Renee Ch. 02

But Renee just smiled, let him get up. She even gave his dick a little extra squeeze for good measure.

He went to the phone, picked it up as his mom was still leaving one of her trademark rambling voice mails.

"Hi, Mom," he said, cutting off her monologue.

"About time," she answered. "What were you doing, Kyle? Not watching one of those filthy movies I always tell you not to rent, were you?"

He almost laughed, but managed to hold it in. "Uh, no, no, Mom. Nothing like that." Suddenly he felt a kiss on his cock-head. He looked down. Renee was kneeling in front of him, stripped down to her bra and panties—God, she was quick!—taking his dick into her mouth again. He gaped down at her. She pulled her mouth off his penis, smiled up at him, then went back to sucking him.

"Have you met any nice girls yet, Kyle?" his mom asked him from a thousand miles away, while the blonde head before him bobbed and weaved over his dick. He put his hand on the counter, supporting his weight. His legs were getting wobbly. It felt so good. It was almost unreal, the sensation of her lips on him . . .

"Uh . . . yes, Mom, I have." And then he sighed, softly.

"Well, that's nice, Kyle! Why didn't you tell us? Is she decent? She isn't the kind of girl who wants to kiss on a first date or anything, is she?" Good old Mom. So old-fashioned. If she only knew. "You just need to watch yourself, Kyle. You know how naïve you can be. Just make sure you pick someone who appreciates you for you, and not just some tramp who wants to, well, you know . . ."

She was increasing the tempo on his dick, and he buckled at the knees. He couldn't take much more of this, or else he'd blow his load again, and here they hadn't even made love yet! How many times could he cum in one night before the well went dry?

"Okay, Mom," he said to something she said, he wasn't sure what. He was only half-listening now. "Listen, Mom, I'm sorry to cut this so short, but I really have to go. I have, uh, something cooking on the stove, and it's, er, almost done."

A silence, for a moment. Then: "Are you sure you're eating well, Kyle?"

"Yes, Mom, I'm sure." Renee suddenly increased the pressure of her sucking, nearly biting him now, and her slurping noises filled the room. He wondered if his mom could hear them, clear across the phone line. He also wondered if she could hear the soft moans that were starting to spring forth, uncontrollable, from his lips.

"Well, all right, I won't hold you up, Kyle. You probably have a date with that nice girl you just met, and are too shy to tell me," she added with a giggle. He giggled back, as Renee continued to suck him.

"Okay, Mom, talk to you soon," he said, and hung up. Then he moaned loudly. He'd been bottling that up during the entire phone call. It felt good to finally let it out.

She stopped sucking him, gave him a lick, then stood up. Just in time. If she had continued, even for just a few more seconds, he was sure he'd have cum.

"So, am I naughty enough for you?" she asked him, putting her arms around his neck. He still couldn't believe this was happening. She had been transformed from a conflicted woman back at the library into a sex-crazed dynamo. Carpe diem, indeed. He wished the clock would stand still, that this night, this moment, could be crystallized in time. Did it really have to come to an end?

But he caught himself. Why think of endings? They'd only just begun . . .

She kissed him, but he broke the kiss. He wanted her, now. He pulled out of her embrace, took her by the hand, led her into his small bedroom, with the window that overlooked the river, flowing below them, silently, in the November dark.

He hopped onto the bed, expecting her to join him. But she took off her glasses and just stood there, several feet away, bathed in the trickle of light streaming in from the kitchen, a confused expression on her face.

"'Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo?'" she said, doing her best damsel-in-distress impersonation. She groped at the air, pretending not to see.

He laughed. She was so cute, so damn cute. Why couldn't all women quote Shakespeare like that?

"Here. Here!" he said. "Fair Juliet. Thou dost shine like the sun, come hither, to me. 'For ne'er saw I true beauty till this night.'"

"Mmm, Act 1, Scene 5, one of my favorite lines in all of Shakespeare," she said.

"How'd you know that?" he said. "The other night you told me you hadn't had a chance to read Shakespeare in years. And now you're giving me chapter and verse!"

She laughed. It was beautiful to hear. It sounded free, unencumbered by guilt, unfettered. "Well, I cheated," she said. "Remember, I took out 'The Complete Works of Shakespeare' from the library the other night. I did a little reading last night, happened to come across the line you just quoted."

