A COUGARS LIFE

I am proud to say that I have finally admitted to not only myself but everyone else that I am a Cougar. I have always been attracted to men between 27 and 34. I could never figure out why. I have enjoyed the allure of energy that comes from their youth. I admire their ability to maintain control and bring me an awareness of my own mortality. Well, after dating Tim I have finally figured it out that that was all an illusion. Tim has such control. The control that comes from pain. This amazing man has shared everything with me. And I mean everything.

I have been living in a fools paradise. Our relationship started as a mutual agreement to maintain a sexual relationship without the demand of a relationship. If we hear from one another great. If we go days or weeks without talking fine. We agreed to maintain our sexual relationship. Neither one of us needs much. But when we do come together, it is as if we were meant for each other. It is as if we have known each other our entire lives. We are so comfortable with each other that words need not be said. It has baffled us. We communicate on a level I have never interacted on before.

We have no problem going out on a date. Neither one of us cares that I’m 50 and he’s 32. Neither one of us cares about the stares, questions or diatribe that people make. We enjoy each other’s company. Tim is the one of the most honest, caring and protective men that I have ever met. We share our fears, our disappointments, our dreams, our joys, and our painful pasts. We don’t judge. We don’t hold anything against the other. We don’t care how much baggage that we carry. We just share each other’s company.

You would think with my age and experience that I would have the upper hand. Not so, he is in control. And for someone who is comparatively younger he is much wiser than me. To acknowledge that raises an awareness in me. I am so in tune with the pain of his past and the future I see for him that I have become embroiled in his endeavors. How the hell did that happen?

We agreed not to become emotionally involved. Yet here we are involved. And it hit both of us between the eyes. We are both intelligent, articulate and insightful. How did we not see this coming? We both wanted a physical relationship born from respect. We have that. We both wanted a non-committed relationship that either one of us could end at any time without either one of us getting hurt. We no longer have that. What we have is more. He sees it and feels it and so do I.

He has told me things he rarely told anyone else. I have done the same. We thought we were allowing ourselves to be open, honest and forthright with each other. We thought this would allow us to understand each other. To absorb each other’s pain and create pleasure. What we have done is what most people crave. We began a relationship through mutual respect, honest communication and shared lives. Now the question that is in the back of both of our minds is what do we do now?

Neither one of us wants to broach the subject of our entanglement. We want to enjoy the pleasure of each other’s company, but neither one of us wants to admit that we have more. I know he knows how I feel. And that scares the hell out of me. And I know it scares him. Yet we dance around the subject like marionettes being manipulated by a puppet master.

I swore I would never feel the way I feel ever again. The pain was too great when it ended. I put too much into the relationship and expected too much in return. He did the same. Yet here we are in a relationship that neither one of us wanted nor both of us are unwilling to end.

I have this impending feeling of doom. I know that when this relationship ends it is going to hurt far worse than any other I have ever been in. Yet I am willing to take this pain because of the pleasure he gives me. I’m not talking sexual pleasure. I mean the pleasure of feeling loved and cherished. The feeling of respect and dignity. Tim cares so much and he has been hurt so much that he doesn’t even know that the man that he has become is sexy. He has grown through the man he used to be. I see a strong, loving caring man who is passionate. I see a man who will go to great lengths to protect others from harm. I see a man with ethics and honor. He sees himself as a man with out. Without love. Without respect. He thinks he is a man who doesn’t deserve pleasure. He thinks he is a man who doesn’t deserve a meaningful future. He believes he isn’t worthy of love. He believes his painful past cannot be forgiven or forgotten.

I secretly wish I could take all of the pain away. I would gladly wash away his sins. Absorb his past and his pain. To say I would die for him is an understatement. I never even felt that way about my late husband…

We both of us have children and neither one of us wants hurt our kids. My son sees me happy for the first time in my life. His see the same. We talk about our kids and share their joys and their pains. We discuss the problems our kids have and brainstorm how to handle them. Sometimes it’s only a few comments but we both know what the other is saying. His love runs deep. His kids are his world. His joy. He knows I will never interfere in that relationship. His kids are young. Mine is an adult with a child of his own. We understand the need to keep this part of our lives separate. Yet we talk about it. Share with each other. Knowing that that is as far as we will take it.

