10 comments/ 20137 views/ 3 favorites Once In A While By: Mandy57 Yes, I probably should have known better. I am, after all, an adult and probably half way through this wild trip more commonly known as "my life." But every once in a while....yeah, every once in a while you just have to roll the dice and play the cards you are stuck with. This was one of those times. It started out innocently enough, a common cliché of the tall, dark, handsome stranger that offered me his seat on the small bench by the hostess station of a nearly packed restaurant. Strangely enough, I normally wouldn't have accepted, after all, I am perfectly capable of standing upright, but two things happened that day that caused me to need that seat. Firstly, it was a court day and standing in front of a judge and jurors meant a suit and heels. I had dressed in my favorite navy blue (blue inspires trust, or so I have been told) two piece skirt and jacket combo and when I went to slip on my comfortable "on your feet for six hours" shoes, I noticed a small slice in the dark blue leather near the sole. Now, perhaps no one else would have seen it but I knew it was there all the same and being preoccupied with my shoe and the precarious condition thereof was not a situation I could afford. I was forced into my backup shoes, you know the ones, not really practical for everyday use but you hang on to them just the same. I found the nearly new pair of platform four inch heels which gave a nice boost to my small, 5'1" frame and slipped them over my hose. I walked around the bedroom several times to make sure there were no long forgotten pinches or jabs as a walked and after several minutes decided that they would indeed, do. And in truth, they were fine and would have worked out perfectly if not for the second thing that happened that day. As I already said, it was a court day although I left out the particulars of the case. It just so happened that it was a criminal trial, a pretty much run of the mill Burglary case, or so I thought. Casey Dunham was a nut job. Okay, so maybe a shoe fetish in itself does not on its own, send him into that particular classification but the fact that he broke into a house, stole a pair of the owner's black heels and jerked off into them after stripping naked in her kitchen while watching Wheel of Fortune, does, in my book, give him a first class ticket to Crazyville. I have to give Casey credit however. He did try to apologize to the very pale and shocked Mrs. Turner but apparently when she saw the size of his post erectile John Thomas, she fled her Better Homes and Gardens granite and ceramic tile kitchen and ran screaming to her neighbor who not only called 911 but pulled his Smith and Wesson out of his nightstand and nearly shot the now half dressed Casey as he tried to flee the scene of the crime. The trial was proceeding through the morning hours without a glitch. The cops and detectives had testified, the crime lab geek had given sworn testimony that the DNA of the slimy fluid found inside and outside of Mrs. Turner's shoes did in fact belong to the one and only Mr. Dunham and my last witness, Mrs. Turner herself was on the stand. She recounted her day up and through her arrival home and the discovery of Casey in her kitchen, where she found him trying to get off one more good shot in her black Nine West pumps before calling it a night. There is a saying in the legal world, "Never ask a question you don't already know the answer to," and I am pretty careful about following that little bit of wisdom but sometimes people just go off on their own and then you have it, chaos. I didn't ask Mrs. Thomas about Casey's penis, exactly. I simply asked her to tell us what she saw when she stepped into the kitchen on that cold November evening. And before you ask, yes, we had gone over her statement and testimony beforehand but apparently seeing Mr. Dunham again and being back in the same room with him was a little too much for the woman. Now, when this case goes to the appellate court, which I can guarantee you that it will, I will get a copy of the transcript and I will be able to read exactly what the flustered Mrs. Turner said at that particular moment but for now it is somewhat of a blur. I can tell you it was something to the effect of "you should have seen the size of that thing." I am guessing that Casey had been squirming in this seat for some time, a little scared and a little agitated, his public defender attorney not having a whole lot to work with had remained fairly quiet all morning, and it had all come to a head for the poor man, no pun intended. My eyes had gone instinctively from Mrs. Turner to the jurors when she gave that statement, I wanted to see their reaction and Mr. Dunham was, for the moment, out of my eyesight. I was actually looking at Ms. Harris, a twenty-something mom (and juror that morning) when I saw her eyes get quite large and heard the words, "Oh my God," come from her mouth, clear as day. There was a ruckus behind me but before I could turn around completely I was surrounded by a very large pair of arms that pulled me down and back towards the Judge's bench. I looked up and found the deep, dark brown eyes of Detective Michael Garcia, the lead detective on my Dunham case. I hadn't met him before, as he normally worked the drug cases for the County and I stayed away from those as much as I could. The man simply engulfed me. At nearly a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier, I was completely at his mercy. I couldn't speak, the wind had been knocked out of me but the sight of the black service revolver in his hand was enough to keep me quiet anyway. He told me to stay down and I would have done so even if it was not for his full weight pressing me tightly into the cold hardwood floor of the courtroom. I could smell his cologne on his jacket, Fierce, I believed, but it was his personal scent that was intoxicating and made my head spin as adrenaline surged through his veins. His brown eyes suddenly darkened and I followed the