The character of Jennifer was inspired by a married neighbor of mine who represents, in my eyes, the very epitome of classic beauty. Long dark hair, dark eyes, naturally beautiful and curvy frame. My heart aches somewhat when I speak to her. So I changed our names and placed us in a completely fictional scenario, my little tribute to the way things could have happened, I suppose, if we had lived completely different lives but met, by chance, in a diner in Nebraska.
Somehow the visual representation in my mind began to resemble a similarly beautiful dark-haired girl I became somewhat infatuated with after seeing her on the "Exploited Teens" website, which, despite the name, is quite legal. I forget the name of the girl on the site, but she had a sweet and beautiful look about her, and the guy who made the video wasn't very nice to her, which is the custom in pornography, I suppose.
Cheryl doesn't represent anyone in particular.
Anyway, it is what it is. There are some errors here and there with punctuation and stuff, and probably others, but I don't think it's too bad.
Friday, April 24, 2009
End of the Road, Nebraska
Title: End of the Road, Nebraska
Genre: Short story, some sort of erotic/romantic stuff
Author: DwellerDark
Written: April 20-23, 2009
Coffee filled the small white cup on the aging diner table. The woman who was pouring it, Jennifer --as her name tag told me-- smiled at me. I hadn't been looking at her, but I somehow felt this and gathered the courage to look up. She was beautiful. She had long, dark brown hair, practically black, set in a ponytail. Her eyes were equally dark, and full of complexity. I was able to read warmth, sweetness, but also hurt, in those eyes. I could tell already that she had had some tough times. Her face was soft and flawless, and her teeth pure white and straight, but there was pain in her eyes. I smiled back at her, and she seemed to take this as a sign of life.
"Here you go, handsome. Looks like you need some more coffee tonight."
I knew she was lying, about the handsome part, I mean. I certainly wasn't handsome, I don't think. But it made me feel good anyway, even if she probably called every guy who came into the place "Handsome." Waitresses work on tips, after all. Might as well make the sorry sacks who wind up in late-night diners like this feel a little good about themselves.
I had driven halfway across the country in about five days, and I couldn't seem to get away fast enough. Tuesday I had shown up for work, put in my 9 hours, and, instead of returning home, began to drive. I didn't want to go home. I didn't want to confront my wife. I just wanted to get as far away from my life as possible.
Cheryl and I had dated through most of high school, and we were married about a month after graduation. I got a job at a mustard factory in town. They didn't just make mustard; they made some other condiments as well. But I was assigned to the mustard line for the entirety of my employment there. Cheryl began taking college classes, earning an Associates degree in Business. It was enough to get her a low-level job at an office a few towns away. This low-level job eventually turned into a well-paying, middle-management job. As for myself, I couldn't seem to get a break, and wasted away for years in that factory. I didn't feel particularly threatened that she made so much more money than me. We had done this together, after all. I worked, she took classes, and here we were. All the money went into the same pool.
But now, at thirty-five years of age, I found myself escaping from a failed marriage. It wasn't officially over, and I still had the ring in my wallet, but, for me, seeing those e-mails on her computer, and then the videos stored in what she thought was a great hiding place on her backup hard drive, I felt like the final nail hadn't just been driven into the coffin, it had been fired out of a cannon into the coffin.
I'm getting a little ahead of myself, though. For the last eight months or so, Cheryl had become suddenly distant. For years, we had been fine, despite how unbalanced our careers and incomes were. She still loved me, I guess because I was good to her and didn't get jealous that her career was on such a good path while I came home reeking of the factory. But within a short period of time, all that stopped. She pulled away from me, emotionally and physically. The sex, which was already pretty infrequent, stopped entirely. She slept as far away as she could on the bed. She avoided my embrace, withering as if my arms and hands were made of poison.
I didn't know it at the time, but she had gotten emotionally involved with one of the managers in her company. He was a few levels above her, I believe. I don't know the hierarchy at the company very well, but I remember her speaking of him as if he were practically running the company himself. It all seemed to fit together after the fact, but, although I had suspicions, I really hadn't seen it coming.
Five months earlier, she had impulsively bought one of those video cameras that allows you to quickly upload the files to the Internet. When I asked her what she wanted one for, she mumbled something about wanting to capture videos of our dog, Sam. However, I never once saw her use that camera to take videos of the dog.
No, the first time I saw what the camera was being used for was when I found the files on her computer. I was feeling particularly depressed on Monday and decided to take a sick day. The stress of my marriage problems was contributing to a monster case of insomnia, and not long after she left for work, I noticed that she had left her laptop behind. I left it alone for an hour or so, figuring that she'd probably come back for it, but when I realized she probably wasn't going to return for it, I decided to do a little snooping. I felt somehow that the answers I was looking for were on that computer.
The videos and copies of her e-mail and chat logs were contained in a folder called "Sam" on her E: drive. The e-mails revealed an affair that had begun around the time she began acting strangely to me. At first, the e-mails (she had kept ones she had sent to Bill, the upper-management guy she was seeing behind my back, and ones that Bill had sent to her, if they were particularly memorable) told of their mutual longing for each other... things they wanted to do with each other. Then, at a certain point, they began talking of how much they had enjoyed a little tryst at a local motel. Then something about a conference they had gone to in March. Apparently she was getting into rough sex, which I had never done with her. Or anyone, for that matter, as up until that point she was the only person I had ever been with.
The e-mails already summed things up for me. But then I began to browse the video files. Most of them that she had sent to Bill --for some reason she didn't erase her own-- would start with her standing in our bathroom, wearing some sort of outfit she never wore for me anymore, and she would begin stripping off her clothes and then fingering herself. Sometimes she would sit on the toilet, spreading her legs and holding the camera only inches from her vagina. I could hear the wet squishing sounds it made as her fingers penetrated her. It had been years since she had ever gotten wet for me before I would actually be inside her. Despite my efforts at pleasuring her beforehand, usually it was like shoving myself through sandpaper until her biology took over and she would be lubricated enough for enjoyable sex. I guess maybe this is evidence that she had long lost any desire for me, and that the writing was on the wall for years.
She really seemed to enjoy these video sessions. The files were stored in the order in which they had been recorded, so I could see her get more and more bold as the weeks and months went on. Soon she was shoving objects inside her, or fingering her ass. The strange thing is, even though I had seen her naked so many times in our years of marriage, I was getting aroused watching these videos. This was a highly sexual side of her I had never seen. She resembled a porn starlet, cooing and moaning for her Bill as she slid her dripping fingers in and out of her vagina. I wondered if she had recorded any of these while I was home.
I only briefly viewed the ones Bill sent her, just to see what I was "competing" with. He had recorded his videos in the bathroom as well, with closed doors, so I imagined he was probably married as well. He was much better looking than me, with a perfect head of hair and a muscular frame. The bathroom was all marble and granite or whatever materials rich people have in their bathrooms. Very stylish. That bathroom screamed, "I'm successful!" Even the fixtures made me feel poor and inferior. Shit, I thought. There is just no way this situation is going to end well.
I didn't say anything to Cheryl Monday night. I sipped a beer --something I usually only drank when with friends-- and watched TV, while she read in the next room. At one point, she got up and walked to our bedroom, and then to the bathroom. I imagined she might be retrieving her camera and then going to record another video for Bill, so I slowly crept up to the bathroom door. I couldn't hear anything. I lay on the floor and looked between the bottom of the door and the floor, which was a space of about an inch. I could see her feet. She was sitting on the toilet. But her feet were moving rhythmically, and I knew she must be masturbating. After a minute or so, I heard her say something in a low voice, but I couldn't make out what it was, and then she placed the little camera of hers on the floor. She sat on the floor, legs open, in front of the camera, and I watched for a few minutes as she fingered herself for her audience of one. Audience of two, that night. I then wished that I had posted all those videos to a public site, so she'd have an audience of thousands. Maybe even some of her co-workers, people who she ruled over at work, would have gotten a chance to see Cheryl Somers, the accounting manager at the office, moaning into the camera and then moving it to a close-up view of her spread vagina, lightly wreathed in glistening, wet pubic hair. That would have shown her.
