Chapter 3
I closed the bathroom door and flipped on the fan.
Her voice muted, “Sandy- where are you?”
Carly gave me her wicked smile and dropped to her knees. In one swell swoop, her lips wrapped around the head of my cock. “Sweat mother of god.”
“Sandy are you in the bathroom?”
“Hi Stace. I’m on the pot. I’m sick. Had to be something I ate.”
Carly’s teeth- she could open a side business as the worlds first orally skilled Mohel.
“Sandy, do you need anything?”
I ran my fingers through Carly’s hair. Her hand crept along my ass. “I want to lie down.” Carly flicked her tongue over my knob in a series of pirouettes. God, if she ever took up yodeling…She lay back and pulled me towards her.
Stacy’s voice a bit louder, “Sweetheart, do you need anything from the drug store?”
I gave a rather disgusting, inhuman noise to mask Carly’s moan as the mushroom pressed between her wet petals. Carly’s eyes shot open. “Well that was certainly sexy…”
“Did you say something Sandy?”
“Can I call you tomorrow. I’m really beat.” I pushed deep into Carly’s moist folds. Her legs wrapped around my neck. I kissed her ankle. An easy glide into the enflamed jungle.
I stared down into the face of my longtime lover; her parted lips, her eyes accepting, knowing, trusting, wanting me. Carly’s hair cascaded over the carpet, her breasts trembled with my rhythm She wrapped her arms around my neck and so began the floor dance. I felt the surge, but I didn’t want the minute waltz. I slowed down.
“Will you be in there long Sandy?”
I lifted my lips from Carly’s. “I’m sure I will.” Carly nodded as my balls came to rest on her ass. She wiggled her hips, massaging every nerve of my penis. “Let me call you tomorrow alright? I should be…” I gave a deep grunt to match my deep thrust. “You better go babe. This place is about to become toxic.”
I saw the shadow pass under the door.
“Bye Sandy. Hope you feel better.” I heard keys crash into the wall. “Carly, make sure he gets some rest tonight, o.k.?”
* * * * * * * * * * *
I pulled out. The slap of foreskin against navel. I flushed the toilet for effect, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my waist. I saw the back of Stacy’s head just as she slammed the front door. I ran out into the carpeted hall and caught her at the elevator.
She turned. Cat slits. “Sandy, you bastard. Was that “coitus interruptus” or do you always shit in the nude with an erection?”
“Stacy, I’m alone.”
She grabbed the towel and with a magicians flourish, pulled the table cloth. Nothing wobbled- the stability of stone. She eyed me. “Alone heh? I had no idea you could kiss yourself there. And since when did you start wearing lipstick?”
The ding of a bell. I was done. Cooked. Baked. And flambéed.
Mrs. Lipshultz, a fowl tempered neighbor in her 100’s, and her leashed, overly coiffed poodle, Princess, stepped off the elevator. I covered up. Stacy jumped into the elevator and pressed the button while Princess ran circles around my ankles. There, trapped in the torment of canine bondage, I looked up into stained eyes as the steel doors closed. The elevator ate Stacy. The poodle yipped at the chew toy between my legs.
I stared at Mrs. Lipshultz. She tugged on the leash while I lifted my leg, trying to untangle myself. I reached for the lead but the towel slid down my legs. I grasped it, somewhere around my knees and the fire escape. My version of the San Andreas fault aimed perpendicularity at Mrs. Lipshltz. Meantime, Princes pounced, and the highland games were on. While the battle raged, Mrs. Lipshultz screamed and somewhere in the background I heard the voice of enticement, “Oh Sandy…”
I turned. Carly stood at the doorframe, gloriously nude, Venus rising. Her hair tumbled off her shoulders between pale breasts, with eyes that promised wonderfully wicked deeds. The flame trees of Thika between her tender thighs.
A clunk. I turned.