direction they were looking in. At first I wasn't quite sure what I was seeing, the scene was one of panic, people were scrambling and someone was yelling for an ambulance. There was blood, quite a bit of it from what I could tell and I followed the trail across the defense table to the source of the red stream. Casey Dunham was nude. Well, partially nude I should say. His white shirt, black jacket and black tie were still intact although the fabric was slowly darkening. I should mention that Casey is a tall man, 6'5" I would say, and standing up, his hips came a good bit above the cheap wooden table. His gray pants had disappeared and if he had been wearing underwear they were long gone as well. On the table in front of him, a pen stood erect in the table and a fountain of blood flowed upwards from the ballpoint. It took me a moment to see what the cause of the fountain was and after I saw, I wished I hadn't looked. Mr. Dunham had stabbed his, what seemed to be, very large penis with a blue Bic pen and from my view point it appeared as if he was bleeding to death. I stared for a moment and then turned my head into the chest of the Detective and closed my eyes. In my ten years as a prosecutor I thought I had seen it all, but even for me, this was too much. I tried to block the image out of my mind but it was simply impossible. My mind replayed the vision out in a constant rewind, over and over in my brain until I wished only for a stop button to give me a moment's peace. In what seemed like forever, Detective Garcia finally loosened his hold on me slightly and helped me up to my feet. He didn't release his grip from my waist right away and I felt the strength in his hands and arms as he held me, incredible strength actually, and for a fleeting second I wondered how those hands would feel against my bare skin. The hoo-rah was nearly over, at least the frantic part anyway. Casey was being loaded onto a stretcher, but the color of red was still everywhere, a large puddle on the fake wood table, a smaller puddle on the hardwood floor beneath. I asked no one in particular if he was going to be alright and I heard someone say, "Unfortunately." I noticed the Judge was gone as he had been corralled outside immediately when all hell broke loose. The jurors were also missing from the near vacant courtroom, returned to the jury room for safe keeping until the crazy had been removed. There was going to be a mistrial declared, I could already hear the arguments coming, but at that point, I really could have cared less. I was shaken mostly and somewhat pissed off that all my work in the last few weeks preparing for this trial had just gone down the shitter but what I really wanted, was a drink. I watched as they wheeled the still bleeding and restrained Mr. Dunham out of the rear of the courtroom and took my first steps toward the prosecutors table. It was then I felt the first stab of pain to my right ankle. It was sharp and I almost buckled but I was able to lean on the table for support while I caught my breath. I looked down, half expecting to see something poking through the skin but saw merely my ankle, a little swollen maybe, or it could have been my imagination but it hurt like hell just the same. I applied a little pressure to it once again, just to see, and realized, yes, the pain was still there. Not as bad as it could have been I suppose, just a light sprain caused by a quick movement in a pair of high heels. I'd be alright but I wanted a drink and some company so after dropping my case file back at the office, I headed off to find both. I arrived at Angelo's about 5:30 and the parking was scarce already. Now, as good as it was, this was a Tuesday night in February and I was quite surprised to find it so busy. It was a popular hang out with law enforcement, attorneys and judges most of the time but this was a little out of the ordinary. It might be important to say I nearly left at this point, it gives me an out I guess, that things happen for a reason and staying when I probably would have normally left gives me an excuse to say I was meant to be there. I walked in and it was pretty packed. I wasn't pleased to say the least, a line at the hostess station and no place to sit with a sore ankle to boot. Celia the regular hostess was there and she waved to let me know she had seen me. I too, was a regular at Angelo's, the food was great, the drinks weren't watered down and I could usually find a companion for dinner. I found a place against the wall to lean a little and give my ankle a rest when I heard a deep voice behind me ask if I would like a seat. I turned around and found myself looking at Detective Garcia once more. I had nearly forgotten about him after the scuffle in the courtroom for he had disappeared along with the defendant. There was an empty spot on a bench that he had occupied only a moment before and when I saw a teenage boy heading for the spot, I said thank you and quickly planted myself down. I gave the kid a grin and chuckled when I saw the sour look on his face when he saw his chance to sit down and play games on his iPhone while he waited for his dinner disappear before his eyes. Detective Garcia noticed my snide enjoyment of robbing the little bastard of his seat and laughed out loud. "You're cruel." I couldn't help but laugh myself and said, "I know, comes with the job." I grinned at him, and he grinned back and for the first time I noticed he had the most gorgeous dimples that made him look younger than I hoped he was. We talked for a few minutes, shop talk mostly, the trial and the bizarre happenings of today being the first and foremost topic of conversation. Apparently Mr. Dunham was going to recover but the use of his family jewels was still in question. We would probably try it again I told him, unless Casey managed to get himself declared incompetent to stand trial, which at this junction, was a distinct possibility. The man was easy to talk to and when I heard Celia's voice call "Garcia" over the PA system, I found myself a little more