I talked him over, closing the phone and stepping outside when he pulled up. I invited him in and offered a drink.
He set his bag down on the futon and opened his arms, "It's been a long time." I stepped into them and he pulled me close, burying his face in my neck. We stayed like that for several minutes.
He'd made an appointment for a massage and he needed it, too. I was glad, because I didn't really know what to do with myself now that he was here in my living room after 12 years.
My professional self took over and I told him to undress and lie on the table while I went to wash my hands.
I'm fastidious that way.
What followed was an ethical, professional deep tissue massage. His body was completely covered and so was mine.
Nearly two hours passed as we talked and joked. He was in town for the wedding of a classmate the next evening.
"Where is she registered?"
"Dunno; I went off-registry."
"What did you buy?"
When I'd finished working on his neck and shoulders I left him lying on the table and went to wash my hands again. He was still there when I returned and I remarked at how hungry I was.
"Do you have a snack to stave it off?"
"Well, I have a banana," I said.
"Then you should eat a banana."
He stood and wrapped himself in the sheet. I got a banana from the kitchen and ate it quickly.
I popped the last of the banana in my mouth, grinning. He opened his arms again, sheathed with the pale yellow sheet and brought me closer like some albino bat.
We stood there, rubbing heads and faces and chins and hands tracing backs and shoulders and necks and breathing but not kissing. In high school we made a habit of kissing in bathrooms at parties. I really wanted to kiss him now.
He was hard against my stomach. I pushed gently toward him.
"Can we go to your bed? I can't sit against this table."
"Of course." I went to lead him into the bedroom. He held my shoulder and kept me next to him, both of us wrapped in the sheet.
He led me to the bed, backed me up to it and followed me onto it. He was naked, I was still fully clothed.
He kissed me. I sighed. I remembered those.
His hands were on my face, touching and stroking, moving out to my shoulders and arms. His knee pressed my dress up between my legs and rested against my cunt. I couldn't move.
I put my hand behind his neck and felt his hair while our tongues hugged between our teeth. I bit his lower lip.
His hand pulled the hem of my dress up, uncovering my belly. I still had my bikini on. His fingers traced the waistband and then lowered it down past my knees, pulling it all the way off with his foot.
He sat up, looking down at my pussy. I lifted my head and shoulders to see what he saw: My freshly groomed pubic hair, silky and nearly straight in a patch above my slit.
His finger traveled from my belly button to my clit.
My tongue did that clicking thing against the roof of my mouth as I lay my head back and gave in to his touch.
Then his mouth was on my clit, his tongue working determinedly, steadily.
He put a finger inside me, massaging my g-spot, his tongue flicking over my clit. I was circling my hips down toward him, arching my back, opening my knees. He hummed "mmm-hmmm" from between my lips and inserted another finger. I writhed.
He sat up and back, strumming my clit with his thumb and lifting my pelvis with his fingers, sending sharp circles of pleasure into my body. A high-pitched moan from the back of my throat would have been a scream had my mouth been open. I turned my head into the mattress, hips raised, legs shaking, gushing into his hand and onto the sheets.
"God," he whispered, "are you okay?"
I nodded, smiling.
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