Years From Now

Dedicated to the God of cunnilingus. Thanks for everything!

edited by jthserra

As I step on the plane I remember how this trip started about a hundred years ago. Ok, maybe that is a slight exaggeration, but it was years ago now. We were both quite unassailably attached back then. But time has a way of taking circumstances beyond our control and now we’re both, well, we’re not. Attached, that is.

So I get on the plane, a nervous wreck as I ponder my destination. Not that I haven’t pondered it about a million times already. I know where I’m going and why. I’m going to see an old friend whom I’ve never met. To finally see the face that I love. And before the night is done, I will fuck him till he comes twenty times. And on our first date, too. Christ, don’t tell my mother.

Ok, technically in this computer age, you can’t consider this our first date. We’ve had hundreds, maybe thousands of dates, then. He knows me better than my closest friends do. We’ve discussed everything from kids and lovers to illnesses and addictions. Verbally he’s brought me off more than any lover I ever had. He knows the way a woman likes her pussy licked. I know him well enough to know he would never dream of coming first. He’s a generous lover, a brilliant man, a poet. It feels as if I’ve known him all my life. So why this case of the jitters?

I have all his words with me, the poems and stories he’s written for me and for others. A fresh flush warms my body as I read Passion Song for the four thousandth time. He wrote it for me over a decade ago and it still makes me hot. My nervousness ebbs and I close my eyes, try to picture a face I’ve never seen.

My sister asked, “What if he’s ugly? What if he doesn’t turn you on?”

I smiled and answered, “He’s not and he does. I’ve seen his soul and it’s beautiful. No one has ever turned me on as much as this man.” She doesn’t get it, threatened to tell Mom. I told her to go ahead if she wanted to live with the guilt of a heart attack.

The plane lands and my heart takes off like a triple crown race horse. I sit, as others disembark, trying to breathe normally. Up the ramp and into the terminal on shaking legs, I stop in the ladies room to freshen my face. I brush my long blonde hair, put on some lip gloss and restack my melons on their silver platter. Ok, technically it’s a black lace Wonder-bra, but it serves the same purpose. I’m just showing off what’s on the menu.

I’m an exhibitionist. He’s a voyeur. That’s how we met, on this great little web site for writers. I was looking for an editor for the erotic stories I write, and I stumbled into smut-writer’s heaven. Funny thing was, it turned out to be so much more than a porn site, with a close knit community of poets and friendly folks reading and giving feedback for other writers. It was amazing. We saw each other’s work and just clicked, then found out we had so much more in common than writing, even similar spiritual interests.

I’m staring at my cleavage in the mirror, frozen. Why so nervous? I know this man. I love him! Why do I feel like a teen on my first date? Because I haven’t been on a date in the last 30 years. Because making love to this man tonight will be the culmination of exquisite foreplay that has lasted almost 13 years. He’s made me come a million times and he’s never even seen me. What if I don’t turn him on?

I shake my head and look in the mirror again. He’s gonna love the lace bra peeping over my blouse. I am an exhibitionist, and it’s show time. I smile at myself, then turn and walk with slightly feigned confidence. Somewhere in the back of my mind, Ted Nugent suddenly breaks into a sizzling rendition of Stranglehold. I take my time, letting the seduction come over me. The painted on leather skirt and “fuck me” pumps get the reaction I want. One hip at a time, I conquer the corridor. I feel the eyes, see heads turn. I meet the gaze of a man sitting at the bar. He smiles hopefully. I flip my hair over my shoulder as if to say, “You wish.” This is my game and I’m ready to play.

I descend the stairs and head toward the luggage carousel that’s flashing my flight number. I casually stroll up to the belt and watch the bags go round. No need to look for him, he’ll find me. He’s seen plenty of pictures of me. I couldn’t pick him out of a line up. Well, maybe I could, I have seen his eyes. He sent me a picture once peering over a cup of coffee and told me that’s what he’d look like staring up from my muff. I had to smile. He has great eyes.

I lean forward, knowing how my skirt will ride up in back, and grab my suitcase, just a small one, then look around. Although there’s no sign of him, I can feel him here, watching me. He loves to watch, not just me, though I’m sure to be his primary target at the moment. He watches everything. I scan the room and know he sees the crowd thinning out, the woman with a baby meeting her mom, the grandmother cooing over the infant, he sees it all.

