The day passed with a little awkwardness between us. It's not like we were angry or anything, but the way we normally fit together so well was just not quite there.
We went to the pool for a while, her amazing hips and ass drawing looks as they always did. And she enjoyed the looks as she always did.
But it was different too, as 4:00 came and we set up for the evening get-together. Robbie, another guitar picker came over and that meant we did more of the old folk-rock stuff than usual. And for the first time in two months, I looked at the women in the group thinking in terms of whether I'd like to bed this one or that one.
In the end, though, it wasn't my decision. But if it had been, it's the decision I would have made. The couple that joined us during the singalong that caught my eye looked like they had stepped straight out of a 1960s newsreel. They were in their 20s and you'd think you had seen them in a documentary about Woodstock. Both had on that uniform that made you think "hippy," even if it was your mother or grandmother who might have actually been there.
He was all bushy dark hair, a heavy metal peace symbol, the one that looks like an upside-down broken cross in a circle, on a leather string around his neck. His tie-dyed T-shirt was all bright primary colors, and his too-long bell bottom jeans, looking like something he bought in a surplus store, had frayed bottoms. He had actual leather sandals on, a simple gold hoop earring, and his watchband was black leather about three inches wide.
She was that idealized image from the same era. Her hair was long, blonde, and absolutely straight making you think it was probably ironed, hanging well down her back, parted in the middle with bangs covering her forehead. She was attractive, not pretty. She had a straight nose and very dark brown eyes that contrasted nicely with the blonde hair. The leather vest she wore, with fringe, of course, made it obvious she had no bra on. Her jeans had been bought from the same place as her husband's and her Birkenstocks looked well used. She had a single earring in her left ear, a plain hoop matching her husband's, but her right ear looked like some sort of sewing machine modified to install gold studs had been used. There had to be at least a dozen studs tracing the arc of the circle of the outer shell.
Where he was ridiculously handsome in that boyish Tom Cruise way, she was handsome as well, think Jennifer Garner or Hilary Swank.
The way she looked it was mildly surprising to see shaved armpits when she raised her hand.
They sang together well. When they asked if we knew how to play "Leaving on A Jet Plane," that old John Denver song from the 1960s their voices were an interesting blend. His was high and clear, think Adam Levine from Maroon Five, while hers was low and raspy, think Stevie Nicks after a hard night of scotch and cigarettes. They made an interesting harmony, though, and drew applause.
I wasn't surprised although a little sad, to see Ashley and Ron, the hippy husband, walking down the lane together, his hand resting comfortably on the shelf of her hip.
I was a little surprised when Kathy, the hippy wife, leaned against me while I played and one of the other women there did an absolutely terrible version of "White Rabbit."
By 9:00, the RV park witching hour, there were only a half dozen people left including Kathy and me.
I watched Maureen, a woman of about 50 with the biggest tits I had ever seen, leave with a guy whose name escaped me, a youngster that I doubted was legal. Then Cleo, not Chloe she had insisted forcefully, a butterball of a classic granny, helped clean up while Lance, an outrageously musclebound lifeguard type waited, literally tapping his foot.
She looked a little uncomfortable and I asked, "are you okay?"
But she smiled, wanly, and said, "I'm fine. You know how it is. Fat grannies can't be choosy."
They left after the last of the paper plates were in the trash. She looked at me, a little longingly I thought, but by then Kathy was hanging on my arm making it clear I had been claimed.
I hadn't even shut the door before she was in my arms and Jesus CHRIST she could kiss. It was like she wanted to devour me with her lips and probe me with her tongue. Her back was arched and she was pushing against me and when my hands started exploring her back I found her to be strong and athletic. There was almost no body fat, just a very soft layer of skin covering the hard muscle.
When I parted the vest and eased it off of her shoulders her breasts were small, little teacup titties, with dark tan nipples, big and, as I watched, erect, hard little tan sausages topping areolas just a shade lighter. They were nice tits with no sag at all. When I touched she shivered a little, and when I sucked gently her breath caught.
