Chapter Eighteen
Marty
“Jenna, did you just come?” I pull back to ask. “Or do you have extremely strong pelvic floor muscles that will likely destroy me?”
With closed eyes and her lips clamped shut, she turns her head, exposing the arch of her neck in a way that I know is supposed to hide her face from me but just makes me want to graze my teeth over the skin there.
“Yeah, I just came.” Her body starts to shake in silent laughter. I think.
“Are you okay?” I ask. It's getting harder to keep still inside her because her laughter also squeezes my dick, not to mention how hot it is that she came already.
“I just had a mind-blowing orgasm. I'm more than okay,” she says and her face tilts back down, her eyes on me. I am relieved when I can still see hunger in them.
“You want to stop?” I still have to ask.
This is different from any other sex I've had.
I'm not sure if it's because I'm sober. I'm not sure if it's because it's with an older woman.
I'm not sure if it's because for the first time in over a year, I'm not thinking about Arnie and how it was with him. Some hidden part of me is aware of it, but I’m so far from focusing on it.
All I am trying to do is not ruin this, for her or for me.
“Have you fucked me yet?” she asks with hooded eyes.
“Technically, not yet.” I can't help the little jolt my dick gives, and I know she feels it because her eyelids lift.
“Have you come so hard you can't see?” She reaches behind and grips my butt cheeks.
“Not yet,” I say, and my dick moves again but that's all me, rocking into her. She hums out a small moan.
“Have I screamed your name as I come?” She squeezes me again, but something tells me this is very deliberate.
“No, not yet,” I manage.
“Then, no, I do not want to stop,” she says, and she turns her head to nuzzle my earlobe, biting it softly, before panting in my ear. “Please fuck me, Marty.”
So I do. I tense my arms as I hold her leg up with one hand and find balance on the shower wall close to her head with the other.
I push against her with my chest, so close that we can't kiss anymore, and then I bend down and thrust into her deeper.
I pull out then go back in again, going as slow as I can manage.
She's warm and soft and smooth and it's so good, so good I almost don't want to come so I can stay here, but I need the release too.
I have been feeling the swirl of desire for her for twenty-four giddy hours, which is no time at all, of course, but right now it feels like I have waited forever.
“You feel so good,” she says. “So good.”
“You're the one who feels good.” I brush my lips against whatever part of her face is nearest to them, her cheek possibly.
“It's been so long.” She whimpers.
“Since you had sex?” I ask. Maybe I should have asked this earlier.
“Yes,” she says. “Especially sex like this.”
I want to tell her I know exactly what she means, but I feel the build-up to my orgasm approach at a pace that shocks me. My sobriety is making me so much more aware of everything and leaving me more defenceless to delay the climax I am now chasing, rutting up into her faster.
“Jenna,” I say her name again and her fingernails dig deeper into my lower back.
“Harder,” she says. “More.”
“Jenna,” I say again, and I bend my knees, tilt my pelvis more and keep thrusting. Out of nowhere, I feel a heat in my left calf but I'm so close. It can cramp later.
“More,” she says. “Fuck me.”
“Yes,” I say and it's more of a grunt than a word. The pain in my calf is taking the full shape of the muscle, and I feel the familiar pull begin, as if it wants to rip itself off my leg.
Not now, please not now.
I close my eyes, feel the tightness in my balls and feel my dick harden that little bit more. I'm so close.
And then my calf starts to spasm and the pain shoots up through my leg and into every other muscle in my body as I tense, terrified of moving as my calf muscle tightens beyond comprehension.
“Shit!” I call out and hold still, thrusting up into her one final, forceful time.
“Yes, Marty, yes,” she's saying.
“Oh God, no, I... shit!” I hiss as the pain intensifies.
“It's okay,” she says and she's stroking my back now, comforting me.
“No,” I gasp out and lift my torso off her slightly. “I'm... fuck! Cramping!” I manage to say.
“Oh,” she says. “Shit. What do you need?”
What do you need?
Even in the chaos of my pain, I feel the full weight of those words. Or rather their almost divine lightness. And I feel the clarity of realising that nobody has asked me that in a very long time.
As the pain continues, I'm almost certain my muscle is going to be permanently damaged. This cramp is so intense and wild. I know I have to move to try to find some relief. It's only then that I feel the ache in my balls, they were so close. I was so close.
“I need to move,” I gasp. “Stretch.”
“Okay.” Jenna moves from underneath me. She quickly pulls her soaking dress and bra off over her head and naked, so exquisitely naked, she steps out of the shower and finds a towel for me which she throws over my shoulder.
Then she grabs a robe and ties it around herself while walking back to me.
I'm leaning against the wall now, trying in vain to move my left leg so I can stretch it out, but the pain is still too unbearable.
“I don't think I can move,” I say with a weak half-laugh.
“Lean on me,” she says. “Can you do that and just hobble over to the bed?”
“Yeah, I think so,” I say and that's what we do. Me leaning on her and limping over to the bed in feeble hops.
