Valerie

She was little. She wore sandals and a natural linen sundress, short, with shoulder straps that were no more than strings. Around her neck was a narrow choker of lavender-colored velvet. Her name was Valerie.

What had I done to deserve Valerie? Not a damn thing. At that cafe on a muggy afternoon in Amsterdam we just stared at each other, sipping wine. Moments earlier, she had appeared at my table out of nowhere. She was exceedingly cute and clean. She could have passed for a virgin if not for her knowing smile. She pulled up a chair and asked if I would please order her a glass of Chablis.

From the beginning Valerie acted as if she belonged with me, or even to me, as if she had just returned to the wrought iron table after powdering her nose. But there was no powder needed on that perky little nose. Actually, she wore no makeup at all, not even lipstick. Her cheeks were like fresh apricots, begging to be kissed. Her youth showed too in her moist, pink lips. Her teeth were perfect. Her blond hair was short and bouncy. Her blue eyes had that mock-innocent twinkle that lit me up and will be with me forever. Take it from me: There is magic in the world.

I was 50, for christsakes, and down. After a year of feeling sorry for myself following the death of my wife, I had flown with high hopes to Amsterdam, seeking passion. I had never been to Europe, but the sex trade of Amsterdam had always figured prominently in the stories my college friends brought back with them, and thus in my fantasies for almost three decades since. I was overdue for some fantasy fulfillment.

Until Valerie sat down I had been sliding toward self-pity again. I had spent a day and a half cruising the red-light district, but, to my disappointment, nothing had aroused my interest. Most of the whores in the windows and on the sidewalks seemed old and tired. And I was never one for garter belts, fishnet stockings, big breasts, or painted faces.

But now, here before me, was a bare-legged, smiling dream come true. She knew what I wanted. I knew she knew.

She spoke English with hesitation and a thick Dutch accent, but she knew the language. Gradually, we covered the basics. She had recently turned 18 and run away from a wealthy family, just after graduating from a posh rural prep school. She had a comfortable studio apartment a few blocks away. She was making a living and getting to know men on her own terms. She knew that at her tender age she didn't have to wait for Johns to come to her; she could pick any man she wanted, and she picked me. It was quite a boost to my ego, needless to say. Yet I realized that this lovely girl was smart enough to choose men who seemed non-threatening. This was all a phase for her, a grand adventure. Hooking would not be her life's work, but she was curious about all that life had to offer.

After our second glass of wine, during which Valerie began to stroke the back of my hand with her smooth little fingers (well-manicured, but no nail polish) and kept up that naughty smile, I felt more alive than I had ever felt before. And yet she calmed me. Yes, this was really happening. Everything was unfolding as it should.

We held hands on the way to her apartment. As we walked, ostensibly comparing the English and Dutch words for windowboxes, sidewalks, and whatever else presented itself, we both knew my thoughts were elsewhere. I hope my smile was not the leer I was feeling as I imagined her firm young thighs brushing lightly against each other as she walked. That of course led to visions of her lower lips, pressed together now but soon to be slick, opening to my touch, and to my tongue, and to my lucky, lucky penis.

Finally we were at her place. She locked the door and knitted her fingers together behind my neck. She was so beautiful, so fresh. I had to catch my breath. She noticed, and she laughed a little as she tilted her chin and rose up on tiptoes to kiss me. My hands held her at the waist. My God it was sweet.

We stood there kissing, lightly at first, just brushing lips, cheeks, noses. But soon our lips were wet and locked together. Soon my hands were holding her sweet bottom, just two round little handfuls of firm flesh. As I pulled her tight against me she moaned and flicked her tongue against mine. Fireworks of passion had begun, our hearts were pounding. Suddenly our tongues were twirling, mashing against each other. I broke off to kiss those delicious, endearing cheeks, to nuzzle her ear, to lick her neck, but quickly we were back to tongue wrestling. My fingers explored the band of her cotton panties.

