Hail To Whatever You Found

My sleepy complacency was broken when it occurred to me that perhaps I had been miming that act from so many years ago. Had he been standing, watching as I pleasured myself? His hands were coiled into fists in the pockets of his shorts. Between them, lay his hard cock, clearly defined. I resisted the urge to sniff my fingers.

Bruce stood there still. His cock was beautiful. It was about the same size as my husband's – perhaps a little shorter, perhaps a little thicker. From the impression, I could see that his shaft was almost perfectly round and the same diameter from root to head. Eighteen years old, this beautiful idiot, and surrounded every day by hard bodied girls in tiny clothes. He even had a girlfriend, and yet here he was, so aroused he was unable to move at the sight of my body.

I didn't say anything, and neither did he. We watched each other, him standing staring at the tight fabric covering my breasts and pussy, me propped on the sun chair transfixed by his youthful ardour. I think that my reaction was thoughtless in the true sense of that word – it was so inevitable that it did not require thought. Like Louise had so many years ago, but years with perhaps less effect than I had thought, I unhooked my top and let my breasts tumble out for an eighteen year old boy's pleasure. Bruce moaned, and the hands in his pockets began to grapple and tug roughly at his cock. I slipped my hands down the side of my legs and hooked the waistband of my bottoms. Before I could tug them down, Bruce grunted and spasmed and shiny silver fluid gushed through his shorts and spattered on the patio. I was ready to remove my bottoms when he rushed off, his face as purple as the butterfly bush flourishing behind me. I waited five minutes that felt like hours before going inside and bringing myself to orgasm.

"Let's fuck," I said, the instant George came through the door. I had been waiting, wearing my tightest black dress and no underwear.

"I'm sorry, Honey," he said, "but I've had a hell of a day. I'm exhausted."

After dinner, he went up to bed. Downstairs in the hall, I slipped out of my dress and climbed the stairs naked to him. Standing in front of him, I traced my body with my hands and he pretended to be asleep. I went downstairs and put on a film so that he wouldn't hear me crying.

When I went up again, he really was sleeping. His loud snores filled the bedroom like hornets. George wore only boxer shorts in bed, and slept on his back. I rolled the sheet off him and he groaned once, but did not awaken. More carefully, I slipped down his boxers and cupped his balls. I took his flaccid cock whole into my mouth and lapped at it with my tongue, enjoying the sensation as it swelled within me. When he was fully hard, I began to bob up and down. Still sleeping, he moaned and then my heart shattered as he whispered, "Oh, Cindy." At the base of my husband's cock was a lipstick smear in a shade of red I never wore, but which my husband's secretary did.

Feeling like a fool, I let my sleeping husband's dick flop out of my mouth and stayed sleepless in my marital bed for the rest of the night. In the morning, when I moved my pillow to make the bed, I found that it was soaking wet.

The next day, I lay on the patio and watched Bruce's house. I waited no more than ten minutes before I saw the curtains of one room twitch. Bruce watched me like a deer in a hunter's sights – unsure whether or not it has been seen, but certain that it is all over if it moves. I looked straight into his eyes and shed my bikini. My nipples were already hard, and my pussy was soaked in liquid heat. I began to cup my big breasts, and Bruce finally nodded, acknowledging our complicity. He came down to me.

He walked from the house naked, and his cock was fully hard. Ridiculously, he tried to cover it with his hands. His cock really was beautiful – the skin smooth and seemingly without veins and faintly brown. He stood over me, uncertain and I took control. I told him to lie on the sun chair and I mounted him. I cupped his shaft in one hand, and guided it to the lips of my cunt. I lowered myself onto him swiftly, and soon my pubic hair and his tangled together. I waited one moment, to let us get used to occupying each other's bodies, and for me to acclimatise to the rapture of being occupied again, then I began to thrust. Bruce came within three strokes. He sputtered and choked out clotted moans, and I felt his hot come filling my cunt.

"Was that your first time?" I asked.

He blushed and nodded and said, "I'm sorry."

I lifted his head and saw that he was crying. I kissed his tears. "You don't need to apologise," I told him. His cock, bathing in the juice of my cunt and his come, was hard again. "We can do it again, right now," I said.