Princess sat on the old woman’s chest and practiced her French. She licked Mrs. Lipshultz’s prehistoric lips; the dog’s tongue prying, sliding between mummy-brown lips and tainted dentures. The old gal died. Or worse, fainted.
I crouched and approached the prone woman. The dog growled.
Carly ran towards us, pink tipped boobies be-bopin’ in 4/4 time. She looked at me. I looked at Mrs. Lipshultz. The cadaver snapped opened her eyes and stared at my cock. She screamed. I screamed. Carly screamed. The dog howled. Then wet the carpet.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“No officer, I don’t make it a habit to walk around in the nude in the hallway. It won’t happen again.”
Mrs. Lipshultz sat against the wall, shaking her head. “God it was hideous. I thought it was a snake.” The ambulance attendant, a middle aged sailor chaser, the name Carl embroidered in blue script across his shirt, smiled at me with capped teeth. Princess licked her lips.
Carly looked at the officer and put a hand on my arm. “Sandy, I think it’s best I go home now.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
The Santa Ana’s had died. I missed Stacy. I rubbed my forehead. God, the shit I could get myself into.
Carly pulled me from my thoughts. “I’m opening at a new club this Friday. Won’t you come and play with me Sandy?”
The streetlamps cast roving, soft shadows on her lips. “Any time darling. Anytime.” The Galaxy purred through the empty street.
Carly bit her cuticle, “How did she know it was me?”
“Your perfume.” I breathed her in. “Joy. Stacy knows you wear it. She knows I love it.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
Barbara Bristol wore dark green. “How was your weekend Mr. Jamieson?”
“Please call me Sandy. You can save the Mr. Jamieson for when you meet my father.”
Monday morning and the aroma of Joy. The start of another testosterone rich week at the office.
Barbara brought me coffee. I looked around to ensure our privacy. I whispered her name in my bedroom voice, “Care to join me Barbara?”
She stood upright, her curves screaming at me and in her best bedroom whisper, a husky pull that would stir erections in the dead, “I don’t think that would be very appropriate Mr. Jamieson. Like I said before, I like to keep things professional in the workplace.” Her smile, molten. She closed the door behind her.
I shook my head at the sight of her. “Wish I had a bigger office and she had a longer walk. Damn.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
After lunch I was about to say farewell to my lunchtime martini. Two execs came into the bathroom and stood beside me.
“She’s here. I saw her.” He stared at the wall.
“Is it true about the last one?” This one stared at his wingtips while doing the splatter dance.
“Yeah. She found him here. He set her up real well.”
“But she only goes for the old ones right?”
“Yes.”
He waggled. “I understand he came and went.” A metallic zip. “If you know what I mean. Who’s she working for?”
“I don’t know but the poor bastard should be warned.”
I shook and flushed. “Who you guys talking about?”
“New sexitary. Last name’s White.”
“You can’t miss her. Mid thirties. Auburn hair. Tits like a zeppelin and hips like a ski slope.”
“She’s on the loose. She finds rich older men, marries ‘em, then fucks ‘em to death.”
I soaped my hands, “Well there are worse ways to die.”
“Made a killing on a fellow here. Took her ten years to do him in though.”
“Yes. He had great stamina. Understand he played a lot of tennis…”
* * * * * * * * * * *
I walked into my office and opened my file cabinet. I heard Barbara on the phone. “Oh he’s a pussycat. Nice fellow. Handsome. A shame he’s too young for my blood…. No, that’s too close to home. Too many complications.”
“A new club? Friday? Well now that I’m a widow, I do need a little action. Actually I need something bigger- at least eight inches…. I’m wicked? Roger was a nice man but he’d rather bang a tennis ball than bang me…. I know, I know…. Well after all he was seventy….Listen, I’ve got to go, he’ll be here soon. See you Friday. Bye.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
She came back a moment later, minty fresh and sanitized, two buttons down today. She took a stack of meaningless folders into my office. I followed her.
