14. Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
Charles
Now what am I supposed to do? I hold her in my arms, and oh, God, yes, she feels like everything my eyes had guessed would be there. She is slim, with taut muscle, but soft where softness counts. She is so excited her nipples are small hard pebbles through her light bra and shirt.
I can tell from the heat and scent of her that she is aroused. And that kiss . . . it isn’t an experienced kiss, although she isn’t completely ignorant of how things work. Her small tongue had danced around mine, exploring and tasting.
She tastes like lemons, she smells like coconut oil and strawberries. Her dark hair has come partially loose from its neat braid and lay in enticing tendrils around her face. My penis is awake and aware, and is doing its valiant best to rise to the occasion despite my restricting jeans. Every nerve ending in my body is shouting, “Woman! Me want!”
But . . . she was a virgin?! On the one hand, I am human enough to be excited by the idea of being her first, but on the other hand I also had this old-fashioned idea that a woman’s first should be, if not on her wedding day, at least with a man she hoped would cherish her for the rest of her life.
“Kate,” I say as gently as I can with my swollen member straining against the confines of my jeans, “Virginity is something you can only give up once.”
“I know,” she says, her voice muffled by my shirt. Is she going to cry? I’d never quite figured out what to do with a crying woman. I, at least, know better than to yell or berate her.
I hold her as gently as I can and move my free hand in gentle circles on her back, trying to think what to say.
“I’m not a baby,” she says into my shoulder. “I’ll be twenty-seven in October. And you won’t hurt me. I’ve been using a vibrator since I was eighteen. Mom gave it to me when I moved into my first apartment by myself.”
That makes me laugh, and I shift her into a slightly more comfortable position. “I can just see you opening up a box, and finding …what? A realistic representation of male anatomy? Along, no doubt, with a card from your mother.”
She gives a watery little giggle. Yep, she’d been crying. “How did you ever guess? Not only that, she included a little book on auto-eroticism and a note that ‘Bob’, which is short for ‘battery operated boyfriend’, would be a better way to take care of my libido than ‘making out in the backseat of a car’.”
“What would she say if she could see you now?” I ask, figuring that this would be the ultimate in deflating both of us. Because if something doesn’t give real soon, we’ll be past the point of no return. Maybe we already are.
“She would say, ‘Katherine Ann! Get off that man right now and stop acting like a hussy!’”
I catch one of the stray tendrils of hair and tuck it behind her ear. “Do you feel like that’s what you are doing? ”
She shakes her head. “No, if I were a hussy, I would have pulled you into my bedroom that first day. Those plaid pjs were not covering up your reaction to me very much at all. But you’ve been so much of a gentleman.”
“What is different now?” I ask softly.
“We’re alone, and Cece isn’t likely to hop up and interrupt us. Storms terrify me. Even being a few minutes late into the storm shelter can mean death, and sometimes if the things aren’t built right, they get rooted out of the ground or people get sucked right out of them. If that’s going to happen, I want to know what it’s like. Everyone says that sex is something that’s better when it’s shared.”
I return to stroking her back. “It can be,” I say. “Or it can be terribly frustrating if you and your partner are off stride with each other, or if the male half of the equation has had too much to drink. When it is right or even close, it’s far more than just a piston moving in a socket or a bundle of nerves responding to stimuli. It’s a joining.” I hesitate to say the next part, even though I thought it was true. “That is nearly spiritual in nature, taking us beyond ourselves.
“Well, I think I’m pretty much a bundle of nerves all over,” Kate says, although she doesn’t sound as shook up or distressed as she had a few minutes before.
“That’s reasonable,” I say, rubbing the base of her neck and caressing her jaw with my thumb. “Skin is the biggest erogenous organ of the body, and it’s all over you.”
She giggles again and snuggles up to me, as trusting and innocent as Gidget or Cece. But then she lifts her face to me and says softly, “I know you can only give your first time once. But I can’t imagine anyone I’d rather give it to than you.”
That just about took my breath away. “I’m a possessive bastard,” I say. “I won’t want to share you.”
“That’s all right,” she says. “I don’t want to share you, either.” And the little minx starts undoing the buttons on my shirt.
There is only so much self-restraint in me. “I’m cooperating with the inevitable,” I murmur, beginning to undo her buttons. I pause to admire her small, perky breasts, tipped with dark rose nipples. She might have been a “B” cup, but they are rounded and well-formed.
She pauses at the last button on my shirt. “What did you say?” she asks.
“I said, I’m cooperating with the inevitable,” I reply, slipping my hand under her bra and running my thumb over her nipple.
She snuggles into the touch, trying to get more of it. “What does that mean?”
“It was something Bob Heinlein had one of his characters say. Something to the effect that if a woman was determined, that it was best to just give in to the inevitable and cooperate.”
She pauses in undoing my last button. “I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “Heinlein couldn’t write a real female any day of the week, even though he wrote some of the best yarns I ever read.”
“Am I real?” she asks. “Or am I just Galatea to your Pygmalion?”
“Oh, Kate,” I breathe in her ear, reaching behind her with my pinned hand to unsnap her bra. I am pleased to find that I can still do it . . . six months without live female companionship has not dimmed my skills. “You are very much a Real Girl, and my nose is not growing when I say that. And since you are, let’s make this memorable. A first time should be more than a hasty coupling to calm fears and assuage loneliness.”