Valerie dropped her arms and backed away, breathing hard. She looked at me with surprise, as if she had not expected to get so excited so early. Then she smiled. It was a tender smile, but lit with joy, anticipation, mischief. She slipped out of her sandals. Then she reached up and pulled her panties down and stepped out of them too. Then she slid the string-straps off her shoulders and let her dress fall to the floor. There was no bra. That smile, oh God she kept smiling that wonderful open-hearted smile as I surveyed her teenage body. She was proud of it, as well she should have been. Her creamy skin. Her high breasts with hard little wild-strawberry nipples pointing straight at me. Her figure was perfect, and a little silver belly ring just above her naval set off her flat tummy. Below that was the most endearing pudenda I had ever seen. It was another smile, her "vertical smile," as Tom Robbins put it — the cutest little pouting bulge covered with light fluff atop taut, silken thighs. She was a blossom at the peak of her bloom.

She interrupted my reverie with the words, "We go to bed now, yes?" She blushed. I noticed her breasts were moving, and I realized her breathing was still rapid. Then I smelled her scent, wafting from her warming vagina. Pungent, a classic female scent, it was nevertheless simple, clean. I wanted to rip my clothes off like a schoolboy and jump on her, but I didn't want to make a fool of myself. This was no ordinary prostitute, no ordinary girl for that matter. I decided I had a role to play; wasn't I the "mature" member of this coupling?

"Yes," I finally replied. "Oh yes." Following her lead, I shed my clothing, not too fast, not too slow, and stood facing her. I drew in my belly in a weak attempt to hide my little paunch. She saw that, too. The corners of her mouth revealed wisdom beyond her years. I still work out three days a week, so I told myself I was in good shape for my age. It's just that "for my age" is such a big qualifier. I was nervous.

Slowly I took four steps and placed my hands gently on her tiny shoulders. I can't tell you how smooth and firm she was. I nuzzled her hair, her ear. I kissed the tender nape of her neck. My erection leapt up. Then I bent my knees and picked her up, as a groom lifts a bride. She giggled, God bless her. A few steps and I was setting her down on her bed. It was a girl's bed, with a pink, flowery cotton bedspread and ruffles around the edge. She drew me down to her lips.

As long as she didn't seem to be in a hurry, I wanted to make it last. She began a series of light moans as I kneaded her breasts. Then I started to kiss and suck her nipples, my hands caressing her everywhere above the waist. I slid my hand slowly down her flat tummy, pausing to toy with the belly ring. Her moans grew louder. She gently directed my mouth back to her own, and mashed her open lips against mine. Then she began scissoring her legs, slowly, with the soles of her feet sliding back and forth on the bedspread. One knee would rise, then the other. I smelled her again. Her musk was filling the room now. I was inflamed, dying to consummate a union with this enchanting nymph, but I forced myself to maintain a steady pace. I was propped on my right elbow. Our eyes met as we continued to kiss and moan. We knew there was no turning back. Everything was so right. My hand moved steadily down to cup her silky mound. She parted her legs slightly. Time stopped. All was quiet as our roller coaster climbed toward its next peak. Even our kiss was frozen. Her eyes searched mine. When I saw her brows move a fraction of an inch closer together to convey a certain anxious look, I slid my finger gently down along the curve of her crevice, just grazing the flesh, all the way back to her perineum and slowly back up again. When I came to her clitoris on the way back up, she jumped; it was a bare wire. She turned her head to break the kiss and let out a long, low, feline growl, contented yet hungry. The next time my fingers headed back down along her hot slit, she raised her knees and spread them.

"I want to feel you in me," she said. Her fingers found my erection and lightly danced around its head. I was swooning, barely able to control my passion, but I didn't have to think; my fingers knew exactly what to do. I looked into her eyes again and dipped a finger in and out of her honeypot, just an inch or so. Again her body jerked as if shocked. I added a little pressure so that my tickling turned to stroking. I outlined her labia, spreading her wetness up and down along her delightful young pussy. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. She bit her lip. Her brows tightened another notch, her little forehead wrinkled, and now she was clearly pleading. I felt her fingers curl around my erection. "Now." she said. "Please?"

In a flash I was between those knees. I was holding myself above her with my elbows locked. I wanted to watch her adorable little face as I entered her. I pushed slowly in. It was still not the time to plunge; I held back with all my might. Her wet vagina was hot and tight, and soon gave way, welcoming my manhood. That wonderful first stroke, and I was all the way in. I felt Valerie's heels on my back. Her eyes rolled back in her head. I lowered myself and clasped her to me, this tender young girl. She wrapped her arms around me. We were one as we rode the planet though space. The galaxy was an awesome, heady place to be.

