Jean's Awakening Ch. 03

I woke and instantly blushed, thinking of what had happened.

I didn't open my eyes, just laid there, enjoying the unfamiliar warmth and weight of someone else in bed.

When I felt him stir, and his hand brush my belly as he rolled up I left my eyes closed.

What have you done you crazy old woman? part of me asked myself.

His fingers were lightly tracing the circle of my areola and I could feel it hardening, a sensation so delightful it bordered on pain.

Taking what is offered, I told myself.

I started to open my eyes but his fingertips brushed my eyelids, closing them.

Instead, I just made a soft humming sound, "mmmmmmmmm."

This is crazy, you have to know that, my strict aunt said in my mind.

His hand had traced down my belly, finding my thighs and stroking them.

I parted my legs, offering myself.

YOU CAN'T DO THIS AGAIN, she yelled into my mind.

His mouth was a delicate moth, covering my face with kisses, my forehead, and my eyelids, as I felt him moving around, his knees between mine as I opened my legs farther, my heels finding the backs of his thighs, more than offering, encouraging him.

STOP THIS YOU SLUT!, my conscience was screaming in a voice I now recognized as my long-dead Aunt Rita.

But I ignored her and when he entered me I hissed, "yessssssssssssssssssssssssss."

I opened my eyes and screamed.

Well, I tried to scream.

He covered my mouth with his and inhaled, taking my scream into himself.

It wasn't David.

It was Roger, one of my other boarders.

He kept my mouth covered with his until I relaxed just a little.

Then he lifted himself and grinned down at me, a wonderful boyish grin I had thought to myself many times must be well-practiced in the mirror.

"None of us are rapists Jean," he said, "I'll stop if you want me to."

Neither of us moved for a few seconds.

I was, well, "processing" is the word I remembered from some silly article read in some magazine.

I smiled then and said, "am I to be the house slut then?"

He surprised me by laughing gently and kissing me again, a kiss I returned.

"No Jean," he said, smiling, not flashing The Grin but a real smile, "we want you to be the house wife."

The way he said it it was clearly two words, "house wife," not "housewife."

"What," I started, and then became aware of how ridiculous it was, to be having a conversation while he was inside of me.

"No," I said then, helpless to stop the smile that spread across my face, "talk later, now make love to me."

There was The Grin.

"Say please," he said.

"Oh my Gawd," I said, trying to imitate the tones I heard from time to time from the college girls at a restaurant or in Walmart, "did you guys rehearse this."

He grinned again, holding perfectly still, and said, "Actually, yes, now say please."

And now I grinned.

"Please," I said, throwing my arms around him, wrapping my legs around him, and thrusting my hips to take him deeper inside of me.

"Good girl," he said making me giggle and wonder how long it had been since I had been called a girl.

SLUT! Aunt Marie screamed.

"Yessssss," I said softly, to her and to Roger.

He was different than David. His shape, inside of me, was different, a little bigger with a very distinct curve that changed the way he touched.

His, well, his technique was different too. Not as slow or deliberate, but with more kisses and licks that made me giggle and little nips and made me yelp.

WHORE! Aunt Marie snapped.

"Shut up," I replied and Roger said, "what?"

Which gave me a laughing fit.

Which gave me an orgasm, sudden and unexpected.

Which made me laugh more.

Which made me cum again.

About six cycles of that passed (it might have been five or it might have been a hundred, I wasn't really counting) before I got myself under control.

Roger was supporting himself on his arms, looking at me, a little half-smile on his face.

"Oh God," I said, "now you think I'm crazy."

He didn't say anything but raised his eyebrows, something I took as, "go on."

I took a deep breath.

"My, well, I guess my conscience," I had to stifle a giggle at that point, "has been telling me this is wrong and I told it to 'shut up,' but I guess I actually said that out loud."

He smiled.

I put my hands on his cheeks and pulled him down and kissed him.

It was a good kiss, I put everything I had into it.

Then I broke it and pulled him down so this time it was his ear near my lips and whispered, "please, please honey, fill me up."

He pushed himself up then, holding my eyes with his, as he set up a smooth rhythm.

His thrusts were harder than David's, and each time our pubic bones would meet with a delightful little burst of pain, not countering, highlighting the pleasure he was giving me.

It was like our eyes were locked as our bodies were, increasing the intimacy.

