"...and do you like that Jason?"
"Yes, Mrs. Francis. Very much."
"I'm glad, Jason. Now, just lay back and let me do all the work."
"Yes Mrs. Francis."
He's such a polite boy. Always has been. Perhaps that's why I decided, when I had decided,
Him
.
You see, I'm relatively new to all this. Not pleasuring a man with my mouth, no, I've been doing that for two-plus decades now, although at first it was more obligatory, and not very pleasant, but that's the way things are sometimes when we're younger: we tend to make snap judgments based on our limited experiences of the world, and it's not until we become more secure in who we are as people simultaneous with discovering what receiving and giving real pleasure is all about, that our perspective tends to shift as we take in more and more of the buffet life offers us -
But here I go getting distracted again.
I most assuredly intend to remember this moment - as I do all my moments with Jason.
I grip Jason's beautiful cock at the base, his soft blonde curls flowing up between my fingers and over my thumb onto the back of my hand. With the skin pulled tight down towards his scrotum, the shaft curves ever-so-slightly to the left - my right - veins trailing across it like trade routes across an ancient desert plain.
Trade routes across an ancient desert plain
, for some reason that phrase excites me - tents, a moonlit oasis, quivering tapestries, camels grunting in the distance as a lover drizzles patchouli mixed with vanilla over a beloved's body, kneading the flesh into aroused submission - as I purse my lips and run them up one of the veins, tracing it, kissing it, flicking my tongue over and around it until it disappears into the crown, Jason straining his hips towards the ceiling in a subtle yet patently obvious attempt to seduce himself into my mouth either by accident or by what he's imaging his irresistible charms. I smile as I kiss the side of the crown and trail my wet lips back down the shaft into the moss surrounding it, planting several kisses on the hidden flesh there.
This is not a first for Jason and I. And it most certainly will not be the last - for now, in this singular moment, it is Jason and I.
Well, in this moment, yes, there is Jason and I, and after this moment there will be my husband and I. Which is as it should be.
I make an "O" with my mouth and slowly lower it over the crown of Jason's penis then slowly lock my lips around the rim and slowly increasing my sucking pressure I slowly run the tip of my tongue around his penis slit, slowly parting it and slowly sucking at the same time. As it is with young people since time began, teaching "slow" takes...time.
Jason convulses in the bed and with a little more pressure he convulses again, and lowering my lips down the shaft I perform the ancient straw-suck technique -
...ancient trade routes...
- and bring up my right hand and cupping both his testicles I push them up from the bottom towards the shaft and Jason raises his shoulders off the bed - "Yes-yes-yes!" he whispers, the muscles in his lower abdomen contracting into one solid mound - and releasing the pressure on the shaft, I dab his penis slit once, then raise my mouth off him and pull back and stare him in the eyes.
"Not yet, love," I say while running the tips of my left middle and index fingers over his waist then up towards his navel, then around the crown of his penis, then down the side of the shaft, his penis twitching just-on-the-edge of orgasming. He clenches his ass cheeks repeatedly, his shoulders raising off the mattress some and jerking lightly in time with his air-humping.
"Yes, Mrs. Francis," he says, eyes closed.
"Good boy," I reply, then offer a few kisses on the inside of his left thigh where it meets his torso.
I've known Jason since high school, a classmate of our middle son. How could anyone not know him? I've adored him since then, the way an older person can beneficently imagine the lifetime of adventures awaiting a someone like Jason. No, he wasn't the Adonis-in-Training, flaxen-haired man-child captain of this and this and this sports team and the wet dream of many of his peers, girls and boys. No. He was not that kind of Jason. This Jason was an Average Jason, tallish and medium build for his age, competent at sports but no star, straight-A's - salutatorian, not valedictorian, that honor went to a female flaxen-haired Aphrodite-in-Training - and probably, perhaps, the wet dream of two or three of his classmates - but of a considerable number of adults, women and men, definitely. What made Jason stand out was his eyes - slightly tragic, quiet, old soul eyes. Eyes, you knew, and as a woman you
know
these things, eyes that will forever be yours, eyes you want swim in forever. Eyes that matched the personality of just who Jason was, who Jason is - the kind of boy who is kind, the kind of boy who volunteers once a week at one of the emergency family shelters in town reading to the smaller children, the kind of boy who is oblivious to the fact that all eyes are on him and it is that innocence, that kind of genuineness and confidence that completely draws you in and yet because it asks nothing of you, holds you and never lets you go.
That is my Jason.
So from a distance, many of us we watched Jason grow, then leave us. He traveled East to a prestigious university, spent the summer after his first year volunteering with an NGO in Africa, then after his sophomore year at a prestigious west coast university interning in a pediatric nanotech laboratory, and now this summer working from home bound to a group of trans-continental classmates debugging and coding the software for a brain scan technology one of his professors is developing with an international niche biotech firm.
This is my Jason.
And let's not pretend - we all have a My Jason, ALL of us, the only difference being a name - Samuel, Damian, Arun - Willow, Jasmeene, Catherine...
I run my tongue up the flare of skin between his testicles while rubbing his penis over my forehead. When my licking reaches the shaft, I kiss up the underside all the way to the crown, his penis tracing a thin line of pre-cum over the corner of my right eye socket and down the side and over the tip of my nose. My tongue points out and when it passes up over the slit, I swab the remainder of the pre-cum away. Once again, I close my mouth around the rim of the head and swallow a mouthful of saliva and pre-cum, the taste sweet, and the pressure of my throat contracting causes Jason's entire body to twitch. I close my eyes and smile. I won't delay him today as I usually do. His second orgasm, though, will be scrupulously earned.
I shift my weight forward, I'm on my knees bent towards Jason, my knees just inside his. While Jason is without clothing, I'm naked from the waist down and wearing a simple cotton blouse, unbuttoned, and a very wispy transparent bra with colorful embroidered flowers on it - a lingerie extravagance that I don't usually go for but my husband was in a playful mood and it made for a delightful forty-fifth birthday gift in this very bed a few years back.
Now, the tops of my legs, hips, and stomach are pressed against the mattress and reaching my hands under Jason's thighs, I pull myself closer towards him, draping his legs against my shoulders. His penis is inches from my face. With the tip of my left index finger, I trace a vein as it zig-zags over the surface, watching his testicles rise, then fall...rise...then fall. This amuses me greatly. I kiss the right side of the head lightly and instinctively Jason spread his legs wider. He's offering himself to me unconditionally, so trusting, he has learned much this summer.
I'm not one of those predatory cougars. I have too much respect for not only myself but for my husband, our marriage, and all that we have created together. Having raised three adorable children, we have tried to live a virtuous, mindful life, contributing - we hope - as much to our community as we have to our generous and kind children. We, my husband and I, enjoy each other's company immensely, we are aligned in so many fundamental and profound ways, and we honor the differences we have, differences that in the grand scheme of things make us as people as well as a couple more accepting.
And in regards to physical intimacy, ours is more...intimate, meaning now that the children are away most of the year, lazy afternoons - sleeping, actually sleeping, in this bed, reading, intermittent intercourse but mostly caressing - hours of holding, touching, moulding clay on a potter's wheel, lifted to the heights of arousal to the very edge, then retreating, satisfaction found when satisfaction is given, fingers, lips, mouths, tongues, it no longer needs to be furious gymnastics, pounding relentlessly often only for the sake of pounding but instead, orgasms as connection, renewal, deliverance.
