Anglerfish

I dipped my finger in and out and explored the warmth of her, marveling at the slickness within her and that it hadn't taken me hours of wheedling and several beers to get to this point.

After some minutes, she grabbed my hand and positioned my finger at the apex of her vulva. "There," she said, and took a deep, shuddering breath as I explored the area.

At length I coaxed a hard little pearl out of the surrounding tissue and played my fingers over it. This seemed to be where she wanted me to be. My broad idea of the female anatomy hadn't included this remarkable spot, so I played with it experimentally, judging by her reaction what worked best. What oil I had on my fingers had vanished. I dipped my finger into the well of her pussy and marveled at the increased wetness there. I returned my finger to where it had been and rubbed and pressed the spot with renewed vigor. Her breath was coming in short gasps now and her back arched. She grasped my hand in both of hers and pressed it to her. She moved my hand quickly against herself. Her pelvis rubbed and quivered against my hand and soon she threw her head back and gave a muffled cry. Her body trembled and her proud breasts swayed.

"Oh, God," she gasped.

I was a little alarmed and bemused by what I had awakened in her.

The tremors gradually subsided and she let go of my hand, allowing her arms to flop off the edges of the lounger. The finally opened her eyes and smiled. "That was nice," she said.

Taken by the moment as I had been, I now looked upon the situation with fresh eyes. My fresh eyes couldn't quite convince my brain of the reality of what they were seeing. A tanned and glistening woman -- I couldn't call her a goddess though I was now tempted to -- completely revealed to me, grinning tiredly in what I took to be a post-orgasmic haze.

Her hand between my legs shook me out of my reveries. "It's your turn," she said.

I'd been so wrapped up in her that I'd almost forgotten the boner that I now realized strained painfully against the fabric of my shorts.

She swung her legs out of the lounger and stood. I couldn't recall when I'd ever seen anything so beautiful. "Lie down," she said.

I complied, my mind scrabbling through the possibilities. Would she, in the parlance of the day, make me a man? I imagined my cock within her and almost ruined the possibility right there.

She reached under me and removed my shorts. My cock sprang free and pointed to the sky. "Oh my," she said, "Now I see what you've been hiding from me."

I laughed self-consciously but said nothing, fearing that I'd only be capable of a helium squeak.

She perched herself between my legs at the foot of the lounger. Her fingers traced the insides of my thighs and then moved to my length. The feel of her hands on me threatened to be my undoing.

I averted by gaze, searching for something to distract me. I studied the eavestrough when she grasped me. I observed the clouds that passed overhead when I felt the warmth of... I had to look... the warmth of her mouth enveloping the head of my cock. Oh man.

A spider had constructed the perfect web in the cedar, I saw. A moist warmth descended over me and I could feel her tongue cradling the underside of my cock. Holy jumping...

Remarkable symmetry, I thought frantically, of the web. Where was the spider? I searched for it....

Her head bobbed up and down on my cock. Its saliva-wet length disappeared between her lips.

...but couldn't find it. Where was that spider?

One hand cradled my balls and the thumb and forefinger of the other encircled the base of my shaft. Wet, sloppy noises came to me from my groin.

Was that it? The spider?

Despite my best efforts at distracting myself, my world shrank into that part of me that occupied the tight and warm confines of her mouth. I felt that familiar tingling and swelling. The building of pressure.

Fuck the spider.

I would have withdrawn, having heard that girls didn't swallow, but Sharon had me pinned and there was nowhere to go.

Fuck it.

I must have groaned because Sharon's pace increased.

If she wanted me out of there in time, she was going about it the wrong way.

She had me impossibly deep in her mouth, deeper than I would have thought possible, when I swelled and exploded. I could feel myself pulsing into her, long spasms that jetted my essence into her.

"Mmm," she hummed as she lapped me up. She kept me in her mouth until I had softened, licking me clean.

"You've been saving yourself for me."

"Yeah," I said, grinning sheepishly.

She wiped her mouth and I sat up. I felt a breeze caressing my damp cock. She knelt by my head and kissed me. Our first kiss. Though I tasted myself on her, I didn't mind.

"This has to be our secret, okay?"

"Okay."

***

Lawn mowing because a euphemism for something else after that, if only to myself. It was suddenly one chore I eagerly embraced.

