Shoots and Scores!

I wasted no time doing the same.

It was more awkward from this position. Her clit was more difficult for my tongue to reach. I brought both hands up to help, fingers separating her labia, revealing the soft moist walls of her pink paradise and the details within.

I found it again.

I put the tip of my tongue on it and swirled around, licking the slick little button and feeling it grow a tiny amount. I grasped her hips with both hands and lifted them and brought her whole body a few inches toward my mouth. That made her clit a bit more convenient and I got my lips around it and treated it like I'd treated her nipples, sucking, licking, even nibbling a little.

She clamped her lips hard around my cock but stopped moving as she tensed everything and bucked her crotch against my face, baptizing my lips with her home-made brew. More than my lips, actually. Most of my face was well coated with her feminine fluid.

I pulled away for a moment. "Supposedly the Fountain of Youth was in Florida. But I found it right here. You definitely have a fountain between your legs, and I'm feeling younger by the minute.

"Also, now I know what a glazed donut feels like."

She laughed at that one.

I shifted away from her.

"A hundred years or so ago there was a tee-shirt that said 'Injection is nice but I'd rather be blown.' Well, I prefer injection and I'm feeling the time is right. How about you, Kels? Ready for good old-fashioned intercourse?"

Wordlessly she scooted around 180 degrees. She raised her hips enough to fit my erection snugly into her velvet tunnel, then kissed me on the lips and chin and cheeks, obviously relishing the taste of herself.

She whispered, "Yes, I am. Put me on my back and fuck me silly. Put me on my hands and knees and fuck me from behind. Stroke your delicious cock in and out of me until we both explode in gigantic soul-searing orgasms." Then she kissed me hard again, her tongue frantically hunting for mine, finding it, and fucking my tongue with hers. Figuratively speaking, of course.

I did as she asked. Except I didn't.

"Should I wear a rubber?"

"Hell, no! I don't want a muffler on that gun. Just shoot straight and hard."

I remembered how to delay my orgasm, but remembering and doing are not the same. I stroked in and out, looking down on her perspiration-covered breasts and the dew drops on her cheeks and upper lip. I kissed again, her breasts and nipples and my pelvis took over, stroking in and out faster and faster and I lost my control.

"Oops. Sorry, my Dear, but paradise is proving too much for me. I'm going to pop."

"Then pop! Give it to me. Look me in the eyes and let yourself go and don't stop till you're done."

"No chance of that." Then I shut up and looked into her deep dark eyes and tensed up as I orgasmed into her.

She arched her pelvis to mine, taking all of me she could, and orgasmed with me, squinching her eyes shut and muttering a long "Oooo" as she did.

We stayed tensed for another minute, then relaxed into a duet of sweating, gasping and chuckling players.

I rolled off her as I slipped out but didn't stop kissing and touching her, caressing her legs and hips with my fingers and her arms and shoulders with my lips.

"Some men," she said, "just roll over and go to sleep."

"Would you prefer that? I'll admit I'm ready to nod off after a long day, but it seems...well...discourteous, I guess. I feel like I should wait for you to at least close your eyes."

She turned her head and kissed me. "Let's do that. Rest and recovery for chapter two."

"Sounds good. I'll be glad to have a nice warm female body to curl up to."

"Likewise, except for a gender switch." Then she closed her eyes, smiling a little, and seemed to go to sleep at once. I don't remember anything after that until my damn bladder insisted I had things to do. We were actually lying back-to-back right then, and not even touching. The clock on the mini-dresser said 5:50.

I got out of bed as quietly and carefully as possible and padded around the foot of the bed to the bathroom. I shut the door and without turning on the light I sat down to pee. Yeah, I know, not super-masculine. Sue me. I don't have to aim, don't have to stand, and can stay at least half asleep while I do the necessary.

It had been almost eight hours since I took the Viagra, and they're really only good for six or so. I located the pill bottle on the sink counter and took another in anticipation of morning exercises. I filled a glass of water from the sink to take the pill, then drank another swallow. I opened the door carefully and quietly, but she was awake, sitting on the edge of the bed obviously waiting on me. She hurried in. I lay down on the bed and rolled over to "my side" and lay there, looking into the semi-dark of the room and waiting for her.

Soon enough she came back to bed, lay down, and scooted her back into my front. I put my left arm over her ribs and twiddled a nipple while I kissed her shoulder. She gave a quick hum of approval and covered the back of my hand with hers.

"Since we're both awake," I murmured into the back of her shoulder, "how 'bout some more intimacy? Of the verbal kind? I'd like to know more about you."

"Like what?"

"Like, are you married? Or were? Any kids? Steady boyfriend? Jealous lover who likes guns? Girl friend who likes threesomes? All that neat stuff."

She was quiet for a couple of minutes and I wondered if she'd fallen back to sleep, or if she was going to decline to answer.

Finally, though, she responded. "Sorry to bust your bubble, but no girlfriend of that kind and if you're going to be in a threesome, it won't be with me. Also, no jealous gun-toting lover, no kids, no boyfriend. I'm married, but I'm not." She was quiet again for a short time.

