Patience 11

Simon's hands automatically went to my waist, slipping low to cup my ass in his palms. I'd already pushed him past the point of no return, but he was still trying to reclaim control of the situation, feebly asserting his authority.

"Amy—we can't," he said. "We said we wouldn't."

Even if there had been conviction in his voice, the presence of his hands on my ass and the way his mouth opened against mine, his hot breath filling my mouth, made his true feelings clear. I felt a little guilty for pushing him, but not enough to stop.

I moved my hand between us and ran my palm over the bulge in his trousers. I could tell by the size that he wasn't entirely erect, but I knew it wouldn't take long, not with the way the tension had been building all afternoon. He moved his mouth to my neck and pressed his lips to my skin, his breathing deep and desperate as I traced the outline of his thickening penis with my fingers.

"Amy," he groaned, "We can't do this here."

"It's been a whole week. Don't you miss me?"

"Of course I do," he said softly. "But..."

"I can't stop thinking about you," I whispered into his ear. I ran my fingers up to his belt and felt my way across the waistband, slipping the leather from the belt loop, the metal tongue from the slot, drawing the strap through. I made sure my mouth was close enough to his ear that he'd feel the percussion of my words even at a whisper. "I can't stop thinking about your cock."

"Oh Amy." He sounded distressed, but a moment later I could hear the smile in his voice. "You're shameless."

The belt undone, I struggled with the button on his trousers, moving my other hand to assist, and in a few seconds I had made room for my hand, room to draw his penis from the confines of his briefs, room to wrap my fingers around the shaft, noting again that he wasn't entirely erect yet.

"I know," I said. I drew back to look at him and grinned. I could tell I had him now.

He gasped when I ran my fingers up and down the length of his cock lightly, letting them reach low enough to stroke his scrotum briefly.

"Amy—" There was alarm in his voice. "What if Angela—"

"Shh. We might never get a chance like this again." I returned my mouth to his ear and kissed it, allowing my tongue to make the briefest contact with his earlobe. "Just let me suck your cock."

I felt him sigh, a blast of hot breath on my neck, and I pressed him backward until his shoulders touched the closed door behind him. I drew away, dropping to my knees, his cock still in my hand, now fully erect and oozing precum.

He watched me position myself. He looked a little frustrated and I felt guilty again—I knew I wasn't being fair to him, but I knew he'd forgive me as soon as I had him between my lips. I smiled up at him, extended my tongue, and ran it from the base of his cock up to the tip. One long, slow stroke.

"Oh God," he breathed. I saw his hands clench at his sides.

I returned to the base, holding him lightly in my hand, and repeated my ascent with careful slowness, this time letting my tongue move in waves as I moved higher. His fists clenched tighter.

I licked my way back down then, and tilted my head, turning it so I could close my lips around the base of his penis, sucking lightly for a second before I moved back to the tip once more, pausing to run my tongue over the sensitive triangle of nerves below the head, delighting in the way his whole body tensed as I did. I licked up the drop of precum and swirled my tongue all around the head, raising my eyes again to check his expression. He managed a tortured smile. I smiled back and closed my lips tight around the fat head of his dick, sucking gently.

I wanted to go slow, to explore and savor the way it felt as his cock slid over my tongue, but our time was limited and I wanted him to come. I knew a sudden expression of enthusiastic lust would turn him on even faster, so I moved my hand over his shaft and kept my lips tight, turning my head and taking more of him inside me, my mouth spiraling down, my tongue curled tight against his swollen flesh.

"God..." Simon groaned and I looked up to see his eyes wide and excited. "Damn."

I swirled my head back up, then down again, all the time stroking him with one hand. I knew he'd come quickly like this—he always did—quickly and hard. He watched, wide-eyed, entranced, as I made my way up and down, my tongue holding him in a rigid curve, my lips tight, head moving back and forth as I fed him into my mouth. His breathing got quicker and he swore again, his fists opening and closing at his sides a few times before he moved them to gently touch my face.

I varied the pressure of my mouth and focused on stroking his shaft, all too aware of how how little time we had, but I could feel him getting closer. He stroked my hair, breathing faster, and watched me with unwavering attention.

