Chapter 2

Nick was out again by the time Steve came to pick me up. His place was only fifteen minutes from my home, which I thought might make for a very comfortable relationship.

"Hi, Charlene." He stepped back to look at me as I swirled around to show off my outfit.

"You like?"

"Hell yes; you look good enough to..." He stopped, blushed and looked around me to see if Nick was in the background. I laughed, kissed his cheek and went outside, pulling the door shut behind me.

We went to an Italian restaurant in the neighborhood, the inside illuminated mostly by candles stuck into Chianti bottles, red and white wax lining the outsides. We were taken to a table for four and chose to sit catty corner next to each other; after all, it was a date, not a business meeting. We ate slowly; I don't know how Steve felt about it but I knew I had all night available, though I hadn't yet made that known to him. Our knees touched from time to time, but not as a means of sexual communication, merely as a result of sitting close to each other. My mind was committed to a night of debauchery, but I wanted to savor the anticipation.

We made small talk, such as was appropriate for a pre-seduction meal. At one point, Steve asked me about the previous evening, and I sloughed it off with a casual 'two of his friends got into a little trouble, nothing serious'.

It was a Wednesday; no one was waiting for us to vacate the table. We relaxed with quiet chatter, tiramisu and espresso with sambucca. Finally, as the restaurant quieted down, I put my hand on top of Steve's.

What are you waiting for, Charlene. You're acting like a damn virgin. Go for it, damn you.

"Do you really think so?"

He hesitated for the briefest of moments until his mind connected with the basis for my question.

"Of course. If I hadn't thought that your son might be home, I would have finished the sentence and offered to do it before dinner."

The check having long since been paid, we stood and walked slowly toward his car, our fingers intertwined.

"I told Nick not to expect me home before morning."

Steve laughed. "You were pretty sure of yourself, weren't you?"

"If you'd rather drop me off at home..."

"No need to. We'll find some place for you to sleep."

Walking around the car to hold the door for me, Steve took me in his arms. The kiss was no more sensual than ones we had shared previously, actually even more relaxed, since we both knew that his hands would thereafter not be limited to my breasts.

Once we were inside his home, I sat on the couch while Steve poured us a little white wine and sat next to me. Shoes off but otherwise fully dressed, our eyes shone at one another as we clinked glasses and sipped, my head leaning back against his outstretched arm. Conversation was no longer necessary. The wine glasses safely on expensive wooden coasters, Steve leaned over me and his soft lips found mine.

The kiss started softly but then became urgent as I pulled his face hard against my own, too hard even for our tongues to probe, but there would soon be plenty of opportunity for that.

Touch me, Steve, touch me. Make me forget those two pigs; make me forget how I felt when I saw Nick jerking off.

He read my mind, if not the precise words. His hand was at my breasts, where they had been previously, but this time his fingers began to work the buttons of my blouse. It was soon wide open while the kiss continued. I relaxed the pressure on the back of his head and he was able to back off his lips just a bit; his tongue flicked out to wet mine, in gratitude.

"Let's go in the other room."

That bed is made as neatly as in a hotel room. Is there a Mrs. Steve? Not a single clue; he must have a housekeeper. Well, as least he wasn't so cocksure of himself that he turned it down in advance.

I smiled inwardly at the word that had popped into my mind.

I'm the one who's cocksure. I want that cock inside me for sure.

The pun changed everything. I no longer wanted to wait to be undressed, nor to work on Steve's clothing. I pulled the comforter off the bed violently, dropping it unfolded onto the floor. My skirt was quickly in the corner of the room, my blouse right behind it. Or on top of it, to be more precise.

Fuck the wrinkles!

I stood in panties and bra, the same ones worn the previous evening, albeit freshly laundered, while Steve stripped to his jockey shorts. I didn't look at his bulge; I knew it was there. It just had to be there; after all, he was still alive, and I've seen myself in the mirror. That last part is really unnecessary. He's got a cock and I'm willing; my looks don't matter. His hand reached for mine, to lead me onto the bed.

Jeez, am I wet!

Despite the occasional glance at each other's body, our eyes for the most part were fixed on the other's eyes. We were communicating with each other, but what were we saying? Certainly not 'love' but not even 'lust'. It was more a comfort message, as in 'I like you, and I'd like to get into bed with you and put my arms around you and make love with you'. Or maybe it was closer to 'let's fuck and get it over with so that we can get to be really close friends'.

But whatever it was, it would surely include at least one delightful orgasm for each of us, and hopefully more.

I was on my back, legs spread but still lady-like, not quite far enough apart to be whorish. Steve knelt between them and stared at my panties: black lace, with teeny faux pearls. He spoke softly.

"These panties are making me hot."

"Weren't you hot before?"