She lowered herself, down to the bottom cabinet, her skirt rising, inch by inch, aiming the dark triangular shadow between thigh and skirt towards me. She looked down at the folders, her thighs parted ever so slightly. She glanced over the auburn hair that fell over her eyes. “How was lunch Mr. Jamieson?”
“Mrs. Bristol, the company would like to treat you to lunch tomorrow.”
“Would they? That’s rather nice but…”
I came around and sat on the edge of my desk. She stared at my crotch. I knew that would get her attention. “Where would you like to go?”
The tip of her tongue touched her lower lip. “Will you be there?”
I smiled, “Of course.”
“And the company will pay?”
“Yes. Very professional. I promise.”
She ran a hand through her hair, “What shall we have? What would you like to eat?” She looked up at me, her thighs parted a bit more. Stocking tops and black garters.
“We can go to the tennis club. Do you like tennis?”
The dry winds of her smile. “Yes. I love the sound of balls getting whacked.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
That night the winds resumed, the palms trees tossed with invisible waves. Near midnight, her bedroom light came on. I crossed the street and knocked on the door. “You shit. What took you so long?” She closed the door and rushed into my arms, my lips tasting tears. “Goddamn it Sandy, I wish I didn’t love you.” She tore off my shirt, taking me with her, walking backwards, her back coming to rest against the door.
“I can’t be away from you. You’re my addiction.” I lifted her skirt, my hands pulling down her silk panties. She was already wet.
“So is this what we’re about? Tears and sex?” She lifted her right leg and wrapped it around my hip. My hand slid around the curves of her thigh and ass.
I bit her neck, “I can’t offer you anymore right now Stacy.” I entered her.
She closed her eyes, her breath a sweet whisper. “Sandy, tell me you love me. Please darling. Love me.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
I carried her into the moonlit bedroom, her legs still hooked around my waist, hot tears upon my neck. I set her on the bed. And for the first time, I looked at her, I mean truly looked at her. And I saw in Stacy something profound, something that lay hidden in the blindness of six months of physical attraction, in six months of loveless sex. Stacy was no longer a beautiful piece of ass. I noticed for the first time, Stacy’s heart. I realized before me was a special woman who needed, wanted and deserved to be loved. Something happened, something stirred within a part of me that had never been touched. The immediate frenzy in the living room, the passion of the women in my life, the notches in my bedpost, the names in the black book, gave way. I held Stacy in my arms and touched her face, my eyes reflected in pained tears, in the tears that I brought to her.
She touched my lips with a gentle finger. Her eyes softened, knowing with a woman’s wisdom.
And for the first time in my life, I honestly made love to woman.
* * * * * * * * * * *
It was not the pre-calculated sex of conquest. Gone were the planned moments of seduction; no dimmed lights and alcohol softened inhibitions, the strategically timed touches and caresses were thrown aside. The need for my pleasure vanished. The need for dominance, for control over a woman disappeared, replaced by something all together more profound, the need to offer something more daunting and dangerous to another human being.
My heart.
We lay on our sides, face to face. Her leg over mine, I eased into her. But there was no movement, no words. Our eyes spoke. The language of touch, words from a finger. She closed her eyes and surrendered her self. I discovered it was the most profound gift ever given to me. Through out the night we were one. We laughed. She trembled with lingering kisses. We held each other close.
In the morning, the feeling remained. And for the first time in my life I told a woman, with out fear and with no interior motive, of what burned in my heart.
“I love you, Stacy.”
