When he was fully in her, pressed against her mound, he stopped. "Are you all right?" he asked. She didn't look all right. Inches from his face, hers was screwed up in a grimace.
"Go, on," she'd said. And he did. The first withdrawal produced friction sweeter than any he had ever given himself, sweeter even than her hands had given him.
Then he pushed forward again, pushed through slippery tightness, pushed into his love. Soon he sped up; the tension driving him in and out at an ever faster pace. Then he thrust into her harder than even the first stroke. He erupted into her warmth, and shot and shot.
"Oh, darling," he said minutes later. He gathered enough energy to kiss her and withdraw. He fell onto his back beside her. His eyes turned to the center of his sensation.
His cock was naked, except for his juices and a ring of rubber around the base. "Oh, Kim!" he said.
She obviously was looking at the same place. "Next time," she said, "I take care of the precautions."
His head was a mishmash of contradictory emotions. He'd done it; he'd goofed; he felt wonderfully drained; he felt awfully guilty; he loved her; she'd said "next time"!
* * *
The fish spat out an egg towards the nest. He squeezed Kim's hand again. The buzzer sounded; somebody was at the door. While he went to answer it, Des dived for her shoes. Justin was downstairs, and his father was in the car.
"It's Justin," he called. "Shall I ask him up to watch your fish?" The kids would be late; Justin's father would have to park the car, not so easy in this neighborhood. Still this was an event.
- = -
"Daddy!" How could her dad think she'd invite a boy up to
watch her fish having sex. She'd long ago learned that her parents were clueless, but that clueless?
"Breakfast!" said her mom. Food was her first priority.
"Skip it." They would be late.
"I'll make you a sandwich." She'd take it. It was faster than arguing. Actually, she knew, she'd eat it. Her mom gave her two meatloaf sandwiches as she got to the door. They were in a freezer bag, and they were cut in halves. Her mom would cut sandwiches if the house was on fire. Still, it would make sharing with Justin easier.
"Thanks, mom," she said. "Can you put Mike back in her tank? Bye, dad."
"Love you," they both called as she ran down the stairs.
- = -
John listened carefully until he heard the door at the foot of
the stairs click. Then he closed and locked the apartment door.
"And I love you, too." He kissed Kim deeply, exploring the
familiar mouth with his tongue. He pulled her against him by that lovely bottom . Then, for good measure, he moved his hands up her sides to her breasts.
"Got to move the fish," said Kim after pulling away. "And
then I have to shower. Des will be gone for hours, we can take our time."
"I don't mind taking our time. I just want to kiss my wife." He did again. Kim, despite her words, cooperated in the kiss. This time her hands were on his bottom; her tongue licked his. She broke away, though. He followed her back to Des's room.
"Now," she said, "which one is Mike?"
"The male, probably. 'Pat' can be either gender." Of course,
telling the sexes apart isn't easy with fish. One of them darted at the other. Kim netted the escapee with the small tool that Des used for that purpose. In seconds, she had returned it to its own tank. She headed for their room and the bathroom beyond it.
He headed down the hall to the kitchen. Real French toast was a treat. He could mix up the coating now and heat up the pan whenever they wanted to eat.
- = -
She took her time in the shower. She put jelly on the diaphragm and inserted it. Once again, she was thankful that they had taken an apartment with two baths. She could store what she wanted in this medicine cabinet without worrying about explaining it to Des.
She put on the robe but not the nightgown. She knew what he would want; for that matter, she wanted it too. They never made too big a public fuss about their wedding anniversary, less than six months before Des's corresponding birthday. Since their celebrations were private, they celebrated what they privately enjoyed about being married.
John was lying in bed when she got out of the bathroom. The clothes he'd worn so briefly were piled on his dresser. "You aren't dressed," she said. "What if I want to go out to eat as an anniversary celebration?"
"Which celebration do you want? A diner breakfast, or dinner in a Thai restaurant? Besides, the French toast is ready except for the bread."
"Well, it is time for breakfast." She turned towards the
bedroom door.
"You don't intend to eat in your bathrobe, do you?"
"If you're going to be like that...." She removed the robe
without revealing herself to his gaze. Then, slowly, she moved
it around so that he got a view of her from behind. Slowly she
pranced towards the door.
He laughed. "Someday, I'm going to let you go. I'd love to
see you frying French toast with all that skin exposed."
"Well, now that you mention it, that would be dangerous. I
suppose I have to go back to bed." Slowly, she turned around.
"Woman, you are still beautiful." She had never been beautiful. She had long ago lost the youthful prettiness which had characterized her when they had first met.
"I wasn't beautiful when you married me."
"All brides are beautiful. My bride was more beautiful than
most, and beautiful in places I haven't seen in other brides."
She climbed into bed and gave him a kiss. "I love how you
talk. I don't believe it, but I love it."
