Jogging with Henry

This was a response to a friend who complained that my stories spent too much time developing characters and not enough time fucking.

This kind of thing never happens to me.

I'm an engineer, sort of a geek, even if I am in my 50's. The kind of guy that shows up on the radar screen when a woman is looking for a husband and provider, but becomes invisible when she's looking for a "good time". So, this sort of thing never happens to me, and I'm not sure I even believe it.

I work from home. To break "work" from "home", I take my dog, Henry, on a run around the neighborhood every afternoon about the same time. There's an attractive woman, half a dozen houses up from me, who also often jogs about the same time. Sometimes I'm in front of her, sometimes behind. Even though it's been winter, and we've both been in baggy sweats, I still prefer behind.

On the first really warm day of spring, I had just started when I saw her emerge from her house, wave to me, and start jogging up the street. Now, either I put on a burst of speed, or she was jogging slower than normal, because I quickly caught up with her and then we jogged side-by-side.

I couldn't help myself. I just stared. She was in a sports bra, baggy running shorts, and shoes, and what wasn't covered was better than my imagination had hoped. Taught muscles worked smoothly and she had only enough fat to give everything a very inviting smoothness. But her breasts.... "... that motion, each way free, ah, how that motion captures me ..." My subconscious served up an approximate quote of some Romantic poet I had read in high school. My subconscious can be very annoying.

But her breasts! They bounced in rhythm with her stride in a way I could not take my eyes off of. What fluidity and softness and firmness all at once! I was electrified.

I started to wonder if I was drooling and guiltily looked up. She had been watching me stare at her. To my relief, she seemed amused, not annoyed. I grinned back, sheepishly, trying to hide the fact that I would happily pay any price asked just for a few moments with those breasts.

After many years of hoof-in-mouth disease, I have learned to normally avoid just blurting out what my subconscious throws up to me, but this time a scene from the movie "Goodbye Columbus", similar but in slow motion and without the sports bra, flashed across my mind and I blurted out between breaths "Wow! ... You're gorgeous! ... I sure wish ... I had a video of you ... right now!" Oh, geez! Welcome back to Junior High.

I got an appropriately dumb-founded look from her, then, instead of taking my head off, she laughed and said "Video?!? ... Wouldn't you rather ... have the real thing?"

Now, I'm sure, I had the dumb-founded look, and just blurted out "My place ... or yours?" You can see I've had lots of practice with this.

"How 'bout those ... bushes up ahead?" she replied. She then sprinted ahead the last couple of houses and dove into the bushes. Our street dead ends about half a lot past the last house. No turn-around. No warning. Just like it was chopped off. And where it ends is a stand of very old and tall pine trees with big, wild, shrubs around their base. This is the only wild stand anywhere close to us, and it's blocking the street.

I entered the bushes more carefully than she had for a few reasons: I had never explored them; I needed to find a branch I could loop Henry's leash over (it wouldn't do if he got home half an hour before I did); and I was trying to get my heart rate back under control.

As I entered the stand of trees, the bushes stopped and left an irregular clear area covered with soft pine needles. She was already lying on her back, to one side, legs pulled up and separated so that I swear that I could dimly see her pussy staring back at me through the open leg of those baggy shorts.

I ripped off my t-shirt. She patted the ground next to her, but rather than lay down there, I fell directly over her, catching my fall just a couple inches above her chest. She didn't flinch. My mouth found hers and I hungrily pressed my tongue past her lips and explored. She opened to me; her arms wrapped around my shoulders and pulled me down. Her legs wrapped around my waist. Her pussy was pressing and rubbing all over my growing cock, albeit through at least three layers of cloth.

I had no idea what I was going to do next, so I did the smartest thing I'd done so far: I stopped thinking.

We rolled into the clearing. I pushed her shorts down as far as I could. She pulled one leg out. We kept rolling. I landed on top, taking my weight on my elbows as my hands worked their way between us and started pushing her sports bra up. One after the other, her nipples popped out from under the elastic and into my fingers. I twirled nipples and massaged those magnificent feeling breasts while her pussy continued to massage my cock and our tongues dueled. I am sure there was smoke coming out my ears.

She was trying to get my shorts and jock off, and it took her a couple minutes to realize that she had to stop rubbing her pussy against my cock to accomplish the task. That done, the heat of her pussy raged through my cock, and I was ready in record time (at least, a record for the last 30 years.)

I lifted and shifted a little. I reached down and grabbed my throbbing cock and rubbed the head up and down between her pussy lips. I pressed the head gently at the vaginal opening. My subconscious reminded me of something I'd read that women need 20 minutes of foreplay, and even though I knew better, I looked at her quizzically. She shot back a "what the!@#$#@! are YOU waiting for" look, and I plunged into her.