We are protecting our separate lives from the pain we know we will cause each other. Our entanglement is so embroiled, yet we continue on in the hopes that we will not lose the pleasure that we have each given one another. We continue on with optimistic expectation. Driven by our need to persevere what we have. We are ignoring the obvious. We are rejecting, for the time being the indistinguishable.

Am I in love with Tim? I can honestly say I don’t know. Is he in love with me? I doubt it. We both have such trust issues that I can honestly say I doubt we will reach a level of love that we would be comfortable with. Or at least acknowledge. We both want someone to love but neither one of us is willing to jump off of that bridge. Call it self-preservation. Call it foolishness. Call it whatever you want. We both will ride this train for as long as we can. We will ride up the hills and coast down the valleys. We will take the turns too fast and coast into the station at the conclusion. We will passionately kiss and make love one last time and part ways wishing it wouldn’t.

But today we will put on our masks. We will interact like any normal couple. We will smile wistfully. Hold hands with the promise of tomorrow. We will share a meal while we share our life story. We will share our joy and our pain. We will share our desires and our dreams. We will carry on. Because that is what two independent individuals do? We live. We live for today enjoying the ecstasy of intimacy. We live for tomorrow with the confidence born from experience.

 

Heat

Heat

In the heat of the moment I feel the flame of your words.
The radiating force of the blow you just threw melts me
I dissolve as I try to recover

Strength guides me through this volcanic relationship
I think of warm water flowing over my body
Tenderly washing the pain away

A new day burns on the horizon
Thoughts of love tingle through my veins
One day I will feel the power of passion

You will not see it
For today is my moment in time
The inferno barely contained shows me the way

This is my time
Reasoning has become my obsession
I will glow brighter as I walk into the sunset

Tomorrow a new day will dawn
I will awaken to the beauty of the sunrise
Bright and refreshed

 

The Grandmother I Remember

“It’s madness for the sheep to talk peace with a wolf.” -Thomas Fuller

To my entire family my grandmother was the sweetest gentlest God fearing woman who ever graced the earth? But to me she was the most ruthless, vindictive angriest woman I have ever met. I often wonder why our memories vary so much. I remember grandmother cuddling me only once while I visited the farm. But my cousins remember her always doing it. I remember working in the garden. But my cousins remember only cleaning the fruits and veggies and making wonderful food with them. I remember spending hours picking apples or strawberries and they remember making apple pie and strawberry sundaes. I remember mucking out the stalls for the lambs and calves and they remember bottle feeding them. I remember sitting on the steps waiting for my father to get back and they all remember him bring them special gifts.

I remember getting in trouble for the littlest thing and they remember getting away with everything and grandma just giggling. I remember when she caught me I had to churn butter. I wasn’t the only one who churned but I was the only one that did it on a daily basis. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t churn butter. I would get up when I heard the rooster crow and dread getting out of bed. The hard wood floor was always cold even in summer. I would put on my robe and head to the bathroom. I would quickly dress and head down stairs. Grandmother was always in the kitchen. She seemed to always be wearing the same dress or a variation of the same dress. Dark blue and white with little flowers on it. She always had on an apron she made. The light blue apron always fit just right. She tied it in a tight bow at her ample waist and would hand me a smaller version without looking at me. I always wondered how she knew where I was in the mammoth kitchen. I was always right there to take it.

I would slip it on and await instructions. The instructions were simple. One word. “Eggs.” I would cringe and turn slowly away and head out the kitchen door and through the mudroom. Down the steps I would head. I always looked really hard for that damn rooster. He hated me. I would walk quickly down the path to the chicken coop and grab the egg basket. I looked once again and would quickly step into the pen. I opened up the door and would throw a handful of corn. Soon the hens would be happily pecking away at food. Once they were occupied I would go about gathering what they laid. I would always count how many there were. I knew the drill. When I was through I changed their water and gave them another handful of corn. I would grab the basket of eggs and quickly walk back to the mudroom. Occasionally, I wouldn’t be paying attention and that damn rooster would be chasing me up the steps pecking my legs.
When I entered the kitchen, grandmother would say number. I would reply 26. Good she would say. I knew that meant we had enough eggs for a great breakfast.

