Flamingos Ch. 24

We met back up at a place called Trailer Ranch, near Santa Fe. A truly beautiful setting with the Sangre de Cristo mountains making a backdrop in the pictures we took. Ashley and I got to the place two days before the appointed meeting date, so we set up and did a little sightseeing.

I couldn't help but wonder how Paula would be after her year and a day with Fred the Priapist, Ashley's grandson and Paula's year-long lover. I wondered if she had reached the point of familiarity I had with Ashley or if I would still see that Lieutenant Dish-smile on her face.

And, honestly, I'm not sure which I was hoping for.

Ashley and I spent one last night together and for a while she was, once again, my Earth Goddess and I was her paramour. I took milk from her breasts and pleasure from her body. It was a love fest, not a fuck fest, and a fitting last night.

I think we both had mixed feelings. Okay, I know we had. I had nothing but fond memories of the past year but there was that whole "familiarity breeds" thing. Not "contempt," but certainly being used to each other.

At last, we saw the big Class A motorhome pull in and like a couple of overexcited kids, we walked hand in hand to where it parked. Fred and Paula waved through the windshield as he got the big rig parked and pushed the button that started leveling legs extending. I was always fascinated with the way these big buses settled when they parked. So different from the labor I went through getting our smaller travel trailer set up.

Eventually, there was the loud hiss of air brakes releasing and the door opened.

Paula squealed and ran to me, looking like some scene in a silly rom-com. I braced myself and caught her, swinging her around to absorb some of the momentum.

"God I've missed you," she was saying between kisses.

And I was laughing with her.

Ashley and Fred embraced more calmly but, then again, this was not their first time with a year and a day adventure.

There really wasn't much to say after that. I shook hands, a strangely formal encounter given what we had been doing for the past year, with Fred and then kissed Ashley, a kind of chaste goodbye kiss, like I might give my grandmother. Paula kissed Fred in much the same way, more a peck on the lips than a kiss, hugged Ashley, and took my hand.

"Take me home, David," she said.

We held hands on the way back to the trailer.

Inside she turned to me, a pensive look on her face.

"Take your time, David," she said, "undress me, make love to me, slowly, gently, and then we'll talk."

She had my face between her palms, and the word "beseeching" came to mind.

I smiled and kissed her.

"I'll be happy to," I said, "I've missed you."

She was crying then, not bawling or sobbing, but crying, a gentle thing really.

I kissed tears away, tasting her salt, subtly different than Ashley's, and tasting the salty mucus on her upper lip from where she was crying and her nose was running, again subtly different than Ashley's.

I started on her buttons, smiling to see she still insisted on wearing a bra something she did not need, this one was new to me, lacy and sheer so I could see her pink nipples through the material. I kissed the line where her bra met skin and I liked the familiar way she responded with little shivers and sharp gasps when my tongue probed.

In that few minutes, I fell in love with my wife all over again.

Her blouse and bra were on the floor before her tears turned to sighs of pleasure.

The shorts she wore were loose and fell away as soon as I got the button and zipper undone, and I just looked.

She giggled.

"God, you are so beautiful," I said.

She smiled and wrapped her arms around my neck with odd desperation.

"Thank you, baby," she said.

I walked her into bed and undressed slowly, wondering if she would still enjoy watching me undress as much as she used to.

Evidently, she did. She was staring when I turned and my interest was obvious.

"God I've missed you," she said softly, holding her arms out in invitation.

I crawled up onto the bed, my knees between hers, and just slipped in as I had done thousands of times over the years.

And it was as good as I remembered, our fit so perfect, her passage a match to my probe.

Oh, God, that line sounds so stupid but I think I'll leave it in. It reflects the way I was feeling right then.

This was true lovemaking. There was passion, but it was gentle, not the hard exertion of a first time. We knew each other and could take our time to express it.

The first wave of her orgasm was easy, almost gentle. A slight squeeze, a bit of wetness, a sharp intake of breath, a soft sigh. I kissed her, dozens of little soft kisses covering her face.

