… That I Ate Her Pussy.
I remember the first time and the last time that I ate her pussy.
She was 20 years younger than me, yet her adult sons were the same ages as my own. We had no airs between us, just friendship, patience, willingness to explore, and a frequent desire just to fuck.
We also enjoyed lying there in each others’ company, just chit chatting before fucking, during a break in fucking, or after fucking. I’m being direct in calling it fucking, because that’s what we did.
Sometimes primal, sometimes tender, sometimes a quickie, sometimes a long extended timeless afternoon. But fucking it was. Recreational. A release between two friends. A shared gift that we indulged in, gave to each other.
The first time I went down on her it took her a long time to become fully aroused, and to come. She had warned me of as much, that it was difficult for her to climax with another person, any person. But she loved sex, and she loved being eaten.
Along with her warning, she had also let me know not to stop, that if things became uncomfortable, or she wasn’t feeling it, she would let me know… but otherwise, not to worry or apply any hidden meaning to the length of time it would take her to become fully aroused and… hopefully come.
If not? No big deal, she really loved being eaten, and she loved the fact that it was one of my favorite things to do in bed.
When she came that first time, she said, “As you can see, I don’t cum easily… with anyone. That’s actually kind of rare.”
We were the best kind of friends with benefits. We respected each other fully. Sexually, we were more than just compatible, we understood each others’ bodies, deeply.
She understood herself, as you may have learned above, and she understood me. She didn’t care about the time my body got overheated on a warm, humid afternoon during a vigorous workout, and I couldn’t come. No judgment. Also no paranoia that it had anything to do with her, or my desire for her.
There’s nothing better than the open, frank, uninhibited conversation that we shared. “Sorry, my body just overheated, and as I got close to the point of no return, my body had other ideas.”
It was a lazy afternoon anyway, and after a cool down and the importation of an electric fan into the room, the second go-around rewarded me with the most intense pent-up orgasm ever, partly due to the buildup my body still had in its memory.
Since she was hard in coming, her honesty of not faking it, of telling me if it wasn’t going to work for her at that moment, was always welcome. Otherwise, I knew her silence meant to keep going… until finally she would reach a point of relaxation and immersion.
What her hands were doing or not doing , the relaxation of her facial muscles, the rhythm of her breathing. Her eventual audio cues, her gentle moans. Her more intense moans.
The involuntary little twitches of her body, and more.
Eventually the vise-like squeezing of my ears and head between her thighs as she was wracked by orgasm, my unrelenting lips and tongue not giving up until her last spasm of climax was spent.
This may sound cliché, but yes, absolutely, her pussy was a beautiful flower. It tasted like honey, and I could eat her forever.
She was a giving lover- I think we both were, and it was such an ideal pairing- the most ideal friends with benefits, of all possible friends with benefits worlds. But we both knew that one day time and circumstance would separate us.
I especially relished that last time (for what we knew would be a long while, or perhaps forever). I tried to map her body, soul, and being into my subconscious, to never forget. Her Mediterranean olive skin, her face, her body, her luscious thighs, just perfect to settle my face, lips, and tongue within.
As I ate her beautiful pussy for the last time, as she settled into relaxation mode, she softly intoned, “I’m really going to miss this.”
I stopped briefly to look up into her eyes and said, “Me, too.”
Story Notes:
I don’t have any notes this time, except to say that “time and tide wait for no man”, “time and tide wait for none”, and “time and tide won’t wait, you know” are all variations of the same thought often attributed to Chaucer or others sometime around 1395.
It’s an important thought, and so true.