Once spoken, there was no turning back. Nor did I want to. The look in her eyes. We made love under an amber sunrise. All that mattered was her pleasure. I lay behind her; her breasts, held in warm hands, kisses on her neck. She lifted her arm and I kissed the sweeping curve of her underarm, while our fingers interlocked. I kissed her nose, her tender lips. My hands flowed over Stacy, down her breasts and belly, into the soft fan of dark hair between her legs, where I nuzzled into the perfumed nest. My tongue found the treasured spot, the flower opened. “Now Sandy. I want to feel you in me.” I pressed forward, the joining of loins, the joining of hearts. Deep inside, I lifted her up as I sat on the bed. Her breasts pressed against mine, Stacy on a merry-go-round, the joy on her face, the red glow that spread across her chest. Moist kisses and the heat of her tongue. Her hair; my face buried in a sea of dark brown and her floral scent. She bit my neck, a nibble on the heated throb of my jugular, her tongue on my pulse, on my life. I lay back, the connection unbroken, she leaned forward, her hands coursing through my hair, her mouth soft and open, I pressed her face to mine, our breath, the mingling of souls. Ripples. Ripples of pleasure, ripples on the sheets. Stacy sat up, her nipples hard, I pulled her towards me, pushing my hips upwards, burying myself in further, the desire to be in her overwhelming. I held her breast and brought my lips to the source of man’s first desire. Her sighs filled the room. Stacy wore an endless smile.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Her smile sustained me through out the morning.
Until Barbara Bristol, during our company paid lunch, slid next to me and under the shield of a tablecloth, put her right hand on my lap and squeezed my cock.
Chapter 4
We stepped from my car, onto a burning parking lot, freshly coated and black as sin. The Santa Ana’s rolled in from the desert, the air crackling and red, filled with smoke from an unknown fire.
I opened Barbara’s door. She turned in her seat, knees aimed at my chest, skirt climbing, revealing white skin above her stocking tops. She smiled at the show, through wind blown hair that hid part of her eyes. The wind suited Barbara Bristol- the heat, the unforeseen spark, the traces of smoke; it crept under her white blouse, the unseen lover licking at her cleavage, the scalding hand that cupped and thumbed. She threw back her head and laughed, her blouse fluttering against her breasts like a flag. She, a beacon in virginal white and proud of it.
The wind pushed us past the tennis courts and the bronze skinned women in white daisy skirts, the matrons of tennis: heavily shouldered with death grips, rippling thighs and squeaky shoes. In the background, the echoed scream of the abused tennis ball. I felt sorrow for their men. Barbara bumped into me, her hands on my arm, her ample breasts compressing into my arms, “God, I love that sound.”
We blew into the oasis of a dark restaurant and were seated in a remote corner under the portrait of a man, who I believed, was the tennis club president. She looked up at the golden Adonis; gray haired and tanned with perfect hair and perfect teeth, his tennis shirt collar perfectly aligned, the portrait of an affluent man who I’m certain knew many secrets from that corner table. “Sandy, I want you to meet Roger. My husband.”
I turned around, hand extended, to empty space.
She guided me, “This was him. Hanging on the wall.”
I looked at Adonis. “Him?”
“Yes. Don’t worry. He’s dead as a doornail.”
“You mean laid to rest or?” The nod of the forlorn widow. Such beautiful, sad eyes. “I’m sorry Barbara. Let’s get another table.”
Her hip rested against mine, her hand leading me towards destiny. “It’s alright. I’d like for him to watch.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
The waiter came and brought her second martini. Barbara leaned into to me, her breath hot in my ear, “Let me help you with your napkin.” It was then that her hand, warm and comforting, came to rest on my lap. She looked me in the eye, fishing for my zipper. “Sandy, my husband’s dead. I killed him.” Little metallic clinks. “In bed.”
I placed my hand on her wrist, “When did this happen?”
She spoke into space, her eyes glued to the independently thinking bulge in my pants, “A year ago. I’ve been abstaining ever since.”
“You mean you haven’t…”
“Nope.” Her eyes dared refusal.
I covered her hand with mine. I couldn’t resist; I pressed her hand down on my manhood. “Why me Barbara? I mean I’m flattered as all hell…”
“You’re young, you’re free, I can tell you know your way around a woman’s body.” She rolled a cigar on my thigh. “There’s little chance of you kicking the bucket while filling mine.”
