[For Tom and Carol]
Gwen padded back into the bedroom and it struck me once more what a graceful, attractive woman my wife was.
"It's okay," she told me. "The baby's asleep. --What are you looking at?"
"You," I told her. "Your breasts. Your posture, which gives you those lovely clean lines. Your neck -- oh, I love your neck. Your lips. Your other lips. That mad tangle of pubic hair. All the parts that make you up."
"Huh-uh," she said, and stood just out of reach. "And what do you propose to do with all of those parts?"
I leaned forward for her; she stepped back. "Make mad passionate love to them, wench."
"Oh, sweetie. I'd love to make love tonight--"
It was in her voice. I said for her, "But--?"
"But," she said. "I really don't feel like it tonight. I've been up and busy with the baby and I'm so tired..."
"Um," I said. "That's okay."
She got into the bed on her side. I didn't move to cuddle her. "We'll make love soon, I promise."
"Okay," I told her. I turned out the light and we lay there in the dark.
She shifted herself over and reached for my cock. It was still hard, though my erection was fading. "Oh, my," she said. I didn't move or respond, and she let go of me. Finally she said, "It hasn't been that long, has it?"
I sighed. "We had sex when the baby was six weeks old because the doctor said we could. Before that it was in the seventh month. So either six months or nine and a half months."
"Oh," Gwen said, and was quiet again for a while. "I just don't feel like it," she said.
"That's okay," I told her again. Again there was uneasy silence, and somewhere during that, I fell asleep, maybe for a long time, maybe not. I woke to the sound and shudders of Gwen sobbing beside me, and managed in my fogged and crusty state to place a hand on her shoulder and to croak, "Hey. Hey, what's wrong?"
"Oh, Rob, I'm suh-suh-sorry. I didn't mean to way-ay-ake you." I slipped an arm under her shoulders and held her close to me and eventually the crying subsided. "I hate not wanting to have sex, but I just don't. My breasts are these feeding stations and they just aren't sexy at all and I'm so tired and I keep thinking you might-- might--" she was sobbing again and managed to squeeze out "leave me."
"Hey," I repeated, and calmed her again. "I'm here for you. I won't go away."
"I just keep feeling you get so horny and I don't do anything for you and you might have an--" Her voice was starting to hitch again so I interrupted.
"An affair? Sweetie, we left 'to be faithful' in the marriage vow and I intend to abide by it."
She snuggled up against me, hot tears spilling onto my chest. "You promise?"
"I do," I told her solemnly.
"None of those women from your past would interest you?" Gwen had never asked much about my romantic life previous to meeting her, though I'd asked about hers. She knew I'd had just over a dozen lovers, and I knew she'd had three, including me.
"No," I told her, and then, because I was still sleepy and because it was the truth, I said, "well, only one."
"Tell me about her," Gwen said in a small sleepy voice, so I did.
* * *
Her name was Merle, and I had to fuck her with my eyes closed. Not that she was ugly, quite the opposite. She was striking to look at, raven-wing hair and pale blue eyes that held the noon sky trapped in a clean strong face. Even lying beneath me, wisps of that ebony hair sweat-plastered to her clean strong face, I knew I could look at her and lose myself, lose the urgent rhythm of my fat cock in her slick wet pussy. Instead I buried my face in the hollow of her neck, sucking and biting her earlobe and her sturdy neck, and inhaling her wild scent.
"Your cock," Merle murmured. "I love the feel of your cock sliding into me. It's so big." She pressed her hips up against me, trying to capture my entire hard cock within her. I pulled away again and teased her with the head, popping the mushroom-like glans in and out of her with short eager thrusts. "Oh, Jesusssss--" she said, and the final syllable fell apart into a long sibilant sigh as she came again, her splendid body tightening against mine and then falling slack for a moment before she was ready to go on. "Fill me," she urged. "Fill my cunt with your big fat cock."
I adjusted position, pulling her knees up around my shoulders and bracing myself for fast hard strokes. I fixed my gaze on her breasts, sagging slightly over her ribs, the broad brown areolae soft again after her orgasm. I fucked her hard, filling her with the full length of my cock on every stroke, slapping my balls against her ass, grunting with the effort. Her breasts bounced as she thrust against me.
