it for a leak.
At that moment, due to some trick of the light—just a momentary flash—I saw through the opaque, soft light of the sheer curtain. She was pointing my dick directly at a third person in the room, and I instantly figured who that was, although I caught only a fleeting glimpse of a shadowy female figure and a blonde page boy hairdo. I glimpsed a pale face upturned to look at me, and a pair of somber eyes and an open mouth. A little lower down, I saw a dark bush between long, parted legs whose bony knees were pulled back.
I saw a blurry movement over that bush as she fanned her sex organ with rapid fingers.
It was the only glimpse I had of her.
I must have stiffened, changed my posture, stood staring—whatever—so T moved quickly in front of me. She made a frantic face, shook her head sharply, and showed me 'don’t' teeth. I raised my hands in a 'whatever' gesture. She pulled me down, and I sank onto the bed. I lay on my back, groaning with pleasure as T sucked on my cock. What was going on? I rested for a few minutes and let T work on me while I tried to puzzle this out. For a moment I was alarmed, thinking there might be a husband or two beating his meat in the shadows.
T seemed to sense my disconcertment and whispered faintly in my ear: "It's only her. She wants to but she is still afraid. If you play along you might get to fuck her some time soon."
I nodded. That would be fine with me. We put on a show for U for a while longer.
I heard an occasional rustling sound—I had no idea if she was on a couch or bed or futons or what. A few times, when I listened carefully—because the thought of her intrigued me—I heard splashing sounds. At some point she must have climaxed, not for the first time, but the big bang to end all bangs. She shuddered out there, made a moaning sound, maybe doubled up on her side in a fetal position with several fingers still in the stone hole of her peach. Then there was silence, except for the sound of a door closing, and minutes later the distant and muted sound of a car starting and driving away outside.
T heard it too and pulled the curtain back. "You were a success!" She swept nakedly across the room, with two fingers in her cunt, and examined the cushions that the two women must have pulled over two nearby wheat-colored couches nearby. "You're a hero!"
I rose and joined her squatting by the place where U had lain to watch us. I leaned down and sniffed, and T did too. There was a faint lingering aroma of cunt milk. T smelled it too, moving the fingers inside her as she did so."
She came over here," she told me.
We leaned down together and smelled the faintly salty, fishy spot in the material where U's juice had poured out during her exertions. It must be the place where she doubled over and turned so that juices welling up spilled from her.
I pushed T over so that her ass was in my face and her cunt was directly over where her friend's had been. I stuck my rod into her cunt and took her right there, hard, like a celebration.
"Yes," she said, "yes, Peter, do it, hard. Push me hard. Like that, yes." I could feel her fingertips brushing against my shaft as she whisked her clit. We cried out together, and the room filled with sounds of smacking and oh! Oh! as we orgasmed together right on the spot where Blondie had spasmed out a great climax minutes earlier.
T sat opposite me, laughing as she rubbed her fingertips through all my cum and her cunt dribbles that now joined U's secretions on the cushions. "I'll put these in the wash." She took my face between her hands. "I have to have you again." She kissed me on the forehead.
When U did decide it was time, she orchestrated an interesting way for us. Money was no object, and these women wanted to hide their tracks. Their husbands were away, the Arab to London, the Armenian to Tokyo, and so the women decided to visit a cousin of T's in Canada.
They had their mothers fly in to take care of the children. I received a small package in the mail. Inside was a gift-wrapped package, which I opened to find a brand-new wallet. The wallet was fragrant dark-blond leather and contained $1000 in twenties and fifties. There was also a two-way plane ticket to Toronto, and a gift certificate to eat the most expensive meal offered in the restaurants of the Toronto Marriott Eaton Centre. Like several other Canadian cities, Toronto has an extensive system of heated underground pedestrian tunnels. As in Montreal, a person could theoretically live in central Toronto, work, play, and live without ever going outside during the winter months. My wallet had no note, no signature—but the dinner certificate had a scribbled reservation time, 7:30 p.m. on the date of my flight. There was also a faint rouge kiss-print whose maker I was sure to have been T. Amused, I took this roundabout flight from JFK to Washington D.C. and thence to Toronto. I was seated at a corner booth in the dark-paneled Consort Bar, which resembles a pub of sorts. The hostess took my reservation and seated me alone in a bench booth, secreted against an interior brick wall.
