I'm old and gray now, here in Massachusetts. I'm settled, with grandchildren. But I still enjoy my memories, especially the sexual conquests. God, how I love women. Today I'm remembering Emily the engineer — environmental engineer, to be precise.
In my early 20s, not long after college, I worked in the planning office of a coastal town, and we hired Emily's consulting firm to advise us on the extension of our town pier. It was quite a project, so I got to know her through a series of meetings. After construction began, she would come down from Boston now and then to go over the plans with me, and our talk would range back and forth from our work to our personal lives. I remember one sunny afternoon when she had the plans spread out on a picnic table in the park next to the pier. The loud, rhythmic beat of the nearby pile driver forced us to raise our voices.
"Did I tell you I'm a swimmer?" she said.
"On a team?"
"Not anymore, but I do try to swim every day for at least 45 minutes, at a reservoir near my house."
"They allow swimming in the reservoir? That doesn't sound environmentally correct," I teased.
"No, but I do it anyway. There are plenty of dirt roads that lead to secluded coves."
"Do you push yourself to increase your distance every day?
"How did you know? I do get kind of obsessive about it. I time myself, and I have a little gismo like a pedometer, but for swimmers."
"Do you shave all over, like those Olympic swimmers, to reduce the drag?
"No, I'm not quite that bad. I have a bathing cap and a Speedo, but look at my arms — I hardly have any hair to begin with. Sometimes, when no one's around, I swim nude."
"Oh really? Do you need to shave before those times?"
A small smile flickered across her face, then she lowered her head to the plans for the pier. "About this float at the end..." She was back to business.
I loved her brown hair, which was cropped short but still long enough to flop when she looked down. She must have used a top-notch shampoo; it was clean and silky. And her face was open, pert, wholesome. I liked this woman, I realized. I figured she must be just over 30. When we stood together, she was a head shorter, and her body was tight — she was an athlete, I now knew. She was intelligent. And she dressed well. Today she wore a sharply tailored summer-weight suit (I was wearing a tie, myself).
That evening we met for a quick swim on a remote saltwater beach. There were about 10 of us, actually — her co-workers and mine. I watched her closely, trying not to be obvious. She was indeed a powerful swimmer, even through the waves. There was no way could I keep up. There was talk of us meeting for dinner after we had cleaned up, but she called to cancel before I had left my little rental cottage. She said she felt a cold coming on, but she invited me to visit her at her apartment sometime. "Bring your swimsuit," she added. She lived a bit west of Boston. I wasn't sure where I stood with her personally, but the invitation made it easier to face another dinner alone.
A few weeks later, when I was in Boston to visit a college friend, I gave Emily a call on Saturday evening. She and her roommate were about to go out drinking, she said. Instead of inviting me to join them, she suggested I drop by her place around 10 the next morning. "I don't go to church," she chirped. I said I'd be there.
I arrived at the duplex (top floor) at 10 sharp, of course. It was a July day, and promised to be a hot one. Emily's roommate answered the kitchen door, introducing herself as Trudy and acting surprised to see me. Trudy had flaming red hair, freckles, and large, firm breasts. She was in a nightgown, and her eyelids were half closed. She explained that she and Emily had stayed out quite late the night before (cruising for guys?). Just then, Emily came in, drying her hair with a towel. Fresh out of the shower, apparently, she wore a thin sundress with a pattern of tiny blue flowers.
"I'm sorry, Trudy, I forgot to tell you I invited him over. We work together on that pier project."
With that, she turned on her heels, motioning me to follow her, and flopped down on a daybed in a little room just off the kitchen. She was on her back and looking at the ceiling. I saw no evidence of a bra. Not sure what she expected, I lay down next to her, to her right. Our talk was trivial. I felt awkward, but excited. Then I risked everything — I placed my hand on her flat tummy. There was a pause, then she turned her head toward me.
"Touch me," she whispered.
"Bonanza," I thought to myself, but I was determined to keep my cool. I knew she could jump up at any minute if I pushed things too far, too fast. Yet I slowly slid my hand down her dress until it cupped her vulva.
"Like this?," I asked.
"Mmmmmm," she said.
