Rediscovery and Recovery
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Rediscovery And Recovery Ch. 07 free porn video
The Weekend’s Conclusion and a Postscript
Friday night had been a revelation. At 8pm I thought I was popping down to the swimming pool for an hour’s much needed exercise. By 1.0am Saturday morning, I’d had that swim, plus three pints of beer, a curry and hot, passionate sex – all of this with a MILF (a genuine first for me, I believe) – one who just happened to be Emily Barrington, by childhood best friend.
It’s almost embarrassing, but honestly, it was very natural, I simply fell asleep alongside Em after the most complete blowjob I’d ever received. Em hadn’t just blown my cock, she had blown my mind, and shut down for sleep was obviously all it had left. And so I woke, to the sound of the shower in her tiny en-suite bathroom, and on listening carefully, Em having a pee on the toilet. Yes, the walls were thin.
I allowed the sound of toilet and flush to subside before crawling from the bed gingerly. It was still early, and light wasn’t breaking, but since the last thing I had remembered Em saying was that she would like me to join her in another shower, it would be the height of rudeness not to fulfil the request, particularly as Em was (how shall I put it?) such an accommodating host. I tapped lightly on the door and asked can I come in?
Of course you can, you daft bugger came the reply I think we might take up where we left off last night, I mean, earlier this morning!
With that, I joined Emily in the bathroom – only just big enough for two people, but the hot water of the shower was already enticing. We were, of course, both already stark naked, and I appreciated again just how astonishingly gorgeous Em was. Standing 5’10’ to my 6 feet, with legs up to her armpits, so to speak, she was a picture of pure radiance, but also fit and firm, someone who had worked hard after the birth of her daughter. My cock was already springing to life – morning glory and all that – but it was not going to be satisfied with oral relief this morning. I wanted to make love to Em, no question, but crudely, I also wanted to fuck her, and suspected that she wanted to seal the overnighter with that most intimate of hetero acts.
We can both fit in the shower, just, I think said Em. I nodded and stepped into the wet area of the room behind the glass panel which ran most of the way across the small room at the far side. Em followed me and we squeezed in together, cuddling close by. Holding each other tightly, we just stood there, for quite a few minutes, I think, warming ourselves and each other under the hot stream of water. In a while, Em lifted her head and our lips met – funny to think we’d gone perhaps as much as fifteen minutes already without so much as a peck good morning!
But once we started, there was only one way this contact was going. Free rein was given for mouths, hands, fingers to explore. Face, neck, breast and nipples – hers and mine – torso, front and back, and at an early point in what became a no-holds barred physical encounter, Emily even sat herself on the floor to lift my foot to her mouth for the mythical ‘toe job’. Not normally my thing, if I’m honest, but strangely erotic in the context of the whole. When I suggested I return the compliment, she got up and lifted a nipple to my face, which was another way of answering, I guess.
Several times my hands and fingers slipped down between Emily’s legs, teasing touch, nothing lingering, but just a tester, a promise. In similar fashion, Em would grab my cock, give it a rub, a yank or two, a slap against her lower abdomen, in that remarkably flat area between the belly button and the trim of her pubes. But we were not quite ready yet, there was more to be done, with mouths and tongues in particular, and also with soap and water.
Without losing the moment Em broke the embrace for a second and asked a question:
Do you remember when we were kids, and all those other teenagers were experimenting with heavy petting and stuff? I nodded, and Em continued. None of them were having sex, or if they were, the girls weren’t talking about it, but do you remember one of the tell-tale signs of seriousness in an adolescent relationship around here?
This time, she had me bemused: the boys measured these things in ‘bases’, starting with French kissing, to hand up the t-shirt, or even inside the bra, and if you were very lucky, or the girl was thought to be ‘loose’, then you might get permission for the hand to slip into her panties. But just as the girls would never have acknowledged it, neither did any of my circle of male friends ever claim to have gone ‘all the way’. Em was referring to something slightly different.
What if I tell that one of my fantasies as a teenager was to be allowed to wash your hair? I looked down at my pubes and lifted my eyebrows, as if to say ‘be my guest’. Em shook her head and tutted. But I had twigged what she was referring to, as she continued:
No, if a girl really liked a boy, she would offer to wash his hair for him on a weekend, before going out to the cinema, or disco or whatever. The answer from the boy would let her know just how serious he was about the relationship. It was like a code, or a game, but it was also a first and pretty harmless way of exploring physical contact beyond the kiss at the school disco. If I boy refused the offer, you dumped him. Simple. So then John, I’m the best part of twenty years late, but would you like me to wash your hair?
