Riding the Moonpath

Her mouth was utterly dry, her belly shivering. It took several seconds to compose her reply. "Herman, the permission I gave earlier wasn't restricted, as I recall. Not limited or conditional, although I hadn't intended..." She paused. "Herman my new-found friend you should know something. This will be a first for me. I'm from a very conservative background. Oh, Boy, do I mean VERY! No man, no boy, nobody other than my husband Morris has ever touched me. Not before, during, or after my marriage. Nobody. Not ever."

Her eyes opened, she stared up at him, saw the puzzled disbelief, and continued softly "True confessions time, is it? Well, okay then. I told you I'm the original J-A-P. My marriage to Morris was arranged, I was just newly seventeen, totally sheltered, utterly ignorant. He was a lot older but equally inexperienced. Hard to believe today just how much we didn't know back then! We had three dates, all chaperoned, before the wedding. Until after the ceremony I had never been kissed by an adult man who wasn't close family, and never been really truly kissed at all. By anyone. Still true today, I think. So, my young-man Herman not formally a Jew, you have a very inexperienced person here. Probably seventeen going on nearly seventy, in terms of emotions and experience. Even more inexperienced than you might think, because my Morris wasn't interested in my breasts, not at all. To him they were just minor objects on a large object, namely me. He wasn't a very sexual person, my Morris."

His hands slid down inside her robe, around the sides, cupped, lifted. She gasped: both of them felt the sudden change in texture that came with his touch. "That's an incredible pity, Anita – these are utterly beautiful. Your Morris missed out on a lot – and so have you because of him. Believe me, I'd gladly worship these, if you'd let me – that's a kind of religion I might get deeply into!"

Herman's fingertips found her nipples through the delicate lace of her night-bra, tugged, rolled, explored, raised corrugations on her large areolas. She sighed gently at the first nipple-touches, then deeply as the sensations hit her in precisely the overwhelming way that attar of roses smacks one in the face when opening a florist's refrigerator – for the first few moments, the entire universe is roses, and nothing else exists.

Herman held the contact, stepped carefully and slowly around her chair, his forearms opening her robe wide as he moved. Her breasts gleamed brightly silver in the moonlight, the two surfaces – skin, fabric – radically different. Even through the wispy fabric her nipples and areolas stood out, many shades darker than the surround. He knelt in front of her, and as he leaned forward her knees separated automatically to let him approach more closely – the un-commanded movement startled Anita.

His mouth took friendly possession of her left nipple through the fabric, then shifted to the right as his fingers raised the gossamer film to let her breasts hang free, unsupported, in full view. They sagged, yes, but less than on many of his much-younger ladies, and the skin texture was silky and firm, almost teenager. He told her those things as his fingers urged the sensitive masses towards his mouth. He nursed, muttering "Lovely, lovely!" as he shifted back and forth.

She shivered and panted gently, eyes closed, wallowing in the sensations Then he lifted each breast individually, slithered his tongue down from her nipples, over the hanging under-curve to the deep crease, sideways along the bottom, then slowly, slowly, up and around the rim of each armpit.

She was drowning in the sensations, all she could do was gasp, try to breathe, and say over and over "Oh god, my god, how nice, how nice." When Herman paused for a second she cupped and raised her breasts towards him like an offering, a plea for continuation, squeezing the tips gently to pop her nipples up prominently, stared breathlessly into his face and said "Once, Herman, when Morris and I were still newlyweds, perhaps the first of all ten or twelve times I ever beheld that man naked in the full light in nearly fifty years of marriage, I held up my breasts for him, held them up in my hands for him to see just like this, showing off a little I suppose even though I was insanely shy – it took a LOT of working-up-to-it for me to try even that much on my own initiative. I actually got up courage and suggested that he might like to kiss them that way, like you just did."

She held a pauses for some moments, then "Morris I remember stared at me as if I were a lunatic, someone he didn't know at all. He simply exploded, got terribly upset and almost violently angry, said that no respectable woman, nobody other than a whore, and a low-grade one at that, would ever even think of such a thing. Wanted to know where I got such awful, evil ideas. I never tried that again, I'm not stupid, I learn quickly."

