A wish for happiness
I asked: "Why did that young man look at you like that?"
She smiled and said: "I winked at him!".
"But why?" - I wondered.
"Just to see how he reacted," she replied.
I was stunned. My ego was hurt, but only partly. I realized that she was very young and free in the sense that she could play and flirt with anyone, and maybe even more than flirt, but she was still "busy" because she was waiting for her Favorite Boyfriend to return.
And that young man on the street was about the same age as her, above average height, well physically developed, and even quite handsome on the face. Compared to him, I was a loser in every way, and I thought she deserved a better companion than me - even for flirting.
I grumbled some more, more for looks, and we continued on our way and our meaningless conversation.
After a while, when she pulled her sunglasses out of her purse, I lightly "chided" her about doing it on purpose so that the young men wouldn't see her winking at them. (The dark glasses suited her very well.) We laughed and continued on our journey.
We stopped at the last store on our way and found no wallpaper in the pattern we wanted. She got upset and almost cried.
"Why," she said, "am I unlucky? I'm so unlucky! It's the law of meanness - when you don't need it, the stores have everything, and when you do, you can't find anything there. In these shoes, I've knocked my feet all over..."
I started to console her. I remembered our agreement about the cherries, and I said that we would go to my place, as it was not far, and she would stay at my house, and I would go, no, no, no, I would quickly run for the cherries. She hesitated a little, but luckily for me she agreed.
"But not for long, I still have to buy bread," she said. I promised I wouldn't keep her long. I brought her home, escorted her to the room that served as a hall, and myself quickly headed toward the nearest vegetable stand. Fortunately, they were not out of cherries and the stall was open. I bought a kilo of cherries (even a hundred grams more) and flew home on wings.
She was not bored - she turned on the small TV in the bedroom, and, sitting on the made-up bed, watched the talk show "Myself".
I was pleased that being only her third time here, she had settled in so quickly. I carefully washed the cherries and placed them in a large fruit dish. Looking in the refrigerator, I found a not quite empty bottle of white Martini, which would be enough for two long drinks if I filled the glasses to the brim with ice. So I did.
Plus I found a third of a lemon on the refrigerator shelf that looked a little dried out, so I didn't cut it into slices and just squeezed the juice into the glasses. Holding the dish of cherries in one hand and both glasses in the other (by the bottoms, of course), I proceeded to the bedroom, where I was greeted with an amazed and delighted exclamation of "Uh-oh."
We set everything on the stool between the beds, having previously covered it with a napkin, and sat across from each other. The talk show on TV was still on, and I pointed out that it was a rerun, and I had seen it before.
We ate cherries, putting the pips in a saucer, which I brought a little later, realizing my mistake. From time to time we had a martini. I soon felt a pleasant lightness in my head and body from the effects of this marvelous drink.
Surprisingly, one drink was enough for me, perhaps because I knew that there was nothing else alcoholic in the house. As they say, leftovers are sweet. We finished our cherries, she finished her martini, and I drank mine long ago. The talk show was over, and we went into the auditorium.
"Oh, I think I'm drunk," she said on the way out.
We settled into the lounge - she sat on the couch and I sat in the chair next to the couch. We talked about something inconsequential. I took her hand and began to gently stroke and run my fingers over hers. She didn't disapprove, and I stroked her forearm, trying to feel the fine hairs on her slightly tanned skin with each touch.
"What's all this for?" - she asked, in a voice rather loud and firm, seeming slightly displeased, but leaving me with some hope nonetheless. Remembering our recent conversation in the same place a few days ago, I asked, "Why, can't you?" referring to the objective but fortunately fleeting circumstances of our previous encounter.
"No, I can already. But why?" she replied.
I sat down on my knees in front of the sofa, not losing contact with her hands for a second.
"But you promised!" she said, recalling my promise, made on the way here, that I wouldn't hit on her, at least not today (that was my wording), or ever (she insisted on that wording, to which I said, "I won't today, and then we'll see").
"What are we going to do?" - she asked. "I'm really drunk..." she continued after a short pause, stretching the last syllable.
"How am I going to go home like this? Can I lie down for a while, and you get off the couch and sit in the chair. Please."