Sitting up a little, I used my other hand to gently pull the thin straps of her dress off each shoulder, then pulling the dress down to reveal her breasts. They were perfectly formed — a bit on the small side, but that's what I prefer. I slowly bent my head to take a lovely little nipple between my lips, and it stiffened immediately. That's how I like them, too. I went from one breast to the next and back again; kissing ever so lightly. Her erratic breathing communicated what I needed to know.
I began to lightly trace my right hand up her thigh; just grazing her soft skin and feeling her move her legs about an inch farther apart. I fluttered the tips of my fingers up her other thigh, going farther up this time. With each pass I grew closer to the ultimate destination. She arched her back a bit. Finally, as I swirled my tongue in long slow circles around one of her nipples, my middle finger came to rest lightly on her slit. Through her thin cotton panties I could feel the heat of her fresh cunt. With phenomenal self-control, I resisted the temptation to curve a finger underneath the fabric to feel what I thought by now might be a hairless pussy. Instead, I teased her labia with the lightest touch imaginable, through the cotton. Her pelvis rose — I had the green light.
Slowly, happily, still tonguing her nipple, I moved my hand up under her dress to the skin of her smooth belly. After waiting a few seconds there, I kissed her. She kissed me back with enthusiasm, and I slid my palm downward, under the panties, to lightly cup her cute little mound. (Is there anything better? No.) To my delight, she was indeed shaved bald down there. She moaned. I gently slid my middle finger down to the opening of her vagina, which was tight but slick.
I rose to my knees, pivoting so that I was at a right angle to her body.
"OK?" I asked, as I began to pull her panties down her tanned thighs.
"You bet," she responded, hooking a toe under the panties, sliding them down to her ankles, and kicking them off her feet. I saw her legs open wider, and I kissed her again. The marvelous aroma of her sex hit me then, made my dick twitch. While my left hand cupped her breast, my right-hand middle finger returned to her vagina. Farther in it went. Finding her clit was no problem for my thumb, which circled the swelling nub slowly. Just as I noticed that Emily was breathing more heavily, she smiled at me and slid her knees up. The hem of her dress slid down her thighs.
"Yessssss," she hissed.
Still kneeling at her side, I tongued her slit. My finger was still in her, probing gently for her G-spot. I decided to move my other hand down from her breast, to lovingly knead and lightly pinch the rubbery flesh of her outer labia as my tongue swiped up and down the pinched groove. I felt her body tense up, and I knew that was my cue to kiss her clit, which is exactly what I did. She opened her legs all the way, and I moved to the foot of the bed to kiss her sweetmeats. I licked her as my finger pressed up toward my tongue from inside her. Suddenly, I began to kiss and suck her clit, which I knew would put her over the edge. She took a deep breath and stopped breathing. Just as she started to come, I moved my right pinky down to push against her anus, and wow — a whole lotta shakin' goin' on. She trembled, bucked, and twitched for a good minute. I felt her little cunt pulse, then clamp down on my embedded finger.
By now I was very turned on, as you can imagine. Engulfed in her scent, standing at the foot of the bed, I lifted her legs up high until only her head and shoulders were touching the bed. Her dress was bunched around her middle. Her toes were pointed at the ceiling. I put a hand on her vulva, and she understood, spreading her outstretched legs in a wide V. Now, with my hands on her calves, I looked straight down into her most private place, which was open and seeping. As I hoped she would, she brought her hands around behind, to support her lower back — the "bicycle rider" exercise position. I paused because I knew I was going to remember this moment forever. Then I bend forward and covered her sex with my mouth. I tried to keep it slow at first, but I couldn't restrain myself. Within seconds I was slurping her genitals like a hungry dog.
Emily was groaning approval, so I decided to do something I'd only read about in an erotic story. I stuck my tongue in her asshole. She immediately closed her thighs against my neck, her legs draped over my shoulders. My hands went to the backs of her thighs, and I continued my frantic slurping/probing from one hole to the other — up and down her whole crotch, actually. Her body started to quiver, so I knew she was on the edge again. I snaked one hand up to her clit and toggled the slippery nub, fast and hard. Sure enough, she erupted like Vesuvius, with a gasp that turned to a shout.
"Wow," she said. My fingers explored her lower lips a bit more as she came down from her powerful orgasm.
"Glad you liked it, because I sure did," I said, flopping down on my back next to her. I was still fully clothed, but I had a powerful erection. We kissed.