Grandmother would say bread. And I knew it was going to be French toast, scrambled eggs, fried ham and orange juice. We could only have that if we had more than 18 eggs. Grandma would then continue to bark out orders and I would respond in kind by following them. “Wood” she would say as she busily bustled around the 19th century kitchen.
I would walk quickly over to the wood pile and pick out three large pieces of pecan to put in the wood burning stove. Hot she would say. Yes Mama I would respond. Back to the wood pile for three more smaller pieces and I would quickly repeat the process. Putting them carefully into the potbelly stove. Without missing a beat Grandma would say “Water”. I only just closed the door and she was in the other room. I used to think she was superhuman now I know better. I would grab a pot holder off the hook and grab the two gallon steel kettle and head to the sink. Once it was filled I would slowly head back to the potbelly stove. As if by magic another order came. “Coffee.” Again I would wonder how she knew I was done.

This one I didn’t mind, I knew I was making it for Grandpa and me. He liked it strong and my mother had taught me to make strong coffee for my father years ago. I emptied the grinds into the compost pot and rinsed out the filter. I added just the right amount and started the percolator brewing. “Coffee” she would say again. I knew this one was for her and the aunts. Off I would go to brew a lighter blend for them. ‘Juice, Milk, table, potholders, stove.”
All of her orders had meaning. I know she had to have taught me how to do all of these things in just the right way but for the life of me I can’t remember how. I try in vein to remember when I learned what grandma wanted done and how quickly she needed it. I do know that I seemed to be the only one who helped with breakfast on the weeks my parents made me visit.

Soon Grandma was calling Breakfast up the stairs and shortly you could hear running in the halls. Running down the stairs and running to grab a chair. Everyone wanted to sit in the kitchen. When chairs ran out the dining room was used. No body minded it was soon filled with happily hungry people chatting away about what exiting thing they were going to do today. I would grab two slices of toast three slices of bacon and some eggs and make a sandwich. I loved the butter, at least until I wondered if it was the butter I churned yesterday. I would sit silently sipping my coffee and listening to My Aunts and Uncles, to my grandparents. I learned a lot. More than I think they even realize. I never spoke out of turn. Unless, I was provoked usually by one of my cousins. Then I would become a hellion as my grandma would say.

Soon breakfast would be over and everyone would scatter. I remember one of my aunts getting angry when it came time for dishes to be done. I would always disappear. They never wondered why? That always baffled me. Who the hell did they think helped with all the cooking? Oh they all played a small part. Just enough to take credit but not enough to really work. It was me. I washed every dish grandma told me too as we were cooking breakfast. She would bark and order and I would comply. Did I stick around to do dishes after everyone ate? Hell no. I was up at
4 am collecting eggs. Rolling out biscuits. Cutting bacon, grinding sausage, cutting ham. Hell no I’m not sticking around. I would take my coffee cup and put it in the sink. I would take off my apron and hang it on the cellar door and I would quietly walk out of the kitchens back door and slowly walk to the path in the grove. The second my foot touched the path. I would make a bee line to Great Grandmas house. Now there was a woman who really loved me.
I remember attending her funeral four short years ago. I remember all of the crying eyes. The wonderful memories told about the woman I knew as grandma. I watched as the family members and friends gathered to tell wonderful stories about how much she meant to the community.

I laugh when my cousins say you remember when grandma made _____________? Of course, I would say. Boy I wish I had that recipe. I sure miss her. I don’t miss her at all; I would think and immediately feel guilty. I would only be half listing when my cousin would ask if one of the Aunts might have the recipe. You know why. Because I committed all of her recipes and my mother’s to memory. I learned how to cook from grandma. But I developed a passion for food by learning from my mother. More Guilt. I would ask if they wanted the recipe and their eyes would tear up. “Yes” they would say. “How do you have it?” They would ask. “I cooked with grandma from the time I was 3 and she taught me how to crack an egg, until I was 13 years old.” I would say. I would make a list of who wanted what recipe and then I would send it to them by email. I never got a thank you. Not from one person.

