An Innocent Question Ch. 03

Finally I felt the tension go out of her, and she put her hands on mine to stop my caresses. "Baby, please—just, wait, you need to . . ."

I stopped, just holding her close, enjoying the feeling of her warmth and the sweat on her, my cock still hard inside her. For a minute or two we lay together, and then she wriggled her bottom at me. It seemed like an invitation, and I began to stroke in and out of her. She was very wet and it felt great.

I wanted to fuck her forever, just to go all night. I found a rhythm and stayed with it, letting my pleasure build. After a few minutes Ellen started trembling; I could feel her clutching me inside and knew that another orgasm was coming. I just kept fucking her, holding her tight against me. She spasmed around me, crying out. "Ohh, oh my God, Dan . . . do it!"

Amazingly enough I was still fully in control, her orgasm hadn't brought on my own, so I kept thrusting. She relaxed after her orgasm with a sigh and lay passively, letting me continue to drill her. After another couple of minutes I wanted to go harder. I reached for a pillow, then put it next to her and rolled her up on it, so she was on her knees with the pillow under her middle.

I thought I could stay in her but my cock slipped out. I got her in position, then slid smoothly back in. From this position I could thrust harder and get deeper. I was almost ready to come and I wanted to build up to it. My strokes were deep and hard, but not frantic. I pulled at her hips with each push inside her, staying in a regular rhythm, feeling the surge of pleasure rushing through me.

With each stroke it got more intense. I felt focused on her pussy around my cock, and nothing else. Each thrust felt like the countdown to a missile launch, and I reveled in the feeling of keeping it regular, keeping it rhythmic. Only at the very end did I lose it, ramming into her, grinding every millimeter of my dick into Ellen's hot cunt, losing myself in the agonizing pleasure of the final short strokes. I jerked and grunted and pushed as the feelings washed over me.

When the physical joy faded, finally, I held Ellen and pulled her with me as we collapsed together on our sides, me still behind her and plugged into her. It had been an incredible fuck—not only for me, but clearly for her as well. I idly wondered whether it was as good as fucking Chris Doebe had been, but I was too tired to give a damn.

Ellen pulled away from me. I didn't know why at first, but then she rolled over towards me, her face flushed and alive with joy. I was afraid she'd speak, but she just came into my arms and began kissing me, passionately. She deep-kissed my mouth, then kissed my cheeks, my eyes, my forehead. She pulled my head close to her lips and murmured, "thank you, thank you!" into my ears as she ran her fingers through my hair and stroked my scalp. Then she returned to my mouth and we kissed some more, for a long time. Eventually, without any more words, we turned off the lights and went to sleep.

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ELLEN'S STORY

Thank God for me falling on my head! Because after that first night of incredible sex together, everything changed. I'd like to say that it was all smooth sailing, but that wouldn't be true. There were good days and bad days, good moments and bad ones.

On the good days we were so happy! I'd make an extra-nice breakfast for Dan, then he'd carry me upstairs for some loving and we'd both be late for work. Or he'd show up at my office at 12 with a picnic lunch, and we'd go sit in the lobby of the University Library for an hour while we ate (it was far too cold to eat outside).

And we started having more conversations like in the old days, too. Dan would say, "can you explain Paris Hilton to me? I mean, why does anybody care?" and we'd laugh and talk about that for a while. Or I'd ask him why the same people who scream about the high price of gasoline go on buying SUVs that get 8 miles to the gallon. In other words, we were getting back to talking about anything and everything.

One night he decided he was going to torture me a little. We went to bed on the early side and began to make love. Dan started going down on me, and he just wouldn't stop! I loved it when he gave me orgasms this way, but usually it was a prelude to some regular fucking. This time he teased me, using his lips and tongue to get me close, then backing off. He'd lift his head and kiss my belly, caressing my breasts with his hands, and wait until my excitement eased a bit, then he'd start over again. He took more than half an hour, bringing me to the brink at least five times, before I couldn't stand any more—I grabbed his head and pushed it into my crotch, rubbing my clit on his mouth until I exploded. I shrieked and came all over his face. It was fantastic!

