The Twenty Year Itch

WARNING! RAAC STORY AHEAD! PROCEED AT OWN RISK!

#Authors notes

#1 I welcome all constructive criticism on this and all my stories. I thank those of you who have responded in the past and I have taken all constructive criticism seriously and it has helped my writing. Once again—a heartfelt THANKS!

#2 In a comment on someone's story, I agreed with an anonymous commenter, who mentioned I needed lessons myself, and invited him/her to point out some of my mistakes. Far from trying to be a wise-ass, I was serious. I've read many books on creative writing and am always trying to learn. I would be pleased to hear serious comments about where I can improve. For me, improvement in the only reason to post here for free. We don't get such feedback from the stories we sell. (The incident mentioned here took place over a month after I wrote note #1 and I decided to leave both notes.)

SECOND WARNING—RAAC STORY AHEAD—BTB FANS TURN BACK!

THE TWENTY YEAR ITCH

I had a decision to make; a decision I'd normally leave up to my oldest daughter, but this time I wasn't going to be able to pass the buck.

"Sorry, Dad," Tracy had said, when I called her last night. "Mom called a couple days ago and warned me not to help you with a twentieth anniversary gift. She said she wanted something you thought she'd like, not a gift I thought she wanted."

Oh shit! I thought. She has never liked a gift I'd bought on my own. Well, that's not exactly true—she always liked the jewelry I'd given her, but as far as something to wear—forget it. Therefore she had jewelry galore; that wasn't an option.

"Honey," she'd say, usually with a giggle, after trying on my latest gift. "You're paying me a great compliment, you really are, and I do appreciate it, but I wish I had the body you apparently see when you look at me. This would have looked great back when we were dating, but I'm not the trim young teenager I was back then."

Then she'd twist around in front of the three full length mirrors, arranged to give almost a three hundred sixty degree view, pointing out all the ways my selection just wasn't right for her. Finally, she'd slip out of the outfit de jour and carefully store it back in whatever it had been packed in.

Then when it was ready for return, she'd come to me; usually she'd be wearing nothing but a sexy pair of panties and a bra. She'd encircle my neck with both arms while lifting tip toeing to offer a kiss. In short order she'd have my cock standing at its normal six inches. When she remained on her toes, my erect cock probed her curly hair and labia.

When flat-footed she was just a little over five feet tall, compared to my six feet, so my cockhead would usually poke just above her hairy patch. I just loved a hairy snatch so she only kept it neatly trimmed, not clean shaven or even the landing strip style so common today. These episodes almost always ended with us completely sated, the bed sheets wet with cum and us naked and asleep, our arms and legs entwined, our bodies glistening with sweat and yes, there would be gobs of my sperm draining down her ass cheeks and onto the bed. I guess you could say that although I may have picked out a lousy gift, we wound up sharing the best gift of all—real love.

Now, as I rocked on my porch, considering just what the heck I was going to do about this year's gift, I realized she was right. Every time I gazed upon her, I saw the trim eighteen year old girl I'd married all those years ago. To me the twenty extra pounds didn't detract from her figure, they just put better curves in the right places. To me, she would still tip the scale at one eighteen, her brown hair still highlighted her always slightly tanned face with its high cheekbones, a gift from her Cherokee ancestors, and she still had that happy go lucky attitude her Irish forefathers had brought from the old country.

April turned men's heads when we went out. She carried that extra twenty pounds well, her body showed the firm results of constant workouts at our judo club and her breast—my god, her breast were a thing dreams were made of—they were still firm, the size of large grapefruits. When aroused or cold, her nipples stood out like grapes I loved to assure her they were a perfect fit for me. I'd tease her that since I have very large hands and a big mouth, she had a perfect mouthful and a handful. Even around our friends, I insisted God made her just for me, without revealing why.

Yes, we had the perfect marriage. I was the luckiest man on earth, without a cloud on the horizon. Well, that wasn't quite right. When I looked behind me about thirteen years ago, a very dark, ugly spot always loomed up; a spot resulting from my complete stupidly. It was a time when April suffered a lot of stress from her side of the family and sex between us dwindled to almost zero. That's when a bad old friend, one who claimed to have had a crush on me in high school, took advantage of the opportunity.