"Touch my clit," she whispered. "I love the way you touch my clit." I tweaked one nipple (and was rewarded by a slight change in texture, a nubbly stiffening) and traced a path down to her tidy arrowhead of pubic hair. Her clit was as sturdy and patrician as her face, a hard marble of excitement, and I played it with my index finger. She was wet, always wetter than any other woman I had ever known, and every stroke and glissade made her gasp and tauten, until finally I had reduced her vocabulary to a single obscenity, over and over.
"Fuck," she whispered and gasped and moaned. "Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, ohhhhh fuck fuck fuck..." as I continued to slide my hard cock deeply into her oiled grip.
I changed positions again, putting her legs back down: this time I wanted to fuck her slowly. I wanted to come inside her. For me with Merle, that meant moving so I wasn't fucking her as much as I was rubbing the top of my cock along the ceiling of her cunt. "I'm going to come in you," I told her. I sensed her nod in the jostle of her breasts and the movement of her hips and the slow bounce of the bed.
Her pussy held me, caressed me as I slowly pushed my entire cock into her and slowly pulled it out. Merle gasped once as the head came out and again as it slid in, and she wrapped her arms around my back and her nails dug into my skin, hurting me but that was nothing compared to the delightful grasp of cunt on cock, the slippery velvet tingling that moved along my shaft, to the corona and glans and back again. I kept my deliberate, slow pace as the pressure built within me until I couldn't stand it any more and I groaned, "I'm commmming."
She moaned "Unnnh" as I frantically shoved the full length of my cock into her, grinding my pubis against her clit. My cock jerked and throbbed with orgasm, and I filled her with my come.
* * *
I stopped then. My cock was very hard, and I thought that Gwen had fallen asleep. With luck, I thought, I could manage a quiet jerk-off without waking her. As I shifted to roll her away, she reached up and held my hard-on loosely in her hand, the way the baby holds the rattle while she sleeps, and Gwen murmured, "Tell me more."
* * *
Merle wasn't the first woman I fucked, or made love to, or slept with, but she was the first I did all three with. I met her in a grocery store: I was wandering through the aisles, buying whatever looked interesting, when I glanced at her as she passed by me. She was, as I said, striking. I made a show of having bought the wrong thing (silly of me; they were Chinese mushrooms, and you can't really mistake them for anything else) and backed up to get another look.
Sometimes you see a face and your mind fills in all the details you don't quite catch so you get an idealized impression that's quite different from the reality. Other times the woman is striking but only from one angle. But Merle really was that striking to look at, and I was dumbfounded.
I followed her for three aisles before I worked up the courage to use the oldest conversation-starter in the world. I said "Hello."
It was a bumpy conversational start and I got the impression that she was somehow amused by me, but I kept talking to her. About anything that came to mind -- except sex, at least overtly. I remember that I asked her what the "virgin" meant in "virgin olive oil." She knew, and she told me. And she invited me to her place for dinner because she lived alone, she said, and if no one came over for dinner, she'd eat out of cans.
Four hours later we were fucking, and I've already told you about that. I'd never had sex like that before. (My fault, mostly, as it turned out.) Merle had standards, and I had to live up to them, in the bedroom as well as elsewhere. But this is about how we made love, and that came later.
Some relationships which start in bed never move out of it, but Merle and I had good prospects. We talked, before and after sex, and we talked about almost anything. Mostly we talked about sex, of course: what we liked and what we didn't like -- I learned a great deal about what Merle liked and didn't like; for instance, Merle could deep-throat a man, but she didn't particularly enjoy it. I discovered some things about what I didn't like, as opposed to what I thought I didn't like. And we talked about our other partners. She was quite circumspect about names -- it was always, "Well, I once knew a guy--" or once, "A girlfriend and I--"
So one night after sex, she began telling me about this guy, her first lover and her first real love. And about this nightgown she had, a red flannel nightgown from her grandmother, whom she adored. This guy had a problem: he was vicious. He was not only vicious in big ways -- he hit her a couple of times, but he always said it would be the last time, she always believed him, and it always was, for a while -- but he was also vicious in small ways. He left the seat up, because it really pissed her off. He lost things, but always her things. I always pictured him saying, "Your virginity? Geez, I don't know what happened to it. It was around here someplace." And smirking.