The weather forecast threatened to foil my lawn mowing plans but the day dawned sunny and clear. I loitered around the house until the appointed hour. I'm sure I broke a land-speed record on the way to Sharon's house.

I wheeled my bike past her lemon yellow Beetle and around the back of the house, not wanting evidence of my visit to be too obvious from the front. I heard voices from the back yard and thought little of it, intent as I was on the promised ecstasies of today's yard work. Rounding the corner, I spied the owners of those voices -- Sharon, reclined on a blanket like an odalisque, albeit one in shorts and a tank top. And her daughter.

Carrie, the daughter, was the first to notice me. "Steve!" She cried as she leapt up, pigtails bouncing. "Are you here to visit me?"

Her giddy and innocent excitement displaced whatever disappointment I felt. "Of course," I said. "And to mow the lawn."

"That's daddy's job," she said, scowling.

"You're right. But the grass needs to be taken care of, don't you think? Pretty soon it'll be up over your head and we'll never find you."

Carrie laughed. "You're silly."

Sharon had gotten up and approached Carrie and me. Behind her daughter, she shrugged her shoulders and mouthed the word "Sorry".

"I think we should let Steve get on with it," said Sharon.

"Then can we play house? With Steve? And Tigger and Pooh?"

"I'd like that," I said. "Playing house is what I do best."

I hung around for a little while after mowing the lawn. I played with Carrie beneath a blanket spread over some chairs in the living room. I felt a little awkward, caught between the generations of McGraths, entertaining the younger while it was the older I longed to play with. Occasionally I would poke my head out and invite Sharon to play house with us but she demurred, saying with a wink that there was little room in the house for all three of us. At length I emerged from the makeshift house with a promise that I'd teach Carrie how to float like a starfish for her next swimming lesson.

Sharon walked me to my bike. "I have to apologize. Carrie's father had to go out of town..."

"You don't need to apologize. I had fun."

A look of disbelief crossed her face and then disappeared when she saw that I was telling the truth. "You're good with her."

I was tempted to say that I would have preferred to have been good with her mother but stilled my tongue.

Sharon leaned against the wall and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts. "I should be free next weekend. If you still want to, that is," said Sharon, not quite meeting my eye, as though unsure of herself.

"I'll be counting the days." Again.

Sharon smiled, brightened and gave my hand a quick squeeze. "Can't wait."

***

"When you finish the lawn, come upstairs. Okay?"

"Sure."

I took my time with the lawn, savoring the anticipation of what awaited me in the house.

When I had finished, I entered the house and called Sharon's name. Not hearing a response, I ventured up the stairs. Pictures of her family lined the wall of the stairwell. I felt like an interloper.

"Sharon?"

Her voice came from the master bedroom. "In here."

I pushed open the door.

She wore a diaphanous red robe. Through the thin fabric, I could see the contours of her breasts and the tight circles of her nipples. A belt cinched her waist. The faintest shadow of hair crowned the apex of her trim legs.

Sharon looked at me and approached. She smiled nervously and rose to her toes, kissing me gently on the cheek. "You're covered in grass. Let's get you cleaned up."

I wrapped my arms around her, the fabric of her robe cool and slippery beneath my hands. "Not just yet. I've been waiting two weeks for this." I couldn't believe the words coming out of my mouth.

I kissed her on the lips and allowed my hands to fall to the fullness of her ass. She fit into my arms perfectly.

Eventually, she took my hand and led me to the bathroom where she stripped off my sweaty clothes.

We showered together. The hot water cascaded over us, washing away the grass clippings and sweat.

She turned her back to me and I lathered the soap. I ran my hands down her back to the swell of her ass and then up again. I pressed my chest against her soap-slippery back and reached around, fondling her breasts and stroking down to the cleft between her legs.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked.

"Showering?" she asked with a hint of a smile.

"No. This. You and me."

"Because I like the look of you."

It wasn't enough. My hands stopped.

She hesitated and then spoke again, turning in my hands to face me. "Approaching you was one of the most difficult things I've done."

It was a revelation to me that someone as mature as Sharon could be assailed by doubt. I thought doubt was my department.