"Okay, but I won't move away, I just want to caress you... I want to stroke your wonderful little tummy," I said as she stretched out on the couch.
- Why?
- I just want to stroke you...your little, round, sexy tummy. You know I'm a sucker for it!
- But you promised me today.
- Yes, I did! But I'm not going to do anything else, I just want to caress you. And I'm not going to have sex, because I promised you.
I lightly touched her lovely tummy, hidden under the light fabric of her summer pants.
- What if I want to afterward?
- You won't.
- What if I do?
- I don't know, but we won't have sex because I promised not to do it today. Let me stroke you, and then we'll see if you want to or not.....
- Okay, I'm in this state right now, do what you want with me, I don't care.
I continued caressing her tummy, saying:
- Don't you care? What if I unzip your zipper? I bet you have white panties. Yes, white with small colored patterns." and, a little brazenly, I pulled down the zipper of her pants.
- Yes, they're really white and colored. You don't have to look, it's not necessary. - she got up and sat down on the couch, belatedly protecting her belly with her hands, while my right hand, penetrating the gap in the zipper, slid nimbly down, touching a hidden secret. A secret from which I was now separated only by a layer of white cotton jersey.
- Don't, don't, don't..." At those words, she took my brave hand by the elbow and tried to get rid of it. But it didn't work. I flexibly but firmly insisted on what I wanted. I said that I would only look, just one eye, while undoing the button on her pants and getting my hand under her white panties with a pattern of small strawberries, further and further ....
After a minute or two of confrontation she declared: "That's it!....now I want it and you're going to have to satisfy me!" My goodness, my princess! That or so I thought, but said nothing.
I kissed her modestly on the cheek, then began to caress her small, firm breasts.
But then she said: "Let's take off your blouse, or it'll get wrinkled. You'll have to iron it later. And the pants too ..." She undressed, exposing her beautiful, slender, young body. I didn't recline the sofa, she just sat on its edge, and I knelt beside her.
I kissed her cheek again, her neck, then lightly, barely touching, kissed her soft, sweet, tender, sensual lips. I'm not good at kissing on the lips, at least when I tried it before, she said I didn't kiss the way she liked, or rather, not the way she was used to.
So, fleetingly picturing a kiss on the lips, I began kissing her breasts, her nipples - lightly sucking them in with my lips, or caressing them with circular movements of my tongue - gradually faster and harder, all the time counterclockwise, as if winding up a universal spiral of energy and feeling them become aroused, enlarged and hardened.
Then he passed his lips and the outer side of his palm over her tummy, groin, the inside of her thighs, then, finally, he touched her pubis, covered with a youthful black, not yet faded, "fur" of curly hair, shaved from the sides, as required by the form of the bikini swimsuit, and from this formed a long, fluffy, luxurious path. Running my fingers through it, I moved toward her pearly shell.
But then she asked softly, as if in a dream: "Press on my belly.
"Where?" I asked.
She took my hand in hers and showed me the place: "Right here.
I pressed lightly with the palm of my hand and the edge of my wrist.
"Harder! Like this... "
She breathed more often, then quite often.
"More! ... Right here, on the side... Harder!..."
I pressed. She moaned discreetly in pleasure. I pressed with both hands on her tummy, using one hand to increase the pressure of the other, as in indirect heart massage, and feeling the hard muscles of her abs, strong by nature and - I knew - trained by years of figure skating, flex slightly under my left wrist. I pressed so hard I was always afraid I'd hurt her.
Finally, she said "enough!" and asked: "Well, are you ready?!"
I was about seventy percent ready because I had been significantly distracted during the preceding procedure. "Okay, when, you're ready, you can start, but just inject it all at once, I like it better that way," she said. At these words I reached my final readiness and carefully put the rubber band on, squeezing out the air with two fingers and rolling it all the way in as the instructions required.
"I hope you won't mind very much if I use a 'condom'?" I asked somewhat belatedly. She didn't mind at all.
I fondled her clit with my fingers, which was quite large and hidden under a thick, dark pink skin fold. It grew larger with my touch, and the leathery fold became swollen, puffy, and darker in color, and looked like an elongated pouch. At the bottom, where it ended, a lovely pink bud opened up, eager to continue.