The pressure in my belly was alive again, but not trying to claw out this time. It was caressing me from within, bringing me along.

His eyes held me.

I felt his rhythm change slightly and now the need in me burst into full bloom.

As he came he said, "I love you," and I exploded.

I cried out a sound that can only be written as Charlie Brown's, "aaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhh."

I was gripping him, my fingertips digging into his back, my heels into his thighs, my body bowed, taking as much of him as I could into me.

And there I was, crying again.

I felt that ultimate tension leave his body and then he bent down and kissed me.

A sloppy kiss.

My nose was running again and my lip was snot-slick.

"Say it, Jean," he said, very softly but in a voice that brooked no argument.

"I love you," I managed and then I was crying, no, I was sobbing against him, my body racked with wave after wave.

"I love you," he said softly, and I felt him softening and slipping out of me.

"I love you," I said through my tears.

He moved so he was laying beside me, his hand on my shoulder rolling me up to face him on my side.

"I love you," he said, kissing me.

"I love you," I said, kissing him.

Time stopped.

I knew I looked terrible. I like to think I'm holding up pretty good for approaching three-quarters of a century, but I am NOT pretty when I cry.

My eyes would be red and puffy, I knew.

My nose would be swollen and red too, I knew.

Jesus, snot was running down my cheek, mixing with the tears.

If I opened my mouth I knew that thick, mucus-laden saliva would connect my upper and lower lip in silvery strings.

Besides that, I knew my makeup would be gone and my boarders had never, EVER seen me without makeup.

His fingers brushed some hair, wet with tears and snot, away from my face.

"You are so beautiful," he said and I started crying again.

He laughed softly and pulled me to him, holding me as I cried.

"Get used to it, Beautiful," he said, "we've all been dying to tell you that."

He surprised me by pushing against me, hard again.

He kissed me, another slick, snotty, wonderful kiss, and then said, "ever been on top?"

I giggled and said, "no."

I'm a pretty big girl, especially since menopause made me a fat cell magnet, but he was strong and understood the leverage. In one smooth move, he rolled over, pulling me onto him, and was inside of me again, just like that.

He pushed me up, slowly, giving me time to adjust, to move my knees forward, until I was straddling him in what I've since learned to think of as the "cowgirl" position.

"Ride 'em, cowgirl," he said, smiling up at me.

The new position, the new angles, made new sensations.

I started rocking my hips and the shaft of his erection pushed against the top of my vagina, and the base of my clitoris, in a way I had never felt, hell, had never imagined, before.

The release, I can't call it an "orgasm" because there was no hard muscular contraction, no sudden burst of pure ecstasy that was over quickly. This was almost immediate, and kept going.

I wasn't "cumming," a word I didn't know then, I was "flowing."

My movement was slow and we were both soaked.

My womanscent, laden with pheromones, was thick in the air.

And I just kept flowing.

And kept flowing.

Under me, his face was red.

"Finish me, Jean," he said.

I stopped, well, slowed more and leaned forward, not trying to break the thread of drool hanging from my mouth, and whispered, "say please."

There was The Grin.

"Oh," he said, "that is going to cost you."

I smiled down at him, slowly moving closer, that string of thick drool touching his cheek and his lips, and said, again, "say please."

He lifted his head, kissed my slick lips, and said, "please."

I sped up the movement of my hips, rolling them, feeling him inside of me, squeezing him with vaginal muscles I had forgotten I had.

"Please," he repeated.

I slowed just a bit.

"PLEASE!" he said again and I liked that his breath was coming in harsh little pants, just like mine.

I was still flowing and with the force of my thrusts, I was making little audible splashes.

I felt the sudden tension in his body and thrust hard again.

When he came inside of me I was surprised by an orgasm meeting his.

I held myself up while the tension held in both of our bodies and then slowly relaxed, lowering myself onto him, letting him, making him take my weight.

Which he did, his arms around me, pulling me down.

"Relax," he whispered, his hands on my back.

He softened and slipped out, drawing a little yelp from him and a little moan from me.

"Do you really love me?" I dared to ask.

His hand cupped my ass and squeezed.

"I love you, Jean," he said, "and we all do. Marry us."

"Yes," I breathed softly in his ear.

WHORE! Aunt Marie said but right then I didn't give a fuck.