The Girl Next Door

"I've done this." Her wet mouth engulfed my rod, stiffening it even further, and she roughly tugged my pants and underwear down and away. Points for chutzpah if not for technique, and, anyway, I was more interested in swirling my tongue around her clit and sucking it back and forth between my lips like a small, prized BB. No one had donethat to her before, and she immediately clamped her thighs around my head and started swearing like a sailor.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck – Goddamn! Oh, fuckfuckfuckfuck..."

That made me laugh. And that's how I found out that you can make a woman come by laughing directly into her cunt.

It was the longest, most surprised come I've ever heard, a guttural siren that started low and escalated by steps, each accompanied by a tightening of her thighs around my head. I felt the gush of pungent liquid onto my face and almost came myself then and there, but held on as her muffled shouts of release gave way to ragged breathing. She kept arching her slick pussy against my face, as though her body wanted more. Her own face slid against my cock; with a groan I felt the long strands of her hair wind around it and tug me toward release.

No, not yet.

I looked up and saw her face in repose, eyes closed, eyelids violet with passion or blood flow or something. Her hair a fine and lovely tangle, eyeglasses akimbo, and my cock still trembling against her cheek, a silver strand of jewels stretching from its tip to her cheek. I swung up to cradle her from behind, her smooth warm back expanding and contracting against my chest, and I kissed the back of her neck. She mooshed her hips up against me, purring. My cock slid between her legs and sawed gently back and forth along her cuntlips as we breathed. I could have stayed like that for a century or two.

She smiled when I told her about my vasectomy, and before she'd even had time to assent, I changed the angle of my hips just enough to glide straight into her with one long, slow, steely thrust. She grabbed my hand and cried out, pushing back harder with her ass and lifting her leg to give me better access. She was gloriously tight, and I knew she could feel every inch of me. We picked up speed; the next thing I knew she was face down on the bed while I plowed into her from behind and she howled ecstatically into my pillow. I held onto her tightly muscled little ass and drove in with all my might, feeling her pussy squeeze me with an intense liquid vise-grip. I was close to heaven; she seemed already there.

At some point I flipped over, and I remember a long, timeless, hard fuck: her on top trying to fuse her hips with mine, that shiny curtain of hair falling around me, blocking off everything but the sight of her face, dreamy and snarling. Her glassesfinally came off and we laughed raggedly about that, then tucked ourselves into each other's crevices and fucked until we were right at the top of the mountain, sweaty and ready to plunge down the other side. My fingers slid along her ass and danced a tarantella around her sphincter, and that's all it took to send her over, neck cords taut and each intake of breath deeper and more guttural than the next. And that's all it took to sendme over, finally jetting hot ropes of come into her while her fingernails raised welts on my arms and we cried out into each others' necks.

It had been a long, long time since I'd come together with a woman – hard enough to see stars – and it was worth the wait.

We lay there grinning like two idiots for who knows how long. We dozed, and as I drifted into sleep my mind indulged my loins in a silly little fantasy in which I was ten years younger and she was ten years older and we made a go of it. Silly, like I said. I wouldn't have dreamed of telling her about it.

She woke up with a start at around two in the morning, listening carefully to make sure her parents hadn't yet come back. There wasn't much for us to say by that point. When she thanked me, I laughed and threw her shorts at her head. At the door between our rooms, we kissed quickly, with sudden teenage passion, and then I let her go. About 20 minutes later, there came the sound of a hall door opening, voices, the bumping of some drunken someone against the wall. Then I slept the sleep of the exhausted and guilty.

In the morning I could hardly walk, but I made it to the shower, dressed, got my papers in order. Then I headed for the elevator, and as I closed my door, who should step out of the next room but my dear little kinkette and her parents. They were carrying a few small traveling bags. Her dad looked nothing like me, thank God; a solid chunk of midwestern propriety, he was talking angrily into a cell phone about a missing delivery. The mother was 45 going on 20, or so her clothes and make-up indicated. She was listening to an iPod, tunelessly singing along to Alicia Keys, I think. The girl, my girl, was dressed plainly, jeans and nice purple silk blouse, and her eyes were locked on mine. All the laughter and sex of the night before was in her stare.

We piled into the elevator, dad talking a mile a minute, mom bopping, girl and me silently smiling. Then she turned to me and said in a perfectly conversational tone, "You know, that was easily the best sex I've ever had last night. You fuck like an animal." I stiffened and glanced at her parents, but they had heard nothing, lost in their respective techworlds. Her father glanced at us, but as far as he was concerned his daughter was making small talk with a stranger.

There wasn't much I could say in return without giving up the game, and she knew it. "Thanks. I only give as good as I get." My ears were burning.

"I accept the compliment." She paused and looked at the floor. "I... last night, I almost wished we could have kept going. No, not really. That you were younger. Or that I was older. Or –"

I lightly touched her arm to get her to stop, and it was her turn to blush. "Me too," I said, and then the elevator doors opened and we went our separate ways, I to a breakfast meeting, she and her parents to the front desk to check out. Her father looked quizzically back at me for just a moment, half-sensing that he'd missed something, maybe something big.

The last I ever saw of her was in the revolving glass doors of the hotel. The California sunlight caught in her long brown hair and reflected off her glasses, and I couldn't tell if she was looking back at me. It didn't really matter, because then she was gone.