I even caught a glimpse of the traces of former virginity in its sweet, long ago juiced core. I had to act.
I came all the way in, just as she'd asked. Immediately I felt the walls of the tight and tender cave around me. My movements were smooth at first, as if slowed down.
"Kiss me on the lips. Please!" my beauty asked softly. I leaned over her and kissed her, sweetly awestruck by the sensation of the complete sexual fusion of our bodies. Finally breaking the kiss, I increased my pace slightly.
Still kneeling in front of the couch, I placed her slender, shapely legs on my shoulders for comfort and marveled at the fit: her hamstrings were exactly on my shoulders, and her thighs were pressed tightly against my chest-we were both made for this position.
I was moving pretty fast, and I was even sweating profusely (damn heat!), but she was asking me to "Harder, harder!"
At the same time she was outwardly quite passive, concentrating only on her sensations. Then I took her arms by her sides below her waist and began to shake her body up and down, up and down, imitating her counter-movements and not stopping my own.
Our sensations kind of doubled. From time to time I slowed down, giving myself a break.
Sweat was pouring from my forehead and I had to wipe it away with my crumpled shirt. Occasionally I paused a little to press down on her belly again at her request. Still kneeling at the edge of the couch, I tried turning her to her left side, then to her right. Then we would resume our original position.
At one point we talked about whether she would be able to cum tonight.
"Well, if not, then you'll have to shoot yourself," she joked. I remembered well the fiasco that had befallen us last fall, on September eighteenth, when we had first been intimate with her.
I had cum that time, not prematurely, like some kid, but at her request, and she, having almost reached the threshold of orgasm, had not experienced discharge. The discharge came a little later, in the form of tears in three streams and involuntary hysterics. I was as upset then as she was, I felt sorry for her and hurt that everything had happened like that. But today I was somehow sure that everything would be okay. I was doing another series of sharp, deep thrusts when the phone rang. It rang for a long time, and I must have paused a little, wondering who it was that was calling me.
"Well, what are you doing?" she said with a slight reproach, "Two or three more of these movements, and I would have cum...".
Without hesitation, I immediately resumed work at the same pace. And indeed, she tensed her whole body and on the third push she moaned and slightly arched her back, as if submitting to me towards me. Unmistakably catching this great moment, I came on her with all the force I was capable of. It was exactly as she had said-she really did have a wonderful and quite strong orgasm.
I always love it when a woman comes.
"That's it," she said a while later, opening her beautiful eyes, "you can cum now. I want you to cum."
"Okay, I'll try," I replied, for the "quick orgasm" point was far behind me, and I would now need extra effort to cum.
"Aren't you tired yet? Can I continue?" I asked.
"No, I'm not tired. And you go on, work, work!" she encouraged me, and I went on.....
Soon she experienced another, no less strong orgasm.
"I'm tired, do something to make me cum faster," she said.
"Okay!" I replied, and then I pulled out my tool and did the usual self-stimulation. She was still semi-reclining on the back of the couch.
Finally, I felt my orgasm inevitably approaching and, already starting to come, I slipped my tool into her warm little cavern. In about eighteen seconds it was over. I was about to leave, but she gestured me to stop. Stretching the pleasure, we stayed in sweet union for a while longer. Finally, my tool fell off, and I pulled it out, carefully holding the rubber band.
My joy lay on the couch, relaxed and resting. I, with her permission, quickly ran to the bathroom. Then it was her turn. I gave her a beautiful pink towel with white tulips on it. How lovely she is after all! Putting on her house slippers, my kitty slipped into the bathroom. When she reappeared, the terrycloth towel was wrapped around her supple waist and hips, and I swear to you, I was shocked - she was simply gorgeous in this impromptu outfit.
Then she lay back on the sofa, and I, having laid out the ironing board, began to iron the slightest creases out of her blouse. After ironing the blouse, I squatted down beside my little princess, stroking the terry towel over her firm tummy and thighs.
Then, fooling around, I crimped the towel with my hand over the shape of her pubes, using three fingers to make a little crease down below, between her legs, and, finishing the job, I said to her: "Well, look down here!".
