Chapter 5: Wednesday

So, that Wednesday it was after 8 when I got home. The Prom King was stirring a pot of Pilar’s Southwestern chili, and it smelled delicious. As usual, I was ravenous.

Quick shower in Walker’s bathroom. I donned one of his dress shirts and sashayed back to the kitchen. “I’m famished.”

Walk looked me up and down, approving of the sight. He smiled to himself, undid the three buttons, tossed my shirt — his shirt — on a kitchen chair. I teased him, “Well, I did say — anytime.”

I sat and took that beautiful boy into my mouth. He didn’t make me work for it, didn’t try to hold back. He wanted to cum. I sat back for a moment, still holding him in both hands, “Am I your favorite cocksucker, honey?”

He chided me gently, “Winter.” As he guided himself back into my mouth, I mentally chastised myself. Why had I asked such an obvious question? Was I that insecure? No, I didn’t think so. It was just a new dynamic between us. His ascendancy in our relationship was so recent. In fact, it was still evolving. We were moving in a certain direction, but we weren’t there yet. There would probably be some retreats and advances — he was still so young.

For one example — this was just my first week of sucking him off. I hadn’t even tried to take all of him in yet. I could, I would, but not quite yet.

This was my first week of sleeping in his bed. Of wearing his dress shirts.

And of course it was my first week of wondering — seriously wondering — if he were going to fuck me. I was 90, 95% sure that he wouldn’t. But, not 100%.

That Wednesday evening blowjob set the pattern. I’d come home from work — earlier or later — and suck him off as soon as I came out of the shower. Interestingly, he had me put his shirt back on when I finished. I wasn’t sure why he didn’t keep me naked — Lord knew he enjoyed looking at me — but he always helped me into a shirt.

By the next evening, it wasn’t a difficult pattern to decipher — he wanted me naked twice a night — when he came in my mouth and when he took me to bed.

And, most nights — not every night, but most — bedtime came earlier and earlier. But it wasn’t wall-to-wall sex, not at all. Most of our snuggle-time was just talking quietly. His day, mine. Tomorrow’s plans. Some gentle teasing, back and forth.

However, when he was in the mood, the sex was getting better and better. He had me tell him openly and directly what I was feeling, what worked, and what really worked.

He wasn’t at Vanessa’s level, but he was becoming the very best guy I’d ever had with his mouth and fingers.

I knew — knew myself well enough — to realize that a big part of my enjoyment was mental. The sheer naughtiness of our relationship. His physical beauty, his earnest devotion to learning my body. But most of all, our genuine love for each other.

And it wasn’t a rote journey. Sometimes he chose to drive me crazy, to torment me. The first time — some months back — that he had made me beg for it, beg to cum — I had been surprised at myself. A little embarrassed, but not too much. And, I’d been proud of him, of his taking charge, of his learning to keep me on edge.