He leaned forward to kiss me, pulling me, pulling us both to the side so that his weight wouldn't be on top of me. His lips were soft against mine, with only the merest hint of tongue. Our arms were around each other, a dance paralleling a chess game; his hand caressed my back, and mine did the same to his. His other hand squeezed my ass, gently, and I again reciprocated. His first hand crossed my bra strap but made no attempt to find a hook; he was content to delay. My groin pressed close to his so that I might feel that wonderful weapon of manhood.

Jeez, Steve, when are you going to start on my tits?

I pressed my breasts against his chest to encourage his hands. I felt him withdraw; the fabric matched my panties and must have felt rough against his skin.

Take 'em off then, Steve.

His lips were on my breasts, kissing, nibbling the bare skin pushing out above the cups. Finally a hand went to the clasp behind me and the material relaxed as the cups were freed.

Ah, Seduction 101, he can unhook a bra with one hand.

He pushed the bra up and fastened his lips on my nips, one at a time, straining for milk. I pulled his head tightly against my mammaries; Steve distracted me by sliding a hand inside one of the leg holes of my panties, starting to tweak my clit. I began to pull the panties down, trapping his hand inside them as I rolled them up the rippling muscles of his arm.

"Eat me, Steve, please."

Without a word, his lips left my breasts and trailed their way down my stomach toward the center of my lust. As he did so, I pulled my bra off and threw it in the general direction of the chair across the room. Then I opened my knees and my fingers spread my labia for the upcoming arrival of his tongue.

Steve was quite adept at eating a woman; at his age, early forties, he should have enough experience to do the job properly, even expertly, and he surely did. He started straight up my slit, a direct but slow lick, including my clitoris, but with no attention to it except for a quick double lick. He repeated the start of the motion but paused halfway up, driving his tongue straight into me in a few short strokes before resuming the trip upward, this time expanding his time at my clit to a triple lick. His next assault, though that word is surely too graphic, was a repetition of the second one, only it started with a few short licks at my puckered anal entrance. I'm sure that he felt my body stiffen when his tongue touched the nerve endings at my asshole, but only for a brief moment. At that point, he changed the pace, starting at the center of my slit and plunging his tongue straight into me repeatedly, pure tongue-fucking.

The fingers on my keyboard fail me as I try to replicate the sounds of my moaning, a low moan of such extreme, such exquisite pleasure as I felt my own juices flowing to dampen my thighs and buttocks.

Oh, shit, I can't remember when I was last eaten like this. Yes, yes, yes.

I heard rather than felt Steve sucking up my juices as my body poured them out. The sounds of the slurping should have offended me but they simply made me even hotter than before. Then his head backed out and began to circle my pussy, a lazy arc up and around the outside edge of my labia, totally ignoring my clit on each revolution.

Damn it, Steve, my clit, my clit!

I grabbed his hair at the back of his head and pulled so that his tongue was at my clit and then I held it tightly, my hand telling him where I wanted his mouth to stay. I felt his body shake in a giggle as he finally began to suck my clit. But he did it slowly, not being in a rush, not trying to speed up my first orgasm.

This bastard likes to keep a girl on the edge. Fuck him, I hate him. I haven't had such a wonderful lover in I can't remember when. Oh Steve, you are beautiful.

He alternated sucking and licking, his ears obviously attuned to my breathing so that he could back off as I got close. As he pleasured my clit, first one and then two fingers slid into my sopping pussy, finger fucking me, searching for my g-spot to see if I would spurt out a torrent of liquid all over the place. Then slowly, so slowly that I barely noticed it, his fingers withdrew and feathered my perineum until they reached my anus. My legs stiffened as in rigor mortis.

No, Steve, please, no. Don't stick them up there.

I reached my hand down there to remove his fingers. At my touch, his mouth came off my clit.

"What's the matter, baby?"

"Please don't, Steve."

"Why not, Charlene?"

"I'm not used to it. Whenever a guy has gone there, it's hurt me like a bitch."

"I understand. But this is only fingers, honey."

"Have you ever had it up there? I don't mean by your doctor."

"How about trying one finger, baby?"

Why didn't you answer my question, Stevie baby? You like it up there, don't you?

"You didn't answer my question, Steve." This entire conversation was at a whisper level, my tone somewhat coquettish.

Steve blushed.

"Was it a guy, Steve?"

"No, usually a girl."

Usually?

"And your own finger?"

Another blush. "That's how I learned that one finger won't hurt."

"And you'd like it if I did it to you?"

"If you'd like to."

"I guess that means yes, you'd like me to."

I reached over to the night table and handed Steve my purse. With a quizzical look, he opened it. He reached in and took out the rubbers.

"Three?"

I shrugged.