About three weeks after our return to making love, I plucked up my courage and asked Dan a question over dinner.

"Honey, would it be all right if I . . . if I started reaching for you again?"

"You mean in bed?" he replied.

I nodded. "You remember that Arthur said I really had to wait, that it was going to be up to you to let me know how I could show you how I felt—how much I wanted you? Well, now that we're getting along so well, I feel it more than ever."

"Go on."

"Dan, there have been so many times in the last couple of weeks when I've wanted to jump you. Like yesterday morning in the shower; I lay in bed wishing like crazy I could just come in there with you, but I was afraid to."

He thought for a minute and then said, "things feel different now, I guess. I guess I don't feel like you'd be faking it, or it would be out of guilt or pity. At least not as much.

"Why don't you try it the next time you feel it, Ellen. And if it bothers me, I promise I'll say so gently. No more pushing you away, or leaping up out of bed."

Dan was silent another moment, and then he said, "can I tell you something else? That night a while ago, when I did leap out of bed? I was still too mad and hurt then—but I want you to know that what you did was really sexy. I'd like it if you'd try it again sometime."

I smiled at him, remembering. I'd come to bed without my nightie, and spooned in behind him, rubbing my breasts against his back, sliding my hands around to caress his chest and his cock. It had turned me on a lot too—until the moment he rejected me. "I'll be happy to try that one again," I said. "Are you busy about twenty minutes from now, once I've gotten these dishes washed?"

"You wash and I'll dry," Dan said with a grin.

But as I said, there were bad days too. I came home one Thursday and found him sitting in his living room chair, holding a bottle of beer, with a cold and distant look on his face. Somehow I knew not to say a word—I knew what it was about. I sat on the floor next to his chair and put my arms around his legs, leaning my head against his thigh. We sat there in silence together for quite a while.

Finally, he said, "I'm starting to feel better, I guess. It was the silliest little thing. Harold told a stupid joke this afternoon about an older woman and a younger man, and it got me thinking about you and Chris."

I didn't answer, just squeezed his legs a little tighter and stayed right where I was. After another few minutes he said, "okay, enough of that. How about some dinner?" And the moment passed.

Another time was worse. We were screwing, energetically, in the missionary position, both of us really excited. I was pushing my hips up at Dan and making little rhythmic groaning noises, sort of an "uhh" on each stroke, my eyes closed. Then all of sudden he stopped, suddenly. My eyes popped open in surprise and I could see a pained look on his face.

"What, baby?" I asked, before I could stop myself. He just grimaced, shook his head, and rolled off me to lie by my side.

It was several minutes before he spoke. "You sounded so excited, like you were really getting into it. It turned me on a lot, Ellen. And then suddenly I wondered . . . whether that's what you sounded like with Chris. And whether I excited you as much as he did. Whether sex with me would ever be as good as it was with him."

He stopped, and I wondered whether to say anything. It felt like making a mistake at this moment would be really terrible.

"Sex with you is terrific, Dan. Sometimes it's gentle and loving, sometimes it's fast and exciting, like tonight. But it's always great.

"And you know something else? I don't really think that much about sex with Chris anymore. I mean, I certainly remember what he and I did. But it never even occurs to me to compare it to what you and I do."

Dan looked at me, wanting to believe me but still doubtful.

"Think about the last time we had dinner downtown at "Chez Marcel". The food was fabulous, right? Well, as you ate your Veal Sorrentino, did you compare it to some other meal at some other restaurant, or did you just think, 'damn, this is really good veal'?"

Dan laughed, and said, "okay, I see your point. Actually, I thought 'I need to give Ellen a taste of this'!"

I snuggled up tightly against him and we just lay there for awhile, not talking. We weren't getting back to screwing that night, that was clear—but at that moment the talk we'd had was far more important.

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On a Saturday in late April Dan asked if we could take a picnic and go hiking, about 20 miles outside Columbus where there's a lake we really like. I suspected something was up, but I didn't ask questions—I just made us a nice lunch and off we went.

