Chapter 4: Tuesday

At breakfast, he mentioned the previous night only in passing. “I had a good time, Winter, but it’s just you and me from now on, kid.”

“Goodie.”

That night, he took me to bed, his bed, — just the two of us. It felt so right, so natural. Unbidden, he had moved three of his dress shirts into my closet — I’d use them instead of Richie’s, my ex, for robes. Then those Richie shirts went missing — neither Walk nor I commented on his symbolic gesture. I was touched though — it was so sweet. Walker was, in his own quiet way, claiming me. And boy, was I available to be claimed.

Then, bold as brass, he moved some of my undies into his dresser drawer. Telling me, without words, that I’d be sleeping with him some nights even after Vanessa was back home.

That first evening after the Chicago girls, I came home from work, took a quick shower, and brought Walker over to our green leather sofa where we’d had so many snuggles and conversations and laughter. Where, years earlier, I had taught him how to kiss.

And, later, showed him the way around a pussy, how to gentle a clit, how to please a girl. This girl.

That evening, after work, before dinner, I sucked him off for the very first time. I’d been giving blowjobs for well over 20-years, so it wasn’t exactly a thrill for me. Yet it still felt so special, so natural. Had I been silly to wait so many years? Maybe. But it seemed to mean more because it was overdue, because it was Walker and me, because we loved each other.

“Thank you, Winter.”

“Any time.”

His gratitude was genuine, not perfunctory. As was my response. Anytime, anywhere.

Would I ever masturbate him again? I mean to completion? Maybe, depending on our moods. But, without discussing it, we both knew that after I had taken that first glorious mouthful of his cum, that would now be the new norm. Our new norm. I’d suck him off whenever he wanted — cheerfully, happily, gratefully.

I felt a sudden, odd, need to spell out my feelings to him. Explicitly. “Walker.”

“Winter.”

“Anytime you look at me — every time — know that I’m yours. That you can cum in my mouth. That I’ll suck you off. That I want to.” God, Winter, stop babbling.

“Winter.”

“Walker.”

“I know that.”

I blushed. Of course he did.

The question for a few years had been — would I let him cum in my mouth? Asked and answered. He had told me he was going to, and then he did. Now the question had escalated to the big one.

Was he going to fuck me?

He could have, he certainly could have, Saturday night. But he told me he wasn’t ready yet. Yet. What did that even mean? Well, there was no longer any sense in kidding myself — that decision was no longer mine alone to make. That baton had been passed. Partially, anyway. Walk had a vote. Vanessa. And me.

In the past it hadn’t really ever been a serious consideration. When it did pop into my mind — when he was snuggled up in bed with me — it was understood that it was my call. Mine and mine alone. That was then.

I had wanted him, God knows, but in the morning I was so relieved that he hadn’t. Walker didn’t tell me this, but I was pretty sure he was waiting until Vanessa was back home. She was all for it, had been for some time. But he was smart enough, knew himself well enough, to think things through, to talk things through with her.