than slightly disappointed. I looked up at him, told him to enjoy his dinner and leaned back into the wall for a long wait. While we were talking three more couples had come in the front door and put their names on the rather lengthy waiting list. I heard Celia tell the last couple that there was a thirty minute wait and I groaned inwardly. I hoped to Christ I wouldn't have to wait that long. My mind had wandered and I was startled when the Detective spoke to me again. "I'm having dinner alone on Valentine's Day, how good can it be?" Valentine's Day. Shit. "Well, that explains it," I said absentmindedly. "Explains what?" "Oh, all the people in here on Tuesday night. I couldn't figure out why it was so busy." "You didn't remember it was Valentine's Day?" There was a bit of sarcasm in his voice but he was smiling all the same. I had to laugh at him although part of me wanted to defend myself. "I did have a little more going on you know. A little trial to get ready for?" "Yes, I remember it well. How did that turn out for you?" I shot him a look but the grin on his face sent me into a fit of laughter. "Smart ass," was all I could manage to say. "So, you're not here for a romantic dinner for two, then?" "Nope. I had hoped for a quiet dinner of rare steak, a loaded potato, extra butter, and a couple of glasses of wine to help me forget this entire miserable day. Finding out it's Valentine's Day and I don't have a date is just an added bonus." "Well, if you would like, you have a date now but I like my steak medium and I prefer St. Pauli's Girl to wine if you don't mind." "Well, if you must..." He reached out his hand to help me up and told Celia there would be two for dinner instead of one. We followed her to a table by the fireplace, me trying not to limp but trying to keep up with him at the same time. He pulled out my chair for me, I couldn't remember the last time a man had done that for me and helped me back under the table. I was duly impressed and when he ordered his beer and a glass of Pinot Noir for me without blinking an eye, I knew I was in trouble. Now, I am not a child, like I said, I am already over the hill in those nasty layman terms but I can still be surprised by a man who knows how to treat a woman. I was used to having doors opened for me and for men to fall over themselves to help me get paper from the highest shelf in the supply room but running into a true gentleman was something that just didn't happen all that often anymore and my heart was doing little flip flops as I watched him order both our dinners. I couldn't tell you exactly how long we there or how busy it got that night, everyone else disappeared into the background and I saw only him. It is strange when you meet someone like this, time stands still but at the same time hours pass in what seem like moments. My steak was perfect and two glasses of wine took the edge off of my day but it was Detective Garcia's company that made the evening unforgettable. Common interests and similar careers made conversation easy and even if he hadn't been so damn good looking, he had a wit to match my own which made him all the more interesting. We came from similar backgrounds, both the youngest of large families, and both had marriages of twenty plus years come to a screeching halt. Our children were all grown and our jobs over time had become our entire lives. Neither one of us dated much, too busy, too scared, or too lazy, maybe a combination of all three, it didn't matter. What did matter was, we enjoyed each other immensely. I would be lying if I said I wasn't attracted to him from the start. There is something about an intelligent, confident man that makes my heart beat a little faster. But make him tall, handsome, funny, with broad shoulders and a bit of a smart ass too and I am a goner. Michael was all of the above, and more. We were nearly through dinner and were deciding on coffee or not, when we heard a loud gasp from the other side of dining room. We both turned to see a surprised young woman sitting in front of a young man on one knee, a small black box in one hand. I couldn't hear what they were saying but her answer must have been yes by the way she jumped into his arms, nearly knocking him over backwards. Everyone in the restaurant applauded and Angelo himself brought out a bottle of champagne for them. It nearly made me cry, and it definitely tugged at my heart. This is not an excuse, not really. It is true, I was a little vulnerable at that moment, the rough day, the night, the wine, and the romance of lovers but still that can't be an excuse for what happened, after all, I knew better. But there it was. I was falling and I was falling hard. I won't say I am promiscuous, I've had less lovers than I care to admit sometimes but I am not afraid to take a chance when the timing is right and when Mike Garcia leaned across the table and kissed me... hard...the timing was definitely right. I couldn't seem to catch my breath afterwards, my heartbeat was slamming in my ears and I wondered if he could hear it from where he sat. He didn't apologize like a lesser man may have done, he simply stared at me with a look that seemed to undress me right there in the restaurant and when he asked me if I was ready to get out of there, I was already grabbing my purse. I wanted him, of that, there could be no doubt. My body was already in fast motion and my brain was simply just trying to keep up. He grabbed the check from the table and shot me a glance that told me not to argue with him. He held his hand out to me once again but this time he squeezed my hand as he pulled me up from the chair. His arm immediately went around my waist and suddenly I felt his fingers slip beneath the jacket of my suit just above the waistband of my skirt. It was subtle, but I could feel the incredible strength in his hand again as he pulled me towards me and I wondered if I might bruise from his grasp. The thought of his mark on me sent chills across my skin and a delicious pain shot down my spine as if I had been suddenly