He put them back. "Save them; I have plenty." There was leer in his eyes when he said it, but a joking tone in his voice.

Then he took out the tube of KY.

"Just one finger, Steve."

He nodded and began to grease up my rear entrance as well as his own middle finger. When he was ready, his mouth returned to my clit, sucking it as I humped my pussy up to his face. He paused and slid that one finger into me. I felt it, all right, but with none of the pain that I'd felt in the past from an engorged penis. When it was fully inserted, he resumed sucking, stroking his finger at the same time. Although he tried to again go slowly, the excitement of his mouth on my clit, and yes, damn it, his finger stroking up my ass into the darkness of my bowels brought me over the top quickly.

"ÁAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEE."

But he didn't stop. After my first cum, he sped up both lips and finger in a quest to give me a second orgasm.

"Stop, Steve, stop."

"No, not until you cum again."

So I did, more quietly this time, and rolled to the side, separating myself from his mouth and finger simultaneously, lest he keep trying for another. I lay there, puffing and perspiring, no, make that sweating.

Steve stood and dropped his shorts to expose the firm lethal weapon with which he intended to give me my next orgasm, and his own first. The tip shone with a drop of his pre-cum and I sat up to lick it off, following that with a swallow of his crown into my mouth.

I've got plenty of experience sucking cock and I do it well, so I've been told. Also, after two quick orgasms, I didn't need to get fucked so fast; if he wanted to cum in my mouth, that was fine with me. But Steve had other ideas.

"Later, baby."

I put a hand on his nuts and gently pulled them with me as I allowed him to push me onto my back. My legs spread instinctively, as Mother Nature had taught us so that the species might reproduce and survive. Steve popped his cock out of my mouth and moved over me, a missionary preparing to fuck his aboriginal convert.

He raised his body up so that he could free a hand without resting his entire weight on me. He was dextrous enough for his one hand to hold his fully engorged weapon of lust — love? — and at the same time spread my lips to receive it. I closed my eyes to receive it and then opened them wide to enjoy his face as his member spread my vaginal walls. I can't say that it was the widest that they had ever been spread, for it's a big world out there and I was never cloistered in my younger day, a history for a different story, but that day anyway I knew that I was about to be 'well and truly fucked'.

As his rapier touched bottom, I pulled his head toward my mouth for a kiss. He resisted, stretching upward on my body so that he might first kiss my eyelids, each in turn. Then he allowed my lips to savor his taste, his scent, the warm exhale of carbon dioxide as his tongue searched for mine, which raced toward his to facilitate the discovery. His hips receded as he withdrew slowly, leaving only the helmeted leader inside me, and then reentered to his full length, again slowly and with his body moving toward my head to insure that his cock would touch my clit, would 'titillate' it, what a silly word. As he stroked, though my mind was nowhere near the word 'love', I felt, I knew that we were not fucking at all; we were in the finest sense of the word 'making love'.

Jeez, when the heck did he put the rubber on? I never noticed it. Thank you, Steve.

But no testicles can resist forever the results of all the pleasure he had given me that evening without satisfying themselves, and it was mere moments until he began the constant, determined stroking in and out of me that would loose his sperm and send it throbbing into the thin latex container separating our organs. His warning came in the slightest of whispers.

"I've gotta cum, I've gotta cum, I gotta cum." That was followed by a quiet grunt and then a sigh as cock pulsed inside the lubricated wrapper.

I didn't cum then, but it didn't matter. Steve rolled to the side while staying inside me, one hand on my ass holding us together as our lips glued us at the mouth. We were silent for a minute or two, gently caressing, our breathing slowing toward normal.

Way to go, Steve. I hate it when a guy just jumps up and runs into the bathroom to dump the rubber and pee.

Not that I have ALL that experience, but I'm not a nun either. OK, I admit it; I do have that much experience.

I watched Steve as he finally did get out of bed and walked away from me. Muscles rippled on his back and shoulders and ran down his legs. I was wet again. He flipped the light switch in the bathroom and closed the door.

Thank you, Steve. I hate 'togetherness' around the toilet.

There was a slight pause as he removed the rubber, then a tinkle of water and a flush. He came back into the room carrying a towel, his cock shining with the residue of his cum from inside the rubber.

"Would you clean me off, please, Charlene?"

Holy shit, what is he asking me? Does he want me to dry him with the towel or does he mean for me to suck his cock clean? The rubber was not to prevent me from becoming pregnant; that's not a problem today. I was worried about HIV, but he's such a clean guy and he's got a stash of rubbers so he must use them with other women all the time. Damn, I'm jealous already and I have no right to be. Shit, I want to taste his cum. I'm crazy, I know it. Fuck it.