"I married Bob when I was twenty-five and we had a good marriage. Neither of us really wanted kids, though it would have been okay if I got pregnant. Then he got the seven-year-itch five years late. He started seeing a girl on the side. I don't think they were having sex, but they were building up to it. She was a blonde, about five-four, with big tits and a nifty ass, but a narrow waist. He met her at work. He asked me for a no-fault divorce."

After another quiet span of minutes, I asked, "Did he get it?"

"He did not. I guess I could have been a good sport about it, but he pissed me off. I told him he was welcome to buy me out of my half of the house and I'd move out. I'd keep one car and he could keep the other. He could keep his little girl friend and live like man and wife, but I would not sign any divorce papers. As I said, he'd pissed me off and I decided right away to make his new relationship as awkward as I could without actually interfering. But he had to understand tit for tat. If he could have another woman--or a dozen other women for all I cared--then I could have other men.

"That's been the situation for over a year. I'd probably give him his divorce now if he asked, but he hasn't asked again so I guess it's not that important."

"He traded you in for a big-breasted blonde? So he showed good taste when he married you, then his judgment went all to hell. Or are you just that terrible to live with?"

"Fair question. I don't think so. I never really demanded anything from him...requested, of course, just as he did of me. We had a good marriage. That's what pissed me off. It was good so far as I knew, and then suddenly it was over. If I didn't mutt the custard some way, he never told me. It was just like he suddenly decided I wasn't good enough and she was what he wanted."

"Did you cry? Or is that too personal?"

"No, it's not and yes, I did, just a little. Mostly because something I guess I'd taken for granted was suddenly taken away. That was the first night I spent alone while he stayed the night with her. That was also the last time."

I kissed her on the back of shoulder again and moved my hand to her other breast, then down to her waist. We lay quiet for a time, until...

"So now it's your turn?"

"My turn for what?"

"For the big reveal. Same questions: Married? Engaged? Jealous lover?"

I knew she'd ask, so I had my answer ready. "My situation is similar to yours, but for a different and sadder reason.

"Elizabeth and I have been married for over thirty years. No kids for us either. One or both of us is infertile, or maybe we're just infertile to each other. We never bothered to narrow it down. She's only fifty-six, by the way, and as good-looking as any forty-six year-old woman could hope for. Kept herself in good shape, good genes that kept her looking ten years younger than she was, and we still had good, though fairly routine, sex. Eighteen months ago recurring headaches and unexplained dizziness sent her to see a doctor."

"Uh-oh."

"Very much uh-oh. Brain tumor, and inoperable and no known therapy could do much more than extend her life six months, but those six months would be mostly illness, feeling like shit, and no hope for getting better.

"She said screw that. Bucket list time. Demanded the doctors give her prescriptions to ease the symptoms as much as possible and let her enjoy the time she had left.

"She explained that there were some things she wanted to do before she croaked over--her term--and would it be okay with me if she just went out on her own and did them? But she didn't want a divorce. She wanted her obit to read Mrs., and survived by her husband and siblings.

"She also confessed that maybe in her travels she might get the desire to have sex with other people, maybe even an orgy, though she didn't have any specific plans that way. So I should feel free to engage in whatever I might desire in that same category.

"She'd worked full time during our marriage, same as me, and had her own retirement account. I told her to cash that in, take the SUV, and live life to its fullest, but call me at least once a month, or email me, and fill me in on her whereabouts and adventures. She has. She's about halfway through her allotted time and is indeed living it up. She's been to Paris and Italy, dined at the top of the space needle in Seattle and stood at the four corners, two hands and two feet in four states at the same time. She sent me a pictures of that. She didn't look sick, she looked triumphant.

"She also met some swingers in Colorado and did take part in an orgy. No pictures of that, though, darn it. I told her she could try to have sex in four states at once, but she said no, spending time in jail and court was not on her list."

Kelsey turned around and kissed me on the cheek. "I'm sorry. She sounds like a great lady."

I didn't say anything. I kissed her back, but on the lips. Then I said thank you, so are you, and I turned over. She pressed her front to my back, put her arm over my chest, and we both went to sleep.

I woke up about two hours later. Again, we were sleeping back-to-back. What was wrong with us? Probably nothing--we were both used to sleeping alone and so unconsciously scooted away from the unfamiliar other body in the bed. We'd kept the room warm enough that we hadn't slept under anything. We'd tossed the blanket and spread on the floor at the foot and made love, and slept, on top of the sheets.

I turned over and enjoyed a good long look at her bare thigh and hip and half-globe of her posterior. But especially the thigh and hip. That gorgeous glowing skin beckoned to me and I could not resist. I tried, thinking that I should let her sleep. But my selfish desire overruled my courtesy and I ran the tips of my fingers along the line of her hip and the outside of her thigh.

I leaned forward and kissed the soft outside of her hip and extended the soft kisses along her thigh to her knee.

She hummed with appreciation and turned toward me so she was lying on the leg and hip I had been kissing. Her eyes were closed but she was smiling. "Now this side, please," she murmured.