"Blimey!" he said, and she laughed again.

Then her expression changed, and a wild look came to her eyes. She went to the night stand beside his bed, placed her glasses on top of it, then reached behind her, unclasped her bra. It fell to the floor in a heap, and his mouth gaped open. Even in the half-light of the gloomy room, he saw that her soft, full breasts looked even lovelier than he remembered. But before he could fully drink in the sight, she wiggled out of her panties, and now his gaze dropped a few inches. Finally, she took off her necklace with the heart-shaped locket, placing it on the night stand beside her glasses. Completely naked now, save for her diamond ring and wedding band . . .

She came to him, curled up beside him on the bed. Immediately he reached down, caressing her fully shaved mound. It was so smooth, so soft, just like the rest of her. He flicked on his lamp, beside his bed, careful not to brush his forearm against her glasses and send them toppling to the floor. The light was muted, dimmed by the dark-brown shade. But it was light enough to see how beautiful she was, to appreciate how fair her skin was, how long and lustrous her hair.

They kissed again, as he rubbed her clit and she reached down to stroke his penis. His dick felt like it was on overload. It had received more stimulation in this one night than it had in all the years previous—well, not including self-play, anyway. And he knew he'd masturbate to memories of tonight over and over in the days to come. But there he went again, thinking of tomorrow. He reminded himself to think only of tonight, this moment. Nothing else.

She rolled onto her back, moaning, and he climbed on top of her, straddling her, looking down at her nakedness, at her hair, which fanned out on the pillow like streams of sunshine, turned into solid, silken, golden strands through the magic of some special alchemy.

"You are so perfectly beautiful, Renee," he said, and kissed her. His kissed lingered, softly, softly . . .

She wrapped her arms around him, and he positioned himself just so, as they continued to kiss. He wasted little time entering her, and she gasped into his mouth, and he felt her fingernails dig into his back, he felt the pressure of her embrace intensify, her body tense, and then relax, melting in his arms.

They kissed as he made love to her. He went soft and slow, prolonging the pleasure. He felt like he'd cum several times, but he managed to hold back the floodtide. In and out of her he moved, the wet embrace of her vaginal walls a moist glove around his penis. Her moans grew louder, the bucking of her hips grew faster. He knew it was time to pick up the tempo.

He broke their kiss, looked at her. She smiled at him, then moaned as he began to thrust faster. He propped himself up on his elbows, leaned in, took her left nipple in his mouth, sucking it, licking it, and she thrashed her head from side to side. Her moans were the sweetest sounds he'd ever heard, her gasps of pleasure music to his ears.

"Ohhhh," she moaned, as he banged away. Sweat had formed on her forehead, and her bangs were sticking. He licked a drop of perspiration from her breast. He felt his own body heating up, too, and a drop of sweat fell from his forehead, onto her neck.

He was getting close now, so close. He went faster, faster, faster, hoping she would cum first, not wanting to disappoint her.

She did. She let out a scream, and he felt her juices drench his penis as he pistoned, in and out, in and out. Her fingernails dug so hard into his back when she came, he wondered if perhaps she had drawn blood. And then, the next thing he knew, he was cumming, too, a torrent of ecstasy rushing through him and into her. His whole body shook, and he roared as he came, holding her so tight, so tight, in his arms.

They rolled over onto their sides, still holding each other, his softening penis still inside of her, still joined. He clung to her, pulled her even closer. An inch of separation between their bodies was too much, a millimeter too vast.

He caressed her back, kissed her hair, her lips, her ear. And somehow managed to hold her even closer.

She blew the bangs out of her eyes, or tried to. Some of them still stuck to her forehead, and wouldn't budge. She laughed.

"I must look like such a mess," she said.

"You look perfect," he said. Suddenly he felt almost like crying. Their lovemaking had been almost too good, too beautiful. Was it possible that something could be so rare, so precious, that it hurt? He'd heard of such sentiments before, read about them, but had never experienced them—until now.

"What's wrong?" she asked. The look of concern, of compassion, on her face was too much. He had to glance away, or else the tears, which threatened, might really come.

He felt her arms tighten around him, her lips brush against his neck. The feel of her breasts, as they squished against his chest, was heaven, pure heaven.

He swallowed, looked at her. "It's just . . . this was . . . this is . . . the best night of my life. I guess I don't want it to end."

