SerendipityChapter 8
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Serendipity - Version CharlieChapter 11 free porn video
You hear about how makeup sex is really great. But you have to remember that all generalizations are bad ... including this one.
The fact is that even after a minor argument, like the one we'd just had, becoming intimate again can be a little weird. Maybe complicated is a better word. Part of that is because the emotional level you're on after a disagreement has you in fight or flight mode. That doesn't lend itself to being all lovey dovey, for obvious reasons. Another component is that, after having just annoyed your lover (even if it wasn't your fault!) you don't want to annoy her again by doing a less than adequate job in the sexual department.
In other words, if you think about it too much, makeup sex can turn out pretty poorly.
So the key to good makeup sex is to remind yourself that you are in love, and to have faith that love will win in the end. Then you pay attention to making her forget she was angry a little while ago by replacing her fight or flight hormones with passion hormones.
Happily, we both went about things with an eye towards forgetting the spat, and moving on with the loving part.
I confess I didn't keep track of the time. I was sort of distracted by a young woman who was trying to cram as much sex into the time she had left as possible. She started by sucking me stiff again and then she mounted me in her favorite position. I wasn't all that horny, probably because of those fight or flight hormones I mentioned, so I concentrated on trying to stimulate her as much as humanly possible. Don't get me wrong. I was having a good time too, but that was based on watching her have orgasms. I counted six of them and my penis actually got kind of numb before she flopped over and lay beside me, panting and limp.
For some reason I had the urge to give her a full body massage. Maybe it's because that was one of the fantasies I'd had about her for the last couple of years. In my fantasy she got a cramp in the pool and I worked it out by massaging the affected area. That was her thigh, in my fantasy, and as I massaged the skin, my hand bumped her camel toe. One thing led to another until I was feasting on her pussy as she writhed under me. I rarely got farther than that, as I masturbated to that fantasy, but once in a while I ended up on top of her, buried in her and all that.
She didn't have a cramp, so I just started with her foot. I knew from experience that a good foot massage can do things to a woman. She was already willing, but she was also satisfied, for the moment. Perhaps, by giving her a massage, I could get her ready to go again, like she'd gotten me ready to go again.
It worked rather spectacularly. She moaned as I worked on each foot, working the bones back and forth and digging my fingers between them. Then she murmured about how good it felt as I worked my way up her legs. I bypassed her pussy, but spent five minutes just stroking her abdomen, knowing there were thousands of nerves there, just over her ovaries, that would stimulate them to do what they were intended to do. I also spent a lot of time on her breasts and rib cage.
"I love you so much," she said.
I looked up to see her glittering eyes.
I knew it was crazy, but right then biology took over. I was hard as stone again, after having gone a little soft when she got off of me. I had the urge to make a baby.
"Do you love me enough to have my baby?" I asked.
"Yes," she said, softly. There was no hesitation.
"Right now?"
"Yes!" she said instantly, and spread her legs.
"That's crazy," I said, but I got between her thighs anyway.
"I know," she said, reaching for my penis, and bringing it home.
She groaned as I slid into her in one, long thrust, and pushed my pubic bone against hers.
"I want to do this forever," she gasped. "Please don't leave."
"I have to," I said, as I moved back and forth. Suddenly I was ready to spew.
"It's not fair," she whined. "I just got you, and now I have to let you go."
"I'll be there when you need me," I said, flexing my penis inside her. I was close now.
"I need you now!" she whimpered.
"Then here I am," I sighed.
I let go, and the soothing flow of my semen felt so wonderful I wished, again, that there was a faucet I could open and just let run for ten or so minutes. My balls flexed and my penis jumped in her in the typical short bursts of joy.
"Ohhhh," she sighed. "I love that feeling so much. I wish you could cum in me forever."
"Me, too," I groaned, already empty, but trying to push more into her.
I let myself down on her slowly, and her lips reached for mine. It was a different kind of kiss, a less passionate one than usual, but it carried her gratitude for what had just happened.
I finally rolled off of her, to let her breathe. She sat up and stood to reach for her cell phone, which was on the night stand. She punched buttons and then reached with those fingers to pinch inflamed pussy lips, closing them, obviously trying to keep my spend from leaking out of her.
"Mom?"
I wondered what she was doing.
"I need another hour."
I could hear a loud voice issue from the speaker on the phone. When it went quiet she spoke again.
"We wasted almost forty-five minutes arguing about him leaving and your stupid rules for me. Please? Just one more hour?"
She listened.
"Okay, I'll tell him. Thank you. I really mean that. See you then."
She lay the phone down and pressed one fingertip against it, disconnecting the line, all the while holding my sperm inside her. I wanted to believe it was because she didn't want to lose what I'd given her, rather than that she simply didn't want to have to clean up a mess.
