Flamingos Ch. 13

The day passed with a little awkwardness between us. It's not like we were angry or anything, but the way we normally fit together so well was just not quite there.

We went to the pool for a while, her amazing hips and ass drawing looks as they always did. And she enjoyed the looks as she always did.

But it was different too, as 4:00 came and we set up for the evening get-together. Robbie, another guitar picker came over and that meant we did more of the old folk-rock stuff than usual. And for the first time in two months, I looked at the women in the group thinking in terms of whether I'd like to bed this one or that one.

In the end, though, it wasn't my decision. But if it had been, it's the decision I would have made. The couple that joined us during the singalong that caught my eye looked like they had stepped straight out of a 1960s newsreel. They were in their 20s and you'd think you had seen them in a documentary about Woodstock. Both had on that uniform that made you think "hippy," even if it was your mother or grandmother who might have actually been there.

He was all bushy dark hair, a heavy metal peace symbol, the one that looks like an upside-down broken cross in a circle, on a leather string around his neck. His tie-dyed T-shirt was all bright primary colors, and his too-long bell bottom jeans, looking like something he bought in a surplus store, had frayed bottoms. He had actual leather sandals on, a simple gold hoop earring, and his watchband was black leather about three inches wide.

She was that idealized image from the same era. Her hair was long, blonde, and absolutely straight making you think it was probably ironed, hanging well down her back, parted in the middle with bangs covering her forehead. She was attractive, not pretty. She had a straight nose and very dark brown eyes that contrasted nicely with the blonde hair. The leather vest she wore, with fringe, of course, made it obvious she had no bra on. Her jeans had been bought from the same place as her husband's and her Birkenstocks looked well used. She had a single earring in her left ear, a plain hoop matching her husband's, but her right ear looked like some sort of sewing machine modified to install gold studs had been used. There had to be at least a dozen studs tracing the arc of the circle of the outer shell.

Where he was ridiculously handsome in that boyish Tom Cruise way, she was handsome as well, think Jennifer Garner or Hilary Swank.

The way she looked it was mildly surprising to see shaved armpits when she raised her hand.

They sang together well. When they asked if we knew how to play "Leaving on A Jet Plane," that old John Denver song from the 1960s their voices were an interesting blend. His was high and clear, think Adam Levine from Maroon Five, while hers was low and raspy, think Stevie Nicks after a hard night of scotch and cigarettes. They made an interesting harmony, though, and drew applause.

I wasn't surprised although a little sad, to see Ashley and Ron, the hippy husband, walking down the lane together, his hand resting comfortably on the shelf of her hip.

I was a little surprised when Kathy, the hippy wife, leaned against me while I played and one of the other women there did an absolutely terrible version of "White Rabbit."

By 9:00, the RV park witching hour, there were only a half dozen people left including Kathy and me.

I watched Maureen, a woman of about 50 with the biggest tits I had ever seen, leave with a guy whose name escaped me, a youngster that I doubted was legal. Then Cleo, not Chloe she had insisted forcefully, a butterball of a classic granny, helped clean up while Lance, an outrageously musclebound lifeguard type waited, literally tapping his foot.

She looked a little uncomfortable and I asked, "are you okay?"

But she smiled, wanly, and said, "I'm fine. You know how it is. Fat grannies can't be choosy."

They left after the last of the paper plates were in the trash. She looked at me, a little longingly I thought, but by then Kathy was hanging on my arm making it clear I had been claimed.

I hadn't even shut the door before she was in my arms and Jesus CHRIST she could kiss. It was like she wanted to devour me with her lips and probe me with her tongue. Her back was arched and she was pushing against me and when my hands started exploring her back I found her to be strong and athletic. There was almost no body fat, just a very soft layer of skin covering the hard muscle.

When I parted the vest and eased it off of her shoulders her breasts were small, little teacup titties, with dark tan nipples, big and, as I watched, erect, hard little tan sausages topping areolas just a shade lighter. They were nice tits with no sag at all. When I touched she shivered a little, and when I sucked gently her breath caught.

I raised my arms over my head when she tugged and pulled my T-shirt up and off. It was my turn to have trouble drawing breath when she bent and sucked on my nipple while her hand, big for a woman, held my arms like that.