I confined myself to a light salad and a beer, when I smelled that same perfume I had noticed in the mall back home before looking into those wild forest-green eyes. Moments later, my two preppy looking older women slid into the benches. T was on my left, Blondie opposite. They wore scarves, light tan loden overcoats, and wool berets. Their cheeks were flushed from the cold outside, and they brought fresh air with them in their coats. It was obvious they shopped together a lot. "I should have waited," I started to apologize, but Blondie waved me off. "Oh, don't mind, we grabbed a huge lunch in Detroit."
"You go ahead and enjoy yourself," T said as she slipped her arm through mine. For several minutes, before they settled in, they were kind of hyper, looking around at the people and the menu and what not. They each ordered Dubonnet on the rocks, with a twist, while I finished my beer and switched to spring water.
The drinks relaxed them, and pretty soon we were feeling cozy in our booth. T told me: "We have rooms at the Marriott of Bay Street near the Eaton Centre. Now this all has to happen like a military plan, okay?" I agreed. "He is so nice and easy going," Blondie said. "I wish I were married to someone like you." It was the first time I had actually committed to a tryst with a married woman, knowingly, and I wished she wouldn't mention that again, in that acidy tone, but it was reality. "Sorry," she added, downing her drink. She ordered another. T squeezed my arm. "Be patient. She's a little high strung. Something new for her."
"For me too," I whispered back. For a moment, I thought U was going to bolt. But she unexpectedly reached across the table with soft, square pale hands and patted my hand. She didn't say anything. Her drink came, and she had it to her lips in a moment. T reached across the table and took it from her. "You won't need this. Trust me." She gave my arm a tug. "Let's walk." And so we did. It started getting dark, and a thousand neon lights danced around us. It wasn't dreadfully cold, and we walked surface streets from King Street East, north on Yonge Street, and into the vast Eaton Centre. This is a fabulous mall with a high glass ceiling that covers a big city block. We didn't linger among the thousands of shoppers, diners, and movie goers, but walked a brief stretch in clean and well-lit underground passages to the bowels of my hotel, the Toronto Marriott Eaton Centre. We rode up many flights and walked down acres of corridors to reach the suite in which they were setting me up for the night.
While U disappeared into the bathroom, T took me aside. "She's still very nervous. It's the first time she's done anything like this. You see what a production it is. You'll be gentle with her, won't you?"
"If you two are gentle with me, I won't run away," I quipped.
She laughed. "That's all we need. Now let me clarify. She and I do not make love. I want some time with you, honey, but I want you to help her relax and enjoy herself a bit."
"I overheard your conversation the day we met," I said. "I know she is lonely."
"Then you understand. We both made a mistake in life from which we can't turn back. Really, it's the children. I'd give up the money in a heartbeat. I'm trying to make sure she doesn't start drinking to ease her pain, and you see that I'm a pretty strong person." She stroked my hair. "You are a sensitive, good young man. My advice to you is not to think about us except as girls your age, if you can manage that, having a fling. Don't think about anything else. You won't want or need for anything on this trip."
"Thank you."
She kissed me on the cheek like a friend. "No, thank you for turning out to be a very decent guy."
The suite they had rented for me, for us, had two bedrooms, a central sitting room, and a huge marble bathroom with gleaming floors. It had a sunken tub big enough to float a yacht, and a separate four-seater Jacuzzi with jets. I changed into a short white bathing suit, boxers-style, nothing grotesque. I donned a white terry bathrobe over that, which was thick and fluffy and came to my knees.
T donned a similar robe over a dark blue bikini. She turned on the Jacuzzi, which filled the room with chlorinated steam and loud bubbling. "We only have this night and maybe some time in the morning," she said as she started filling the bathtub. "Let's make the most of it. If she gets nervous and starts to drink again, I'll sneak it away from her and pour it out. I don't want her to ruin her big night out."
"This looks like a nice room to start our evening in," I said. U entered the room as if nothing had happened. She was several inches taller than T, a little fuller, but still thin. She wore a turban and a robe. I expected things would be uncomfortable for a while, but she acted nonchalantly as she stepped into the Jacuzzi. She swept her turban off and left the robe on the steps below. She wore a white bikini. Her back was long and sinuous, as was her neck.