I drew my mouth off, letting the fat head of his cock pop from my lips. He gasped and smiled. I met his eyes and stroked him, moving away just slightly so I could angle his cock directly toward my mouth. He was close. I knew it wouldn't take much, and I knew just how to push him over the edge.

"Come in my mouth," I said quietly just before I closed my lips around the head again.

"Oh God, Amy—" His hands tightened in my hair for a moment and he groaned as I pushed myself forward, consciously relaxing as he went deeper and deeper into my mouth. "Oh God."

I drew back, let the head pop from my lips again, took a breath, and took him deep once more. I closed my eyes and found a comfortable rhythm, holding the base of his cock tight in my fingers, cupping his balls in my other hand, and bobbed against him, the head of his cock meeting my unwilling throat, keeping it just on the edge of gagging, and thrilling to the wet sounds as my mouth filled with saliva I didn't stop to swallow.

"Oh God, honey, are you sure?" Simon gasped above me, his voice strained.

I couldn't answer, but I opened my eyes and met his, adjusting my posture so his cock would go just a fraction of an inch deeper.

"Amy..." his expression was a mix of lust, gratitude, and awe. He was breathing hard, closer and closer to losing control. "Oh God, you're so goddamned sexy."

I smiled around his cock, drew back a little, and focused on stroking him, one hand on his shaft, the other curled around his tight balls. I loved this moment—just before he came, just before the last thread of his dignified, proper, respectable persona snapped and his animal lust emerged to push him, growling, into a momentary lapse of blind need.

"I'm gonna come," he gasped. "Oh God." He panted, his face screwing up slightly, his voice rising higher in pitch, his lungs refusing him more air. "Amy, honey...I'm going to come."

I readied myself, closing my eyes again to focus on what I knew was about to happen. I felt his thighs tense, his whole body followed, and then I felt his cock jump at the base where I held him, a moment later my mouth was flooded. He made a noise like he was in pain and then swore as I quickly swallowed his cum. I stroked him steadily and opened my mouth, looking up to see him watching as another stream filled my mouth, coating my tongue. Another strong pulse. I felt the gooey thickness on my tongue and lips, and had to swallow again.

"Oh fuck," he growled, "that's fucking sexy."

One more jump of his cock and he whined in a piteous way and pushed forward. I let him bury himself as deep as he wanted while his cock continued to empty, his orgasm slowly ebbing.

I struggled to swallow and he drew back, groaning, and pulled me to my feet. He crushed his mouth to mine, his breath still fast, and drove his tongue between my lips. I met him eagerly, knowing he wanted to taste his own cum inside my mouth.

We kissed for a few seconds and I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him tight against me.

"Oh Amy, when you look at me—with your lips around my cock—when you take me that deep—oh God, you make me come so hard." He trailed kisses over my face, his hands clutching at my waist, pulling me close.

"I love you, Simon." I grinned at him, excited by his breathless praises and kissed his cheek.

He shook his head in wonder, still breathing fast. "Oh honey, I love you too."

The familiar sound of the front door closing made us both jump. I pushed him away, panicked, looking all around me as if I could hide somewhere. Simon swore, hastily tucking himself in and rushing to get his zipper done and his belt back in place. I backed away from him, my heart hammering hard, as a familiar voice called from downstairs.

"Hi Dad, I'm home."

Angela charged up the stairs, arriving at the top of the landing with a smile, the light behind her making her blonde hair glow like an aura.

"Hey, Amy," she said, sounding surprised to see me. "What are you guys up to?" Then she spotted the two sleeping toddlers and dropped her voice, a huge smile spreading across her face. "No way!"

She moved across her daughter's room to the bed where we'd laid the kids once they'd fallen asleep. Their bellies rose and fell, their sleeping faces open and calm.

"How did you get them both down at the same time?" She kept staring, smiling broadly. "Man, they're so freaking cute when they sleep."

Simon cleared his throat. He was composed, his guilt hidden. "Tyler fell asleep first," he said. He crossed the room to stand next to her, bending to give her a fatherly kiss on the top of her head. "And I think Emma was lost without him, because she was asleep a few minutes later."

