Viewing the local antiquities

Eating Sue. Sue was fishy and sweet. I enjoyed laying a finger between her fat lips, then stroking until she released, contracting, and I'd feel her throb round my finger—something I didn't feel for what? Twenty years? Until Angel. At the same time, she'd be jerking me off, holding me like a stalk between two fingers, and pulsing me up from my base to my tip.

In the morning, after she went off to nursing school, I'd fold up the bed: Thinking it a politeness to give her her space back.

My first come with Sue—my first come with a woman—had been a dry hump: She erected and rubbed me and I came in my pants, then caught the Greyhound with no time to wash.

Once, she bent forward and took my tip in her mouth—she had a Joy of Sex scenario in mind, the key point for her being that I'd always stay still—but she decided she didn't like it, and never slid her ass back up my chest to sit on my face, and so that was that.

Nevertheless, her cunt was so saucy, like a bouillabaisse: one of the best things I have ever tasted.

Once, when I'd finished eating her out for what seemed like a few minutes, evening had fallen. We fetched up at an IHOP. I drank glass after glass of water, not knowing why I was so thirsty.

The second coming 

I climb the stairs in the summer heat, and, puffing and sweating, ring the bell. Steps, the scrape of a dead-bolt: The mama-san opens the door.


"No Angel, now. You want another girl?"


"Half an hour. You want to wait upstairs?"

One more flight.

Listening

I lie back on the couch, stretch out my legs, and close my eyes, feeling the Viagra beat in my temples, my erection tenting my Chinos: A Japanese screen's at my back, hiding the route from the cubes to the showers and back.

Will the mama-san tell her I'm here?

Before me, sheer pink curtains, tall rectangular windows with no screens: The rush and hiss of cars in the street floats up on the breeze: horns honk, cops whistle, chatter rises and falls, mixed to the strut of rap from a boombox.

All seems quiet and businesslike. I'd hoped for an aria, or at least a few cries, abandoned quavers, top notes: but all I get is the hollow thunk of closing cube doors, when whores leave their clients to prep themselves, or return to them; the scooping plash spray spill from the shower room and the rising chirps of whore's patter; the voice of one john on his way to a cube; the mama-sans's voice and another john's, talking price, talking service, talking girl:

A late afternoon calm before the night shift begins. A Saturday silence: The calm where my father, upstairs, has fallen asleep to the Red Sox game.

She bursts round the corner: "You came to see me!"


"Just wait half an hour—twenty minutes."

Coming once

This one was really the throwaway: I'm flat on my back, spreading myself for her by holding my legs pulled back in the air, feeling Angel load me with lube: Then she kneels before me, insinuates her finger into my anus: thin, and not far. And after slamming my balls a few times with her tongue, she bends her head and sucks one right out of me.

The procedure couldn't have taken two minutes.

"Doctor Angel," she commments.

Coming twice

As before: she rides me, we doggy, then missionary: and, though I'm hard, nothing.

As before.

We pause, talk.

And as I start to pleasure her left tit, she snakes her right hand down between her legs. I'd started off on all fours, over her torso, with my head down to suckle her, but she moves out from under me, I imagine to give her right arm the range of motion she wants. There's no reason for me to look down and back, since I'm busy erecting her nipples, but I sense her hand moving faster and faster, and echo that motion by swirling my tongue round her swollen nubbly teat then lashing it, just as her pelvis starts jerking—

"Oh!" Then she whimpers, and—"Oh! Angel is coming!"—as I sting her teat with my incisors, then suction her whole tit into my mouth and lick the base of it, she locks her arms round my head and pulls me down to her.

"You're not selfish."

I rock back on my heels, then bend down to her cunt and inhale her: but nothing, so maybe she just rubbed one out without actually fingerfucking herself.

"I feel comfortable with you."

She sighs, and opens her legs and her arms: In the instant I'm on her: though nervous of missionary I'd already decided to trust her:

On her, and all the way up her. At once, she kegels, and I'm thrusting downward, climbing down her, rappelling down her, swinging my pendulum pelvis: reciprocating:

The jouncing bed truly hardens me: To the several floors within earshot, it's clear what we're doing, though no one can see. The faint squeal of the bolts in the frame, the scrape of the frame against plaster, the bedframe as we pile it on, banging the wall—all merge:

The pounding, her clenching, her firm motte against me, the slap slap slap slap of our bellies—all merge:

My sides swell and sweeten; I summit, and cramming my cock entirely up her and raising my head like I'm dog-paddling, laughing with joyful relief I'm coming out loud—

She kegels me, clenches me, milks me, gulps me. I've come but I'm up her, still hard: She clasps me again. Down there.

.

She smiles.

It's a friendily feeling, her cuntal contraction. Not really like kissing, no intimate fluids. More like a hand clasp: Her flesh to my flesh.

A greeting. A glance between intimates. A smile that cannot be seen only felt.

Parting

Angel slaps my rump: "Firm!"

I must see her again, before this brothel is closed.

Lily is shaved. 

How I long for lost Lan's twat. Her bush was so stiff that I hurt when she got on top and rubbed herself along me, back and forth. I'd have to lift and re-angle her tiny hips so that her soppy lips rubbed me instead. Then she felt sweet.

But Lily—a tan-line–less Cambodian/Thai dental student, her black hair dyed fashionably orangey-brown—doesn't even have stubble: just sepia skin.


I paddle my index finger in her "pussy."

Soon, she puts her mouth to my nipple and sucks, while she rummages between my sprawled legs for my dick and yanks on it. And ultimately she uses a professional trick: She rubs the secret spot on the top of my shaft that makes a man come whether he wants to or not.

Anti-climactic.

My eyes were closed; I thought her lips were at my perenium, when in fact her wet finger was. Her little round belly just touches my leaking dick as she kisses her way up to my nipples, then thup-thup-thups one, then the other with her tongue.

Each erects: Who would have thought it?

She moves down my torso and sucks on my balls: Her rough tongue on the underside where there's not so much hair. She cleans me like a cat cleans its fur. Though I can't see her tonguue, I'm sure it's small, pointed, and pink. She presses up on my sack; I feel my balls move apart, aching slightly.

"Your hair is too long."



She carefully laps at my hair 'til it's not moist but wet, then places the sticky strands to one side. Then she licks me again.

Language lesson 

Doggy styling, just as I had thrown my head back, pushed down on her cheeks, and started to take joy in accelerating, my thickening cock, the resonant sound of her resilient ass, came—

Les—cloches! Annie said, from below, without missing a beat.



Bells: Calling the parish to five o'clock mass. Our room was high up, as high as a steeple; the sound seemed to come from next door and roll round us. We're inside the changes: Treble cymbals, bass gongs, not playing a tune, but pounding out hoarse metal patterns, clashing and clanging and booming and banging—

Then silence. Spooning. Her hand in mine, just like her sister's would have been.