Nine

Around noon on Saturday, there was a light rap at my door.

“You don’t have to knock down my door, you know.”

“Sorry.” Belle smiled hello. She came in and set down her bag.

I kissed her. She stood, kissing me back. Wet, open and warm.

For the next forty-eight hours, I was responsible for keeping her kisser happy.

I wasn’t worried. We had planned well.

There were a few kinks in the plan. Top of the list: Belle was tuckered after a late night and an early flight—not an auspicious beginning for a weekend of sexing it up.

“How do you feel? Do you want to rest now, or should I offer coffee?”

“Coffee would be great,” she said, sitting at my table. “I can rest later.”

It was so Southern of her to sit at the table. Other folks would sit on the couch and rest their cups on the coffee table. Our people sit at a table, leaning on elbows over coffee when chewing the fat.

She poured a healthy stream of sugar into her coffee.

Yes sir, she’s a cracker, all right.

Belle is an easy conversationalist. We had a pleasant back and forth over our cups.

She was a little nervous about her weekend, she confessed, but as we talked, she was increasingly at ease.

It’s one of those things, we discussed. Sexual adventure seems so extraordinary and unusual when you fantasize about it, but when you are in the midst of it, it is surprising that what happens can be so normal. One breath after the next.

“At any rate,” she said, taking a sip. “I am in good hands.”

“Yes, you soon will be,” I replied. “You know, I was glad when you found your local talent. But when he became your eighth man, I saw the window closing on my opportunity to be among the select few in your single digits.”

“Looks like you are squeaking in at number nine,” she laughed.

“Number nine . . . number nine . . . number nine,” I geeked, in my best Liverpool accent. “So let’s log that number, shall we?”

“By all means.” She stood.

I prepared two glasses of water and led her to my bedroom.

She surveyed my room, which looked as it does when I am not having sex parties, like the last time she had been there. No candles, muted porn or the sounds of sex and music spilling from the other rooms.

Just her and me, and a bed with a crisp white duvet and freshly laundered sheets.

“So how do we do this?” she said, flapping an arm.

“You kiss me,” I said, stepping closer and kissing her. “And then we lose the clothes.”

“Gotcha.”

We chatted as we undressed. I nearly halted her at her panties. Horizontal candy-colored stripes, in a hot pants style, so perfect for her frame.

On a longer date, I would want a nice long time with her in panties. To touch them, to finger the elastic, to lick the cotton wet. To wish them away.

I daydreamed of her in a swimsuit. All day, on a beach, admiring those hot pants, those hips and long legs . . .

But for now, on our schedule, nudity would have to suffice.

I stripped and lay on the bed. She was nude, climbing on hands and knees across the bed, climbing over my body, her lips making a beeline for mine.

Her kiss landed on me, exploding neurons, kicking off power chords.

I took her kiss and gave back into it. She was there to volley it back to me.

“I like kissing,” she smiled. “You too, huh?”

“Shut up and kiss me.” My hands were on her cheeks, mussing her hair.

Forget the time to worship her panties.

I wanted to date her in high school.

I wanted to make out behind the bleachers. I wanted to linger months at first base wondering if we would ever make it to second.

“Would you like me to go down on you?” she asked.

“Yes please.”

As her mouth ventured south on my body, I took note. Among my responsibilities for this weekend was to offer pointers on the improvement of her cocksucking.

Apparently, the local talent has complained that her teeth get involved when she blows him. And her gag reflex has thus far prevented her from a accomplishing a successful deep throat.

Of course, she said, his cock is “ginormous” and he is not very patient.

She took me into her mouth. I observed, thinking patient thoughts, trying not to have too large a dick.

She had enthusiasm. No problem with teeth . . . it was a smashing good blowjob.

I would suggest more eye contact.

And work on going deeper. She did tend to give head, as we say, “like a girl,” meaning that she held the base of my cock in her hands. This allows a nice handjob motion, but it’s also a ploy—the hand prevents the mouth from going lower.

She came up for air. “Pretty good?”

“Pretty great. Very nice blowjob, Belle.”

“How do I go deeper, though?”

“Well, it helps to relax, of course. And experience with the guy matters for that. But sometimes positions help. Let’s try something.” I took her hand from my cock, pushed back and stood next to the bed.

“Now, lay back so that you head is over the edge of the bed.” She turned her body and scooted over.

“Like this?” She looked at me.

“Yes. Now feel this as I feed you my cock.”

I gave my cock to her inverted mouth, slowly, then deeper. Much deeper than before.

She relaxed into a bit. I fucked her throat.

“See?”

“Yes, but I can’t do it for long. It’s hard to breath.”

“Practice this with the local talent, if it’s comfortable.”

“I will. Can you eat me now?”

“Be glad to.”

She twisted around and back into the pillows. “This bed is fucking comfortable!”

“Isn’t it though?” I caressed her legs as they opened.

Belle keeps a closely cropped pubic region, blonde and pink. Our hairs are the same honey color.

I licked the sap of her wet cunt, savoring how much she gave me. I could content myself face down in her pussy for the duration of high school and well into college.

I slipped in a finger as I sucked her clit. She was tighter than a pensioner’s wallet.

“That’s so nice, but you know, you’re going to have to fuck me real soon.”

Belle likes her oral sex just fine, I learned, but she sees it primarily as a prelude to the overture. And this girl likes her trumpets and kettle drums kicking out loud. Not much time for the trill of flutes.

I reluctantly retracted my eager tongue from her well, and reached for a condom.

I leaned back on my heels to roll it on my cock. “Now, you have to tell me what works. I want to know your body, and I need a crash course.”

“Hold me close, you’ll see.”

I entered her, and pressed down, holding her body close to mine.

“You are, uh, mighty tight.”

“So I hear. Now, stay inside real close and hold me.”

I did.

I fucked her deep, in short thrusts, pushing against her clit. She clenched my shoulders as she came.

“Oh yes,” she panted. “You are going to know my body just fine.”

I repeated what we had done, and she came again. She had handed me the key to her orgasm.

I wanted more. I was very satisfied to keep pleasuring her.

At one point she asked, “What do I need to do to make you cum?”

I smiled. “I have no intention of cumming. I am fucking you all day.”

“In that case, I may need to take that nap now.”

“Go ahead.”

“Yeah, but we may need to stop fucking for that to happen.”

“Ya think?”

“I think fucking you will keep me awake, yes.”

“Even if I’m quiet as a church mouse?”

“Even if.”

I pulled out and kissed her, caressing her face.

“See, that’s going to make me want to fuck, not sleep.”

“Oh, right.” I stood and closed the blinds, darkening the bedroom. I returned and kissed her forehead.

“Enjoy your rest,” I whispered.

“You have about an hour before clocking number ten.”

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