We hiked for a couple of hours, then settled down on our blanket and had lunch. I was a little nervous, but Dan was relaxed and happy so I didn't fear that anything bad was coming. We'd had some of our usual random, speculative conversations on the way up.

After lunch he sat back against a tree and gestured for me to come curl up with him, which I did. "On Thursday Arthur and I agreed that I'm ready to stop seeing him," Dan said.

"Really?" I replied. "That sounds like good news."

"Well, it had been coming for a while, but something I talked about with him this week seemed to clinch it for both of us." Dan gently turned me so he could see my face.

"On Tuesday I told him that I think I still hadn't completely forgiven you—no, wait, that's not quite right. I told him that I have forgiven you, but that a part of me is still holding onto . . . onto what you and Chris did. And holding it over your head.

"I said that I wanted to let go of it, because it was keeping me from being happy. It seemed crazy, I said to him, because I was holding onto my painful feelings just to have something to be mad at you about, or to be hurt about.

"See, if I'm totally happy again, if you and I are back to our loving relationship, then I must be over what happened—so I can't be upset with you about it any more. So in some sort of crazy way, I wasn't letting myself be completely happy, because then I would have to accept that I was done being angry at you. I wouldn't have a moral advantage—I couldn't feel that you still owed me something for making me miserable, if I wasn't miserable any more.

He looked intently at me. "Does that make any sense?"

"I think so. I think all of us secretly like that feeling of being angry or hurt, that sense that someone owes us something. So we maybe hold onto our grievances sometimes longer than we really need to."

"Exactly." Dan nodded, and smiled at me. "Anyway, when I got through saying all that to Arthur, he looked thoughtful, and then said he thought we were ready to finish our sessions."

We were silent a minute, and then I squeezed him tighter. "I like the idea of you being completely happy again. Especially if it's happy with me.

"But I want to say one other thing. Even if you're over being hurt by what I did, I'm not over feeling bad about it. So I hope it's okay if I go on trying to make it up to you."

He smiled again. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well . . . I have a couple of ideas. Like right now I'd like us to clean up this lunch, finish our hike, then take a long hot shower together, and then I'd like permission to fuck your brains out."

"Granted," Dan replied.

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Epilogue

Dan was already getting dinner going when I came home. I checked the machine and found one message that he hadn't already erased—it was from Emily, inviting us to her annual deck party in a couple of weeks.

Feeling tense and worried, I went straight into the kitchen and hugged him. "Hi baby. Did you hear the message?"

"Yes. Emily and her deck party." He looked closely at me. "You look unhappy. Worried about me, and us bumping into Chris?"

I nodded, feeling tears start to build up in my eyes. "I don't . . . you . . . you don't deserve to go through that, Dan. Having to . . . I don't know, make conversation with him. Pretend that I never . . . did what I did."

Dan smiled, and kissed me. "Actually I've given this a fair amount of thought, Ellen. Emily has her party every year, so I knew we'd be facing this. It's been a year, and I'm happy with where we are. I can be a man—I can shake hands with Chris and make a couple of minutes of polite conversation.

"That is, as long as you're all mine again. You are all mine, aren't you baby?"

I took a step back and looked at him seriously. Then I said, slowly, "yes Dan, I am. All of me is yours—always."

I stepped forward and gave him a big kiss. "These are yours—" pointing to my lips. "And these—" taking his hands and putting them on my breasts. "And this—" I held one of his hands in mine and slid it slowly, gently down inside my slacks, where he got the idea and cupped my pussy, making me tingle.

"And this." I moved his other hand, placing it right over my heart.

"Okay then," Dan said. "In that case we'll go to Emily's party, we'll visit with everyone—including Chris—we'll have a nice time. And then we'll come home and have the same kind of hot sex we had after last year's party. Just you and me, hon. No Bridget, no Chris. Just the two of us."

I kissed him again, and held him close against me. "It's a date," I said.