by Troy Storm
His infinitely unreadable face came toward her, and he kissed her on the lips. A feather touch—although she didn't remember ever having been kissed by a feather before.
He lifted his other arm to shield his eyes from the sun too.
"Thanks for coming here. This is a special place to me." He gave no further explanation other than to conclude, "And now it's special for you too. For us."
She couldn't decide—rather, her traitorous body couldn't decide whether to break into tears or scream with joy—at the gorgeous sight. Of him. And the sunset. So she did neither. She just stood...and wished that she could be glued to the spot with Matt forever.
* * * *
Christy’s snappy SUV pulled into the small parking area of Matt’s small cottage, making the gravel scatter. He was near the woodpile at the side of the front yard splitting fireplace-sized logs some yards away. He waved.
Descending from the sporty little car, she looked like a goddess deigning to prance among the mortals. Matt felt very mortal watching her. Extremely mortal. Visceral.
“When the hell are you going to get this paved? This stuff is hell on high heels,” she called.
He grinned as she sashayed down the path toward him, skirts swirling around spectacular legs. She was looking great…and she knew it.
He was looking pretty damn good himself, he thought. Resting folded arms on the upright ax handle, plaid flannel shirt unbuttoned, a muscular leg up on the upturned chopping log, jeans stretched tight. Surely he was making a worthwhile statement. Very manly.
He sure as hell was feeling more and more manly as she approached.
“My, don’t you look butch. Who would have thought the grieving widower would have so much life left in him?” She pecked him on the cheek and reached through the open neck of his shirt to tickle his chest hair. “Why, just us girls woulda thought it. That’s who,” she answered herself, smugly. “We knew all along. Although it’s been several long, cold winters, widower man.” She tweaked him under the chin and swiveled over to settle into a two-seater swing hanging from a nearby maple limb.
“Damn, woman,” he smiled. “You’re just as dangerous as you ever were. At least while Alice was around she could kick me in the nuts when I started to drool over you.”
“Alice always did know how to handle her menfolk.” Christy’s high heels dug into the ground to push herself off, the swing creaked atmospherically. “I’m glad to see you’re back among the living. You weren’t much of a legacy to leave behind, moping around for all those years. Grieving is one thing. Being a pain in the butt is another.”
Matt turned and whacked a log into neat quarters as he felt Christy carefully appraising his straining muscles. “I see your tongue hasn’t softened in your mature years.” He wiped his brow. “You really stung some of those times, Christy, trying to get me up and running again.”
“I meant to,” she smiled demurely. “Alice would have wanted me to. She deserved no less.”
“Yeah,” Matt quartered another log. “I guess you’re right. But sometimes guys don’t like to be horse-whipped into doing the right thing.”
“Why, thank you for that kind appraisal.” She smoothed her skirt. “Glad to know I haven’t lost my touch.”
“We’ll see about your touch,” Matt muttered.
“What, love? By the way, is rustic woodchopper your outfit for the evening? I’ve got a pair of skin-tight denims I picked up in Vegas, with ‘What happens here - Stays here’ in rhinestones spelled out over the ass that would be a perfect complement. Are we going to hoe down at that biker bar up the road a piece?”
“Damn, your taunting hide,” Matt laughed, slamming the ax into the solidly planted chopping block. He strode over to the swing and swept the laughing woman into his arms, carrying her to the porch fronting the small cottage.
She touched his cheek before he put her down. “Glad to have you back, Matt. We’ll make your dearly departed and desperately missed lady proud.” She carefully touched a moist eye, expertly maintaining her mascara’s perfection. “Got anything to drink? You know how sentimentality dries my throat.” She perched on a rustic bench.
Matt guffawed. “Straight up or rocks?”
“Rocks. It’s early. How was your ride with Little Lucy?”
“C’mon inside,” he directed, yanking off his damp shirt and swabbed at his sweating face. “I’ll get some ice. The liquor’s on that sideboard. My ride with Lucy was fine. Do you two have something going over me?”
Returning from the kitchen, Matt saw Christy looking around. “Well, at least you kept the place up. She would have appreciated that.” She poured a drink and sipped. “We two do not have something going. We three do. Good stuff.” She raised the glass his way.