filled with the jagged hot heat of electricity. He walked me to my car, his hand still clutching my bare skin beneath my clothing and I leaned back into him as we walked together. He took my keys from my hand, unlocked the door, then pressed the keys gently back into my palm. In seconds his other hand was beneath my jacket, his warm hands against my hot skin as his hungry mouth found mind. He kissed me fully as he pressed my back against the cold steel of my car door and I found myself raising my hips into his. I lingered there only a moment, enjoying the feel of him against me before I pulled back and put some space in between us. I heard myself say, "This is neither the time nor the place for this," but even I didn't quite believe it. He winked and gave my behind a quick smack before opening my door for me. "Actually, I think it is the perfect time just not the perfect place. Would you mind some company tonight?" I looked at him good and hard. This was it. Fish or cut bait as my dad would say. And it was Valentine's Day after all, I didn't want to be alone. "I would love some company actually. Do you want to follow me home?" He turned away from me slightly and helped me into the driver's seat. "I need to stop off at the station for just one minute if that is okay with you." I tried to hide my disappointment as best as I could but truth was, my heart sank a little at the thought of going home alone, even for a little while. I tossed my purse on the passenger seat and pulled the seatbelt across my chest and snapped it shut. "That's fine, Mike. Do you need my address? Once in a While I had seen my GP. He had sent me to the gynecologist. "Physically, my dear Mrs. Meier, you are all right, you may rest completely reassured. The problem probably sits between your ears. I will recommend you to a good therapist who will be able to help you for sure." And so I found myself now sitting in the therapist's waiting room. On the soft crème walls hung a few paintings, landscapes with vague, naked people. "You may enter now, Mrs. Meier," the receptionist announced. "Good day, ... Mrs. Meier, my name is Martens, please sit down. " I sat down on one of the two chairs that stood diagonally next to a sofa. "Now please, tell me, with what can I help you?" "With what you could help me? Why does one visit a sex therapist?" He cringed a little at that. "I know, it is not easy for you to open yourself, but you have to tell me about your problem, if we have to chew through the whole range of sexuality, you may be old and wrinkly before we come across your problem." "How do you want to know it is not easy for me to me to open up?" "Dear Mrs. Meier, here is a comfortable sofa, but you take a chair. You answer my question with a question. Believe me, people just like you have sat on that chair before you. Give yourself a push, tell me what hinders you." "I cum only once in a while." "Not an unusual problem. We will find a solution. Do you orgasm easier when you masturbate or when you are with a partner?" "Once in a while." "Do I understand you right: in both situations you orgasm only infrequently?" "Yes." "But you know what an orgasm is?" "Yes." "You have often experienced one?" "Once in a while." "Do you want to experience orgasms more frequently?" "Hm." In the office my eyes had discovered a well-known statue, "The Kiss" by Rodin. "Well, let us talk about in which situations you had one." "During sex!" "Okay, Mrs. Meier, your problem is quite common and not really a novelty to me. I meant what exactly did you or your partner do when you had an orgasm?" I shrugged my shoulders. "I had one!" "Mrs. Meier, do you enjoy sex?" "Yes." "Would you describe yourself as willing to experiment?" "Well, actually, yes." "Then please tell me what different methods and positions have you tried?" "With my first boyfriend, different variations of the missionary and 69. With a one -night-stand, anal by accident. With my second boyfriend, doggy and standing against the wall, bend over a table. With the third, feathers and hot oil massages. During another ONS a sandwich. With my fourth boyfriend, half of the Kama Sutra. With the fifth, the other half." "Always hunting for your next orgasm?" "They, not me." "Do you tell your partners that you orgasm only once in a while? With these words?" "Sometimes. Yes." "And then some of them do concentrate on giving you one?" "Most of them almost always." "If you masturbate, do you work towards an orgasm?" "Once in while." "So you enjoy to caress yourself without having an orgasm as a goal?" "Yes." "During sex with a partner, the same applies? You enjoy it, even if you don't get an orgasm?" "Yes. Only ... " "Yes, Mrs. Meier?" Again I shrugged my shoulders. "Do you mean that you do not enjoy it when the partner tries trick number whatsoever he has in his box on you?" "Yes." "You feel pressured then?" "Yes." "If you masturbate with a satisfying orgasm as a goal, do you feel the same pressure?" "No." "Do you always manage to get one?" "No." "But that does not bother you?" "No." "You say something like: "Okay, I enjoyed myself," if you don't reach an orgasm?" "Yes." "With your first partner, did you have more often an orgasm percentage wise, than with the second or third?" "... No." "I have to ask you again in more detail. What exactly do you mean with the "different variations of the missionary" you tried with him?" "I on my back, he on his back, my legs around his waist, me pulling my legs up, he pushing my legs up, me stretched out on top of him, me lying on my stomach. Is side to side also a missionary position, or is that another one?" "Do you mean spooning? Your partner lies on his side behind you, penetrates your vagina that way, maybe even stimulates your clitoris with his fingers?" "Yes." "Did you mean by : "he on his back me on top" the cowgirl position?" "I think so." "In which of the positions you got an orgasm easily, are there positions you never orgasm in?" "Not really, the positions didn't matter, I came if it wasn't important I came." "As soon as he felt he