At first I moved only slightly. I pulled back an inch, only to be pulled back by her legs and sucked in deeper by her awakening vagina. I felt her getting wetter, hotter. I increased the length of my stroke, but not the speed. It was then that I clearly felt her constrictions. She was milking me rhythmically. No one-way fucking here; she was fucking me back to beat the band. With difficulty I raised myself back onto my knees and elbows. There was that lovely, centering smile again, but this time there was sweat on her face and her eyes were bright with unashamed lust, at once giving and demanding.

With our eyes locked again, I stepped up the pace with longer, quicker strokes. Her eyes widened, then closed tightly. On the in-strokes, her moans turned to grunts, then shouts. Again I increased the speed. She rocked with me, picking up the rhythm with her sugar walls. I felt her juices flowing. No sooner had she pulled me down for more tongue wrestling than she turned her head and screamed, climaxing in a series of long, violent shudders. Her vaginal constrictions were now contractions, no longer deliberate but completely involuntary, erratic. With superhuman effort I somehow managed to hold back my own orgasm (one of the few benefits of age), varying my stroke according to what she seemed to want, until her shuddering subsided. She sighed, content and deamy-eyed. Then she realized I was still hard within her.

"Now you," she said, in her cute, pouty Dutch accent. She reached down to encircle the base of my erection with her thumb and forefinger as I started pumping again slowly. She squeezed a few times, then suddenly, yet gently, reached back and closed her fingers around my testicles. I erupted as never before, a Roman candle lifting off at the base of my spine and crashing through the top of my skull as rivers of semen gushed from me into my Valerie. I had planted my seed.

When things had settled down we lay on our backs looking for animals and faces in the swirls of the ceiling plaster. I did not want to go, and I struggled to bring myself back to reality. I reminded myself that, even though it might have been my best sex ever, even though I felt a primal attraction to this girl, it was still sex for money. I got out of bed.

"Where are you going," she asked.

"To get my wallet," I replied. "And to get dressed."

Her eyes saddened. I wondered why, but was afraid to get my hopes up.

I brought the money over to her and she sat up. I was still nude. In one fluid motion she took the money with one hand, setting on the nightstand, and grabbed my flaccid penis with her other hand. A second later I was in her mouth and my knees buckled. She sucked me perfectly, her hand following her mouth up and down, pulling. Immediately I was hard again. She was in complete control, but again I felt that there was no hurry. She pulled me onto the bed and told me to kneel. I knelt. She was on her knees too, and she continued to suck, lathering me with plenty of warm saliva. I bent over her back to stick a finger into her sticky vagina. She reciprocated by snaking her free hand to her mouth for lubrication, then between my legs and up to my anus. I gasped as she slid her longest finger into my asshole and kept it there. I tipped myself backwards onto my back and into heaven. The new angle enabled her to probe more deeply into my rectum, all the while continuing to suck my pole, and she new exactly where this was going. I spread my legs, knees up. I felt as high as a kite, deliciously, wickedly submissive, vulnerable. I heard myself gasping through ragged breathing. "Yes, yes," I said, looping my legs across her back. As soon as I did that she started to massage my prostate. I was totally hers. She was at my core. "Oh my God," I shouted, and just then she increased her suction and quickly curled her finger and I came buckets into her mouth. She kept sucking and swallowed every drop. I had never, ever, felt such release, such fulfillment, and, finally, such utter exhaustion.

"Mmmmmmm," she purred, slowly, tenderly removing her mouth and both her hands from my private parts. She lay down on her back, her head on the pillow. I was laid out the other way, my head next to her feet. I was spent, drifting, eternally grateful. In love.

"Oh my god," I whispered, over and over. We draped our arms over each other's shins. We fell asleep like that. When we awoke it was dark. She turned on the bedside light and we both sat up.

"I'd like you to stay for dinner," she said.

"I'd love to," I said.

First we took a shower together. We nuzzled as we soaped each other. We eyed each other sideways as we dressed. I was stuck with my same clothes, of course, but she put on purple shorts and a baby-blue T-shirt. She opened a bottle of wine and lit a joint. We then prepared a meal of stir-fried vegetables with rice, chatting together as if we were old friends.