Believe me, being a still young man with a bigger than normal sexual appetite, it wasn't hard for her to tempt me. April had traveled to her childhood home to help care for an ailing father; my parents kept our children at their house, since it was more convenient to get them to and from school, and so when temptation came knocking, I was ready, our spare bedroom was ready, and since we lived very isolated from neighbors, there was no need to sneak around. For about six weeks back then, I had the time of my life, except of course when my conscience was kicking my ass.

The temptation was supplied by a woman who knew her way around a bedroom—I mean she really knew her way. Maybe she had a crush on me back in school, like she claimed. I can't think of another reason for her to take such a sexual dunce as myself under her wing to educate. Up until this time sex with me was mostly a matter of lots of foreplay, digital arousal, teasing the breast with my mouth and good ole bang-bang fucking. Knowing what I know now, after my six week crash course in pleasing woman, April must have thought I was pretty pathetic; but since I had proof I was her first, I guess she didn't know any better either. When it was all said and done, I thought we were really doing it up right back then.

Two weeks before April's dad recovered enough that she was no longer needed; my inflated ego clashed with my guilty conscience and great sex no longer satisfied. I knew I had to break it off with the angel who'd pitied a dumb ass country boy like me enough to show me where my education was lacking. Being a man, with the inflated ego that's so common to our kind, I decided to let her down gently. I needn't have worried.

One phone call later we were scheduled to meet at our favorite little eatery. I arrived well before the appointed time and sat at our favorite booth. Normally its location back in the far corner enabled me to sneak a feel without everybody seeing. Of course today my thoughts weren't on checking out real estate I was already familiar with. Instead I rehearsed the best way to tell her we had to stop seeing each other without breaking the poor girl's heart.

Intent on choosing the right words, I didn't notice I had company until she slid into the booth opposite me.

"Good, I see you're early," she greeted me, sliding almost two thirds of the way into the booth. I noticed she didn't give me my usual kiss on the lips. Before I could respond, she half stood, looked toward the counter and motioned for someone to come over. Since I'd have to turn completely around to see, I had no idea who she was signaling to.

"Over here, Roger," she called. In moments, what could have easily have been an ad for bodybuilding, placed a tray on our table, a tray holding two chocolate shakes and some concoction I couldn't even venture to identify. I didn't know what it was, but I was pretty sure it had something to do with that 'Greek God' body that slipped up so close to my soon to be ex-lover I couldn't have fitted a sheet of paper between the two.

She planted the kiss that usually greeted me, on his lips instead. That kiss generated enough heat to make the air conditioner drop down to a lower gear in order to keep the ice cream from melting.

"Sid, this is Roger." I shook the proffered hand and we both offered the usual, "Glad to meet you," or some such crap. "Sid," she continued, "Roger is my old High School sweetheart, and my first lover."

Wow! This gal cut right to the chase. For a second I almost forgot my mission to break off with her.

"Roger," she continued, "taught me all the neat things I've been showing you these past weeks, but I'm afraid that's over."

Things were silent for a count of about twenty, then she took my hand and said, "I'm sorry, Sid. You're really a nice guy and I did enjoy our time together, but I've always been in love with Roger."

I patted her hand and tried to look as sad as possible while assuring her I was heartbroken, but I understood. We remained long enough to finish our shakes, then arose and left together. As we parted at the door, I tapped Roger on the shoulder and said, "Treat her good, big fella, she's one of a kind." Walking away, I swore I wouldn't get mixed up with another woman—not ever. My nerves couldn't take the stress of always worrying April might find out. I haven't either; not once in all the intervening years have I seriously considered trying to get into any woman's panties, besides April's.

One final footnote on this subject, I knew I just had to put what I'd learned into practice with April, so I better have a way to explain how I knew all these things. A trip to the local library solved my problem; they had a book entitled, "Making Your Mate Happy Again," complete with instructions and diagrams on how to do it. I made sure I had it open in plain sight when April got home. It must have worked, for we were happy for some years.

Turning my attention back to my present problem, I decided not to decide buy the present just yet. I still had a couple of months. Maybe I'd get a divine revelation or more likely she'd let something slip—something that would give me some hint of what she really wanted.