But I'm a coward. I watched her for a few minutes, wishing that she would have shared this secret sexuality of hers with me while there was still time to repair what had undoubtedly gone wrong in our marriage. She barely ever let me finger her or taste her anymore, something which she knew I enjoyed doing. How long had she hated me, I wondered. I couldn't even get aroused at this sight. I just felt pathetic at what I had been reduced to, watching my wife, my high school love, masturbating for some other guy, while I lay there with my face to the floor, looking beneath the bathroom door. Like some sort of pervert. My wife. She should be doing these things for me, I thought.
My marriage was over. I knew that for sure when I saw the e-mails and videos earlier that day, but the events of Monday evening cemented it beyond any doubt. I considered many options: various ways of confronting her, writing her notes and then leaving, showing up at her office and making a scene, etc. But in the end, I decided I would simply take what I needed and just leave. My job wasn't much, anyway. It seemed like it would be easy enough for me to start all over again far away from New Hampshire.
So this is what brought me to a humble diner somewhere in Nebraska. The biggest problem I was facing at the moment was that I had not taken nearly enough cash with me. I took what I could from the house, but it wasn't much. I had only spent two nights at motels, and that was mostly because I needed to shower. I was living out of my car, but I hadn't taken much in the way of supplies or clothing. This is something I had not planned out very well.
I had a Mastercard in my wallet, from a shared credit card account with Cheryl. I avoided using it as much as possible --except once early on for gas, and later at a market for some food supplies-- because I figured she would cancel it soon. But tonight I was just about out of money, and I desperately needed to keep what I had. For what, though? It wouldn't make much difference. Pretty soon I would be out of gas and stranded, with no job, no home, not even a way to get back to New Hampshire if I became desperate enough to want to crawl back to my wife.
I had not taken this into account when I entered the diner, but now my face was growing flush as I debated myself on whether or not to attempt a credit card transaction. She's probably cancelled it, and she'll know where I am anyway once I attempt to use it, I thought. And I'll be stuck here because I don't have enough money to keep driving, so I'll be easy to find.
There had been customers here earlier, but they had all left. I was the only person in the diner other than Jennifer the waitress, and some unseen cook who was scraping something --probably a grill-- in the kitchen. Jennifer was standing by the counter, looking at me and then at nothing in particular, and eventually she came back over to me. I hadn't said much to her, except to order. I watched her, though. I got annoyed when a trucker who was in here earlier made sexual remarks to her and tried to grab her butt, and I saw her attempt small talk with a businessman who seemed uninterested in small talk. But mostly I just watched how she moved, how she poured coffee, how the uniform --a white blouse, matching skirt, and apron-- clung to her curves as she passed my table. This wasn't something I normally did, staring at women I didn't even know, but I felt drawn to her somehow, and she seemed like an angel forgotten on earth and forced to wait tables for a living.
"You from New Hampshire?," she said to me, her sweet, lightly-accented voice barely above a whisper, despite there being no other customers at the moment.
"Um... yeah, I spent my whole life there," I said.
"Spent? You don't live there now?"
"Well, yeah... no... actually, I just left there Tuesday."
"Are you moving somewhere?" Now she was standing next to my table, coffee pot in hand. Probably trying to pass the time, I thought.
"I don't know. I haven't really thought it out." I realized I was being very vague in this conversation. She responded with a puzzled expression. Her eyes sort of squinted. They were still beautiful. Maybe she thought I was running from the law or something.
"It's a long story," I added, "You don't want to hear it."
Jennifer glanced back at the kitchen --I imagined that maybe her boss was back there-- and then she turned back to me, and gingerly sat down across from me.
"I've got time, sugar," she said, and I suddenly felt a warmth that I hadn't felt for a long time. I guessed that maybe it was that this was the first time a woman, a particularly attractive woman, had paid much attention to me in a long time.
"On Monday, I found out my wife was cheating on me."
Jennifer's mouth opened in a gasp, and there was a mix of surprise and genuine sympathy in her eyes.
"How did you find out? Did you walk in on them?"
"No... I found files on her computer. E-mails. Video files. It was some guy at her office, an upper management type."
"If you don't mind me asking, what was in the video files?" She seemed really interested.
"I... I shouldn't tell you. It's kind of inappropriate."
"Well, I don't mind. I've heard and seen it all, I think."
"They were videos she recorded herself, in the bathroom."
"Using the toilet?" she asked, amused.
"No. She was... um... satisfying herself, and talking to this guy, Bill, that she sent the videos to."
"Bill isn't you?"
"No, my name is John."
"It's good to meet you, John. I'm Jennifer," she reached out her hand, and I shook it. Her skin was soft, her hand warm.
"It's good to meet you, too. Um... well, the videos got worse and worse over time, lots of stuff I never saw her do before. Stuff she'd never do for me, not in a thousand years."
"So what did you do? Did you say anything?"
"No, I didn't know what to say. Things had been deteriorating for so long already that it didn't seem like I could do or say anything. It was inevitable. If I hadn't found the files, she would have kicked me out or divorced me soon enough anyway."
Jennifer stared at me for a while. I initially felt uncomfortable in her gaze, but I began to stare back.
"So you came out here?" she said, finally. "Do you have family out west?"
"No, I don't have anything out here. I just drove. I just got away. And now I'm here, and I don't think I can go any further."
"Why not?"
"I don't have any money. If my credit card is cancelled, I'm not sure I can even pay for my meal."
Jennifer pursed her lips and continued to look at me warmly. I could tell she was thinking pretty hard. I hoped she wasn't going to kick me out. After a lot of hesitation, and some false starts at responding to me, she finally said, "I don't usually do this. I don't ever do this. But there's something about you, and I haven't quite put my finger on it yet. Are you going to be around here in an hour?"
"Probably. I don't know where to go." I wasn't trying to sound like a pitiful, lost puppy. I just felt like I was at the end of the line.
"Do you have anywhere to stay? Anywhere to sleep?"
I hesitated for a moment. I wasn't sure where this was going.
"No," I said.
"Listen... feel free to say no. And, like I said, I don't ever do this. But I've had a run of bad luck lately, so I don't really want to be by myself when my shift is up. If you'd like to come to my place, I could give you a bed to sleep in and maybe a shower and a hot meal."
My mouth was agape. I wasn't sure what exactly she was proposing, but it sounded like a nice place to be.
"Sure, if that's okay with you."
"You're not dangerous or nothing, are you?" she said, winking at me.
"No, I'm actually pretty boring." I said, and she giggled.
For the next hour, I sat there, my heart racing. I continued to watch her, the way her butt moved when she walked, the way her eyes kept glancing at me when she had a chance, the little smiles when she saw that she had been caught looking at me. I couldn't understand why she would be making a big deal out of me, but it made me feel good for the first time in months. Maybe years.
Eventually the day shift waitress showed up, and soon after that Jennifer emerged from the kitchen wearing a light jacket and carrying a pocketbook. She signalled to me that it was time to leave, and I got up.
I fumbled through my wallet, which was now mostly composed of wrinkled one dollar bills. She put her hand over mine.
"Don't worry about it, hon," she said to me, standing very close and looking into my eyes, "This is on me."
"Are you sure?"
"Sure am," she winked at me again. I was melting in her presence.
We walked outside and I wondered where her car was.
"I usually walk home. My apartment is only a mile or so down the road," Jennifer said, as if reading my thoughts. "I don't have a car. I used to, but I couldn't keep up the payments."
"That's okay. We can take mine," I said, and I unlocked the passenger side door for her.
"Thanks, John," she said in that sweet voice of hers. I didn't know where this was going, but I was just glad to be with her at the moment.
We soon arrived at her apartment building, which looked like a motel, and not a very good one. I suddenly felt worried for Jennifer, living here on her own in this place. It didn't seem safe.
Her apartment was sparsely furnished but well-kept. She walked in and put her pocketbook on the table. "You want some orange juice?" she asked, walking into the small kitchen.
"No thanks. This is a pretty nice little place."
"Really?" she said, "I thought you'd think it's a bit of a dump."
