When I returned from vacation Thomas came over. My house was a wreck, all my bedroom furniture shoved into the dining room for the floor guys. Thomas helped me move it back. We set up my bed, made it up with sheets and eiderdown like some married couple, had us a drink and fucked for several hours. I kicked him out at 6:30 the next morning. My mom showed up half an hour later. We went to garage sales.
Thomas went on his own European Vacation. He sent me a postcard from the Copenhagen Museum of Erotica. Awww.
Last week he wrote, complaining of jet lag and haunting nightmares. "Poor baby," I sympathized, "is there anything I can do?" We made a date.
On Thursday afternoon he texted me from the road, "On my way!"
"35 minutes. OK?"
It has been over a hundred degrees for the last ten days, and humid as hell. My air conditioner has been running nonstop, despite being set at 80 degrees. I turned on the fan in the bedroom and smoothed the sheets on the bed. He knocked. I bounded to the door and let him in, grinning when I saw he was carrying his gym bag.
"Working out tonight?"
"I dunno, I thought I might, depending on what kind of workout I get."
I smiled and kissed him.
"It's really hot out there," he apologized. His back was warm and slightly damp through his dress shirt.
"No air conditioning in your car?"
"I do have, but I try not to use it so much."
I said something about being turned on by his concern for the environment, asking if he was related to Al Gore or something. I stopped talking, convinced that it was, whatever IT was, pointless to share as I unbuttoned his shirt. He didn't pick up on that shift in the conversation and continued:
"Why is it that buttons are backwards for men and women?"
"So that it's easier for women to dress men."
"Hmmm, but I don't need anyone to dress me."
"It's not about need, baby, it's about possibility. Because it's also hot when I undress you."
I took off his starched white shirt, his plain white tee, his handmade black loafers, socks and grey dress pants, draping them on the back of the sofa. I led him, still wearing his boxers, to the bedroom and closed the door. We stood beside my bed and kissed in that slow, nuzzling way you do to prolong the anticipation, lips not quite touching, noses brushing necks. I like that kind of kissing.
I was standing just in front of the floor vent. The air conditioner kicked on and my slipdress billowed gently out from the cold, forced air. I sighed, "Oh, that's nice!" He took a pillow from the bed and dropped it on the floor in front of me, saying, "You can stay like that if you like."
Um, I like.
I'd told Thomas earlier in the day that, while I was looking forward to seeing him, I would not be dropping to my knees upon his arrival to blow him. It's become the predictable order of things, and it makes me nervous and bored. Greet at door. Take off clothes. Suck Thomas' dick. Sex from behind while bent over the couch. You know. Like that. Predictable.
I closed my eyes as he reached up beneath and slid his finger between my labia, and then felt them slicking up to my clit. I pulled my dress up and held it at hip level, steadying myself on the bedpost with my left hand. He pulled the fingers into his mouth and sucked them, exhaling so hard that the baby blonde hairs on my thighs tickled. I put my left foot up on the stool at the end of my bed. He traced the swollen vee, licking his lips, and bent forward.
Thomas gives very good head: slow and deliberate, moving up slowly to the point where my hands put themselves in his hair and my hips gyrate and thrust, my voice gets creaky and crackly and breaks mid-syllable, my breath catches and I come, grabbing his neck, arching my back and driving my head past vertical. He had a faceful of my come and I pulled him up to kiss it off. The insistent bonging of his cock against my leg was distracting.
I reached behind him and pulled the scarf from my dresser, tying it over his eyes. He smirked as I pulled down his shorts and pushed him back to the bed. I've never blindfolded him before, but I was feeling feisty–first I made him go down on me and now this–I had plans for the boy.
Thomas likes a finger in his ass during blowjobs. I quietly pulled a glove on and lubed it, all while sucking his dick. Soon my finger was moving inside him and he was sighing, pushing my head further and further down his cock. I guided a second finger in to join the first, sitting up and stroking him with my free hand, glancing to my side and gauging how long it would take me to slip the chrome bullet vibe, already wrapped in a condom, into his ass.
I replaced my hand on his shaft with my mouth and reached for the vibrator, holding it still against his hole and easing it in on an oustroke of my fingers. I pushed it up to the right spot and tossed the inside-out glove into the bin. His cock was throbbing in my mouth and he had a half-blissed smile. I took another condom and rolled it on, saying, "I'm going to fuck you now."
"What if I want to fuck you?"
"I think I'll be doing the fucking, but you're more than welcome to assist in fucking yourself."
I lowered myself onto him and pulled my knees in close to his body, squeezing my pussy while shallowly fuck-fuck-fucking the tip, then making a long stroke down and slowly up again. It was a huge tease. It was so hot.
And damn, it was hot! My skin was wet despite the air conditioning and the fan directed onto the bed and when I leaned forward in my favorite Lance Armstrong position, our bodies slid along one another. Once I got a good, solid rhythm and his hips were meeting mine, his hands pushing and pulling my body, I turned on the bullet. He jumped and moaned. I slowed down, keeping my pussy wrapped tightly around his cock and fucking him very slowly. It's the slower fucking which makes me come in the way I like. I grabbed his shoulder as I came, pressing myself down as if I could take more of him inside my tenselikewhoa cunt.
His hips were squirming then, as was his cock inside me. I know that feeling, that "this is so good I don't know what to do" feeling. That "I can't possibly sustain this without my body imploding" feeling. I turned the vibe up. I turned my fucking up. His mouth was searching me out and kissed me once I put my lips within his reach. He pulled on my mouth like he wanted to drink my blood. I ripped off the blindfold, face this close and slammed my hand onto his forehead, reaching back and pulling on his balls with the other. I licked the salty sweat on his neck and sat up, watching him watch me snake around on top of him, nipples small and erect, shoulders thrown back, stomach undulating as my hips rocked themselves back and forth over his pubic bone, picturing in my head the shape of his cock like an antenna inside me and the position of my silver bullet inside him.
I couldn't help myself; I turned it up as high as it would go.
His body was raising itself off the mattress, pounding into mine, sweat rolling from his chest down the sides of his body and over the slopes of his shoulders. He came, fantastically, with his cross between "Ohs" and "Ahs," completely uninhibited. Loud.
I gripped the rolled condom edge with my fingers and slowed the bullet down.
I looked at us, once I'd stepped off him and tossed the heavy condom from his cock, the one from the bullet and the squares of foil. Extending about three inches around his torso the sheets were a shade darker from our mingled sweat. He had a pool in his belly button. I gave him water, moving my cheek up slowly to his shoulder, content and in control and we were fucked but good.