She was hot. She was wet. I was hard, hungry, and completely buried in her in a single stroke. She dug fingernails into my back, and arched upward so we touched only at head and crotch. I almost fainted.

After a couple of moments of holding myself deep inside her, I became conscious of a need to move. I looked down between us, and started to slowly withdraw. At first it was all dark where we were pressed together, then the light burst through, shining off her lubrication clinging to my cock and landscaping her belly and breasts like a setting sun. She was also looking, and we both were sucking in our breath at the sight. I could see the leaves of the bushes hiding us, and my subconscious was relieved that we did not also see my dog's curious face framed there.

I plunged back into her, and she arched the other way, throwing her head back. Our point of critical contact disappeared behind the horizon curve of her belly, and I closed my eyes to focus on the sensations. I could feel her breasts under my hands, and feel, smell, and taste the nape of her neck, but my consciousness shrank to my cock and the feel of the vagina it was exploring.

My subconscious reminded me of Robin Williams' line: "God gave man a brain and a penis, and only enough blood to run one at a time." Unfortunately, the subconscious appears to operate without blood.

With each plunge, she arched or twisted or pulled or pushed or all at the same time. There was no gradual build-up to a single climax, but an intense competition for the perfect angle, the ultimate stimulation, the deepest penetration, and she was winning. I hung on desperately and attacked her pussy not only with my cock, but my entire being.

"Would you be insulted if I said I want to rip you open with my cock?" he asked. "No," she replied "but I sure want to be there when you try!" A line remembered from another article. As I said, my subconscious can be very annoying.

Within a few strokes her first orgasm washed over her, and they kept coming in a seeming blur. I heard muffled voices crying out in anguish and desire, and realized it was both of us, with our mouths tightly shut to keep as much as possible inside.

No sense frightening the children, my subconscious reminded me.

There was just such an awful, desperate, need to just keep driving, pounding, penetrating over and over. My head may have felt faint, by my hips and cock were passionately, clearly, and strongly determined. Robin Williams was right; all the blood had moved down there. I had never in my life surrendered so completely to lust, and my subconscious wondered what had taken me so long. Her fingernails dug into my back, and it felt good. The rubber soles of her running shoes were pulling the hair out of the small of my back, and it felt good. Her teeth were sinking into the muscle at the base of my neck, and it felt good. I was sublimely happy, and ready to die. And then I did, at least poetically.

I suddenly became aware of that rushing sensation in my groin. I locked myself to her: hands under and gripping her shoulders; legs wrapped around hers; body weight on top of her. There was no way she could escape. What had simply been desperate became truly, ecstatically, frantic as "harder and faster" became a blur. While aware enough to keep shifting angles, the only reason for my existence was to repetitively pound my cock into her pussy as deep and hard as I could.

As the first contraction hit, my entire body convulsed, every muscle attempting to force me even deeper. I felt like a surfer teetering on the crest of a 50 foot wave rushing to shore. The wave crested and I resumed my frantic pounding. The next contraction was even stronger, a 100 foot wave. I could feel the movement of my cum along every inch of its rush to its fate. That massive wave crested inside her, and again I resumed my pounding.

The waves became smaller and eventually it was over. I became aware again of her, and she was continuing her orgasms. I worked to keep her going as best I could, but she, too, was starting to come down. Moments later, we just lay limp. I felt drained, and devastated, like I had just been banished from heaven.

I had never been so frantic in love-making before. My subconscious reminded me of the couple that had made frantic love, and in the aftermath he had looked up and said "I'm sorry! If I'd known you were a virgin I would have taken more time." "If I'd known you had more time, I'd have taken off my pantyhose." she replied. I smiled at my subconscious in spite of myself.

After a few moments, she patted me and reminded me that I needed to get going before I was missed. She was, unfortunately, right. I reluctantly rolled off her, located my clothes and put them back on. I had not really seen her earlier, and stood there admiring her beauty as she lay there watching me. I thanked her gently, and she smiled and thanked me back.

As I turned to leave, she stretched. Completely naked except for her shoes and a sheen of perspiration, arms up above her head, gently mounded breasts lifted and taught, flat belly, and legs slightly spread with her pussy lips and bush wet, the light sparkling off droplets. I would happily pay any price asked to fuck her on the spot, again. I started to turn back to her, aiming my face at her pussy. But she just said "Git!", and I turned again to leave.

Henry and I jogged up the road. It took all of my self control to keep from running backwards, or at least constantly looking over my shoulder trying to catch a glimpse of her as she emerged. Already, I was having trouble believing that this had really happened.

As I said, this kind of thing never happens to me. But it's my story, and I'm sticking to it.