I wish that I could simply stop thinking about him. I'm married for god's sake! But still in the back of my mind he is always there, hiding, waiting to spring out upon me at the most inopportune times. I see his face in my mind, or more often than not, his body. It's unfortunate that he and my husband are so dissimilar physically, because then I could just pretend I was thinking about Jonathan. I used to lick every single muscle delineation on his six pack, kissing slowly, biting, and nibbling. I used to swirl my tongue in his belly button, causing eruptions of laughter. For a guy he has sensitive nipples, so I would suckle there, moans elicited. Biting gently he would grab my head, urging me on. I would kiss up his oddly concave chest and in to his neck, biting and kissing the whole way.
We used to be so rough at times, I was so proud of the bruises that remained after our passionate, often hurried love making, on my hip bones, my breasts, my neck. I loved him so much it still hurts to think about him, five years later. His eyes were a gorgeous pale speckled sea green. I often wonder if that was why I was attracted to my husband. He too has green eyes, darker, cloudier. He had curly long blond hair, which I hated. I even got him to cut it once, but he left me a few months later. It's grown back over time. I used to run my fingers through it after we got out of the shower, finger combing it, twisting the curls around my fingers. He would brush my waist long auburn hair till it was dry and it shone.
I used to love to suck his cock. Long and straight, I would gobble every inch of it in to my throat. Ten inches at least, I would lick the entire shaft, tip to base, with swirling strokes. Nibbling end to end. He would grab my head and force me to suck harder, or to take more of him in. when he would come, spurting at the back of my throat, I used to smile. How little control men actually have when it comes to their cocks. I didn't always swallow, but now and then, the urge would be there. I loved the taste of it. He would have finger marks on his ass cheeks and hip bones when I had grabbed him and held him still.
The first time I sucked him off, we were outside. He lived on the lake, and we were taking a walk on the shore line. It was hot out, the sun blazing down, making me sweat in the small of my back. I looked at him, and I swear, he felt everything I was thinking. I dragged him out of the gently lapping waves and threw him up against the nearest building. I wanted him so bad. I pressed my lips against his, begging him to feel what I was feeling. He did. He gripped my ample hips and pulled me even closer. He tasted of cigarettes, which at the time we both smoked, so it didn't bother me at all. In fact, then, the clove flavor was so sweet, I felt I could kiss him forever. Sometimes, now, I wish I had never stopped. He kissed damp, sweaty trails down my neck, and back behind my ear. There, the one and only sweet spot I possessed. I shivered, and moaned softly. He can get me going with just one touch. I hooked my fingers in his waistband and slipped underneath, gently grasping his cock. He chuckled in my ear.
"Impatient?"
We hadn't even slept together yet, and already we were in flames just by touching.