“Barbara. I don’t know how to tell you this…I’m in love.”
“So? I’m horny.”
“No strings?”
Her hair fell over her eyes, “No strings.” Soft, darkened laughter, “Well, maybe rope…” She placed my hand on her thigh. I saw something in her eyes, her need- not only for sex. No I saw something else, a need to feel cared for. And beyond that, something deeper, hidden far below carnality: I saw her Fear.
* * * * * * * * * * *
My mind reached out for Stacy. Her smile, her touch, her love. I looked at my watch. She was somewhere over Colorado by now.
I’d lived a life of guilt-free lies and love, a life steeped in brief encounters, and beautiful women. Women in need, women of kindness. A life filled with women who sought pleasure and a few hours of happiness. I’d lived a life of sexual gratification, a life of hedonistic joy. Barbara Bristol was a woman of silken richness, a living fantasy, a woman of experience that needed the gifts I could offer. Who was I to refrain?
My right hand slid up Barbara’s tight skirt. My warm fingers murmured over silken nylons. I watched her face, the heart of the sensual woman; the closed eyes, the parting mouth. I felt the tremble in her thigh, the movement of muscles as her legs opened. I loitered in the tender space between nylon and panty, my fingertips kissing soft sweet skin. Her eyes opened; she moved closer. My pinky jumped at the touch of her uncovered mound. She squeezed my cock. Her lips rested against my ear, whispering, “I never wear panties”. My pinky pressed, alive and happy; the little explorer, on the edge of an unseen jungle. Barbara’s warmth, the edge of my pinky circling her soft pillow of invisible curls, painting with traces of moisture. I moved my hand away, longing to kiss the deprived pout of her lips. She watched me, lips parting, as I brought my hand to my mouth. The scent of Joy. Distinctively hers. Only hers. Forever hers. I kissed my pinky as the next round of drinks arrived.
Alone again, my hand returned to the shadows while she lowered my zipper. I leaned over, my nose pressed into luxurious amber hair. Millimeters above the curve of her pink ear, my words, private and wet, “I would love to taste you.” Her thighs squeezed against my hand. Fingernails slipped into the pocket of my underwear. The painting above me blushed.
I swelled in her hand. Her thumb, a soft skinned tongue of the desert, floated over the tip of my penis. She looked out over the room as her thumb took a magical journey over glans and the underside of my cock, along the swelling ridge. She looked down at her hand, then into my eyes as she unfolded my expanding length like a wallet. Further down; her hand reached for the base, her index finger sweeping across my soft, hot balls.
The waiter took our order. She held her hand in place. “I’ll have Caesar Salad.” She looked at me, her thumb nail ran down the groove on my glans. “Extra creamy.”
My toes curled, I surrendered the menu, muttering “Sweet, tender veal…and an extra napkin please.” The waiter left; the mercury rose.
She talked of work and the joys of the new copier on our floor, all the while, her left hand moved along my length. From base to tip, her thumb circling at the top of her stroke, up and down she went, a slow easy rhythm, the serenade of a fist. Near boiling, she leaned over, her tongue in my ear followed by, “I want to kiss you. Right there.”
God, she had expressive, compass driven fingers.
I opened my legs further, and pulled back the waist band of my shorts, my napkin covering the beast. “Shall we take this outside?”
Her eyes, frozen on my cock, her grip tightened, her pace quickened, the voice of the near fucked, “No. I want it inside. Now.”
“I live five miles from here.”
“I’m two blocks.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
She ran into her house. I pole vaulted right behind her.
The door slammed behind us, pushed by the wind.
The crush of lips, the collision of teeth, hands grabbing, breath stolen in a kiss, clothes peeled in suspended disbelief. She pulled away, her breath, coming in gasps, a thoroughbred at the home stretch. She sat down on the sofa, eye level with my raging hard-on. I unbuttoned my pants while Barbara grabbed her chest, her hands cupping her beautiful, swollen breasts, her mouth open, lips parted, ready to take me. Her eyes glazed over, the scent of Joy, her breathing strained, I overlooked her bulging eyes that focused on my swollen crotch and the gurgle in her voice, “Sandy…” She slid off the couch onto the floor.
