[Author's note: Apologies to those who wondered how things were going with Sue and Wes. The thing is, this is actually the first of these stories I ever wrote. Unfortunately, in the course of the move, the original got lost so I'm recreating it, chapter by chapter, here. It's based on a story told to me by a colleague of several years. At least the broad outlines of it are. I know he met his wife in a bar under a circumstance very similar to what I related. The details of the progress of their relationship, of course, are my own invention, but based on what I knew of Ray and Kay, the real couple on which this is based, I imagine I'm pretty damn close to what happened in the real world.
If you are interested in any of my stories, just leave a note in the comments section. I read every one, even comments from those who hate what I write. Occasionally I respond, but I DO read every word.
And if anyone knows how to put italics in this system, DO let me know.
Anyway, let's see how Sue and Wes are doing, shall we?]
Chapter Three
The next two weeks were like that. I was convalescing and Wes was my ever-present comfort. After the first week the swelling in my lip had cleared up and the bruises were starting to fade. After the second I was feeling reasonably human again, probably 90 percent. And still, we were chaste and he was such a perfect gentleman I was starting to wonder if we had gotten too close. I mean, we'd eat together, naked, and I could see his lack of interest in the way he didn't get hard.
Don't get me wrong, it was pleasant enough. He taught me the way around his xBox game collection and I got reasonably proficient at "Call of Duty" although he still beat me whenever we played multiplayer. I read through his eclectic library, working my way through the Tolkein "War of the Ring" books, Sun Tzu's "Art of War," Isaac Asimov's "Chronology of the World," and others. I even did some cooking.
Finally, I had enough.
I greeted him at the door, scrubbed and buffed, my makeup perfect, and naked.
I handed him the beer I had poured into the frozen mug and said, "we need to talk."
"Okay," he said, looking at me under his brows as he took the first drink.
I held his hand and led him to the couch.
"Wes," I said, "I'm all healed up so if you're not interested, well, I guess I'll be moving on."
He grinned.
"Susan," he said, taking a drink and wiping his mouth, "what, in all of the things I've said, in all the things I've done, suggested in any way that I'm not, as you so delicately put it, interested? Tell me what it was and I'll unsay or undo it."
"Well," I said, feeling better now, "I've been spending a lot of time hanging around you, naked. Your hands have touched every square inch of me. But you've never shown any interest."
He laughed at that.
"Susan," he said, "I had a dick in you within two minutes of meeting you. But when I brought you home you were as beat up as Rocky Balboa after a fight. For the first week every time I touched you, you would flinch. And since then, you've seemed pretty uninterested. Now, if you're telling me you're ready, then let me sweep you off your feet."
That was easily the longest single speech I had ever heard him make.
I smiled, and it was a true smile. I could feel it spreading to my eyes.
"I'm ready," I said and barely had the words out when he cradled my knees under one arm, picked me up, and carried me into the bedroom.
For the first time in over three years, I made love rather than just fucking. It was slow and tender as we began. He covered my face with kisses. His hands were light at first and then more demanding as I did not flinch or cry out. He found my breasts and fondled and squeezed and then sucked on nipples so hard they ached.
His fingers gently coaxed my legs apart and then he touched, very light, and brought his finger back to where I could see it, shiny with my nectar. He brushed his finger across his lip and inhaled, deeply. When he kissed me my womanscent was strong and the pheromones got to me. The pressure deep in my belly got worse by an order of magnitude.
He rolled off the bed then, and, holding my eyes, started undressing. He didn't make it a striptease, but he didn't hurry either. We were smiling at each other and I was feeling that ache, deep in my belly growing, the pressure making me want to touch myself.
But I didn't. I just watched.
He took his shirt off. He had a healthy, athletic body. Not a body builder's ridiculous "cut," but the strong body of someone who did physical work for a living. His shoulders were broad and his chest strong. A very light down of hair covered his chest. He was thick around the middle, not fat, but thick and powerful. Definitely a wrestler or a football player, not a distance runner or speed swimmer.
He did that awkward hop from one foot to the other, shedding those cowboy boots he wore and then his socks, making me giggle when he almost fell. He was grinning himself as he unbuttoned and unzipped the jeans that did good things for his ass and pushed them down. He turned his back then, wiggling a little, as he pushed down the boxers he still wore, and then he turned, slowly, dramatically.
"Still think I'm not interested?" he said.
I smiled and looked.
"No, baby," I said, "I apologize for the misunderstanding."
He struck a pose, the classic bodybuilder, arms out and bent at 90 degrees, showing his biceps which were, by the way, pretty damn impressive.
But I wanted his cock. It was big, not huge, but bigger than average, and remember, I had quite a bit of experience on which to base my estimate of "average." He was circumcised, and the head, his glans, was swollen. Oh, he was ready, of that there was no doubt at all.
"Come to mama, big guy," I said, parting my legs and lifting my knees.
And he did.
His eyes never left mine as he climbed onto the bed and then guided himself to where I was so ready for him.
