Juan was always on my mind, by dint of his paying delicious attention to virtually every part of my body.
The sexy 25-year-old dark-skinned Latino was my physical therapist, having come to my house following hip-replacement surgery. Nothing untoward happened between us at first. After all here I was, a laid-up 60-something business woman with a sorry sex life with her own husband, dressed in dowdy sweatpants and top, feeling sorry for myself and not particularly attractive.
But Juan changed that. This kind, gentle soulful young man had not so much seduced me, as let the palpable electricity between us play out. He was gorgeous, so compassionate and gentle, and I, admittedly, was ripe for the picking. My husband paid little attention to me as is, less so in my current rehabilitative condition. Separate bedrooms we used now were a stinging, cold metaphor for the separate lives we lived.
That first time, our first sexual encounter, had come about when I'd asked Juan to get me a pen from my side table drawer, and he came across my trusty vibrator. One thing led to another and the gracious young man offered me a most blissful other form of therapy: He used the vibrator on me, and when the battery died, his fingers, magic and long and insistent.
On our second encounter, his oral attention was divided between my toes, something I'd not enjoyed before, and my pussy. And following that, mine was on him, his glorious long, fat cock, and I fellated him as I lay in bed, his explosive orgasm layering my face, neck and tits with his copious load.
Which he then licked off. This man, this boy-child really, was a magician with his body, endlessly surprising and delighting me.
Now I lay in bed waiting our third encounter. He'd been coming thrice weekly, and the day in between his visits was torture as I awaited his return. I had given thought to shaving my genital area; it is rather thickly vegetated, I must say, and something I thought no man would be fond of, but Juan relished it.
He loved the texture, the sight of it, the smell, the taste. I waited for him now, under the blankets in my tight running shorts, short white socks and clingy top with no bra beneath, anticipating, sneaking a hand into my damp bush and thinking of him.
He moved like a cat, this sinewy bundle of dark muscle, and was in my room before I knew he'd even come in the house; I'd given him a key to enter, and now he stood in the doorway, beaming that electric smile, all gleaming white teeth and smooth mocha skin.
"My dear Mrs. Tremblay," he laughed as I was startled and pulled my hand out of my shorts with a sheepish smile. "That's my job, remember?"
"Of course it is, dear boy," I giggled, opening my arms and hugging him as he walked to me and sat on the bed. "Of course it is..."
He brushed back my silky blonde hair, framing my face with his long fingers. Smiling, he kissed me. A peck at first, then slowly invading my mouth with his impossibly long, talented tongue. I moaned, melting to his touch. He broke the kiss and stood.
"Now, Mrs. Tremblay, shall we get on with therapy, before..." he smiled, eyeing me up and down with respectful appreciation, "we get on to orgasm therapy?"
"Of course, Juan, you're the boss, you're the expert, in all ways," I sighed.
We labored through the mechanics of therapy, working my legs up and down, back and forth, stretching to the point of pain, but pain never really came. Every time he laid those fingers on me, cupping my muscular old calves or kneading my thighs or holding me around the waist to steady me on my feet, I felt nothing but pleasure. He made me, as always, come alive and transcend any physical limitations I may have been feeling.
It took a good hour, maybe less, of moving about, bending, stretching, working through the routine.
It was a warm day and I was sweating heavily. Juan, in his tight white t-shirt and snug white therapist pants, looked cool as a cucumber, his chiseled torso pressed tight to the fabric of his shirt, his ass muscular and hard in those pants. He looked good enough to eat.
He guided me on a walk through the house, after slipping my running shoes on my socked feet, standing by me, encouraging me, always there with a quick steadying hand should I falter. We chatted about things, life, sports, politics, and then he guided me back to my bedroom.
"You're doing very, very well, Mrs. Tremblay, I am so very pleased with your progress," he said proudly, now standing close, hands on my hips, our crotches pressed together. "So very, very well..."
He kissed me now, deeply and fully, probing my mouth with his tongue, his fingers caressing my back, massaging it and lower, to cup my ass in my shorts, taking my breath away. Physical therapy was over. Orgasm therapy had commenced.
"It's good that you stand as much as possible, to gain strength in your hip, to get your balance back," he said, pulling his mouth from mine and nuzzling the folds of skin on my aging neck, an area I'd always hated but which Juan relished, tonguing and sucking the flesh. "Can you stand for me awhile longer?"
"As long as you'd like, my love," I sighed, my hands running through his dark hair as his mouth worked my neck.
He laughed and pulled away, holding his arms out to the side.
"Well then," he said, slowly kneeling, his eyes fixed on mine, his hands at the waistband of my short shorts, tugging them down. "Stand for this, if you don't mind..."
My shorts and panties were off with one expert motion, and I kicked them away. Looking down, I couldn't help notice the smile widening on my therapist's face as he knelt, inches from my sweat-matted bush. He moved closer, his hands around the backs of my thighs. He inhaled deeply and moaned.
"My God, Mrs. Tremblay," he hissed, running his nose into my fur, up and down and inside, gently grazing my clit, making me gasp. "I cannot get enough of your scent. It is magic..it is heaven..."
And then he was in me, his tongue, parting the hair, the lips, finding its target and drumming at it. His tongue, wet and hot, flickered like a lizard's, making me moan, my hands in his hair. He licked with such accuracy, such intensity, my orgasm mounted quickly. Now he moved his tongue lower, bending his head back a bit, the length of that tongue entering my wet hole as his nose moved in circles over my clit.
"Oh my GOD, Juan!" I cried out, holding his head by the sides and urging him in deeper, spreading my thighs slightly to allow it further entry and letting the fleshy interiors of them hug his face, pressed against his cheeks, holding him tightly in place.
I humped now at his face, hearing my grunting groans of mounting passion, noises I'd never made with anyone but Juan before. I held his head, thrusting at his face, grinding him, swiveling my hips and flexing my slightly saggy ass to pump my sex into his mouth. He swallowed over and over, groaning in pleasure, tonguing the hole and I felt my orgasm fill him. I don't know how long I came but it seemed to last forever and not nearly long enough. I released his face from my thighs and hands, and smiled. It was possessed of a dreamy smile, and a thick, shiny layer of the results of his work.