She took a deep breath. "I'd see you on the chair and I'd fantasize about you. You're young, good looking, and I found myself imagining the possibilities. I'm well aware of my selfishness in seducing you. I've never done anything like this before, in case you're wondering."

She ran her forefinger down my chest. "Have you ever found that life sometimes unfolds as though for all the countless possible options, there's only one that feels right? And then you find yourself creating the conditions to make it happen?"

I had no idea what she was talking about but nodded anyway.

"I found myself daydreaming of what it would be like with you. And then I found myself doing things that might make it happen, despite all the reasons why I shouldn't be doing those things. And then it began to happen." She shrugged.

"I'm glad it did," I said. The water ran in sensuous rivulets down her body.

"Are you?" She laughed. "I'm sure you are, just as I'm sure that you won't be later." She must have read confusion and disappointment on my face. "It's the most exciting thing, the game of seduction. But we fool ourselves into thinking that it's nothing more than two people giving each other pleasure. Life is never that simple."

We dried each other quickly and returned naked to the bedroom. She sat me on the edge of the bed and knelt between my legs.

As she had on her back deck, she took me into her mouth. Between my overheated anticipation and the time with her in the shower, I was more than primed.

"Stop," I pleaded when her actions threatened to take me over the edge.

She redoubled her efforts and my thin self-control quickly evaporated. I surrendered to the sensations and spent myself in her mouth.

I cursed my lack of control. "I'm sorry," I said as she rose from her knees. "I was hoping..." I couldn't finish the sentence.

"You were hoping for the big prize?" Sharon laughed and lay on the bed. "You'll have it. You're young and I'm sure you'll recover. In the meantime, I'd like you to do something for me."

"What?"

"Whatever you want. Use your imagination. Do with me whatever you want."

It was an invitation that I thought I'd never hear from anyone. I looked at her stretched out on the bed. This, I thought, was my new playground.

She gave my clumsy inexperience free rein, guiding my exploration of her body with sighs and purrs and the occasional not-so-hard or ooh-right-there. I worked down from her face to her breasts, exploring her with my fingers and lips and tongue and teeth. I licked from the cleft between her breasts to the soft and vulnerable well of her stomach. I nipped the insides of her thighs, eliciting squeals from above.

I circled her pussy, laving the area with my tongue. I pulled her velvet-soft labia into my mouth, marveling at the delicate feel of it on my tongue and between my lips. Taking a deep breath, I thrust my tongue into her and drew it up to where I knew she wanted me to be.

Sharon didn't taste as I had expected. I'd heard a variety of stories from those more experienced than I -- or those who merely had a cruder imagination. Her taste was nothing like that. I kind of liked it.

I soon felt her fingers twining in the damp tangle of my hair. The tip of my tongue explored the hood within which her clitoris hid, gradually coaxing it free. I recalled the lesson from a few weeks before and sought to replicate with my tongue what she had instructed me to do with my finger. Her pelvis soon bucked against my tongue with tremors that I doubted were conscious.

"Oh, yes," she whispered.

My finger insinuated itself within her, exploring her as my tongue couldn't.

"Right there."

My tongue danced over her and her breathing quickened.

Her arousal inspired my own, and soon I was adjusting myself to accommodate my growing hardness.

A strangled moan and arching of her back signaled her release. She writhed on the bed, squeezing my head between her thighs. My tongue lapped furiously.

She finally released me with a long, satisfied sigh.

"I see that you're ready for the main course," she said. "This is your first time, isn't it?"

I nodded reluctantly. "Not for lack of trying, believe me."

"I'm honored. Then let's make it memorable, shall we?"

She knocked me back on the bed and straddled my hips. She lowered her chest to mine and her breasts flattened against my chest. The tip of my cock brushed the wet folds of her pussy. I wanted nothing more than to plunge into her. I raised my hips and she rose with me, escaping my thrust.

Sharon smiled and said, "I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I think I should lead, okay?"

I sulked for a moment, but then with the resilience of the young I figured that I was getting laid anyway, so what did it matter?

Her labia caressed the crown of my cock as her hips described slow, deliberate circles. She lowered her hips slightly and I entered her, feeling my head embraced.

She dipped onto me shallowly, repeated movements that drove me crazy with the urge to bury myself within her.

After several minutes of this most delicious torture, she sat up. "Watch," she said.