I answered that I would love for her to do so, and reached for the shower gel to hand to her. I arched my back, head leaning into the stream of hot water, soaking my hair, whilst I could see Em pouring the gel out in generous measure. How d’you want to do this? I asked.
Turn round Em answered and as I did, she reached up to lather my scalp, gently massaging, but in fact, my height meant I was just a little out of her reach. Let’s make this easier she continued, kneel down, so that I’m above your head.
I did what I was told, and this time, the sensation of her firm hands on my head was fantastic. I’d just never considered this before, and wondered how many of my school friends had kept this erotic secret years ago, and how many of them had locked themselves in lavatories to jerk off just to relieve their tension! Em continued, as did the waterfall above my head. The soap suds had all but dissipated. I’m going to repeat and rinse again, like it says on the bottle, said Em. And she did. But just as I could sense the soap receding this second time, I turned round, still on my knees, so that this time, whilst her hands rested on my head, my face was towards her, and my hungry mouth and salivating tongue were level with her cunt.
Em understood my body language perfectly, and hauled my head into her crotch. My tongue shot out, and straight onto her clit. Opening her legs slightly, she gasped as I nibbled her labia and then with no warning at all pulled back my head to thrust two fingers up her, still from below. Giving myself a quick rub to ensure that I was rock hard for her, I slowly got up, fingers still spreading her pussy and thumb working her clit, by now, pushing Em slightly back against the shower wall, the physicality reaching a crescendo in the torrential stream of water.
We kissed again, this time, very hard, full force almost. And then, Em grabbed my cock and quickly lifting her left leg to create the space, thrust me deep into her glory. Fuck me, John, now fuck me! she called as I started to build a rhythm, resistance coming only from the confines of the space and the wall behind her back. I grabbed hold of a tit and Em grabbed my head again and thrust my mouth down onto the nipple, seemingly her preferred pleasure dome, and it seemed like almost no time at all before she was on the brink.
John, turn me round, fuck my cunt from behind, quickly, I’m on the edge.
We lost contact for three seconds max as I turned Em round and she bent in front of me, spreading her legs wide, and presenting me w
ith full view of her glistening hole. Her head was virtually in the stream of water, but there was no holding back now. She took my full length, right up to the hilt, with my thighs slapping her backside. And then, almost like a contortionist, her right hand came down, and actually got right round to tickling my balls from below!
Think we can cum together? Em gasped.
I grunted in return: You just tell me when, I’m ready when you are!
The rhythm intensified yet again, but I could feel just how close Em was, so sensitive was the connection. And then, probably as loud as any woman has been with me, ever, Em exploded:
Now, now NOW NOW, NOW!! And if she called out NOW five or six times, I had shot my load up her no later than the fourth call, and just continued to pump. It was, with no exaggeration, one of the best fucks of my entire life, for no reason other than the complete and utter abandonment of the moment and its synchronicity.
With the rhythm subsiding gradually, I eventually withdrew. Em got up and turned to face me, her face radiant and her breasts heaving gently, both with comfortable satisfaction of sexual exhaustion. Again, she lifted her head to mine to be kissed, a slow, languid, comfortable kiss and then Em whispered thank you, thank you and melted into my arms again.
We stood there for a few more minutes, then washed properly before turning off the water. Taking fresh towels from the bail in the corner of the room, we dried each other, and on returning to the bed, realised we had been under the water for a full forty minutes. Time flies when you’re having fun! I said.
But John, Em replied, it’s still not half past eight, and we’ve got all day and another night. Whatever are we going to do?
Actually, I had already got ahead of myself the previous evening with respect to the answer to that question, because it had seemed to me that by asking me to stay, Em had already signalled her hope of spending a Saturday with me. Given that her daughter was at her father’s house, it would have been rudeness beyond acceptability to be throwing me out as soon as I’d shot my load. Surely I was good for more than a fuck?!