I sat up and bent to take him into my mouth. I began to suck him dry and I kept sucking long after that simple task had been accomplished. His hand on the back of my head also inspired me. It was impossible, of course, to get him hard again so quickly, and he finally backed out.

"Later, Charlene; we'll have to wait a little bit."

"You promise?" I asked it in a little girl voice.

He delivered on his promise an hour or so later, a delicious mouthful of his baby sauce. Then we fell asleep spoon fashion, with his cock against the crack of my ass, his hand fondling a breast and his lips against my back. We must have changed positions in our sleep because I awoke flat on my back to the touch of his tongue spreading my labia. After I screamed my orgasm, I bent to take him in me doggy style before we shared a warm but not hot shower.

We had a late brunch in a diner. By then, there was very little verbal conversation but a hell of a lot of eye communication. We ate one handed, the other two entwined atop the table.

Steve dropped me off a little after noon on Thursday. The kiss as I left his car was just a peck, but his friendly leer and a squeeze of my hand reminded me that we had a date the following evening. The sound of running water told me that Nick was showering; the silence told me that he was finished. I was nearing the bathroom when he came out, clad in a terry cloth robe, drying his hair. We walked together toward his room.

"You slept kind of late, didn't you, Nick?"

"I'll bet you didn't, Mom."

I smiled and kissed his cheek; he was old enough to understand that his mother was getting laid.

"Mom, can I ask you a favor?"

"Sure, Nick. What is it?"

"Do you have any condoms left?"

"Yes, I do."

No need to tell him that we used Steve's stash. Let him figure it out.

"Why do you ask?"

Is he trying to confirm that I really did fuck all night? Holy shit, he's blushing; he must have used his getting laid last night.

"Er..."

"You used yours last night, Nick?"

He nodded.

"Who was she?"

"You don't know her, Mom; she's a girl I've seen a few times lately."

"She's not one of the school sluts, is she?"

"Oh no, Mom. She's a virgin. That is, she was a virgin until last night."

The little stud is grinning. Well, I can't blame him.

"Where?"

"In my room." He was smiling again, and then he blushed. "There's some blood on the sheet."

"I guess we'll have to teach you how to do the laundry, Nick."

"Did you have a good time, Mom?"

"Forget that for now. What's her name?"

"Her name is Rosalie, but why should I forget about whether or not you had a good time?"

"I had a good time." He just looked at me. "OK, so I had a great time."

"But you've got condoms left?"

"Yes, you little pervert. Was this the first time?"

"For both of us."

"Any fooling around before last night?"

Why the hell did I ask him that?

"Well, she did let me er..."

"Feel her up?"

Do they still use that expression?

He nodded. "And, er..."

"And what?"

He blushed redder than I had ever seen him do. I understood.

"You mean, with her mouth?"

He nodded again, strangely, without a grin.

"Did you ejaculate in her mouth?"

"Yes."

"Did she swallow it, Nick?"

What the hell kind of question is that for any mother to ask her son?

"Yes."

Good for you, Rosalie.

"Did you make her cum, Nick?" I had never used that word with my son, though I had no doubt that he understood its meaning.

"You mean last night?"

"Yes."

"I don't know."

"You know how you feel when you cum, right?"

This time his response was a very broad grin.

"Did she grin like you just did? Did she moan or scream or tell you she was cumming?"

He stopped to think. "No."

"One of these days, Nick, we're going to have to have a real man-to-man talk. Without your father around, I guess it'll be up to me."

"Mom, can I ask you a question?"

My silence told him to proceed.

"Am I hung better than Dad?"

Does he want to have that talk right now?

"I don't know, Nick; I haven't seen you naked since you were a baby. Does it matter?"

He hesitated. "What about the other night?"

Aw, shit, do I really want to bother lying to him now?"

I smiled as I felt the blood rush to my face.

"Did you see me?"

"No, I just heard you."

"Yes, you're bigger, but forget the advertising; size really doesn't matter."

I turned to hug him, cheek to cheek, our lips kissing the air next to each other.

What the hell is going on?

My Mom says it started in the late 1960's, the increase in the use of recreational drugs among teenagers and college students that was claimed to be what broke down the inhibitions against sex without emotion. Sure, the male of the species had been since time immemorial always ready to fuck without the need for love, and many, many women likewise, but what really loosened were the taboos against discussion of sex and openness about sexual conduct. That led inexorably to suggestions in movies about fucking, followed quickly by real fucking, so that what once would have been rated an X movie may now be at worst a PG. Television programming jumped on the bandwagon, and we are now a long way from re-runs of 'I Love Lucy', where a happy husband and wife were shown using separate beds. Newspapers joined the party when the spread of AIDS gave them license to write about penises and oral sex, and especially anal sex, thereby profiting from the old saying, "Sex sells."