I raised my arms over my head when she tugged and pulled my T-shirt up and off. It was my turn to have trouble drawing breath when she bent and sucked on my nipple while her hand, big for a woman, held my arms like that.
Her mouth was a living thing and her lips were kissing and sucking, teeth nipping, tongue probing, licking, tasting as she explored my chest and then my armpits. She explored my arms down to that sensitive place inside my elbow. It was slow and exquisite and I wasn't missing my Goddess at all right then. I was too lost in the sensations Kathy was giving me.
She captured my hands in her big hands and took each finger into her mouth, separately, swallowing until my fingertip was in her throat and she looked so goddam happy I just wanted to look at her face for a while.
I brushed the hair back from her face. She truly was pretty then. Still not beautiful, but pretty the way she was smiling.
So I mirrored what she was doing. I took her hand and kissed her palm, kissed each fingertip, and then took her middle finger, the longest one, into my mouth, sucking gently, pushing gently, as our eyes met, I took more into my mouth until her fingertip was at the base of my tongue and my body started to reject what I was doing, my gag reflex taking over, my belly involuntary contracting as I retched a little.
She smiled and said something that sounded like, "ay eh sah," and then giggled and pulled my finger out of her mouth.
"Take it slow, sugar," she said, and I watched as she took my finger back into her mouth and pressed my hand forward, very slowly. Her tongue caressed my finger and she gave a tiny little jerk as she swallowed hard, getting past her own gag reflex.
I mirrored her again, caressing her finger with my tongue.
"Ah eye ayee," she said and got the giggles then.
This was new to me. I had used my mouth before, bringing many women to orgasm, rimming some, suckling most, but this was new. And I found it to be amazing sensual. My dick found it good too. I was achingly hard.
She smiled and pulled off of my finger.
"That's right, baby," she said, her left hand supporting the back of my head while, with her right, her finger probed deeper.
I coughed a little and she stopped pressing. "Take your time, honey," she said, "discover how sensual, how sexy your mouth can be."
I felt a second finger touch my lips and opened my mouth. I don't know how long her exploration lasted, I was lost in the sensations. Her fingertips traced the line of my gums, inside and out, then the shape of my tongue, the inside of my lips. I relaxed and enjoyed it.
Finally, it was like she tired of that game. We laid down, side by side, and kissed, gently, our hands exploring. When I moved my hand down and started to brush up her inner thigh she caught it and moved it to her breast.
"Personal preference," she said, sighing as I gently squeezed.
We necked and kissed, touched and played, we acted like teenagers for some significant fraction of eternity. I was captivated by her broad shoulders and small breasts, so different from my Goddess. Her slender hips gave her an athletic look. I didn't even mind when she would catch my hand when I reached for the button of her jeans.
I, on the other hand, didn't fight when she found the button of my jeans and my zipper. I lifted my hips as she peeled them off and then my boxers. And I enjoyed the way she knelt between my knees and slowly tickled up my thighs, her fingertips slipping between my scrotum and thighs, lifting gently and then bending to kiss my balls.
She pushed herself up so she sat back on her feet in that weird position only a woman can seem comfortable in. She smiled down at me and then slid off the bed, standing there at the foot.
I watched, fascinated, as she turned off the light and then went into the bathroom, turned off that light, and into the little wall just inside the door, and hit the master switch, turning off the rest of the lights.
I could see her, vaguely, in silhouette, from the scatter of light that leaked into the trailer from the street light.
"Do you think I'm pretty?" she asked, her shape indistinct and her voice husky.
"I think you're a knockout," I said.
She giggled and I could make out her shape as she unbuttoned and unzipped and pushed her jeans down. The bed bounced a little as she crawled up onto it but when I reached for her she caught my hand and laid it on her hip, keeping it covered with hers.
"Tell me I'm pretty," she said in a very soft voice.
