Hungry for Her Touch

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Jane brings him out of his doldrums.
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I had a rough time, when my marriage dried up and died. I tried to do divorce right, and got counseling. I spewed and cried, and then I mourned. I sorted out what I was angry about, and what I missed, and how I'd contributed to our breakup. Eventually I felt some resolution and started to look forward, tentatively.

Dating was awkward. I tried sporadically, but nothing went well. Every time, after a date or two, one or both of us would lose interest. Nothing clicked. The one time I went to bed with a woman, I couldn't get it up. I tried to think of this as a sign that we really didn't belong together. I'd learned about that in the last years of my marriage. That's probably all it meant. But still, I started to worry, and not just about my plumbing. Would I ever really be with a woman again?

Then I met Jane, and my frown began to melt. It was at a block party she'd organized. She owned a house just down the street from my apartment. We played volleyball, had a beer, and talked. Jane was animated and friendly, and easy to talk with. A few days later, she asked me out to a movie. I was attracted to Jane, and I liked her direct approach. Soon we were seeing each other several times a week. Very low-key, just coffee or tennis, that sort of thing.

Jane's interest in me really boosted my spirits. I became eager to make a good impression. When she mentioned, just in passing, that she hated mowing her lawn, I did it for her. She thanked me, but seemed a bit uncomfortable, like I'd intruded. So I didn't mow her lawn again. I didn't want to go too far, too fast, and scare her off. I do think she was touched at my effort. I wanted very much to find out what Jane would accept from me, how I could get close to her.

As I got to know Jane, she made two things clear. First, she was attracted to me. Second, she didn't know if she wanted to have sex with me, or not. She was involved in a long-distance relationship, which she told me about in great detail. He was great in bed, but really full of himself, which could be pretty annoying. Oh, and he had a big deal career, and made about five times what I did. This was an issue for Jane. She owned her own business, doing market research. I'm sure she made a good deal more than I did, too. She asked my income, and when I told her, she seemed distinctly unimpressed. As she put it, I had "lousy demographics." But that didn't keep her from flirting with me, and getting physical, in her own way. Jane liked to rub my cock, through my pants, and get me hard. She did this idly, while we talked about what movie to go to, or she told me about her latest business trip. I squirmed and got all moony, and Jane liked that, too. Once she got me hard, I didn't care what movie we went to, or that she was fucking another guy, or even that she could be such a jerk.

The petting was all one-way. Once, I put my hand on her leg, just her leg, for crying out loud. She immediately removed it, backing me off with an intense look. I didn't do it again.

Jane liked to get me bare, too. She would run her fingertips, or just her long nails, lightly over my shaft. She got me harder, with less effort, than any other woman, ever. She'd give my swollen cockhead a little squeeze, coo appreciatively, then go back to telling me about how she'd charmed some client, or about her remodeling project. I didn't have much to say, but I tried to be a good listener.

I loved Jane's attention to my cock. She told me it was large, and that she really liked my erection. And I was glad to have erections again, so easily. I became a real slut for Jane, always quick to whip it out, or drop my pants, or strip, whatever she wanted. When she patted the cushion, I sat beside her on the couch. When she pushed gently on my inner thigh, I spread wide for her. When she held her hand out, palm up, and gave me a mischievous look, I stood in front of her, and placed my genitals in her hand. Jane teased me about how easy I was. I didn't care. She was having fun, and I was glad for that. I just gave her puppy eyes, and presented myself to her, swelling even before she touched me. Eventually, I got an erection just from being with her.

Sometimes we kissed while she played with me. Jane let me know that how a man kissed was very important to her. So I really threw myself into it, in an effort to please her, and persuade her to have sex with me. Jane enjoyed my attentions. During one hot make-out session, she told me I was a good kisser. Pulse racing, I pressed forward. I pulled Jane's blouse out from her skirt, reached around, and undid her bra. Jane pulled back, and gave me a cold, distant look. Even before she spoke, I realized I'd crossed a line. All Jane said was, "Don't do that again." Then she stood up, fixed her clothes, and walked out, looking ready for her next business meeting. She left me naked and erect. And forlorn.