"Jeez, you guys are lucky," she said reaching down to straighten a corner of the blanket that covered her daughter. Then she straightened and turned back to her dad. "I'm gonna grab a shower while they're down, if that's OK. I got up so late this morning I didn't have a chance before class. I feel gross."

Simon didn't look at me until his daughter had left the room and we heard the sound of the water running in the bathroom down the hall. When he finally turned to look at me, his carefully composed expression fell in relief and his hand went up to cover his mouth, his eyes wide with horror.

"Oh my God." I giggled nervously.

"Unbelievable," he breathed, his face pale. "Five minutes...If she'd gotten home five minutes earlier..."

I laughed again, the thought was horrifying, but I still thought it was funny. Five minutes earlier and she would have walked in just as her dad's cum was filling my mouth.

"It's not funny," he said seriously.

"I know," I said. "You're right." But then I burst into laughter again.

He gave me a disapproving look, but I could see he wasn't angry. He ran his hand over his face, covering the smile that was beginning to creep across his mouth. "My God, Amy. I'm too old for this."

"I'm sorry," I said, still laughing. "I do terrible things to you."

He shook his head, letting a laugh creep into his voice. "You do."

//

Simon and I had started a sexual relationship four months ago. It wasn't supposed to progress past kissing, but it did—one time. We had our night of passion, it was supposed to end there, but neither of us could manage to resist the other, despite the risk of being found out by my parents or his daughter. Each time we were together we said it would be our last, but by now, I don't think either of us believed it.

A year and a half ago I'd moved back in with my parents. I was 20 and slinking home with the unhappy news that I was four months pregnant. Embarrassing enough, but even worse, I couldn't be sure who the father was. I hadn't had a steady boyfriend in months, but I'd gone out with a few different guys—nothing serious had developed, but each date had led to sex, and while we'd always used protection, it obviously hadn't been enough. It only takes one industrious sperm cell to get the job done.

Telling my parents had been awful. I'd gotten in trouble before, but never like this. And though I wasn't sure I wanted it—my Catholic upbringing ensured I'd have the baby. So I left school and moved back home, embarrassed, depressed, and with no idea how completely my life was about to turn upside down.

My parents had been understandably disappointed and they hadn't hidden it. I was their third and youngest child and was constantly being compared to my siblings. My big brother had followed in dad's footsteps and become a lawyer, and my sister, who'd always done everything above and beyond my parents' expectations, had three degrees, a handful of publications to her name, and a tenure track position at a major University. I'd stumbled through high school, never really applying myself, and gone to college with no real idea of what I wanted to do besides have fun. My parents hadn't expected much of me, but becoming a single mom was probably a bit lower than what they'd hoped I'd achieve.

They promised to support me through it, but made it clear this baby was mine, along with all the work and responsibility; I couldn't count on them to be babysitters, or pay for anything beyond basic needs, but they'd help me as long as I respected their rules. They softened considerably when Tyler was born (it's hard to hold anything hard in your heart with a tiny baby in your arms), but they still expressed their disappointment and I felt like I was grounded—no dates, no going out late—and would be until he graduated from high school, but at least they'd stopped the lectures about responsibility and potential.

I met Simon at the neighborhood park. His daughter had a similar story to mine. She'd gotten pregnant the summer before she was to start college, and the father—her boyfriend of a year—wanted nothing to do with the baby, going so far as to deny it was his. Simon and his wife had divorced only months before, but I got the feeling, when the baby came along, they'd made considerable effort to stay civil with each other in order to support their daughter and, eventually, their granddaughter Emma.

He and his ex-wife each had Emma two days a week so Angela could take classes at the community college. I'd seen him around the neighborhood pushing a stroller, and then at the park when the weather was warm. He'd caught my eye because men were rare in the playground circuit, so he stood out, but he had a kind face, lined and careworn, but with bright blue eyes that gave him the look of someone in love with life. He was tall and thin, and was always well—but not fancily—dressed. He'd caught my eye before we met, but he caught my heart the first time we talked.

