Swinging in the 70s Ch. 04

Friday is one of my sleep-late days. I learned my lesson my first semester and NEVER scheduled an eight o'clock class. This semester, though, I had a Tuesday and Thursday nine o'clock. National and State Government was required and the only one available was the nine o'clock. But Monday, Wednesday, and Friday I could pat Monica on the ass, accept her goodbye kiss, and roll back over.

Let me back up a little.

I've mentioned John, my next-door neighbor. Well, John was another recently separated veteran, and he was one of the guys who had gone over there and done it while I sat that fucking war out in a nice air-conditioned Air Force gig in northern Japan. The second sentence in our conversation when I met him was him asking me how the pot was in Japan, and I knew, right then, that a friendship was formed and I was right. It turned out to be a friendship that has lasted over a half-century now.

Anyway, we struck a bargain in the first days of that friendship and for the next four years he had a telephone and I provided the pot. When Monica or I got one of our rare phone calls he would just bang on the side of his trailer until one of us went to the door and then went to his trailer to answer the call. It quickly became apparent that Darla, his wife, didn't like me. I think she thought I was a bad influence on him. She was always kind of standoffish and, well, I've always been pretty much a loner (being raised by an alcoholic will do that to you) so it didn't matter.

All of which was why I was surprised that Friday morning.

Monica was gone to class, and I was in that twilight stage, just drifting off, when I heard the door of the trailer open. I didn't think much of it, to be honest. That trailer park was almost a commune, well, almost a commune among the six couples who were in school, all of us pretty much the same age. If we needed the proverbial cup of sugar, or a beer or whatever, doors weren't locked and we trusted each other.

I didn't even bother to open my eyes.

If you've ever lived in a trailer you'll know what I mean when I say you'll never get snuck up on in one (to hell with what my third-grade teacher Mrs. O'Neil would have to say about the grammar of that last sentence. It says what I mean.). I understand that modern trailers aren't as bad, but in 1973 our used trailer had been built sometime in the 1960s and you could feel every footstep that was made.

I was aware of the footsteps, then, and just assumed Monica forgot something and was fetching it.

"I talked to Myra," Darla said, and THAT got my attention. I rolled over to face her as she went on.

"I suppose this is inevitable," she said as she did that arms-crossed-in-front thing only a woman can pull off and look good while doing it, and peeled her T-shirt up and off.

She held my eyes as she pushed the silky shorts down and let them fall to pool at her feet.

I was surprised.

A line in a book I read once, I think it was a Parker novel but I wouldn't bet much on that, fit my expectations if I ever saw Darla naked - - she was yellow on top and black on the bottom.

So I was surprised that Darla was yellow on top and pale brown on the bottom, a natural blonde.

I've read that redheads and honey blondes (not that pale Nordic blonde, but the midwest farmer's daughter blonde) have the thickest hair. She was one of those thick-haired blondes and below her belly button a three-inch wide strip of thick, very curly, very pale blonde hair disappeared into the thigh gap between her skinny legs.

And skinny was the word to describe her. She was about average height for a woman, I guessed her at 5'4" or 5'5" or so, but she couldn't have weighed more than about a hundred pounds, one ten tops.

Darla had one of those faces that is difficult to categorize. Oh, all of the parts were in the right places and she didn't have any deformities or anything. Starting at the top, she had that thick blonde hair, her best feature, that she wore short, not quite to her shoulders, with a little flip at the bottom that would have looked good with a poodle skirt.

Her eyes were brown and wide set, framing a narrow pointed nose. Her ears were a bit oversized for her smallish head. Her mouth was small and her lips thin. Her chin was a bit long and pointed. She kind of reminded me, thinking back, of Jamie Lee Curtis but lacked Jamie Lee's, well, raw sexiness. Darla was a grade school teacher and always dressed like a grade school teacher. I couldn't even recall seeing her in shorts before this morning.

Her shoulders were wide, an athlete's shoulders, and it turned out she had been on the cheerleading squad (why was I not surprised at this bit of information?) since grade school. Her collarbones left a distinct dip, something I found was called the "saltcellar" in some 19th-century literature (Social Studies majors' minds DO tend to become cluttered attics of useless information over time) and if you're interested, the technical term is the suprasternal notch. Her deltoid muscles were well-developed and round.