I obliged, then moved my attentions upward, kissing the side of her waist and the outside of her breast, then up to shoulder, neck, throat, chin, and finally softly on that half smile. During that delightful journey, while my left hand helped keep my balance the right hand had been caressing the inside of her thighs, as much as possible since her legs were together, and offering gentle penetrations between her labia.

I kissed her lips; she rolled onto her back as she returned the kiss and then opened her mouth in invitation for a deeper and longer kiss. Her right hand reached out and found my cock and rubbed it and pulled it gently, coaxing it into a full-on erection. She spread her legs and her left hand went over my right and guided my fingers into her moistening sex.

She whispered. "Fred, climb on and make love to me. Put it in and stroke me inside and touch me outside and make me feel loved."

I did as requested, whispered back, "You are loved," and gave her long strokes, slow and deep. I kissed her lips and cheeks and chin and throat and that little valley behind her collar bone.

Without warning, as I buried myself as deeply as possible, I put all my weight on her, then reached under her hips with both hands and rolled us over so she was on top. We almost rolled off the bed and I hurriedly arched my back and moved us toward the middle. She didn't quite scream, but she did squeak a little with surprise, then granted me a short laugh.

"I like this better," I whispered. "Now I can love you with my hands instead of supporting my weight with them."

"Good idea. But why are you whispering?"

I reached up with both hands and caressed her breasts, rubbing her nipples with my thumbs. I sat up and kissed the space between her breasts, and then her chin, and her lips.

"Because whispers are intimate."

I kissed her breasts, relishing the taste and response of her nipples. My fingers caressed her flanks and thighs and the top of her behind. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on my chest, and began to move her hips side to side, back and forth, up and down, enjoying the way the various movements felt with my erection inside her. I reached to where we were joined and pressed my thumb against her clitoral hood and massaged it in tiny circles. She inhaled sharply, then offered a low moan of pleasure.

"When you said I am loved, did you mean the way Greg loved Olivia? Just for right now, with no promise for the future even as far as tomorrow?"

"Yes, but without the 'just.' Kel, I may be old fashioned, but I've never had sex with a woman I didn't like. If I have no affection for her, why bother? Might as well use my hand."

"I like the way you're using your hands right now. Especially your thumb." She closed her eyes, let her head fall backwards, and just surrendered to her approaching orgasm. And then it arrived. Her whole body tensed, her hands clutched my thighs, and through her clenched teeth she whispered, "Oh my god."

As the ecstasy passed, she slumped forward, rested her forearms on my chest and kissed me with frantic yearning, lips and tongue searching mine, finding, and sharing with uninhibited passion.

I did not come. I expected to, but managed to hold back by concentrating on--disgusting as this may sound--work. I'm an inventory trouble-shooter at work, and I thought about three of the different problems waiting for me when I went back to work on Monday. It worked--pun intended.

Then I put my hands on her shoulders and pushed her up just a little. She helped and supported herself about one foot above me. I started stroking and she responded, searching for the exact right--"oh, god, G-spot!" she thrust her hips forward and back frantically, just a few inches, and came again.

Her thrusts rubbed wonderfully against the underside of the head of my cock, and I thrust deep one time and orgasmed along with her, both of us petrified with pleasure. It lasted an hour, at least. Subjectively, of course.

When we both found voluntary movement possible, she relaxed on me and I cuddled her close. We fell back to sleep. I did, anyway, and I'm assuming she fell with me.

We both woke up a couple of hours later.

The Viagra was giving me my money's worth. Morning wood was no longer a regular thing with me, but I liked having it this time; I had a pretty and naked lady sharing the bed.

Unfortunately, the morning was shorter than I would have liked. Kelsey was scheduled to keep score for a shooting match and it started well before noon...and was a least a forty-minute drive away.

Shorter, but not too short. There was room in the shower for both of us and we enjoyed scrubbing each other. About halfway through she bent over and I eased my still-hard cock into her soft and ready pussy.

It was a delightful interlude with the hot water and soap and we kissed and groped enthusiastically, but not as long as I'd have liked. Then we cleaned each other off, dried each other off along with kisses and caresses, and got dressed.

We both made sure we hadn't left anything in the room; she ducked quickly into hers to check, just to be certain, and we took the elevator downstairs and checked out.

I escorted her to her car. She tossed her bag into the backseat, then turned to me.

"Sorry I have to leave so soon. Business is business."

"I'm sorry too. But we'll see each other at work."

We kissed, hard, but not too long.

She got into the driver's seat but didn't close the door right away.

I said, "Enjoy keeping score on the shooting."

"I will. I like it. But I liked scoring your shooting even more."

"Wonderful. As are you. I hope to be able to shoot for you again real soon."

She gave me an air kiss. "Maybe we can make this a regular event. I'd like that."

"So would I. We can discuss it Monday."

She nodded and drove off. I realized I should have invited myself to follow her and watch the competition myself. Oh, well, maybe next time.

I was pretty happy knowing there would be a next time. My gun had been in its holster far too long.

END