He tossed the covers down and kicked them off. They were
lying beside each other wearing nothing but their rings. He kissed her ring finger. "Thank you for accepting me."
She kissed his mouth again, this time her tongue entered it.
His met it, and the two tasted each other. "Thank you for proposing to me."
* * *
She came to him with her worries. His answer was immediate. “Will you marry me?" After she'd accepted, he continued. "If you're right, it should be as soon as practical. If you are wrong, we'll need to plan better. Either way, you said 'yes.' I'll hold you to that unless you take it back."
* * *
Now he said, "You were so clever with that fishnet." He kissed her fingers one by one; then he kissed her left palm; then he kissed her right palm. He continued up her wrist.
"Always thinking," she said. She kissed his forehead.
"The way you nourished Des." He kissed her right breast, then the left. He sucked and licked at that nipple until she felt even the right one harden.
"Way back then, I was so proud when you strode the stage and people were hanging on your every word." She kissed his mouth.
He petted her thighs while they prolonged that kiss.
"The first year, your schooling interrupted, Des still a baby,
you walked miles every day waiting on those tables." Well, she had worked with other organs, too; but she appreciated his kisses on her thighs. The licks and sucks down there sent thrills up to her belly.
"Your tongue has always thrilled me," she said. He came up in the bed to rest on his elbows on both sides of her arms. She kissed his mouth and sucked on his tongue. His erection was pressed between their bellies. Her nipples were firm against his chest.
"And," John said, "you gave me Desdemona." He kissed her
nether lips before his tongue licked where their baby had come out. The game of thanks was over; now came serious business.
One hand played with her breast while the other roved over her thigh and butt. He licked up, almost to her clitoris, and then down. Despite their nakedness in the air-conditioned apartment, she wasn't cold. Indeed, all this attention was heating her up.
He rubbed the bottoms of her outer lips a
gainst one another
while his tongue was licking all around her clitoris. When his tongue finally found the spot, he inserted two fingers into her.
She planted her feet firmly on the bed and pushed her groin up to meet his face.
She felt him moving his fingers inside her, felt them hit pay dirt. "Yes, John," she said. His fingers and tongue, even his hand on her breast, were kindling flames deep inside her. "Oh darling," she said.
Then, the flames burst within her, and she was too busy to
feel anything. It went on and on, taking more and more of her,
consuming her utterly. She arched mindlessly, writhing in ecstasy.
Suddenly, it was over. She lay there gasping while John lay
with his head on her thigh. He clasped one butt cheek with the
hand that was down there.
"Oh love," she said finally.
"I love you," he responded.
She managed to sit up in bed. At her pressure on his shoulder, he lay down flat. "And you," she said, "gave me Desdemona." She rubbed her cheek against his chest on her way to her target. His cock bobbed, knowing what was coming. She took the head into her mouth, letting it go with a soft kiss. Already firm, it arched upward after that kiss.
"And, long ago," he said, "you gave me yourself." This
comment was new. So was the second kiss to her now-tender labia.
When he drew back, she turned onto her left side. He lay
behind her with his cock pressing against her. She raised up on her elbow and reached her right hand down between her legs. She helped him in. His entry was slow and gentle, filling her. She was so full, so delightfully full.
He slid his arm under her to cup her left breast. He held her
right one for a moment before smoothing it down her ribs and belly to her mound. He played with her hair there for a moment, meanwhile moving in and out once.
When she raised her leg, he pressed his fingers against the
front of her labia. He kissed her shoulder and the back of her neck. Then he stroked in and out slowly. Meanwhile, one hand strummed her nipple while a finger of the other hand found her clit.
She was close, so close. She could feel the tension build and
wondered briefly whether she felt different to him.
"I love you, Kim," he said. Which answered that question.
"Oh, Kim. Oh, Kim - ber - ly!" On his last drawn-out word, she
exploded. He sped, moving harder and faster within her pulsating, red-hot, depths.
As she came down from her climax, she felt him pulsing within her.
They lay quietly for some time, neither saying a word. She
could feel his breath on her back. She could feel him slowly easing out of her. When he finally was out, she felt him drip a trail of liquid down her thigh. Later, more liquid oozed out of her and trailed down her left hip.
Whatever the mess, she was too content to move. She could lie in his arms forever.
"A little while ago, I thought of Angela," John said. An odd
topic and one hell of a time to mention it.
"My sister," she said, "can roast in hell."
"She'd have to die first." Kim didn't see a problem there.
"But I mean the other one, the theater-arts major."
Now, there was a better person to think of. The other Angela
had come to visit when Des was only a few days old. "Oh, Kim," she'd said, "she's precious."
* * *
"You know," she continued, "I've been counting back." All their friends had been, probably; none had mentioned it before then. "You did, didn't you? Name her after me?"
