Memories of Harry Ch. 04

A couple of weeks went by and Harry and I got to know the more mundane and ordinary things about each other. Who cooked when, what we each didn't like to eat. Which chores around the house we didn't mind doing or hated. I mean, who likes housework, right?

Harry said I could quit my job because his investment income, pension and social security were more than enough. I refused right off. I was already conceding something when I moved into his house. I wanted the independence of having my own money to do whatever. That was the first day after I took up residence. At the end of the week Harry told me he was pleased I wanted to keep working. Even if it meant we had less time together. "I like independent women of independent means, who know their own minds," he smiled.

We had sex. Of course we did. Several times that first two weeks. Some of Harry's friends probably though we were screwing like rabbits all the time. Wasn't the case. Some people apparently assumed we weren't screwing at all, except the rare occasion I'd presumably give "old Harry" a mercy fuck.

One of my co-workers at the bookstore cornered me on the second Wednesday and said, "So what's it like, screwing an old guy like that?" "What makes you think we're screwing?" I grinned at her. Georgia and I had had some high times when we were seniors together in high school. Now she was married to Al, a nice guy, except he always flirted with me. A couple of times at parties at their house, Al came on to me a little strong, I thought. I'd asked Georgia about him. Was he just fooling around? Yes and no she told me with a strange look in her eyes. "I mean he flirts with all the girls. But sometimes he's serious too." Did that mean he was a serious flirt? Later I thought I'd found out what she was referring to.

Georgia raised one eyebrow. "Are you kidding? You've got to be screwing him. I know you, that's why I think so. Of course you're screwing him. I just wanna know how often and what it's like. Details, girl, details. C'mon give. Tell me details."

"Georgia, are you telling me about your orgies and gangbangs? What I hear about you doing on the weekends? Of course not. And I'm not kissing and telling either. We have a pretty ordinary life together. So far." I winked and went back to shelving another box of romance paperbacks. I'd heard the rumors about Georgia and Al and what went on at some of their weekend parties. They'd been married a year or so by then. She never admitted anything.. But they didn't deny the rumors either. Georgia would just smile whenever the subject came up.

That evening Harry and I were just hanging out, having a beer, reading, one eye on the TV. "Do you know Al Martin?" Harry asked.

"Sure. His wife works with me at the bookstore." I waited but Harry didn't say anything else. I forgot about it. Later in bed, just snuggling under the sheet, Harry raised another question. "Have you ever watched any porn?"

"Yes," I admitted. "I don't make a habit of it. A lot of it is crap. Poorly done and fakey." Do you? Watch porn?"

"Sometimes. More after my wife died. You're right, a lot of it crap as you so elegantly put it. But within the crap are sometimes nuggets of useful information."

"I guess I never thought of it that way," I muttered. As I said we were in bed at the time and also naked. It hadn't taken but a little persuasion to convince Harry that he could go to bed in the nude. He recognized the good side effects right off. Harry was no dummy. Just unlearned in some areas of life. Aren't we all?

"Sure. For example, I was pretty far along in life before I discovered what's called anal intercourse."

"No kidding," I said. "How was it?" I'd had a couple of experiences with it. It'd been okay, but it was mostly just uncomfortable. I suspected that was because my partner at the time didn't know much either.

"I don't know. I've never done it. Or had it for that matter." Harry chuckled and tweaked my nipple with his fingers. He knew I liked that as long as it wasn't done too violently. I raised up until my nips just brushed across his chest. It was something that really could turn me on. I squirmed and did the chest/breast thing again. Harry grinned.

"You starting something?" I felt him slide one hand up along my flank and over my butt and up my back. I shivered. This guy gave the best body caresses, the best massage strokes. He just somehow knew exactly how much pressure to apply. Harry tipped up his head and kissed my nose. "Here's the thing," he went on. "I have a whole lot of theoretical knowledge about any number of things."

"You mean like sex," I said

"Sex. Yes, and other things, but lets talk about sex. Before I die I would like to explore a lot of the different ways we as humans can interact and connect."

