Charli and Bobby

"OOooooooohh, babyyyy," I whispered sweetly.

I felt his searching lips and tongue work their way down my neck, onto my shoulder blades, then down my heaving chest and onto my breasts. I didn't see his lips and tongue wrap oh so gently around my nipples, but felt it and said, "Oh, yes, baby, suck it!"

Bobby took me to a sweet little groove, baby.

I didn't protest one bit as Bobby reached under my dress, moved my panties to one side and began touching me down there. I gasped and started, then settled down and enjoyed the pleasure. Oh baby. Nothing but pleasure.

And then Bobby surprised me. He actually picked me up and carried me to his blue corduroy couch. Sampled my treats. Made me moan and call his name.

We kissed. I cried tears of joy. And I hadn't even cum yet.

We kissed some more, then he picked me up again, walking over to his bed. We rapidly undressed each other, the only light coming from the moon through the skylight showing the way, glinting off my smooth skin, shining off his smooth white skin and muscles.

And when we were naked, we laid there and kissed and caressed.

I kissed him some more, then pushed him down on the bed, and found his manhood, made him groan, sucking so smooth and so good.

"Oh, god," he moaned.

I moaned back, with his cock in my mouth. Then I shifted around and nearly dropped his cock as he started lapping at my pussy. That's when I came, and when I did, it was a white-light, arched back, eyes rolling in the back of my head orgasm.

"OOOOHHH, BOOHHOBBYYY," I shouted. After the orgasm passed, I laid down, spread my legs, and pulled him on top of me. "Take me," I whispered throatily. "Make me cum again."

And he did. He slipped inside me so good, and made me cum twice more before he couldn't take it anymore and let go inside me.

"Oh, baby," I said so softly. "I love you, so much."

I couldn't miss his grin, so joyful, even in the dark.

In the morning, I was afraid to read his mind.

I had been with enough men over my thirty-some years to know whether they'd just wanted some pussy, or if they were interested in the whole me.

But after I woke up naked, the sheets barely covering my body, I quickly located Bobby in his kitchen, and realized I had nothing to fear. His mind was glowing, a content little glow, an image of me lying in his bed clear in his mind.

I was just as content.

I did my morning business, then found one of his bath towels, wrapped it around me and slowly sauntered over to him. "Good morning," I smiled, rubbing his bare back as he cooked some scrambled eggs.

He turned around and I kissed him.

"Good morning to you," he said, in between kisses.

We nearly missed breakfast, standing there, kissing. But Bobby tore himself away from me long enough to finish our breakfast. Giggling, we ate it right out of the pan, using the same wooden spoon to feed each other.

I missed the morning church service. But I had a good excuse. Giggling, I broke away from Bobby's kisses and said, "I need to go back to my place and change clothes."

Bobby was understanding. "Sure. I gotta get some stuff done too."

An idea came to me. "Hey, would you like to pose for me?"

He cracked a grin. "Sure. Just not in the nude."

I winked and grinned back at him. "I'll just use my imagination." I put my dress back on, but not my pumps, then cracked his door open and tip-toed down the hall to my place. I got my key out, quickly turned it and went in.

Jessica was sitting at the table. Smiling. "My," she chuckled. "Coming in a little late, aren't we?"

I must have made quite a sight -- hair all messed up, no make up, my dress half on and half off, carrying my heels and my purse. And grinning like a fool.

I tried to hold it in. But I couldn't. Giggles burst forth. "I need to shower and change," I said sheepishly.

"I'll bet you do," she said back at me, in a knowing tone.

Well, the rest of the day went by like nothing -- just pfffft, and it was gone.

I made a great painting of Bobby. The love of my life.

Then the next day, I got ready for my appointment at the art center with the trustees. I gathered my paintings, then put on a gold jacket and slacks, with high heeled sandals. I tied my hair back in a tight ponytail and put on some makeup.

I hailed a cab and gave the driver directions. The cab pulled up to the front door with about fifteen minutes to spare. I was shown into a well-decorated room, with an enormous oval shaped conference table, wooden paneling, big windows along one side, deep rust red carpeting and vertical venetian blinds.

The so-called committee was just three people -- three gray, withered old men who looked like ghosts more than men. I pretended to smooth out invisible wrinkles in my suit, while I read their minds. And I found that I was just one more would-be artist, one more thing to do in their one day just like the rest of their days.

And so I livened up their outlook. I simply went deep in their minds and made them recall their own artist days. All the magic of creating something from nothing.

The three old men came alive again.

About a month later: My face was glowing, from all the glowing reviews for my artwork.

And, of course, from Bobby's love. He still had his dreadlocks. Not only did I get my opening, but thanks to those old men, I won't be having any bill trouble for a while now.

Then I asked someone, "Has anyone seen Andrew around lately?"

"I heard he's married," a sister said.

"Married?" I repeated, my eyebrows to my hair. "Does he still have the same email address?"

"Yeah," the sister replied. "Still the same one."

I smiled. "I think I should email him about my opening."