"No, I like it. It makes me feel comfortable. I feel at home, I guess."
Jennifer emerged from the kitchen and smiled at me. "You wanna sit down?"
"Sure," I said, and sat myself down on the couch. She walked over with her orange juice and sat beside me, very close. Her bare legs were touching my pant legs. "You can take those shoes off, John," she said, and I complied. I hoped my feet didn't stink, but I was pretty sure I was okay.
Immediately after I took my shoes off, she touched my feet with hers. We were both in socks, but I felt the warmth of her foot against mine. When I didn't pull my feet away, she got a little bolder and began to stroke my feet with hers. I began to get aroused at this contact between us. While she did this, she said nothing, but she sipped her orange juice and seemed to try to read my face.
"I really don't ever do this, but I thought you looked like a nice guy. I thought you looked... safe."
I smiled, saying nothing.
"I know I've said that a few times, that I don't ever do this. I just don't want you to think that I'm a whore or nothing."
I was puzzled. Where was this going?
"I've had some rough times. I have. I've got a son... he's seven years old. And he lives with his grandmother because I couldn't take care of him properly. His daddy didn't stick around for very long. I was a bit of a mess for a long time. But I've been trying to get back on my feet, and I've been doing pretty well the last few years."
"I'm sorry that you've had rough times. You seem really nice," I said.
"So do you," she replied, "And you've had some rough times yourself. I could read it in your face when you came in. And I thought, maybe we were meant to find one another, maybe make each other feel a little better."
I tried to think of a response, but before I could, she was leaning towards me. I looked up in time to see her face only inches from mine, and her lips met mine. At first it was a soft, closed-mouth kiss... tender... shy. Then her mouth opened, and I felt her tongue. I met her tongue with mine, and we kissed deeply, passionately. My mind was racing. My brain didn't seem to know how to process this. I grew harder. She began to rub my arms with her hands as our tongues explored each other's mouths.
After some time --I had no idea how much time, exactly-- she pulled away, giggling. "I'm sorry, I must smell like coffee and sandwiches."
"N-no..." I stuttered to speak, "you smell fine."
"Why don't you take a shower, and I'll straighten things up out here. Then I'll take mine," she said, and she got up suddenly. I was confused. Was the moment over? Did she realize that this was a mistake, and stopped it before things went too far?
Feeling somewhat deflated, I walked out to the car to get some extra clothes. I came back and showered, feeling like maybe I had messed up an opportunity. I still enjoyed being around her, though, and I told myself this as I dried off. The shower had helped my mood. I felt kind of reenergized.
I walked out, and Jennifer passed by me, meeting my eyes and smiling as she walked by. She was still wearing her waitress uniform, and was carrying a robe --and, I assumed, underwear, though I couldn't see any in her arms. While she showered, I sat on the couch, feeling exhausted again. I guess maybe I just felt comfortable, like I could be off my guard. I nodded off.
I was woken with a soft kiss. When I opened my eyes, Jennifer was sitting beside me, wearing a closed robe. Her wet hair fell in long strands over her shoulders. She was radiating beauty.
"Hi, handsome," she said, smiling at me, her eyes locked on mine.
Before I could say anything, she leaned over me, pushing me down gently on the couch as she again kissed me. I reached out and grabbed her, pulling her gently to me. I kissed her lips, then her left cheek. I moved to her neck, kissing and then nibbling. She sighed happily, stroking my back. I began to move my fingers through her hair, but this turned out to be a bad idea, and I found myself slightly tangled. I felt embarrassed.
"Sorry. You think I'd be better at this by now," I said sheepishly.
Jennifer giggled again and said, "I think you're doing just fine," and leaned in to kiss me again.
I again nibbled her neck, and then her earlobe. By this point her breathing was growing heavy. She fumbled with my t-shirt, and pulled it over my head. I don't think I'm in terribly good shape, but she smiled at me. She seemed pleased.
I began to kiss lower on her neck, reaching the collar of her robe. She gently loosened her robe and allowed it to fall off her shoulders, but still covering her chest. She looked at me seductively, but beaming, and still slightly shy. Her perfect teeth glistened.
I began to kiss her shoulders and made my way to the top of her breasts. I wasn't sure how far she would let me go, but she lowered the robe as I made my way down. My tongue felt the edge of her areolas. Then, suddenly, the point of her left nipple caught on the robe momentarily and was then exposed to me, followed by the right. Her breasts were beautiful, with somewhat large --but certainly not too large-- areolas and erect nipples. I've never been much for "sizing" a breast, but I would guess they were c-cups, and perfectly proportional to her curvy frame.
I sucked on her delicious nipples, making them even harder as my tongue carressed them. My hands cupped her breasts, squeezing them and, with my index fingers, stroking whichever nipple was not currently attended to by my tongue. She was smiling down at me, breathing faster as I enjoyed her.
She undid my pants and slid them off of me, and it was quite easy to see the erection that was now pushing against my boxer shorts. Jennifer smiled that perfect smile, gazed at me with her dark eyes, and gingerly carressed my cock through the material. She looked down and slowly removed my boxers, exposing my erect penis, which sprung ridiculously upwards when loosed from its cotton prison. She licked her lips seductively and softly licked the tip, then took my cock in her mouth.
Now, a confession I need to make that this point in the story is that, until this point in my life, I had never received a blow job, at least not one that lasted more than a few awkward seconds. Cheryl had attempted to once, after much pleading from me, but made it very clear that she was not enjoying what she was doing and refused to ever get her mouth anywhere near that part of my body again. That pathetic excuse for oral sex had lasted all of three seconds, and nothing more than the tip of my penis had ever been in anyone's mouth then or ever, until this moment.
I say this only to express how wonderful it felt to have this beautiful woman sucking on me. I was thirty-five, and this was my first ever actual blow job. The first time I had sex was seventeen, with the woman who would become my wife, but even though I had stuck my tongue in her pussy hundreds or thousands of times over the course of our relationship, it had never been properly reciprocated. Well, Jennifer was definitely making up for it. She slurped, moaned, really seemed to enjoy herself. It was amazing. It took all of my concentration to resist cumming in her mouth. I wasn't sure if she wanted me to, and I also wasn't sure if this was going to be it or if we were going to actually make love.
Fortunately, I made the right decision. Jennifer looked up, stroking my cock, which was now very wet from her saliva. She could apparently read the pleasure in my face, because she laughed and kissed me again. Then she leaned back, still covering her bottom half with the robe, but propping her left leg on the couch, while her right leg touched the floor. I took it as an invitation, especially when I read the wanting look in her eyes.
I returned my attention to her breasts, just in case they had forgotten me, and then made my way down to her stomach, as she pulled the robe open just enough to give me access to new, previously unseen areas of her sweet, pale skin. As I got closer to her still-shrouded vagina, she hesitated with the robe. I looked up at her and she studied my face for a moment.
"I need to warn you. I'm kind of hairy down there. I've never shaved it... I don't know why. I- I hope that doesn't bother you?"
I smiled at her warmly. "No, that sounds perfect to me, Jennifer."
She smiled back, her face growing slightly red, and then she sat up and kissed me again.
"You're amazing," she whispered, and I loved the feeling of her hot breath on my ear.
Jennifer leaned back again, bit her lip slightly, and spread her legs. She pulled her robe open and exposed herself fully to me.
Her vagina was covered in a generous coat of black pubic hair, as dark as the hair on her head. It wasn't chaotic or unkempt or anything. She obviously took care of herself. But it was natural, as natural a bush as I had seen with my own eyes since the early days of my relationship with Cheryl, before she began keeping it meticulously trimmed and sometimes shaved. I hated the fact that Cheryl did that. I had liked it the way it was before, but it was her body so I never said anything about it.
But enough about Cheryl. Before me was a beautiful, slightly spread vagina, belonging to a woman with a good heart and for whom I felt very close to even though we only met a few hours earlier. For a few moments, I simply gazed at her beauty. I drank it all in. Jennifer was somewhat lying on her robe on the couch, the front of her naked body with its soft, perfect, pale skin now visible to my eyes. I wanted to dive in and taste her, but I wanted to keep the tension and mystery going for a few more moments.
