In Market Square, Boston, I sat waiting for you. My hands tremble like
I’ve never known. We have spend almost a year together on the net,
having loving moments, having fights, never parting, but tearing when
moments were wrong or misunderstood. We both were unsure about meeting,
never clear whether the actual meeting face to face, body to body, would
yield the love we had always felt online, or whether the reality would
be a disappointment, or whether the moment would wrack our lives in
deeper ways.
Looking at my beer, trying to relax, I take a sip, but suddenly feel a
presence. I turn and see you. You never sent me your picture, just a
description of your height, hair and eye color and measurements. There
you sat, you face smiling, your eyes bright, your body leaning toward
me. The enfolding of arms took place. The touching of hands and the
kissing of lips. The real meeting of bodies there on the stools at the
outside bar in Market Square.
What happened? Bills were paid, we walked places. Words were not
necessary. We found ourselves in my car in the parking garage up at the
top. The hot sun heating the interior, in the back seat in the broad
daylight. Like high school kids, trying to make love in the back seat
of the car. You undo my belt and open my pants, my prick sticking out
of my shorts. I raise your skirt and pull down your panties and you
rest down on my hardness. Me sitting on the back seat in the center,
you on my lap, rising up and down on my swelling prick up and down I
raise your body, down and up you move your hips, till my cock swells
into an orgasmic flush that wets your insides. You wrap you arms around
my neck and I hold your body to mind as my prick softens in you.
Twenty minutes later I’m walking you down Washington St. We shop in
Macy’s where you buy a handbag and some silk stockings. We spend time
in the Barnes and Noble book store where I buy the Complete Works of
Chaucer and you get some postcards to send home. Walking down the South
end of Washington Street we pass a dirty book store and you grab my arm
and we enter. In the back, booths with flicks. Your eyes alight and we
enter one. And lock the door. You pull a fiver from your purse and put
it in the machine as we sit on the bench in the darkened cubicle.
The small TV screen shows a woman sucking a man’s cock. You kneel
between my legs and imitate the motions. She licks up and down his
shaft and your press your tongue along my thickening prick. She takes
him deep in her mouth and your fill your face with my swelling. He cums
and covers her lips and tongue and she swallows as the light of the
monitor goes off. I cum in your mouth, looking at you in the dim light
of the booth, and my cum fills your mouth and you look me in the eyes
and know how I longed to see you finally lapping my cum around your
lips, swirling it around in your mouth with your finger, pinching it out
and letting it drip back in your mouth with a smile and then swallowing
slowly so I can savor the moment we have so often shared.
Twenty minutes later in Harvard Square I walk you in to the most
beautiful tobacconist in the world. The smell inside is magnificent,
wafting from the barrels of fresh tobacco, from the racks of new
cigars, from the stands of world cigarettes, neither of us smokers but
both loving the smells and sites. We climb the stairs and linger at the
tobacco museum, the old pipes and lighters, the ads and papers, ivory
and silks, smoking jackets and hookahs. There at the top of the stairs
we stood face to face and we hugged each other, body pressed to body in
a warming display to all of the aromatic love we have always had, and
would never lose, could never lose.
We walk into Harvard University grounds and I show you the place behind
the oaks where a wall separates us on one side and a line of bushes on
the other, and we lay on the blanket I carried from the car. There in
the warm light of a secret place, we find our selves in sixty nine, my
tongue up and down your clit and pussy, licking down inside you, as your
center throbs and sucks at my tongue. Your tongue lapping at my dick as
it linger just above your face. My tongue working how far it can
explore the recesses of your body, your hands on my buttocks, my hands
holding your thighs, my cock leaving more in your mouth, your cunt
trembling and mashing against my face as we climax on the lawn of
Harvard University, behind a wall that does not mask the moans of your
love, behind a bush that is not afraid to reveal the shaking of our
trembling bodies.
We have dinner across from the Prudential Center, just down an block. A
pretty French Restaurant. Boeuf en Daube, from an earthenware pot for
me and Coq au Vin for you with a Bordeaux for us both. The fresh baked
bread was worth the wait and the scorched coffee afterwards savored on
our pallets. We find tickets and watch the Red Sox destroy the Yankees,
5 - 10. Then repair the Hotel Regent. There we shower, each other, in
soapy provinces of touching and rinsing streams of white suds down
between breast over stomachs and around thighs and calves, and over
feet, and warming backs and skins tingling in hot breaths of flushing
warmth.
By the time I arrive to the bed you have snuggled in warm and cozy, and
curled up. I press beside you our bodies warm, and steaming in a
seething way. We cup like spoons in warm draw, my arms turn around you
and cup your breasts, right hand on left breast, left hand on right
breasts. There naked in the bed we huddle and feel each other against
each other. My hands run up and down your body from your head around
your shoulders, across your chest and over your stomach down your legs.
I roll over and you cup me from behind and run your hands over me, both
hands holding my cock from behind a while as it hardens.
I roll over face to face with you. Kiss you softly on your lips and
slowly enter you with my rigid stiffness. I slowly move over you and
slowly move my hips to keep you complete with me. In long slow moving
strokes we make love, filling an unfailing, my cock deep inside your
pussy, slowly emptying the forfended place, quickly making it full of
flesh. You begin and rock side to side in and up and down to the rhythm
of my lust, as I work to match the pressure of your needs. We become a
single animal of two backs, a moving capillary, a breathing heart
pumping with each other.
My arms surround you and squeeze you in love, our bodies united in a
motion of passion, my cock racking deep in your cunt, your vagina
squeezing me as the final rush of orgasm beings to wrack us both. You
start to scream muffled then let it go in a huge noise, my cock
thickening in a move to pleasure you with the burst of a climax. I
begin to fill you know with a deeper thrust of cum giving thrusts that
overwhelm the walls of your insides, parachuting through your flesh like
air of desire fulfilled. You grab me hard to you as you cum against my
prick that fills you with deeper and deeper moans of cum.
Our bodies jerk and thrust at each other till all my cum fills your with
it’s hot liquid. Your pussy tries to suck in and hold it there as we
clench in a tight embrace that lasts a sleeping night. It is warm
pressing night of waking and cuddling, and sleeping, and dreaming and
more touching, this way, a head on a thigh, an hand on a breast, a
hugging of legs to cheeks, a prick held between lips, a breast against a
lip, a lip on a lip, a mouth sleeping kissing a clitoris, a body and a
body together in every position in every tasting and touch, every smell
and every sound of breathing and moaning and finally waking.
I look you in the eyes and you look at me, we smile, deep in the morning
in Boston, and decide with a look to stay in bed.
