Saturday, March 13, 2010

Two Mouths Are Better Than One

I was working the summer in a bookstore, three afternoons a week at the tiny coffee shop that the owners had opened at the back of the store, and the first few times I saw him, he was just another customer… an older guy, probably in his late 40s, with a wife whose hair was just turning to gray, but with the kind of figure that always set my pulse racing – ha! I won’t say whether it was jealousy or desire, because I didn’t really know myself at that time. But they were always together, and when I saw him looking at me… and I mean really looking, as opposed to just glancing at my face as he paid for their drinks… I wasn’t sure what to make of it. He was old enough to be my father, after all, and while he certainly wasn’t bad looking, I can’t say that I ever gave him a second thought once he was out of sight.

Until one afternoon when, as he placed his order, I spotted the bracelet that his wife was wearing, a beautiful gold and jade creation that I’d never seen anything like. I complimented her on it; she mentioned the local designer she’d bought it from, and then said something about my hair – I’d just had it highlighted and wasn’t too sure whether or not it worked. She seemed to like it, though, and while her husband took their coffees over to the shelf where we kept the milk and sugar, she and I chatted on.

He waited a few minutes then came back. “I’m going to look around…”

I think I blushed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you”; but his wife just smiled. “He’s the one who wants to look around,” she said. “So long as I’m not keeping you from your work.”

I laughed. The store was practically empty and, in any case, I was due a break. “No. In fact, if you want to, we can go sit down.” I liked this woman, even though we’d barely been talking five minutes. I called for Crystal, my coworker, to take over and we wandered over to one of the corner tables, and carried on chatting until her husband, whose name I now knew was Ricky… she was Joan… returned with a couple of books and a magazine.

“I was just telling Jenny…” Joan began, and filled him in on our conversation; little things, just who they were, who I was, friends we might have had in common… this is a small town, after all, although of course we moved in completely different circles… favorite movies, favorite books, favorite meals – and an invitation. There was a new Italian restaurant opened a few blocks away; they were dying to try it, and so was I. Let’s do it together.

And so, two nights later, we met outside the restaurant and I barely recognized them. In the store, they were always dressed down and casual, comfortable in the kind of clothes we all wish we could wear all the time. Now she was in a gorgeous dress, with her hair up and her make-up perfection; he was in a neatly styled jacket; and I’ll admit that I’d made an effort, too. And after we’d eaten, then moved on to a bar for a drink or two, they offered to walk me back to my car.

“Actually, I came by cab.”

“Then we’ll give you a lift.” Which is when I started thinking the kind of things that I’d been avoiding all evening. Such as – she really was a good looking woman. He really was a good looking guy. And we got on REALLY well. So well that I had to invite them in for a coffee; so well that one cup became a glass or three of something else; and suddenly the couch that Joan and I were sitting on really didn’t seem as long as it did when I was on my own. Because our shoulders were touching, and I could feel her warm skin, and when she touched my hand to emphasize a point, her fingers lingered so long that I almost came. “Jesus,” I thought. “If that’s what happens when she touches my wrist, imagine what would happen if…”

Ricky rose to use the bathroom. We heard the door close and Joan turned to face me. “Are you okay?”

I smiled. “Better than…”

“Good. It’s just that…” – she’d heard my gasp a few moments before, and I knew that she knew what had happened. And would happen again if she didn’t let go of my hands. I still don’t know what I was thinking but suddenly I was leaning forward and kissing her. On the mouth. And she was kissing me back.

We broke apart as Ricky returned, but he must have sensed the atmosphere; the look on his face was a picture, even if he didn’t know why. But Joan was in control now, taking the conversation and steering it, ever so gently, towards areas that I was now desperate to explore – a ribald joke, a smutty rejoinder, and then a confession that turned Ricky bright red, about how the first time that he ever saw me he’d told her how cute he thought I was.

“I hope you slapped him,” I laughed.

“Of course,” she answered. “Because I saw you first.” And she reached out an arm to squeeze Ricky’s knee, as he stretched out his leg and his foot touched mine, and I don’t know how long we carried on teasing one another, or how she and I ended up on the floor at his feet.

But I do know that when she said that sucking his cock felt better than fucking; that it made her so wet that she was practically swimming; and that simply licking his shaft sent her careening towards an orgasm, she was telling the truth. Because my mouth was on her pussy while his cock was in her mouth, and when I drove my tongue inside her when the moment seemed just right, whatever she did to him was enough to send him spurting down her throat as well.

I sucked the last of her orgasm inside me, then joined Joan in licking Ricky through his, and I swear that he was hardening again before we’d even thought about giving him time to recover. And now it was my turn to suck and be sucked… and I swear. There isn’t a single sensation as wonderful as that, a man in your mouth, a chick on your puss, and you in the middle, playing thrill and be thrilled.

If you haven’t, you should try it some time!


Anonymous said...

Mmmmmm, I feel I could close my eyes and replay that scene forever.

Anonymous said...

Me too.. I love Jenny's writings...

mr. raj

Anonymous said...

Awesome babe Mmmmm

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