"Come and sit here," I said, patting the edge of the table. "Well prop yourself, don't sit."
You did as I asked. I stood up and again faced you. I felt aroused once more and I guessed that probably showed with my nipples and by the amount my lips would be glistening. I put my hands on your legs, each just above your knees. I looked you right in the eye as I slowly bent down, almost as If I was curtseying. Lower and lower until I was kneeling; now my posture was not looking as if I was genuflecting, but praying. I was kneeling between your opened legs. Your naturally, still flaccid cock was right in front of my face. I took hold of it and lifted it. It was warm, not cool as I expected. My eyes raised and my face lowered I slowly brought it to my lips. Holding your gaze, I muttered. "And for dessert James, I think you know what's on my menu?" Just before I licked the length of your cock and slipped it into my mouth.
Him.
I swear, at that moment I felt like I was in sexual heaven. Because of what I'd seen, what was happening, and what was about to happen.
By 'what I'd seen', I mean the way you'd gone down on me. With me, sex is in the mind as well as the body, it's an emotional as well as physical experience. Fuck there's that word again, experience; it seems to crop up so often If my mind isn't turned on, then my body won't be either. That doesn't mean I can't/won't fuck of course. It usually makes no difference to my abilities in that respect. But if my mind is turned on too, it enhances the whole thing, raises the sex onto another plane. At least for me an old fogey, I don't know about young bucks but then really, I don't care about them.
That's what I mean by experiencing as against just fucking, I guess. But let's not go there. I was never going to be able to explain that, and even if I did, I'd get the Jaynee scathing scepticism.
It seems that for the youth of today, one fuck is the same as the next, one blowjob is the same as the next. For the older generation, good sex, really good sex is something to be savoured. Experience has shown us that sex no matter who it's with is not always good sex. Sometimes it's just sex, ordinary sex, getting rid of frustration or dutiful sex.
So, returning to 'what I'd seen', let me explain. Only one previous lover had ever gone down on me with anything like the sexiness you had, and that was a long time ago. What was so sexy? Well, okay, it was this:
Your eyes.
Yes, your eyes. Not just your eyes, of course, but that's where the feeling started. The way you looked at me with that sexy, Jayne-like gaze. It kind of homed in on my sexual psyche, hitting parts that other gazes can't reach. I can't really explain, except that the Jayne-look intensifies the feeling of excitement, brings it alive, even before the physical contact takes place.
If that wasn't enough, you kept your gaze on me throughout. From the moment you put your hands on my legs, and slowly bent down, lower and lower, until you were on your knees between my open legs. The sight of you there was intoxicating, and yes, it was enhanced by the way you looked at me throughout.
As for 'what was happening', your fucking lips were on me of course. Not on my hard dick. But on my l flaccid cock, which was still recovering from our two bouts of lovemaking upstairs.
Other than one instance in my life, cock sucking has taken place when I was already aroused, or half aroused. So, that's why the way when you took my still recovering cock, cradled it, and licked the length before slipping it into your mouth was so special. Okay, okay, these are probably things that mean very little to a twenty-three- year-old siren, but to someone sitting on the other side of the generation gap, they had quite an effect.
As for 'what was about to come', my imagination was alive and dancing a jig of joy (no, don't quote that to her). I looked down into those Jayne-blue eyes and my body jerked at the sight. I watched your lips cover my cock as your hand cradled my balls and I grunted my approval. I felt my cock start to react and I dropped my hand down to your blonde hair, slowly gathering it between my fingers.
Oh fuck, Jayne. Every part of my body was throbbing at 'what was about to come'.
Her.
Feeling a cock grow from its soft and quite useless, sexually, state into a powerfully hard fucking machine is always an incredible sensation for a girl. In your hand it's wonderful, against your body, especially your stomach, it's great, but when it happens in your mouth it's absolutely fucking marvellous. And it's not just the feeling of power, the cockiness of thinking 'I did that, I caused his excitement', it's the emotions and sensations, the pleasure you give him and the mutuality of doing something so wonderful together; it's also real sex, I think.