Sometimes I got frustrated, even angry, with Jane. But she didn't want to hear about it, and withdrew. So I learned to let it go. Being teased was a whole lot better than being ignored. Jane was magic for me, and I needed her.

Jane never got me off. Sometimes she'd toy with me when I went to pick her up, then have me put it away, so we could go out. Or she'd invite me in after a date, for a glass of wine. We'd sit on her couch and talk, while she had her way with me. I was obviously ready for the sex that might have followed, in a more conventional relationship. But when Jane decided it was bedtime, she sent me home.

Once, after an extended tease at my apartment, Jane kissed me goodnight, ever so lightly, on the tip of my cock. Then she touched my cheek, gave me a sweet smile, and left. I listened to her go down the stairs. When I heard her leave my building, I crept out to my porch and knelt by the window. I watched Jane walk down the sidewalk toward her house. I could see her buttocks flexing with every step. Back and forth, full and firm, just for me. Then I saw her nude, in my bed, raising her ass to me. I felt her sex, all wet. I rubbed the tip of my cock along her slit. She spread her legs wider and pushed back at me, trying to take me in. I placed my cock along her pussy, and let her feel my heat.

I pushed just slightly, gliding easily towards her clit. Jane started to whimper. I repositioned and let her have it, full depth in a single stroke. I fucked her slowly, pulling her hips, then pushing her away. I teased her with my cock, going slow and shallow, then hard and deep, over and over. I pulled out suddenly, and Jane gasped. I played with her breasts and pinched her nipples, and she begged me to fuck her again. I fingered her clit while I pressed my thumb against her asshole. She moaned and begged incoherently, and I pressed harder. I let go and made her wait, panting. Then I plunged back in, and built a steady rhythm. Soon Jane was vocalizing in time with my thrusts. Wordless, primitive sounds, from a time before demographics. I pumped faster, and her grunts turned to shrieks. When I felt my orgasm start I stopped bucking, and pulled her tight against me. Jane screamed as I came.

I watched my cum spurt to the porch wall and the floor, and on my hand. I slumped to the floor, dizzy. I thought of Jane, home by now, and wondered if her fingers were wet.

Day by day, I built a fantasy sex life with Jane. She was always available and eager. We screwed with abandon, and sucked and groped our way to countless orgasms. It was wild and unbridled, and never enough.

On the surface, our relationship more resembled a slow, tepid courtship. We didn't go dancing or out to fancy restaurants, or buy each other gifts. We talked a lot. Although Jane kept me at arm's length, she was quite open with her thoughts. She let me know she thought a lot about having sex with me, and that she was sure I'd be good in bed. I had such a nice penis (squeeze), and was so devoted. She was definitely tempted. But she had doubts, too. I just didn't seem right for her long-term, and she didn't know if she wanted a fling. Jane told me that sometimes she felt bad about how our relationship was, well, one-sided.

"Do you mind?" I insisted I was happy just to be with her.

"Oh? Does that mean you don't want to have sex with me?" This while she stroked me to the brink. She was playing with my mind, what was left of it. I struggled to think, let alone speak. Before I could come, Jane released her grip.

"Well?" she insisted.

"Uh, no, I do, want to, have sex, with you." I thrust my hips obscenely, chasing after her hand, but she kept out of reach. I imagined what we must look like--me the picture of lust, while she sat rather primly. I wondered if I'd gone too far. "If you want to, that is."

"Really, only if I want to?" She laughed. "I don't believe you!" I blushed. Jane changed the subject, and I sat back down. My cock slowly bobbed down, untouched.

Sometimes Jane told me about her lover. I heard how they'd spent the entire weekend in bed, and fucked in six different positions. I heard that he'd sucked her toes, and that it was wonderful. "Have you ever had your toes sucked?"

"No."

"Oooh, too bad. You should try it sometime. It's heaven." This while she pressed her bare foot into my cock, and gripped at me with her toes, and smiled.

"Do you mind hearing about him?" She brought her other foot up to my balls. I watched Jane's legs flex as she worked on me. She moved slowly, with great control. She had magic in her toes, too.