Her lips moved, the beginnings of a smile. There was such tenderness in her eyes. "I told you the last time I was here that I can barely see without my glasses," she said. "But I'm close enough to you right now to see everything I need to. You're really the sweetest guy I ever met, Kyle." She kissed him, squeezed him in her arms.

"Why do you have to go back to him?" he blurted out, pulling away, sitting up against the headboard. He felt like an ass, bringing this up, now of all moments. The sweetest guy she'd ever met? Yeah, he was some sweetheart, all right. "If he doesn't treat you right . . ."

She sat up, too, slid in beside him. "Please, Kyle. We've already talked about this. I knew this wasn't fair to you. That all I could give you was tonight. I'm sorry. Maybe this was a mistake."

Maybe it was. There was so much torture. Every minute that passed was a minute closer to her leaving.

"Do you want me to go?" she asked then. The question seemed to bolster his resolve. He swallowed again, shook his head.

"No," he said. "You told me before we started how things would go. I guess I just don't want to lose you, after tonight." But somewhere, deep inside, he still held on to a faint, flickering hope that maybe she would change her mind come morning. "But we do have tonight, right?" He smiled. "Carpe diem."

She smiled back, caressed his cheek. "Carpe mecum sempiterne noctem."

He had to gather himself. It was hard to grasp that this was real. He'd barely ever been to second base with a woman. And now, here he was, in the post-coitus afterglow, sitting beside a beautiful blonde, the two of them naked, hours of lovemaking still ahead of them. He told himself to get his shit straight. There would be time enough for missing her later. But not now. Don't miss her before she's even gone. . . .

Still, he had to ask . . . "Do you . . . I mean, it's none of my business, but . . . I know you told me you love your husband, that you still care for him as a person. But are you in love with him?"

She slid in even closer, until her hip was firmly pressed against his, her leg against his, her torso against his. Her nearness, the smell of her, the still-tangible fragrance of her arousal, caused his dick to stir.

She draped her arm around his upper back, nestled her head on his shoulder. "I don't know," she said. "It's strange. I mean, I love him. I always will. I still think he's attractive." Somehow this stung. "And yes, I do want to make love, and when he repeatedly doesn't want to, it hurts. At the same time, I am so pissed off with him so much of the time." Ah, better. This eased the sting. But why should it? He wanted her to be happy with her life, didn't he? He was being selfish.

She paused, clearly thinking things over. "It's funny, in a sad sort of way," she went on. "I've been so mad at him lately, I haven't even thought about it. Am I in love with him? But thinking about it now . . . yes. I think I still am. That must sound really hypocritical. I mean, look at me! Look at us."

"It doesn't," he said. "I think I understand." And he did. It made perfect sense, really.

"And now I want to ask you something," she said. He tensed. "Okay?"

"Okay."

With her free hand, she reached over and caressed his chest, softly, in a wide circular motion. "I want this night to be something you remember, Kyle. I want it to be something we both remember." Oh, he'd remember it, all right. He'd remember it. "But more than that . . . I want it to help you, too. You're a sweetheart. And you're cute, Kyle! You really are. You told me the other night that you haven't had a lot of experience with women. That's because you're so shy around them, isn't it?"

The chest massage she was giving him felt so good, making it hard to concentrate on her question.

He nodded. "I guess so. But I always thought it was because I'm not desirable. I mean, I'm skinny . . ."

"You're not that skinny, Kyle . . ."

" . . . I'm a nerd . . ."

"No, you're not. And whatever nerdiness you do have, embrace! I'm a nerd myself! Come to terms with your inner nerd." She smiled, and so did he. "Besides, you'd be surprised how many women find intelligence to be sexy. We like a guy who can talk about something more than just the box scores in the sports page or his favorite Nascar drivers." Now her hand lowered, from his chest to his stomach.

He smiled, and she went on, "You need to learn to be more confident in yourself, Kyle. You have a lot to offer." She punctuated this by lowering her hand down to his penis, which was starting to spring back to life.

He threw his head back, let it rest against the headboard. God, her touch felt good. She was now cupping his balls. His dick was fully erect again.

"It's partly because I'm still new around here," he said. She released his balls, stroked his shaft again. "I've never had an easy time making friends."

"Mmmm, you didn't have such a hard time with me," she purred, and leaned in for a kiss. Meanwhile, her fingers continued their silken assault on his dick. "Do you miss it back home?" she asked a moment later.

