Her hair cascaded over the delicate curve of her shoulder in gentle waves of golden tresses. Her face was relaxed, no wrinkle to speak of, smooth, pale, young. She slept. She deserved the rest; her travails were great, respite had not come soon enough – unhappily. Her bare breasts rose and fell as she slowly breathed that slow, shallow breath of exhaustion. The pointed coral pink colored tips of the small cone shaped nipples appeared to hover, as they floated, perched upon the pale white skin of the small breasts.
I reached for a decorative throw to cover her naked form, and to ward off the chill of the evening air. She didn't move as I tucked it around her shoulders. Her clothes lay scattered around the room, hanging from chairs, lying on the floor, crumpled under the edge of the sofa, wherever they happened to land hours earlier as she frantically removed them. I could only find one shoe, so small they almost hid themselves. I gathered what I could find, placed them neatly on the lamp table at her feet, and went to my bed, and to sleep.
The morning sun chased the shadows from the room, as my eyes adjusted to the stark reality of light and a hammering head ache – the years took their toll on my ability to consume alcohol and perform physically demanding sexual acts. One or the other seemed realistic both had a severe penalty due in full sometime the next morning. Forty-five isn't old. Its just a number, but like all numbers it is only useful in certain situations; a drunken sexual interlude with a young girl is a definite mismatch. But who could resist? Not I.
=*=
I kept in shape after leaving the service. One thing I learned was that your health is all you have when naked and in bed. I had developed a reputation early in life as a cock's man. Mostly it was crap – stuff ex-girlfriends and guys that had been cock-blocked in the process had perpetrated as a myth. I did love sex. And tried hard to effectuate any and all sexual adventures, from my perspective I was hardly as successful as I would like to have been. Perhaps that is the point of disagreement between the divergent opinions; they thought I was too successful, I felt I wasn't.
My cherry was taken in much the same manner as this discussion; I met a 'hippie chick' in a park, I was very young, she in her twenties, I was talking like I was this great lover trying hard to put the moves on her.
At one point in the conversation she just said "You're trying too hard; I'm a sure thing!"
I had spent over an hour prattling around the subject and didn't recognize her as a 'sure thing'. I still have problems to this day determining just where I stand with women.
No, I am not going to catalog my exploits here, but this prattle is instructive. You see, in the early eighties I was posted in the south at a military installation that lacked affordable housing for soldiers. Trailer parks were where most young soldiers and their families seemed to congregate, as I did with my young wife, Ellen. Our neighbors were all about our age, and a few had kids, we didn't. Weekends were spent playing cards or board games that kept the costs of entertainment low – an important consideration for struggling military families.
Our favorite couple to spend time with lived directly across the street from us, Dan and Dot. They were from Vermont, had been married right after high school and already had two kids. Dan was an effusive, fun loving guy. He made you feel good when you talked about yourself, always added a positive twist to even tragic situations. "Man, you made it here didn't you?" or, "You're sure doing well now!" a great friend. Dot was a sweetheart; petite, blonde, fun, and inexperienced in the ways of the world. Her own back yard in the Vermont hills was where she grew up, having never traveled, until they moved in across the street from us.
Several months after Dan and Dot moved in Ellen had moved home to be close to her ailing grandmother. Needless to say my horn-dog inclinations being what they were, I began to frequent the local bars picking up women who just wanted casual sex, as I did. This was harder than it should have been. Maybe it was because I hadn't been dating and lacked the requisite skills, or – more likely – I just couldn't get interested in some of the slugs that passed themselves off as women. Don't get me wrong, I've screwed some pretty ugly girls from time to time. But these were very close to being declared a separate species: Unofficially I called them 'buffarillos'.
I was developing a serious case of 'blue balls' when Dan's unit went on an extended training exercise, he wouldn't be back for a month. This occurred quite often so no one anticipated anything unusual. We pulled together as a small community. If someone needed transportation somebody was always available to help, it was pretty good like that back then. Anyway, Dot didn't drive – she never left her back yard, remember? – She needed a lift to the commissary, that's what soldiers call the grocery store. I volunteered and off we went. I helped her in with the bags of groceries and she thanked me profusely, a good deed done.
