Homecoming, Lily Goes Back to College
No part of this work may be reproduced for distribution by any means physical, mechanical or electronic without the express written permission of the copyright holder.
This is a work of fiction intended for adult consumption only. All characters and locations are fictional or used fictitiously and are over 18 years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Copyright Kelly Lovall, July 2020.
I hope you enjoy this story. All comments welcome. Thanks.
XX, Kelly
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Chapter One
Lily tipped her head back letting Eric's half-hard prick fall from her mouth. Her elegant, sinewy hand continued to stroke it.
"Do you want to go to homecoming?" She said, slurping him back in, taking her lips to the root of his cock.
A muffled laugh came from between her thighs. "Right now?" He said, pulling his face away from the dark, wet petals of her labia. "Jesus, Lil."
She shifted her hips, pushing her muff back onto his mouth. Her hips began to gyrate, fucking his face.
Chapter Two
Eric walked through the French door from their house into the warm night air, his feet bare against the smooth, dry deck boards. A glass of whisky dangled between his fingers. "So, homecoming, huh?" Eric said.
Lily sipped from a glass of dark red wine and sucked guiltily on a cigarette she'd plucked from an aging pack she kept in a kitchen drawer with unused trivets, lighters, matches and sundry household flotsam.
"Fun right? It's been years since I've gone and, I don't know, we'd have fun." She said.
He smelled the cigarette before he saw it. She held it under the patio table between her thumb and forefinger while she rubbed a finger against the glowing screen of her phone. The smell was repellant on its own but intoxicating on her breath, her tongue in his mouth.
She looked up as he sat down across from her, the warm light from a little, plastic LED candle outlined her face bringing into relief the scalloped fullness of her lips, hovering above a perfect, ovoid chin. She was pert, cute, almost beautiful. She seemed to be one of those women who were perpetually sexy. Her big brown eyes were almost perfectly round, so symmetrically placed they erased any other trace of imperfection from her face like the one nostril that was slightly larger than the other, the slight ski-jump at the tip of her nose or the one ear that was slightly higher than the other. And, of course, the tiny gap between her top incisors.
She had pointed out these imperfections and others to him. She had examined her body meticulously over the years. She had been obsessed over her imperfections when they'd met but she'd mellowed over the years. Curse of a gymnast perhaps.
She smiled at him. The corners of her mouth pushed her cheeks up with a force that created crows feet around her eyes and dimples so geometrically inviting Eric always imagined filling them with the tips of his pinkies when they appeared.
"I don't know Lil, homecoming sounds like a 'you" thing not really a 'we' thing. I wouldn't know anyone." He said.
"C'mon Eek (her pet name for him), it'd be fun. I could show you all the old haunts I've been talking about for years, I could show off my distinguished and devastatingly handsome husband," she giggled, "plus I love football games in an outdoor stadium." She said.
By distinguished she meant older. Eric was almost fifteen years older, in his forties. More and more he felt it. Was he handsome? In a way. The way mid-century furniture is handsome; simple and elegant, symmetrical, durable, almost never out of place. And the closer you get, the more you appreciate it, the longer you sit in it, the better it feels. He was taller than average, trim and what he lacked in physical attributes he made up for with money - a fact that wasn't lost on him.
"When was the last time you went?" He said.
She looked up, unfolding fingers as she counted. Her hands were strong and sensuously formed, revealing the muscle and sinew moving beneath the silky skin. Her fingers were strong and graceful, shaped by years of gripping and pushing against gymnastics equipment, the knuckles prominent with firm, pillowed pads under the painted tips.
She grimaced. "Ten years. Is it sad if I go back?"
"A little, maybe." He said. "What brought this on?"
"I got a thing in the mail from the ISU Alumni Association and I've been seeing things in my feed and just remembered how much fun it used to be. I got all nostalgic I guess." She said.
She got up and went to the railing of the deck, took a final drag off the cigarette and flicked the glowing tip off into the grass below. Eric watched her calves flex as she went up on the balls of her statuesque feet leaning over the rail. Her favorite, threadbare post-coital t-shirt stretched over her buttocks and rode up to show the bottoms of each globe. Her skin was smooth and dusky. His cock stirred. He sipped his whisky. She set the cigarette butt upright on the metal railing.
She turned to him. "If it's still standing the morning..."
"I know." He said. "It's the last one ever." He recited the phrase she always used when she smoked. The butts never made it through the night.
She giggled.
She sat again, her unsprung tits jiggled loosely under the thin fabric, her little nipples shown hard. She took a long draft of wine, set the glass down and leaned back in her chair. She arched, stretching her elbows back and running her fingers into her long dark hair. God, what a tight little package, he thought.
His cock twitched, beginning to fill. Somewhere in his brain a familiar circuit engaged automatically, one that had faithfully fired for most of his adult life. A tableau like he was seeing now, the shape and proportion of a beautiful arm or leg as it met a shoulder or buttocks and moved through space with a certain sensual presence, would stick to him. His image processor. His brain would seize it, evaluate it, judge it to be desirable then a quick calculation would happen. Inevitably the output would tell him he was out of range, not matched, 'punching above his weight' as his father had warned him in congratulatory tones.
Then the movie would play.
A scene flipped through his mind of her getting drunk at a tailgate party - he knew she could get wild and loud in the right environment - kissing frat boys and flashing her tits. Maybe more. Always more. His cock twitched and grew at the thoughts. His secret fantasy. His secret defense mechanism. His mind somehow turned jealously into desire. It's just how it worked.
She relaxed. "Sad then, huh?" She reached for her wine. "I don't want to be sad." She said, sipping through pouting lips.
"I don't know." He said, thoughtfully. "It could be fun. We could road trip, we could get there in a day of driving. We could camp, tail-gate, show the kids how it's done." He said. "You're an alum, gymnastics alum. You were a big deal right, All-American? There's nothing wrong with going back for a little taste of the glory days."
"Tons of people are talking about going. I guess the team is ranked this year." She said.
"How much are they asking for?" He said.
"Camping?" She said. "Can't we stay someplace nice?"
