April 19, 2006

(this story starts here and here)

Normally when I stayed over I slept on the couch. There was a pull-out bed, but pull-outs are never all that comfortable. Girlie had recently gotten a new bed, and so her old mattresses were still in the basement, which gave us a nice comfortable place to continue our makeout (and thinking back on it, slightly trashy as well). I was quickly entering uncharted territory.

The kissing I could handle. I'd done that plenty. The roaming hands were newer, but also easy. When he reached for the button on my jeans, that was new. I had said from the beginning that I did not plan to have sex with him. I told him I was waiting until marriage, and he seemed fine with that. "So intercourse is your limit?" he had asked, and I had said yes. I was about to learn about the vast territory between kissing and sex.

I don't remember him getting me out of my bra, though my shirt stayed on. I remember him sliding my jeans down my legs and tossing them aside. I remember him kissing me and sliding his hand frm my cheek all the way down over my chest, down my side (at which I tensed involuntarily as he hit an erogenous zone), over my stomach to cup my pussy through my panties. Those came off pretty quickly too, and he fingered my clit while we kissed and I squirmed under him.

A lot of the rest of the details are lost to the wonder of new sensations, discovering how good what he was doing felt, discovering that what he was doing was even possible. In the back of my mind was always the "good girl" in me screaming "Too Far! TOO FAR! but not being able to be heard, or more like being gagged by the other parts of me that recognized that i was an adult, and this felt *really* good, and that I wanted to be doing it.

I was okay with following him to places I'd never been before because it wasn't scary. There wasn't the catastrophe of emotions I had come to expect. Anytime he did something new, he checked in with me. He wasn't trying to take me all of the places he wanted to go regardless of what I wanted (which had happened in marginal ways in the past with other guys, but nothing devastating), he made sure that I was enjoying myself.

The one thing I do remember is my shirt. At that point, all I had on was a short sleeved mock-turtleneck (because I was stylin in those days). He'd pull it up to kiss my stomach or breasts, and as soon as he'd move his head, leaving it bunched sround my neck, I'd pull it down to cover myself. Somehow I guess it made me feel less exposed, though I'm not sure why because it's not like it covered nearly everything I currently had on display...

I remember him commenting on how wet I was, and how easily is finger slid inside. I had never been able to do that to myself. He said he was going to try a second finger and I had some doubts as to whether it'd go in, but it also slipped in with no resistance. He stopped kissing me at that point, and I didn't want him to. I tried to pull his face back down to mine but he would not let me. I felt him moving down my body, but what came next was so unexpected I could not have anticipated it.

I felt his head between my thighs, and his mouth on me in the most intimate of places. His air was so soft against my legs, while his beard was a little bit rough against the lips of my pussy. His tongue snaked out and touched my clit, and I seriously though I was going to die, it was that intense. I came pretty quickly, though at the time, I had no idea what had happened. I had been masturbating for years by that time, and had been having orgasms and didn't know it. It was a little embarrassing to have to have someone else explain it to me.

I knew guys liked getting oral sex, and I knew some girls liked to give it. But I always thought that men didn't like to give it, that they thought it was gross. Such was definitely not the case that night (or any night after for that matter) and he went to work on me with gusto. I think I probably came about 3 times that night, something else I didn't know was possible.

The other thing I remember vividly was him looking up at me, and I wasn't used to that, and was a little uncomfortable with him staring at me like that. I've since learned that that's pretty common, and I do it now too, but at the time it felt so.... I don't even have a word for it. I was feeling things I had never felt before, never thought it was possible to feel, and I'm sure that was reflected on my face. I'm sure that is what he was seeing, and why he was watching me so closely.

I also think that he knew he was taking me places I had never dreamed of going, and that he was watching for signs of panic. He had been warned that it could happen, and he was trying to make sure it didn't happen. It paid off. I had the time of my life that night, and it opened my eyes to a whole new world.

April 12, 2006

(this series starts here)

He called me at work the next day. I don't know why it was unexpected, but it was. My innate flight response had not been triggered, and I was anxious to see him again. The infatuation of the beginning stages of a relationship had me tight in its grip. He verified that I was doing okay with processing the events of the previous evening, and asked to see me again that night. I said I had plans but might be able to fit him into them. He said to give him a call at home later if I wanted him to come over. I balked at the idea of calling him at home, because his wife would be there, and tried to get him to call me later. But he just said if I wanted to see him I had to call, and he hung up.

I had been asked to babysit that night, and since I didn't have a car at the time it wasn't unusual for me to stay overnight in the basement "guest room". I figured the mom might not mind if he came over after the kids were in bed. They were old enough that once they were in bed they were in bed and were unlikely to need me again. I was right, and all I had to do was swallow the lump in my throat and call his house.

I picked up the phone in the kitchen and stared at it for a bit, but of course desire won out and I dialed his number. And of course it wasn't him that answered the phone, it was the wife.

"Hi, um, is... Fox? There?"
"Who is calling please?"
*panic sets in and my heart starts beating really fast*
"Um, this is Annora"
"Oh! Annora, hi! So you and Fox are going out tonight?"
"Uh. Yeah. I'm hoping so..."
"Great. What are you going to do?"
"Um... I think we're just going to stay in?"
"Oh, very cool. Hang on, I'll go get him."

He got on the phone then and we worked out details- he'd come over at 9. I put the kids to bed at 8:30, and for some reason decided I should take a shower, so I did that, and my hair was still wet when he got there. Thinking back on it, I have no idea what made me think it was a good idea to get my hair wet. Wet stringy hair is not so sexy, and my hair when it has been allowed to just air dry? Really awful.