My parents called it a vacation at the farm. A wonderful time to visit my Aunts, Uncles and 19 cousins. Yea! Bull Shit. It was hell. At least for me. Yet I have this sick connection to the place. I remember being beaten by a switch so many times I can’t count. But I can’t remember why I was beaten. I know that it was more torturous to be told to go out and get the switch. And God forbid you come back with one not big enough. Not only did I get escorted out to the grove, but I was watched and told if it was good enough. I was never beaten in the house. That was too dignified. I was taken to the Shed beside the sheep pen. It was just in earshot of grandma. But grandpa was the one hitting. And he didn’t get off either. One time he didn’t think I should be punished. So he told me to scream when the switch hit the post. I did as he said. It didn’t work. Grandma took one look at my face, grabbed my chin and forced it up. I was crying, I wasn’t faking. I was more scared now. I knew she would find out. She reached for my skirt and pulled it up. She looked at my grandfather and called him a Wimp. She grabbed my arm and marched me back to the shed. I took twice the licks this time. 20 in all. Four of them cut open and started to bleed. I was told to go to the bathroom get a towel and sit on the edge of my bed until she came to get me.

I did just that. She came the next morning as if nothing happened. It was 4 am and she came to get me for breakfast. The grandmother I knew and the grandmother everyone else knows are not the same, yet they are. Maybe that is where my father got it from. If she treated me like that then how did she treat her own children. I know that my father was the first born and the only boy. Score for him. I remember one aunt telling me my father was on a pedestal and always would be. He could do no wrong. A part of me died when she said that. She was one of the few people I confide in. I knew by the way she was looking at me that she judged me. So I hide. I hide behind a mask. I put on a smile and I laugh when I should laugh and I cry when I should cry.

 

My Awakening

My Awakening

My neighbor drove up in his dirty blue PT Cruiser. Great I said to Raven as we sat on my son’s trailer. She looked up and started to laugh. “You know one day you’re going to have to kill him.” I shot her a look. She knew I hated meeting up with him. He was 6 foot 9 and all hands. He got out of the car and smiled and asked me how my day was going. I said perfect. He reached for me and the never ending hug started. Here we go again I thought as I pushed him away. Just then the passenger car door opened up and the most magnificent specimen of a man stood up. “Daaammmmm!” I said. Raven looked over and said “Hell Yea! Bet you wouldn’t mind him grabbing your ass.” Not at all I thought.

Then my neighbor said, I want you to meet my brother. Then I said another Damn. This time full of frustration. My neighbor didn’t notice, but his brother did. He smiled and I reached out my hand to shake his. His hands were full so I smiled and said a hug will do. I felt such raw sexual power coursing through his body. Now my curiosity was peeked. We chatted for a few minutes and he left.

Raven kept her mouth shut and just stared at me. When they went into their apt she said, “So that’s how it’s done.” I looked over at her and said “WHAT?” She said if you were a man you cock blocked him to get to what you wanted. She is laughing now and I said, I’m 50 not dead. She said somehow I don’t think either one of them care. I laughed and said I doubt they even know my age at this time in my life it’s just another year.

I can’t tell you the last time I was aroused by a man. It just never occurred to me. I have shut down. No emotion. No sexuality. What was the point. I wasn’t happy when I had sex nor was I satisfied. It was as if I left my body. My mind would wonder and I’s suddenly snap back and remember what I was doing. I have already professed my fake it till you make it statement. Men are so clueless they can’t tell when a woman fakes and orgasm.

But this week was the first time in thirty years I was aroused. It took me about five minutes to realize what was happening to me. I hadn’t felt it in so long I forgot it could happen. When he first showed interest I was flattered, but after all I’m 18 years older than him. Oh well I thought No harm in looking. This strong fit muscular stud would keep my mind occupied for months.

I was out talking with neighbors a few nights later when they came home. I got a strong hug from my fantasy man as he was pulling me into his chest. He rubbed my back and the warmth of his caress coursed through me. Then I got groped by my neighbor. I told him, “If you don’t quit, I’m going to grab your balls, twist them off and roast them for my dogs.” He said “you know you like it.” His brother shot him a look that said “damn the least you can do is ask.” He hugged me again and said I have to do laundry. You going to be here a while I’d like to ask you some advice.” I said sure if I can help I will.

