Chapter 6

I had been motivated to write, and had four chapters roughed out by the time I heard her come in the front door. I saved the file and got up to stretch. She stared at me.

"Are you just going to be naked the rest of the time I'm here now?" she asked.

"I told you, I like to be comfortable when I'm at home."

She had a pizza with her and the aroma of it filled the house when she opened the box.

"It pained me, but I got you half with meat on it," she said.

I looked at the pie. One half was heaped with mushrooms, bell peppers, onions and black olives, and even broccoli. The other half looked like standard pepperoni with extra cheese.

"I thought you didn't like bacon on a man's breath," I said.

"This is pepperoni, not bacon," she said smugly.

She took a piece and bit off perhaps a third of it, chewing industriously. When she was finished she swallowed and went to the fridge. She opened it and pulled out one of the bottles of apricot ale I'd bought for her. After a healthy swallow of that, she got a plate for the rest of her pizza and sat down at the table.

"Do you know somebody named Cody Banks?" she asked.

I had been just about to bite into a piece of my own pie, but halted.

"Where did you meet Cody Banks?" I asked carefully. Cody had been a JAG lawyer I worked with extensively during my first two years as an Agent. He prosecuted my first ten cases and got me my first ten convictions. He had been within three or four years of retirement back then, but had taken on prosecutions because he had plans for after he got out of the Army. Those plans had come to fruition over the years and he was now a senior State Judge.

"He was at the courthouse. He came in and asked Merilee for something, and then hung around and asked me some questions. He offered to help me look things up. He was very nice."

"Cody Banks is one of the Superior Court judges," I said. "He doesn't offer to help strangers look up their genealogy."

"He helped me," she said.

"I bet he found out who you are," I said.

"Of course he did. He was very interested in me, even when Merilee told him I was a nice young woman and your niece and not to bother me."

"She said that to Judge Banks?" I asked, slightly amazed. Merilee Hawkins was the county Registrar of Deeds. She'd been reelected at least a dozen times, and no one ever ran against her anymore.

"There's something going on between those two," she said, conspiratorially. "They were making goo-goo eyes at each other when he first got there."

"And then he abandoned her to come sniff around you," I said. "What makes you think they're sneaking around behind the public's back?"

"Why would they have to sneak around?" she asked, taking another huge bite of pizza. She held up a finger to stop me from answering until she swallowed and took another sip of beer. "Are they married or something?"

"No. He's a widower and she's a widow, but he's in his seventies and she's only something like forty-five."

"So? The fact that you're old and decrepit doesn't bother me," she said easily. She polished off the last of her first piece and picked another one out of the box. That girl could eat when she was motivated.

"If he spent time with you, he had a motive," I said. "He's a pretty busy man."

"Well he didn't hit on me, if that's what you mean," she said, grinning.

"Did he say anything about me?"

"Only in passing," she said.

She ate another piece of pizza and made me ask her what she meant.

"He just said that when I got back here I should tell you I'd been a very good girl."

I ambushed her as she came out of the bathroom, where she'd just taken a shower. I was to learn Anna took a lot of showers. In fact, during the summer time, she'd take a shower at the drop of a hat. HUMID RESOURCES had been replaced by panties that were white with red lacy edges and tiny red hearts all over them. I captured her by simply bending over and putting my shoulder in her stomach, with my arm around her back, and standing up.

She kicked and squirmed, but her own weight made it too uncomfortable to resist very much. She got indignant with me then, demanding to be let go. I sat on the bed and manhandled her across my lap.

"Don't you dare!" she yelled.

"Judge Banks is a very important man in this town," I said. "People generally snap to when he makes a suggestion."

"He was flirting with me!" she objected.

"Oh, he meant exactly what he said," I said mournfully. "This is going to hurt you much more than it hurts me."

I gave her a couple of firm smacks on her nicely rounded, cushioned butt cheeks.

"Damn you!" she yelled.

I noticed, however, that she wasn't fighting very hard to get away anymore.

I gave her two more smacks on each ass cheek, and tried to make them sting.

"Bastard!" she gasped. "You're bruising me!"

"Let's see?" I said eagerly, pulling the back of her panties down.

"Don't rip them!" she yelped.

"I can't tell for sure," I said, rubbing the skin of her now bright red backside. "Maybe we should pull those panties down just a little farther."

"You are such a shit!" she said and started "struggling" again. I noticed that all she did was rock back and forth, which allowed me to pull each side of her panties down with no trouble, as long as I timed it right.

The skin before my eyes had a mottled look. It bothered me a little, because it looked like it might actually bruise.

"Don't you dare hit me again, you pervert," she rasped.