“Put a towel down,” I gasp out at her as we approach her perfectly made white sheets. “I'm wet.”
“It will dry,” she says quickly. “Just lie down.”
I crash down on my front, as much to hide my shrinking erection than anything else.
“Flex your foot, if you can,” she says, and I try but it’s too painful.
“Fuck, it fecking hurts,” I say.
“It will pass. It's your left calf muscle, right?”
“Yeah,” I groan. “Does it look like it's about to rocket jet out of my body?”
She laughs gently. “No, but it does look tight. Can I touch it, to try and ease the tension?”
“Sure,” I say. “But if I scream obscenities at you, I apologise in advance.”
“I'll start with your foot,” she says and she bends down at the end of the bed and I feel her hands wrap around my foot, one at the heel and the other on my toes, she slowly pushes my toes down so my foot is at a right angle.
It pulls on the cramp and deepens the ache but almost in a good way. Almost.
“Shit,” I whisper.
“Just hold it here for a while,” she says. “It will pass, I promise.”
It will pass. It will pass. That is something that I have heard so many times over the last year. The grief will pass. The pain will pass. The hangover will pass. The depression will pass. The self-loathing will pass. I’ve rarely believed it.
But when her hand makes a V-shape, presumably with her thumb and index finger, and she runs that up against my spasming muscle, I start to believe her. It will pass. This pain will pass. In fact, it’s fading already.
“That almost feels good,” I say as she does it again. Again and again, until the sharp pull has gone and even the ache left behind starts to dull.
“Is it better?” she asks eventually but she doesn't stop.
With my eyes closed, face down in the pillow, I feel a dip in the bed and then I feel her come to sit on my backside, her robe plush and soft on my naked arse cheeks, and her hands now going back to both of my calf muscles and massaging with the same V-shape but in the opposite direction.
I can imagine almost perfectly what she must look like going back and forward from her waist to do the movement.
It makes blood return to my cock, and I quickly slide my hand under my body to remove the wasted condom that has all but rolled off completely.
“I really want to lie and say no,” I admit, my voice muffled in the pillow. “Because this feels so good.”
“You should stretch more after you exercise,” she says. “Or the bike rides with your dad.”
The warmth I feel at her remembering that is a soft surprise.
“I did stretch this morning. I stretched for twenty minutes more than I usually do just so I could watch you run.”
She chuckles. “I guess sprinting down to the bar didn’t help?”
“Or running after you to get back here,” I point out.
“I was a woman in need.”
She moves to apply pressure through her knuckles now which burns my calf muscles, especially my recovering left one, but in a satisfying way. Every now and again she stops at the skin behind my knees and strokes me there with feather-light touches. It sends shivers up my whole body.
“You're good at this,” I tell her.
“I did a course,” she says.
“To become a massage therapist?”
She hesitates. “Not exactly.”
“Then what?” As much as my cock is warming up again, I suddenly want to ask her questions and hear her answer them.
“Tantric massage,” she says.
“What?” My eyes dart open.
“It's a kind of full-body massage technique that can be used to elongate and intensify sexual pleasure,” she says.
“I know what it is,” I say. “I'm twenty-four, not fourteen.”
“Well, I didn't know what it was at your age.” She sounds a little sad.
“What did you learn?” I am suddenly fascinated.
She clears her throat lightly. “I learned that my husband thought I was crazy for going.”
“Serious?”
“Yeah, so after a few weeks, I never went back. I couldn't be interested enough for two of us. But I learned that no matter what tricks and hacks you may learn for sex, none of them will ever be as effective as just good old-fashioned desire. At least for me, that’s what matters most and it’s one of the things that makes sex amazing for me.
And my ex-husband, I think he just stopped desiring me, and we couldn't get it back. No matter how many hours I tried to spend giving him hand jobs.” She forces a laugh.
“What are the other things?” I ask.
“Other things?”
“You said, one of the things that makes sex amazing for you. What are the other things?”
She sighs. “How long have you got?”
“Look, I'm a simple man with blue balls who is enjoying the feel of your hands a little bit too much. Give me the shortlist.”
“Everything,” she says. “Everything has the potential to make sex amazing, if it's done with enough intention and connection.”
“Intention and connection,” I repeat. “You should write about this shit.”
“I do!” She laughs louder. “Or rather, I did. I had a sex and relationships column in a Sunday newspaper, another in a woman’s magazine and I wrote lots of other pieces for magazines, papers and blogs.” She goes back to massaging my legs.
“You did? Shit, I didn't realise I was getting into bed with an expert. Jesus, a ‘sexpert’” I say, sounding just as nervous as I'm abruptly feeling.
“A sexpert who just came the second you entered me.” She laughs at herself and I suddenly want to see her face. It's been a few minutes since I have, and I miss it.
“Ah, I know you just did it to make me feel better in case I blew my load too soon. What with me being so young and all.”
“No,” she says. “That was just me being a very horny thirty-seven-year-old woman who just watched a criminally good-looking man undress in my shower.”
I hold my breath and a beat later she stops moving.