Within the first few minutes of casual chat we discovered the parallel between my situation and his daughter's. She was a few years younger than me, but our babies had been born within a week of each other. Maybe it was because he was involved in a similar drama, or maybe it was the way he talked about his daughter—without a trace of disappointment—or maybe it was his bright blue eyes and slow smile, but I felt something inside me pulse into life during that first conversation.

I didn't know I was attracted to him at first, but I always left the park on the days he was there a little charged, a little more like my old, pre-baby self. I hadn't had sex since I'd left school, and the lack of sleep and constant work of caring for an infant with no idea what I was doing had worn me down. I wasn't aware of it at first, but every sweep of Simon's hand through his thinning blonde hair, every sideways glance, every smile made me squirm with delight. It took me a while to realize it was attraction, to admit this man who was old enough to be my father, had resurrected my sex drive.

By that time we'd established a polite familiarity, enough so that when I mentioned I was thinking of taking Tyler to the zoo, he suggested we meet and go together. It was a play date, but I let myself pretend it was more than that and enjoyed every chance I got to look into his blue eyes.

After the zoo, we started meeting at other playgrounds for variety's sake, spending rainy days in the children's section of the public library. We were past the point of casual acquaintance and easing into a comfortable friendship, crossing invisible boundaries of intimacy. I'd already met his daughter and he'd run into me once when I was out with my parents, so he'd met them both as well. My attraction had been steadily growing, and as we got to know each other more it deepened.

One rainy afternoon we met at a library near his house, but the public school was on break, so the place was packed. Before we'd even taken off our coats Simon suggested we go to his house instead—it was only a few blocks away and completely baby proofed. He'd said it so casually, and even though my heart had jumped excitedly, I knew it wasn't anything more than what he offered—a safe place for the kids to play.

Something happened in his house. Something changed between us. I followed Tyler around as he explored, taking in my surroundings, learning a little more about Simon as I did. He liked baseball and jazz, he read a lot (apparently even in French), and kept his house in a tidy state, but with enough randomly strewn toys to make me believe he wasn't uptight about it.

When the kids finally settled down to play in the same room, Simon and I sat on the couch together and talked. Maybe it was being in a private space, or being in his space, or maybe it was just the natural next step in our friendship, but the conversation was much more personal than it had ever been before. We talked about family and careers, regrets and disappointments, things we were proud of about ourselves and changes we hoped we could make.

I told him about my siblings and how I felt like I was just a disappointment to my parents, he told me about his divorce and the years before when he and his wife had tried to make it work. It had all become quite serious and introspective and there was a moment where he touched my arm as he reassured me I was doing a great job given my circumstances, and his eyes held mine for a second or two longer than normal. And then the moment was gone.

But something had happened. I hadn't imagined it. And when we said goodbye there was a hint of awkwardness about it, a hesitation at the door where neither of us seemed to know what to do or say. I wasn't sure what had happened, but something had...something had changed.

It was a few weeks later, as the weather was getting too cold to be outside, when he invited me to his house again. And again, as the kids moved around his living room, trailing blocks and plastic dinosaurs, we sat and talked. Nothing personal this time, but everything seemed loaded or flirtatious. I watched him for signs, certain I saw them, but not certain what I should do.

As it got closer and closer to the time I'd need to leave, I felt anxious for something to happen. I decided to take a risk. A big risk. I called on the old me—the person I was before I was a mom, the person who got me into my current, single-mom situation; impulsive, pleasure-seeking Amy. She was a little gun shy, but she got me started.

I sat forward on the couch, turning my body toward Simon. I touched his knee lightly and he seemed to stiffen as he waited and watched me.

"Simon," I said. There was a tremble in my voice that surprised me. A moment later I realized I had no idea how to say what I was feeling. I only had experience with boys who only needed a look to tell them I wanted them, but this was Simon—old as my dad Simon, respectable, dignified Simon; how could I tell him what I wanted when what I wanted was him to pull me down on the couch and fuck me right then and there?

I paused a long time, but he waited silently, looking a little nervous, like he knew what I was about to say.

"I really like you," I said finally. It sounded lame, like I was 10 years old. "I mean I...I really like you." I cringed, that was worse. "I think you're..." Another pause as I looked for the word I wanted, one that wouldn't sound cheap. I managed, "hot," and cringed again.