The Rocket

"Too low," she said, needing the last word. "Definitely a shitty design."

Beverly said she knew a better way to get to her house, so I shut down the GPS and we zig-zagged across town, taking little two-lane residential streets with no traffic. It was nice, we were chatting about our lives after a nice glass of wine. Then, I couldn't really see what she was doing, but she seemed to reach inside her shirt and do something for a minute. Then, with a flourish, she pulled out her expensive-looking lace bra. "I hate these fucking things," she said, placing it in her handbag.

"You are over the top sexy," I said, grinning at her. She opened her window and let the wind blow over her skin and into her blouse, ballooning it out around her, rippling and snapping in the breeze.

"That's what I'm talking about," she said. "It feels good to be free."

She was looking absolutely stunning riding in my cool car. Her breasts were quivering as we bounced over neighborhood speed-bumps, her hair was blowing in the free breeze, and her face had a relaxed and happy look.

"Hey, just a minute," she said unexpectedly. "Let's stop here. It's early, we can have a walk in the park before our date ends."

"Sounds good," I said. She directed me to the parking lot of a small neighborhood park, called Bolder Park. I had driven past the park but had never gone into it. It was about a block of suburban real estate with a big boulder at the corner. Kids would climb on the boulder, which was covered with graffiti, and there were picnic tables around it for families and groups, but it was deserted now, after dark. I had always assumed that the park was named after the boulder and that some illiterate pioneer who kept the town's records back in the day didn't know how to spell. Thus: Bolder. Of course, there was also a main street in town called Bolder Avenue, a Bolder Museum, and a big place called the Bolder Mansion that was lit up at night. Also Bolder's Hardware, Bolder House Apartments, and the town's mayor was Alex Bolder. So maybe my theory was wrong.

We parked and stepped out into the fading evening glow. "This car is going to kill my knees," she said as she straightened up. "And my back, ooch." She made a dramatic gesture to brace her lower back with her hand. But the air was clean and the sounds of the city were somehow refreshing, teenagers yelling, radios blasting, dogs barking back in the neighborhoods. Bev quickly forgot her pain and put her arm through mine and we set out to explore.

This is an exceptionally unexceptional park. It has some trees, a baseball diamond, a playground with swings and stuff to climb on. We walked quietly, sat in the baseball dugout for a minute making out in the absolute privacy of the wide-open space of the baseball field. We walked on to the playground. Bev hurried ahead and took a quick spin on the merry-go-round.

She was a sight, her firm legs pushing, her heavy breasts rocking inside the thin satin of her blouse, her hair a glamorous tangle. Mainly she had a big happy smile. She hopped off the merry-go-round after one revolution, balancing skilfully in her heels on the mulch. "Oh look," she pointed. "A rocket ship."

I don't know what the proper name is for this kind of playground equipment, a couple of short ladders leading to a platform with slides on each side, then another ladder up to a rocket ship with windows, up at the top. She smiled at me: "Come on, let's go up." She didn't wait for me but started up the ladder.

Now I was looking up her skirt, discovering that she had the firmest, roundest, tightest bottom ever. I could see flashes of pubic hair as she climbed the ladder, looking back at me. She was flat-out teasing me. "Come on up," she hollered. "Enjoy the view."

"I am already enjoying the view," I said.

She laughed happily. "Excellent. And there's lots more."

The rocket ship turned out to be wonderful. It had a sort of safety carpet on the floor that was padded with foam, soft and fuzzy but of course durable, rows of windows or portholes on each side, and an open roof so a kid could stand up and pilot the spaceship or yell down to their mom, or whatever. When I got there, Bev was lying on the carpet looking up at the sky. Soft light streamed in through the portholes, giving her a dreamy look. One leg was bent and the other was extended, and her breasts were not hidden at all by the translucent fabric. I had known Beverly for many years, and it's true we usually referred to her as "the frosty one," especially compared to the third sister, "the fun one." In all these years I had never seen Bev looking so natural and relaxed and happy.

"Look," she said. "Stars."

I lay down beside her and looked up. "It's a clear night," I said. "Lots of stars."