Here’s my suggestion: We have a light breakfast here, then go and get the cars. I need to go home for some clean clothes, but then I’ll come back and pick you up and we’ll drive down to the coast, somewhere like Brixham Harbour. Pub lunch, a coastal walk and some fresh air, then back home for a cosy night in – a film or some TV, snacks if we’re hungry, and, um, sex if you’re hungrier still? That’s if’ I’m welcome back here after taking advantage of your hospitality in such a fashion.
Emily was giggling like a school child again, all of a sudden. That would be wonderful, if you are absolutely sure you want to spend the whole weekend with me, I mean haven’t you got work to do, or…
Oh, shut up! I said, but not unkindly, I can’t think of anything I would rather do in the whole world today than spend it in your company. Fuck the work for a day, I can do some tomorrow afternoon. This Saturday is ours together. Friends Rediscovered. Lovers United.
And so it was. I could write you a whole chapter just describing our day out – fresh air, fish and chips by the seaside, more hand-holding than I’d done in over five years, laughter, reminiscing, you know the sort of stuff. Corny, clichéd it may have been, but, shit, it was a great, great day out.
We returned home and although Christmas was still a few months off, we watched ‘Love Actually’ – and argued, for the first time but without malice, which of the couples was most credible. In the end, we settled for ‘none of them’. We ate ‘French’ – cheese, biscuits and most importantly, a bottle of wine. Each. And then we went to bed, and did as we had done the night before, framing deep and full rest with two sessions of love-making.
During our walk on Saturday, we had agreed that I would not stay around to meet Daisy (and Jim!) on Sunday. Em cheekily suggested we should be going to church to ask forgiveness for our nights of obscenity and debauchery, but we’ve done nothing wrong, on the contrary, it felt very right indeed! But I did have work to do, not to mention some explaining (perhaps ‘limited reporting’ a better phrase) to my mother. We agreed however that next Saturday could be a shared day out, or perhaps afternoon walk, followed by pizza (or if Daisy had been very good, perhaps even McDonalds). We also agreed that alternate Fridays (Jim’s turn with Daisy) would be swimming practice and curry night, there seems still to be no reason whatsoever for not repeating such a successful formula.
I did indeed meet Daisy the following weekend, and loved her immediately. She is a close image of her mother as a child, and has inherited the sporty genes of both her parents, she will grow to be at least as tall as her mother, and might even get close to six feet herself. I met Jim very briefly the following weekend, he had been warned of my existence, and seemed genuinely happy that Em also now had a new partner, albeit early days. I don’t know why I was so concerned about his ‘blessing’ (as it were) since it’s really not that much of his business, but people can be funny-peculiar about these things sometimes.
So there you have it: Rediscovery and Recovery. Not just a friendship rediscovered, but emotion recovered. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading as much as I’ve enjoyed writing, and if our story hasn’t appealed to you, perhaps it’s enough that you’ve not been hurt by it. Wherever you are in life and in love, know that there is someone there, somewhere, who will love you. Sometimes it just takes a while or a lucky break. Sometimes, it takes a meddling mother!!
Postscript
The events of these last few chapters took place one weekend at the end of September last year. I was just a few weeks into my new job, loving every minute (still do) and the way in which my social life and romantic life was resuscitated was of enormous significance. I called this whole series ‘Rediscovery and Recovery’ because it was the best I could do to explain what it meant to me. Rediscovery of both a lost friend and the ability to express love, but also recovery from a state where I had little idea of where my life outside work was going. Emily, and indeed her daughter Daisy, have changed all that.
I’m writing this postscript in mid-July, I’ve got a day left before the end of the school year and the prospect of six weeks away from school (not all ‘holiday’ – at least half of the time will be spent preparing for the next year). Within that six weeks, Em, Daisy and I will attempt to do all of the following:
Complete the purchase of a house*, move the contents of Em’s flat to the house and then find some space for my worldly goods, clean and close up Em’s flat to the satisfaction of the owner, go on holiday to Tenerife, swim lots, have lots and lots of fun, have lots and lots of sex **
* I am buying the house, with help from my parents who have given me enough for a 20% deposit. But though the house will be in my name, the intention is for us to live as one household with otherwise shared resources. More of which in a moment.