needed to give you an orgasm and started to concentrate on it, it would be very difficult for you to really enjoy yourself?" "Yes." "If your partner suggests something new to you, do you like it to try it?" "Occasionally." "Are there suggestions that didn't appeal to you, could you give me some examples?" "Yes." "Mrs. Meier!" "Okay! I tried a blindfold, my hands tied to the bed. When one wanted to piss on me, I kicked him in his nuts. He then said I was a frigid bitch." "You are not frigid, at the maximum you have orgasm problems when you are under pressure." "..." "Do you bring ideas into the love making?" "Occasionally." "Mrs. Meier, lets come back to your first partner, with him you had sexual intercourse for the first time?" "Yes." "You had masturbated before and had orgasms?" "Yes." "Did you reach orgasm easier when you masturbated before your first intercourse?" "No." "But you enjoyed it anyway?" "Yes." "You still do?" "Yes." "Did you have an orgasm when you had sexual intercourse for first time?" "No." "No?" "No." "What is your view on it in retrospect?" "We had fun, we made out, we had sex, he came, asked me if I did too and then, when I said I hadn't, he said I should definitely experience this feeling at the first time and started to lick me." "And you got an orgasm." "No." "Are you sure?" "Yes." "What exactly happened?" "My clit and my pussy got licked and kissed for a long time" "And you did not get an orgasm?" "No. ... " "Mrs. Meier?" "I had watched his face when he came and I mimicked his expression." "Mrs. Meier, I am sorry, I cannot help you." "I thought so as soon as I walked in, Sam." "I've noticed, dear. Why did you stay?" "You always liked to talk." "I'll recommend you to a colleague, dear." "Nah, don't. I don't have to cum, right?" "Right. You are you and as long as you are contend with having lots of fun ..." She is one of a kind. Absolutely unique. Thoughtfully I watched her as she walked out of my room. Ten years ago she had ended our relationship. "You ruin the fun for me with your eternal talking," was one of the things she had thrown at me. The little beast. Faked an orgasm at our first time and her first time ever. How long had I licked her clit? Probably far too long, when I finally lay down beside her, she had pulled a corner of the sleeping bag over her breasts and quivered. Because she had cum I thought. The rain had splattered on the tent roof for hours. "Stop it, Sam," she had once sighing said and not "Do not stop." How stupid I was at twenty? The next two days I couldn't get her out of my mind. More and more detailed memories put their head up. If she had not cum -or had faked it, I had to admit now- she loved to cuddle. If I had not annoyed her too long with something because then she turned her back on me and curled up. If she really had an orgasm, her arms and legs were all over the place; then she wanted her peace, time to come down and enjoy. Some careful caressing of her arm or a leg was okay, but more wasn't. She would growl to make me stop. As she would growl if I talked then. Which of course I did. "Was it good, dear?" Or even worse: "Did you come two or three times?" How stupid was I? In retrospect, it surprised me she had endured for nearly two years after the first time. But all the other things we had experienced together, the fun we had ... I picked up the phone. Invited her to a pizza. Sparing with words as ever, she agreed with an "okay " and told me when and where. A quarter of an hour I waited the next night at the Italian restaurant pondering if she had changed her mind? "A glass of Prosecco?" I asked after I had breathed a relieved butterfly kiss on her cheek.. She nodded and sat down on the chair I pulled out for her. Selecting the pizzas provided a topic to chat about at first. Then I asked her about her job. Her short, usually monosyllabic answers didn't really help to start a lively conversation. Only when I asked her about her grandmother, she started to talk freely. With regret I heard the original woman who was my landlady, died six years ago. The stories she told me about her last years made me grin and chuckle. After dinner I was allowed to take her to the bus. I was even permitted to breathe a peck on her lips. After we had met a couple of times in the next weeks we had found back to our old comfortable ways with each other. I hadn't found a way into her bed though; more than a few modest kisses while saying hello and goodbye weren't in it for me. Meanwhile I was sharp as a razor when I thought about her. "I have discovered a dance hall," I offered, at the end of my patience, "everything like it was in the early seventies, will, you come with me tomorrow evening, reenact the dance school times?" "True dancing, no jumping around?" she asked suspiciously. "So true like the hours we spent at the ancient dance school your grandmother forced upon us," I confirmed with a grin. "Pick me up." Carefully I suppressed my surprise, with this she had crossed one of her boundaries. Another one had fallen, I saw the next evening when I picked her up, instead of jeans and shirt she wore a swinging, knee-length skirt, blouse and pumps. Cleavage or calves, I did not know where to look first or what turned me on more. "Hello, beautiful lady," I risked; for weeks I had limited myself to: You look good, and: Pretty color, suits you very good, and the likes. She blushed slightly. When I allowed my tongue to a little dancing on her lips when I greeted her properly, her color deepened. "Thank you, Sam," she whispered and took my arm when I escorted her to my car. "Surprise!" I cheered silly when we arrived in front of the old dance school. The short distance from the car park we had walked arm in arm. With some chitchat I had distracted her, and only now, she realized where I led her. With wide-open eyes she looked at me, then at the facade of the dance school. "Dance school Meier" was written in large letters across the window. "The son has finally taken over from his father half a year ago, and offers, in addition to dance