A Seeker's Sexual Pilgrimage Ch. 03

After that we started to see each other regularly. She would come down here for one of her days off (at that time she actually had a job of sorts) and I would go up there once a week for a night or two as well.

The first time I stayed overnight with her in Indy, her mother was supposed to pick her up at ten the next morning. I was planning to leave about nine forty-five. Her mother beat us to the punch and showed up at nine thirty though, a full half-hour early. It was like she was one of the ESP moms that just knew something was up. My car was in the driveway and my suitcase was in the living room. There wasn't much hiding to be done. Also we were both over fifty so we should be able to live adult lives it we wanted to, but I suppose someone's little girl never ceases being their little girl. Mom always had her eye on me after that.

At first the sex got better. We experimented with some different positions and she stopped squinching her buttcheeks together every time I stroked the outside of her anus.

There was a lot of other reinforcing stimulus going on as well. We flirted a lot and showered and slept together. We were good at cuddling and sleeping together. This was largely a matter of Kathy ignoring my active sleep habits and two large beds. We ate fabulous meals, another red flag in retrospect, but at the time to feed and stuff and lay around and get fucked was glorious. So we made each other happy.

Happiness is an emotion. It's when a certain set of brain neurons fire the correct sequence in response to perceived stimuli. Like any other emotion, fear, anger, love, or sorrow, it has to be balanced with it's opposite to have meaning. Happiness cannot be a permanent state of mind. Too much happiness and it loses its meaning.

If you've been unhappy, lonely, sad, introspective, maybe you have some happiness potential stored up. You have somebody focus some love on you and you really enjoy it for a while. Then, at some point, if there's too much love, it starts to smother you. But that part of the story comes a little later in the narrative. Right now, what happens is Jeannie comes along.

It wasn't my fault.

For a while, I used to organize a drawing group in my basement. The concept was for a model to come and then the artists would all throw in a few bucks and we could draw away in a comfortable environment with good parking. It worked for a while. So one time a returning artist brought a couple of friends with her. One of them, Jeannie, when she came in, rushed over to a small painting of mine I had on the wall and said, "that's so beautiful. It looks just like one of mine."

When we got downstairs, it turned out that Jeannie had no drawing materials with her. I offered her some of mine but she declined.

"I'll just look around she said." When she came to a portrait of mine she said, "That looks just like Will."

"It is Will," I said. "How do you know him?"

"He belongs to my nudist camp."

"Excuse me?"

"I said he belongs to my nudist camp. Fernhill."

"Oh," I replied.

It turned out that Jeannie came thinking she was going to be the model. How that miscommunication occurred I will never know. Couldn't have been my fault, I had never talked to her before. I think maybe the woman that brought her had told her I was a single man that appeared to be available and wasn't hideous at least on the surface and they made up the model thing in their own minds collectively to give her an excuse to be there.

Anyway, I started getting emails from her offering dinner and nodnodwinkwink. I told her I was in a relationship and couldn't accept her offers, but they kept coming until I invited her to come over and have hor d'ourves after work one day.

Shrimp led to a little wine. It was a fine early spring day and at some point in the conversation as it turned to Fernhill, she said, "You want to go see it?"

"Well, sure, I want to see a nudist camp."

"It won't be quite the same thing because no one will be there, but we can go anyway. I'll show you my cabin."

"I was hoping maybe you would show me your cave."

"Oh you flirt!" So we hopped in the Flivver and headed for Fernhill.

It was still relatively early springtime and as a result, the place was not full of naked people. She showed me around the camp and then we went to her cabin. She was regaling me with stories of wild things she had done and giving me lots of laughy, flirty body bumps and touches so I said, "Am I going to be the only person ever to go to a nudist camp and not get naked?"

"Oh we can't have that," she said and started peeling the clothes off of me. Jeannie was tiny so that first time when we came together naked and hugged, I just picked her up and impaled her on my cock. It was lovely.

