Jean's Awakening Ch. 08

Honeymoons end, of course, and Monday it was back to class.

I woke with Stan's fingers playing between my legs and his lips suckling gently.

We made love and then showered together.

I went downstairs dressed only in a T-shirt (a gift from Bobby) proclaiming me to be a "DD-214 Alumni," put some coffee to brewing in the Mr. Coffee machine, and greeted David and Roger as they came into the kitchen, kissed me, patted my ass, and sat.

I made omelets, fried some bacon, made some toast, and poured some orange juice.

Roger and Stan were the only ones silly enough to have 9:00 a.m. classes so I walked them to the door, feeling delightfully naughty as I stood on tiptoes in the doorway, for the world (and the neighbors) to see as the T-shirt pulled up and I felt a cool breeze on my ass.

As they walked away David came up behind me, slid his hands under the T-shirt, and lifted my breasts.

I blushed and giggled and said, "what will the neighbors think?"

"That I'm a lucky man," he said without hesitation, making me lean against him contentedly.

"Oh honey, thank you," I said.

He turned me and kissed me and I was just certain that every eye on the block was on us.

He smiled and led me back to the kitchen where we sat across from each other at the little kitchen table.

"Jean," he said, smiling and sipping his coffee, "I really didn't plan any of this. Well, I planned the proposal with the other guys after we'd been here a while, but I really didn't come here on a cougar hunt or anything."

I smiled and said, "oh honey, I believe you but honestly, I'd be just as happy if you had planned it."

He smiled back and covered my hands with his.

"I just wanted you to know that," he said, "and you've been a bit too busy to talk to this weekend."

I grinned and eased to my knees and knee walked to him around the table.

"Wanna get busy?" I said, flashing what I hoped was a lascivious grin.

"God," he said, "you're insatiable."

I flashed my best imitation of his Grin and said, "you made me this way."

I reached up and worked his cock out of his boxers and kissed it.

"Please," I said, smiling up at him before taking him fully into my mouth.

He was stroking my hair as I used my newfound skills.

I was working up plenty of saliva and then I would use my tongue to moisten his shaft as I sucked gently and pressed my tongue against the bottom of it and slowly pulled off.

I made it slow.

I made it linger.

I giggled when Bobby came in, poured himself a cup of coffee, and said "next?"

I could feel that David was getting close so I slowed, and held him on edge.

When he said, "please" I finished him, pulling out as I felt the hard muscular contractions of his release begin, and accepted his gift, holding him in my hand and guiding the spasm of his release into my hair and onto my forehead. His second spurt of release struck right between my eyes, leaving a thick globule hanging off of the tip of my nose. A third, weaker now, crossed my lips and I used my hand to wipe the final little thick drop onto my chin.

I looked up at him, smiled through the mask of semen, and said, "thank you, darling."

Then I turned and knee-walked to Bobby.

"You're sure you want a crazy old slut like me?" I said, smiling up at him.

He took a sip of his coffee, brushed a stray wisp of hair from my face, and said "never surer of anything."

I took him into my mouth then, as I had with David, slowly accepting his shaft, my saliva thick and slick, and then using my tongue to press hard against the bottom of his shaft as I slowly pulled off, sucking all the way.

I made it slow.

I made it linger.

I was careful, wanting him to know I loved him, that I wasn't just some nymphomaniac off the street.

As he got closer I slowed my rhythm, eased the pressure, and I denied his release.

I could feel him straining, trying for release.

When he said, "please Jean," I finished him, quickly.

As with David, I pulled off and accepted his gift on my face and in my hair, carefully collecting that final precious drop in my chin.

Then I looked up at him, smiled, and said, "thank you, my love."

I stood and bent down and kissed him softly, stepped to David and kissed him softly, and headed upstairs to wake Al.

He was asleep still, sprawled across his bed, a sheet tangled around one leg.

I figured I was on a roll so I eased into bed, very carefully, not wanting to awaken him.

