Thank you for the feedback for Jack and Lena's first story. Please enjoy the next chapter, with a tiny spot of Debussy.
*****
"Jack," I whispered.
I had woken in the dark. The half-dark. Although it was my bed, it felt so different. It was warmer, to start with.
I was lying against a man. There's a man in my bed; the thought came to me. part of my mind was shocked by this, another part was completely unsurprised. He was familiar; he had a man's unmistakable smell, but he was fresh and clean. My hand was stroking up and down his leg without being told. It brought up a fragment of memory. My voice spoke his name without being told.
"Jack, you're in my bed..."
"You're in your bed too, just like we were before."
"But it's dark. What happened..."
"Well, it's the middle of the night."
More fragments came to me as I lay there. I was stroking his leg the way he had stroked mine all that time ago. No, it was earlier that same evening. Events moved far away or closer in my mind, almost at random.
In the gloom I could faintly make out his slim body. There seemed to be a tuft of hair on top. My fingers felt through the curly hairs to a soft something. They curled around his penis. Every touch was bringing back memories. I stroked the shaft and felt it thicken. Jack made a long "mmmm" sound.
Hard now, I stood his cock up in the half-light and played with the skin. Stroking up and down made Jack shift his hips. I rubbed over the hips, down to his thighs and up his sides, over bony ribs and fine chest hair. He was real, a living, breathing man, he was Jack, my Jack.
My lover. My first.
The words in my head gave me a warm feeling and a calm sense of joy. Whatever comes later, this moment is mine, for always; that idea reassured me as I lay against his warm body. I realised the faint light in the room was moonlight. Debussy's
Clair de Lune
started up in my head and I think I smiled to myself.
* * *
I woke again, partly. My dream was still with me.
In it Sir Thomas Beecham was conducting us. We were all nude - but no one was disturbed by this at all. Some of the players were actual orchestra members, some were memories from summer swimming pools. There was a range of ages and sizes. Beecham was a kindly uncle-figure, smiling at me and saying, "See, it's good isn't it! With a little practice you'll soon be leading the cellos!" My bow felt warm, a little soft...
I had Jack's penis in my hand, held between thumb and fingertips, as a bow. I smiled to myself again. I slid my thumb around the semi-hard shaft and played with the soft skin. Jack made small, approving noises. The shaft hardened.
I wanted to see what was happening, so I turned on the bedside light. Jack squinted and turned his head away, but he spread his legs to allow me more room.
I rolled the skin around his now-stiff pole. I could easily see dark blue veins and redder arteries twisting up the outside. It was marvellous. The round, slightly pointed head grew and darkened as I pulled the skin up and down. the look, and Jack's arousal, spurred me on. I could hear his breathing get heavier. A hoarse whimper escaped him.
I noticed his hips start to move, thrusting up with their own rhythm. I was suddenly reminded of his cock thrusting up inside me. I felt a warm tingle in my pussy (along with a slight tenderness from my pounding on him) and a warmth through my body. I stroked long and smooth, down and around his balls then up over the tip of his cock.
I felt a hand on my head. It brushed down my hair and onto my shoulder blades, lightly scratching my skin. It made me rub my nipples against his side. Jack was panting now, whispering my name. With my free hand I tweaked and stretched my nipples, I was panting now.
I rubbed my face against his shoulder and up under his arm. My hand on his cock rubbed longer and harder.