** Daisy is not included in that last bit, obviously.
I can’t express how deeply I’ve fallen for Emily and how much I’ve come to love Daisy too. There’s such a sense of ‘right’ about our relationship, that we have to wonder what we saw in our previous partners. That might sound a bit harsh, especially on Eve, who knows nothing of this, unless she reads this web publication and works it out – doubtful. It’s not harsh on Jim who I meet regularly at weekends. We’ve become friends of a sort, in a limited way, since we have some sort of shared responsibilities. But in truth, he reminds me of a joke which British people of a certain age might recognise – for many years if you looked up ‘Boring’ (as in drilling holes) in the Yellow Pages, the classified advertisements, it said, simply ‘Se
e Civil Engineering’.
My original plan had been to look for somewhere to live in Exeter, that plan never got off the drawing board. As our friendship and love deepened, I realised that if I was going to move out of my parents’ house at all (and I wasn’t spending much time there anyway) then it would be to buy in my home town, I can afford the 3-bedroomed house on my salary, albeit with a little help with the deposit. I never considered buying a house in London, it’s quite nice to think I’ll have my own property now. In doing this however, it made no sense to me, financially or domestically, for Em to continue in her rented flat. I offered her an unconditional cohabitation arrangement as soon as my mind was made up. ‘I guess you want me to be your cleaner and sex slave in return for free rent?’ she asked. I nodded and told her that if she wanted to view it that way, then fine by me, but I preferred the more conventional relationship, called ‘family’. At which she cried.
You’ll be wondering whether that means that I’ve also asked Em to marry me. The short answer to that is ‘No, not yet’. There is though a longer answer.
About six weeks ago, at the end of May, Daisy was invited to be a flower girl at a cousin’s wedding. It was the first time that I had received an invitation to such an event as Emily’s ‘significant other’ – Daisy of course looked absolutely beautiful. I was given to understand that the family had enquired as to whether Jim ought to be invited, more because his daughter had a role than because he was part of the family himself, but Em was a bit put out and reminded her kin that Jim and weddings really don’t mix. So I got to go, and met several members of Em’s extended family for the first time.
It was inevitable, and I was prepared in advance for the questions which would be asked about my own status. Most could be answered swiftly: ‘Divorced for 3 years, have been with Em for over six months, very happy, thanks’. But I was less prepared for the direct question which Em herself slipped in to the conversation later on in the day, bearing in mind that in previous months we had mutually agreed to stay clear of the ‘M’ word:
How does this compare to your wedding all those years ago? Em asked me, casually. I answered on merit.
Smaller, less formal and more family-orientated. Ours was church, this was registry office, this a small local venue within a tight budget, ours a lavish country-house reception. My wedding was my wedding, and it was what it was, but I think I prefer this set up.
Em looked into my face with a quizzical smile and then jumped in with two feet:
You are not obliged to answer this question if you don’t want to, and you are not to read into it anything at all beyond my wanting to get to know you completely as my partner. Do you understand? I nodded. Good. So, my question: would you get married again?
I wasn’t expecting it, and I had to take a breath to answer within the terms I had been given. Emily was not asking me to marry her, for God’s sake!! But having thought a while, this is (just about word for word, if I remember correctly) what I said in reply:
I have nothing against marriage as an institution, despite the chronic failure of my marriage to Eve. Jim uses his parents and my example as evidence that he is right, but I still disagree. Marriage is a solid foundation for a family, it formalises the commitment and it has tax benefits. And to be clear, I have no problem with gays and lesbians tying the knot on exactly the same grounds, marriage may have started off as a religious ceremony but that’s irrelevant to me now, it’s about commitments of love enshrined and protected in law. So, would I marry again? Yes I would. But – and you may as well know there’s a ‘BUT’. But weddings are a different matter. As part of a wedding ceremony, whether religious or civil, you have to promise ”til death us do part’. You have to stand there and say that you are going to stay with that person come what may, and to be honest, given the numbers of people who can’t keep that promise – including me – I would be very nervous about saying it and expecting everyone present to respect it as a promise. I know that as part of divorce proceedings, Eve and I effectively released each other from the obligation to keep the promise, but it remains a plain fact that we had both broken it, even before that release. I’ve got no time for these celebs who make pre-nuptial agreements and then declare everlasting love. Pre-nups require consideration of ‘what if this doesn’t work’ – the wedding ceremony does not allow for that possibility. I’m not saying I don’t like weddings, but if I can’t at the moment believe the promise myself, how can I expect my future wife and everyone else around to believe it either?
Tammi
- 08.11.2022
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