My Sons Best Friend Ch 09

He didn't show up for another day. Then he just appeared, sauntered into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. He popped the cap with the opener, leaned against the counter and took a swig. At least Paul was the one who kept the beer stocked. I didn't drink it, and I didn't want to have to buy it, so Paul got his friend from work to make the purchase.

I was happy he was back. I loved the earthy smell he brought into the room, slouched there with his dirty khakis and grimy T-shirt. I guessed he'd done some hiking.

"Did you see that storm the other day?" I asked.

"I was out in it."

"Really?"

I tried to picture it. I liked the rain, but I preferred to watch it from a window.

"Were you in the lightening?"

"Yeah. That's the best part."

I laughed a little self-consciously. He was certainly more daring than I. Some might say foolish.

"There's nothing like being in the middle of a downpour, lightening flashing all around you.. It's like you're lost, forsaken. It's surreal."

I wanted to hug him, but for some reason I felt kind of shy and hesitant. Sometimes I didn't know who he was, what he wanted, how he would respond. So I just stood across from him, my arms folded.

He went into the living-room, and I followed him. Paul was at work. Maybe we could watch something together.

I wanted to tell him about Margaret, that we'd had lunch together. But what would that even mean to him? It mattered to me, but it didn't matter to him.

I wanted to tell him about the experience I'd had in the garden, but I needed the right setting for that. The right feeling. So I said nothing.

He sat on the couch, drinking his beer and looking out the window. I sat next to him.

"I watched the storm, right out this window. It was awesome.

"I was out in the garden when it started. Big raindrops, splatting on my arms.

"I was...watering the garden."

He put his arm around me and pulled me close. His hand absentmindedly wandered over my arm, my side, my thigh. He scratched with his fingernails along the material of my dress. I put my legs up and to the side on the couch. He pulled the material of the dress up, gently scratching the skin of my upper thigh. It started to feel warm. It was like striking a match.

But I let the feeling simmer, enjoying it, relaxing into it. I rubbed the khaki fabric over his thigh, moving toward the inside, curling my hand around underneath. His legs were splayed, the way guys sit, and I worked the inside of his thigh, moving from the knee up to the hollow of the joint.

I could see his erection taking form beneath the tent of material at his crotch. I moved my hand up next to it, rubbing under the tender balls, reaching to press on the soft skin behind them. Then I moved up over his balls, kneading them gently, and pressed on the spongy form perched on top.

I pulled the metal tab down slowly, then put my hand in, flesh connecting with flesh. It was warm, soft, sweaty, dank, earthy. I licked my hand and grasped his penis, making sure to get it good and slimy, squeezing and pulling gently toward the tip. As I moved up and down, I could feel it tightening and hardening.

I smoothed the closure of his pants open and bent over him, licking the tip with my tongue in a circular motion. My hand burrowed into the tangle of hair that surrounded it. Holding it at the base, I closed my mouth over it, moving downward and drawing upward, sucking it like a popsicle.

His body tensed, and he pushed his pelvis toward me, seeking more.

I was turned over him, my hip jutted into the air, and he gripped my ass and pulled it toward him. He grasped tighter at intervals, as I sucked harder and moved faster up and down his shaft. He grabbed my shoulder, holding me in a vice-grip as the force mounted, and he groaned, letting it out in staccato calls. His moans repeated over and over until he had drained them, and I sat up and swallowed the milk hardly won.

His hand moved over my ass in mindless circles, releasing the residual energy. His breath came in panting beats.

He offered to do me, but I felt satisfied for the moment. I lay my head in his lap and stared out the window.

"You know the other day, when the storm came?" He nodded.

"I was out in the garden, thinking about you, wishing you were here. I started touching myself, sitting on the bench. The garden looked so beautiful, and everything was growing and feeling so alive. I took a really long time, building up the pleasure, then backing off again, and I came when the first thunder roared. And this liquid spilled out of me and went into the ground below me, and it felt so good. It was amazing.

"Now I know how you must feel when you ejaculate. I didn't know I could do that."

Jonah smiled at me. Wow, a real smile.

"Did you know women could do that?" I asked.

He shook his head.

"It felt, like, way better than you would think. I don't know why, but it did.

"Nobody ever told me about that. I bet it's in a book somewhere. I should look sometime."

He listened quietly. He was calm, still, not going anywhere. I felt like I could tell him anything.

"I saw my friend for lunch that day. I told her about us. Well, I didn't tell her your name. I just told her I was seeing someone - younger. I think she was pretty shocked, but she promised to keep my secret. You don't mind me telling her, do you?"

He shrugged. I knew he wouldn't.

"Do you...ever tell your mother anything? Sometimes I worry that she might get really upset with me if she knew."

"My mother lost the right to know anything about me a long time ago. I told you. She doesn't ask, I don't tell her."

"But, that must be pretty hard for you, to live in the same house with her like that."

"I don't live in the same house."

"Well, but, don't you see her sometimes?"

"She fixes food and leaves it in the kitchen. Sometimes we cross paths."

"Do you...love her?"

"No."

Well, there it was. What had she done to him?

"Why?"

"Why do you want to know?" He was getting a little prickly.

"I'm sorry. I guess it's none of my business. I just...wondered."

"It doesn't matter."

"I'm sorry, Jonah. I'm really sorry for whatever she did - or - didn't do. You don't have to tell me. But if you ever want to talk about it, I would listen."

We were silent then, and I tried to put my mind on happier things. Why stir up his pain? Sometimes I was just a little too nosy.

The sky was partly overcast, and I could see thunderclouds building up in the west.

"Maybe we'll get another storm today."

He didn't answer. I got quiet then.

After a while, we found a movie to watch. It was pretty good.

Then the storm came.