“I bought a new bra and panties,” I said, tugging off my top to reveal my new, 34C (!!) maroon bra and matching low rise bikinis, courtesy of The Gap. “And you’re the beneficiary.” The 34C had been a surprise. My mother had pointed out that I ought to try on the bra – usually I just buy a 34B, and I realized that I had no idea when I’d last been measured for a bra. So I tried on the 34B. Truthfully, it was tight around my ribs, not my breasts. The 36B fit fine, too, suggesting I’ve gained a little weight in my frame rather than my breasts. Alas. But the 34C fit nicely, too, so vanity won out. A 34C! I was pleased.
“Very nice,” said Paul. He stretched out on the bed and moved over to let me in, and I climbed in beside him. He pulled off his shirt and pants and, again, I was amused to note he wore tight bikini underwear. I feel boxers are the most appropriate undergarments for men, but I guess he had his reasons. Still, he had such a nice body – muscular arms, a tight stomach – totally impressive. It seemed churlish to mind the underwear. He pulled off his bikinis and his dick stood out, erect and slightly curved. I smiled.
Paul leaned forward to kiss me, and with one arm unhooked my bra. “Are you impressed?”
I giggled. “Could you do that cause you’re an older man?” I still can’t get over the fact I’m sleeping with a 51 year old. Fifty one!
He smirked: “I have years of experience.”
Naked, we pressed our bodies against one another. I felt great – the rough softness of the blanket, the give of the mattress, the silky hardness of Paul against me in the dim room – I felt like purring.
Paul slipped his mouth across my skin and down my belly. He tugged my underwear down my legs and then off. I stiffened a little, cause getting head tends to make me anxious. “Mmmm,” he said, burying his face in my pussy. I sighed and twitched as his tongue flickered against my clit, fighting the nerve ending-jumps I felt.
It was OK, but I really wanted to go down on him, so after a moment I pushed him away and got right on my knees. When I wrapped my mouth around his cock he moaned: “Lily…”
I liked hearing my name, and I liked the feeling of his warm, firm dick in my mouth. He wasn’t huge, but well-sized, and I had no problem taking him all the way in, my throat was relaxed and I was eager. Paul jerked his pelvis at me, accompanying his thrusts with moans. None of this was very out of the ordinary (though it was the first time Paul and I had gone down on one another), but I couldn’t get over how good everything felt – my skin felt sensitive only to pleasure, and I was just basking in his touch and my eagerness for him.
After a moment Paul slid his fingers between my legs. I was afraid I wasn’t wet enough, but after a minute I was slick. The blood throbbed in my groin. I moaned a little, too.
Paul whispered, “I want to do nasty things to you.”
I smirked. “You can. You can do whatever you like,” I breathed.
Paul lay on top of me and angled his cock towards my pussy, the tip just touching my cunt. “I want to — just for a —”
I shook my head. No way. Jesus, we weren’t teens: Let me put it inside, for just a minute! Gah.
“Then let me get a condom.”
I nodded, and sank down into the mattress. “You know what?” I said. “I think we have to turn off the music.” I get very distracted. We were listening to the soundtrack to American Gangster, a movie both of us had recently seen, and liked.
“Really?” Paul sounded disappointed. “OK.” He dutifully shuffled over to his laptop and turned off. Then he got back into bed and rolled on the condom. “You want to get on top?”
“No, I mean if you—”
He chuckled. “Get on top!”
“Well, OK then,” I said, and dreamily slid down his dick until he was all the way inside me. I rested there for a moment, his solidness opening me up, making me all liquid.
I rocked myself slowly against him, and my hair swung forward, hiding my face. I shifted until I could see Paul again, smiling up at me. “Does this make you feel good?” he whispered.
I stretched my thighs against his legs. “You make everything feel good.” It was true. My body seemed incapable of anything less than a kind of exquisite comfort; a sexual relief and happiness that had nothing to do with love, or even with lust. My brain was engaged only enough to notice that I felt fantastic. Maybe it was the quiet of Paul’s bedroom, with his big neatly-made bed and dim lights? Maybe it was Paul, who is so polite and enthused? At any rate, we were murmuring at one another, and my skin hummed.
“My baby’s going to come for me,” Paul muttered, and I vaguely registered that as my body worked towards an orgasm. I came with a cry and then I pressed myself close to Paul, waiting for my breathing to return to normal. After a bit I rolled onto my back with him still inside me, but then he said, “No wait,” and pulled out. He got on his knees. “I want you like this—” he said, so I turned over, and felt my stomach sink into the mattress as he found his way back inside me.
“Ahh,” I said into the pillow.
He thrust at me, “I’m going to come soon,” he noted ruefully. “I’m going to come fast.” I thrust my ass up at him. When he came he collapsed on me and his weight felt great, but he quickly pulled out, even though I wanted him to stay right there, inside me.
I felt blissed out and serene. Paul put his head on my shoulder and his solid compact body against mine, and we lay there quietly. After a while his breathing changed; he had fallen asleep.
Was this ideal casual sex? Paul is lovely, but I’m not in love with him. The person I feel most strongly about is Dean, who doesn’t get me off with such easy pleasure. And this didn’t feel the least bit weird, like sex with Alejandro had. It wasn’t particularly kinky, and didn’t require angst, like fucking Jed sometimes did. It was just pleasurable.
I was laying there, feeling pleased with myself and wondering if this was some sort of sexual nirvana – no attachment, no pain kind of thing, when Paul shifted in my arms and raised his head. “Do you have to go soon?” he asked. Then, “Wow. l asleep. Did you?”
I slid out off bed. “No I didn’t,” I said, and stalked off to the bathroom.
Under the bathroom lights I managed to squirt liquid soap all over myself. When I had cleaned myself up I went back to the bedroom. Paul was sprawled out on the bed. I picked my bra up from its lonely stay on the floor. “That was unnecessary, and rude,” I said, struggling to hook myself in. “‘Do you have to go soon?’ This is the second time you’ve said this to me.” (True. He’d said the same thing after our first encounter the other week, when I’d also been congratulating myself on the ease and simpatico-like qualities of our sex.)
“That’s not what—”
“Don’t worry,” I said, stepping into my underwear. “I won’t overstay my welcome.”
“Lily, wait. That’s not what I meant.” Paul grabbed my arm. “I’m sorry. I just worry about you getting home. It’s late.”
“You know, I remember New York when it wasn’t safe to get on the subway after nine. I just worry about you being safe.”
Well, that was nice, only if he was really worried about my safety he could have walked me to the subway station three blocks away. Or, you know, the elevator. He had just kissed me goodbye the door to his apartment. He could have seen me out properly, you know. I didn’t say anything.
“That’s not what I meant,” he repeated, and tugged me into the bed next to him. I relented as he spooned me. It felt good. “I’m sorry,” he said again.
“It’s OK,” I said. He was allowed to want me to leave, just not to express it, I thought. And I guessed he wouldn’t express it again.