Photo Credit: "Woman In Pearls" by PostModernBride on Photobucket
Sometimes when we are lying together after sex, my lover says, ‘Tell me a story.”
And sometimes he says, “Tell me our story.”
Last night I told him this part of our story—
We were staying in that wonderfully shabby old hotel in the French Quarter in New Orleans. In early May, the air in the city was already dense and chewy by mid-morning. Grand Aunt M was dead; and we were dressing for her funeral. I asked you to zip up my black sheath and you licked my back in a line preceding the zipper. Are you wearing panties? You asked, but you knew I wasn’t. I wasn’t wearing the appropriate nude-toned pantyhose either. My legs were bare and so white against the black dress and black stiletto pumps. You wrapped your arms around me, nuzzled my neck, caressed my breasts. I watched us in the mirror. Your hands were tan, from playing golf. We have time, you said. We don’t, I said, and I can’t go to a family funeral, holding my cousin’s hand and smelling like sex. I have forgotten why your wife didn’t accompany you to New Orleans, but nobody expected her to be there and they expected us to be together. So we won’t hold hands, you teased, I’ll keep my hand on your butt.
I turned around and put my hands on your shoulders. Sit, I said. You sat on the edge of the bed. I unzipped your pants. Before that day, your erect cock reminded me of a fine piece of pink-tinged marble, delicately etched with purple veins. I admired, then used it, mostly for my pleasure, sometimes for yours. The French doors were open to the balcony and on the street below “The House of The Rising Sun” was playing on a boom box. I knelt between your legs and caressed that beautiful cock, really sensing it as the life force, not merely my toy. The shaft was alive in my hands, the head glistened so appealingly. I made love to your cock for the first time.
All the BJ moves came together in one perfect execution of oral technique. Circling the head with my tongue in a swirling motion, I knew this was between me and your cock. All of you was centered in your cock as I took it into my mouth. There was no reality save my mouth and hands and your cock. I felt the trembling in your body as I licked long strokes up and down the shaft….[READERS, create this part in your sex tip of the day: The Basic Black Dress of Blow Jobs, a classic that will never go out of style.] I came when you came. Everything changed between us.
Fifteen minutes later, savoring the taste in my mouth, I re-applied lipstick, fastened a single strand of pearls around my neck, put on a pair of dramtically big sunglasses and the wide-brimmed black hat, a concoction of straw and lace and heavy black ribbon—and I was my persona, errant distant daughter of the South, redeemed by pearls.
Walking into the funeral home, you held my hand and whispered, The basic black dress, always correct, always sexy.
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