“Dorothy?”
“Sharp as ever.” She raised her glass in his direction again after he added ice. “Am I drinking alone?”
“I need to clean up. I’ll only be a minute.”
“I can help. And we can take a lot longer than a minute.” She ran the cold glass over his naked chest.
“Damn, woman. You still come on strong.”
“We’ve got a bet and I’m gonna win it. Tonight.”
He tilted his head. His dark eyes narrowed. “What makes you so damn sure?”
“I’m never sure, Matt. I just think positively. I do my part and hope the other side does theirs…as well as I’ve done mine.”
“No preliminaries? No romantic firelight?”
“I like foreplay, if that’s what you mean. In front of a fire is fine.”
Matt suddenly felt as if he were shooting white water rapids, without a raft, except hot. His center was boiling. His whole body was throbbing with need. His dick was as hard as the firewood he had been splintering.
“I need…I need…to go upstairs…”
She pulled a foil packet out of a small purse slung over her shoulder. “To get one of these? Extra strong.”
“I’m…I’m sweaty.”
“I’m going to be.”
With a feral growl, Matt shoved the woman back onto the couch and dropped to his knees. He yanked her skirt up and spread her legs with his forearms, aiming his face for her crotch. Smashing his mouth against her barely covered pudenda, he scraped the tiny thong aside with his stubbled chin. She was wet and hot and smelled like raw earth, eternally female. His mouth drank her essence. Sucked it in. Sucked her in. He shoved his tongue deep between the firm lips, plunging it in and out. Pumping out more juices to be swilled down.
Finding the clit, he swabbed it solidly. Surrounding it with his mouth snake, encircling, lashing, stroking the hard nub. His lips pressed in and pumped it to full ripeness.
Her shocked, then surprised, then feral cries of acceptance cut through the raw, wet sounds of his attack. Startled gasps turned into little shrieks of yes, yes, into louder and louder cries of oh God oh dear Lord yes fucking yes!
He reached down to fumble with his pants, never ungluing his lips from her center, driving his face into her moistness. Clumsily, he got his jeans over his butt and down to his knees. Got his underwear down. Got the condom on. Ripped it out and stripped it over his rampant self. And continued to eat. To devour. To make up for the long, long months of no woman. No pussy. No reason.
She was grunting under him on the sofa in full response. Writhing. Calling his name. Imploring something. He was desperate now. Desperate to make up for time lost. Years lost. Fucks lost. His dick needed marinating…deep…renewing. His mouth needed to suck her inside him.
“Matt. Matt.” The plaintive voice was far away. She had finally discovered him, Matt, pleading. Imploring. It made a difference. His fists yanked the top of her dress down. His mouth, dripping with her juices, wet with her nectar, drank her breasts, suckled hungrily at her nipples.
He found her pussy with his probing fingers. The moist folds, the thick, tight lips he had just swabbed with his devouring mouth. He pressed against the entrance and it gave, the velvet wetness sucking his fing
ers in and enveloping them with her heat and lush labial lavishness. He stretched the entrance wide, but there was no resistance. She welcomed him. Her pussy pleaded to be broached.
They had never fucked. Not the grown-up them. Not since long before Alice, long before Dorothy. Sunk in the apathy of high school, awash with hormones and heat, he had taken her, she had taken him, in some back seat of some conveyance, like now, half-clothed, violent with sexual need to know, furious with want.
He positioned himself at her entrance, clumsily, wet, slippery, but careful. Angled so as not to hurt, not to belly flop. He wanted a smooth entrance after so long a time. His dick so lonely, so unused to another human contact. He had almost implored Clay to jack him off just to feel the grip of another human. Now Christy would do the honors. Her most intimate and sacred self, though shared with God knows with how many, but who the fuck cared. She was under him now, grunting, animal-like, just like him. Wanting him. Wanting to shut down the roar of need.
He eased into her opening. Her pussy fit. He fit. He paused for a moment. Another life-changing moment. He hadn’t had one of those in a very long time. Matt slammed himself home. She growled as he settled in her grunting with the amazing rightness of it all. She clutched him and gripped his dick with her fierce pussy muscles so hard, so possessively, he almost erupted into the plastic separating them.
