I rang the bell of the suburban Tudor house. A sprightly white haired woman in her late seventies opened the door. Granny looked me over as she always did. It seemed like each time I came, she had to re-evaluate me. Good enough for her granddaughter? Six feet, lean, gentle voice. She smiled. "Mr. Peters, do come in. Jennifer is expecting you."
I squeezed her hand. "Call me Jeremy. "Jenni is a friend as well as a client."
"I'm glad. Jennifer has so few friends. Old friends forget her because they feel awkward visiting somebody who they know will die in a few months."
"Don't say that."
"It's true. Jennifer knows it."
"Certainly, it's true. Jennifer needs friends who act like friends, not old acquaintances mumbling eulogies while she's still alive."
I entered the bedroom, really the sick room, and saw her lying on the bed, head up, alert, obviously looking forward to see me. A good sign. Crippled, dying, yes, but not sick today.
It was a warm day, so she lay there with no blankets over her. She wore only a simple chemise gown. It made of a gauzy cloth I could almost see through. No bra, but a bed ridden girl doesn't really need one. No panty lines under the gown, but then she sometimes needed to use the bedpan and conventional panties might be too hard for to move without assistance. She hated to call Granny just to pee. Once I helped her set up the bedpan into the proper position because she didn't want to wake up Granny. She didn't seem embarrassed to have a relatively strange man assist her in such an intimate task. In fact, from what I know about women, I guessed that my assistance excited her. For certain her nipples, pressing against the thin cloth of her gown, swelled up prominently and seemed to say 'Thank you.'
"Hello, Jenni," he said softly. She smiled. Blonde, emaciated from being bed ridden for years, but she was still beautiful.
"Are you ready for something new?" She knew what I was bringing. A new headpiece she could wear all the time, even when sleeping. Her body's motor system was deteriorating, typical of a disease of the nervous system. "You can call your grandmother or the nurse without pressing the button." At times her hand had been but inches from the call button, but a temporary paralysis kept her arm rigid. The last time that happened, she did pee in her pants.
I reached over to hold her right hand and then bent down to give her a friendly kiss on the cheek. A girl with so few friends left, male or female, appreciated the physical touch of another human being. Most people avoided physical contact with a sick person confined to bed. It's as if the poor victim's plight were communicable. Even my visits were officially business. I was hired to maintain the electronics that made her last months of life more comfortable, things like voice activated TV and cell phone controls. But beyond that, I considered her a friend and would have visited her just to say hello, and call her frequently to see her or just to chat.
I placed no special emphasis on a lip or cheek kiss. The fact that I greeted her with a kiss was what mattered. My lips just about reached her cheek when she suddenly turned to me, mouth ready for a lip kiss. Her left arm wrapped around his neck and pulled me down toward her. I bowed my head and our lips met.
She used all her strength to press her lips tight against mine. After a split second of contact, her tongue slid out and ventured between my slightly parted lips. I was so surprised by her tongue that I didn't notice that she pulled my other hand down and placed it on her exposed breast.
Her tongue was in my mouth. It was one of the few muscles in her body that retained most of its power. I could tell immediately she didn't have much practice in kissing. I could sense tension in her body. Was she afraid I'd be shocked by her aggressiveness and pull back, rejecting her? No! My reaction was automatic. My mouth clamped down on her upper lip, sort of sucking it into my mouth. Then my tongue met hers. Our two tongues waltzed together. The sensation was something she never experienced before. Soon our two tongues alternately explored the other's mouth. Mine was more practiced and skilful. I could see I aroused sensations in her that she never knew existed. I had done this many time before with other girls and knew exactly what it took to excite Jenni.
I finally noticed my left hand on her right breast with my fingers squeezing her nipple. O God. I didn't remember how it got there. I rolled the nipple between his fingers and felt it swell in size and hardness.