classes, Tea- and Dinner-dances on weekends. The furnishing and the decoration has become fashionable again, he now rides on the nostalgia wave." I explained. "Do you remember, his father always tried to prove a relationship between him and me?" She giggled and I nodded. "You actually brought your family tree with you once to show him that you're not his great-niece." Continuing the chitchat with her, I helped her out of her coat, escorted her to the table I had made a reservation upon. The evening was wonderful, we danced, ate some tidbits, treated ourselves to a sparkling white wine. First, we had to get used to each other again, which gave me a chance to listen to her giggles until I planted my heel on her toes during a three step. I apologized wordly, promised to kiss the painful area later on. "My big toe? How erotic.. Can't you think of something better?" "I can. I could kiss you on your pretty mouth instead, here and now." I offered. She actually lifted her face up to me. In the middle of the dance floor I kissed her and she opened her lips and kissed me back. With an iron will I constrained myself to push only the tip of my tongue in her mouth "Nevertheless, I would like to start kissing your big toe and work my way up," I murmured to her as we whirled over the dance floor again. Inwardly, I triumphed, she was clearly flirting with me. Would I be able to show her tonight what I had learned the past years? During the following Viennese Waltz I every now and then eased my foot a bit too far between her legs so that she could imagine the extent of my bulging spear, also was my dancing stance no longer entirely correct, which didn't seem to bother her at all. Her skirt swirled around her legs while dancing and I was envious of the men sitting at the sides. They saw what I could not see. Tango! I savored this dance even more than the waltz, she turned so in my arms her breasts brushed against me challengingly; she leaned far back into my arm looked deep into my eyes, lifted her knee high, before she kicked her foot up. The perfect prelude. She seemed to feel it too, because when I suggested to leave, she nodded breathlessly. The consult actually had been enough. The way he kept turning back to our, my first time was just kind of too much. Then he called, invited me to a pizza. Halfheartedly I had accepted, and was almost determined to not go. He used all the tricks in his book to ensnare me. Successfully. .My thoughts anew circled around him. Then the dance, it was tantalizing, The tango made me melt in his arms. I wanted to continue to dance. But not here; in my bed. But a big "what if" was still open. Gallantly he opened the door of his car and helped me inside. Before I could take the safety belt, he had it already and closed it around me. One hand rested lightly on my headrest, while he stroked over the belt with the other. One finger beside it, on my body. He breathed a kiss on my lips, closed my door and sat behind the wheel. Now or never, I thought, as he started the engine. "I don't want a new debacle." "What do you call a debacle?" "Psychologist! A debacle is a disaster!" "Do not use my profession as an insult, dear," he chuckled. " Explain yourself: What kind of debacle do you mean?" "A sex debacle." "Lovemaking debacle." "Sex debacle, yes!" "We won't have sex, we will make love," he said confidently. "That is the same. I do not want an orgasm. Forced. Look at the road!" "The road is empty. How should I not look at you if you give such outrageous things from you? To make love is more than mere sex, certainly not the same. Then you tell me you don't want to cum! Add "forced " as an afterthought!" "Where are you going?" "To my place. It is nearby, my girl, we're almost there." He parked in an underground garage. Arm in arm we walked to the elevator. With one arm around me, he stroked my cheek with the fingers of his free hand, looked me in the eyes. "Do you trust me?" "Am I here?" "You are, dear, I've been thinking a bit. In SM-games, hush, don't pull away, I just wanted to say they use is a code-word which stops everything. If limits are passed. If I violate your boundaries, say "football" then I'll stop, with whatever I 'm doing." "Even if you were inside me?" "You do have a mean streak. Okay, I promise, even then." Inside the elevator he used a key. "Come here, I want to devour you, no one can stop us." He did not quite finish me, but was nearly done when the elevator door opened. "Welcome to my home, my girl," he said proudly while I looked around astonished. "You own a penthouse?" "Yes," he said smugly. "Since when?" "Since I won the lottery three years ago." I was flabbergasted. "I also bought art," he said proudly and showed me a man's dream, a playroom with a jukebox, pinball machine, pool table and table football. On the wall hung drawings from the Kama Sutra. "Art." I said skeptically. He chuckled and pulled me with him. "My study" His arm had slipped from my shoulder down to my waist, he gently drew me to him and with a broad swipe of his other hand he presented the room. Two large display cases caught my eyes, desk and settee I registered only in passing. "Those you had already," I pointed out some dildos, one of jade, two of wood, and a marble one. "108," he said proudly, "and 89." in the second case were statues. Art and kitsch, mixed but all featuring some form of the act. "The Kiss should be here too, but..." I nodded it was displayed in his consulting room. But why? Certainly not because I gave it to him on our first annual. "When it is missing here ... " I said musingly and maneuvered him to a chair. Slowly I pushed him down and sat on his lap. An arm around his neck I leaned back in his supporting arm, looked into his gleaming eyes as he lowered his lips towards mine. What he had only hinted at while dancing, now bloomed. Deep his tongue plunged between my lips, I moaned softly into his mouth when I tasted his real first kiss after a long time. His hand stroked my thigh, his tongue danced possessively with mine, thrusting rhythmically