She immediately squirmed closer to me, cuddling her body up against mine. She turned slightly toward me, keeping an eye on the beautiful black sky, but with those firm breasts riding up hard against my rib cage. I reached a lazy hand over and began massaging the weighty volume of the nearest breast. My thumb ran over the nipple and she pulled closer to me.

"It seems like you know what you're doing," she said softly.

I leaned over her and kissed her and she rolled onto her back. I continued to touch that full breast, letting my fingers brush over the nipple, sometimes pinching it gently.

"I never imagined you like this," I said.

"I know, huh? Always so businesslike. What a frosty bitch."

"Well," I tried to soften her words but actually she knew what she was saying. "You do usually seem to be preoccupied with your work."

"Yep," she said, "And I will be again tomorrow. But tonight I am due for a break."

I kissed her again and she responded like a fluid being, maybe like a cat pouring herself into a tight space. Her body moved under me and her arms came up around me and her tongue came out to meet mine as she flowed to meet me. I finished unbuttoning her top and sucked on her nipples, one then the other, holding each heavy breast in my hand while I attended to it. Again, she flowed like a cat, pouring her body into my mouth, my hands, moving against me as I stimulated her.

I reached for her crotch, which was exposed to the universe and all the stars. Her pussy was wet, her clitoris was hard, she pushed her hips against my hand and I rubbed her sensitive tissue. Over the next minute she pulled the entire length of her body closer to me until she was nearly wrapped around me, with my fingers dancing over her pussy and finally closing in on that clitoris, and then she broke out sobbing. At least it sounded like sobbing. By the time she fell back and I could see her face she was laughing her head off as an orgasm subsided.

"Woo doggie," she said through her laughter. "Man oh man. Did I need that, or what?" I reached for her again but she pushed my hand away. "Fuck me," she said. "It doesn't even need to be good, just stick it in and fuck me."

It seemed like a strange thing to say. I have had women describe their "normal" sexual experience, and it seems like a lot of guys think it's all about themselves. I kind of understood that she just wanted to do it, was not looking for the experience of a lifetime but just wanted to end a dry streak, so to speak. On the other hand, her low expectations did take some of the pressure off me to "perform" or meet some standard. The thing is, going off prematurely is not a problem I have ever had. I can't explain it, but my orgasm takes a while to build up, and then it has to be triggered by just the right feeling. I have literally faked orgasms in the past when a girl didn't set me off. It requires a combination of physical sensation and something interpersonal, maybe trust or enthusiasm -- it isn't one particular thing, but it matters that the person I am with is aroused. But I did not explain all that to her.

"Okay," I said. I sat up and looked out the portholes on each side. The coast was clear. We had excellent privacy in that rocket ship; if someone wandered into the park we would hear them, and if they got too close we would have time to straighten up before they climbed up to us.

"Let's get those pants off you," Beverly said. I lay back and she sat up and pulled them off me. Then she turned back to me and took my hard cock in her hand. "This is nice," she said. "I definitely didn't think the night was going to end like this."

"It hasn't ended yet," I said.

"Good point." She lowered her lips to my cock and took a series of good, deep sucks, then pumped it with her hands.

Then without a word she threw her legs over mine and mounted me. She placed the opening of her vagina against the head of my cock and did not move for half a minute, enjoying the sensation. I was enjoying it too. Then she lowered her hips on me, taking my full length in a long slow motion. "Woo," she said, "It's bigger than it looks."

"Is it okay?" I asked her.

"Oh yes," she replied. "I mean, it's normal size, right?"

I laughed a little. "Yes," I said, "Exactly average in every way." But her comment made me realize that this professionally successful adult beauty had not actually had much experience with real live penises. The thought had never occurred to me -- she seemed to have everything she wanted, and yet somehow it seemed she was too busy to enjoy the simple and free pleasures of life.

She held me deep for a little while then rocked forward. Her pussy was tight and she seemed a little unsure of herself, sitting on top of me. She leaned forward and moved her hips in a way that did not provide any friction to me, and probably not for her, either. Like she had seen sex in some Hollywood movies and was trying to do whatever it is that those people do.

I let her ride me for a few minutes. Her vagina became well lubricated and there was no more suggestion that it was uncomfortable for her. She took me about halfway and moved from the waist in a way that fulfilled the textbook definition of sexual intercourse, but not much more. After a while my poor cock began losing interest, and was in danger of wilting inside her.