He nodded. "Yeah. But I think it was good for me to come here. I needed to get out on my own. It's damn cold, though. You ever get used to the winters?"

She shrugged, kissed him again, kept stroking him. "There are ways to keep warm." Good God, she was unbelievable. He couldn't believe the way she flirted with him, wanted him. He still wondered, fleetingly, if he'd wake up in a minute, alone in his bed, his sheets stained with cum. He was tempted to pinch himself, but thought the better of it.

But then she looked at him, intently, seriously. "After tonight, I want you to start believing in yourself, Kyle. If there's one thing I can give you, one thing I want to help you with, that's it. Any woman would be crazy not to want to be cared for by you. Remember that, okay?"

His natural inclination was to resist, to point out all of his failings, all of his undesirable traits. He was tempted to point out the time he dared to ask a computer programmer at work out for a date shortly after he got his technical writing job, and the way she pointed to an imaginary line at the entrance of her cubicle, warning him never to cross it. He was tempted to point out the volumes of Renaissance and Victorian authors, poets, essayists who lines the shelf across the room from where they lay. Maybe most women enjoyed intelligent conversation, but did that mean they wanted to talk about Shakespeare and Dickens and Milton and Donne and Bronte? But then he thought of Renee. Renee, gently massaging his penis, cuddling up next to him on his bed, her beautiful body leaning in to his, her golden hair spilling onto his shoulders, his chest. She enjoyed talking about Shakespeare. She would have liked to browse through his books. She found him attractive, interesting, maybe even sexy. If such a gorgeous, vibrant woman felt that way about him, there must be something to it. Maybe he wasn't such a loser, after all.

And so, all he said was, "Okay. I'll remember that."

And then her lips were on his, and then she was on top of him, straddling him, riding him to another orgasm. He lie back, and watched her close her eyes, lean back, supporting her weight by bracing herself onto his upper thighs. He watched her breasts bounce before his eyes as she rode him, and he reached out to touch them, to knead them, to feel their softness in his hands.

She moaned, and he moaned, and then she got up, turned around, and rode him, with her back to him. She leaned back, turned her head, and they kissed, as he reached in front of her, fondled and pleasured her breasts. And then he came. He couldn't help it, couldn't hold it. And his third orgasm was just as powerful as the two that had come before it.

"Ohhhh," he said, giving her breasts a squeeze. "God. I'm sorry, Renee. I wanted to last longer. I . . . just couldn't."

"That's okay," she said, kissing him. "I'm glad you enjoyed it." Now that was the understatement of the century! "Besides, there are other ways to bring a woman over the top."

She didn't explain herself, she just lay on her side, and directed him to do likewise, gesturing for him to turn around, with his head facing her vagina, his dick facing her mouth. He'd heard of 69ing before, of course, had observed it in the soft porn movies he sometimes watched on lonely nights, and had always wondered how it would feel. Just the thought of it caused his dick to stiffen again. He swelled with man-pride. Here he'd cum three times in just the last hour, and still he was ready for more. His dick hurt a little, it just wasn't used to this kind of a workout. But oh, the joys of exercise, the rewards of training!

He felt her lips on his dick-head. Even after all the attention he had received this night, it still felt new to him, like a revelation, a secret known by others, but not him. Until now.

He saw how wet she was. Her vaginal lips glistened with moisture. He smelled her musky arousal—mmm. It smelled so good. She smelled so good. He leaned in, licked her, inserted his tongue into her vagina, and heard her moan around his dick.

She tasted even better than she smelled. It was a strong flavor, and he couldn't get enough. He wanted to drink her dry, swallow all of her juices, but every time he licked a spot over, it was still wet. He felt her lips tighten around his dick, and she bucked at the hips as his tongue pressed against a rough, grooved spot inside of her. Was this the G-spot? He'd read about it, but had never felt it, never experienced it. Either way, he must be doing something she liked, because her thighs squeezed in on his head, and she moaned louder.

He kept at it, and then reached up, toward her clit. He rubbed her smooth mound, stroking her, petting her, and she moaned even louder, his tongue still doing a ballet inside of her. He, himself, though erect, though loving the sensation of her blow job, was not close to cumming. It would take a while for him to recover enough to shoot another load, he was sure. The main thing was, he was good and stiff, and erect.