So I kissed her left leg just above the knee, and then kissed the corresponding spot on her right leg. I slowly made my way up each of her thighs, kissing and running my tongue along her soft skin and then attending to the other thigh, then back. She just looked at me and smiled, sometimes closing her eyes and gripping at the couch cushion with her left hand. Her right hand squeezed the cushion she was lying on. She was getting turned on by my attention to her thighs. They were creamy, delicious. But, I was certain, not as delicious as what lay at the area where they met.
I had soon made my way up to the edge of her pubic hair, and the intoxicating scent of her vagina met my nose. I brought my nose to a point just above her spread vulva and breathed her in. I can't even describe how welcome this scent was to me. I wanted to kneel between her legs and simply smell her for a long period of time, but I was afraid she would find that very strange, so I opened my mouth, stuck out my tongue, and tasted her outer labia for the first time.
She tasted wonderful, even in this outer region, and it promised even better and richer flavors just an inch or so away. I wanted to take my time, though, so I licked her outer lips for a time, sometimes taking them in my mouth and sucking on them gently. I then spread her lips further, burying my mouth in her gaping vagina, and took hold of her hands as I began to feast.
Something I noticed immediately was that she was very wet already. Her juices practically flowed from her, and I enjoyed the wetness as it touched my lips. I ran my tongue up and down her vaginal slit, exploring her exterior folds and lips. My tongue met her clitoris, and I gently flicked it and ran my tongue against it on either side. She was now squeezing my hands and moaning softly. Her clit was hard against my tongue, but I was somewhat inexperienced in this area as, in my attempts to pleasure Cheryl in this way, she had always pushed me away when my tongue met her clitoris.
However, despite my inexperience, I was apparently doing well, as Jennifer thrust her pelvis rhythmically into my face. My tongue entered her vagina, and I pushed my face into her so that I could thrust it as deeply as possible. The sweet mix of flavors met my tongue, and I began to use my lips and tongue to devour her juices. My tongue explored her, thrusting deep inside, sometimes in a circular pattern around her inner walls, and sometimes thrusting as deep as I could get it inside her.
I suddenly noticed that she was beginning to moan louder. "Oh god, John, oh god..." It went on like this for a while, me exploring every inch of her vagina that I could conceivably reach, and her moaning and speaking my name.
I began to suck on her clit, and it was not long after this that she announced that she was going to explode. And explode she did. Hot liquid hit me in the face, temporarily blinding me. This had never happened before in my sexual experience, so I hadn't gotten out of the way in time. Jennifer giggled between gasps and moans, and she handed me a towel which, thoughtfully, she had kept by the couch, within arm's reach.
"I thought that was a possibility, so I planned ahead," she said, grinning at me sweetly.
I wiped off my face as best I could. She stood up, a process which was made difficult by the fact that her legs were now shaking, and led me by the hand to her bedroom.
Jennifer lay on her bed, spreading her legs in invitation to me. I climbed on top of her, and felt her pubic hair tickle the shaft of my penis. I wasn't sure if I should kiss her, since my face had just been covered in her juices, but she made the first move and began to kiss me passionately again.
She reached down and took hold of my cock, positioning it at the mouth of her vagina. I slid it in, and she gasped and then smiled at me. We lay there for a few moments, just looking into each other's eyes, kissing each other with brief pecks every few seconds, and enjoying the feeling of our bodies together. Her nipples, which were still erect, poked my chest, and I enjoyed how they felt.
"What are you thinking?" she asked softly.
"I'm just... overwhelmed. You're so perfect."
"Liar," she said, grinning.
"I think you are."
"Mmm, John," she said, "Mmm, fuck me."
I started to thrust, slowly but firmly. She kept looking into my eyes, breathing heavily and kissing me whenever she had the impulse, which was often. I began to thrust harder and faster, not breaking eye contact. I had never felt closer to anyone. I often had to fight the urge to cum too quickly, a difficult thing to do considering how wonderful her tight vagina felt around me. I kissed her, kissed her, I don't think I've ever kissed so much in such a short amount of time. I loved how she kissed me, I loved looking at her as she did it, how her dark eyes opened and closed as we made love on her bed.
Many minutes went by, and whenever I was close to going over the edge, she let me stop and just kiss her, to keep the moment going as long as possible. She was headed towards the edge herself, even though she had, only minutes earlier, shot me in the face with her orgasm.
Finally, we both reached a point where we were nearing the point of exploding together. There was nothing spoken about it. We simply understood it, through some profound connection. I began to thrust harder, lifting her body each time. She was biting her lip, moaning, trying to contain the urge to scream in pleasure. I knew. I knew she was going to have another orgasm. I knew just as well as I knew that I was.
Then, in perfect synchronization, we came at the right moment, gasping and holding each other, my cock erupting inside her, and her vagina contracting around my shaft. It was incredible, indescribable. I collapsed on top of her, my cock still spasming as the last drops of cum drenched her inner walls.
Eventually, after more kissing and nibbling, we relaxed and fell asleep.
I was lying in her bed, naked, when Jennifer woke me up. I had no sense of how much time had passed, as it had been morning when we arrived, and late morning when we fell asleep together. She told me that it was still afternoon, and we had only slept for a few hours, but she wanted to show me something.
She brought in a laptop computer, and there was a small video camera connected to the USB port.
"I'm just getting it ready now," she said, beaming, and I noticed that she was still very much naked herself. I didn't know what she was talking about, but I stroked her back and held her close to me as she clicked on some icons excitedly.
"Okay, here it is. I hope you like it," she said, and immediately after that a window popped up.
It was a video. In it, Jennifer was standing in the bathroom, grinning into the camera with those perfect eyes and teeth. On the video, she whispered, "Hi, John! You're asleep in the bedroom, but I wanted to do something for you. You see, I'm still thinking about you, and I'm still horny just thinking about you, so I need to take care of something."
The camera then shook and panned around chaotically as she moved it, but soon I was greeted with an image of her glistening pubic hair and spread vagina. She was sitting on the bathroom floor, the camera aimed between her legs. She picked up the camera briefly and said, "Remember her? You made her very happy. Let me show you how happy she still is."
And with this, the camera returned to its position between her legs, and sweet Jennifer began to finger herself furiously. "Mmm, John, oh John, I can't stop thinking about you," she whispered on the video, but I had to listen closely to hear her because her vagina was so wet that most of what I could hear were the sounds of her masturbation. I was instantly aroused while watching the video, but mixed in were deeper emotions. What she had done for me was not only sexy but extremely thoughtful, and I almost began to cry.
When the video ended, Jennifer looked at me, smiling, and I kissed her deeply. We placed the laptop on the desk nearby and made love again, and it was just as meaningful and beautiful as it had been a few hours earlier, if not more so.
When we were done, we fell asleep in each other's arms. I felt safe, wanted, loved, satisfied, and happier than I remembered ever being. When I would wake up and open my eyes, I would smile at the perfect, beautiful girl who lay beside me and would kiss her softly on the cheek before drifting off to sleep again. I was many miles from what, a week ago, I would have called my home, but I felt like this was home. And I knew that Jennifer was the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
I'm still here in Nebraska with Jennifer. We don't live in that small apartment anymore, having traded it for a two-story house with some land, but we still remember it fondly. We still kiss every chance we get, we still make love each time as if it's our first, and we fall asleep, happy and satisfied, knowing that our home is wherever the two of us are together.
Genre: Short story, some sort of erotic/romantic stuff
Author: DwellerDark
Written: April 20-23, 2009
Coffee filled the small white cup on the aging diner table. The woman who was pouring it, Jennifer --as her name tag told me-- smiled at me. I hadn't been looking at her, but I somehow felt this and gathered the courage to look up. She was beautiful. She had long, dark brown hair, practically black, set in a ponytail. Her eyes were equally dark, and full of complexity. I was able to read warmth, sweetness, but also hurt, in those eyes. I could tell already that she had had some tough times. Her face was soft and flawless, and her teeth pure white and straight, but there was pain in her eyes. I smiled back at her, and she seemed to take this as a sign of life.