I stepped out of my pants, “Barbara, let’s go to the bed. I don’t want to try to explain carpet burns to my girlfriend.”
Barbara squirmed on the floor, her long legs drawn up, her skirt gathered around her hips, exposing a tuft of amber hair between her pale, clenched thighs. I dropped down between her legs, my hands following the contours of her bottom. I moistened my lips, my eyes on the prize. Her foot swiped at the air in front of me. I looked up, her face blue, a guttural voice from another dimension, “Sandy- I can’t breathe.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
She lay on the sofa, her breathing shallow, color returning. She held her medicine with a trembling hand.
“Barbara, I had no idea you had asthma.”
“Stress induced. I haven’t had an attack like this since Roger died. I guess I’m not ready.” The poor woman nearly coughed up a lung. I took her hand. Tears of breath appeared. “He died under me… but I don’t know when. I had my eyes closed sometime between my frenzied up and downs and his final breath.” She shuddered, “I didn’t even know he had expired.”
My feet began to sweat. “I’m sure he died happy.” Reluctantly, I covered up her trembling chest.
She covered her eyes with the back of her hand, “I used to love sex.”
“I’m sure you still do. Like they say, “If you fall off the horse….”
“But I rode the horse to the ground and didn’t even realize it.” I calmed her crying before she had another attack. “I’m sorry Sandy. No hard feelings?”
I looked down at my cock, “Not any longer.”
She smiled, “God you’re cute.” She took my hand between hers. “Can we take a rain check?”
I smiled, anxious to put this behind me, “It will be our secret.”
She kissed my hand, “I wish you were about thirty years older.”
I had a vision: A flogged horse and Barbara on an orgasmic pony ride.
“Sandy, am I fired?”
“Don’t think of such a thing. I would never fire my friend.”
“Are we friends?”
“Of course.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
Barbara never returned to work. She never called, she never wrote. I went back to her home on Friday and found the house vacant. Barbara Bristol disappeared, carried somewhere by the hot winds of the desert.
She lingered in my memories, in my fantasies, a lifelong trigger for cum.
Then, in a windswept late fall afternoon, I re-discovered her some ten years later, in a hotel lobby in New York.
Chapter 5
Stacy disappeared from my life, with no fault but my own. My roving eye, my desire for pleasure, killed us. It was my discovery of Barbara Bristol’s identity in 1965 that ruined us.
I had attended a bachelor party and while we sat around drinking our martinis, we watched a grainy black and white 8mm film. There, on the plaster wall, fisting a cock while her tongue twirled in grainy glory, swallowed Barbara Bristol. Three minutes later, the film ended in dignified silence. I excused myself, went into the bathroom, unzipped and flogged my meat and in less than twenty strokes, spewed all over my fist after the initial blast creamed the bathroom mirror.
I married Carly a year later, in 1966.
We settled in the suburbs, and became parents to a lovely little girl and boy. I became a model husband; ambitious and hardworking, rising up the corporate latter, kissing the proper butt and the proper time, coming home late, calling before entertaining and raising my children from a weekend armchair.
In October 1973, I was in New York, meeting with the mucky mucks. I have always found the traffic of New York unbearable. I stepped from my cab a few blocks from the hotel and walked, propelled by the anxiety of the city.
I walked along 44th Street on a late autumn afternoon in New York, up the wind driven steps and into the marbled lobby of the Iroquois Hotel. From the tiny lobby, among the confusion of a mix of voices, the ringing phones, the above the aroma of the restaurant, I smelled Joy.
I turned and recognized her. Sitting in a leather seat, legs stretched out beside a leather suitcase, she applied lipstick while looking into her compact. She closed it with an authoritative snap and looked up at me.
