Wrong Number

She's obviously already aroused.

Very, very aroused.

Or else the lips of her vagina just swell up when she's frightened. Either way, I start rubbing again, aimlessly sliding my hands up and down the back of her calf as I watch her totally exposed lips slowly turn a light crimson red.

"Now what were the rules again?" I gasp to myself. "Settle down, Markl Think. Think. Think, damn you, think!! Okay, more warm walrus oil or whatever's in the bottle. Yeah, pour that on her other calf and then start sliding your hands up and down her legs from her calves to her thighs, Mark. Damn, am I glad she dialed the wrong number."

Another low moan.

I think it came from her that time but I'm not sure. At any rate, if it was her, this one sounds like she's a lioness in the jungle and she's getting ready to bite something.

But now I'm getting into this. Guess what? I'm a musician and she's a violin and I just discovered I can make wonderful sounds come out of her if I do everything right. Time to get serious. Really serious. A series of long, slow, strokes up the back of her legs from her ankles all the way up to the top of her thigh. Right hand on the right leg, left hand on the left leg. Caressing, teasing, first soft then a little harder then soft again. Producing a symphony of sexual melodies from the now suddenly expert manipulation of the muscles and skin on her legs.

Until I accidentally brush my thumbs against her vagina.

Just once.

I hear a small, very deep grunt, followed by a long gasp slip out from under the pillow. This time I'm sure it's her because my mouth is so dry I couldn't squeak if the roof of the house suddenly fell in. Another long stoke down her legs and back up and another accidentally intentional brush of my thumbs against the incredibly swollen lips of her vagina. The same sounds flow from her lips but she pushes the pillow off her head and I notice that her breathing is changing. Short, quick inhale. Longer exhale. Her fingers are moving slowly, expanding and contracting like a cat as I touch her. Five or ten more repetitions of this same thing and she suddenly folds her arms up under her head, arches her butt up slightly and spreads her legs as far apart on the bed as possible.

Wow, this is fun.

This is really fun. I can feel the power flowing through my hands.

"Hey, you guys. Look!!" I breath quietly to myself as I turn my head around to face the memory of the other ten players on our high school football team. "Look what I can do to Ann Kelly, you guys. Watch. Down the leg and then up and a gentle nudge here and a soft caress there and Ann Kelly starts to go nuts. Hmmm, this could get addictive. Let's take the towel completely off and try the butt. Wow, more soft little sexual sounds that I didn't know women could make. Now her back. Oh well, I guess everything can't be perfect. Oh-oh, she's moving."

I was about to learn Blindfolded Massage Lesson One: aroused women are not predictable creatures.

Suddenly this timid and heretofore completely placid woman just flips over on the bed. Flat on her back with her legs spread apart and smiles in my general direction.

"Okaaaaaaaayyyyy. Well, that makes sense. I guess I'd expect the world's most perfect breasts to be attached to her. Now for some fun," I mutter under my breath as I lean forward, reach down and put my hands behind her calves and pull her slowly across the bed towards me until the back of her calves are resting on my outstretched thighs. "Now lean forward a little more, Mark, reach out and massage just the very tip of her nipples and see what happens. Hey, funny sounds and an arched back. Wow!"

A few more minutes go by as she writhes gently under my touch. Caress and pull softly, caress and pull softly. Squeeze gently. And start all over again. By now her hips are moving slowly up and down almost in unison with my fingers. Pressing down with her calves on my thighs as the muscles in her stomach contract rhythmically and I witness the most beautiful sight in the world...a woman undulating slowly. Especially if she's doing it because you're the man touching her.

Less than four minutes later she bites down on her lip and groans. Suddenly a series of small electrical impulses rush from the right side of my brain to the left side and back again and, miraculously, a whole new world is in front of me and I can instantly read every subtle little signal her body is sending me.

I slide the tips of my fingers quietly off her nipples and put the palms of my hands on the inside of her thighs. Sliding them delicately up and down from her knees to her vagina. Teasing her as she squirms sensually beneath me. Pushing her thighs just slightly further apart each time until she gives in completely and takes her calves off my thighs, brings up her feet and flops her knees out and down so that the soles of her feet are almost together in front of me on the bed.

"Hmmm. She's not touching my legs anymore with her legs," I say to myself as I stand up and attempt to set a world's record for taking off a pair of bicycle shorts and a T-shirt.

Less than three seconds.

A new world's record.

Freedom.

Finally.

My erection is so intense that it feels like I could use it as a battering ram to knock down doors in a raid on a drug house as I sit back down on the chair and mutter, "okay, control. Stay under control. Play by the rules. Reach around your dick and put your hands on her feet and massage them gently."

She giggles because she's ticklish.

Somehow I knew that already.

But her giggles turn to moans once again as I slide the palms of my hands over her calves and up the inside of her thighs. Her body spasms slightly as I begin to gently caress the outer lips of her vagina with my thumbs. Exploring her delicately. Suddenly she's breathing through her nose, deep quick flashes of air, like an animal under attack, intertwined with groans so deep they feel like they're welling up from the floor.

"Ohhhh, don't stop..." she whispers and then instantly realizes that she's broken the rules.

I can see it in her face. A shy smile. A seductive pursing of her lips. She knows what she's done. But she's wild and her passion is controlling her now. I resist the temptation to reply to her transgression by leaning forward. Sliding my body down over her body.

Making love to her would be so easy now.

Instead I respond with the tips of my fingers. Caressing her delicately. Gliding my fingers over the sweet, damp mysteries beneath them as she begins to rhythmically contract the muscles in her stomach and thighs. After a few minutes I place the palm of my left hand on her stomach and begin massaging it gently as I position my right hand above her vagina. She's anticipating my touch because she begins to moan softly a few seconds before I start to delicately circle the tip of my finger around the base of her clitoris. So lightly that I can feel it swelling in response to my caress.

Her mouth is open now, gasping for air.

Two minutes more of this intensely wonderful stimulation and her head begins to tilt back. Another two minutes and she's begun to gently massage her own nipples as her tongue flicks rapidly out of her mouth and brushes her lips.

Then suddenly everything stops.

Her breathing.

The slow undulations of her stomach.

All movement.

Even time.

Until her entire body tightens up and I begin to brush the tip of my finger back and forth much quicker over the throbbing tip of her clitoris. She gasps, shutters and gasps again. And then makes a sound that I've only heard from one other woman in my life as she loses complete control of herself. Staccato like screams of arousal and relief blend into spontaneous convulsions as I continue to massage her clitoris right through her first orgasm and into what seems like a never ending crescendo of ensuing climaxes.

Until she's exhausted.

But smiling and completely relaxed. Even though she's still trembling slightly and blushing because I've witnessed something incredible. The power and depth of orgasms so intense that she's almost embarrassed by her reaction.

Suddenly I realize that I'm glad she's blindfolded.

Rules are rules.

I slowly slip back into my T-shirt and bicycle shorts, bend down and kiss her softly on her mouth and then walk out the door.

Ten minutes later my cellphone rings.

Breathing.

No words.

Finally she whispers, "thank you. I didn't think men like you existed anymore, Mark."

Click.