"Not while you're touching me." She laughed, then turned serious.

"Do you want to keep seeing me, even if I can't make up my mind about having sex with you?"

I pushed back at her feet. "Yes, I do." I tried to position her legs so I could see up her shorts. "I want to see you, Jane." I caught a glimpse of panty, and stared. "Very much." I wanted to see Jane in just her panties. How small? Were they wet? I could get her wet, touching her there. Just a finger, or my lips...

Jane caught me peeking. She raised a finger in warning, and said, "Now pay attention. Up here." She pointed at her eyes, and I met her gaze. But my mind was still at her pussy.

"Now, since we might have sex..." I wanted to taste her, and feel her come in my face. I wanted her to squeeze my head between her legs with all her might.

"...or might not..." I begged with my eyes.

"...how do you see our relationship developing?" Jane cupped my shaft between her arches. I fucked her feet, slowly at first. I imagined her naked, spread wide, and pulling me in, insistently, for pounding, sweaty sex.

"I'll do whatever you want, Jane." I wanted to pin her arms, and watch her writhe.

"I'll be your lover." I listened for her moans, as I thrust deeper.

"Or I'll be ..." I pumped harder, faster.

"... your husband." I saw her orgasm and mine, sperm penetrating egg. Progeny, on for generations, populating the world.

Jane's voice pierced my dream. "Those both involve sex, don't they? What if we don't ever have sex?" She arched an eyebrow, and pulled her feet away. I lurched forward, unbalanced.

"Then I'll be your slave, Jane, or your friend. Anything you want. I can be a good friend."

"Hmm, I'll have to think about that." She looked me up and down, and I realized that she was taking my sputtered offers seriously. I'd never felt more exposed. What if she wanted it all? What would this clever, grasping woman ask of me? I stood motionless, like a puppet waiting for a tug on my strings.

Jane was easy on me. "For now, would you be a good boy, and give me a foot rub?"

I dutifully oiled my hands, and then her feet. Her soles were still warm, where I'd been. I poured my desire through my hands and into her feet. I took her toes one by one, and worked them gently between my fingers. I imagined sucking on her toes, and then her clit, sending her to heaven. Jane closed her eyes and smiled.

Day and night, I couldn't stop thinking about Jane. It seemed my cock was always stirring, at least half-hard. Before I met Jane, I couldn't get it up. Now my penis had a life of its own, and hardly went down. Sometimes when I masturbated I stayed hard after coming, hard for Jane, yearning. Jane had created a monster, or turned me into one, or was one herself, I didn't know.

Late one night as I slept fitfully, Jane called. Her voice was low and urgent, like I'd never heard her before. "I'm in bed. I want you." Sure that this was it, I sprung out of bed. I threw on a few clothes, and scurried over to her house. She called me in, and into her bedroom. I stripped and got in bed with her. We kissed enthusiastically, and she placed my hand on her breast. I caressed her through her thin nightgown, and felt her nipple, already stiffening. I kissed my way down her neck, and to her breast. I pulled her nightgown aside, and kissed and licked one nipple, while I rolled the other between my fingers. Jane ran her fingers in my hair, and called my name. And then...

And then, Jane changed her mind. She pulled my head up, to face her. She said she wasn't sure she wanted to go through with it, after all. She apologized. For the first time, she seemed unsure of herself. I insisted it was all right, and suggested we wait a while. I just wouldn't give up. But Jane turned away from me. I lay apart from her, throbbing, and tried to calm my breathing. I decided to lie there all night, if that's what it took for Jane to get comfortable. But after a few minutes, she asked me to leave. I got out of bed and lay on the floor, exposed and available, like always. I offered to sleep there, in case she changed her mind. But Jane turned her head and waved me away, still hard.

That was the last time Jane touched me. I hung around for a while, and tried to be a friend. A few weeks later, she told me she'd broken up with her lover, and it spurred my hopes. I didn't know that we were done, didn't want to know. Long after, if she had called and asked, I would have been at her door in a minute, hungry for her touch.

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