My Girlfriend's Mom Ch. 05

Chapter Five

That weekend was spent learning each other.

And what an enjoyable exploration it was.

When I was giving her the foot rub she said she wanted, carefully manipulating each of those sexy long toes she got the giggles so bad that she actually peed a little which led to a sponge bath while I cleaned her up but didn't let her out of bed. And during the sponge bath, I found out just HOW sensitive she was around her anus. And that led to exploring that sensitive place, first with lips and tongue, then deeper with a finger and finally taking her from behind while she grunted her orgasm and I could smell the way she was cumming.

After we had rested for a while from that, it was shower time again and she "washed" my erection so thoroughly that I wound up ejaculating into the tub.

While we were standing there afterward, me catching my breath and her leaning on me she whispered "would you like to know a secret?"

I chuckled a little and said, "I want to know ALL of your secrets."

She leaned back a little and caught my eyes with hers.

Suddenly she was blushing furiously.

"Oh no," I said, lifting her chin with two fingers when her eyes dropped, "tell me."

She giggled and the blush kept up.

She took a deep breath and said "I usually pee in the shower."

I laughed and took her into my arms, capturing her, holding her tight.

"Me too," I said, relaxing and letting my bladder go.

Her eyes got big and she sort of squealed "DAVEYYYYYY!"

But I didn't let her go and soon enough I felt her own urine spattering on our feet together.

The scent of soap and urine and semen mingled with her excited woman scent and I found myself getting aroused again.

We washed each other, carefully, and then dried each other, thoroughly. It quickly turned into foreplay and we made love in the bathroom, her sitting on the vanity and me standing in front of her. I was learning her rhythms and patterns and we came together.

We played music and I was glad to see that she shared my love of oldies from the first generation of rock and roll. We would sing along to Chuck Berry or Ricky Nelson and dance, sometimes naked, enjoying acting like hormonal teenagers.

It was, all in all, probably the best weekend of my life.

And the sex was no longer just sex. We were making love. And as we lay there, side by side I realized that it was love.

We were in that afterglow that followed lovemaking. And she was particularly beautiful laying there too close for my eyes to truly focus on hers.

I leaned back just far enough to focus on her eyes, my cheek on the pillow, my hand on her hip, and said "I love you."

"Don't Davey," she said.

"Don't?" I said. "Don't what?"

"Don't ruin it, baby," she said and I could see she was starting to cry. Very softly. Tears leaking.

I propped myself up on my elbow and said, "ruin it?" my inflection making the question obvious.

"This is good honey, it's REALLY good, but don't overplay your hand," she said.

And for some reason, I was suddenly pissed off.

"Abby," I said, the sharpness in my voice clear, "what the fuck are you talking about? I mean it. I have never been anything even close to this happy. I can't picture my life without you. I think about you pretty every minute that I'm not with you. In my book, that means I love you."

The dam burst.

I held her as she sobbed, no, as she wailed. It hurt me to hear that sort of pain and all I could do was to hold her and repeat myself, "I love you, Abby," over and over.

Finally, she was reduced to soft little hiccups as I held her close, my hand caressing her back, my lips nuzzling her hair, my voice soft as I repeated, "I love you, Abby," over and over. I guess, when you get down to it, there wasn't much else to say.

She pushed me away, far enough to meet my eyes. She was a mess with red eyes, swollen sinuses, a runny nose, and strings of thick mucus-laden saliva connecting her upper and lower lips as she smiled at me. We lay like that for one of those measurable fractions of eternity.

I lightly brushed the hair away from her forehead and kissed her there.

"Say it," I said.

She didn't say anything so I kissed her again.

"Say it," I said again.

She didn't say anything so I nuzzled her neck, nipping at her ear as I gently rolled her onto her back and slipped back inside of her.

"Say it," I said for the third time.

She closed her eyes, tight, and I could see them moving under her lids.

I kissed her eyelids.

"Say it," I said for the fourth time.

She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, met mine, and said, "I love you."

"I love you," I said.

"I love you," she said.

It would get tedious to write it over and over, but that's what we did. We laid there, our bodies merged, and said "I love you" to each other over and over. It was the most perfect sharing, the most perfect expression of love I ever experienced, before or since. Our bodies were joined all morning, and we just told each other of our love, over and over. Eventually, when our bodies took over and we climaxed together we were both yelling, "I LOVE YOU."

It was a wonderful morning.

We were married six weeks later. Mona was Abby's bride's maid, in a simple ceremony in the back yard. A couple of dozen friends were there.

Abby was radiant in a bright blue dress that set off her red hair beautifully. I had been working on her self-image and she looked good. Oh hell, that's not even close. She looked TERRIFIC. The dress was cut very low, a deep V almost to the belt making it clear that no bra was possible. She had on ridiculously high heels, matching the dress, making her a couple of inches taller than me as we shared our vows. We exchanged vows and she cried, of course, ruining the makeup I had so carefully applied.

Mona looked good too, in a red dress, similar in cut to Abby's. You couldn't help but wonder of those big boobs were going to fall out. Her date was a ridiculously skinny young man, you couldn't help but think "Ichabod Crane" when you saw him. But he was obviously smitten, and she seemed to be as well. They made a cute couple.

Our friends made for an interesting mixer. Mine were mostly friends from school with early 20s the average age. Hers tended to be, well, let's just say, more mature. Lots of singles and it was interesting to see how guests paired up. It occurred to me that there were going to be a lot of satisfied cougars and cougar-hunters before the weekend was over.

And there you have it.

We found each other in an odd way, but it's been a happy 22 years now. Abby went through a bout of depression when she got her medicare card, but I just laughed, picked out something sexy for her to wear, took her dancing, and we showed the youngsters how it's done.

Oh, we have our fights, like any long-term couple, but we never to go bed mad. Well, if we do go to bed mad, we don't go to sleep mad. I will NOT allow that to happen.

I suppose, as I see 50 looming, I have to admit we're slowing down in bed. I pretty much never manage a second round any more but I can still make her beg.

Thanks for listening.