Another longish pause: "That was about five decades ago, it was. So I truly do thank you!"

Then, in the sort of move unfathomable to males of the species, she simply shimmied herself out of the now-functionless bit of fabric, amazing herself more than him in the process because it was almost as unconscious as her knees dropping open. Her body seemed to have its own plan, its own will. What on earth was coming over her?

Herman leaned forward, whispered "That's too bad, but I'm very happy indeed to be your teacher, about whatever might be needed. Do you like to kiss?" He leaned strongly towards her. Automatically her knees spread even more to let him edge closer, then clamped against his hips as she nodded, said "Yes, of course." Then she paused, shook her head and said tightly "NO! I shouldn't lie and raise your expectations, Herman. Not so. I want very much to like it, real lover-kissing, but I simply don't KNOW! Damn Morris anyhow... Herman, how should I know? All those movie kisses, all open and wet and such, they are a mystery to me. Morris never, ever did more than a peck on the cheek or sometimes the lips."

Herman grinned at her, clearly delighted, and said "Goodie! I get to teach. Come here, woman, and learn." Their lips met, spent the first fraction of a second just barely touching, with the dry, frightened tentativeness of ignorant first-time teenagers. That didn't last. Suddenly they were bottomlessly and endlessly open to one another.

When for lack of air at last they broke their prolonged clinch, Anita looked at Herman and said quietly "Thank you, yet again, my special Herman. Another first – for me at least. I have NEVER been kissed like that. Now, would I be totally out of line if I were to ask you to stand up right there where you are?"

Herman shook his head no, stood, waited. Anita made firm eye contact with him, held it as her hands reached for his robe's belt, undid it. It fell open, revealing that he was wearing beneath it nothing save tight small cotton jockey shorts.

Her fingertips went tentatively to the waistband, stopped there while she whispered up at him "Permission for me, too?"

Herman smiled, said gently "Absolutely unrestricted permission to look, touch, experiment, explore. Please, be my guest." He shrugged and the robe dropped to the floor, leaving him gleaming in the moonlight, a complex image entirely of bright silver highlights interspersed with jet shadows.

Anita tugged on the waistband: the shorts caught on his erection, then pulled free and dropped to his ankles as she stared.

Xxx

"Beautiful! You are simply beautiful. Your... penis, your cock..." Anita took the longest time to get the words out, as if they were newly learnt, never before practiced... "... it looks like it's made of pure silver. I've never before seen one up so close, not in real life, certainly not in this marvelous condition. It is beautiful, a beautiful thing in its own right. But – well, I do wonder, my Herman-not-a-Jew, why I have this effect on you? No complaints, you understand, but I am purely amazed. Do you mind if I just look for a minute... look and perhaps do some touching when my eyes are satisfied for the moment?"

He agreed with a silent nod and she spent a long minute or two studying him as if he were an art object. She had him do a slow pirouette as she ran her palms and fingertips over his thighs, belly, cupped his buttocks, and looked up with a sly smile– "Such an incredibly beautiful man you are, my Herman. I'm glad your parents found that mohel, I would thank him if I could! You have a pretty penis – a nice curve and very hard. Here in the moonlight you look like some Greek sexual god, a satyr without the goat perhaps." Then "May I... touch, maybe kiss a little bit? Would that be alright? My Morris once told me that no real Lady would ever even suggest such a thing, much less do it, but I no longer believe what he said. About much of anything, I'm afraid, forgive me, Morris. Unless of course he had some private life that he kept from me successfully for so many years, but that I do not believe he could have done. He was simply ignorant and ill-informed and imposed that on me and on our relationship."

Herman shook his head in obvious disbelief. "Anita, no genuine LADY of my acquaintance would let a man wait even for thirty seconds before she started working on him with her mouth. She would simply insist on it for the pleasure it can bring both sides. You're being a fine LADY, madam, by allowing yourself to indulge, especially against all that silly earlier experience. So – it is not only "okay" but much more than that. Please, proceed...PLEASE!"