"You weren't supposed to tell me about the dating thing," she said. "My mother said I should spank you."
I laughed. "Spank me? As if."
"Oh, I have to," she said. "She gave us another hour, so I have to do what she said."
"You can't spank me," I scoffed.
"Oh yeah? Watch me, mister!"
With that she jumped on me, trying to roll me over and slapping at my hip. I fought back and soon we were rolling around on the bed.
"Stop! Stop!" she giggled. "I'm starving. I didn't get breakfast."
"You got another hour and you want to eat breakfast?"
"Are you hard?"
"Well ... no."
"Then I might as well do something worthwhile, until you get hard again," she said.
She jumped up and ran out of the room, apparently thinking I would try to catch her, or stop her or whatever. I got up and casually walked, naked, to the kitchen. On the way I passed her parents' bedroom, and another quick fantasy popped into my head, which involved Hannah saying goodbye to me like her daughter just had. I felt a twinge of shame at how completely amoral I seemed to have become. At the same time I felt a lurch in my groin, and marveled at how quickly I was recovering. It had been years and years since I'd tried to see how many times I could cum in one day, but I remembered it had been six.
Of course that had been six orgasms over a sixteen or so hour period.
Still, as I walked into the kitchen and saw my naked niece cramming something into her mouth, I knew that it wouldn't be long before I could service her again. I might not be as hard this time, but I'd be hard enough to get the job done.
It turned out she was wolfing down hard boiled eggs and tomatoes, of all things.
"The breakfast of champions," I noted, as she shelled another egg. Before she bit into it, she quartered a tomato and ate two slices, ignoring me.
I watched as she polished off her second egg, and then demolished the rest of the tomato. Then she got a piece of white bread from the package, and ate it without anything on it. She stuffed the whole thing into her mouth and looked like a chipmunk. Opening the fridge, she pulled out a half gallon container of two percent milk and drank right from the spout. By the time she put it back and turned, she was swallowing the sodden contents of her mouth.
"Are you hard yet?" she asked, saucily.
"Not yet," I said.
"Then maybe you need the breakfast of champions, because I'm ready to go, big boy."
She used every second of her extra hour. Of course part of that might have been because, when we returned to her bed, to begin anew, she tried to spank me on the sly. We wrestled again, but this time strength triumphed over desire, and she ended up over my lap. I reddened her butt too, slapping it hard three times while she squealed and screamed and begged me to stop.
I rubbed her already pink skin, and then slid my hand through the crack of her ass. She jerked, but then spread her legs. It was odd, touching her like this, feeling her slippery pussy lips with her thighs clamped on my wrist. She was making little sounds as I rubbed and stroked and dipped a finger inside her. Then her legs were open and she was falling, to land on the floor. She hopped up with the agility of youth, and pushed me down on the bed.
"I want you in me," she panted.
I spent the rest of our allotted time being in her. I think that when I finally spurted in her for the last time, it was partly from panic when I heard the front door slam and Hannah sing out that she was home.
She was smart enough not to open her daughter's door to check on us.
I remember parts of the drive back to Oklahoma. You can't miss some of the scenery. But there were hundreds of miles that I did on autopilot, as my mind relived the last week, and particularly the last four hours I spent in her bedroom. I was pretty worn out, so I cut that day short and stayed in a motel. I slept way past bedtime in California, so I didn't call that night.
I felt lost when I got back home, and tried to resume my normal routine. I was a little amazed at how thoroughly this new relationship had taken over my life. It had always been a little lonely after Kat left for the summer, but I had always adapted pretty quickly in the past. It had been easy to think of her, have one of my little fantasies, jerk off and go on with life. But beating off had lost it's glow. I'd had the real thing. I'd actually felt her hot, naked skin sliding against mine for hours at a time. And anything else simply paled by comparison.
Still, I reminded myself, I was an adult, and I was supposed to be able to deal with adversity. I wanted to call her, but felt like I should be able to last more than three or four days. I mean I was going to have to make it an entire school year, and I couldn't call her all the time.
It was two days before I went into the guest bedroom, looking for something or other, and found a pair of her panties lying on the bed. She'd left them there for me on purpose, as a reminder of her tennis accident, not knowing that, by the time I'd found them, seeing her pussy would be just a fond memory.
She called that night and told me to Skype her.
I was wearing the panties on my head when she called.
That might have worked out well, except the laptop was on the dining room table, instead of in her bedroom, where I had assumed she'd call from. I saw her mother approaching Caitlin from behind, obviously intending to say hi to me. I managed to get the panties off my head before she could see me. Kat was still laughing, though, and that led to Hannah asking what was so funny.
"Nothing," said Caitlin. "He was just being silly."