I could feel an orgasm building up in Jenni. Her breathing was fast, and a moaning sound escaped her lips. Suddenly as spasms convulsed her body, I knew this orgasm was stronger than any climax she ever produced by masturbation. Sometimes a guy just knows things like that. Jenni collapsed back to the pillows of her bed. I saw her, eyes closed, mouth partially open, tongue still not inside, and she had this incredible expression. Her face glowed with her ecstasy. It was a kiss she'd remember forever.
She smiled. "When you give that little hen-peck kiss, I silently scream for a real kiss like I see in the movies I watch." She smiled, almost giggling. She was very honest in her conversation. "I finally worked up the courage to give you the kiss I've been dreaming about. My fantasy kiss. The kiss I want you to give me." She blushed. She didn't blush when I held her bedpan a month ago, but conversation like this must have seemed more intimate. "Sometimes when I'm dreaming, not really asleep, but not all the way awake either, I imagine I'm your date and you just took me home and we're at my apartment door in New York, for I dream I'm a career girl, not a cripple, and you kiss me good night. You press your body against mine. I feel your," she hesitated, clearly embarrassed.
"Go ahead and say it," I ordered.
"I feel your, your erection pressing into my mid section."
"Say it again, the way you really want to."
"I feel your giant cock pressing into me." She had smile of satisfaction on her surprised face, as if she said something naughty and wasn't reprimanded. Hell, she was an adult, but the transition from teenager to young adult was spent in bed and she never had the chance to act grown up. "You hold me and press me against your strong body and then sort of roll me back and forth over your cock. O god it feels so good." In a whisper, "Oh Jeremy, it feels so good just to be able say something like this to another person, especially a man." A pause, as if she was debating what she would tell me. "Sometimes I have wild, crazy fantasies, but this was a realistic one. I sort of relive something that happened to me in the past, but add a few frills."
"But I never did that to you."
"Not you. Years ago, back when I was a good looking teenager and could still dance, boys at high school held me real close and I could feel their cocks rise. I couldn't do the fast dances, but I could dance slow. Sometimes I needed the boy to hang on to when we swirled around and they may have thought I was more aggressive than I meant to be. And I think a couple of boys came in their pants while slow dancing with me. So that part of the vision is based in something that happened. It's very vivid. I can imagine you ejaculating when you hold me tight, but it's only not you I remember. I'm holding you but some other guy's cock is pressing me. It's not satisfying. Then we kiss lightly. That is very realistic. We do a light kiss all the time and my lips relive the experience."
"What happens next?"
"I wonder if I should invite you up to my apartment for a drink. I think about sex and wonder if I can seduce you. I never seduced a guy before, or a gal either, so I have no experience. I don't want to flub my first attempt. But I decide to kiss you with such passion that you won't refuse when I invite you up to my place."
"Then what happens? This is getting interesting."
"Am I being improper telling you all this?"
"No. It will free your thinking and let you talk about other things that have been bothering you. So go ahead. It's good for you."
"I look up at you and your head comes down on my lips and my arms pull your face and your lips against mine. That part is very real. I taste my excitement over and over. Then I push out my tongue into your mouth." She stopped.
"You hold me. I love the feeling of being crushed against your body. I smell your masculinity. Not sex, but your maleness. I'm very aware you are a man, a real man, not a boy, a man who's fucked, there I said the word, who's fuck any number of girls and knows what sex and love is all about. A true man. I feel your cock, big and hard. You didn't press it against me, like the boys did in high school. It got big just by being near me and I had to press myself against it to feel its size Somehow in this vision, it's different than before."
"What the boys did before is often called dry humping. Why is it different than it was before."
"I don't know. I think its because I know you so much better."
"And then what happens?"
"I know I want to have sex with you. It's so much easier saying that because I'm describing a vision I'm experiencing while I tell you what I see and feel right now. Not something real."
"But is the desire real?"
She paused to think. "Yes. In my vision I am preparing for a good sexy goodnight kiss and me in real life on this sick bed. I'm both of those people, both me, are horny as hell.
.... There is more of this story ...