Damn, he thought, vaguely, over the rush of emotion and physical responses. Damn. His body was on fire, shooting off in all directions. Remembering. Recalculating. Reassessing. Reconstructing itself to fuck. Fuck hard. Drive himself in and out of her. In and out. Deep. Deep. Deeper.
His bare ass hammered his rigid meat forward and then recoiled, dragging it protesting back so he could jackknife forward again. She sucked air through her teeth as he withdrew, and held her breath, until he jammed himself back into her, ramming the abandoned sheath of muscles full, packing the straining vagina to overflowing. Each thrust was a new sensation. He could feel her juices hot against his flesh, imagine the wetness plastering his dick hair against his tight pubes.
Oh, so deep he plowed. Internalizing his need. His big hands on her tight butt, dragging her forward. Nailing her to him. She screamed. Or moaned. Or returned his growls. It made no difference.
He fucked her hard. Her pussy grabbed at him hard. Clamped his meat hard. Staked her claim hard. Double-fisted him. Dragged him into her. As deep as he could go. Deeper than he could go. Into the middle of her being. Into him. Possessing him. His whole body flamed. Pre-cum poured. Pussy juices gushed.
Her hands grabbed at his clothes, grabbed at his butt. Her legs arced up and folded down, driving into his ass, pinning him to her.
Buried deep, his dick felt perfection. Nobody owned him. Nobody possessed him. He possessed. He owned.
The rest of him felt like he was being trampled. Clotted by clothing. Fighting through a jungle to get to the clearing. Clawing toward the blinding clearing in the jungle of must have where his dick swam in perfection. Where he chose for it to swim.
Matt pounded his rock-hard, throbbing prong into Christy, his jeans tangled around his ankles, her dress knotted somewhere around her middle, his hands slipping off her ass to fight for purchase in the soft cushions of the sofa. Her thong scraped against his thrusting, vein knotted bone then turned into a sodden bow that sawed against his driving gristle.
His entire being centered on his probe, driving into her target.
The heat rushed in from all his extremities and centered. Coalesced.
With a grunt his body erupted. A blissful, blissful, blissful eruption. He gasped. Moaning, unbelievingly, he blew his load. Body jerking. Ejaculating gloriously. That he still could…that the wait hadn’t killed him…that his flesh hadn’t totally atrophied.
Endlessly coming, expulsing waves of cum, climbing through the tangled vines, dragging his bedraggled neglected manbody, nails dug into the woodvine toward the clearing.
Giving his all.
Getting it all.
Dragging himself, limb over limb out of the dank and dark and into the light where his jangled body fused with the perfection of her perfectly suctioning pussy enveloping his firehosing dick
Peace. Utter, unbelievable peace.
His chest pounded. His body shook.
Then calmed. And sank quietly, numbly beneath the surface.
Matt’s head began to clear. The clearing goal was a Christy pool with streaks, swords of light, driving down, radiating from on high through the warm fluid. He swam up through the lake of cum to break through.
“I…” He swallowed. She was under him, breathing deep.
“I’m…” He gave up communication and poured himself back onto her disheveled bed of flawless flesh. Into becoming a man again instead of exploded atoms. Drained neurons.
“Well, that was something,” she muttered, sucking in oxygen, full chest heaving. “Something fucking else.” She stretched underneath him, arching her back, grunting, testing her hips, trying to get comfortable. He was still socketed. “Good thing you didn’t wait any longer. You might have completely flattened me. I take it you were a little more gentlemanly with Lucy.”
“Lucy and I didn’t fuck,” he mumbled into her left breast, feeding on her softness, his face reveling in her womanhood.
“Good thing,” she snorted, unglamorously. “Matt, I need you to get off me.”
“Oh, God, woman,” the realization broke through like ice water. “I’m still in my workboots.”
“You’re still in everything else you had on, honey, including me. Don’t worry about it. I’m still in my heels. Barely.”