“Dear God.”
I smiled, “I haven’t had a women say that to me for a few years…”
She stood up and hugged me. It was the embrace of friends: she didn’t grind anything against me.
“Have you eaten Barbara?”
“I just got into town. I’m on business.”
“Care for dinner?”
“Sandy, I would love to.” She leaned into my ear, “I’ve got my asthma medicine with me.”
I laughed, “Barbara, you look wonderful.”
She touched her hair, “You’re as handsome as ever. You’re aging well.” She looked at my left hand. “You married?”
“Yes. My high school sweetheart. Six years ago. And you?”
“Single.”
“I can’t imagine why…”
“Asthma.”
“You mean…”
The staccato of a New York girls voice over the PA, “Barbara Bristol- front desk please.”
I walked with her to check-in. She took her key and in heart throbbing silence, we rode the elevator. Our shoulder’s touched. Her room was on the fourth floor. She looked at me, no words were needed. I followed her. She slid in the key, and together we stepped into the room.
I closed the door.
She turned and the meld of mouths. Tongues danced; her hands tore at my shirt. Buttons flew off. I reached under her skirt, my hands touching the coolness of her outer thigh. I walked her backwards to the bed. She lay back, reaching for my shoulders, but I had other plans.
I ran my hands up the underside of her legs, raising her dark blue skirt. She helped me, pulling the hem higher, beyond the blacked stockings, to the dark amber hairs that curled between her legs. She looked at me, her lips parted, breasts rising, her eye’s begging.
I cupped her ass in my hands and buried my face in the Joy scented curls, my tongue, reaching, extending, the first touch of silken labia, the sweetness of Barbara Bristol. Her legs parted, I nudged further, my hands fanning out over her mound, touching the sensitive skin over her bladder and the crease between her legs. I looked up, between creamy white thighs into her beautiful face; eyes closed, her breath luxurious.
I pulled away and unbuttoned my pants. She placed her hand over her mound, fingers circling over her treasured spots. I watched, learning from her, of where she like to be touched, of her tempo, of her pattern.
Her eyes focused on me, her tongue longing, circling her lips. She sat up and reached for me, her hands wrapped around my ass. Her tongue floated over me, butterfly wings over tip and vein. I saw her on the wall: the flickering image and the mighty pull.
“How long will you be in town Barbara?”
She was polite and didn’t speak with her mouth full. “Three nights.” She drew me back into her mouth.
I pulled out and took her into my arms. “I can stay as long as you want.” I pressed into her; she arched her back and wrapped her legs around me. I pushed every fucking inch into her. Her eyes grew.
“Sweet mother of God.”
I rolled over on my back, taking her with me. “I’m all yours Barbara. Don’t worry, I won’t break.”
“Oh Sandy. God you have no idea…”
She leaned forward, kissed me gently and cried. I held her close and ran my hands through her hair. “It’s alright. My God, you’re a beautiful woman. Let’s take our time and enjoy ourselves.”
Barbara touched my face then sat up, sliding down to the hilt. Her smile spread across her mouth. “You’re so fucking big.” She slowly removed her silk blouse, our eyes locked. The silk slid over her pale white shoulders, down along her arm. Her bra strap loosened, tumbling across cleavage. I reached upwards; she took my hands and placed them on her breasts. My fingers fanned out, my index fingers slipping under the cups, moving in circles over areola, her nipples tender. She pulled aside the straps and the bra slid over curves and swell. I sat up, my cock stirring in her wetness; with tenderness, I brought my lips to her breasts. She drew me to her, embraced in a warm circle of Joy. Her hands pressing me to her breast.
I leaned back on my hands, her thighs trembling, squeezing my hips. I looked into her face, whispering, “Take off your skirt.”