I saw him a couple of hours later as he walked to the laundry room. I went inside and poured a drink somehow I think I might need the vodka tonight. He sat down on the trailer next to me and I asked what’s up? He said you know my brother really likes you . I looked at him intently and said “I know but I’m too old for him. And no offense I would never date him.” He said he likes older women. I again said “I know but is never going to happen. I’d break his ass.”

He laughed and said my problem is that with all we’ve talked about I really like you too. My brow furrowed and I paused to make sure he was listening. He finally looked up at me and I said, “I like you not your brother. He won’t take no for an answer.” But unless YOU tell him you’re interested in me I won’t respond. I won’t be the cause of strife in a family.” He got up looked down at me and said then I need to tell him, I’ll be back but it might take me awhile.

I went in to start dinner and thought that’s going to make for an awkward conversation. I smoke outside because of the baby so I was sitting back on the trailer when they both came down and joined me. My neighbor looked at me and asked why I didn’t like him. I said I’m 50 years old and I don’t have time to teach and train and no offence I’ve seen the women you’ve slept with and you really need to be more discrete or up your standards. Both men’s jaws dropped. 50 no way is all they said. One said no fucking way your trying to discourage me. The other is smiling and said babe you look good. I argued with my neighbor until he realized I was telling the truth. Then he said. That’s ok I can take care of you. And he didn’t mean financially. His brother is looking at him like he is crazy and again gives him a look that says “I know you didn’t just say that.” He left to go to the laundry room again.

I laughed and again told him I’d break him. He was adamant he could hold his own. So I upped the ante. Ok. “How many women have you been with?” I said. A hand full, double digits. He said double but respectable. I laughed and said call me up when you hit mid triple digits. I don’t have time to teach and train. He quickly got up and walked off but I heard the slut comments when he thought I was out of ear shot.

Soon the handsome brother was sitting back down and he asked me what I said. I told him. I have nothing to hide. He laughed and said now I know why you said you’d break him. I smiled and dropped my head. Whispered, “I’d break you too.” He didn’t say a word. I looked up and he had his arms crossed in front of his chest and said I’m fine with that.

I told him if a man isn’t willing put in the time, I don’t have the time for him. He said you want a real connection. I respect that .Its not just sex you want more. I smiled and said yes. Ok so now that your brother knows can I ask how old you are. He looked me in the eye and said 32, do you think you’ll have a problem with that? I said no. I told him I have always dated younger men but none 18 years my junior. He said, I love older women. And right now I want to steal a kiss. I laughed because I thought he was joking. His eyes dropped and he asked me “why? Are you not attracted to me?”

My heart sank. He really meant what he said. We have been talking about religion, politics, sex and relationships you know life in general. He is intelligent, articulate and honest. I stepped closer and asked him why? He said I just need to. I smiled knowing I was going to kiss him. And I confronted him and said “. . .so why do you like older, thick white women? There has to be a reason?” He said I’ve dated women of all ages. I don’t discriminate. Wanting to be with you has nothing to do with age. But you; You just exude wisdom, honesty and respect. That I find very sexy. He left an said he’d be back. I suddenly doubted it. Oh well I thought it was fun while it lasted.

A short time later I heard a soft knock on my door. I chuckled. He said what? I smiled and said you know you earned that kiss you wanted to steal. So when do I get it. He stepped quickly forward reaching one hand up and pulling my head closer. The gentle way he approached me was tender yet passionate. As he is kissing me my mind is satisfied that this could keep me happy for another 30 years. He stopped cradled my face and looked into my eyes. He said Dam I was right. He thanked me and walked away.

Five short minutes he was back. I warned him It would take a lot for me to sleep with him. I have a problem with the fact that he was one year older than my son. I told him getting involved will never happen. And I don’t do hit it and quit its. Been there done that. I told him I want passion. I want companionship. I want to make love not fuck. He hugged me tight and said I would love to wake up with you. Everything you don’t want is sex and leave. I don’t do leave.

He pulled me into his arms and kissed me again. Pressing his forehead against mine and said. As much as I want to make love to you. I’ll never push you. If you ask me to leave I will. If all you want is this I’ll take it. You’re worth waiting for. When you think you’re ready. Just hold my face kiss me and say I’m ready.