She carried so little body fat that the ridges of her sternum showed and her small breasts didn't look like they would EVER fail the pencil tests. She was one of those women whose breasts were barely bumps, tipped with perfectly circular areolas the color of creamed coffee, and nipples a shade darker, flat against the areolas, about the size of the tip of my little finger. I doubted that she filled the cup of the A-cup bra she usually wore.

Her ribs showed clearly and her firm belly showed the ridges of her abdominal muscles although she didn't have the "cut" of a true bodybuilder.

Her waist was ridiculously small, I imagined it at 22 inches although I wouldn't have been surprised at 20. Her belly button was a cute slot of an innie centered precisely in her belly at her waist, and I had the weird urge to see if I could put a quarter in it. It was that kind of surreal encounter.

The hollows of her hips, those depressions that start at the roundness of the hip joint and trace down to a woman's pussy, were distinct. But it was her pussy, of course, and that thick pale hair, that caught my attention most. The line of that hair was so distinct I suspected she trimmed it, something very rare in those days. But it was thick and curly and filled her distinct thigh gap nicely.

Darla was one of those women with skinny legs that were also sexy, something I have found to be extremely rare on the distaff side. Think Vera Ellen doing her dancing in White Christmas and you've seen her legs.

I don't know how long I looked. I was still kind of in that twilight state, but I took my time.

The look on her face was a cross between a smile and a smirk. Okay, I know that's not a good description, but it's the best I can come up with. She stood, that look on her face, until my eyes finally moved back up and met hers.

"Well," she said, and her voice was that trained teacher's voice that could calm a class of third graders without being raised, "Do I pass inspection?"

I grinned then, my absolute BEST boyish grin, the one I used to practice in the mirror.

"Dunno," I said, finally coming fully awake, "Only half done. Turn around."

The smile spread and the smirk disappeared at that.

"Very good, David," she said, and turned.

Her back pretty much mirrored her front, the spine showed clearly as did the big complex of muscles that formed a hollow in which her spine nestled. Her elbows had those little wrinkles that I have always found sexy (I don't know why).

But her ass was a surprise. She was a little bottom-heavy. Oh, don't get me wrong. She'll never be called pear-shaped, but her ass seemed to be the only place on her body where she actually stored some fat cells. Her Gluteal Sulcus, that line where her ass met the tops of her thighs, was a distinct line. It would have passed the pencil test easily, but I was surprised at how perfectly it formed that classic inverted heart shape.

"Yes," I said, "You pass."

She turned, tossed the sheet back, and crawled into bed with me.

"We don't have to like each other," she said, her fingertips brushing hair away from my forehead, "to give each other this."

"But I like you," I said and she giggled.

"Fuck you, David," she said, but she was smiling, "You think I'm an uptight pain in the ass and I think you're a dangerous guy with a bit of self-destruction in your DNA."

And she kissed me.

It was a good kiss, a demanding kiss, and I liked it.

I ran my hand up her waist as she held that kiss until I found her small breast and started to gently roll her nipple between my thumb and forefinger.

She broke the kiss and caught my hand.

"Personal preference," she said, softly, using her hand, covering mine, to press my palm flat against her breast. I could feel her nipple tightening under the middle of my palm and found that sensation surprisingly exciting.

"And what else," I said, softly, nuzzling her neck so my lips were almost touching her ear, "do you personally prefer."

"And why aren't you at work?" I added as it hit me that it SHOULD be a workday for her.

She giggled then, a soft sound very deep in her chest, and said, "I called in and told them I'm taking a 'mental health' day," she said, using a term that was coming into vogue. "I figured after talking to Myra I'd need it."

And with that, the lesson began.

For the next hour, I know it was an hour because I peeked at the clock on the headboard and knew I needed to get to school, she walked me through her "personal preferences."

"Harder," she said, pressing on my hand where it covered her small breast. So I pressed harder, drawing a soft sigh from her.

"Harder," she whispered. I released her, and she made a little mewing sound, and then put my hand where she wanted it, the hard ball of muscle at the base of my thumb right on her nipple, and pressed.