Anyway, he got there, and we settled in on the couch in the living room, he at one end of the couch and I at the other, with my feet in his lap. I don't know who I thought I was kidding sitting apart from him. I knew very well what was going to happen, and knew just as well that I wanted it to. At least doing so made for one of the funniest moments I've ever had on a date.

We talked for a few minutes, and then he lunged at me, arms on either side of my body on the arm of the couch- I was turned sideways leaning against the arm of the couch facing him. He was intending to come in for a kiss, but with the quick shift in weight the couch separated and he fell through the gap onto the wood floor. We both laughed and as he got up he said "Sectional. Good to know."

We got the couch re-set and easily got into a good position for some kissing and some roaming hands, without re-separating the couch. Much as I had the evening before, I lost myself in those kisses. Due to the fact that we were this time lying together on a couch rather than in the front seat of a car, he was able to get his hands on me for the first time. I have long thought that my breasts and nipples were not very sensitive, and I had told him that. He proved me wrong fairly quickly, and pointed out that what I said did not match with the fact that I nearly jumped out of my skin when he so much as brushed his fingers over them.

Before those words had vanished from my ears, I heard a key in the lock. I quickly pushed him off me and into a sitting position, sat back up myself and dropped my feet into his lap in an exact image of our earlier positioning. He lifted my feet, dropped a throw pillow over his lap and laid my feet back on it. When the mom and her boyfriend walked in, we looked like we weren't doing anything, but I'm sure she knew, and not only because my still damp hair said it quite plainly. Introductions were made around, the mom said she and her boyfriend were going to have some wine and she'd take over with the kids, which was my cue to exit, and lead Fox by the hand to my "room" in the basement.

To be continued...

April 05, 2006

He picked me up after work one night, and was going to drive me home. We both knew there'd be a lengthy stop on the way. We were both surprised by the situation, for our own reasons. I was surprised because he was quite a bit older, an unrepentant Pagan, and married- yet I had chosen to date him. He was surprised because he figured that he was all the things that a young Christian virgin would try to get as far from as possible. I was surprised because to do what I was doing was so unlike me, so unlike everything I had ever done or thought I would do. What was I doing going on a date with a self confessed slut- a man in an open marriage with more experience than I could ever dream of having? (At the time the sum total of my experience with the opposite sex was kissing boys, and once, in a night of ill-advised drunkenness, masturbating in the same vicinity as a boy my age in the highest level of "you show me yours I'll show you mine" I think there is.)

He turned off the main road into a Vista Point that I had been driving by my whole life, but had never stopped at, and parked the car. We had been chatting amiably about who knows what anymore the whole way there, and once the car was parked he took off his seatbelt and shifted slightly in his seat so that he could turn to face me. When I think back to the body language I have to laugh at how clear the signals were. I took my seatbelt off as well, shifting in my seat so that I was facing him, and at the same time was leaning back against the passenger door- he was sitting quite forward in his seat, leaning toward me as we talked.

I've long thought it strange how some details stay clear as crystal, while others fade away. But maybe it's not strange at all. I can't remember what we talked about, except for a few very specific things that I will mention when context gets to them, but I remember his shirt and his hair and his kisses. Maybe I can't remember our conversation because even then I knew that the point of being at that gorgeous overlook was partly to get to know each other better, but was mostly about the making out. After we had been talking a while, he looked me in the eyes and said, "I'm going to kiss you." And he leaned across the front seats and planted one on me, practically on top of me in my seat, both of us pressed into the passenger door, a kiss that made my head swim. He, sly fox that he was, slowly moved himself back with every kiss, effectively drawing me away from the door and closer to his side of the car until, before I knew it, I was the one practically in his seat. I was up on one knee on my seat, leaned all the way across the car, my right hand playing with his long hair, my left arm sort of draped across his lap, kissing him with a passion and a hunger I didn't know I possessed.

I remember those kisses like they were received yesterday. I remember just as well what came next- the feeling of something moving beneath my arm, which I had initially thought was a muscle twitch from the position it was in. In the tiny part of my brain able to separate itself from the feel of his lips on mine, the movement of his tongue, and how the softness of his hands contrasted with the rough bristliness of his face I began to realize that it wasn't my arm that was twitching. I broke the kiss and glanced down at my arm in his lap before looking up at him, a deep blush creeping into my face as I asked "is that what I think it is?" A smile came into his eyes as he looked right at me and said "What? My throbbing penis?"

With those words, everything that I knew I was came flooding back, in the fastest instant of my life. What was I doing? Was I crazy? A strange man, a married man?! I jerked away from him so violently that both of us were surprised my elbow didn't break the window as I recoiled. I banged my funny-bone *hard* and tore his shirt. Somehow, inexplicably, it seemed like maybe he was expecting that, because he had all the right words, and knew exactly how to soothe my fear. Somehow we made it back to the kissing- this time softer, less urgent, but packed with just as much feeling- the kind of kisses that make your insides melt. When we finally broke apart and realized that the summer evening was quickly turning to night, he said my kisses made his toes curl, and I didn't know whether or not that was a good thing. He assured me that it was and I have since had experiences that proved it to be true.

When he dropped me at home he said he'd call me. I told him that I had a tendency to freak out about these kinds of things and run away from them, and I really didn't want to do that this time. He said he'd call the next day to check in- which he did- but that is next week's story...