I smirked at him. "You mean you want to have a lot of out-of-normal, unusual and even kinky sex? Boinking, fucking, sucking and like that. Right? Stripping, public antics, maybe? Shall we make a list? You want to do some wienie wagging? Frottage? Cunnilingus? Fellatio? Or analingus?" I stopped blabbing and giggled at the expression on his face. Harry knew all the right words, of course. He probably knew more slang expressions than I did. But sometimes he didn't like to hear them from me, except in certain circumstances. Like when we about to explode in a mutual come. Maybe you notice in this memoir I don't use the popular cum for the big O.

I never liked spelling it that way for some reason. Just one of my personal quirks, I guess. Like liking the smell of sex. I have a sensitive nose, I'm told. I can sometimes tell you what kind of whiskey you've just been drinking from your breath. I love the smell of people's sexual parts. I learned that from a guy I once dated. Very early in our relationship he caught me in the bathroom after a shower. I was using some fragrance on my pussy. I don't even remember what it was. I'd always put a little perfume on me, even before I started shaving.

The guy got really upset. We were just about to go to bed, but he hauled me into the tub and ran water over me. He scrubbed my crotch with soap and water, all the while muttering that he didn't ever want to smell some manufactured odor when he ate me, he wanted to smell me, the sexual part of me. Even if I hadn't washed all day, or if I was sweaty in the summer. When he ate me out he wanted me in his nose, not eau d' whatever.

Well, how could I object? Besides, by that time he had a raging boner and I was almost over the top. We screwed each other right there in the tub. It was great. My name is Alice and I don't use perfumes. Anyway, back to this conversation with Harry. He allowed as how that if I was willing, we'd explore some of the things he'd read about and learned by watching porn films and videos. But only, he said, if I was not only willing but interested. He got real serious then and made sure I understood that this was going to be a joint journey. If I copped his joint in some public place, for example, not that he was suggesting it. (yeah, right) But if I was to do that, it had to be a cooperative venture.

"Harry, my boy," I smirked. "There will be no half-way measures in this relationship. Whatever we do, we do together."

"Shall I make a list?" he asked.

Now, I'm sure some of you reading this memoir are starting to drool over the possibility of a list which would inevitably lead to succeeding adventures, right? Where's the fun in that? You'll just have to do what Harry and I did. Make up a list as we all go along. Let's see what kind of fun consenting adults can dream up! Some limits. No deliberate pain. Yes, I know some people who are very much into BDSM. That's okay for them. I'm not gonna judge people who willingly do certain things. But I don't have to do it ifen I doan wanna.

So anyway, after Harry and I agreed to some basic ground rules, he said, "I have these friends. Well, acquaintances, really. George and Carole Anderson. They're both on the college faculty and that's the main reason we have to be discreet."

"Uh huh. Discreet is my middle name." Harry was lightly pinching my nipples now so I returned the favor, only I was playing with his balls.

"They've invited us to a party tomorrow night at their place." His lips and tongue traced circles on my chest, just below my boobs.

I slid a finger down below his nut sack and reached the puckered opening to his anus. He grunted when I pushed on it. Ass play wasn't in his bag of tricks, yet, remember?. "So is this a sex orgy, or what?"

He grunted again and his butt cheeks flexed. I realized he was closer to coming than I'd thought. "Up!" I commanded and pushed up on one hip. He sort of rolled away from me which gave me access to his woody. I leaned over and just as I opened my mouth to descend on the tip of his prick, he came with a jerk of his hips. He shot his semen into my mouth and I clamped down, wrapping fingers on his penis and grabbing a butt cheek with the other hand. He groaned and gave me another smaller blast, and began to subside. I inhaled the sweet smell of his sex. Grand!

"Sorry, sweetie," he said. "I usually last longer than that."

"Harry, look at me," I said. "Do you see a frown? Am I pouting?. Believe me, this look is happiness, bliss."

"Damn, woman," he whispered. "What did I ever do to deserve you?" We kissed, open-mouthed, tongues playing, breath intermingling, murmuring passionately to each other. Then we fell asleep.