"How is everything?" I asked.
"Wonderful," said both of them at the same time.
Such conversations are a little frustrating for me. When people call each other, they converse in a way that is very different from being face to face. The information exchanged in phone calls is truncated, and banal, usually. You get caught up on things quickly, and then there's nothing left to say. Face to face is a different kind of thing, but Skype, even though it seems like a face to face interaction, is actually more like a phone call. At least that's my experience.
In any case, pretty soon Hannah disappeared from the screen. Her father was home, so Caitlin couldn't engage in phone sex. I was glad about that anyway.
She did manage a quiet, "So ... are you thinking about me?"
"All the time," I said. "I can't get anything done."
She looked furtively toward the living room, where I assumed Phil was sitting. She lifted one of those gaily decorated gift bags into view, and reached into it. Glancing toward the living room again, she pulled out a dildo. It was one of those kind that is supposedly anatomically correct, with balls and everything, except it was too large. She grinned into the camera and dropped the thing back into the bag quickly.
She leaned toward the screen.
"Mom went shopping for it with me! She helped me pick it out! Can you believe that?"
"They let a seventeen year old girl into one of those places?" I said, pretending to be astonished.
"Mom actually bought it," she said, still close to the screen.
She glanced toward the living room again.
"I love it," she said.
"Oh really?"
She grinned.
"I can't wait to use it."
She looked toward the living room again and leaned toward the screen to whisper.
"We named it Bob."
Long range relationships are always difficult. Always. The old saw about absence making the heart grow fonder may be true in some cases, but "out of sight, out of mind" has validity sometimes as well.
We started out Skyping every night, and then she had a back to school sleepover at a friend's house one night, so we skipped that one. Then there was something else she had to do, and we skipped that one, and pretty soon our Skype dates were two nights apart. And that was before school started. Once she was back at school, she had homework and extracurricular activities, including the fact that some woman named Mrs. Thompson, the cheer coach, found out Kat surfed, and she asked her to try out for cheerleading because she wanted athletes instead of girls who want to be popular. So Kat became a cheerleader because she figured that would keep her busy and she wouldn't miss me so much.
It turns out that cheerleading is time intensive.
And then there is the fact that Skyping itself is time intensive, because even though the lag between you saying it and her hearing it is small, all those small lags add up. And they cause you to step on each other's comment, so the comment has to be said again, and there's a lot of "you go ahead".
Plus, it's just very frustrating to see the woman you love, and want in your bed, and know that you're not going to get your wish any time soon. A phone call is easier, sometimes.
On the other hand, you can't see her in slinky night wear, or even naked, over the phone.
And then she started dating.
It's a complicated dynamic, and I won't go into the boring details of all our conversations. I do, however, want to illuminate a couple.
The first time dating was mentioned just happened to go like this:
Caitlin: I have to go now. There's something I have to do.
Bob: (looking at his watch and doing the time conversion, ) It's eight in the evening. Don't you have homework?
Caitlin: (glancing off to the side, as if somebody was there, and then back at the camera, ) Well ... I sort of have a date.
Bob: Sort of?
Caitlin: Okay, it's a date. With a boy.
Bob: And you were going to tell me about it when?
Caitlin: I wasn't sure you'd want to know.
Bob: Smart girl. The idea of some pimply faced boy putting his arms around my girl isn't one of my favorite images.
Caitlin: Oh, he's not pimply faced. He's a jock.
Bob: I know you're a cheerleader, and all that, but I also know about the tomboy hidden in that beautiful body. You've always competed with boys, especially in sports. Why do you want to go out on a date with a jock?
Caitlin: I don't want to go out with anybody, but you and my mother are making me. And I don't get to choose who asks me out, and jocks always ask cheerleaders out, so there you go.
Bob: So, is this boy some minor functionary on the team?
Caitlin: He's the quarterback.
Bob: Great.
Caitlin: What do you mean?
Bob: All quarterbacks think they're great cocksmen. He'll try to get in your panties.
Caitlin: Of course he will. All boys will. I knew that, but I still had to go through the whole agonizing lecture about it from Mom.
Bob: So what will you do when he tries something?
Caitlin: I don't know. You two are insisting that I find out what different men are like, and the only man I've ever let touch me is you. So I might just let him. He is kind of hunky.
Bob: Are you mad at me?
Caitlin: I wasn't when you called, but I am now.
Bob: Why?
Caitlin: Because he is cute, and you're making me go out with him, and I'm horny and that's your fault and I have to go because Mom just yelled that he's here.
Bob: Wear panties.
Caitlin: You know what I learned today? I learned you can be a real asshole.
Then she disconnected.