"That's nice," she said and then groaned when I started twisting my wrist, driving that ball of muscle harder into her, twisting her nipple.

"Okay," she said with a little gasp, "now some tenderness."

She caught the hand that was tormenting her breast and groaned again when I gave a final thrust and twist, her body squirming to escape what I was doing.

I released her, and she took a deep breath, whispered, "Oh my," and then lifted my hand to her face, guiding my palm to caress her cheek lightly.

I let her.

When she released my hand I continued, brushing her forehead and face with my fingerprints lightly, as if I was blind and learning the shape of her face with touch. I ran my fingers through her thick hair, making her hum softly.

"That's nice," she said and I kissed her.

While I was holding the kiss I hooked my fingers into a fist and twisted, not a hard jerk, a slow increase in the pressure, taking her slowly from the pleasure of gentle play through neutral and into pain as the pressure I applied increased slowly. I might be new to swinging, but Monica and I had done plenty of exploring and I did know my way around a woman's body.

When she groaned and reached for my hand I caught both of her hands in mine and pinned her quickly to the mattress. I rolled up so I straddled her, my knees outside of her hips, and used my weight to immobilize her with her hands pressed into the mattress beside her head.

I bent then, and began nipping at tender places. In her armpit I nipped that completely smooth skin where she shaved or waxed regularly, drawing a little yelp from her. Then I licked and that made her first go "ewwww," but then hum softly as I did it again and then a third time. Where her breast rose from her ribcage I nipped again, leaving a little red mark and drawing another yelp. At the border of her areola, and hers was a very distinct line, I nipped again, a bit harder, and liked the way she tried to squirm away.

I broke the kiss and lifted myself to look down at her from my relative height, and grinned, what I hoped was a predatory grin.

"I think," I said, holding that grin on my face, "that you enjoy being in charge too much."

I'll say this, she matched me, predatory grin for predatory grin.

"Think you can break me of it?" she asked.

"Given time," I said, and as quickly as those hours in a karate dojo had taught me, I dropped down and caught her earlobe in my front teeth. I bit down hard enough and she didn't just yelp, she yelled.

When she managed to get a hand free I pushed up, to look down at her.

She smiled then, reached down, and cupped my balls in her hand.

And squeezed.

I didn't try to pull away. Instead, I kissed her, a tender kiss.

I started scooting down and she released where she was holding.

I kissed my way down her body then, light kisses. I kissed her throat and those sexy hollows of her collarbones before scooting down a bit more and kissing her breasts, finding her nipples with my lips, hard now with her excitement, kissing and sucking nipples, adding spice with little nips on tender skin. She squirmed and giggled as I kissed a circle around her belly button before probing it with my tongue.

I kissed the line where her pubic hair stopped before I leaned back, sat on my heels, and said, "Give me your hands."

When she reached for me I laid her hands on her pussy, palms flat where that line of thick, curly hair ran down her labia and covered them with mine.

As I began pressing, opening her up, I said, "Personal preference. Offer yourself."

I watched as she slowly spread her knees and then used her palms to open herself up, putting her inner lips, her labia minora, on display. On her, those inner lips were covered with tiny wrinkles and were darkly pigmented.

Where she was open now, silvery threads of the product of the mucus membranes lining her vagina connected the two lips, something I find beautiful and sexy.

"Wider," I said, bending to kiss the inside of her thighs, my tongue tracing the line of the big tendon that showed so clearly, my lips kissing the hollow it made.

As I watched, she moved her hand slightly so that her fingertips were against the inside of her labia, inside of the sharp line formed by her pubic hair, touching where the skin was smooth and shiny with her nectar and very pink where the blood fed densely packed nerve endings and the skin was thin, ensuring those nerves could be stimulated.

She pulled her legs even wider apart, took a deep breath, and pulled herself open even more.

And I saw what I wanted to see. Deep inside the tunnel of her vagina her cervix, pink and shiny, looked like a tiny mouth, smiling at me, and at the top of the passage into her body, her clitoris stood, a hard pink button looking exactly like what it is, a vestigial penis.

"Hold still now," I said softly, and blew, very softly, where she was offering herself.

She made a soft sound, best written as, "unhhhh."