"Here you go, handsome. Looks like you need some more coffee tonight."
I knew she was lying, about the handsome part, I mean. I certainly wasn't handsome, I don't think. But it made me feel good anyway, even if she probably called every guy who came into the place "Handsome." Waitresses work on tips, after all. Might as well make the sorry sacks who wind up in late-night diners like this feel a little good about themselves.
I had driven halfway across the country in about five days, and I couldn't seem to get away fast enough. Tuesday I had shown up for work, put in my 9 hours, and, instead of returning home, began to drive. I didn't want to go home. I didn't want to confront my wife. I just wanted to get as far away from my life as possible.
Cheryl and I had dated through most of high school, and we were married about a month after graduation. I got a job at a mustard factory in town. They didn't just make mustard; they made some other condiments as well. But I was assigned to the mustard line for the entirety of my employment there. Cheryl began taking college classes, earning an Associates degree in Business. It was enough to get her a low-level job at an office a few towns away. This low-level job eventually turned into a well-paying, middle-management job. As for myself, I couldn't seem to get a break, and wasted away for years in that factory. I didn't feel particularly threatened that she made so much more money than me. We had done this together, after all. I worked, she took classes, and here we were. All the money went into the same pool.
But now, at thirty-five years of age, I found myself escaping from a failed marriage. It wasn't officially over, and I still had the ring in my wallet, but, for me, seeing those e-mails on her computer, and then the videos stored in what she thought was a great hiding place on her backup hard drive, I felt like the final nail hadn't just been driven into the coffin, it had been fired out of a cannon into the coffin.
I'm getting a little ahead of myself, though. For the last eight months or so, Cheryl had become suddenly distant. For years, we had been fine, despite how unbalanced our careers and incomes were. She still loved me, I guess because I was good to her and didn't get jealous that her career was on such a good path while I came home reeking of the factory. But within a short period of time, all that stopped. She pulled away from me, emotionally and physically. The sex, which was already pretty infrequent, stopped entirely. She slept as far away as she could on the bed. She avoided my embrace, withering as if my arms and hands were made of poison.
I didn't know it at the time, but she had gotten emotionally involved with one of the managers in her company. He was a few levels above her, I believe. I don't know the hierarchy at the company very well, but I remember her speaking of him as if he were practically running the company himself. It all seemed to fit together after the fact, but, although I had suspicions, I really hadn't seen it coming.
Five months earlier, she had impulsively bought one of those video cameras that allows you to quickly upload the files to the Internet. When I asked her what she wanted one for, she mumbled something about wanting to capture videos of our dog, Sam. However, I never once saw her use that camera to take videos of the dog.
No, the first time I saw what the camera was being used for was when I found the files on her computer. I was feeling particularly depressed on Monday and decided to take a sick day. The stress of my marriage problems was contributing to a monster case of insomnia, and not long after she left for work, I noticed that she had left her laptop behind. I left it alone for an hour or so, figuring that she'd probably come back for it, but when I realized she probably wasn't going to return for it, I decided to do a little snooping. I felt somehow that the answers I was looking for were on that computer.
The videos and copies of her e-mail and chat logs were contained in a folder called "Sam" on her E: drive. The e-mails revealed an affair that had begun around the time she began acting strangely to me. At first, the e-mails (she had kept ones she had sent to Bill, the upper-management guy she was seeing behind my back, and ones that Bill had sent to her, if they were particularly memorable) told of their mutual longing for each other... things they wanted to do with each other. Then, at a certain point, they began talking of how much they had enjoyed a little tryst at a local motel. Then something about a conference they had gone to in March. Apparently she was getting into rough sex, which I had never done with her. Or anyone, for that matter, as up until that point she was the only person I had ever been with.
The e-mails already summed things up for me. But then I began to browse the video files. Most of them that she had sent to Bill --for some reason she didn't erase her own-- would start with her standing in our bathroom, wearing some sort of outfit she never wore for me anymore, and she would begin stripping off her clothes and then fingering herself. Sometimes she would sit on the toilet, spreading her legs and holding the camera only inches from her vagina. I could hear the wet squishing sounds it made as her fingers penetrated her. It had been years since she had ever gotten wet for me before I would actually be inside her. Despite my efforts at pleasuring her beforehand, usually it was like shoving myself through sandpaper until her biology took over and she would be lubricated enough for enjoyable sex. I guess maybe this is evidence that she had long lost any desire for me, and that the writing was on the wall for years.
She really seemed to enjoy these video sessions. The files were stored in the order in which they had been recorded, so I could see her get more and more bold as the weeks and months went on. Soon she was shoving objects inside her, or fingering her ass. The strange thing is, even though I had seen her naked so many times in our years of marriage, I was getting aroused watching these videos. This was a highly sexual side of her I had never seen. She resembled a porn starlet, cooing and moaning for her Bill as she slid her dripping fingers in and out of her vagina. I wondered if she had recorded any of these while I was home.
I only briefly viewed the ones Bill sent her, just to see what I was "competing" with. He had recorded his videos in the bathroom as well, with closed doors, so I imagined he was probably married as well. He was much better looking than me, with a perfect head of hair and a muscular frame. The bathroom was all marble and granite or whatever materials rich people have in their bathrooms. Very stylish. That bathroom screamed, "I'm successful!" Even the fixtures made me feel poor and inferior. Shit, I thought. There is just no way this situation is going to end well.
I didn't say anything to Cheryl Monday night. I sipped a beer --something I usually only drank when with friends-- and watched TV, while she read in the next room. At one point, she got up and walked to our bedroom, and then to the bathroom. I imagined she might be retrieving her camera and then going to record another video for Bill, so I slowly crept up to the bathroom door. I couldn't hear anything. I lay on the floor and looked between the bottom of the door and the floor, which was a space of about an inch. I could see her feet. She was sitting on the toilet. But her feet were moving rhythmically, and I knew she must be masturbating. After a minute or so, I heard her say something in a low voice, but I couldn't make out what it was, and then she placed the little camera of hers on the floor. She sat on the floor, legs open, in front of the camera, and I watched for a few minutes as she fingered herself for her audience of one. Audience of two, that night. I then wished that I had posted all those videos to a public site, so she'd have an audience of thousands. Maybe even some of her co-workers, people who she ruled over at work, would have gotten a chance to see Cheryl Somers, the accounting manager at the office, moaning into the camera and then moving it to a close-up view of her spread vagina, lightly wreathed in glistening, wet pubic hair. That would have shown her.
But I'm a coward. I watched her for a few minutes, wishing that she would have shared this secret sexuality of hers with me while there was still time to repair what had undoubtedly gone wrong in our marriage. She barely ever let me finger her or taste her anymore, something which she knew I enjoyed doing. How long had she hated me, I wondered. I couldn't even get aroused at this sight. I just felt pathetic at what I had been reduced to, watching my wife, my high school love, masturbating for some other guy, while I lay there with my face to the floor, looking beneath the bathroom door. Like some sort of pervert. My wife. She should be doing these things for me, I thought.
My marriage was over. I knew that for sure when I saw the e-mails and videos earlier that day, but the events of Monday evening cemented it beyond any doubt. I considered many options: various ways of confronting her, writing her notes and then leaving, showing up at her office and making a scene, etc. But in the end, I decided I would simply take what I needed and just leave. My job wasn't much, anyway. It seemed like it would be easy enough for me to start all over again far away from New Hampshire.
So this is what brought me to a humble diner somewhere in Nebraska. The biggest problem I was facing at the moment was that I had not taken nearly enough cash with me. I took what I could from the house, but it wasn't much. I had only spent two nights at motels, and that was mostly because I needed to shower. I was living out of my car, but I hadn't taken much in the way of supplies or clothing. This is something I had not planned out very well.
I had a Mastercard in my wallet, from a shared credit card account with Cheryl. I avoided using it as much as possible --except once early on for gas, and later at a market for some food supplies-- because I figured she would cancel it soon. But tonight I was just about out of money, and I desperately needed to keep what I had. For what, though? It wouldn't make much difference. Pretty soon I would be out of gas and stranded, with no job, no home, not even a way to get back to New Hampshire if I became desperate enough to want to crawl back to my wife.