deep into my mouth, suggesting how he would fill my pussy later. He held me tight when we finally parted our lips from each other. I sighed and leaned my head on his shoulder. "Wonderful," I whispered. He nodded. "I want more, dear, you know that, don't you? " He cooed into my hair and now I nodded. "Our Rodin isn't right," he whispered and began to unbutton my blouse. I tried to get his jacket from his shoulders and we got in each other's ways. "First I you, then you me," he suggested with a chuckle and pushed me gently from his lap. Trembling I stood before him, between his legs while he undressed me, covering newly revealed skin with kisses. After he had stripped me of my blouse, bra and skirt, he looked at me for a long time. I literally felt his eyes wandering over my body; they rested on my breasts, my tummy and mound before they found a new old target. All the time his fingertips painted paths over the hem of my panties, the straps of my stockings, spending more and more time on the strip of bare skin between stockings and panties with each journey they made. "We have to change something, dear," he whispered, undid the garters, slipped the bands under my panties and fastened them again. Tantalizing hot she looked. No other words would do, she was simply tantalizing hot, even if she was wearing the thong under the straps. Her skin was warm and smooth as always, her breasts were slightly larger, heavier and softer, her belly was rounded, not girlish flat like before. She was a woman. No longer the seventeen years old girl I met at her grandmother's, or the eighteen years old who was allowed to go on vacation with a boyfriend (me!) for the first time and no longer the twenty years old who showed me the door. "We have change something, dear," I said hoarsely, carefully opened the clasps on her straps, eased them underneath her thong and fastened them again; enjoying the soft click they closed with. Then I looked at her again. My hands seemed to lead a life of their own. Again and again my fingers wandered along the small strips of shiny fabric, just grazing her skin. My gaze wandered over her body, often it sank into her blue-green eyes, to lavish on her breasts, her mound, her tummy and her thighs anew. "Are you afraid my breasts won't be around tomorrow?" She asked me grumpily. "No, dear, I simply can not believe my eyes. I think my hands need to confirm my brain that it's true what my eyes report," I murmured. Leisurely I stroked up her belly, glided over her sides to finally hold her breasts in my hands. She moaned softly, leaned her head back a little, arched her chest forward, her hands resting lightly on my arms. I moaned with pleasure as I weighed her soft, supple breasts, stroking them and the feeling her nipples transform into solid little turrets under the strokes and flicks of my thumbs. Seeking support she put her hands on my shoulders as her knees wobbled. Once in a While I clearly had too much clothes on, I wanted to feel her against my skin and my stallion was running havoc in his stable. But not here in my study. I quickly stood up, lifted her on my shoulder, unsophisticated, I admit it, but I was feeling a bit Neanderthalish. I wanted to drag her into my cave and carried her, ignoring her protests -once or twice tapping her arse-cheeks on the way when she got too loud- into my bedroom. Before I flung her on my bed, I pulled the panties down over her butt, which was only covered by a narrow strip of fabric anyway. Her arse had tempted me, the cheeks quivered as she moved her legs struggling against my grip. Had she realized how tempting she was, she would have kept still. There she was, the thong barely covering her mound and with a quick move I pulled it down over her legs. She gasped, looked at me with big, alarmed eyes, while her hands flew protectively towards her paradise. "Show me, dear," I coaxed. "Show me yours, I 'll show you mine." I could not decide if I should keep my eyes on her quivering breasts or on her pussy. I chose the latter, as she slowly slid her hands to the side, spreading her fingers wide as she did so. First a little hesitantly, then provocatively, she put her hands beside her head, opened her thighs. My stallion started to stampede, he knew his destination near and her scent bedazzled me. The sight of her lush lips, framed by the straps and the dark stockings, topped by a neat triangle of lushly curled hair made me hungry for her already abundantly flowing nectar. I bent down, determined to taste inhaling her aroma deep into me as her voice slowed me down. "Show!" she demanded hoarsely. Half leaning over her, I stopped. "I want a quick taste, dear, then I'll show you what I 've got for you." "Quick" she confirmed panting, welcoming opening her legs further. I took another deep draw of her fragrance, then plunged into the nectar. She twitched and gasped the moment she felt my tongue, lifted her hips to meet my mouth. Growling with pleasure I licked from her honey pot, her sweet salty juice filling my mouth. Wildly my stallion reminded me that this was not all, and reluctantly I raised my head, not without giving some attention to her clit, which made her quiver and ripped a deep, hoarse moan from her mouth. I tore the clothes off from my body, entangled with shirt and tie, opened with fidgety fingers my pants and while I stepped out off my shoes my best horse jumped eagerly from his stable. With sparkling eyes she had watched breathlessly, now she pulled up her knees and let them fall to the sides. Without hesitation I knelt between her thighs. "S- socks," she stammered breathlessly. I just grinned. Probably smugly. "You are still wearing yours and your shoes too, dear." She protested I had not taken them off of her. The protest turned into loud moans when I knocked at her entrance once and without waiting for a further invitation, dived right in, telling her murmuring how much I had missed her, how exquisite she was, how much my stallion loved to be inside her. Her arms and legs wrapped around me as I, my eyes