The scent that filled my nose was the pure womanscent of a woman's need and the pheromones in that sweet perfume did the work evolution demanded. My already-hard cock got rigid and started throbbing.

When my tongue found her clitoris and started rolling it, a hard button moving in tiny circles as I pressed against it, tasting the oily saltiness of her womanneed, a shudder ran through her body.

I licked then, my tongue running across her fingernails where she held herself open and then deeper, touching those delicate inner lips, soft and hot and swollen now.

In my marriage to Monica, oral sex was a regular part of our sex life, but I still considered it to be a treat to enjoy. I took my time with Darla, as I always did with my wife, and enjoyed the way she responded. I made those circles, my tongue tracing her fingernails and then moving deeper, and felt her response as her hips started rocking in that way only a woman can do. The rocking motion was forward and then relaxing, up and down from my perspective, but there was also a hint of pushing deeper, seeking more pressure from my mouth and tongue.

I kept that up, seeking the reaction I always got from Monica if I would be patient, and there it was.

Her scent changed subtly. It's hard to describe in writing. How do you describe the scent of a rose changing to that of a marigold?

Her scent changed, subtly, and when I pulled away and looked, the secretions of her Bartholin's and Skene's glands had joined the mucus from the lining of her vagina and her natural honey was now thick and white as it pooled at the bottom of her vagina.

As I bent to taste I was reminded of the description I had read once, perhaps something from the Greeks or Romans or maybe it was from the dip I took once into the Kama Sutra, of a woman's love honey as "the nectar of the Gods." That's a description I subscribe to, and Darla's nectar was thick and hot, very salty and oily to make her slick and make sex easier for both of us, with just a hint of a sweet aftertaste.

I tasted, delicately touching with my tongue, licked, enjoying the shudder that ran through her body, and then covered her inner lips with my mouth and sucked softly, drinking her excitement and feeling those lips swell in my mouth.

While I swallowed that wonderful honey her heels dug into my shoulder blades and she pulled me to her as her hips thrust.

Her orgasm was sudden and a sudden wave of watery hot nectar gave me a delicious dessert as her heels dug in, her back arched, and she keened a high-pitched "eeeeeeeEEEEEEE" sound.

When she relaxed I released her with my mouth, pulled her hands away from where she still held herself open and exposed, knee-walked forward, and slipped inside of her.

I lifted myself as if I was doing a pushup, supported myself with my left hand, and then covered her left breast with my right palm and pressed.

I smiled down at her and said, "I know, personal preference."

She smiled at that, not one of those grins, but a real smile, and said, "You're a good student."

I was hard and ready and it only took a dozen thrusts before my body answered evolution's demand and I sent my sperm deep into her body seeking an egg to quicken. I was holding her eyes with mine as I came and she smiled while I experienced that special agony/ecstasy of ejaculation.

"You have," she said, her breathing close to normal now, "a VERY interesting cumface."

I chuckled at that, my own breathing still pretty ragged, and said, "And you have a VERY interesting cumpussy."

She giggled and pulled me down.

"Give me your weight," she said.

So I did. As I relaxed, settling onto her, I felt myself softening, as always happens to any man, and she squeezed with very educated vaginal muscles, holding me inside of her.

She was carrying my full weight, breathing in harsh little pants, when I softened too much and slipped out, pulling a soft whimper from her.

We lay like that, an odd post-coital intimacy, with me relaxed, feeling her skinny body under me, oddly comforting, for some timeless period. As my breathing returned to normal hers became more labored until, finally, she patted my back and managed, "I can't breathe."

I chuckled at that, and said, "Like I like you," but then rolled off of her.

She lay quiet on her back, just drawing air into her lungs in great whoops, and I realized that skinny women can be sexy. There was something about the small bumps of her breasts, the gentle concavity of her belly, those interesting hollows of her collar bones and hip joints, the slight rise of her mons, the whole package, that I thought was oddly feminine.

Suddenly she rolled away and off the bed.

She stood there, looking down at me, and as I watched a thick white teardrop of mixed nectar and semen form in her thigh gap and slowly stretch, staying connected to that thick pubic hair with a steadily thinning string, I was captivated. I literally could not look away.