Her second was what I remembered seeking for her. Her hips bucked sharply and she cried out my name as her vaginal muscles squeezed even harder.

And my kisses were harder too, my passion growing now, building on her pleasure.

It was the third orgasm that surprised me. This was new. Her mouth was wide open in a silent scream, the sound high pitched and coming out as almost a whistle, her hips were bucking, and suddenly we were both soaked when she came, her heels drumming into my calves and her fingernails digging into my back. When she raked with her fingers I wondered if she was drawing blood.

Something about that level of passion got to me and my control failed.

And my ejaculation was as good as I remembered.

As we relaxed in the afterglow of love well made I smiled and said, "well, that was new."

She wrapped her arms around my neck again.

"Yes," she said with a giggle, "I suppose it is, but there's more to love than just cumming like that, and I've missed it for a year now."

"You mean Mr. Priapism had a one-track mind?" I said, chuckling.

She rolled her eyes.

"David, it was fun, the first hundred times or so. I mean, you saw him. He's big and hard and very good, but he's strictly a one-trick pony," she said.

When I started to say something she kept going.

"I know, David, I get it. What did Ashley call it? Cockdrunk? Well, I was. But I gotta tell you, you CAN have too much of a good thing, or a big dick," she finished.

I kissed her and started lightly brushing her shoulder and arm with my fingertip in the way I remembered she liked.

She rolled onto her belly, as she had done hundreds of times during our marriage, wanting her back tickled.

"Oh my," I said, "that's new too."

Her back was tattooed.

I'm not usually a fan of tattoos, but this was true skin art, not some prison ink. Wings spread from her shoulder blades, delicate wings done in fine detail, the lines of the feathers done individually, the colors delicate pastels. From the wings, a long serpent's tail ran down her spine, with a little spade shape, the spade in cards not the spade in your garden shed, terminating at the gluteal cleft at her coccyx.

She giggled.

"That wasn't cockdrunk," she said, her body shaking a little with her laughter, "that was tequila drunk for a month in Oregon."

"I'll have to buy you backless clothes," I said, my fingertips very lightly tracing the lines of the wings, "this should be shown off."

"I'm glad you like it," she said, "because it ain't coming off."

I traced every line on her back and then her ass, loving the firmness, so different from the year I spent with Ashley.

"Sooooooo," I said, "do we stop putting out flamingos?"

She rolled over quickly, meeting my eyes.

"No, David, we do NOT," and the emphasis on the negation made it clear that this was not something open for discussion.

She kissed me.

"David, I liked the variety and I'm sure you did too," she said, and I nodded my agreement.

"But no more years," she said, wrapping her arms around my neck again, pulling me into a hard, desperate kiss, "I missed you too much for that."

"No more years," I said.

"Because," I said, grinning as I rolled and got my knees between hers, "I missed this glorious ass too much."

I laid my palms on her ass, spread her cheeks, and kissed her, gently, tenderly, tracing the smooth circle surrounding her puckered anus and then probing gently.

"Oh God," she said, "I missed that."

I took her anally then, slowly, gently, tenderly.

"I'm glad you're back," I said.

"Me too," she said, pushing back against me to accept all of me.

Epilogue

We still put out the flamingos when we arrive at a new place. And yes, we still enjoy the variety. But most nights it's my beautiful pear-shaped Paula in my bed.

Oh, and I bought her a whole backless wardrobe over the past few years.

When we get to a new place we always visit the local tattoo parlor, and it turns out even the smallest town seems to have one. If the artist has good ink we get her something new. Sometimes she picks, and sometimes I do. The dragon talons on her ass, extending from the body that follows her spine, were her idea. The spiderweb on her left breast centered on her nipple was my idea.

Oh, my skin is still unmarked.

Well, there it is. I hope you enjoyed our story. If you happen to see a 28-foot travel trailer with a five-foot-tall flamingo by the steps, stop by and say "hi." If you're interested, well, so are we.