That got me to wondering about things, things like why April was acting so differently lately. Normally she's a warm loving woman; a woman who matches me, response for response, when we turn in at night. If for some reason I didn't start the proceeding she would. Even after all these years, we'd enjoy mind numbing sex at least three times a week, often more than that.

About a month ago she began acting differently. We'd crawl into bed, I'd snuggle next to her as always, I'd start exploring her body as usual, but instead of putting her head on my shoulder and following my lead, she'd just lay there. If she didn't push me away claiming to be tired, I could lie on her arm so I could tease her nipples with my tongue and lips while my hands roamed her lower body and she would finally start to respond, and usually after a slow start, she'd really get carried away.

Normally she was fairly quiet during intercourse, so you can imagine my surprise the first time I heard her scream, "Fuck me baby! Drive that big thing into my hot pussy." She locked her legs around my waist, continuing to scream encouragement and hold me tightly into her until I pumped every drop of cum I had into her pulsing cunt. She would get so excited her cunt would literally milk my cock dry. Then we'd both collapse and fall asleep with our legs and arms still entwined.

When I coupled all this with her always acting like I'd done something wrong, I really started to worry. If I asked what I'd done, my answer was always the same—a very sharp "Nothing, I'm just not feeling like myself."

APRIL'S STORY:

Sid is the only man who has ever touched me sexually. I was a virgin when we married and I don't think Sid had very much experience either, but that was okay. We were learning together and with all of our inexperience we both managed to climax each time we made love—almost. Sex was good, I was satisfied and I think Sid was too.

We lived a normal life for our area and the time. Sid was the breadwinner while I stayed home with the kids. We were a regular "Leave It to Beaver," family and I wouldn't have changed one iota, even if I could.

Sure, we had our rough spots, especially after my Dad got sick and I had to help Mom care for him, forcing us to be separated for way to long. There was one bright spot about the month and a half separation, however. When I got back sex, that had once been good, became mind blowing. I mean Sid had become a sex god.

I still get cold shivers just thinking about the first night I returned from Mom and Dad's. I fully expected to go out for a bite, then come home, get in bed where we'd play with each other until our motors were racing. Then I'd spread my legs wide, he'd get between them, slowly inserting his nice hard cock into my slippery passage.

He'd start by slipping just a bit inside, teasing me until I was shoving my hips at him, desperate for more. Then the long slow strokes would start; sometimes he'd pull about half way out before jamming it back in for a session of two or three short strokes before returning to the old 'pull it out, rub it on the clit, then agonizingly slowly shove it to the hilt again' routine.

Sometimes, when I concentrated hard enough, I could make my muscles clamp and unclamp on his shaft. He said I was chewing on it when I did that. If I did it while he was slow stroking, he claimed I was milking his cock. (Cock was his word—me, I prefer shaft.

"Oh god, baby," he'd moan, when I got the muscles really working, "you feel like you're milking my cock." That made me try even harder, and we'd continue until things reached fever pitch.

I'd moan something like, "I'm cumming don't stop now, baby." Sid would throw all caution to the winds and we'd hump like mad. Often a squishy sound would be generated by his cock pumping into my well lubricated cunt, until finally a tingle, would start in my toes, radiate up my body generating goosebumps every inch of the way, until it finally burst out the top of my head and I'd collapse to the feel of his sperm coating my insides. God I loved that feeling.

Well, that first night I didn't get what I expected. He met me at the door acting like a wild man who hadn't been laid in weeks. (Come to think of it, he hadn't been laid in weeks.) He shoved me against the door just as soon as I stepped inside. His hands were all over my tits, my upper body and ranged down to cop a feel of my buns. All the while his lips devoured my nipples, after he ripped my blouse off my body.

I was horny as hell too, so I got right into the game. While he pulled the rest of my clothes off, I was fumbled around, trying to undo his belt buckle so I could get to what I had been missing for so long. Once I had his belt undone, I jerked hard on his pants, trying to rip them off in my hurry. The button flew off, I pulled both his shorts and pants down at the same time and his beautiful cock was standing almost in my face.