And one night, this guy wanted sex, and she didn't. It was cold, she was dressed for bed, he'd come in half-drunk, dropped his pants to reveal his hard-on and announced his need. They argued about it, and finally she agreed to a quickie.
Merle laughed ruefully at this point and called herself an idiot in those days. But I think that each of us has someone who gets under our skins, who reaches places in us that no-one else does, and for whom we do the unthinkable. This guy was like that for Merle, and Merle was like that for me.
Well, the quickie wasn't coming fast enough for him, and he tore the nightgown off her. He didn't quite tear it in two, but it was unwearable. Merle let him finish -- she laughed ruefully again and said it didn't take long -- and after he rolled off her and rolled into a deep drunk sleep, she packed and she left. She said she didn't even clean his come from her until she arrived at a friend's place, because she wanted the discomfort to remind her of how stupid she had been. She showed me the two pieces of the nightgown, because she meant to do something with them, maybe make them into throw pillows or something, but she couldn't bear to destroy the nightgown any further.
The next morning, she was off to work early and I was left behind to fix my own breakfast in her place. I explored a bit and found what I needed, and I stitched together the nightgown as best I could. I wasn't too pleased with the results because I can't sew, and my stitches were big and sloppy but I kept remembering what Chesterton said, that a thing worth doing was worth doing poorly.
By the time I was done, I was certain that this was absolutely the wrong thing to do, and that she was going to hate me forever for desecrating the nightgown but I didn't have time to undo it before I went off to class myself, and then I went straight back to her place, maybe to sneak the nightgown out and unfix it.
But she'd had a shitty day at work and she wasn't feeling well and she just said to me, "No fucking tonight," and I said, "Fine." And she looked at me as though she expected me to take off immediately once I knew we weren't going to boink and she was surprised I hadn't left a hole in the air as I left. She stood like a fighter stands, when he's facing the last of a line of opponents.
I had nothing to lose by confessing at that point. So I took her to her dresser and I lifted out the nightgown and put it in her arms and I left.
I hadn't gotten to the stairs when she called hoarsely to me. On her face I could see the tracks of her tears, and she held out her arms and I went to her and we held each other for a warm fragrant time. And then she kissed me, and it was like the difference between a a photograph and the real person. This was the real Merle, and her kisses were tender and sweet and hot. I kissed away her tears from her jaw and her cheeks and the corners of her eyes. She kissed my cheeks, my mouth and my throat.
Merle opened my shirt and began to kiss her way down my chest: hollow of neck, collarbone, nipples and ribs (I giggled; I was even more ticklish back then) and then down to my belt-line. She pulled me into her apartment and into her bedroom. The dampness of her kisses cooled on my skin and my nipples hardened.
She rimmed my belly button with her tongue as she undid my pants and as she pushed my underpants to the floor. My thickening cock touched her blouse's collar. She grasped it gently behind the head as she knelt in front of me. Her mouth was liquid fire as she sucked in the head of my cock. Her tongue swirled and tickled me and I closed my eyes, because Merle was very good at this. Then, with her hands holding the cheeks of my ass, she began to bob up and down the length of my cock. I felt her relax the muscles of her throat as my cock grew and hardened. I had never had a woman take all of me down her throat before. This was, I understood, a gift.
It felt...nice. I didn't find it to be the ultimate sexual experience: I was worried about her, about hurting her, and that detracted from it, but I was very flattered and turned on that she had decided to give it to me.
After a few minutes of this, she pulled her head back from my cock, a clear string of saliva still connecting us, and smiled shyly at me. I pulled her up beside me and kissed her. "Thank you," I whispered. This thing between us was still delicate and sacred, and required quiet. I stepped out of my clothes and began to undress her.
I unbuttoned her blouse and eased it off her shoulders, onto the floor. Her black skirt followed, along with her pantyhose. She stood before me in her lingerie, and I admired her for a moment. Striking, I said before, and she was. "You're beautiful," I told her, and I meant it.
She smiled and dimpled and curtsied. "Thank you."
