Jon made it clear from the beginning that I was the "other woman." It was our first night together; we had met earlier in the evening at a friend's dinner party. I was attending fresh on the heels of a nasty breakup and he had just returned to the States after traveling to the far reaches of the world as an anthropologist. Somewhere between the crudités and the crème brulee, he wooed me with his bright, mischievous eyes and his easy laugh, and before I knew it, I was lying naked on his bed as he deftly snaked his tongue along the curve of my spine. His hands grasped my hips firmly, so he could feel my body shudder in anticipation and delight as he tended to each vertebrae as though it were a valuable artifact. Then, as he licked the crescent of my ass, forcing my thighs apart with his strong forearms, just before he thrust his tongue into my warm, wet pussy, he told me in his sleepy, sonorous voice:
"I have a girlfriend in Japan. She's the love of my life. But I want you more than anything right now."
Then he plunged his tongue into me, and though the significance of his confession would weigh heavily on me in the coming weeks, for that moment all I could hear was the sound of his tongue lapping up my wetness. With his aquiline nose expertly toying with my swollen clit, his tongue deep inside my pussy, my shudders of desire gave way to tremulous waves of ecstasy, wet and dark and new.
For months Jon was my lover, and the memories of other men I had known faded quickly as he awakened each part of me. He was a patient teacher who chastised me for rushing into lovemaking. He was content to spend hours celebrating one body part. Once, as we watched a forgettable movie at the cinema, he spent an hour fucking my wrist -- tracing the line of my veins across the sensitive length from the hollow of my elbow to the firm pad of my thumb. Turning my hand gently, he licked the popcorn salt off each of my fingers, his white teeth nibbling playfully at my knuckles. Then, in a sudden, fluid movement, he lifted my wrist and sucked so desperately on the knobby fulcrum that connects hand to arm that I cried out. His firm suckling unleashed the secret electrical current that hardened my nipples into pink gumdrops and sent a flood of wetness between my thighs. When I found the strength to look at him again, his full lips curled into a mischievous, crooked grin. I would have thought he was toying with me, unaffected, were it not for the tell-tale damp stain on his trousers.