She lifted herself up, leaning on her elbow, looked in surprise and seriousness at where I was pointing, and, suddenly bursting out laughing, playfully kicked me in the back with her thigh: "Poshlya-a-ak!..."
I was unspeakably happy. It was somehow easy and pleasant for us to be together after physical intimacy, as if an invisible thread stretched between us. I sat beside her, prolonging the bliss, and she didn't seem to be in any particular hurry to leave either. I caressed her, we talked about something. It went on like that for about half an hour.
"Oh!" she said suddenly, "I'd completely forgotten! Grandma asked me to buy bread! And the store must be closed by now."
"O'kay!" I said instead of the usual "okay," not out of illiteracy, but just parodying the accent of the inhabitants of the English county of Buckinghamshire.
(I spent a total of about two months in Bucks and learned a bit of their strange dialect. In general, being in England, I was "messing around" with their dialects - it was my "specialty" - all these "plais" instead of "pliz", "naim" instead of "neim", "the idea-r-is..." and other such nonsense - I'm not talking about intonation...).
"I'll run to the bread kiosk myself, while you lie down and rest. I'll be quick." And I set off for the bread.
On the way to the kiosk I saw a wedding. Imagine a sunny, clear summer day, Saturday: the bride and groom, and the guests - all went out for a breath and stood at the edge of one of the neighboring five-story buildings. The bride wore a white wedding dress, with her veil thrown back and a wreath on her head; the groom wore a strict dark suit.
I stared at them for a while, thinking that this was probably no accident, that this was some kind of sign, probably a good one. Yes, of course it's a good one! I also thought that when Her Boyfriend came back from the army, they would be really happy, and would soon have a wedding.
And I also thought that if I was so good with her now, how great it would be for her with him after a long separation, because they really loved each other, (and he was her First(!)) and I was just in love with her. And she... she's not even in love with me, just harbors some friendly feelings.
In fact, when I tell her about my other friends, she interrupts me every time.
"Are you jealous?" I ask hopefully and I hear back: "Jealous?... Mm, no... I'm sorry, it's just my stupid ego...".
I bought bread from the kiosk, as she asked, and a couple of very appetizing "May" buns - I just thought that the buns would be very useful. On the way back I was walking slightly uphill, and I couldn't help but look up at the sky. It was blue-blue, and a single, unusually huge, white cloud obscured almost a third of the sky to the northeast.
I took that as a good omen, too. Of course he'd come back to her, and they'd be fine. And she and I will be fine. It'll be a wonderful summer romance. And if there's no sequel, I'll still be satisfied with this fleeting adventure. I'm already happy with it.
I finally got home. She was already dressed and waiting for me. I opened the bag and showed her the bread and rolls. She was satisfied. In the hallway we talked about what to make of our adventure today, and whether it would continue. She said, with feigned severity, that I had broken my promise, and that I had gotten her drunk on purpose.
I replied that I was just happy that I had broken my promise, and that I had not gotten her drunk on purpose. And in general, if I showed impudence, I really ask you to forgive me. She joked that if I had been really insolent, that is, more persistent, it would have happened much sooner. I realized she was referring to last fall.
Or, also, the beginning of this spring. Then she said seriously that this was the last time. The second and last. Because now there's not much time left until He returns. Just any three or four months. She just wouldn't have time to forget everything and pretend it never happened.
And it could all come out. I didn't mind much, but in my heart I hoped for an interesting continuation. After such an intriguing beginning, there was almost bound to be a sequel.
I walked her home, to her driveway, then even to her door, and returned home on foot.
At home, after dinner, I went back to "debriefing" (I think it's called "debriefing" in English, at least that's the term used by American pilots). I recalled the previous day, other days of my life, our conversations with her (mostly on the phone), various episodes.
This is just the beginning, I said to myself, just a basic technique, or rather, a small piece of it, but what about the subtleties, embellishments and refinements of sex, and in general, what about the dynamics of our relationship, which had suddenly taken a new direction?
What about the nuances of new, soul-renewing experiences?! Having received a powerful positive stimulus today, I am determined not to give up.
I set out to make this, by necessity brief, affair rich and vibrant, full of joy and experience. I was ready to give her my whole soul, at least for these few months, and then ... who knows?
I was filled with the desire to make her happy!