"Let's try it with me on top," I suggested, and rather than appearing offended I had the feeling she was relieved.

She lay on her back with her legs apart, bent at the knees, and I got between her legs and fed my length into her by hand, an inch at a time. I was able to use my hips to at least fuck her, you know what I mean? I got some friction going, some rhythm, and she moaned softly but her hips did not respond to me. "The frosty one," I was thinking, no wonder they call her that.

My theory has always been that the usual reason women are dissatisfied in bed is because of their partner's incompetence. It's his job to make her feel good, and that doesn't happen if he is just thinking about his own sensations. And if all they've known is incompetent partners, how are women supposed to learn the fine arts of erotic pleasure?

I pushed Bev's skirt up to her waist and lifted her legs over my shoulders. She smiled up at me, like she was impressed at a move she had never seen, and I began fucking her slowly. My cock was recovered now, and I felt I was on a mission. I began by teasing her. I inserted the head of my cock, just the ball on the end, pushing it just inside the opening of her vagina, with her toes dangling in front of my face. I twitched my hips perhaps a half inch, popping in and out of her, just teasing the opening. And then after six or seven of those I leaned forward and went in deep. I was gentle, but I rammed my full length into her, gave a little shove for good measure, and then pulled back and teased her with twitches again.

Her initial moans had seemed obligatory, you know what I mean? She was supposed to be impressed by my macho lovemaking blah blah blah. But now she began moaning for real. She nearly choked the first time I went deep, and she reached her arms around me to hold me for safety's sake as I ground my pubic bone against hers and then released and came back.

"Oh my god," she said. "What are you doing?"

"I thought you wanted me to fuck you," I replied.

"I didn't know you were going to do... that," she moaned.

"Is it okay?" I asked, and before she could answer I gave her the whole thing again, filling her tender vagina with rock-hard cock.

She grunted and did not answer, clinging harder to my back. "Oh my god," she said again. "This is ridiculous."

This little introduction seemed to have changed her whole attitude, but she did not orgasm. I patted her leg and said, "Put your legs down." She laid them on the carpet. "Now put them together," I said.

"Are you kidding?"

"Nope. Put your legs together under me, I'll put my legs outside yours."

She tried it. I pumped my cock into her a few times, mainly to demonstrate to her that it would work. Then for the coup de grace I scooted up almost imperceptibly, shifting my body toward her head by a couple of inches. The point of this is that now, instead of entering the vagina straight-on, my hard penis slid into it from the front. And the point of *that* is that with every thrust I dragged the firm tough muscle of my erection against her clitoris. The clit, which is an organ that exists solely to trigger a woman's orgasm, got several inches of solid hard friction on the downstroke, and then several inches again on the upstroke.

You will read that woman rarely orgasm from fucking. That's because the clitoris is not positioned to be stimulated during normal intercourse. All women are constructed differently, and a few are blessed with a nice accessible clit and they can cum from the mere act of normal artless sawing. The great majority of women though need direct stimulation, which might require some imagination on her partner's part. With her legs together and my body positioned high on her, it seemed she was getting plenty of stimulation.

I pumped my hips in a rhythm, ramming my cock down into her and reeling it back up, pressing forward as I plowed into her to keep that clit happy. Now Bev's vocalizations turned into real moans. She wrapped her arms around my back and was panting. "I don't know what you're doing," she said, "But don't stop. Uh, no, don't stop that."

I was fucking her pretty hard at this point, a big ol' choo-choo train coming down the mountain, pounding her deep and giving that clitoris the most attention it had ever had in its life. Beverly was gasping for breath, holding on for dear life, and...

... then it hit her.

I was afraid the neighbors might call the police. "911? A lady is getting murdered in the park! Hurry! It sounds horrible, she is screaming and squealing and calling somebody a motherfucking son of a bitch and groaning and I hear her banging around like she's having a seizure or something, wait, just a minute, now she's laughing. Oh, okay, never mind, false alarm, sorry."

She released me suddenly and fell back. Her laughing eyes looked up at me. "What was that?" she panted.