His butt did feel…scarred. Damn. Awkwardly, they uncoupled. Matt felt himself flush with embarrassment as he ungainly pushed himself to sit up on the sofa.
“Christy, I…I’m so sorry. I don’t quite know what took over…are you all right? I didn’t…”
She too sat up, adjusting herself. “Don’t worry about it, Matt. Not totally your fault, I’m glad to see. I was playing with fire and almost got myself burnt. Nice to see you can still heat up those cockles.” She leaned over and kissed him gently on the cheek. “Not the first time I’ve bit off a big chew. But no more than I can handle. I’m a big girl. My daddy always said don’t mess around in the grate unless you’re sure the coals are out.”
Reaching over, she patted his wrinkle-wrapped dead dick as he sat slumped and disheveled next to her. “I think in this case we all might be glad to know the coals are still hot.”
He blushed outrageously as he stumbled upright, awkwardly stripping off the condom and pulling up his underwear and jeans.
“Nice underpants,” she noted dryly while with a few elegant practiced moves she slid her dress and lightweight sweater back into place. Poking in her small purse, she produced a comb.
“Yeah?” Matt paused in zipping up his jeans.
“Sexy. I hope they were for me. Maybe I’ll get a chance to get the full effect later, now that we’ve got the preliminaries over.” She smiled. Easy and confident again.
Matt drew a heavy breath of relief. Christy seemed no worse the wear for his stupid and totally surprising attack. Still, he shouldn’t assume. And he was slightly shocked to find the hint of accusation circling around his own fragile male ego. If she were the instigating “secret admirer” then she had to assume at least a partial burden of blame for bringing the coals back to flaming life.
He shook his head as he dragged on his flannel shirt. Old, ancient feelings of male/female gameplay rattled around. He felt horribly out of practice. Old, inexperienced. Adolescent angst rose up and bit him in the ass. Or was it Christy’s spike heel prints? He suddenly laughed.
Christy beamed, combing and stroking her white-hot mane back to where she wanted it to be. “That’s good to hear. You were looking a little stricken there for a minute, ole buddy.” She moved in front of him, checking out his naked chest and arms with appraising palms. “Don’t get me wrong, Matt. Considering I’ve wondered what kind of fuck yo
u’ve developed into for some years now, you didn’t disappoint. If anything, you pretty much surprised the hell out of me. And that doesn’t happen often enough in my somewhat dreary dating life. I might start taking a much closer look at the available widowers in town from now on. I’ll just be sure not to stand in front of a sofa when I turn on my full come-hither charms.”
Matt enclosed her with his grateful arms, drawing her close. “You are one terrific woman to put up with an old stumblebum like me. I had a great hot date planned for us and now that we’ve got the ‘hot’ part out of the way, maybe we can still have a nice evening and get to know each other.”
That sounded like the same line he had used on Lucy. Not good.
She gave a rueful chuckle, settling comfortably against his chest. “I’m afraid that’s about all there is to me, Matt. A hot fuck. That’s pretty much what I’ve been noted for for some time now, and I’m not so sure they aren’t right. I look good. I lay good. Could be a worse way to live a life.”
He held her away to take an appraising look. “We’ll see. I’ve got take-out from Antonio’s, his braised ribs special, plenty of wood for a crackling fire, couple of nice bottles of wine, Buddy’s guaranteed-to-get-me-some-action romantic CD’s, even some date-night DVDs—HD quality, no less. Stick with me kid, and you might get another shot at my ‘secret admirer’ shorts.”
“Now don’t go all gooey-pooey on me, Matt,” she shrugged, showing no reaction to the secret admirer tag. “I’m not used to being treated like permanent girlfriend-potential, although I have to admit I do have on a very sexy thong that could probably use a little drying out, so I just might take you up on that cozy evening in front of the fire you’ve got planned.”
“Ooooo,” he purred roughly. “Then you’d be naked underneath all that fine finery. You just might set off my cave-man instincts again. Think you could handle that a second time?”
“I think I could probably replace that pack of heavy-duty condoms in my purse with a chunk of firewood and I’d have a pretty potent weapon for keeping you in line.” She rose on tiptoe to kiss him on the mouth. “You got a deal.”