"You mean here?" I asked, slapping one bare cheek.

"You're poking me," she complained, trying to reach for my cock, which was rock hard.

"If only you'd been a bad girl," I said sadly. "Judge Banks wouldn't have sentenced you to this punishment."

"Let me up," she moaned. "You hurt meeeee."

She might have been convincing except the shift from outraged to whiner was much too swift.

"Do you promise to be bad?" I asked, slapping the other cheek. The skin jiggled and I felt my cock try to get even harder. I almost felt bad because this was so much fun.

"Yes!" she yelled.

Then, as if she'd been planning it all along, she rolled suddenly away from my body. She landed on the floor, but jumped up much too quickly for me to have recaptured her. She stood, feet spread shoulder width apart, upper chest and face flushed. Somehow her lips looked even fuller than before. She took a step toward me with her index finger pointed right at me. It hit my chest and dug in deep. I either had to fall back on the bed or get punctured, so I fell back.

I felt my knees being wrenched apart and my hips complained. Then wet heat engulfed my prick and I looked up just in time to see it completely disappear into her mouth before the scene was hidden by purple hair.

I had exactly one blowjob before I got married. Danielle Huston, on prom night, said she was going to make sure I never forgot her. I hadn't, but since then the scuttlebutt between buddies had suggested that she wasn't as proficient as she thought she was. Of course I'd had ample opportunities to get professional blow jobs since then. In Korea the singsong "Hey GI--suckee, fuckee, five buckee," followed you down all the streets in the off limits areas. At least on my first tour. In the seven years between it and my second Korean tour, the girls' self esteem had apparently improved and they then wanted twenty bucks instead.

But I'd never been interested in fly-by-night sexual escapades. I'd seen the results, and it didn't get me going at all. And my lovely wife, being of blue blood, would never have considered soiling her lips on male anatomy.

So basically, the only thing I had to actually compare with Danielle Huston's prom night efforts was what was happening to me at that moment.

How can one communicate appropriately the differences?

As a B-B gun is to a 105 mm howitzer ... Danielle was to Anna.
As the light of the keyhole finder thing on your key chain is to the Saharan sun ... Danielle was to Anna.
As a tricycle is to a fully loaded Hummer ... Danielle was to Anna.

In fact, I finally understood what a hummer was.

I begged her not to stop. Then, when I was about to shoot, she squeezed off the base of my cock and sucked hard on the knob and I begged her to stop.

She did, but only long enough to poke and prod me into the position on the bed she wanted me in, which was in the middle, on my back, with my arms raised like I was surrendering to the OPFOR. With startling grace and balance, she stepped up onto the bed and put her left foot by my right hip. Her right toe landed in the middle of my sternum.

"Don't move," she said. She was panting slightly

I wasn't going anywhere. I just lay there, wondering if the pain in my balls would go away. I raised my head, thinking my cock had sucked clear back inside my body, but it was right there, straining upwards, as hard as ever. Why couldn't I feel it then?

"I said don't move!" she growled.

She put her right foot on the bed beside my left hip and bent her knees slightly, jutting her loins forward. She spread her knees and reached to pull her vulva apart.

"I'm going to let you in here," she said. "You are not to squirt. Is that clear?"

I blinked. I couldn't even feel my cock.

"Is that clear?" she asked, bending her knees more.

"Yes!" I said.

She sank down and, like she'd done this a hundred times, captured my prick, slotted it and let her weight fall on my loins.

"Ahhhhh," she groaned.

Then she started rocking forward and back.

She knew what she was doing. I'll give her that. She had desensitized my penis, so that it remained hard while she used it. And that's what she did. She used it. She used me. I was merely a living dildo at that moment.

Maybe that's not fair, but it's close enough to the truth that I'll still say it. What was going on at that moment was not for my benefit. There were side effects, of course, and I enjoyed them immensely. But I understood that she wanted something from me, and I wanted to give it to her.

The first orgasm took her almost five full minutes to achieve. I didn't even think she was really trying at first. Instead she seemed to be experimenting. Imagine a situation in which medicine needs to be applied to the interior of the vagina. All of it. Every square inch needs some of this medicine. So it is slathered on a penis, which she then sits on and moves in such a way that every square inch of her vagina comes into some kind of rubbing contact with that medicated penis.

That's what it was like for the first two or three minutes.

Then she began making soft noises, deep in her throat, which rose, bit by bit, until their source was higher. They were sounds of pleasure that I knew I was responsible for and, if anything, they made me harder yet. I still didn't feel enough that I wanted to cum, though. It was like watching her pleasure herself was more fun than my own completion.