Dot and a friend of hers decided to have a girl's night in at Dot's house that night. Both had kids, and so they were subdued in their partying, music and wine sufficed. Along about midnight I heard a knock on my door. I answered and found the two girls, quite drunk standing on my porch, sans the kids. They pressed their way by me with a giggle and a "Hello." Once inside they popped the cork on a bottle of wine and began passing it between themselves. I stood bleary eyed wondering how I would explain their presence here, when Dot's friend stood up, marched to the door, and left. The abrupt manner of her departure seemed unpremeditated at the time, later it became clear I had been set up. She was there for Dot's moral support, nothing else.
Dot moved close to me, the smell of wine was thick on her. Her eyes heavy with alcohol and lust, she wasn't drunk, just uninhibited. She ran her hands down her slender hips and thighs, her eyes darting to mine to see if I was taking the bait – I was. My penis needed little impetus to throb to full measure and her right hand slid to my lap, just grazing the outline of the confined mass located there. She tilted her head back, her hair loosely falling to the back of the couch. As I positioned my mouth close to hers, her eyes closed, her mouth opened and I got the first taste of her sweet wine flavored lips.
As her tongue darted between my lips, I watched wide eyed as this pretty little thing vibrated a sexual presence I had never felt before in a woman. Lust and pent up desire swelled in me. I slid one hand under her blouse to caress a breast; the other snaked its way into her pants, desperately searching for her sex. Her pants were tight, my hand became trapped at her pubic mound, the soft silky hair perched there felt of velvet. She sensed the obstruction, lifted her hips and with a flick of her wrist the front of her pants flew open. Unabated access to her treasure heightened my already amplified arousal; I placed a finger into her warm, moist love canal. A small "Oh," escaped from deep inside her.
My discomfort was excruciating, she helped me out of my clothes as hers fell to the floor at her feet, we stepped out of the pile and she sat back, her hips at the edge of the cushions on the couch. I knelt between her slender thighs spread wide and quivering. My tongue went straight for the prize, the knot of her clitoris was large, about the size of a cashew, it was engorged and rolled under my gentle provocations. Without warning her hands grabbed my head, she curled forward, her stomach muscles convulsing in knots, her legs drawing up as her feet pressed against my back. Her violent eruption on my face startled me, momentarily. Recovering, I started drawing my tongue along the entire length of her vaginal opening, pinning my nose against the bud of her clit.
She screamed out loudly. "God, oh god!" Her body wracked with wave after wave of spasms coursing through her tiny frame. As the convulsions slowed to jerks and quivers, she mewed like a kitten. "Mmm, ohh, ahh." I continued to tease the clit, but had now placed my thumbs on either side of her wet lips and spread them wide, the contrast between the brown of the lips and the pink of the canal was interestingly distinct; as if someone had painted the crown to the lips with a brush, the line where it faded to pink was erratic and uneven. I marveled in its intricate folds, as the faint light cast its shadow there.
Looking back, I truly feel she had achieved her goal, but felt beholden to me for having performed for her. She smiled and moved to the floor, spreading her legs in an inviting pose, and waited expectantly for me to mount her. I did. My raging phallus was ready for the act, my heightened state of arousal betrayed me; several hard strokes and I was blowing my hot seed into her belly, unprotected as we were, no thought was given to anything but passion. A man knows that when his ejaculation is too quick, the release is often short lived, so it was to be with me that glorious evening. It would be the bane of our several relationships that I would desire more than perhaps the situation warranted. A one night stand, may have been survivable, more was catastrophic.
We continued like this, torrid late night sexual encounters, every night for three weeks, until Dan returned from training. The abrupt loss of my sexual partner dealt a severe blow to me. It was strangely more intense than the separation from my wife. The taboo and illicit nature of the relationship had an inherent component of excitement that could not be duplicated by other means. I didn't go to bars or pick up other women, I waited...for Dot. How absolutely perverse it was looking back, being faithful to my wife was never an issue, but my desire for Dot was an involuntary emotional response that restrained me.