"Well it's not real romantic terminology but normal people call that fucking."

"Fucking, huh? I like it," she said. "But give me a minute." She fanned herself with her hand. My cock was still inside her, and I moved my hips occasionally to keep the embers glowing. After a minute she stopped fanning herself and closed her eyes. "That feels nice," she said.

I knew she wouldn't cum this way. It was different; I slipped my penis in and out of her and she lay there like a dead fish.

"Roll over," I told her. "Let's try something."

She looked up at me in fear.

"Don't worry," I said. "I'm not going to put it in your ass." She exhaled. "Unless you want me to."

"No," she said. "I don't think I'm ready for that." I silently agreed with her.

She lay on her stomach with her legs apart. I have to say again, she had a great butt. I got between her legs and took my dick in my hands and worked it into her pussy. "Lift your hips a little," I said. "It would be better if we had a pillow or something, but this will be okay." I shifted until I was all the way into her -- a little tricky, coming from behind, but it can be done.

"Okay," I said, "Now bring your legs together."

I threw my legs out and over hers as she brought hers together under me. I was able to scoot up for better penetration, resting my knees on the rug beside her. I gave a full, slow thrust, just to make sure we were in business. Her head came up and she looked back over her shoulder at me. "Wow," she said, "You are full of tricks, aren't you?"

"Is that okay?"

"Oh my god, yes," she said.

And now the good part. I lowered my upper body down to rest on her back, lowered my head, and bit her shoulder.

Woo hoo, it was like bull-riding, she exploded into motion, kicking and squirming, squealing, like she was trying to get away but she definitely was not. She heaved her butt back at me, taking me deeper, and her back arched up. Her head turned back toward me and I kissed her, a big sloppy kiss with drool falling from our joined lips. I began pumping into her, plowing deep, while we made out with her head twisted around. There is something animalistic about this position, a quality of dominance-and-submission that both people feel. I was fucking her hard and deep and reached around with one hand to pinch her nipple. I squeezed it hard and twisted it. She was moaning and kicking under me. The temperature kept going up, it was wilder and wilder, until we were shaking the whole rocket. I was sweating and so was she. She did not have an orgasm but it was still an amazing few minutes of lovemaking, and then we needed a breather.

I fell off her. The cool air felt good on me. She said, "Aren't most guys done by now?"

I was not sure how to answer that one. I said, "Honestly, I have never watched what most guys do. I don't know what they do. Are they done by now?"

"Yeah, of course," she said. "That was a dumb question." We cuddled together and she reached over to stroke my hard cock. "I guess I was wondering, what does it take for you to finish?"

"I could finish right now," I said. "I could put on my pants and we could go home."

"That's not what I mean," she said.

"Yeah, okay," I said. "Would you like me to show you how to finish me off?"

"Yes," she said, "Unless it's something weird."

I laughed. "No, not weird, this is totally normal. I'll show you how to finish me off with normal, regular, missionary position sexual intercourse. If you want."

"Okay," she said. "That sounds interesting."

"First, have you had enough? Because we don't have to end now."

"Yes, actually I am a perfectly happy girl."

"Okay, here we go. I am going to get on top of you. Now I am going to put my penis inside you." Doing these things as I described them. "And now you are going to finish me off."

She laughed. "No fair!" she said. "How am I supposed to do that?"

"Oh okay," I told her. "First off, move your hips in a way that causes my cock to go all the way deep into your pussy, and then move your hips back so only my tip is inside you. Try it." Poised above her in a kind of push-up position, I held my hips still while she experimented. Soon she had found a movement that took me deep and then stimulated my length as she backed off me, then stimulated it again when she took me into herself.

"How does that feel?" I asked her.

"Oh, I forgot to notice," she said. "I was thinking about what I was doing."

"Okay, keep doing that, and then tell me how it feels."

Bev continued flexing her hips. She got the hang of it and I could feel her relax into the familiarity of the motion. "That feels good," she said. "It's nice to feel you going in and out of me."

"And you're the one doing it," I said. "Do you know where your clitoris is?"

"Of course I do," she said. "I mean, technically."

"Good. Can you adjust this movement so that your clit rubs against me when you move?"