Her mouth was a living thing and her lips were kissing and sucking, teeth nipping, tongue probing, licking, tasting as she explored my chest and then my armpits. She explored my arms down to that sensitive place inside my elbow. It was slow and exquisite and I wasn't missing my Goddess at all right then. I was too lost in the sensations Kathy was giving me.

She captured my hands in her big hands and took each finger into her mouth, separately, swallowing until my fingertip was in her throat and she looked so goddam happy I just wanted to look at her face for a while.

I brushed the hair back from her face. She truly was pretty then. Still not beautiful, but pretty the way she was smiling.

So I mirrored what she was doing. I took her hand and kissed her palm, kissed each fingertip, and then took her middle finger, the longest one, into my mouth, sucking gently, pushing gently, as our eyes met, I took more into my mouth until her fingertip was at the base of my tongue and my body started to reject what I was doing, my gag reflex taking over, my belly involuntary contracting as I retched a little.

She smiled and said something that sounded like, "ay eh sah," and then giggled and pulled my finger out of her mouth.

"Take it slow, sugar," she said, and I watched as she took my finger back into her mouth and pressed my hand forward, very slowly. Her tongue caressed my finger and she gave a tiny little jerk as she swallowed hard, getting past her own gag reflex.

I mirrored her again, caressing her finger with my tongue.

"Ah eye ayee," she said and got the giggles then.

This was new to me. I had used my mouth before, bringing many women to orgasm, rimming some, suckling most, but this was new. And I found it to be amazing sensual. My dick found it good too. I was achingly hard.

She smiled and pulled off of my finger.

"That's right, baby," she said, her left hand supporting the back of my head while, with her right, her finger probed deeper.

I coughed a little and she stopped pressing. "Take your time, honey," she said, "discover how sensual, how sexy your mouth can be."

I felt a second finger touch my lips and opened my mouth. I don't know how long her exploration lasted, I was lost in the sensations. Her fingertips traced the line of my gums, inside and out, then the shape of my tongue, the inside of my lips. I relaxed and enjoyed it.

Finally, it was like she tired of that game. We laid down, side by side, and kissed, gently, our hands exploring. When I moved my hand down and started to brush up her inner thigh she caught it and moved it to her breast.

"Personal preference," she said, sighing as I gently squeezed.

We necked and kissed, touched and played, we acted like teenagers for some significant fraction of eternity. I was captivated by her broad shoulders and small breasts, so different from my Goddess. Her slender hips gave her an athletic look. I didn't even mind when she would catch my hand when I reached for the button of her jeans.

I, on the other hand, didn't fight when she found the button of my jeans and my zipper. I lifted my hips as she peeled them off and then my boxers. And I enjoyed the way she knelt between my knees and slowly tickled up my thighs, her fingertips slipping between my scrotum and thighs, lifting gently and then bending to kiss my balls.

She pushed herself up so she sat back on her feet in that weird position only a woman can seem comfortable in. She smiled down at me and then slid off the bed, standing there at the foot.

I watched, fascinated, as she turned off the light and then went into the bathroom, turned off that light, and into the little wall just inside the door, and hit the master switch, turning off the rest of the lights.

I could see her, vaguely, in silhouette, from the scatter of light that leaked into the trailer from the street light.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" she asked, her shape indistinct and her voice husky.

"I think you're a knockout," I said.

She giggled and I could make out her shape as she unbuttoned and unzipped and pushed her jeans down. The bed bounced a little as she crawled up onto it but when I reached for her she caught my hand and laid it on her hip, keeping it covered with hers.

"Tell me I'm pretty," she said in a very soft voice.

I kissed her, lightly, nuzzled her neck, and breathed into her ear, knowing my words would be warm and moist, "you are pretty, Kathy."

She sighed, a long contented release of held breath, and released my hand. Her fingertips traced up my arm and her mouth found mine.

God DAMN the woman could kiss.

My hand caressed down the back of her leg, feeling the strength there. She carried very little body fat. When I lightly brushed my way up again and found her ass it was firm and warm.

She hummed, a soft "hmmmmmmmmm" sound as I traced her gluteal sulcus, that line on a woman's ass where the butt meets the back of the thighs. I liked how firm she was, no real crease there as every other woman I had ever been with had. She wiggled a little under my fingers and there was that soft "mmmmmmmmm" sound again.