There was an "Oh fuck, Gramps!" and some rhythmic high pitched noises, and her eyes closed, but then they opened and she started going all over again.

"I could get used to this, Gramps," she sighed.

"I hope you do," I said, breathing deeply.

Then she was off again, working up to those high pitched sounds that are so hard to describe, but which are the supreme sign of what a great time she's having.

After her third one she slowly rocked to a stop, her head drooping.

"That will do for now," she said. "I want you on top now. Will you do that for me?"

I was more than willing. I confess that as she had used me, I used her, because now that I was able to move, I could make that feeling build in the pit of my balls ... that urge to unload and feel the sweet torture of semen jetting through my penis and into my chosen woman.

"You can cum in me now, Gramps," she whispered, urging me on.

"In you," I gasped.

"Yes," she hissed. "In my pussy, Gramps ... way up inside me."

"Oh baby," I moaned. "You feel so good."

"Give it to me, Gramps," she urged. Her hands fluttered on my back. "Be my man and give me your cum."

Then it was there, and the little death was upon me. I went insane for a few short seconds as my body went on autopilot and flushed the soothing fluid through my penis and into her belly. I loved her at that moment, and wanted to say it ... shout it ... but I also knew that the speaking of such words, the first time said, should be at a time chosen by the heart and not the gonads. I had known my lover for only a short time. I yearned to know her better and for many years, but I knew that was unlikely.

So I submerged myself in her passion and felt her legs squeeze me, welcoming the semen I so desperately wanted to give her. Her own words sufficed.

"Oh Gramps, yes," she whispered.

Most teenagers manage to get involved in makeout sessions. I did. I'm sure you did too. They're important because they fire up the libido and move us onward, sexually. It's sad, though, that most couples, after they become fully a sexual pair, tend to slack off on the preparation for sex and, all too often, get straight to the main event. Eventually couples don't make out at all, and even their foreplay is perfunctory.

That's too bad. They don't remember what they're missing.

But Anna loved to kiss and cuddle and fondle and touch. She reminded me of how much fun that was, and how amazingly erotic it can be to build and build and build, sometimes taking hours, to the culmination of making love.

I worried for a few days that she'd decide to go stay in a motel, just to get some peace and quiet, because I couldn't keep my hands off of her. But as often as not, she was the one to let fingers drift across my butt, or goose me, which she knew would result in me goosing her back, which she never resisted.

She was in heat all the time. And I had never been happier.

She had but one oddity I could never figure out. While she loved to have my mouth glued to her bald pussy lips, and kept telling me that I was quite good at doing that, she always warned me not to start unless I was going to be able to fill her pussy with prick when she'd had enough licking and sucking. Cunnilingus was foreplay for her, rather than an end in itself. Not to say she didn't enjoy it. She'd let me go for an hour or more, having orgasms one after another. But sooner or later she'd pull at my ears and say something along the lines of "I need you in me Gramps ... fill me up."

I really was as happy as I'd ever been ... but there was a fly in the ointment.

You may remember that I mentioned I'm big on vows. I've never been the kind of guy who chased skirts just to broadcast a little seed. Part of good sex, for me, is feeling something for the woman ... choosing her and knowing that she has chosen me. I could never patronize a hooker, because I'd know she didn't care who I was or what I was doing, as long as I gave her the money. It would be like fucking an ATM that takes money instead of giving it. For me, sex is an exchange of precious gifts. What I offer a woman during sex is the potential for life itself. What she does by accepting it is acknowledge that she is willing to bear my offspring.

Which means that when I commit to a sexual relationship ... I commit in other ways as well. Let's just call a spade a spade. I fell in love with Anna. And I fall in love rarely, so when I do it, I sort of go whole hog.

And that was the fly in this particular ointment. I'm fully aware that not all people who engage in things sexual do it for the same reasons I do. I know that most women don't look at sex as "Am I willing to have this man's baby? Yes? Then let's go for it." Not on a conscious level, at least. A lot of women don't want to get pregnant at all, but they still enjoy sex. Personally, I think that's like eating plastic, but if you enjoy the taste of plastic, then hell, more power to you. Tons of people love diet soda, and it has exactly the same nutritional value as plastic.

So, while I knew I loved Anna, and had already committed to her in major ways, there was every likelihood that, for her, this was a one or two week stand, in which she was getting enough sex to keep her going until she found the next guy she felt like hopping into bed with.

In theory, when you are this intimate with someone, you get to know them well enough to judge how serious they are about the relationship. But while we were incredibly intimate, for long portions of each day, we never got to do the dating thing, which is where a lot of the personal knowledge we gather about each other is traded.