Those kinds of conversations aren't any fun, for either member of the relationship. It's worse for me, of course, because while she's going on that date, my imagination is running wild. But that only happened the first few times, because she got into the habit of calling me when she got home from a date, and after she was ready for bed.
If she had a good time, and the boy was fun to be with and she liked him, she used that dildo (and later a vibrator) while she told me all about her date, including that she was sometimes tempted to let that boy do this or that thing. And all the time she's sliding that dildo (and later a vibrator) in and out of her pussy, and telling me how much she missed me, and pretty soon I was jacking off with her. And when I told her I was ready to cum, she demanded that I put my cock where she could see it spurt. And while I did that, onto a towel I laid across the keyboard, she'd say things like "Yeah, that's it. That's my sperm. Nobody gets that but me, and if I can't have it, it gets wasted."
If she had a bad time, I got very little. She'd call and just talk on the phone, instead of telling me to Skype her. She was usually in a bad mood, because she'd had to endure spending time not having fun. She blamed that on me.
But the point is that she made a habit of calling me after every date, and telling me what happened, one way or the other. Some of you might think that would drive a guy crazy, hearing that his girlfriend had fun with some other dude. But I stopped worrying, and my imagination calmed down, because I knew nothing was going on, and that if it did, I'd hear about it.
I did hear about it, by the way. Here's an example.
Caitlin: I went out with Jerry Zimmerman again tonight.
Bob: He's that kid you're helping with math, right? (Caitlin was a peer tutor in math)
Caitlin: Yes. He's actually very smart. I think he just had a bad teacher in the past, and got behind. But he's picking it up quickly.
Bob: And he asked you out?
Caitlin: Well duh.
Bob: So did you have a good time?
Caitlin: (looks to the side and displays body language that I recognize as worry or anxiety) I had a very good time.
Bob: What did you do?
Caitlin: He took me to a poetry reading.
Bob: Interesting.
Caitlin: Some of the poems were by him.
Bob: Really?
Caitlin: And they were about me.
Bob: He wrote poems about you?
Caitlin: They were beautiful. Nobody's ever written a poem about me before.
Bob: I see.
Caitlin: No you don't. I kissed him.
Bob: And did he kiss you back?
Caitlin: Oh yeah. And it turns out he's a pretty good kisser. I got so horny I wanted to do more.
Bob: That's natural. I take it you didn't?
Caitlin: Of course not!
Bob: How'd he take that?
Caitlin: I don't think it mattered. It was a long kiss and I think maybe he had an accident in his pants.
Bob: Ouch.
Caitlin: He went to the bathroom, and when he came out he was all embarrassed and said he'd take me home.
Bob: You gonna go out with him again?
Caitlin: I don't think so. I kind of liked that kiss.
Bob: Well, now you know why Hannah and I wanted you to get this experience.
Caitlin: Why can't I just be with you. If I was with you, I wouldn't have to use this. (She waves her dildo at the screen, and I realize she just pulled it from her pussy, where it was the whole time we were talking!)
As it turned out, she shared this kind of information with her mother too. That could have worked out badly for me, if Hannah would have encouraged her daughter to "explore" more in depth. She might have let things get out of control and done something that could have broken us up. Had Caitlin actually let some boy get into her pants, she'd have felt guilty enough about it that it would have poisoned our romance. I would have looked at it a little differently, assuming it was a one time slip, or something like that. At least I think I would have been willing to forgive and forget. I don't know for sure, because that never happened.
It never happened because Hannah did not try to split us up. With time, she found some way to accept her daughter's choice of a man. Some of that might have been because every mother wants her daughter to find real love, and she knew us both well enough to recognize that what we felt for each other was both genuine and passionate. And then there was the other conversation they had about my future. That was a conversation I was unaware of, because they intentionally kept it from me. I could tell you about that conversation (and the plan they hatched) now, but let's wait until the point where I found out about it, instead. It will fit in with the story better, then.
But, as a result of all the things listed above, around Christmas, Hannah decided to lift the requirement for her daughter to date as many boys as possible in her senior year.
And after that, Caitlin turned down all offers, saying she was too busy, or had too much homework or whatever. Pretty soon, somehow, a rumor got circulated that she had a boyfriend in college somewhere.
When asked about that, she just smiled, but refused to talk about it.
During your junior year of high school, that is when you apply to colleges. That makes no sense to me, but that's how they do it these days.
Caitlin had already applied, of course. I was vaguely aware of that, but it hadn't come up in any conversation I was privy to. I assumed it would happen, but hadn't paid any attention to where she applied to.
It is important to remind the kind reader, at this point, that Caitlin had been making plans, both for her and for us, for a very long time. College was part of her plan. She would have made a wonderful chess player, because she planned years ahead in an effort to realize her dreams. You have already seen the results of some of those plans.
Trish
- 22.05.2021
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