Nightswimming

The signing was fun. John – though not going by that name obviously - read from his new horror book. I'd already read it, as had presumably everyone there, but hearing his deep and witty voice reading out passages brought out the best qualities in his prose. He answered every question they asked, always courteously, often humorously, and was willing to sign however many books a fan had brought.

While waiting for a friend still queuing, one woman came up to me. "So are you," she said his name, "'s girlfriend?"

I shook my head, "No, I'm just a friend of his."

The woman almost purred. "You sure about that? He's very cute."

"Yes, yes he is," I said, smiling. "But really, there's nothing going on between us."

"Well he wants there to be. I saw the way he looked at you tonight." I was going to say something self-deprecating, but she stopped me. "Don't worry about what I think. A forty-year-old divorcee shouldn't be handing out relationship advice." When she said "forty" she leaned in close and hissed it for my ears only. "In any case," she continued, "you should tell him to put a photo on his book jackets." Her friend came and we made our polite goodbyes.

John walked me back to my door. "Well," he said, "I hope you weren't too bored."

I leaned my back against the door and briefly wondered if he would kiss me, if I wanted to kiss him. I decided, looking at him in his casually chic clothes, catching the fine line of his shoulders, the slender length of his legs, that enticing weight at the front of his trousers – I wanted him to kiss me.

"Would you like to come in?"

He paused, hearing the question I was really asking. "I thought you had a boyfriend?" He almost whispered it, leaning in towards me, his breath cool on my face, his chest only millimetres from my breasts. His mouth was so close to mine that if either of us moved...

"I broke up with him today," I said and he pulled back a little. "It wasn't because of you," I said, worried that he thought I'd turned into some genus of demented stalker.

"No, I didn't think it was. I saw how you reacted last night when I said I hadn't known you had a boyfriend, that look of singular disaffection that flashed across your face like a bad memory you wanted to dismiss."

He laughed. "That's a good line. Think I'll work it into the next book somewhere."

John grew serious again. "This might sound strange, Molly, but I think I could really like you. I think I'm already starting to really like you, and it's been too long since I felt like that. I don't want to spoil it by rushing into anything with you."

I could feel a flush spread across my body that I hadn't felt in years, and I realised that I, too, might want this to be something more than just a casual sexual relationship. "Okay," I said, only a little disappointed, "but next time youare coming in – even if it's only to sign my books."

He laughed. "Good night, Molly," and then he did kiss me, barely brushing his lips over mine, but getting the pressure just right, his hands resting on my hips. He had left before I was able to unknot my tongue enough to say bye, and turned and waved as he headed down the stairs.

It still wasn't that late, and after that kiss I wasn't going to sleep anyway, regardless of the weather. I tried to read, but the words seemed to slip from my mind. I tried to watch TV, but the channels were drowning in a glut of reality shows filled with contestants that managed to be simultaneously utterly moronic and monstrously egotistical. Being a research student, my finances weren't exactly rivalling Croesus's, so my stock of DVDs I hadn't watched more than ten times was non-existent. In the end, I put on a Shivaree CD while I drank a mug of raspberry tea, then tried to get to sleep.

Goodnight, Moon indeed. I was lying there for two hours, enjoying, at least, being able to fully expand and annexe every corner of my bed, but no closer to sleep. It didn't help that my pussy was tingling with thoughts of my dark gentleman below.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

There was no accident this time. My rounded breasts were on display for his eyes, my small dark nipples firm at the thought of his touch. My pussy steeped in nothing other than my pure desire for him. I didn't even need to nod my head - my answer was clear in every line of my body, in the look in my eyes.

He pulled me through his doorway and into his arms and kissed me one, swift time. "I'm glad you came down," he said, his breath short. He circled me, now behind me, his hand resting on the question mark curve of my taut belly. He placed his head next to mine, his forehead nuzzling my long hair, his lips gentling nibbling on my earlobe. His breath coursed through the channels of my ear, tickling me and, combined with the tugging of his lips, sending a potent shiver through my already wet cunt. His hands stroked my stomach, rising in long slow strokes to just under my breasts, dipping to just above my well-trimmed bush. He teased me, his hands not yet straying to those centres of pleasure. I moaned his name quietly, "Oh, John."