As he is speaking comprehension takes hold. I realize he means it. I’m setting the pace. It’s up to me. He has given me the one thing I needed most. Control of our sexual relationship. I don’t know which scares me more. Feeling passion and sexuality I thought was long gone. Or the knowledge that when I call he will come.

I’m fifty years old and I’m the one who has the problem with our age difference. He’s 32 my son is 28. Yet the age difference soars out the window when he is with me. He is the only man I’ve dated that has this effect on me. Not even my husband made me feel this special. I have no illusions about our relationship. No one approves or likes it. He’s been threatened by not only my son but all of his male friends. “You hurt mom your dead.” He just smiles and nods. He told me “I’m not going anywhere so they’ll have to get used to it.” All I think is Yes they will.

The raw sexual power he exudes is intoxicating. He gently probes, flicking his tongue like a snake testing the temperature. The gentle pressure increased and soon my passion ignites. I devour him as he does me. I just couldn’t get enough. When his hands began to explore me I shuddered with anticipation. I focused on only him only his strong touch. I wanted to drink it all in. I’ve felt so much pain. This I would love remembering. With passion inflamed we held each other. His erotic whispers brought me to a new level of excitement. I wanted more. I wanted him. As gentle as it began it stopped. All he said was soon babe. When your ready. “Hey that’s my line. He chuckled and said “not anymore.” We sat holding one another and talked about what just happened. I think he was as shocked at how fast we were both aroused. I knows about my past. An I know some of his. How can a man 32 have that much compassion and control. And why would he do it? We’ve know each other such a short time I tried to make him understand there is no future in this relationship.

But I still want to feel the strength in his body. I want to feel him in me. Bring me to a new level of awakening. As I hold and stroke him I watch how close to losing control he is. He grabs me and kisses me deeply. My turn he says. His hand are firm warm and experienced. As I sigh, I know how good he’ll be. I won’t have to teach him what to do. He is already doing it. My breasts feel heavy as he cups them. He pulls my nipple into his mouth and strokes his tongue across . He sucks hard gently bites me. Before he releases me. His other hand is stroking me. Massaging me. All I can think of is his mouth and his tongue stroking and biting me until I can’t take anymore. He moves lower. Finally I say. He smiles.
He gets up and pulls me to my feet. He kiss me again and walks to the door. He leaves without saying a word. Just a beautiful smile and eyes filled with passion look back at me. I can’t help but respond. I smile back. And lock the door. He has come back three times. If he comes back again. We will make love.

My Awakening Part 2

The next weekend, I see the brothers heading to the store. The smile on their face told me that they had been talking about something salacious. I said, “Hello.” My neighbor smiled and asked if I was ready for a real man. I shot him a go to hell look. Turned my attention back to the younger brother and said, Always. His eyebrow raised and the look on his face held a promise of more.

Later that night their was a soft knock on my door. I smiled, I had been waiting for that soft knock for the past three nights. I swear he knows women better than I do. He waited just long enough to peak my interest but not so long as to drive me away. I opened the door a crack and his beautiful smile was shining back. “Can I come in?” he asked. I didn’t say a word. I opened the door and instantly made the decision that I would take control. I wanted him and I was going to have him. He stood five eleven to my five three. His strong shoulders and tattooed arms were visible through his wife beater tank. Tight jeans hung low on his hips, and the belt boasted of his strength. He was wearing light brown steal toed work boots. I have always been a sucker for a strong construction worker. It thought of a man working hard, flexing his muscles and sweating in the sun. Aroused me. His head was bald and he had a full goatee. Very sexy. His tongue snaked out to wet his lips just before he smiled. “May I kiss you?” he asked. I stepped forward and reached up to cradle his head. He leaned down and devoured me. His piercing eyes were open. “Open your eyes baby,” he said. I opened my eyes as his tongue probed my mouth. I had never looked at a man with such passion.