I had not taken this into account when I entered the diner, but now my face was growing flush as I debated myself on whether or not to attempt a credit card transaction. She's probably cancelled it, and she'll know where I am anyway once I attempt to use it, I thought. And I'll be stuck here because I don't have enough money to keep driving, so I'll be easy to find.
There had been customers here earlier, but they had all left. I was the only person in the diner other than Jennifer the waitress, and some unseen cook who was scraping something --probably a grill-- in the kitchen. Jennifer was standing by the counter, looking at me and then at nothing in particular, and eventually she came back over to me. I hadn't said much to her, except to order. I watched her, though. I got annoyed when a trucker who was in here earlier made sexual remarks to her and tried to grab her butt, and I saw her attempt small talk with a businessman who seemed uninterested in small talk. But mostly I just watched how she moved, how she poured coffee, how the uniform --a white blouse, matching skirt, and apron-- clung to her curves as she passed my table. This wasn't something I normally did, staring at women I didn't even know, but I felt drawn to her somehow, and she seemed like an angel forgotten on earth and forced to wait tables for a living.
"You from New Hampshire?," she said to me, her sweet, lightly-accented voice barely above a whisper, despite there being no other customers at the moment.
"Um... yeah, I spent my whole life there," I said.
"Spent? You don't live there now?"
"Well, yeah... no... actually, I just left there Tuesday."
"Are you moving somewhere?" Now she was standing next to my table, coffee pot in hand. Probably trying to pass the time, I thought.
"I don't know. I haven't really thought it out." I realized I was being very vague in this conversation. She responded with a puzzled expression. Her eyes sort of squinted. They were still beautiful. Maybe she thought I was running from the law or something.
"It's a long story," I added, "You don't want to hear it."
Jennifer glanced back at the kitchen --I imagined that maybe her boss was back there-- and then she turned back to me, and gingerly sat down across from me.
"I've got time, sugar," she said, and I suddenly felt a warmth that I hadn't felt for a long time. I guessed that maybe it was that this was the first time a woman, a particularly attractive woman, had paid much attention to me in a long time.
"On Monday, I found out my wife was cheating on me."
Jennifer's mouth opened in a gasp, and there was a mix of surprise and genuine sympathy in her eyes.
"How did you find out? Did you walk in on them?"
"No... I found files on her computer. E-mails. Video files. It was some guy at her office, an upper management type."
"If you don't mind me asking, what was in the video files?" She seemed really interested.
"I... I shouldn't tell you. It's kind of inappropriate."
"Well, I don't mind. I've heard and seen it all, I think."
"They were videos she recorded herself, in the bathroom."
"Using the toilet?" she asked, amused.
"No. She was... um... satisfying herself, and talking to this guy, Bill, that she sent the videos to."
"Bill isn't you?"
"No, my name is John."
"It's good to meet you, John. I'm Jennifer," she reached out her hand, and I shook it. Her skin was soft, her hand warm.
"It's good to meet you, too. Um... well, the videos got worse and worse over time, lots of stuff I never saw her do before. Stuff she'd never do for me, not in a thousand years."
"So what did you do? Did you say anything?"
"No, I didn't know what to say. Things had been deteriorating for so long already that it didn't seem like I could do or say anything. It was inevitable. If I hadn't found the files, she would have kicked me out or divorced me soon enough anyway."
Jennifer stared at me for a while. I initially felt uncomfortable in her gaze, but I began to stare back.
"So you came out here?" she said, finally. "Do you have family out west?"
"No, I don't have anything out here. I just drove. I just got away. And now I'm here, and I don't think I can go any further."
"Why not?"
"I don't have any money. If my credit card is cancelled, I'm not sure I can even pay for my meal."
Jennifer pursed her lips and continued to look at me warmly. I could tell she was thinking pretty hard. I hoped she wasn't going to kick me out. After a lot of hesitation, and some false starts at responding to me, she finally said, "I don't usually do this. I don't ever do this. But there's something about you, and I haven't quite put my finger on it yet. Are you going to be around here in an hour?"
"Probably. I don't know where to go." I wasn't trying to sound like a pitiful, lost puppy. I just felt like I was at the end of the line.
"Do you have anywhere to stay? Anywhere to sleep?"
I hesitated for a moment. I wasn't sure where this was going.
"No," I said.
"Listen... feel free to say no. And, like I said, I don't ever do this. But I've had a run of bad luck lately, so I don't really want to be by myself when my shift is up. If you'd like to come to my place, I could give you a bed to sleep in and maybe a shower and a hot meal."
My mouth was agape. I wasn't sure what exactly she was proposing, but it sounded like a nice place to be.
"Sure, if that's okay with you."
"You're not dangerous or nothing, are you?" she said, winking at me.
"No, I'm actually pretty boring." I said, and she giggled.
For the next hour, I sat there, my heart racing. I continued to watch her, the way her butt moved when she walked, the way her eyes kept glancing at me when she had a chance, the little smiles when she saw that she had been caught looking at me. I couldn't understand why she would be making a big deal out of me, but it made me feel good for the first time in months. Maybe years.
Eventually the day shift waitress showed up, and soon after that Jennifer emerged from the kitchen wearing a light jacket and carrying a pocketbook. She signalled to me that it was time to leave, and I got up.
I fumbled through my wallet, which was now mostly composed of wrinkled one dollar bills. She put her hand over mine.
"Don't worry about it, hon," she said to me, standing very close and looking into my eyes, "This is on me."
"Are you sure?"
"Sure am," she winked at me again. I was melting in her presence.
We walked outside and I wondered where her car was.
"I usually walk home. My apartment is only a mile or so down the road," Jennifer said, as if reading my thoughts. "I don't have a car. I used to, but I couldn't keep up the payments."
"That's okay. We can take mine," I said, and I unlocked the passenger side door for her.
"Thanks, John," she said in that sweet voice of hers. I didn't know where this was going, but I was just glad to be with her at the moment.
We soon arrived at her apartment building, which looked like a motel, and not a very good one. I suddenly felt worried for Jennifer, living here on her own in this place. It didn't seem safe.
Her apartment was sparsely furnished but well-kept. She walked in and put her pocketbook on the table. "You want some orange juice?" she asked, walking into the small kitchen.
"No thanks. This is a pretty nice little place."
"Really?" she said, "I thought you'd think it's a bit of a dump."
"No, I like it. It makes me feel comfortable. I feel at home, I guess."
Jennifer emerged from the kitchen and smiled at me. "You wanna sit down?"
"Sure," I said, and sat myself down on the couch. She walked over with her orange juice and sat beside me, very close. Her bare legs were touching my pant legs. "You can take those shoes off, John," she said, and I complied. I hoped my feet didn't stink, but I was pretty sure I was okay.
Immediately after I took my shoes off, she touched my feet with hers. We were both in socks, but I felt the warmth of her foot against mine. When I didn't pull my feet away, she got a little bolder and began to stroke my feet with hers. I began to get aroused at this contact between us. While she did this, she said nothing, but she sipped her orange juice and seemed to try to read my face.
"I really don't ever do this, but I thought you looked like a nice guy. I thought you looked... safe."
I smiled, saying nothing.
"I know I've said that a few times, that I don't ever do this. I just don't want you to think that I'm a whore or nothing."
I was puzzled. Where was this going?
"I've had some rough times. I have. I've got a son... he's seven years old. And he lives with his grandmother because I couldn't take care of him properly. His daddy didn't stick around for very long. I was a bit of a mess for a long time. But I've been trying to get back on my feet, and I've been doing pretty well the last few years."
"I'm sorry that you've had rough times. You seem really nice," I said.
"So do you," she replied, "And you've had some rough times yourself. I could read it in your face when you came in. And I thought, maybe we were meant to find one another, maybe make each other feel a little better."
I tried to think of a response, but before I could, she was leaning towards me. I looked up in time to see her face only inches from mine, and her lips met mine. At first it was a soft, closed-mouth kiss... tender... shy. Then her mouth opened, and I felt her tongue. I met her tongue with mine, and we kissed deeply, passionately. My mind was racing. My brain didn't seem to know how to process this. I grew harder. She began to rub my arms with her hands as our tongues explored each other's mouths.