His lips left my ear, after whispering – the cool gust of his breath again sending chills through my body – "You're incredible, Molly." Both his hands closed on the undersides of my breasts, his palms gently raising the ripe swells of my flesh gently as they caressed me. He planted soft kisses on the side of my throat, sometimes being almost innocently delicate, sometimes sucking gently or harder, occasionally giving a perfectly judged nip with his teeth. Again I groaned with the pleasure he was giving me, and I ground my ass back into his crotch, feeling the big, hard swell of his cock contained only by his trousers.

He ran his tongue over my shoulder as his fingers circled inward to my nipples, gently rubbing the small, pin-sharp points with just one fingertip, then taking long, slow strokes over my areola and nipple between finger and thumb. I looked down to watch his expert hands at play and saw that I was randomly scattering shining beads of my arousal on his carpet – beneath my pussy, a pool of my juices was forming on the floor. Every exhalation of mine now was a moan, a wordless prayer to the astonishing pleasure he drew from my body. I had forgotten this, with Brendan, forgotten the marvellous, impossible alchemy that only this – that only a loving partner could bring. That incomparable sensation of aching flesh being answered with equal fervency. How trivial even the orgasms my designer appliances had given me compared to the primal magic of one body loving another.

The ecstasy I was feeling had driven from me all sense of time. I bathed in the sensations he was giving me until my consciousness almost drifted away. Then I felt his hands leave my breasts and drift in slow, caressing waves down over my torso until his fingers coiled in the small amount of curly, black hair I didn't trim. He let one hand dally there and with his other, turned my head so that our lips met. I pulled back a little and let my tongue slowly part my lips, miming the spreading of my pussy lips that had already happened at his wondrous ministrations. I slowly ran my tongue round my lips – the cupid's bow of my upper lip, the plump, ripe mound of my lower – then lapped at his closed mouth until it opened to me. I assaulted his mouth with my tongue, set a blitzkrieg until I had him subdued. As one of his hands traced slow circles around my dripping pussy and the other moved over my breasts, my tongue traced the roof of his mouth, draped itself over his tongue, explored every inch.

As I fucked his mouth with my tongue, John began to rub the lips of my pussy with his index finger. He had first dipped it in the liquid bubbling from me, and his touch was so light... so light. He allowed himself to stroke my hard little clitoris and I almost came. "Stop," I said.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked, not worried about his attributes as a lover, but concerned about my emotional state.

"John, I've never felt like this before. Really." I couldn't believe the sensations running through me. I was just standing while he made love to me like no man had before, with dazzling flair as well as desperate passion, and yet I was flushed as if I had run a marathon. Sweat shone on my body under the lights and my breath came in gasps. "But," I continued, "I want to see you."

I rolled in his arms so that my breasts were squashed against his chest. My cunt was forming a liquid impression on his trousers. I lifted the shirt over his head and murmured appreciatively. John kept in shape – his body wasn't sculpted, though probably no-one who wrote all day looked like a male model, but his chest and stomach were slim and well-defined. He had a sparse scattering of hair running between his nipples that trailed off as it travelled down his body, finally thinning to nothing just before it would meet his pubic hair. His nipples were much bigger than mine – about the size of quarters, an American would say. I sucked on them as my hands first stroked his big dick through his trousers then tugged on his belt buckle.

The belt finally came apart in my hands and I whipsawed it through his trousers and threw it into a corner. Before it landed, I had undone the button and yanked down his fly. I pulled down the trousers and his briefs and he stepped out of them as I marvelled at his beautiful cock.

It was fully hard, of course, and jutted out perfectly straight from his body. It was dark olive in colour and smooth except for one thick blue vein running along the top. He wasn't circumcised – but then I'd never been with a circumcised guy, so I only knew what those were like from the Internet. His shaft was very thick around, but his head was even thicker. I don't know what length his cock was, but I could wrap both my hands around it – though they couldn't close – with plenty of shaft left for my mouth to play with. I was ready to kneel before him and suck him deep inside right then, but he stopped me.