Anita gently explored him, at first only with her fingertips. Then she caught the tip in her fingers, tugged it downwards, released, giggled when it flipped up to smack softly against his belly. She repeated it several times with increasing vigor, finally held it down firmly and looked up at him, smiling, and said "Steel. It's a god-damned steel spring you have here for a cock, my young beautiful Herman! How absolutely entrancing!"

She leaned forward to run the tip of her tongue along the underside from ball-sac to cock-eye, then all around the base, studying the clean-shaven skin. She paused to investigate the very base. "So many fine, wonderful details, who'd ever have thought there would be this beautiful little dimple, just right for my tongue-tip, right here at the bottom where your cock rises up! So beautiful, both the details and the whole. Like a Michelangelo drawing, your body is! And so nice of you to be shaved, such an unexpected little treat it is, my Morris was like a big Brillo-pad down here, not that it was much of my concern really. I prefer this way. You notice it didn't take me long to decide that? Remember, I told you I'm a quick study!" She slid the tip, then the entire head gently into her mouth, explored with her eyes closed, studying. She pulled back and whispered "So many textures! A wonderful toy, or tool perhaps instead of toy, Mister Herman..."

Herman put a finger under her chin and tilted her head upwards. "Both toy and tool. You do that very nicely – you are a VERY good pupil, Madam Anita. But what, pray tell, would Morris think of all this, all these interesting things you're learning?"

She snorted, shook her head and said tightly "Herman, Morris is a dead man now these seven years. I do NOT propose to worry about what he might have thought, and I most certainly do NOT propose to let a man long dead have any say whatever about this wonderful new adventure of mine. Of ours, that is." She grinned up at him – "So... If you will stop interrupting me, I do believe I was getting into something rather special, and I propose to return to precisely where I left off in my new studies. No more interruptions, please, unless they are for something especially useful and germane!" She resumed her explorations.

Herman was thoroughly enjoying the attention, watching as she went from extremely tentative to seriously erotic – which took only a minute or two. Then she stopped, sucked him hard into her mouth between palate and tongue, pulled ever so slowly away. To her delight, he shivered violently. A single long strand of saliva glittering in the moonlight maintained the connection. She asked "My Herman, may I ask a question, maybe two, perhaps three? About doing this, I mean, my mouth and your cock? I hope it isn't too rude to just stop for a moment in the middle of things?"

No objections.

"When women do this, do they sometimes – or maybe even always – bring the man to orgasm, to a climax? Do YOUR women do that for you?"

Herman cupped her face in his hands and replied "There's no general rule, Anita. Women are VERY different from one to the other. That's part of the fascination of sex, after all! Some women don't like to do oral things for a man, much less have the man climax this way. There is a complete range from hate it, to totally addicted. Some women love to do the mouth play but not cause climaxes, others like the climax in their mouths, maybe because it makes them feel very powerful – after all, any woman can lead any man about by the cock, especially if it's in her mouth! Some let the climax happen but don't like the taste of semen, so they spit it out afterwards. A few really like the taste and texture: many of those go ahead and swallow it – after all, it's perfectly good protein and sugar, nothing more. Men differ, too – just so you know. Most men find receiving oral sex so erotic and exciting that they come very easily that way. For me, I love the whole business, both directions, getting and giving, but with oral, it is VERY hard for me to get the tension in my legs that I need to come. Not very many of my women have managed it – making me come that way. When it does happen, it's pretty damned spectacular inside my skull- incredible colors and intensity. Yummy."

Anita looked up at him and cocked her head: "Herman, just how many women appear in your..." She searched for a word. "...in your experience, in your inventory, whatever the right word might be? Or is that too rude a thing to ask?"

"Not rude at all. You're being amazingly candid with me, so I'll be the same with you – you are free to ask anything at all that moves you to curiosity, Anita! There are well over a hundred in what I call my "life list" – like a bird-watcher, you know? Oral sex with all of them, I believe, but only maybe five could bring me to a climax that way. Is that what you wanted to know?"

"Oy. You know "OY!" - that's a Jewish expression of surprise, Mister Herman, in case you've forgotten. So casually you say it, over a hundred women already and you still a young man, you over a hundred partners at age thirty-six and me just one – if you can really call it that- at sixty-seven. For me it's just exactly one man in a whole long lifetime. Perhaps I'm the oddity? How normal is that, one hundred for you, one for me? How many men do you think each woman had before she met you?"