The page boy swung this way and that, almost looking small on her finely formed skull. With her long arms and legs, she was statuesque. Her skin was milky and soft. T and I exchanged awkward looks. What to do? How to start things rolling?
I walked slowly toward the Jacuzzi, in which U was relaxing with her eyes closed and her head lying back. I walked slowly, the way one does in order not to startle a pet animal. With her ripe lips and softly sculpted cheeks and small, rounded, almost streamlined nose, she was imposingly beautiful and that slowed my step.
T took my advance as a signal to clear the room, so she left us alone. I climbed up into the Jacuzzi, saying "May I join you?"
"Mmm," U said without opening her eyes. She smiled happily. I was a bit surprised, thinking we'd have a scene. I made small talk, and she invited me to sit beside her. I let her take the lead at her comfort, and sat quietly beside her. She took my hand, and so we sat holding hands quietly for a minute or two.
Then she pulled my hand toward her, and brought her face close to mine. She made a kissy-mouth, and I gently leaned down to kiss her. She didn't open her eyes, and her face was flushed. "I'm still buzzed from the King Eddie," she ground out without losing the kissy-mouth. "Don't worry, I'm not sloshed." I smelled something sharp, sour. "I went into the bathroom and threw up." I wrinkled my nose. She opened her bright blue eyes. "What's the matter?"
"You smell of toothpaste and barf." I tried to say it with a smile, and without being critical.
"Oh, is that all?" She ducked under the water, and emerged in mid-Jacuzzi sputtering and wiping her wet hair back. Tilting her face up, she opened her mouth and gargled loudly with a huge mouthful of hot chlorinated water she had filled her cheeks with. She spat it out when her face started turning blue from lack of oxygen, and paddled over toward me so that her face came within inches of mine. "Better?"
I laughed and pulled her close so that our lips were in inch apart. "Now you smell like the YMCA swimming pool." She laughed, and I pulled her the last inch closer so that our mouths joined and my tongue found hers. The bad breath was gone. I lay back and pulled her softly onto me, still trying not to spook her just in case. She straddled my lap, and stroked the sides of my face with her hands. She studied me with suddenly serious eyes. "I wish you would hurry up and be older so we could get serious. I'm leaving him."
"You are?"
She nodded. "I haven't told T yet." She put a finger on my lip. "Don't you say anything either. I am the only person she has, but I can't play this game any longer. I didn't want to do this, but now that I know what I really want to do, I want us to have a blowout here tonight. I want you to be the fuck I will never forget, unless we see each other again. I want you to be the period at the end of my sentence."
"I'll be better than that," I said. "I'll be the carriage return at the end of a very long, dark paragraph in the book of your life. Better yet, a chapter ending."
She twiddled the tip of my nose. "End of Book One, beginning of Book Two."
I sat there with this gorgeous blonde on my lap, and just looked at her enjoying every pixel of her spread. I ran my palms lightly up and down the stem of her long torso. I cupped her small buttocks and pulled her toward me. She moved compliantly, lightly, as if buoyant not only in the water but in her new happiness. She poked at my navel. "Innie."
I poked at hers. "Outtie."
She put her finger lower. "Boner."
I squirmed. "Very." Her fingertip felt like fire on my swollen head.
She slid down and pulled at my swim trunks. "Let me fix."
I reached down into her bikini and felt for the little bead I expected. It was tiny but it was there and it was hard. "Peanut," I said.
She palmed my finger down further into her and slid up to kiss me. A long french one while my finger wiggled in her sweet pussy.
Then she slid down and started giving me head. "God, you have a big meaty dick here." She ran her tongue around it, studied it, cranked it like a five-speed in overdrive. "What a great machine this is. If it were longer, I'd shriek and run from the room."
"Or not," I said grinning.
"I'm on fire tonight, baby. I might make you shriek and run from the room."
"Only if I see you chasing me. I'd let you catch me."
"You won't escape, not tonight."
"Okay, I'm yours. Please, do what you want. Tell me what you want, and I will lay it on you." "I like that word lay." She played with my dong. The Jacuzzi cut off, and she sloshed over on long legs to press the button for another ten minute go. Then she sloshed back and held out her arms. I rose to join her, and we stood like two slow dancers amid the bubbling, frothy water, with the steam rising around us while we kissed long and arduously.