His hand lightly grabbed my hair as he pulled my head back. I moaned and he grabbed my lower lip with his teeth and gently pulled. I moaned with him. His other strong arm slipped around my ample waist and pulled me closer. I could feel his full arousal. I moaned again. I pushed at his waist as I tried to reach down. He grabbed my hand and squeezed my wrist. He pulled my hand up to his chest and pressed my hand into his body. I grabbed at his shirt and pulled it down exposing more of his tan flesh. I licked his collar and nibbled at his chest. The taste was a salty mixture of sweat and musk cologne. His head went back as I heard a deep primal groan. He guided me to the couch. He sat down and pulled me to him. I was standing between his legs as he pushed up my shirt. He cupped both of my breasts and squeezed them together.

My ample breasts swelled with anticipation. I tried to reach around to unclasp my bra. Again he grabbed my hands and pulled them forward. He placed them on his shoulders and went back to worshiping my twin mounds. I squeezed his shoulders and pulled him closer. All I wanted was his mouth where his hands were. He pulled my bra down exposing my nipple and he flicked out his tongue. My now erect nipple begged for more. I held my breath as I watched him. His eyes were focused on me as he licked, nipped and sucked me in. My breath caught as I sucked in. Heat rising in my body pushed me forward as if by some unnatural force.

His hand grabbed for my leg as he pulled me forward and my legs spread to straddle him. He was leaning back and I moved forward placing each knee on the side of his hips. I refused to settle down. I wanted to feel him yet also wanted to delay the feel of his arousal. He groaned as he hugged me to him. Gently biting my breast as he tried to force me to connect. I finally gave in. I lowered down slowly and felt the bulge. I rubbed hard against him and the sigh we both groaned was in unison. Never had I wanted a man this much. I could feel the wetness grow between my legs as I moved my hips against him. He pulled me hard towards him as he lifted up and he turned me toward the coach. The move was so swift I didn’t even realize he was laying on top of me. God this felt good.

He pushed my shirt up and over my head and I raced to help him. My focus was on him. Only him. I pulled at his shirt and did the same. His now bare chest was facing me as I licked at his nipple. I gently pulled him in my mouth and another sigh escaped his lips. He grabbed my hand and placed it on his belt. I tore at the belt swiftly unbuckling it and made quick work of his zipper. Soon He was raising up to take of the jeans that were restricting his movement. In one swift move the pulled my pants off and I was laying their in my lace panties. He groaned were he saw the black lace. I was grabbing at the waist band to take them off. He stopped me and said “No.” He pushed my knee up towards my chest opening my legs to him. His full flat palm rubbed me. The feeling of his strong hand cupping me released a new wave of heat. He smiled, “Read for me already.” I grabbed his face and pulled him forward to kiss him. “I’m ready.”

He smiled and said me too. He hooked a finger around the waist of my black lace panties and slowly pulled them down. I was now fully open waiting for him to rock my world. He just looked. Then he slowly smiled and moved down on the couch and lowered his head. He kissed my thighs, licked my hip and nibbled at my mound. I raised up encouraging him to move closer. He just pushed me back down. He looked at me. Staring me in the eye as his tongue snaked out and flicked. He grazed my clitoris. I arched my back. Never have I been so aroused by a man. His eyes are so intent as he stares at me. His lips curled in a slight smile as he works his magic.

He softly licks around my labia refusing to dip his tongue farther. This simple teasing is working. I am moaning with joy. I want more and he knows it. He takes is strong hard hands and spreads me apart. “Now, babe now!” I say. He groans and complies. He inserts a finger testing me. I’m ready for him yet he won’t give me what I really want. I want his hard hot cock deep inside me. I arch up and he chuckles. Soon one hand is playing with my breast. Pinching my nipple slightly. How he knows just what to do escapes me as a new wave of excitement courses through my veins. He sucks at my clit. applying just the right amount of pressure. I’m so close to climaxing. I moan with pleasure. “Soon baby soon” he says. I try to reach for him to guide him to me. But he raises up. “No baby I’m too close.” he says.

How much more can I take. I reach up and take his head in my hands and stare at him. I slowly move toward his eager lips. I kiss him deeply. Slowly dipping my tongue in and out. The taste is sweet. It tastes of me and somehow I am loving the feeling it is giving me. I flick my tongue onto the roof of his mouth and he forces me down into the couch. He raises up and positions himself over me.

Part 3 coming soon!