After some time --I had no idea how much time, exactly-- she pulled away, giggling. "I'm sorry, I must smell like coffee and sandwiches."
"N-no..." I stuttered to speak, "you smell fine."
"Why don't you take a shower, and I'll straighten things up out here. Then I'll take mine," she said, and she got up suddenly. I was confused. Was the moment over? Did she realize that this was a mistake, and stopped it before things went too far?
Feeling somewhat deflated, I walked out to the car to get some extra clothes. I came back and showered, feeling like maybe I had messed up an opportunity. I still enjoyed being around her, though, and I told myself this as I dried off. The shower had helped my mood. I felt kind of reenergized.
I walked out, and Jennifer passed by me, meeting my eyes and smiling as she walked by. She was still wearing her waitress uniform, and was carrying a robe --and, I assumed, underwear, though I couldn't see any in her arms. While she showered, I sat on the couch, feeling exhausted again. I guess maybe I just felt comfortable, like I could be off my guard. I nodded off.
I was woken with a soft kiss. When I opened my eyes, Jennifer was sitting beside me, wearing a closed robe. Her wet hair fell in long strands over her shoulders. She was radiating beauty.
"Hi, handsome," she said, smiling at me, her eyes locked on mine.
Before I could say anything, she leaned over me, pushing me down gently on the couch as she again kissed me. I reached out and grabbed her, pulling her gently to me. I kissed her lips, then her left cheek. I moved to her neck, kissing and then nibbling. She sighed happily, stroking my back. I began to move my fingers through her hair, but this turned out to be a bad idea, and I found myself slightly tangled. I felt embarrassed.
"Sorry. You think I'd be better at this by now," I said sheepishly.
Jennifer giggled again and said, "I think you're doing just fine," and leaned in to kiss me again.
I again nibbled her neck, and then her earlobe. By this point her breathing was growing heavy. She fumbled with my t-shirt, and pulled it over my head. I don't think I'm in terribly good shape, but she smiled at me. She seemed pleased.
I began to kiss lower on her neck, reaching the collar of her robe. She gently loosened her robe and allowed it to fall off her shoulders, but still covering her chest. She looked at me seductively, but beaming, and still slightly shy. Her perfect teeth glistened.
I began to kiss her shoulders and made my way to the top of her breasts. I wasn't sure how far she would let me go, but she lowered the robe as I made my way down. My tongue felt the edge of her areolas. Then, suddenly, the point of her left nipple caught on the robe momentarily and was then exposed to me, followed by the right. Her breasts were beautiful, with somewhat large --but certainly not too large-- areolas and erect nipples. I've never been much for "sizing" a breast, but I would guess they were c-cups, and perfectly proportional to her curvy frame.
I sucked on her delicious nipples, making them even harder as my tongue carressed them. My hands cupped her breasts, squeezing them and, with my index fingers, stroking whichever nipple was not currently attended to by my tongue. She was smiling down at me, breathing faster as I enjoyed her.
She undid my pants and slid them off of me, and it was quite easy to see the erection that was now pushing against my boxer shorts. Jennifer smiled that perfect smile, gazed at me with her dark eyes, and gingerly carressed my cock through the material. She looked down and slowly removed my boxers, exposing my erect penis, which sprung ridiculously upwards when loosed from its cotton prison. She licked her lips seductively and softly licked the tip, then took my cock in her mouth.
Now, a confession I need to make that this point in the story is that, until this point in my life, I had never received a blow job, at least not one that lasted more than a few awkward seconds. Cheryl had attempted to once, after much pleading from me, but made it very clear that she was not enjoying what she was doing and refused to ever get her mouth anywhere near that part of my body again. That pathetic excuse for oral sex had lasted all of three seconds, and nothing more than the tip of my penis had ever been in anyone's mouth then or ever, until this moment.
I say this only to express how wonderful it felt to have this beautiful woman sucking on me. I was thirty-five, and this was my first ever actual blow job. The first time I had sex was seventeen, with the woman who would become my wife, but even though I had stuck my tongue in her pussy hundreds or thousands of times over the course of our relationship, it had never been properly reciprocated. Well, Jennifer was definitely making up for it. She slurped, moaned, really seemed to enjoy herself. It was amazing. It took all of my concentration to resist cumming in her mouth. I wasn't sure if she wanted me to, and I also wasn't sure if this was going to be it or if we were going to actually make love.
Fortunately, I made the right decision. Jennifer looked up, stroking my cock, which was now very wet from her saliva. She could apparently read the pleasure in my face, because she laughed and kissed me again. Then she leaned back, still covering her bottom half with the robe, but propping her left leg on the couch, while her right leg touched the floor. I took it as an invitation, especially when I read the wanting look in her eyes.
I returned my attention to her breasts, just in case they had forgotten me, and then made my way down to her stomach, as she pulled the robe open just enough to give me access to new, previously unseen areas of her sweet, pale skin. As I got closer to her still-shrouded vagina, she hesitated with the robe. I looked up at her and she studied my face for a moment.
"I need to warn you. I'm kind of hairy down there. I've never shaved it... I don't know why. I- I hope that doesn't bother you?"
I smiled at her warmly. "No, that sounds perfect to me, Jennifer."
She smiled back, her face growing slightly red, and then she sat up and kissed me again.
"You're amazing," she whispered, and I loved the feeling of her hot breath on my ear.
Jennifer leaned back again, bit her lip slightly, and spread her legs. She pulled her robe open and exposed herself fully to me.
Her vagina was covered in a generous coat of black pubic hair, as dark as the hair on her head. It wasn't chaotic or unkempt or anything. She obviously took care of herself. But it was natural, as natural a bush as I had seen with my own eyes since the early days of my relationship with Cheryl, before she began keeping it meticulously trimmed and sometimes shaved. I hated the fact that Cheryl did that. I had liked it the way it was before, but it was her body so I never said anything about it.
But enough about Cheryl. Before me was a beautiful, slightly spread vagina, belonging to a woman with a good heart and for whom I felt very close to even though we only met a few hours earlier. For a few moments, I simply gazed at her beauty. I drank it all in. Jennifer was somewhat lying on her robe on the couch, the front of her naked body with its soft, perfect, pale skin now visible to my eyes. I wanted to dive in and taste her, but I wanted to keep the tension and mystery going for a few more moments.
So I kissed her left leg just above the knee, and then kissed the corresponding spot on her right leg. I slowly made my way up each of her thighs, kissing and running my tongue along her soft skin and then attending to the other thigh, then back. She just looked at me and smiled, sometimes closing her eyes and gripping at the couch cushion with her left hand. Her right hand squeezed the cushion she was lying on. She was getting turned on by my attention to her thighs. They were creamy, delicious. But, I was certain, not as delicious as what lay at the area where they met.
I had soon made my way up to the edge of her pubic hair, and the intoxicating scent of her vagina met my nose. I brought my nose to a point just above her spread vulva and breathed her in. I can't even describe how welcome this scent was to me. I wanted to kneel between her legs and simply smell her for a long period of time, but I was afraid she would find that very strange, so I opened my mouth, stuck out my tongue, and tasted her outer labia for the first time.
She tasted wonderful, even in this outer region, and it promised even better and richer flavors just an inch or so away. I wanted to take my time, though, so I licked her outer lips for a time, sometimes taking them in my mouth and sucking on them gently. I then spread her lips further, burying my mouth in her gaping vagina, and took hold of her hands as I began to feast.
Something I noticed immediately was that she was very wet already. Her juices practically flowed from her, and I enjoyed the wetness as it touched my lips. I ran my tongue up and down her vaginal slit, exploring her exterior folds and lips. My tongue met her clitoris, and I gently flicked it and ran my tongue against it on either side. She was now squeezing my hands and moaning softly. Her clit was hard against my tongue, but I was somewhat inexperienced in this area as, in my attempts to pleasure Cheryl in this way, she had always pushed me away when my tongue met her clitoris.