A suit puts a handle on his suitcase and wheels it from the terminal. He hasn’t been laid in a long time and it shows. A young couple kisses like he’s returning from war. Thank God that’s a thing of the past. Jeff’s got his eyes on the way the man’s hands are squeezing her ass, I’m sure of it. Then I see a man leaning against a pillar looking at me. I meet his gaze, size him up; tall and thin with gray hair, self assured look. That’s not Jeff. No way that’s him. As I scan the room again, Mr. Self-assured heads my direction, now looking more cocky than confident.

He extends his hand. “Hi Syndra, I’m Jeff.”

I stare into his eyes, but don’t reach for his hand. “No you’re not.” He looks confused, but I ignore him, turn away and look at the decreasing population in the terminal. Baggage claim clerk helps tired mother with 2 little kids, as a sexy young man lifts a guitar case from the still revolving carousel. Gray hair above newspaper, eyes watching me. That’s Jeff. The eyes smile as I walk toward him. Oh yes, those are Jeff’s eyes. He continues to peer over his paper. I lean in, resting a hand on my knee, pulling the paper down so the sway of my breasts is directly in his line of sight. He’s grinning. “Hi Jeff.”

“Hi, Syn.” He rises and pulls me to him in a long hug.

All my qualms evaporate with his breath on my neck. I could stay here forever, where I’ve wanted to be for so long. Jeff is holding me in his arms! Oh, it’s almost too good to be true. Finally and reluctantly we release the embrace and he kisses me. His lips press tenderly to mine and I melt. My panties grow damp and all the foreplay from all the years creeps into my consciousness. More than anything I want to drop to my knees and release his desire, but I just kiss him again, and look into his wonderful eyes. “Nice to see you.”

He smiles. God he’s got a great smile! He’s just as I had him pictured. Slightly over 6 feet, gray hair and beard, with this open face. I don’t know what I mean by open. Honest, friendly maybe? Or maybe I just know him so well he’s like an open book to me. He’s well built with biceps rock hard beneath his black shirt. And those eyes! He has gorgeous hazel eyes.

“Nice to see you, too Syn. You look beautiful.” He drops his gaze to my bosom then plants a big kiss and a lick on the swell above the lace. I gasp and my cunt begins to pulse with pent up desire. He watches my face flush with need. “Absolutely gorgeous. And you smell of lilacs. Shall we go?”

I’m speechless, and slightly breathless, as he lifts my bag and hands it to his impersonator. “Syn, this is Mike, our chauffeur.”

“Hi Mike.”

“Ma’am. Nice to meet you.” He takes my bag and leads us out of the terminal. A black stretch limo sits by the curb. Mike opens the door and bows slightly.

I raise one eyebrow at Jeff. He just smiles and waves me in first. I slide onto the leather seat as he climbs in after. “Nice ride. Why the impostor?”

“You know why.”

“You wanted to watch me, I know. But I would have danced naked, had you asked. Why the impostor? Were you going to run away if you didn’t like what you saw?” For just an instant, a pinch of my earlier nervousness returns.

He slides closer and pulls me into a kiss. “Not a chance, Syn. I just wanted to watch you without you reacting to me, just being you.”

Mike gets in front. “To the restaurant, Sir?”

“The reservations are at nine. Just drive until then. Show Syndra the town.”

“Yes Sir.” The partition creeps up between the front seat and us.

I straddle his lap, press my crotch to his, and feel him rise to meet me. I kiss him long and sweet, loving, exploring. I feel like a kid on Christmas morning when all her dreams come true. And I still have a package to unwrap.

He reaches into my blouse, under the lace and lifts one breast into view. “Jesus, Syn, you weren’t kidding.”

I smile. “Meaning?”

“You have perfect nipples.” He’s right. I do. I’m not bragging, it’s simply true. I have vanilla breasts with caramel nips that gather with the slightest breeze. Of course I already told him this because, well, that’s just how I am. He suckles like a newborn and I swoon into him. Dizzy now, I just ride along in this plush automobile across his lap while he sucks my tit and I rub my clit against his jeans. I am in heaven.

His tongue slides up my neck and his lips find mine again. He palms my panties. “You’re hot.”

“Why thank you, love. You’re pretty hot yourself.” I slide onto the floor before his finger can sneak under the damp nylon. He reaches, but I slip between his knees, release his belt and pull his fly open. One last sizzling glance at his eyes, then I dip in to find my prize. “Oh, God, Jeff! It’s everything I hoped for.” He smiles and watches me cradle it in my hand like a precious artifact and lick it like the delectable treat it is.

