On the mid-autumn day of this escapade, I hadn't seen or heard from Sue for about three weeks. She had dumped me, again, about eight months previously, and was chasing a former dating partner, John, trying to woo him back, but, being severely damaged from a previous marriage, John wasn't taking the bait well, and certainly wasn't interested in casual sex.
In fact, it's unclear if they even fucked, back then. Looking back, I'd say they didn't.
Presently, she told me they were dating and hanging out, but that was it.
The lack of sex exasperated Sue. When she felt like sex, she was used to easily fulfilling her needs, and his lack of interest, at least with her, removed from her the power over her male companions that she had usually enjoyed over the last two decades of a constantly renewed procession of lovers. She wasn't a slut; rather, she simply discarded men who became too familiar.
So, not a huge number of lovers, but a steady stream. She was proud that she could still name every man she had ever fucked--24, she reckoned, including me-- while berating me for not being able to do the same.
Heck, for most of my sexual partners, I never even knew their names! I didn't pay much attention to names of swingers, hookers and casual hookups.
When it came to Sue, I used to refer to myself as her Schrödinger's lover: neither loved nor unloved. Only she had the key that could open the box and finally determine my state of being.
But, to my good fortune, reasonably regularly, even though I was officially dumped, she would tire of John's sexual reluctance and fuck me, discreetly, usually on a Sunday morning while she was meant to be at the gym, before they would meet for an afternoon outing of some kind.
Previously, before she decided to attempt to woo herself back into his affections and him into her pussy, we used to fuck mainly at her place, but he was a regular visitor to hers, now, so she had to keep me hidden and we did our recent fucking at mine.
Once, when she was leaving my place to prepare for meeting John in the afternoon, I asked, "What if he finally wants to fuck you this time and your pussy is full of my cum?"
"I'll have a bath when I get home," she chuckled. "Your shit will be long gone!"
I wasn't so sure about that.
"Have you got a bottle brush? My little swimmers are fast and devious."
That two of my children were conceived even with contraception in place, 37 years apart, to different women, of course, attested to the truth of that statement.
And in my most recently ended marriage, the one with a period of unconventional sex, if I went down on my senior teacher wife, I could easily smell semen in her vagina even the night after she had fucked one or more of her numerous sexual partners. Semen strategically hides in deep recesses, after all.
"Just like you," she scoffed, but she had the added insurance that John was too much of a prude to go down on her,
Before she met me, she once told me, she had 'dated' six men in six months and none of them could bring her to orgasm.
As a result of her revelations, though, I was bewildered by the contrast between John's Sue and my Sue.
With me, she had little restraint in the bedroom. Sometimes, not often, she even went off to meet him with a tender ass from my fat cock forcing its way into her little anus. She knew that secret was safe because he would think anal sex was perverted, poor bugger, so he would never ask and she wouldn't dare even mention it.
Why was I in this situation?
Well, leaving aside the psychological explanations, the gospel according my psychoanalyst, that is, Sue, now 59 to my 63, had a smile to melt your heart. What's more, she was a five feet nothing firecracker of a fuck, 115 lbs (52 kgs), with pert, perfect, natural breasts, permanently erect nipples, ultra flat tummy, and firm, firm butt.
With only one kid from over twenty years ago, twenty years of hard, hard workouts and walks, I'm sure readers can imagine the sweet, tight pussy nestled between her legs.
But the joys of her, all of her, were only available, and I emphasize only, when she felt like it. Not for her the charity of just fucking because her partner 'needed it.'
So that was always a constant source of tension between us, her ability to go long periods without the urge for sex, or, indeed, male love or companionship, and my need for both love and to fuck frequently.
In short, when Sue is horny, she's really, really fucking horny; when she's not, she's really, really fucking not.
It's true that between my marriages, especially between numbers two and three, and after number three, I sought the emotional safety of sex workers to fulfill my sexual needs [in modern New Zealand, we have probably the most liberal sex industry laws in the Western world]. My second marriage had ended in traumatic circumstances, with a health disaster robbing my then wife of her previously willing fulfillment of my needs.
My response, according to my shrink, after being eventually released, after eight years, from my duty of care by the course of nature, was a desire to 'catch up' all that sex my brain told me I had missed out on.
But this story isn't about me.