This time, he was less passive. His hands grabbed roughly at my breasts and he pinched my nipples – hard. His nails raked my back. He mangled my smooth thrusts with ragged jerks as he tried desperately to fuck me as hard as he could. Again, when he came, I was nowhere near orgasm. I still felt fucking great.

He lay next to me, the two of us utterly unashamed of our nudity and the fluids smeared over our bodies. We chatted about nothing until late afternoon, when we both went to our separate homes to clean up. I slept like a baby and woke late in the day. I skipped my usual breakfast and went outside feeling like a teenager sneaking out of her parents' house. Bruce was pacing on the patio.

"I thought you weren't going to come," he said, then looked embarrassed at his choice of words.

"Why would you think that?"

"I didn't…pleaseyou yesterday, did I?"

I could see the answer he was hoping to get, but in the long run he would be happier if I didn't lie to him.

"No," I said, "I didn't come. But that doesn't mean I didn't enjoy what we did very, very much."

He was hard again, staring hungrily at my pussy, as if he could see through my clothes.

"You have a nice body, and a nice cock," I told him, "but fucking isn't about going as hard and fast as you can. Let me teach you."

I took him into the house and led him up to my bedroom.

"Are you sure this is okay?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "My husband is away at a conference."

I stripped off my clothes and lay on the bed. Bruce undressed too, his cock still fully hard.

"Lie next to me," I told him.

I took hold of his hand and placed it lightly on my pussy. Then I reached out and nipped the tip of his cock hard.

"Ouch. Jesus," Bruce shouted.

"Oh, you didn't like that?" I asked.

"No."

"Well, my pussy is at least as sensitive as your cock – my clitoris anyway. So always gently."

I guided his fingers to my clit and he stroked me – very gently. I moaned. I showed him how to find my g-spot, and told him how to use his lips and tongue on me. He began well, licking slow sensuous strokes and coating every centimetre of my cunt in saliva but his sexual immaturity was still too great for him to take his time. In time, his anxiousness would no longer overwhelm him and he would hopefully become, for some woman who wasn't me, a good lover. Out of kindness, I faked an orgasm, screaming his name and moaning like a porn star.

I took him into my mouth and bathed the head of his cock with my tongue. I bobbed up and down on him using my tongue to tease and probe as I fucked him with my mouth. He tasted of semen, and I considered telling him he had to wash his cock too when he showered. I decided that would be a little too maternal. When he came, I swallowed it with relish, then immediately arranged us so that he was entering me from behind. His hands caressed my breasts with exquisite care and I commanded the rhythm of his strokes into me as if I were the coxswain on a rowing team. We were in that position when George walked in.

He stood for a full minute not saying anything, just watching his wife and the eighteen year old whose cock was buried inside her. His face was scarlet, and his knuckles were clenched and white. "You fucking bitch," he said and turned to walk away.

"Give your best to Cindy – it won't be the first time," I shouted after him. He paused, and the muscles in his shoulders hitched. Then he kept walking.

Bruce's cock was still rock hard and buried within me. "Keep fucking me, Bruce," I told him. He complied, and his hands renewed their slow pleasuring of my nipples and his cock fucked me smoothly without my metronome directions. Of his own accord, one of his hands left my breasts to tease my cunt as he fucked me, and he was as careful and gentle as I could have wished. This time, when I gasped out his name, I wasn't faking it.

After we had had time to cool down, George and I had as amicable a divorce as it is possible to have. We divided everything fifty-fifty, and I gave him the house. I said goodbye to Bruce on a cold autumn morning. We met on a bench in the park, and auburn leaves swirled lazily past our heads and collected at our feet as we talked.

"It wasn't your fault, Bruce. It wasn't even about you."

He looked confused.

"I took your virginity," I said, "but you gave me back my youth. You don't understand what I'm talking about, I'm sure. But don't worry about it." I laughed. "Just remember what I taught you when your girlfriend decides to give it up, okay?"

Shortly after, he got up to leave.

George married Cindy and they divorced less than a year later. I moved to another town, far away, where I managed a food co-operative.

I met my next and last husband when a car tyre popped on a beer bottle casually discarded on a seldom-used roadway. His saloon plunged into mine with an almost sexual delight, and airbags exploded in his face and mine, coating us with a thick layer of white powder that made us look like clowns. We exchanged numbers for insurance as we waited for the police and ambulance that the emergency operator had dispatched. True love waits, even in the shattered wreckage of our modern lives.