I’ve waited so long for this moment. I wonder if I ever told him how much I love to give head? He’s about to find out as I lick and kiss and swirl. Swirl again and swallow hard. I love the way it feels against my lips, my tongue. They should make lipstick in the shape of a cock. Not thin like lipstick, cock sized. I love the way the rubbery tip feels soft against my lips and all over my tongue, eyelids, cheeks. Ok, the lipstick idea might get messy. I swallow again, taking his length in my mouth.

“Jesus, Syn!”

I dive again and suck slowly back to the tip and swirl my tongue. Men have told me they don’t need the swirl, it’s just for show in porno movies. But I need it. I love it! I like to lick it and play with it and gobble and suckle it. So I swirl because it feels good. Damn it feels good. My pussy starts to throb, my nipples press hard against the rough lace of my bra.

I bathe the entire surface with my tongue. Such a lovely prick, my God! Nice, slow strokes with my hand, while I attend to his balls. I palm one and take the other into my mouth very gently, licking and sucking. I squeeze and lick and revel in the scent of him. Musky man scent, warm and close. Finally so close. A small moan escapes his lips. As I shift my weight and lick my way back up the shaft, I glance at his face. I have to smile. At this point in a blow job, most men are lolled back, eyes shut and nearly drooling. Not Jeff. My voyeur is watching every move. Now I’m really turned on.

The only thing I love more than sucking cock is being watched while I suck cock. I swallow him deep, but he’s reached his full length. I love a challenge. I smile and pull back slowly, sucking till I reach the head, lick the tip and dive on him again. He moans and puts his hand in my hair, not forcing me, just petting, appreciating. I let the slickness at the back of my throat slide around his cock, then pull back slow, sucking hard. He quivers slightly. I lift my eyes to see him watching, hold his gaze a minute, smiling as I flick my tongue against his glans. I wrap my lips around his shaft and swallow deep. When he reaches the back of my throat, I take a deep breath, open my throat and take it all.

He quivers. “Oh, God, Syn!”

I swallow him like a python takes her supper, sucking and squeezing him with my throat. I’m a good swimmer, so I can hold my breath quite a while. I keep him buried deep, swallowing repeatedly so the muscles in my throat constrict around his flesh. I hear a slight whimper. My hand moves to gently squeeze his balls while I feast on his flesh. It’s heaven having him in my mouth, down my throat, fucking my face. I pull back a bit, breathe, and dive on him again, opening my throat and swallowing him whole. The sound of his ragged breath drives me to peak performance. I lose track as I gobble and breathe, lick and swallow, take it deep and then retreat to tickle with my tongue. I don’t remember the last time I had this much fun. Soaked with desire, I lose myself in the feel of him, the scent of him, the taste of him. I want this to last forever, but it doesn’t take long.

“I’m gonna come, Syn.” Requisite warning offers to let me back off if I don’t want to swallow.

My efforts redouble. I’ve waited a long time and I am dying to taste this man. My panties are drenched and my nipples press hard against his thighs, reaching for him. His legs tremble, go taut, as I greedily suck him, softening the grip of my lips but maintaining the depth of my stroke. My head bobs in his lap, taking it all, savoring the creamy texture on my tongue, the salty sweet flavor I have only dreamed for so long. My stroke slows as I softly gulp his cream and moan with ecstasy. I milk the last drops into my mouth. Softly I kiss and lick his rubbery flesh, memorizing the feel of it against my lips. He pulls me up into his arms and kisses me with his tongue.

We melt together, kissing softly, then just breathing as I nuzzle his neck, smelling the wonderful scent of him. Once he catches his breath, he smiles at me. “You’re good, Syn.”

“You inspire me, Jeff.”

He reaches between my thighs and slips a finger under my panties. “God, you’re wet!”

I am. I can feel my desire flowing in the rivers of my veins and converging to pool in my warm delta. “Fuck me with your fingers,” I whisper in his ear.

He needs no encouragement to slip inside me two fingers, then three, as I gasp, and grasp at his touch. He rolls me onto my back and takes a nipple to his lips, making me moan. His thumb finds my clit and my breath comes fast. His other hand slips inside my bra to tweak my other nipple.

“Oh, yes, Jeff.”

His mouth on my breast and his attention to my clit bring my heart rate up fast. His fingers deep in me are delicious, twisting and reaching for my center. I hum along with the rhythm to which my hips are rocking.

He knows I’m close and coaxes me. “Come, Syndra, come. I want to see.”

