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Maria propped me up against a pillow, spread my legs and sat between them on the bed Indian Style. My erection lost from the brusque directive returned with her telling, now stood at a forty-five-degree angle and so hard it was painful. I released a disappointed sigh when she stretched the condom over me but Maria soothed my fragile ego with, "I am not touching you now, am I? Let me perform my magic."
She held her face close and I could feel the warmth of her breath as she spread KY generously over my member. Forming her index finger into a ring like an 'OK" gesture, her grip was tight, riding along the contours at a slow, deliberate pace. "Just like riding a bike, you never forget," she mused.
When my hands tried to touch her head, she batted them away. "No, sit back and enjoy, concentrate on the sensations." Gyrating her body, breasts swayed into my view and then darted away, sweat and perfume filling my nostrils. I felt connected to her, long hair dragging across my shoulders completing the circuit. Her strokes were steady, detached from the dance. I never understood the appeal of belly dancing until now, but her Gypsy medicine enthralled me.
Applying more lubricant with her left, her right hand stroked up and down, with her hand closed around me as though she was riding on my cock, a slow canter, trot, then gallop. Rather than sex talk, Maria hummed, wandering notes becoming a familiar tune, Dido's 'Best Day of My Life.' And it was for me.
"I love to see a man ejaculate. Cum for me, gush white goo, Marty, I want it, come on, you can do it!"
When I thrust upward toward her touch, the beginning of an orgasm within my loins, Maria pulled off the condom. She placed my hand on my cock, covered it her hers and drove me to a violent orgasm. I bucked over and over, shooting out my baby batter all over her chest, face, and hair. Some of the cum must have shot directly into her open mouth as she pushed it back into mine with a deep kiss. "Do you like the taste?" she laughed, a string forming between her lips. Knowing how much boy action turned her on I simply pressed my lips on hers, sucking her tongue. I could handle it.
Snatching my white shirt from the floor, she mopped up the mess, spoiling my souvenir. Pulling her hair back with a rubber band to, she ignored the knots made by sticky syrup. Maria sat beside me on a fluffed-up pillow, her legs under the covers next to mine and spoke, "no need to return the favor, we can figure out something in the morning. Right now, I want to talk. Face to face time is precious." She was right, of course. For all these years our conversations were one-sided, waiting for one the other to respond to the latest email. Back and forth discussions were impossible.
For a long time, I yearned to say 'I love you' aloud and hear her 'I love you too' only once. I then recalled song lyrics she shared speaking her convictions, calling me "My Blood." The meaning had been clear within her own limits. Our relationship sometimes skirted those boundaries but keeping the limits was the only way forward.
I closed the shutters, climbed back into bed with the shifting weight of the mattress. We chatted like an old married couple for hours, getting to really know each other until late in the night. Maria took my head in her hands to kiss me goodnight. "Tomorrow will be our special day," she promised, 'sweet dreams.