"Later," he said and picked me up. As he carried me, one of his hands still playing with admirable dexterity on my breasts, the other only able to stroke a small section of my thigh, I stroked his beautiful cock with long and graceful motion.

He placed me on his bed, and I luxuriated in his soft sheets, wiggling my ass on them. He crawled from the foot of the bed until his head rested above my pussy. His breath, much faster now, gusted through my bush, the short hairs swaying. His hands stroked my thighs, running up the inside until they met my pussy, then circled round to experience the outside. He cupped my ass and lowered his lips onto my pussy where he slowly traced my lips and then planted his tongue on my clitoris with light, fluttering touches.

Mumbling, his mouth slick with the juice gushing from my cunt, he spoke: "You're amazing, Molly. I love the way your pussy tastes."

I had been moaning out his name more or less constantly, but figured he wouldn't mind me being repetitive so long as I was complimenting him. When he planted one slow, sucking kiss on my clit, though, it put me over the edge and my first orgasm – not caused by a vibrating plastic rod or a pulsing shower head or my own fingers – in far too long exploded in me. I felt as if a colossal electric shock had been applied to my cunt. It ripped through me, tensing the muscles in my legs so that my pussy raised off the bed; taking control of my arms from me and curling my fingers into shaking hooks; making my breasts ripple with the force of air I expelled from my lungs as I screamed "Oh, John. Oh John," over and over. Sweat burst like heavy rain on my brow and rolled into my hair as my head lolled back on his pillows. He hadn't stopped his attentions, and a second orgasm followed like the aftershock of a forceful earthquake. He wouldn't have stopped there, either, if I hadn't lifted his head.

"Yes?" he asked, as my fingers stroked his chin, feeling my juice hot on his beautiful face.

"I need your big cock in me, now," I told him.

He obliged, slowly making his way up my body. He placed the thick head of his cock between my spread lips and looked deep into my eyes. I bit my lower lip in anticipation and nodded. He eased it into me, and I could feel every inch of his girth as he stretched me, feel every inch of his length as he penetrated deep inside me.. "Oh... my god... you're so... big," I gasped. "I love... the way... you feel... inside me."

"You feel... incredible, too," he told me. "You're... so...tight." We both paused for a moment when I had completely engulfed him. Then, with perfectly judged strokes he fucked me. I guided him, my hands on his buttocks telling him to speed up, to slow down, telling him longer strokes then shorter, telling: give it all to me. His hands made love to every area of my body. I gripped and released him with my cunt.

I came again and again. I lost count of the orgasms he gave me – big and small. His big cock ground against my g-spot and I had never experienced pleasure like it before.

Finally, after an impossibly long time, he gasped out that he was going to come soon.

"Come inside me," I said.

He did, and I felt his cock spasm in several big, heaving jerks. The rippling sent me over again and we rode out our orgasms together. His cock softened within me, but I didn't move, not wanting it – him - to withdraw from me. I could feel his come slowly trickling from my lips and pooling on the bed. I ran a finger between my legs, tickling his balls almost accidentally, and scooped up a little of his come and tasted it. It tasted good, and after John kissed me deeply.

We talked for a bit, both of us, still breathless, gasping agreement as to how amazing our first time together had been. There was something I had to ask him, though.

"How the hell could you last so long?"

John laughed a little sheepishly. "Um, well, shortly before you called I...um... masturbated."

I laughed. "Were you thinking about me, at least?"

John grinned. "Yeah. Well, you and Angelina Jolie." I slapped him playfully. "She was introducing you to the joys of bisexuality," he continued.

Inside me, I could feel his cock beginning to harden already.

Much later, the sun casting the pattern of his curtains on the opposite wall, we were free to talk again.

"Did we rush it?" John asked.

"No," I said. "We took our time."