The next time she invited me to her house for dinner I didn't say no. Jeannie lived out in the country, about a half an hour away from my place. She had a decent suburban kind of house and a one eyed dog about the size of a carry on suitcase named Bee. Jeannie left the sliding door open about six inches all the time even though it was still cold out. That's the kind of thing that drives me insane. All those years of heating the house with wood and being the only one in the family that saw the value in keeping the door shut.

But Bee had to go in and out a lot so the door stayed open.

On the plus side, when I showed up for dinner, Jeannie was wearing a slinky light blue dress. Actually it was closer to a nightgown. She didn't have much in the way of tits, but it clung to everything that was there.

I gave her a chaste hug and then fondled her ass. It doesn't mean anything. I fondle all the girls asses. What could be more natural? The ladies don't object either as long as you are discreet and move right along. A simple rub and squeeze, who could have a problem with that?

For some reason, Jeannie plopped down in front of the piano and charged right into a version of "Morning Has Broken." She wasn't half bad (no pun intended.)

I ran a finger down her spine, then slipped my finger in between her gown/dress, which was cut very low in the back, and her skin, and pulled the fabric away. I could see the humps at the top of her posterior where her skinny backbone ran into some muscle and ass so I got my camera out of my overnight bag and took a picture of it. There was no objection from Jeannie, in fact she leaned in a little to help out, so I tried her front side. I slid a hand down in there and fondled those tits for a bit. Jeannie kept playing right on through it.

When that number was over though, that was the end of the concert. Instead, she tuned into some new-agey channel on her satellite system and then disappeared in to her bedroom. She emerged two minutes later wearing a see thru red knit top that came down to just below her pussy. Her nipples were quite evident and you could tell exactly how far below her pussy the fabric covered. She started dancing to the music with her eyes closed. She wasn't just bouncing up and down either, she was emoting, sticking her arms out in gesture and her butt out as a counterbalance. She spun around, accidentally giving me a glimpse of pubic hair, then the other way so I got an accidental glimpse of ass. Then all pretense of accident was gone and Jeannie was grinding pussy and ass in my face.

I loved it. I also snapped away capturing the moments for jackoff posterity.

Soon enough, she got my pants off of me and started in on the blowjob portion of the evening's entertainment. I don't think we ever got around to dinner. Jeannie changed clothes (if you want to call what she was wearing clothes) three or four times. We tried several positions. I documented all of it.

At one point, Jeannie positioned the camera on the coffee table and set the timer. Then she ran over and jumped across my lap in classic OTK position so I could have a photo for my scrapbook.

"Look how happy you are," she told me when we reviewed the photos later. It's true. I'm grinning ear to ear. (Editor's note: this photo can be viewed by purchasing a copy of "Handbook for Doctor Deucel's Finishing School for Naughty Little Girls" from Lulu.com.)

Later, Jeannie took me into her massage room and got me naked up on the table. Then after considerable skin to skin contact, licked my asshole. Another cherry bites the dust.

Having your asshole licked is a strange thing. First of all, there is the fantasy of the act. I mean if you haven't had it done, and I'm going to go out on a limb here and say most people haven't, but you have viewed it on the Internet and those people seem to be enjoying it, then you could possibly build it up in your mind to gargantuan proportions. At that point, the act of having it done, could be a letdown. After all, the people in the videos are paid actors. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's great getting a rim job, but maybe ultimately, it is more comforting than electrically orgasmic. I find having my perineum touched or licked to be very comforting and although I don't have as much experience with having my anus licked (not my fault, blame all the ass-abhorrent women I have fallen in with) I imagine the same thing to be true: if they will lick that part of your body, then they accept you.

So Jeannie is going down on mine. I've got my butt up in the air, presenting it for all I am worth.

Usually, I am the giver. I love receiving, but I'd say seventy percent of the time I am the giver. I'm good at it too. I try to make it into an art form. And I get a lot of visuals that way. If you add to that the fact that assholes are my kink so generally speaking, I am the one promoting asshole contact which means me going for theirs, then receiving becomes even more rare.