And I do. I scream as it hits, and lift my hips. After thirteen years of foreplay, that’s all it takes. I have never been more ready in my life. He brought me to the brink a thousand times on words alone, then pushed me over time and again. He did this to me, inspired this heat, this desire, this wanton, willing passion. And now he takes me in the flesh and I am so ready to let go, to come in his arms. I have dreamed it so long and, now I do not need much coaxing to come here.

He licks his fingers clean and smiles at me. “You taste good.” He kisses me deeply and my mouth is now a mingle of his taste and mine. Our lips and tongues dance together for a long time, twirling in the heat of sated lust.

We talk of sex and poetry until we reach the restaurant. I fix my makeup and comb my hair. He’s brought me to Carelli’s, his favorite place. The hostess knows him, seats us at a booth in the back. It’s small, charming and cozy with a circular fireplace in the center, wine racks along the back wall and romantic lighting. But I’m not really here for the atmosphere. I slide right next to him in the booth and put my hand on his thigh. He wraps an arm around my shoulder and we share a menu.

“I’m starving,” I say. “What’s good?”

“Depends on what you’re in the mood for.”

“As long as I get linguine, I’ll be happy.”

When the waiter comes, Jeff orders chicken saltimboca and I get lobster alfredo over linguine. We talk and play and eat and laugh. He twirls my fork and feeds me linguine. We lock arms and sip from our glasses, eye to eye. My right thigh is lopped over his left, and he occasionally reaches under my skirt for a pet. The evening is an odd combination of first date/honeymoon gestures and emotions. After dinner he orders a brownie hot fudge sundae and a shot of gin. I order coffee and share his dessert, spooning every other bite into his mouth. Our kisses are now chocolate, laced with liquor. The combination is intoxicating.

I suddenly remember a poem he wrote a long time ago and feel inspired. I slide back so I’m resting against the wall, lift my right leg until my foot rests on the seat and my knee is pressed to my chest. Then I dip my fingers under damp panties, pull wet fingers out and stir his gin. He grins broadly, lifts his glass to his nose to smell my scent, then takes a sip. I let him lick my fingers then watch him lick his lips.

“Well?” he challenges me.

“Well what?”

“What about the rest of the poem?”

“Here and now?”

“You did in the poem.”

“In the poem we were in a bar. This is a nice family place.” He’s just looking at me, waiting. “You want they should ask us to leave and never come back?”

“It would be worth it to watch.” He’s really grinning now.

I feel my face flush, but it’s not from embarrassment. I’m turned on and he knows it. I move my hand between my legs and slip fingers back inside the dampness. With my other hand I pull the panties to one side so he can see.

His eyes fix on my naked mons, freshly shaved this morning because I know he likes it that way. He reaches absently and strokes one finger up the smooth lips. I quiver. I don’t know if it’s from the touch, or the way he’s looking at me as though admiring a work of art.

I dip the fingers deep, making them slick, then rub them hard against my growing clit. I tilt my tailbone under to give him a better view. I love doing it for him, love that he’s watching me. And then there is the element of danger, I could get caught. Other’s could watch, are probably watching now. A fresh flush warms my thighs and my breath comes faster. I work tight, hard circles around my clit. Gotta be fast or I’m gonna get caught. Yes. He’s watching, amazed, looks as if he’d like to help, but just watches, hypnotized by the little circles I’m making. I slide the fingers in, fuck myself as deep as I can, slide them back out to molest my clit. I’ve lost track of where I am, and just rock in the seat. Small moans escape my lips, eyes closed. So close, I’m nearly there.

“Are you ready for your check?”

My eyes fly open. I see the waiter just as his eyes lock on me. My mind registers my location and situation just in time to silence a scream. Orgasm overtakes me. Jeff and the waiter are spellbound as I writhe and pant and moan as quietly as I can manage. Slowly the tremors subside. Nonchalantly, I place my leg back under the table, stir Jeff’s gin with sticky fingers and then lick them off.

Jeff empties the glass in one gulp and hands the waiter a hundred dollar bill. “Keep the change.” He takes me by the hand, and leads me on weak knees to the parking lot, where we roll laughing into the back seat of the limo. Mike starts the car and we make a clean getaway.

Jeff pulls my knees up and pushes me onto my back. One hand unzips his fly and releases his thick cock as the other slides my panties off in one very smooth move. I am impressed, and so very ready to get fucked. I reach to guide him in but he pushes my hand away.

“I love seeing you so eager,” he teases. He leans over me, supporting his weight on his elbows and kisses me. “I love seeing you.” His eyes are so sexy.