Of Lovers & Picnicsbyconz©
At twenty-seven, I found myself living a dead end life, working a dead end job in a filling station my mother owned. While the work was next to nothing, my idea of finding a good man was not made any brighter by the fact that the store set on an old road, once used for a lot of interstate traffic until the four-lane went in. Most of the customers were the rough and tumble, good old boy types, fun to party with but, most certainly, nothing I would ever settle down with.
One night my mother, Betty, came home laughing about some guy from the north, Michigan I think, who always told her he was having an "adequate" day. That man always has a smile on his face and, oh, Lordy, he's got the nicest brown eyes I've ever seen."
I found it a bit strange as, my mother never talked about any customers very much, especially like that. I sucked on the end of the ink pen as I went over the receipts she had just brought in, wondering what kinda man could get my mother, a very married woman, to say such a thing. I shrugged the whole thing off and started entering the figures onto the spread sheet.
A couple weeks later I was tending to the early shift at the filling station, bored to death after the early rush hour of factory workers had disappeared till later that afternoon. I didn't pay any attention when some guy came in to pay for his gas, not even looking up as I read the amount from the inside meter.
"How are you today?" I asked, picking up the credit card.
"Adequate" was the reply as I felt a smile tug at my lips.
"So, you're the one my mom laughs about?" I said, sliding the card back to him as the machine made the transaction.
"Me?" He said with a smile.
My eyes caught his and I knew what she meant by his eyes. Deep, dark brown and looking as big a cow eyes, they seemed to be ready to cry and laugh at the same minute. I was shocked.
"Yeah, she thinks you're pretty neat."
He chuckled and shook his head. "You know, she makes me say that every time I come in here. Sorta has become a, ritual or something."
"She said you had pretty eyes," I said softly, looking deeper into them.
"Oh, she did she?"
I looked deeper into his eyes. "She was right to," I said, feeling his eyes and smile disarming me.
"They're just eyes," he replied, his face turning a little red.
"Well, maybe so, but you have any idea the eyes we see in here on a normal day? Bloodshot, bored, high and any number of states of boredom."
He smiled, moved to the pop cooler and took out a Mountain Dew, sat it and a dollar bill on the counter. "You may have something there," he said, popping the top as I made the change. "Maybe I'm wrong but, most people here seem to be waiting for something to happen. Know what I mean? Nice people and all, but they are just so sad in some ways."
For maybe the next hour, we talked back and forth, soon laughing and carrying on like old friends. I had figured he was here to work over at the nuclear power plant and would be gone soon but, to my surprise, he pointed out that he was working at a nearby resort, trying to find a place to "build a little cabin on a mountaintop and just sit up there away from it all".
At supper that night, my mother found it most interesting as to my reactions to the stranger, a man named Dave. She smiled down at her plate as I kept talking on and on about his dreams and, above all else, how smart he seemed.
"You know, Faye, he is old enough to be your dad, don't ya?" She asked, looking up and locking eyes with me.
"Right," I giggled. "Like my father would be maybe thirty-six or around there."
"He'll be forty-nine next month."
"So you're going to have a birthday next month?" I asked the next morning when he stopped to get his usual four packs of Viceroy cigarettes.
"No," he replied with a grin as he shook his head, "I gave up having birthdays a long time ago."
"You and the wife going to go out and party then?"
"No," he said with a deep laugh.
"Well, why not?"
"No wife," he replied, his eyes searching mine.
I took a deep breath, my mind whizzing as it came up with a bizarre plan. "What are you going to do?"
"Like to go on a picnic?" I blurted out before I could catch myself.
His eyes seemed to look past mine for a second but, in that second I read fear in his. "Okay. Guess it'd be fun," he said in a half-whispering. "Haven't been on one since I was a kid... And that was a long time ago." I felt his eyes dart from mine to my lips then down to my breasts and back to my eyes.
After I told my mother that night of what had gone on, she made sure I was the opening person. She made me sit down and make out a list of what we would take, then decided where I would take him. For the next month she seemed to hum a tune and smile every time she looked at me.
Dave and I became close friends over the next three weeks. He was the only person I had met who knew who Edgar Cayce was. He even knew all about some mad monk named Grigory Rasputin. I loved to hear him talk, it was like he was painting pictures with his words.
A few days before his birthday, Dave bought me a packet of papers, sheepishly asking me if I would like to read some of the stuff he wrote. To my utter amazement her wrote poetry just as he talked when he got deep into a subject. I sat in bed till after midnight and read his poems. The rest of the night I tossed and turned finally, about 3 AM I decided to stroke my clit.
Let me tell you right now, I am far from being a virgin, and I know how to please myself. My problem at this point was trying to find a slot into which to put Dave. I had fought the idea of bedding him for a long time, thinking there was something bad about our age difference. Yet, as I read from one poem to the next, I realized I wanted a lot more from him than mere friendship. Sure, I wanted to bed him but I wanted it to be so perfect. I knew I would end up back at his place the next night if he even hinted at it, and that scared me.
Mom had packed a picnic lunch big enough for five people, let alone two. She made sure there was a couple bottles of fine wine to take along, joking at me as to what a poet would be like.
I had picked a clearing way up on the top of a mountain that overlooked half the county. What was so very nice was that it was owned by my uncle and, because of that, no one would bother us.