I kissed her again, and we fell onto the bed, giggling again, and kissing some more. Her tongue flicked over my tongue, my teeth, the tip of my nose, the roughness of my chin, the inside of my ear. I wanted my cock inside her, but I also wanted this to never end, and I was afraid that once I was inside her, I would come immediately.
I unfastened her demicup bra and we struggled for a moment to get it off. She liked a lot of attention to her breasts: I kissed and sucked her big brown nipples until they stood to pebbly erection. With my mouth open wide, I sucked one in so my tongue could lave the entire thing; then I bit delicately on the nipple. I cupped the other breast in my hand, pressing and stroking it with my thumb. I scraped the undersides of her breasts gently with my stubbled cheek. I stroked one breast with the back of my hand while I scratched the other lightly with my fingernails. Every once in a while, she gasped and thrust her hips into the air. I could smell her sweet-musky excitement.
I kissed my way past her ribs and belly button and between the horns of her hips. Her plain cotton panties were transparently damp, betraying her raven pubic hair and swollen inner lips. I tasted her through the cloth, scraping my teeth from perineum to pubis. She pressed herself against my face, and I sat up to peel her panties off.
Once they were off, she scooted down the bed so my hard cock lay in the valley of her mons. I rubbed the length of my cock along her lips, teasing her, caressing her big hard clit with the head of my cock. Then I ran my cockhead around the entrance to her cunt. I tried teasing her by holding my cock right at the entrance, only a quarter-inch of it penetrating her, but she moved and captured my cock. She felt so good that I pushed and suddenly I was buried deep within her.
I held motionless for a moment, afraid I'd come, and then I slowly withdrew. She whimpered. When only my cockhead was left within her, I had to decide if I wanted to come: and it took almost all my willpower to pull out entirely. I kept moving down the bed until my knees were on the floor and my mouth was on her pussy.
I licked her, whole and in part. I sucked her marble-hard clit into my mouth and diddled it with my tongue. I slipped a finger into her, then a second, then a third, and I massaged the inside of her pussy as I played with her lips and clit. She tasted as delightful as she smelled.
Added February 28, 1996:
Finally I pulled my head away and gently stroked every slick fold of her flesh. Merle moaned as I rubbed her mons, circling her clit with my middle and forefinger and listened to her respond. Her throaty moans excited me. I held one finger just above her, and the rhythmic undulations of her hips brushed her clitoris against my finger. She began to pump her hips, seeking my finger. I moved it away and clambered up the bed to lay beside her.
"Now," she said to me. There was no worry about condoms or foam: we had settled the disease and birth control issues some time earlier. I positioned myself over her body, and she guided my hard thick cock into her. Her warm wet pussy gripped me tightly, and I gasped.
"I'm glad you like it," she murmured.
"I do," I told her. "I do."
We were familiar enough with each other by then that there was no need to talk: a shift of weight, a tiny gasp, these said as much as we needed. We settled into a comfortable rhythm, filling her pussy again and again with the length of my cock. And we kissed. I tasted myself on her, she tasted herself on me, our scents and flavours mingled like our bodies. If our fucking had been a dash for orgasm, this was a leisurely stroll.
I broke free and raised myself up once, to admire this goddess beneath me. She moved her hand to where we were joined and said softly, "Thank you."
"My pleasure," I told her.
"It's mutual," she said.
Eventually our need grew, and my thrusts grew stronger and faster. Her hips twitched against mine and our bellies slapped together as I drove my cock in and out of her. We held hands, twining our fingers together as we both sought release. She came first, with a long drawn-out sigh, pulling my hands down against the bed and pressing her feet against the sheets. Shortly after that, I grunted and then moaned as I poured my orgasm into her until I was empty and I saw her face surrounded by stars. Then I sank down and nestled against her.
And in that moment of silence afterwards, Merle whispered, "I love you."
I said, "I love you too."
* * *
Gwen's eyes were still closed, and she was breathing evenly and deeply, as though she were asleep. But her hand was moving slowly up and down my hard cock, almost absent-mindedly. She knew she could hold me at this level for a long, long time, and she knew how, with only a minor variation, she could make me come in a minute. I wiggled my hips, trying to convince her to give me that release, but she said, "Tell me more. Tell me about when you slept together."
* * *
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