The dinner was ready, and we ate it like shipwrecked sailors. Then we leaned back in our chairs and sharing our histories, rambling from one memorable experience to another. I told her about my wife's long, tragic bout with cancer. She told me she had been to bed with only nine other men before me, including her boyfriend back home, to whom she had given her virginity. She had been in Amsterdam a month, but she had not exactly thrown herself into the sex trade. On the contrary, this girl who had so boldly approached my table at the cafe turned out to be rather timorous in comparison to others in her profession. Though she appreciated the experience she had gained, she clearly had mixed feelings about the whole game, its health risks, its depersonalization of sex, and so on. Finally I said, "Listen, wherever life takes you, you should know that you are the loveliest, most delightful creature I have ever met, and what we had together on that bed earlier was nothing short of cosmic."

As soon as the words were out, I slapped myself mentally. Don't lose your cool, I thought; for all she is, she is still a whore; tomorrow she will have forgotten you. Here you go again with your heart on your sleeve like some sissy; that was always your problem!

She got up and took our dishes to the sink. She stood there with her back to me for a few seconds. I looked at the floor. But then she turned and walked over to me. Standing above me, bashful but determined to speak, she said, to my amazement, "I'm so glad you said that. I wasn't sure what you were thinking. Sex with you was the best ever for me."

You can imagine how my heart soared. In seconds we were back on the bed hugging, rolling, kissing, undressing. Valerie lit a candle and we began to stroke each other again. Without hesitation we told each other what felt good, not so good, better, and better still. I kissed her face, ears, neck, shoulders, breasts, tummy, knees, thighs. I remembered some massage moves, and they made her purr. When she opened her legs to me again I went down to taste her sweet nectar. Her golden public hair was so fine that it fluttered with my breath. I licked her crack from bottom to top. God she tasted good! It was the most heavenly taste, so sweet and clean and right. I stuck my tongue in further. I sucked on her clitoris and made her come, bucking against me and clasping her thighs tight against my ears. After a pause for some more kissing and whispered endearments, I returned to that slippery vulva, that furry little mound that drew me like a magnet, and slid my middle finger up Valerie's vagina.

I was, of course, as hard as can be. But I was more interested in pleasing her. With my finger up her cute little snatch I asked her if she had ever heard of the G spot. "The what spot?" she said. I explained the spot as I searched for hers. I knew I had it when she let out a long loud, "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH," and spread her little legs as wide as she could. I kept my finger right there. She panted as if in labor, her glistening lips sucked like a sea anemone at my finger. She started to writhe, moaning loudly.

Power was in the air. Sexual energy. I continued to massage the spot, bending to suck her nipples and watching her tension mount higher and higher. I had made women come this way before, but I had only read about the phenomenon of the "female ejaculation." Actually, I had written it off as myth. But when I delivered the coup de grace to Valerie by jerking my finger forward, she not only jumped and let out a great shout; she also squirted about a third of a cup of sweet, transparent liquid out of her urethra. That was it! My God, it's true. And I made it happen.

It took a while for Valerie to collect her thoughts and regain her composure. She sat up, eyes wide and eyebrows up. "What was that?" she asked. At first she thought the excretion was urine, but when I explained, she was in awe. A whole new world had opened up. She was so grateful. It was gratifying to me, to say the least. It encouraged me to experiment some more, but first Valerie saw to it that my own needs were met. She sucked me hard, pressing a finger hard against my perineum whenever she felt my tension building. I knew she was maximizing my pleasure while saving my orgasm for her sugar walls.

Sure enough, when I was literally aching for it she straddled me and, with a beatific smile, placed my penis at the entrance to her sweet, sweet pussy and lowered herself to sheath me in pleasure. She wanted to repay me, and she did it in spades. Starting out slowly, with me twirling her nipples, she began to pant. She straightened her back and squeezed me. Again, the milking began; I had never known a woman who could control her vaginal muscles so well. Up and down she slid, bathing me in her warm, slimy cunt juice. In her face I saw compassion, nurturing. I saw love. There was no reason to hold back this time, so I let it go, spouting inside her like a sperm whale. She pressed her hands against my chest, then leaned down to kiss me gently as I lost all control, spasming, jerking. I came and came. When my tremors finally subsided, we slept soundly in one another's arms.