Chapter 18

Amelia, pulling away from me, woke me. Morning sun was bright. Never a long sleeper, this time I’d slept longer than usual. I tried to hold onto her. She tugged her arm out of my hand.

“Let go, Mike!”

Opening my eyes, I asked, “What’s wrong?”

Amelia blushed. “I leaked all over the sheet. It’s a mess.”

I grinned. How cute. “Would you like to take a shower together?”

Amelia grinned. “Kay.” Then she frowned. “But no funny stuff! I’m sore.”

My heart ached. I loved her so much.

Five minutes later I had her giggling.

“Leave my girls alone!” she exclaimed with a giggle, shoving my soapy hands away from her pert breasts. She covered them with her arms and frowned. “I said no funny stuff, Mike!”

I adored teasing her. Rufus barked at me. Amelia had a guard dog now. “Your girls?” I asked with a laugh.

“What’s so funny? Don’t you have a name for your penis?”

“No.”

“I’ll figure one out for you. Pass the soap, please.”

Over breakfast, I mentioned, “Did I tell you the Ellen show called Peter asking if you’d be a guest?”

“Really? Why?” she asked, stuffing her face with scrambled eggs.

Smiling at her innocence, I told her, “Because of your song.”

“Oh.” A moment later, she said, “I don’t think I want to be on television. I’d be too nervous.”

“I think you should do it.”

“Why?”

“So you’ll know what fame is like. You’ll know if that’s what you want.”

“No thanks.”

“So, how sore are you?” I asked.

Amelia laughed, clearly pleased with my desire for her. “Very.”

Early evening, before dinner, we sprawled on the couch in front of the TV. Amelia stretched out her legs on the coffee table as we watched her selection; the usual run of sitcoms. Slightly slouched, and partially leaning against me, I caressed her shoulder and, feeling randy, slipped my hand down to cup her delicate breast over her cotton top. Nice. No bra. Amelia didn’t object. She placed her hand on the back of mine, her other on my thigh, and continued watching television.

I was quite happy. A delectable breast in one hand, a glass of India Pale Ale in the other, and a beautiful girl next to me - my new and exciting lover, I felt very fortunate. When Amelia stroked my thigh, I felt even better. But, as her hand edged higher, I started caressing her lovely breast, enjoying how petite it was, how supple yet firm. When her hand settled on my groin, her attention still on a sitcom, an erection slowly formed, my jeans tightening. Her hand explored.

She glanced up at me, eyes full of amusement. “You’re horny.” She paused. “Is it alright to say horny?”

“It’s a good word for my condition,” I assured. “I’ve been horny since I woke up this morning,” I informed her. “You, on the other hand, woke up sore for some reason.”

Amelia blushed slightly as she smiled. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I think I was the one responsible. As long as I can play with one of your ‘girls’ I’ll be happy.”

She let out a quick laugh. Her face became thoughtful. Another light flush emerged; not a full blush, just rosiness on her cheek bones, a sign she had something intimate on her mind. “Do you ever play with yourself?”

Intrigued where she was going, I answered truthfully. “Yes, but not so much in the past few weeks. Do you?”

She turned back to the television. “Sometimes. Do you think ... I wondered ... Um.”

When she didn’t continue, I asked, “Wondered what?” A moment later, I asked again, “Wondered what, Amelia?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Not between us, it isn’t. It can’t be.”

She glanced at me and looked away. “Would you let me watch, sometime?”

“Yes.”

She turned her head quickly and stared. “Really?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“Wouldn’t you be embarrassed?” she asked, surprised.

“Why would I be embarrassed doing something that’s natural?”

“But, in front of me?”

I grinned at her. “Amelia, if you want to see me do it, you’ll have to show me how you play with yourself, too.” I added, “Why are you blushing? We’ve had sex together.”

“I know. But it’s different.”

“It’s not. Sexy play, no matter what kind of play, when it’s with someone you love, can be very arousing. Let me ask you this. Do you feel embarrassed being naked with me?”

“No.”

“Would you feel embarrassed being naked with, say, a random boy at school?”

After some thought, Amelia answered. “I think I understand.” She pondered it a while longer. “Okay. Let’s do it together sometime.” Glancing up at me, she groped the lump in my jeans. “Are you really horny?”

“Are you really sore?”

“Yeah. But maybe...” Her hand moved. She rubbed me before reaching for the button. A slight struggle and it popped open. She lowered the zip and slipped her hand inside my boxers, finding and holding my erection. She squeezed, testing my state, and wrestled it out. Letting it go, she pulled my Polo shirt up exposing my stomach. What was she doing?

Shuffling to lay along the couch, she settled her cheek on my stomach. Watching television, she took my erection and stroked it. Then moist lips touched the tip. Lordy, Lordy! A warm mouth encompassed my crown. She stopped moving, then sucked gently, and stopped moving again. Her mouth popped off.

“That’s hilarious,” she announced with a laugh, pointing at the television.

Her mouth descended again, moist, exciting. She caressed me with her tongue and paused again. I waited. She sucked and stuck the tip of her tongue in my peehole, exploring. My erection throbbed. Her hand squeezed my shaft in acknowledgement and let it go, fishing down into my jeans to cup my balls. Damn!

I caressed her silky hair, hoping she’d get the message to move, do something, to stop teasing me. She didn’t. She lay with her cheek on my bare midriff, the tip of my rigid erection in her moist mouth, and watched television. Eventually, it was too much for me, too erotic, too exciting. I thrust slightly into her mouth. As if she’d forgotten, she sucked and caressed with her tongue, her hand still holding my balls. I thrust slightly, sinking deeper into her mouth. Damn it felt good.