Yes, I said beautiful—it was about six inches of pure pleasure. I later learned that many men are bigger, but at the time his was the only one I'd seen and I still say it was as beautiful as anything I've seen since, either in films or in person. It was almost as big around as a V-8 juice can; and had two bulging veins running from his body and disappearing under the rolled back foreskin of his uncircumcised cock. The helmet resembled a mushroom the size of a large plumb, and I just loved to work the loose skin over it, watching it swell until the skin was tight.

"Huh Uh," he declared, "This one is special for you Baby." Then he carried my now naked body to the sofa, where he sat me down with my butt almost hanging off the edge. He pressed my legs apart enough to get his head between them and start nipping and kissing on my inner thighs. He started at my knees, switching from one thigh to thigh, until he'd kissed every inch of the soft flesh.

"Yessssss," I moaned as his lips crept toward my burning core.

Finally his excited breath was teasing the hair surrounding my labia, driving me wild. When his mouth tugged on my blood engorged lips, I had my first orgasm. It was just a slight one, the first of many to come, but for some reason I remember just how it felt after all these years.

Without giving me a chance to catch my breath, his tongue took possession of my clit and two fingers slipped inside me. Then he crooked them and made a 'come hither' motion inside the top of my slick canal. At first only his tongue on my clit seemed to be doing any good, but Sid continued to minister to me like he knew what he was doing, and before long those fingers had me tingling like never before.

Sid continued until he had me right on the brink of orgasm, then he moved up my body to kiss my breast, sucking on the nipples until they stood out so much they ached. When he had them about the size of small grapes, he moved his mouth to mine where we French kissed while he massaged my breast with his hand.

About the time I began to fall away from the peak, Sid would once again capture my clit and put the magic fingers to work. He'd bring me almost to the peak again, before stopping just short of pushing me over the orgasm hill.

"Damn you!" I finally growled, "I got to have your cock. Fuck me."

Sid knelt between my spread knees, took his cock in his hand and guided it to my weeping slit. He swiped it up and down the silt a couple times before lining it up at the opening. As big as the head of his dick was my pussy was slick enough that, when he pushed forward, I felt little resistance before it slipped in. He tried to start with long slow strokes, but I was having none of that. I needed to be fucked and I needed to be fucked now, so I locked my legs around his body and urged him to ram it deep and fast.

Just when the fire within me was roaring, Sid stopped long enough to adjust our position. When he pulled both of my knees over his shoulders, his cock attacked my poor pussy at an entirely different angle. Now it was probing the same spot his fingers had worked on earlier and I heard someone screaming unintelligible sounds that reminded me of an animal in pain. With one final, "Oh God!" my body started to spasm and things started getting black. My last thought was that I was peeing myself, but I had no control.

I opened my eyes to find Sid wiping my face with a wet cloth and kissing me on my eyelids.

"Welcome back, sweetheart," he said. "I read about that happening with a g-spot orgasm, but I really didn't believe it."

I lay there a few moments before replying. "I thought g-spot was all a bunch of crap written to sell books." I could feel the cushions soaked beneath us. "It feels like we wasted a pint of cum on the sofa. We'll never get it dried before your parents bring the kids back."

"That's no problem. We'll just throw a blanket over it for tonight. Tell them I wasted food while you were gone." Sid grinned and started kissing on me again.

"Whoa, big guy, I need rest before another round like that." Sid took me at my word and started helping me get my bags to the bedroom.

"Where did you learn to screw like that?" I asked.

"Liked it, did you?"

"Damn right, it was great—but where did you learn all that stuff, and how did you manage to last so long after weeks of no nookie?"

"Okay, you caught me." Sid grinned as showed me a book he'd supposedly checked out. "You'd be surprised what a book worm can learn."

I flipped through the pages. Sure enough, I saw many of the things we'd just done. I still found it hard to believe the man I'd married could screw that long after over a month of abstinence.

I was too sexually sated to concentrate on anything that night so I turned my back and snuggled against Sid. We fell asleep, our naked bodies pressed together and one of Sid's hands cupping my breast. Next morning I was the first to wake up and my thought drifted back to the unanswered questions from last night.