I opened my eyes. She rose above me, backlit by the sunshine that streamed in through the window. Damp ringlets of hair cascaded around her shoulders. My eyes swept the fullness of her breasts and followed the curve of her side to the flare of her hips. Her hands rested on her thighs that were spread for me.

This had to be a dream. This couldn't be me.

The tip of my cock nestled in the rippling folds of her sex. She leaned back, placing her hands on my thighs, and tilted her pelvis slightly to afford me a better view. I saw my crown of my cock cleaving her lips, spreading them. With a satisfied smile, she lowered herself slowly and I watched my cock disappear inexorably within her. Her warmth enveloped me by slow degrees as unseen muscles tightened around me, a wet embrace that descended my length until completely consumed.

It was an embrace more complete and intimate than I'd ever experienced.

"Don't move," I gasped. I wanted to commit these sensations to memory.

Her hands left my thighs and rose to her breasts, fondling them. Her eyes closed and she rocked gently upon me. My cock explored the tight space within her. A smile played on her lips. "You feel so good," she whispered.

I didn't trust myself to speak.

After a few minutes she leaned toward me. Within the curtain of her damp hair we kissed. Her tongue sought mine and she rode me with deliberate strokes. I raised my hips to meet her over and over. The pace soon quickened and our breathing came in gasps. Despite her preemptive blowjob, I quickly approached climax.

"Not yet," she whispered into my ear.

She flipped onto her back and presented herself to me, legs spread and bent at the knees. "Come," she said.

I positioned myself between her legs and she guided me in. "Slowly. We have time."

While I thrust my length into her, her eyes also took me in. There was hunger there, and a knowing satisfaction. I wonder how I looked to her, a young, inexperienced guy reveling in the unexpected warmth and intimacy she had to offer. Did she feel that she was giving or taking?

But these are the thoughts of an older man. At the time, I had no thoughts beyond prolonging the moment and staying the pressure that was building within me. I remember the clumsiness of my thrusts, the feeling of her fingernails digging into the small of my back, the legs that spread wider, the gasps that mingled with my own, the arching of her back, the lips parting, the slim fingers clutching the sheets, and the final, emphatic thrusts that presaged blessed release.

I spent the rest of that summer between the pool, her lawn, and her legs. Under her tutelage, my confidence grew. She taught me the many ways in which a man can give a woman pleasure while giving me the same.

I kept my promise and did not reveal my secret, even to my closest friends. Not that I didn't want to -- I wasn't averse to the envy of my peers -- but I had an unreasoning fear that Sharon would simply disappear if I ever spoke of her to anyone else.

We continued to meet whenever the opportunity arose and gradually developed the routines and rituals of more conventional couples.

As the summer passed from July to August, I derived an intense satisfaction from seeing her at the pool, sharing secret looks and signals, knowing that I had possessed her. She still periodically occupied the space beneath my chair, driving me to distraction when she did, but more often than not preferred the company of the other mothers on the deck.

When I think about it now, I'm surprised at my willing delusion that this easy intimacy with a woman twice my age would continue indefinitely. As the summer drew to a close I turned a blind eye to the signs of distance that grew between Sharon and me. Content with my worldly and voluptuous teacher, my single-minded pursuit of new lessons left little time or energy for reflection. In a word, I was selfish. In that alone I demonstrated the callowness of my years. Had I thought to ask about her thoughts, I might have been less surprised and would have spared her my adolescent rage when the relationship did come to an end.

Sharon was strangely subdued as she walked me to the door that last time. There had been a strange tenderness to our lovemaking that afternoon, a lingering slowness to her actions. Few words had been spoken. By that time, we needed few words.

She smiled, but it wasn't that wickedly radiant smile that I'd grown to love. This was an older smile, a weary smile, one that I was too young to correctly interpret.

She grasped my arm as I turned to go.

"What?"

"We can't meet any more."

It took a moment for the words to register, and when they did I was gobsmacked. "Why?" I asked, a whine creeping into my voice as the significance of Sharon's statement hit me.

"I've met someone."

This was the end, I realized. An impossible season was drawing to a close, the curtain had fallen. She'd met someone, no doubt someone closer to her age. "Why does that have to change anything?" I asked.