Kim didn't answer. Maybe she blushed. She thought to explain why another Angela in her family would have been unthinkable. But her guest didn't look put out, quite the contrary. "Oh Kim! May I hold her?"
At a nod, she picked Des up, being careful to brace her neck. She cradled her and cooed.
* * *
Yes, that Angela had deserved the name.
They lay content, thinking their own thoughts, until her
stomach rumbled. John laughed. "Breakfast?" he asked.
The End
Here is a sample from another story you may enjoy:
So Fran went to the girls' bedroom to read the letter over again. Jim would get in Friday night. Saturday they would try to get some time alone. 'Alone.' He was almost certainly thinking what she was. Before he went off to training camp they had necked every chance they got, but they hadn't gone any farther. She wasn't going to send him off to be shot by the Nazis with only a kiss. But how could they get alone? She had two sisters and a brother. Jim had one of each, and Jim's father was at home when he wasn't working. They couldn't put plans in their letters. A censor probably read his mail. She kept his letters under lock and key, but she was never sure that Hal couldn't pick the lock on the box.
When the others had run outside, she went to her mom's room. "Fran, you expect Jim to be shipped out soon, don't you?"
"Yes. He hasn't been told, but...."
"Loose lips sink ships. But you don't train all those soldiers in war time to sit around the garden. I just want to be sure that you aren't hoping for some magic reprieve."
"I know better," Fran said. "And Jim wouldn't want it. He volunteered."
"And you're planning to give him a hero's farewell."
"Mother!" Had Mom been reading the letters? Did she even know what that meant? Should Fran pretend that she didn't know?
"Now, Fran. This is a time for plain speaking. Do you really think I sent my hero off with only the kiss I gave him in front of you children?"
"Mother!" That was horrible. In the first place, Fran didn't like to think of her parents that way. In the second place, her dad was in the service of supply -- necessary but hardly heroic. It always embarrassed her when mom talked like this. And, she could tell, it was going to get worse.
"Now, will this be your first time?"
"Mother!"
"Well, I don't want my daughter's first time to be behind some hedge. And Jim won't be at his best Friday night. So, I would like to see Jim, too; and Hal will be devastated to see so little of him. But I really think I'm going to have to take the rest of the family to visit your grandparents Saturday and Sunday. I've been saving up gas coupons; railroad tickets are impossible these days. They'll miss seeing you, but they'll understand. Does that suit?"
"That's kind of you."
"It's better than some park somewhere. I'm tempted to offer you this bed. Now, do you know what this is?" It was a long tube of thin rubber -- a 'rubber.' Fran knew what it was; how did her mom know? "Use it. I raised five babies; I'm too old to help on a sixth.
"And," her mom continued, "when you thread a needle, you don't put the thread in the needle's eye. Instead you move the eye around the thread. Think about that." Fran didn't have any idea what that was about, but she wasn't about to ask. She was blushing deeply enough already.
"Remember your first dance?" Mom went on.
"Yes."
"Dance better now, don't you?"
"Yes." Well, so long as 'now' included the time before Jim went to camp
"Still remember the first dance, though, don't you? Love remembering it? This is something of the same thing. You'll get better at it, get more of a certain kind of pleasure after you're more experienced. But your first time is something to look back on. That's why I don't want you out in some park lying on some dirty blanket."
"Mother!" By now, Fran must have been blushing scarlet.
"I considered offering you this bed. But you don't really need more room. Your own bed will hold a lot of memories. But take your time. We'll be gone for much longer than you'll need, and you'll want lots of memories."
"Mother!"
"Let's go. We have dinner to fix."
And they fixed dinner. The oddest foods were scarce, but Mom was a skilled cook.
Mr. Bridges took Fran down to the train station with the family to
meet Jim. Jim was deeply tanned. Fran held back 'til Jim had greeted his family, but then he swept her into an intense kiss. He was so solid hugging her, more muscle and less bone than last time. They let Fran off at her house while they took Jim back, but he came later for supper. Mom put Jim at the head of the table with Fran and Hal on either side. She didn't once tell Hal to let other people talk. But, when the meal was over, Mom ordered Hal, Betty, and Sue all to clean the table and wash the dishes.
"But, Mother...." Hal said.
"And, when we're done, it will be your bedtime. All three of you." Mom supervised cleaning the table and putting the food away in the icebox. You could hear her heels all the way across the dining room, and Jim was sitting down apart from Fran when she arrived in the living room. "Well, Jim," she said, "it is nice to see you back. I hope to see more of you, but we're going to be spending this weekend with my parents."
"Fran didn't tell me." Jim sounded betrayed.
"That's because she isn't going." Jim looked happier at that news. Then he looked at her. She looked down trying not to blush.
Feels Like the First Time Page 2