However, despite my inexperience, I was apparently doing well, as Jennifer thrust her pelvis rhythmically into my face. My tongue entered her vagina, and I pushed my face into her so that I could thrust it as deeply as possible. The sweet mix of flavors met my tongue, and I began to use my lips and tongue to devour her juices. My tongue explored her, thrusting deep inside, sometimes in a circular pattern around her inner walls, and sometimes thrusting as deep as I could get it inside her.
I suddenly noticed that she was beginning to moan louder. "Oh god, John, oh god..." It went on like this for a while, me exploring every inch of her vagina that I could conceivably reach, and her moaning and speaking my name.
I began to suck on her clit, and it was not long after this that she announced that she was going to explode. And explode she did. Hot liquid hit me in the face, temporarily blinding me. This had never happened before in my sexual experience, so I hadn't gotten out of the way in time. Jennifer giggled between gasps and moans, and she handed me a towel which, thoughtfully, she had kept by the couch, within arm's reach.
"I thought that was a possibility, so I planned ahead," she said, grinning at me sweetly.
I wiped off my face as best I could. She stood up, a process which was made difficult by the fact that her legs were now shaking, and led me by the hand to her bedroom.
Jennifer lay on her bed, spreading her legs in invitation to me. I climbed on top of her, and felt her pubic hair tickle the shaft of my penis. I wasn't sure if I should kiss her, since my face had just been covered in her juices, but she made the first move and began to kiss me passionately again.
She reached down and took hold of my cock, positioning it at the mouth of her vagina. I slid it in, and she gasped and then smiled at me. We lay there for a few moments, just looking into each other's eyes, kissing each other with brief pecks every few seconds, and enjoying the feeling of our bodies together. Her nipples, which were still erect, poked my chest, and I enjoyed how they felt.
"What are you thinking?" she asked softly.
"I'm just... overwhelmed. You're so perfect."
"Liar," she said, grinning.
"I think you are."
"Mmm, John," she said, "Mmm, fuck me."
I started to thrust, slowly but firmly. She kept looking into my eyes, breathing heavily and kissing me whenever she had the impulse, which was often. I began to thrust harder and faster, not breaking eye contact. I had never felt closer to anyone. I often had to fight the urge to cum too quickly, a difficult thing to do considering how wonderful her tight vagina felt around me. I kissed her, kissed her, I don't think I've ever kissed so much in such a short amount of time. I loved how she kissed me, I loved looking at her as she did it, how her dark eyes opened and closed as we made love on her bed.
Many minutes went by, and whenever I was close to going over the edge, she let me stop and just kiss her, to keep the moment going as long as possible. She was headed towards the edge herself, even though she had, only minutes earlier, shot me in the face with her orgasm.
Finally, we both reached a point where we were nearing the point of exploding together. There was nothing spoken about it. We simply understood it, through some profound connection. I began to thrust harder, lifting her body each time. She was biting her lip, moaning, trying to contain the urge to scream in pleasure. I knew. I knew she was going to have another orgasm. I knew just as well as I knew that I was.
Then, in perfect synchronization, we came at the right moment, gasping and holding each other, my cock erupting inside her, and her vagina contracting around my shaft. It was incredible, indescribable. I collapsed on top of her, my cock still spasming as the last drops of cum drenched her inner walls.
Eventually, after more kissing and nibbling, we relaxed and fell asleep.
I was lying in her bed, naked, when Jennifer woke me up. I had no sense of how much time had passed, as it had been morning when we arrived, and late morning when we fell asleep together. She told me that it was still afternoon, and we had only slept for a few hours, but she wanted to show me something.
She brought in a laptop computer, and there was a small video camera connected to the USB port.
"I'm just getting it ready now," she said, beaming, and I noticed that she was still very much naked herself. I didn't know what she was talking about, but I stroked her back and held her close to me as she clicked on some icons excitedly.
"Okay, here it is. I hope you like it," she said, and immediately after that a window popped up.
It was a video. In it, Jennifer was standing in the bathroom, grinning into the camera with those perfect eyes and teeth. On the video, she whispered, "Hi, John! You're asleep in the bedroom, but I wanted to do something for you. You see, I'm still thinking about you, and I'm still horny just thinking about you, so I need to take care of something."
The camera then shook and panned around chaotically as she moved it, but soon I was greeted with an image of her glistening pubic hair and spread vagina. She was sitting on the bathroom floor, the camera aimed between her legs. She picked up the camera briefly and said, "Remember her? You made her very happy. Let me show you how happy she still is."
And with this, the camera returned to its position between her legs, and sweet Jennifer began to finger herself furiously. "Mmm, John, oh John, I can't stop thinking about you," she whispered on the video, but I had to listen closely to hear her because her vagina was so wet that most of what I could hear were the sounds of her masturbation. I was instantly aroused while watching the video, but mixed in were deeper emotions. What she had done for me was not only sexy but extremely thoughtful, and I almost began to cry.
When the video ended, Jennifer looked at me, smiling, and I kissed her deeply. We placed the laptop on the desk nearby and made love again, and it was just as meaningful and beautiful as it had been a few hours earlier, if not more so.
When we were done, we fell asleep in each other's arms. I felt safe, wanted, loved, satisfied, and happier than I remembered ever being. When I would wake up and open my eyes, I would smile at the perfect, beautiful girl who lay beside me and would kiss her softly on the cheek before drifting off to sleep again. I was many miles from what, a week ago, I would have called my home, but I felt like this was home. And I knew that Jennifer was the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
I'm still here in Nebraska with Jennifer. We don't live in that small apartment anymore, having traded it for a two-story house with some land, but we still remember it fondly. We still kiss every chance we get, we still make love each time as if it's our first, and we fall asleep, happy and satisfied, knowing that our home is wherever the two of us are together.
Introduction
I have submitted one piece of my work so far to literotica.com, which as of this writing has yet to be accepted, but I intend to make this blog the center of my operations so that I can write whatever happens to appeal to me at the time.
I have begun writing this kind of erotic/romantic stuff recently, and for many reasons. Mostly it has to do with the fact that I've always wanted to be a writer, but I have always been bad at coming up with ideas. In fact, much of my imagination is squandered creating fantasies involving me and various women I have known or seen. So why not make use of this waste of creativity and actually begin writing these types of stories down?
I have often attempted to enjoy online "erotic fiction," but, for every story that is genuinely arousing and not simply cheap and tawdry, there are about a thousand that don't do anything for me whatsoever. I guess I'm not a very wild person, because stories about abusing and mistreating women, BDSM fantasies, etc. are not appealing to me. I like stories that are sexy but also have heart and treat their characters with some sort of respect and dignity. So this is another reason why I have decided to throw my hat into this ridiculously over-crowded genre... almost nobody writes the kind of stuff I want to read. This is kind of the same problem I have with pornography. I like the idea of pornography very much, and am very much into amateur stuff, especially the kinds of videos that women send to their boyfriends and things like that. I don't like torture or bondage or fake women made of silicone. I like stuff about real people, real women.
Enjoy.
I have begun writing this kind of erotic/romantic stuff recently, and for many reasons. Mostly it has to do with the fact that I've always wanted to be a writer, but I have always been bad at coming up with ideas. In fact, much of my imagination is squandered creating fantasies involving me and various women I have known or seen. So why not make use of this waste of creativity and actually begin writing these types of stories down?
I have often attempted to enjoy online "erotic fiction," but, for every story that is genuinely arousing and not simply cheap and tawdry, there are about a thousand that don't do anything for me whatsoever. I guess I'm not a very wild person, because stories about abusing and mistreating women, BDSM fantasies, etc. are not appealing to me. I like stories that are sexy but also have heart and treat their characters with some sort of respect and dignity. So this is another reason why I have decided to throw my hat into this ridiculously over-crowded genre... almost nobody writes the kind of stuff I want to read. This is kind of the same problem I have with pornography. I like the idea of pornography very much, and am very much into amateur stuff, especially the kinds of videos that women send to their boyfriends and things like that. I don't like torture or bondage or fake women made of silicone. I like stuff about real people, real women.
Enjoy.
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