Now and then, it happens quickly. Hardly has my hand, tummy or tongue touched the silky softness of a soft dick then it's ballooning into its full majesty. That's generally the second time, the time after we have shagged and are about to have the other half. That's nice, well actually it's bloody marvellous, but the sensation is insignificant to when it happens slowly; it's nowhere near as sensational as when I have to work at making it happen and when my lover has to try hard. That can be, say the third or fourth time in an evening, or for an encore in the middle of the night, but don't get me wrong, it is nowhere near the frequent an occurrence I seem to be making it sound.
DD, my only real mature lover is in his forties. A good age for men, but a rotten one, I imagine, for women. For men, though, or so I have read and been led to believe, it can be an awkward time. Physically, and mentally, so the books, and Marie Clare and Cosmo say, and they are such bibles of feminine sexuality, it can be a difficulty age. To cut to the quick, it is the time when a man's 'essential equipment' their 'prides and joys' can start to go on the blink; the time when some of his juices dry up and when his eventual deterioration into a pretty useless 'fucking machine' begins. Not for all, by all means, but for some for sure. And from his forties, most men know that their essential equipment will never perform as well again. It is with men of that age, and up, even though until you I'd had no experience of the 'and up,' that women have to try hardest, and that means slowest and that means sensational. Perhaps that is the reason some of us, an increasing number too, I read, are attracted to old farts!
Taking a cock into your mouth is quite some adventure. There's the smell and taste to enjoy or occasionally overcome, and there is the sheer intimacy of both, being so close and having a man in a non-traditional part of your body. There's also the 'problem' of how far you will go and the situation of ''what should she do?' When I go down on a man, I tend to think it's my show, my party piece, my action. Ok let him stroke my hair, maybe tug it a bit, caress my breasts or pinch my nipples, even rub my body anywhere and, perhaps, just perhaps, touch my pussy. But he should not have full involvement. I don't want to be finger fucked, I don't want my tits sucked or my bum invaded. I'm doing it for him no, for us through him, and it's a gesture where he really should 'lay back and think of England' (not playing bloody cricket though!). There are other times and probably places too, where we can both oral each other in the almost gymnastics of 69, but this was not one of those.
Staring, not too intently, but hopefully beguilingly into your eyes I licked you. You tasted nice and you smelt muskily perfect, you reeked of sex and that was fine by me. With my mouth wide open, I put my tongue on the bottom of the bulbous tip holding the slightly thinner tube between that and your balls and stomach. I could see the desire, the want, the pleasure and yes, probably, the thanks as well in your eyes as you stroked my hair. I closed my mouth so that your cock was wrapped between my tongue and my upper lip. I ran the fingers on one hand up your thigh until I reached your scrotum. Turning them so the tips were upwards I lifted your balls and then, slowly I closed my fingers round them. Then I rolled a pair of balls in my hand; they felt wonderful. The feel of a man's balls to a woman is nearing, I think, to the feel of a girl's tits to a man. Having felt both though, I can say for sure there's not much in it!
My heart leaped a little when I felt you twitch, I looked back into your eyes and saw a sparkle there, a sparkle of triumph or relief perhaps?
I removed it from my mouth. Sucking was not what was required, well so I thought, but then I am by no means an expert on the art of sucking a guy's cock, I work by hope and instinct! Licking was what I felt was needed to get it hard then sucking to keep it that way until we worked out how to finish it off.
Holding your, slightly firmer I thought, dick in my hands vertically up your, belying your age, flat stomach I looked right into your eyes. I squeezed it, gave it a little kiss right on the tip, smiled at you, maybe slightly closed my eyes and whispered.
"Would you like me to suck your cock now James?"
Him.
Would I? Are you fucking kidding? Yes pleeeeeaaase!!
I wondered what it was like for a woman? Did she get the same pleasure from the feeling of a cock beginning to grow in her mouth as a man does? I mean, the man can feel it, but the woman caused it. Which pleasure is greater??
Not only did I begin to lengthen and harden, just the fact that this was your mouth sent a surge of my arousal from my brain to my cock. That only helped the process. Process? Fuck me! Not the right word at all in the circumstances. Far too clinical.