I trailed my fingers down again, almost reaching the back of her knee and then around to the front of her thigh. As I traced up she parted her legs a little and then got absolutely still.

I liked that she had stopped breathing, stopped moving, in anticipation of that first touch.

And it was my turn to stop, to hold absolutely still.

What I touched was a cock.

We lay like that, side by side, her hand on my cheek, my hand touching, well, her cock, neither of us breathing or saying anything, for one of those instants that are timeless.

"Well," she breathed finally, and I was surprised on some level, my mind was working on several levels right then, that I still thought of her as, well, her, "at least you didn't run screaming from the room."

I said nothing, I suppose the word is "processing."

She covered my hand with hers and then guided my fingers to cover her balls.

"Am I still pretty, David?" she asked.

And the thing is, she was and so I said so.

"Yes, Kathy, you are still pretty," I said and kissed her.

She sniffled a little and I released where she was holding me to her and brushed a tear away.

"You're beautiful," I said, and kissed her.

And all of a sudden she was crying, clinging to me, saying silly things.

"Don't hate me, David," she started, "please, baby, don't be mad, please, David, I'll tell you whatever you want to know," she went on, things like that.

And I held her, comforting her, gentling her like I might with a skittish colt or a frightened fawn.

"Never," I said when she asked me not to hate her as I kissed her forehead, "no, Kathy, I'm not mad," I said, kissing her eyelids very lightly, tasting tear salt, "easy sugar."

I have no long how we lay like that. I was kissing and caressing and she was clinging and crying.

When she finally settled down, laying quietly in my arms, I said, "let me up, honey," tugging at the arm she had trapped under her.

She giggled and lifted enough to free me.

I kissed her, very gently, and said, "may I turn on the light now?"

She gulped audibly but said, "yes."

So I got up, working by feel still, and found one of the small hand towels under the sink, ran the water until it got warm, soaked the towel, and then went back into the bedroom.

On the way out I turned on the light in the bathroom. It provided plenty of light through the open door.

I was careful to look only at her face, holding her eyes with mine, as I crawled up onto the bed and then, sitting on my own feet albeit more awkwardly than she had earlier, and carefully washed her face.

Kathy is attractive, it wasn't much of a stretch to call her pretty when that's what she wanted, but she did NOT cry prettily. Her eyes and nose were red and swollen as I washed away tears and snot.

Finally, she smiled and threw her arms around me, pulling me down almost desperately, kissing me hungrily.

It was one of those timeless kisses, full of desire and need and want and, yes, love.

She broke the kiss eventually and pulled me down to lay beside her, both on our sides, just enough distance between us to focus on each other's eyes.

"What," she said, and this smile reached her eyes, "would you like to know?"

I thought for a second and then reached up and drew a little circle around her areola with my fingertip, feeling how it tightened immediately. "How?" I asked, just the one word.

She smiled and said, "they're natural. I'm blessed, or cursed, with something called ovotesticular disorder."

When I looked confused she kind of giggled.

"I have ovaries, David. No uterus or vagina, but I have functioning ovaries and they are putting out estrogen and progesterone and all of the rest of the things ovaries do. I supplement with prolactin or these," and she brushed her breast with her hand, "would just be little nubbins."

"Do you, do they," I started and then kind of wound down.

She giggled again, a happy sound now that it was clear I wasn't going to be running away.

"No and yes," she said.

I must have looked confused again.

"No," she said, "I don't have a period although I know I get cranky once a month, and yes, they produce an egg but there's nowhere for it to go so it just gets absorbed."

I finally looked down at her cock. It was in the smaller range of average which is to say about the size of mine. When you've been in high school locker rooms with the baseball and track team or been through basic training, you see enough cocks to get a good feel for what "average" is. It was circumcised, and her balls were, if anything, a bit bigger than average, hanging in a loose scrotum.

"You can touch, David, if you want," she said.

"Does it, you know," I managed, feeling stupid about the way I was being so awkward.

"Get hard?" she asked.

"Well," and I felt even stupider as I realized I was blushing, "yes."