It's also true, and I don't wish to mislead, that Sue is no oil painting, as we say. Her face showed all the normal wrinkles for her age, or even more, and her thin lips and angular features were an accurate reflection of her often mean spirited nature, but any 30 year old woman would be proud of her figure, and her pussy fitted my cock like a well oiled, tight, pigskin glove. So, yes, I was both in love and cunt struck.
The one, imperative truth in our relationship is that, to me, she is the most beautiful woman in the world, always.
That's including all her many foibles; her hostility towards men in general; her deliberate meanness to me: I understand it all, but I can't make her love me.
By this stage of our relationship, I had certainly accepted that Sue didn't, or couldn't, reciprocate my intense feelings for her, and, anyway, I had learnt almost from the beginning not to rely on her for sex. She was far too fickle and unreliable in that regard. Sex with her was a bonus, one which I gratefully accepted but knew I couldn't depend upon.
Of course, I also harbored the usual delusion, according to my shrink, that one day she would come to love me, but in the meantime, as I once said to her during one of our 'breaks', "The show must go on." Meaning, I'm not going to sit around depriving myself of sex when she cuts me off.
Perhaps not my smartest comment ever, as it was often thrown back in my face.
She knew from our pillow talk that I enjoyed the swinger sex, meeting couples solo, who just wanted another cock to play with, and even the odd gangbang. I arranged many similar trysts for my wife in our swinging days.
Sue always listened avidly to these revelations, then expressed her disgust at my behavior. I used to kick myself after telling her a new story and then being on the receiving end of her abuse. I guess I'm a sucker for a tight pussy.
But Sue is full of surprises, pleasant or otherwise, and this Sunday morning I received a text telling me she had broken with John for good.
"We're now just friends," she wrote.
"OK," I replied. It pays to be noncommittal, I had long discovered. Let her make the running.
"Jumping today, but we can catch up during the week, if you like."
That's the thing, with Sue, when she was being nice, she was very nice. But her mood could shift in moments. Oh well, we'll see, I suppose. So I replied:
"OK. Have a good one. Look forward to hearing from you."
About an hour later, though, I received another text:
"No jumping today, too cold and too windy. I'd end up in Australia. Cum on over and take me for a spa. I've booked us a private room at Waiwera."
The 'cum' indicated sex was on the agenda, and the invitation to her home told me her fling with John was truly over. And for some reason, knowing she hadn't even fucked him in all that time pleased me. I know that's hypocritical, but there you have it. Just a guy thing, I suppose.
So, I was probably about to get lucky that weekend, unless, as Sue would put it, "You fuck it up." My sacrificial swimmers began to happily wriggle towards their launching zone at the thought.
When I got there, she was just out of the shower and was wearing her pink bathrobe that never stayed closed properly. I took my place on her sofa while she made me a coffee. When she brought me the coffee, she straddled my lap and nuzzled close. Of course, her robe fell open so I had a nice view of her gorgeous tits, all the way down to her always erect nipples.
"I've got a confession," she said, lifting my head by my chin to look directly into my eyes, exactly like my Tantra massage provider who often caught me looking at her pussy instead of her eyes.
Uh oh, who has she been fucking!
I smiled, waiting. How bad can this be?
"You know I said I never had sex with John?"
I nodded, knowing what was coming but wondering why she was telling me this.
"Weell," she murmured, wrapping her arms around my neck, now that she knew she had my attention, "I sort of did, once, but not really."
"Once?" In a voiceof disbelief.
"Well, maybe two or three times, but, you know, not really."
She was fondling my ear with her tongue, knowing I liked that and obviously hoping to distract me.
"Did he get his cock into you?"
"Weell, yes, just for a little bit. But then he went soft and that was it."
"Every time?"
"Yes," resignedly, rather forlornly, in fact.
I stayed silent, absorbing the information. She continued:
"Neither of us came, ever, so, you know, it wasn't really sex."
"Yeah, right. OK. How long before he would go soft?"
"Oh, quite a while, I suppose."
"Was it nice for you?"
"A willy in my pussy is always nice," she smiled, "But, no, not much fun, as I've told you before. And yesterday, he said he just wants to be friends. So I guess he felt the same."
I didn't know if that meant she fucked him yesterday, or not. Either way, it didn't bother me. I never knew their sex life was so spare and unfulfilling. It confirmed my suspicion that she was actually more interested in his wealth, but she would never admit to that. Not being wealthy, it wasn't a consideration, for me.
Suddenly, she leaned hard into me, her breasts meeting my chest and her hips grinding her groin onto my cock through my jeans.