She laughed, “Forgot I even had it on.” She moved up on my cock and turned the skirt so the zipped came to the front. She eased back onto my length, her breath passing over parted lips. I took her face in my hands and kissed her, our lips blending into warm, toe curling sweetness. We looked at each other, she laughed, “I haven’t felt a kiss like that since I was thirteen.”
She slipped off of my cock, the skirt falling over her flared hips. My hands reached for her, pulling her to my mouth, my lips grazing in a field of amber curls. Her legs trembled, her hands guiding me into the Joy scented forest. My lips touched her inner thigh, I looked at her sex; moist and open, labia folded back into silken leaves. I placed my lips over her clitoris, and with broad swirls, offered appreciation to her beautiful bud.
“Sandy…” Her hands pressed down on my shoulders, pushing me on my back, into the bed. I placed my hands over her hips and drew her to my mouth. She slid upwards, to my lips, my tongue. I closed my eyes and consumed her like a fine wine.
As my tongue probed deeper, she rubbed against my chin and nose. My hands worshiped her ass, I cupped, I massaged, I fondled. I reached up and supported her breasts as my tongue drew in her nectar. She tasted sweet and floral and salty.
She slid from my mouth, moist pussy trails down my chest and stomach. She draped her right leg over my thighs and rested her right hand on my chest. Her hair fell across her eyes. I reached up, moved the hair and cupped her face. She lowered her head and kissed my chest. “Sandy, I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. I’ve thought of you ever since that day…”
“So have I. You’ve been the center of my fantasies.”
She looked up into my eyes. “Are you still in Long Beach?”
“Newport.”
“I’m in Laguna Beach.”
I rolled her over, the inside of her right thigh rubbing against my hip, “We’re practically neighbors.”
The head of my cock pressed against her opening. She bit her lower lip and nodded.
I pressed into her. Barbara moaned, her head back, exposing the line of her throat. I slipped further into her, pushing from my knees and toes. She wrapped her legs around me as my balls came to rest. I kissed the warmth of her throat. Her fingers ran through my hair.
“My God Sandy, I can’t believe it.”
My hands drifted along her raised arms, our fingers interlocked. “Hope you have no plans for the next three days…”
She smiled, “This place has room service, right?”
“Darling, I think that’s what I’m giving you now.”
“You’re certain to get a tip…”
“Here’s mine.” And I began my rhythm.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Hours later, we sat in a hot bath tub, Barbara lay against my chest, water dripping from the thick white washcloth over the bubbles that covered her chest. “Sandy, I wish you could have seen my body ten years ago.”
“Barbara, you’re beautiful. I love your body. We were made for each other.”
“We do fit well together don’t we?”
* * * * * * * * * * *
For three days we played in New York; holding hands in Central Park, dinners on the company tab, sleepless nights and mornings of moans and stained sheets.
We shared a cab to Kennedy Airport.
“I’ll call you when we get back.”
“Sandy…”
“Yes?” I brought her fingers to my lips.
“Sandy, I don’t want this to end. But I don’t want to be the other woman.”
“Who said you are the other woman?”
“But you’re married…”
“Carly ran off last year with some singer from Wales.”
The dichotomy of facial expression, “I’m sorry. Why did she do something like that? You’re a great man and a hell of a lover. I would never leave you.”
I saw the cabbies black eyes in the mirror. I’m sure we’re talked about in Pakistan.
“I called her Barbara in bed.”
Barbara placed her hand on my crotch. “Really? That’s one of the most excitingly honest things any man has ever told me.”
I turned towards her, my hand traveling up her skirt. “Yes. And more than once.”
Her legs parted, her hand stroked my expanding length.
I kissed her neck, her thighs gripped my knowing fingers as she whispered, “I never want this to end.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
Thirty years later, Barbara died in my arms, on a hot September afternoon at our home as the Santa Ana’s blew, at the age of seventy-five. Today, I released her ashes into the sea.
As she requested, over the course of those love filled years, it never did end.
© Jules Abbot 2003