She giggled again. "Not as easily as the boys my age," she said, "I have too many conflicting hormones involved. But yes, if it's coaxed properly." She reached down then, her hands making a delta, her thumbs touching across her pubic arch and her fingertips under her scrotum, putting her balls on display.

She wiggled it a little, the soft dick flopping.

"Am I still pretty, David?" she asked again.

I smiled and kissed her, gathered my courage, and reached down and touched her cock.

And something WAY down around the lizard brain changed. I wanted her as much as I had ever wanted any woman, cock and all. I wanted to make her hard and bring her along slowly and make her cum like a girl and cum like a man at the same time.

I brushed the hair back from her face, running my fingers through its length, letting it fall like water.

"You are a pretty girl, Kathy," I said softly.

And I kissed her. I did more than kiss her. I covered her face with kisses. I kissed her forehead and her eyelids and her cheeks.

And she was kissing me back. There was no hesitation now. Her strong fingers were digging into my back and when I nipped at her earlobe the way she clawed made me think she might have drawn blood.

Her hand caught mine as we kissed, and guided it down. She led me to her cock and her scrotum and then a bit lower. Right at the base of her scrotum, she pressed my fingertip, finding a small indentation there above her taint (you know, that spot between a woman's asshole and pussy where "t'aint ass and t'aint pussy") and had me make little circles.

"Yessssssssss," she hissed, "right there honey, right where my pussy should be."

And so I masturbated her like that, my fingertip busy at that special spot as her legs scissored and her hips rocked in that movement only a woman can make properly.

"Yes, baby, yes, like that, right there," she was saying softly, over and over.

Her back arched and she cried out as she came, the sound she made can only be written as, "auunnnnnghhhhhhhhh."

Her hips thrust five times, hard, making me think of the old joke - she came so hard the only things still touching the bed were her heels and the back of her head - and she collapsed, gasping for breath,

"Oh, Jesus," she finally managed, "thank you, baby. God, no man EVER did that for me before."

That stopped me.

"Really?" I asked.

"No, baby," she said, taking my hand again and guiding it down between her legs, deeper now, all the way to her anus which I found to be slick, "usually they just want my tight little pussy."

Her balls were warm and firm against my forearm as I touched and probed, very gently, finding her warm and slick.

"How?" I asked and she giggled again.

"A turkey baster and Vaseline," she said, "I HATE messing with lubricant you know. It kind of breaks the mood."

But I didn't want that. Well, I didn't want that yet anyway.

I thought back to all of the things I had done to help myself when I masturbated over the years.

I took her cock in my hand, holding it, gently but firmly, and slowly ran my fingernail from the bottom of her scrotal raphe, that line down the middle of her scrotum, slowly up her scrotum and her penis until I lightly touched her urethra.

I ran my fingertip slowly around the glans, the head, where it bulged to meet the foreskin remaining after her circumcision.

She stayed soft.

I bent then, and kissed her balls. I lifted them and kissed each one separately before opening my mouth and taking one and sucking very gently.

She moaned softly, "oh God, easy baby," she whispered.

It felt, well, it was a wholly new sensation for me, not something I had ever anticipated, ever fantasized about. But I kept sucking, gently, feeling how her body tensed, enjoying, very much, the way her hips arched against me, slowly. I thought she was probably afraid to move too quickly given the way I held her in my mouth.

I squeezed, gently with my lips, and pulled, stretching her, making her groan softly.

I opened my mouth, releasing her, and then used my tongue to gently separate her balls and lick up the shaft of her cock.

It wasn't hard yet, but it wasn't exactly soft either. "Tumescent" is the word you see sometimes in those bodice-ripping romance novels.

I lifted her cock, kissed the tip, and took her into my mouth.

And thought about the best blowjob I had ever had.

I laid my tongue flat against the shaft, closed my lips, and slowly pulled off.

And THERE was the reaction I was looking for. She hissed, "yessssssssssssssss," dragging out the sibilant and her hips pushed forward as I slowly pulled off.

I did that a half dozen times until she was fully erect and then took her erection into my hand and squeezed gently, stroking her slowly, watching her face as her hips squirmed.

I moved around to stretch out and lay beside her, sharing a pillow, each tiny movement becoming a little kiss, as my hand held her and stroked very slowly, not trying for her ejaculation, just offering her a lingering pleasure.