You had always experienced a streak of shame when his presence made you wet. But today, there is no shame. And today you are drenched, and so very ready.
His name is Noah and last you saw him he was after his first year of college. He visited your home – in his perfect-fit jeans and loose-fitting t-shirt – to say goodbye to your daughter. She’s is the same age as Noah. You heard them talking in the living room while you made dinner in the kitchen, and butterflies flapped in your stomach. Muffled as it was through the wall that separated you from him, his musical laugh found your ears. It was your favorite sound. God how you loved when Noah came to visit.
It was weird. It was wrong. You were married. You had been for nearly twenty years.
Your husband hired Noah to clean the pool, and the clichéd fantasy was complete. Noah did his job wearing flip flops and board shorts only, and you would watch him through a window. Moving back and forth, back and forth, as he worked the pool vacuum, the lines of his toned torso gently guided your eyes to his groin. It pumped rhythmically with his arms and his frame, and you imagined what was under those shorts. You imagined him on you and in you. It gave you a racing heart and a warm, wet pussy.
On a number of occasions, you tore your eyes from Noah and retreated to your bedroom where you massaged the culprit of your agony until you came. Once, lying on your bed, one hand still gently caressing your nipple, the other wet and still tucked between you and your underwear, you shed a single tear, and whispered his name. “Noah.”
There was some relief to his going to college. The disgrace and distraction of Noah would be hundreds of miles away. His musky, mean scent, gone. His athletic frame, a ghost. His doe eyes that belied the lascivious wants that harass all young men, a fading memory.
You and your husband divorced: no scandals, no infidelity, little drama. It was a long time coming, a relationship destined to die. Single as you may be, you’ve yet to “play the field” or give online dating a try. The idea of dating does not so much make you nervous, as it makes you guilty. It makes you feel more shameful than when you were married and you pined for Noah. The idea of dating feels as if you would be betraying a man who has yet to know you.
But today, he will find you. And he will know you.
It’s been two years, almost exactly, since you laid eyes on Noah. (It’s been half as long since you’ve known a man’s touch.) You have the house to yourself now, and this summer, you’ve hired no pool boy. You clean the pool yourself when you have time.
Today is one of those days. It is hot, the sun is high, and you wear your bikini. Self-conscious, you tend to wear shorts or a tankini when you go the beach, despite your friends complimenting your well-kept figure. But today you’re in the privacy of your own backyard; you expect to see no one.
You hear the gate to the backyard squeak open, and you hear a familiar, musical sound.
It’s Noah. He’s standing in the backyard in fitted jeans and a tank top. He has matured. His jaw line is stronger, his peach fuzz replaced by sexy stubble. He carries a masculine vigor that you can practically see pulse through him.
“Hi Mrs. Thompson,” he says. “I rang the bell, but no one came.”
“Oh Jesus,” you can’t help but blurt, “do not call me Mrs. Thompson.”
He’s already walking towards you, and suddenly you notice how little you’re wearing. So much skin exposed. “Has he ever seen me like this”, you wonder. Your heart races as he comes to you and wraps you in his arms.
“It’s good to see you,” he says.
His warmth envelops you, and your sweat bleeds into his. His scent is one in which you would gladly drown. You feel his cock press against your navel.
He pulls away from the hug.
You wait in silence, staring in his eyes. Wondering if he knows you’re single now. Wanting to know if he really came just to say hello, wanting to know if he’d been wise to your infatuation all this time. Your eyes scream with vulnerability. He sees it. You’ve given him power. It’s a power you’ve wanted to give him for so, so long. The new power burns in Noah, and you see he wants you. Badly.
You realize now that you are very, very wet.
“I can smell you,” Noah whispers.
“Oh, Noah, I…”
But before you can say any more, he presses into you and puts his mouth on yours. You return the kiss. It’s deep and urgent. He knows well how to use his tongue, and you grind into him.
Noah pulls off your top, and as he leads you to the reclining lawn chair, he gropes your breasts firmly, but not sloppily. It feels fantastic, and now you’re flat on your back on the chair, and Noah’s fingers have torn away your bikini bottoms. A rush of air on your most sensitive area, and then…
His mouth is exploring your inner thighs, licking and kissing and sucking. An occasional bite that hurts, a bit, but not unpleasantly.
Might a neighbor be looking over the fence, or spying from a second story bedroom? In this moment, you have decided, you don’t give a flying fuck.
His tongue gently travels from near one side of, then above, then to the other side of your clit. He lets out a warm breath that makes you quiver. He explores the outside of your delicate, sensitive flower that has gone untouched by another for so many months, refusing to lick your clit or the inside of your cunt. He inhales through his nose and enjoys your sweet fragrance, so much so that he lets out a gentle moan, which is a deep, loving hum that vibrates your pussy infuriatingly. That hum is your new favorite sound.
I might die, you think. I might die if he doesn’t kiss me there right now. I am going to die in absolute misery. He uses both hands to grab your ass. You let out a moan, you curl your toes, are absolutely positive you are about to DIE, and then, thank heaven above, he kisses the softest, most sensitive place between your legs, and you cry in happiness.
Whether it’s a skill he’s learned or an innate ability, you do not care: Noah is good. He’s better than good, he’s fantastic. He tastes the layers of your flesh and he treats your clit like a queen. Your breath quickens and you near climax quickly. But you are not ready, not yet.
I’m going to come, you whisper.
He just hums a response. Yes, please, he invites.
No, you tell him, No. Inside, you say.
He listens. Good boy. He leaves your pussy long enough to tear off his shirt and pull down his jeans (depriving you of the pleasure of disrobing him). He is smooth, and firm, and throbbing. He enters you. He fills you, touching the core of your desire. He pumps firmly, but slow, his pubic bone stimulating your clit till you think it will erupt in fire and madness. His member pierces the want you have had since you first laid eyes on his sculpted body. He breathes into your neck. Yes, yes, yes you think, and his already firm erection gets harder as the convulsions begin.
His back bleeds as your nails dig into it, and his cock finds a knot of frustration so deep in you that you hadn’t realized it was there.
An earth-shattering silence overtakes you as your pussy and that knot within sing a blissful, ancient song. There is an explosion, and your toes and fingers and Noah on top of you feel it. It overcomes you, and the rest of the world is gone.
There is peace.
The world comes back, slowly. The day is still hot. Noah’s eyes pierce yours, with love. Today, you both understand, marks the beginning of the finest summer either of you will ever know.