I nibble kisses down her throat, across her collarbone, and to her left breast. I take the nipple in my mouth and suck on it. When it is nicely wet, I blow on it gently, then flick with my tongue. She squirms under my hand in response, forgetting about my shirt button.
I cup her breast in my hand, moving my thumb across the sensitized skin, and suck and nibble at her right breast. She shivers, arching her back trying to somehow get closer to me. I slip her blouse off her shoulders and slide it down, effectively trapping her arms. Her only response to her sudden captivity is to roll her pelvis toward me while making little whimpering noises of desire.
I don’t want to alarm her, so I continue to slip the blouse down her arms as I nibble kisses down her stomach. By the time I reach her jeans, I have her shucked out of her blouse, and her pretty lace bra off as well.
She shivers again as I stop to look at her, then undo her jeans and gently work them off. She tries to help, but I shake my head. “Not much room in here,” I say. “Let me.”
When the jeans are out of the way, I pause to admire her. As I thought, she is slim, not skinny. She is lightly muscled with just enough padding to smooth over her ribs and hip bones.
She has swim suit lines, almost giving the illusion that she has on pale pink undies. The edges are just blurred enough to suggest that her tan is from summer swimming or other outdoor activities, rather than from a tanning bed. No doubt, if the world was normal, she’d have been out several times swimming and adding to it.
Her pubic curls are a dark, thick wedge that is untrimmed. This meant that I have to go exploring for the tiny nub that Em had suggested I might need a map to find. After five years of marriage, I knew what I was seeking.
Rather than risk aggravating the hip, I help her ease up onto the high back of the bed, and use the remote to flatten the knee ridge. I scoot down, spreading her knees wide to reveal her valley of delight.
It is a dark pink, nearly matching her nipples. Heinlein had gotten one thing right: it looked like an orchid, and it was beautiful. Her clitoris is erect, and the hairs about it are glistening with moisture.
She holds still, letting me look. I blow on it softly, moving the last few hairs out of the way. She shivers again. Is she cold? Or is that a reaction? I don’t want to lose the magic of the moment by speaking, so I gently lick the insides of her labia, then up to the entrance of her vulva, finally ending at the sensitive bud of her clitoris. I nibbled at it, then suck on it, eliciting a soft moan from her.
She tries to reach for me, but I want her completely ready. Vibrator notwithstanding, I want this to feel good for her, without even the slightest hint of pain. She tastes good, like fruit and cream. She is wet and wriggling against me, trying to close her thighs on my head. I can feel myself swell in response to her efforts.
Still not trusting the hip, I use the remote for the bed to flatten it and gently pull her over on top of me. Not only will this spare my hip, it puts her in control. If at any time she changes her mind, she can roll off and stop.
But Kate cooperates eagerly, sliding her wet, eager doorway down my stomach, trying to capture my penis. She is a little off target, and this leads to a fit of the giggles, which spoils her aim even more.
I resort to lifting her gently, then settling her over her target, savoring the sweet sensation as I slowly enter her.
I nearly lose it right there, and that would have been way too soon to pleasure her properly. So I hold her still, even though I can feel her clenching her muscles around my member. Tight, slippery, warm . . . words can not describe what I am feeling .
I kiss the side of her neck, then her mouth, holding still to give myself time to back off a little so I can last.
When it seems as if she might be losing her edge, I begin to move. She tries to move with me and nearly slips off, but I catch her before she is completely off. “Do you want to stop?” I ask. “Should I let you go?” It would be the hardest thing I would ever remember doing, but for her sake, I would.
“No!” she exclaimed. “No, I want this. I do!” She sounds fierce, and a little fearful.
“Then I won’t stop,” I say, moving slightly so I can brace myself with my good leg. “Let me help you.”
I ease her into a position where she is on her knees, which took some pressure off my pelvis. I coax her into sliding up and down on me, which elicits soft moans that nearly bring me to an embarrassing brink before she has her moment.
It is a little awkward at first, but then she catches my rhythm and rides me to a shuddering, glorious climax. Her muscles squeezes me, proving that it is real, pushing me over into my own release.
For those few seconds, I lived that bliss that occurs only when joyously coupling with a woman well loved. I cup my hands around her bottom and hold her close so we will not slip apart before enjoying the last blissful after shocks. What am I thinking? What would Kate think if I dared say “I love you” out loud?
She lay limp on top of me. I carefully don’t move, other than to put my arms around her and hold her close. She kisses me softly under my jaw, just below my ear.
Little aftershocks in her vagina, squeezing and stroking me, almost have me aroused and going again, when the baby monitor beeps.
Cece’s voice comes through the speaker. “Daddy? Is the storm over? ”
Kate whispers to me, “Please tell me she can’t see us.”
“She can’t,” I whisper back, gladdened and amused that this was her first concern. “But I’m afraid it is our cue to get up and see about her.”
I let Kate have first turn in the bathroom, while I answer Cece. “We took a nap, sweetheart. Just let me wake up, and I’ll look at the weather map.”
Kate comes out of the bathroom, fully clothed. She mouths at me, “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”
I grin back at her, and say in normal tones, “She can’t hear us unless I key the microphone.” Then I add the most unromantic, jarring thing I could think of to say, “Was it better than Bob?”
She makes a face and throws my underwear at me.