Away from the world, Dave was very quiet, but his eyes didn't have any problem looking me over every time he could. God, it felt so good to just have a man look at me like that as I puttered around getting his birthday picnic ready.
It was late afternoon when we sat down on the old patch-work quilt I had brought. We sat and chuckled about all the food my mom had sent, than, after a few glasses of wine, I opened up.
"God, I love your poetry," I said softly, sliding up closer to him as we looked up at the clouds.
"Just words," he replied with a hint of humor on his words.
"Well, maybe so, but do you know what those kinda words do to a woman?"
I took a deep breath. "They make me want another glass of wine."
Another two glasses and I was ready. "Frankly, they make me want to hold you and kiss you."
His eyes never left whatever he was looking at in the sky. "I like that idea", he replied with his crooked grin.
I slid closer to him, looking deep into his eyes as I listened to my heartbeat. Next thing I knew our lips were touching. I pulled away, looked at him and put my lips back to his as his arm wrapped around my back, pulling me even closer.
That first kiss was an opener for us, for the next hour we laid and talked. His hand held mine, sometimes moving to stroke my hair of my cheeks. As the sun set in a blaze of glorious colors, we didn't make a move to end the day.
As the air got a slight chill to it, I moved back against him with my back. His lips kissed at my hair as his hand ran down the front of my thigh, his fingers playing along deeper between my thighs than anyone had in a very long time.
"Wantta pack it away and go someplace where we can be alone?" I asked, my eyes focused on the swaying tree tops at the far end of the clearing.
"We're not alone here?" He whispered, his hand sling up to just under my breast.
I had to giggle. I had never done anything like this outside but, as his hand slid up over my right breast I knew that was about to change.
"What are you thinking?" He whispered to me as his hand gently massage at my breast.
I felt him undo the top button of my blouse. "I think I like how you touch. You're not in a hurry."
Two more buttons opened up and his hand slid into my blouse, encasing my bra-clad right breast. "You'd be surprised how much I've wanted this."
Slowly he undress the top of me until I was laying on my back, my blouse off and my pink bra pushed up, exposing my small breasts to the chill of the night air. He slid off his tee shirt, pulled my naked breasts to his chest, one hand stroking the back of my head as the other ran over my butt. It felt so good to feel the warmth of another body against mine, even better to feel his hands taking time to just touch me as he took his time to build my passions step by step.
By the time he had fought his battle with the bra snaps- not at all helped along by my giggling- he rolled me on my back and kissed me so deeply as his hands played over my breasts, running up and down my stomach from time to time to taunt at the top of my pants.
From my lips he kissed to the right side of my neck then kissed up and down it as his fingertips took turns with my nipples. I felt like a little girl about to venture off for her first time. All I wanted to do was lay there and let him slowly strip my clothes off and take me. Yet, as his fingers moved over my exposed body, he was stirring up the passions of a woman, not a young girl.
I looked down at him as he bent down to take my shoes off. Next her took his all fired time pulling each sock off. By the time he undid the pants, I was moaning to him how much I wanted him.
Being naked, I expected him to be in me in an instant but, to my utter disbelief, he picked up my right foot, and kissed each toe then, as I gasped out loudly, he slipped my toes into his mouth, running his tongue deep between each toe as my hands slapped hard against the quilt.
"Not fair," I moaned out.
"Oh, sorry," he said, a smile almost hidden in the dim light of early night as he moved to my left foot and repeated the same actions.
My eyes stared up at the stars far above us as his lips and tongue played over my left toes and foot then, as I moaned deeply, he started kissing his way up one leg then the other. In total silence he was bringing me to my boiling point with the anticipation of what he was headed to do. Here I was a virgin for, no man had ever gone down on me and, as his lips moved forever closer, I felt cheated by everyone of those so-called "men" who had felt it was not right for a man to do such a thing, most often stated as they slid their member into my mouth.
My body melted to him as his tongue played freely in my wetness. As his tongue played over my clit he took hold of a part of my life that had been ever so empty till that night. I moaned out to the wind, my mind capturing every feeling my body was now having. I knew there was far more here than the acts of two bodies laying claim to each other. Here he had talked to me like no one had. Here he held me so very close with nothing more than his dark brown eyes.
Feeling his naked body against mine, I looked up into his eyes as he entered me. A million things were said in an instant of silence by eyes realizing there would be far more than just this after this night. Slowly he entered me, not once taking his eyes from mine. No one had ever allowed such a thing, let alone the demonically slow pace he set.
We made love that night, our lips and bodies making promises to each other. Tongue against tongue, man deep inside of his woman, there was no longer a world existing far below, only us and our acts of needing and wanting.
I wish I could say we had sex for hours and hours that night, it'd sure make for a much longer and much hotter story. The thing is: We did make love all that night, but the love we made were in words and the warmth of hands held by hands. Yet, as the sun showed signs of awakening, we did make wildly abandoned love again before leaving.
Dave and I spent all our time together after that. My uncle, when we announced our plans to marry, gave us, as a wedding present, the little clearing at the top of that mountain. Now our cabin sits way up there above the hustle and bustle of the world below. And, yes, we still make wild, abandoned love as we teach each other more and more about ourselves.
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