I took him into my mouth, soft, and began sucking very softly.

I loved feeling him getting hard in my mouth.

I loved the way his fingers entwined in my hair as he woke.

He was fully erect by now and I repeated what I had already done twice this morning.

I brought him along slowly.

I made it slow.

I made it linger.

I took him to the edge and held him there.

Until he said, "please."

When I finished him I accepted his beautiful gift in my hair, and on my face, and carefully collected that last precious drop.

I rolled out of bed and offered my hand.

"Time to get up honey," I said, "and I need my back washed."

He laughed softly as he pulled me back and kissed me, a sticky kiss, and then got up.

"You need more than your back washed," he said.

As we were crossing my bedroom, well, our bedroom now, I stopped at the full-length mirror and looked.

Jesus, I looked like I had just stepped off of the set of a porn video.

My face was almost covered with a thick coating of semen.

A rope of it connected my chin to the tops of my breasts and another hung from my jaw.

My eyes peeked out from a white mask.

Al was behind me, looking over my shoulder, and he said, "you should leave it."

I giggled and said, "can't honey, got a Historic Society meeting this morning."

"Too bad," he said, squeezing the softness at my hips, my saddlebags, "you look wonderful."

And on some level, I agreed with him. I thought I looked utterly feminine and perfectly female, a woman who knew what her man (men) wanted and was not ashamed to give it to him (them).

It turns out, I absolutely love showering with a man, something I hadn't realized before.

There's the delightful intimacy of it, as hands, slick with soap, literally explore every inch of your skin.

There's the sensuality of it as a hand thoroughly soaps places that no one had touched before.

There's the sexuality of it as you pull a foreskin away to wash a glans and a scrotum thoroughly.

There's the love as you hold each other, kissing, caressing, as the water sluices over you.

Clean and dry, I shooed him away and went to my closet.

I automatically picked out my normal meeting suit. Charcoal. Severe. Padded shoulders. A skirt to mid-calf.

And then I thought, "no, not only no, but fuck no."

I hung the suit back up and started rummaging through my closet.

I laid out what I thought of as my "naughty party" outfit.

The blouse was bright red and not quite sheer.

The jacket was a toreador jacket in black, short, just below my shoulder blades in the back, and open in the front, the buttons far apart.

The skirt was black and tight and above the knee. Okay, WELL above the knee.

I selected my red pushup bra and from far in the back of my underwear drawer I found my red lace panties, garter belt, and black nylons (with a seam of course).

I had to hunt to the back of my closet before I found the red pumps, not stilettos but three-inch heels.

I stopped at the makeup table and did my hair, wishing Stan was there to work his magic.

I had the same thought as I did my makeup but I thought I looked pretty good.

Then I started dressing.

Panties and garter belt and then the nylons and that aerobic exercise only a woman can know, trying to get the seams straight.

The bra, giving me plenty of cleavage.

Skirt, tight, reminding me what a fat cell magnet I had become since menopause.

Shoes that still fit thank God.

Blouse, silky and cool and it felt good.

I avoided looking at the mirror as I opened my jewelry box.

I selected a choker with a cameo and giggled as I realized how much it looked like a collar.

I had one of those "fuck it" moments and chose my big, heavy, hoop earrings and a half dozen similar hoop bracelets.

I put on my watch (always a good idea to have a watch to look at dramatically if things started running too long), took a deep breath, and walked to the mirror.

My eyes got big.

I looked good.

No, I looked damn good.

In sort of a cougar-on-the-prowl, slightly slutty way.

I liked it.

I kind of wished I had a cigarette to complete my image.

"You look like a two-dollar chippie," Aunt Marie informed me but her voice was weak, almost resigned.

I liked the reaction I drew as I walked down the steps.

When Al started to kiss me I got my hands between us.

"I love you, dear," I said, "but I do NOT want to have to rebuild this. Now you guys don't do anything stupid and do NOT cut class."

I finger waved over my shoulder as I walked out the door.