T peered in once or twice and vanished again. U called out to her friend. T peeked again and asked: "Any seconds for me later maybe?"
U said: "I am going to wear him down to a toothpick and then throw him to you." She hugged me to make sure I wasn't offended. She asked her friend: "Are you exceptionally horny?"
"I could eat him alive."
U said "Okay, hold on." She put her hand on my buttocks and led me out of the Jacuzzi with my dong pointing straight ahead. Laughing, she grabbed it. "It looks swollen and heavy. Does sit hurt when it's purple like that? I'll lift it for you so it doesn't get hurt." As we walked, she kept it in her hand and it felt good.
I let her play. I felt goodnatured about it. Being a sex object wasn't so bad if they just weren't rude or mean about it. I could fully understand a woman's position in this regard. I knew what assholes men could be at times, and was determined to do my best not to be one. I wouldn't let anyone push me around or make fun of me, but I had become sure of myself and my ego felt like velvet over steel. I slid my hand into U's panties and cupped one of her tight little apple buttocks, maybe to enjoy, and maybe to send a little message subliminally. Her ass felt good in my hand. Maybe she was sending me a message too.
We entered a large bedroom that contained a master bed, and then a smaller single against a wall. Tall as she was, U took a chair and slid it under the huge plate glass window that overlooked a twinkling galaxy of Toronto's skyline by night.
"Turn off the lights," she instructed T. Standing on the chair, she took down a twelve foot section of the sheer curtain, which was attached to a little steel track with about a dozen little steel wheels.
I said "The skyline looks far better naked" as U strode on long legs around the big bed, pulled some tacks out of a bulletin board, got onto the big bed, and tacked the curtain to the ceiling.
"Good job," we both said and clapped as U sprang down and made a nude curtsy. She had small, tight breasts with little pink nipples—a pinkie to T's brownie—and they bobbed tautly just once as she jumped down. U said "Voila" and pointed to the large bed. She made herself comfortable on the smaller bed a few feet away alongside. T slipped out of her robe, dropped the bikini parts, and joined me on the bed. I could see the faint outline of U's long body as she lay on her side, fondling her breasts slowly and absently waiting for a long, leisurely warmup. T and I repeated our sequence of the earlier balling. We did much of it standing on the bed so that U could have a clear view and enjoy herself.
As things heated up, T had me turn with my rear end pointing toward her friend, and started licking the crack of my ass while fondling my buttocks and slapping them lightly. I had my finger on her clitoris and massaged it briskly the way she liked it. Some women like it hard, others light, and some are so sensitive they can't stand to have the little olive touched. Some just want to do that part themselves. T was very wet and liked a brisk rub.
"Whoah," I heard U say. "This is getting hard to take."
Just then, T began to orgasm. She spasmed, bending over, lower each time, until she collapsed on the bed beside me and held my wrist with both of hers to make my finger stop what it was doing.
U walked up the bed on her knees while T crawled away under the curtain to take her place on the narrow bed. There she lay, curled up, with one hand buried in her crotch, and the other hand idly holding up her chin on the pillow as she gazed through the curtain at me and U.
U and I crawled around each other like a pair of animals inspecting, sniffing at each other's cracks, licking each other's genitals. I remembered what T and I had found after U's orgasm, and I knew that this page-boy blonde churned out some juice, some cunt milk, mare's milk, when she got hot. I sniffed her behind as she waited for me on hands and knees.
Aside from a little blonde tuft of hair in front, she was naturally bare. Her labia were a complex tangle of pink folds. Some women have outtie cunts, while others have innie cunts. The innies are more rare. Heavier women sometimes have fatty outer lips that hide the little flossies inside. This woman, while long and thin, had an innie cunt. It was taut as a peach, and I had to work my tongue through the firm outer area, to penetrate into the (very wet already) inner region. Her lesser labia were firm and small, like peach slices from a can. Hidden beneath it all was a firm little bud that flowered for me as the tip of my tongue found it.
"That's the spot," she gasped. "Go for it."
She tossed her head left and right as I drilled down on her clitoris, coaxing it out from its heavy hood, seeking it with my tongue. At the same time, I lightly ran my finger around the rim of her outer labia, then her inner labia, and finally into her cunt hole. Then I brought some of her heavy juice up to push into her asshole. I kept sliding my finger into that underwater, kelpy flesh inside her vaginal canal, and bringing out wet slick fingers which I pushed gently through the door of her pink pucker, parting and loosening the tightness of her sphincter. Soon her clitoris lay in the fold of the tip of my tongue as if the two wanted to spend the night entwined. At the same time, I had her back door all softened and moistened.