Herman smiled down at her and said softly "What you mean, Anita, is 'Only one SO FAR in your long lifetime. It's easy to double that number... and I suspect strongly – at least I certainly hope - that such a thing is very, very likely to happen. Soon. Don't you?"

Anita, dry-mouthed and belly shivering, felt her whole lower belly loosen and shift like quicksand, the inner heat flowing up from her groin and suffusing her breasts, making them tauten and her areolas crinkle and her nipples stand at attention. She managed to nod – yes, actually, it did seem likely. She could hardly breathe as the thought flooded her brain with a rose-colored light and sent swarms of goosebumps across arms and thighs.

Herman noticed and understood the reaction, but finished his answer, taking his gentlemanly time - "One for you in a lifetime seems unusually low, at least it seems so to me - low, but not very rare, or even very strange. My own hundred is perhaps a bit higher than average, but that's hardly important. I don't go about scoring points that way, I don't count coup like an American Indian warrior, don't take scalps. Lots of my women have been very experienced, some probably had had more men than I have had women. A few have been genuine virgins. I don't know and don't care, and would never ask. Only thing that counts between two people is not their history before meeting, but what they do together. That's a firm belief on my part."

Anita merely nodded, then urgently pulled his face back down to her breasts. The colored light filling her vision seemed to drown out everything else, as if some switch had flipped deep in her brain. As Herman began to nurse again, she took his hand in hers, placed the palm against the soft mound of her upper belly with fingers pointed down. She also took the gentlest little scoot forward to rest the center of her buttocks on the edge of the seat.

Her knees dropped yet again, another inch or two sideways, releasing the pressure they'd been holding on Herman's hips, altogether a combination of tiny moves that set up unfettered access to her crotch. The movements seemed the equivalent of a priest's gesture at communion services, holding up the wafer – both an overt offering, and a sacrament.

Herman understood, even if, perhaps, Anita did not herself. At that point he knew there was no more doubt about their becoming lovers – only how soon.

Slowly, carefully, Herman slid his hand downwards, fingertips browsing gently enroute. He shifted to kissing mouth-to-mouth – Anita nearly inhaled him whole, seemed to be holding her breath as his fingers moved farther down, slipped over her solid and prominent pubic hill, stroked and explored with exquisite delicacy the outer lips. Almost hair-free, whatever covering they might have had was long-since hors de combat, a silent sacrifice to the gods of aging. Not a trace of inner lips protruded - they, like her ears, had not grown with age and the whole arrangement reminded him tactilely of perhaps a fourteen year old's body – when he told her so in a low whisper between long kisses, she squirmed against him and muttered back "Cradle robber! Pedophile!" and then covered his mouth with hers again. Her entire slit was slippery-wet, something he hadn't expected. Nor had she: he complimented her, she blamed him, and they returned to kissing as he explored.

Finally his fingertip slid between the lips, found her clit, tested, played. She exploded in his grasp, her knees flailing from wide open to clasping his hips hard, then open again as his questing finger curled, found her opening, entered, sliding firmly up the corrugated front wall. Her G-spot was alive and well and fully functional – and its existence was a total surprise to her. She gasped loudly when he first located it, then came in a huge protracted series of spasms that left her shaken and totally amazed, almost ashamed to have reacted so strongly and to have been so much out of control.

But Herman's demeanor, and his continued touches, wouldn't let her explore the Avenue of Jewish Guilt.

When she had come nonstop for two or three minutes, he called a brief halt, left his fingers in place, pulled back slightly to smile at her. "Wonderful pussy you have there, madam! Practically a virgin item, but as responsive as any I have EVER experienced. Bar none! You are going to be a delight to make real love with. Nothing wrong with unused products that come in older wrappings, you know! Even Morris in his cloth business might agree, don't you think?"

She acquiesced silently, didn't even pause mentally to question any more whether their lovemaking was going to happen – it was now an absolute certainty, a given leaving no need to negotiate, no query and response to be engaged in. That was very comforting: the decision had taken the anxiety completely away, leaving – actually – nothing but a fierce anticipation.