She liked this, and reached back over her buttocks to insert a finger in her anus, just the first joint of her fuck finger. I brought more mucus up on my finger and rubbed it on her fingertip, so that it was transported into her asshole. She began to spasm. She pulled out the finger and grasped her breasts, left, right, left, right. She was sinking. She was crashing. Her face contorted with the anguish of pleasure as she sobbed loudly. I rolled up my tongue like a jungle plant leaf around her clitoris and sucked lightly, so that the strong vacuum drove her nuts. I was careful not to hurt her, and I didn't want her clit to be sore, because I wanted it handy for more pleasure later. She lay looking back at me, with one leg pulled up, and her cunt area looking at me pinkly under a dangling hand. I threw myself at those pink folds, but she intercepted me with a hand on my forehead.
"Easy," she gasped. "You are going to wear us out tonight."
They switched places. Now T was back in bed with me, while U went to the small bed. "Let's see, where were you?" T said playfully. She assumed the exact pose U had just abandoned, though of course her body was more compact and petite. I went from looking at a pinkie innie cunt to a brownie outtie cunt. It was a pleasant switch.
Though she was smaller, T had larger labia that I enjoyed pulling in between my gums and sucking as if they were covered with honey. If you do this one way, it annoys the woman and can even hurt. If you do it right, depending on the size and shape of the lips, you can make her shiver with pleasure and she will writhe with her eyes closed and a sigh or a smile. That was what T did as I concentrated on her labia. At the same time, I stroked her tight, round little buttocks. I pushed her up so she was on all fours as U had been, and nosed around her rear as I had done with U.
T moaned and sighed, wriggling contentedly on folded arms with her tits hanging down and her nipples like hard little nuts. I tongued her clitoris, which was bigger and more available than the other woman's. At the same time, I used my index finger and then two fingers to ferry prodigious amounts of vaginal syrup to her butt pucker. To get closer and see better, I slid under her so that her behind pointed directly at my face. She was on her knees, bent over, and sucking on my cock. I could lick her clit and at the same time take pleasure in watching my fingers working on her asshole.
I pushed in my spit and her cunt juice until her sphincter relaxed so totally that her asshole opened slightly. I cupped her splayed buttocks and pulled her closer so that I could insert the tip of my tongue in her asshole. In this way, I tongue-fucked her asshole while she massaged her breasts. As her passion grew, she threw her head back though she remained well bent forward to allow me maximum tongue-purchase on her rear. She began pulling her hair with both hands while wailing in the throes of another orgasm.
Right there, I could hold myself no longer. I ejaculated spurt after spurt of milky cum that flew up onto her face. She bent down and sucked my cock dry. Then she rubbed her face with it to spread the cum all around. I lay on my belly, exhausted, while the two women switched places. Now T was the one on the small bed, and she looked over at us while gently massaging her pubic area with all ten fingers flat. She too was gasping for breath and red in the cheeks, with a dazed glow in her eyes—the forest green eyes in which I had seen so much wildness through all those layers of disguise and submission.
U now sat beside me, idly rubbing my back, my buttocks, my thighs. I was too tired to move for the moment. She sat quietly looking down on me with a happy glow on her face. My hand lay limply at my side. She managed to twist her long, agile body around so that she could lift my hand and insert two fingers into her damp and ready cunt. That was all she wanted for now. She pressed her legs shut around my hand, and the two fingers stayed nicely trapped in the warmth of her pussy while I faded away.
We made love several times before noon the next day, when we had to fly our separate ways. Of all the women I had met in this way, I came closest to genuinely falling in love with U—by which I mean, among other things, the age difference would not have mattered to me. Shh! Sadly, though, she did leave her husband and she disappeared into the far west, where she became an editor at a fashion magazine. She went through years of an ugly and sometimes violent divorce. T and her husband moved to London. I'm not sure that U and T ever saw each other again. I didn't pursue the matter either, but drifted on. It was quite a while before I fell back into this older woman, Summer mode. There were some younger women for a while, but they do not figure in the scope of this book.
|