locked on hers, thrusted again and buried myself completely in her. For a long moment I did not move a muscle, just enjoyed her warm, moist inside wrapped around me. Challenging she lifted her hips against mine, twice I answered this call before I paused again and pressed my lips to her mouth, filling it with my tongue as deep as my steed filled his favorite stall. I lifted my head, took a deep breath, pushed so quickly and deep into her, she squealed. Her warm, moistness clenched around me, she quivered, a shiver ran through her limbs, her body bucked under me. A deep, long-drawn cry pressed itself over her lips. Only twice I was able to conquer her again before my jewels contracted and pumped great squirts of my juice into her. Panting, I lay down on her, not yet ready to leave paradise, but when her legs and arms loosened their grip though, and slowly dropped to the mattress, I rolled myself off of her and stretched out beside her. Leaning on one arm I looked at her, a satisfied smile on my face. Slowly she turned her head towards me, her mouth slightly open, air flowing arhythmically over her lips, cheeks glowing. She looked at me out off glazed eyes. Ever so slowly her lips formed a kiss-mouth. Butterfly-like I slipped my lips over hers for a lasting moment while my fingers rested on her thigh. I am able to learn. If I want to. Once In A While "You live in the big white Cape on the lake, right?" I shuddered a little when I realized he knew exactly where I lived. Of course, just about everyone knew where I lived. Seacliff was the neighborhood "haunted" house after all and such was the reason I was drawn to it and purchased the enormous Cape Cod with the tainted past without thinking twice. Detective Garcia leaned over and kissed me again before shutting my door. "Don't fall in love before I get there." I laughed and told him not to worry, I would be waiting. He watched until I was safely locked inside my car before he walked over to his unmarked Crown Vic and pulled out of the parking lot behind me. He followed me for a couple of miles before turning up the side road which lead to the police station and I watched him in my side mirror until he disappeared from sight. I thought about the possibilities of the evening and pressed the gas pedal a little closer to the floor. My house was presentable enough but I changed the sheets on my bed, just in case. I lit several candles throughout the living room and changed into my favorite jeans and a soft white sweater. It was comfortable but sexy and easy to get out of, and trust me, that was on my mind. It was about twenty minutes later that I heard his car pull up the drive and a few moments later, my doorbell rang. I expected Mike when I opened the door, I didn't however, expect the dozen long stemmed red roses he carried in with him or the heart shaped box of expensive chocolates he handed to me when he came through the door. I was smiling from ear to ear. "What is this?" "These are for the maid. You, get me instead." I couldn't help but burst out laughing and I told him that was a fair enough deal, I was still the one making out. He asked me where my vases were and I pointed to the cupboards above the microwave. He reached up easily enough and found a clear crystal vase which he filled with water then added the beautiful flowers. He placed the vase and flowers on the dining room table, turned around and asked me what I thought. "I think the maid is one lucky girl." He grinned and pulled me into his arms. I suddenly realized how much taller he was than me, barefoot, I barely came up to his chest and I stood on tip toes to kiss him. This kiss was different than the others, sweet and gentle as if the urgency had been replaced with something else, something deeper, and something I hadn't expected. This gentle giant of a man made me feel like a young girl again. Hormones? At my age, I know all about them and mine were completely out of control. My knees were wobbly and weak, my heart was pounding like there was a marching band inside my chest and I had trouble remembering who I was. His kisses were tender, teasing me it seemed, slowly urging me to ask for more. I kissed him back, softly at first but when the heat seared through me like a forest fire, I crushed my mouth onto his, opening my lips slightly so that my tongue could graze his. Michael's grip suddenly became tighter and as he pulled me closer I felt his hardness pressing urgently against my belly. I raised my hips into his, grinding his erection between us and a deep groan filled his throat as his hand slipped into my hair, twisting it around his fingers. The strength in Michael's hands was incredible and I couldn't have moved even if I had wanted to. I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck as he lifted me up off of the ground and set me down on the cool black granite of my island counter top. At this height my head was level with his and my legs wrapped easily around his waist. Like two teenagers, we kissed and clung to each other, touching and exploring as if we had never experienced anything like this before. Michael stood back for a moment, his face flushed, his breathing heavy in his broad chest. "God, what you do to me. You make me feel like I am seventeen again. In fact, better than that cause I never got this lucky when I was seventeen." I burst out laughing at his comment and his smile broadened. "I love it when I make you laugh." I smiled and pulled him back to me, grabbing his gorgeous behind as I did. "And I love it when you make me laugh. It sounds like we are a perfect match." Michael looked at me through half closed lids and said, "So, it's all about you, is it? I kissed him long and hard before saying, "Of course it is. It is always all about me." It was Michael's turn to laugh out loud before offering his rendition of Toby Keith's "I Wanna Talk About Me," which sent me into gales of laughter until my stomach hurt and I nearly fell off of the counter. I had tears running down my cheeks by the time he finished up the second chorus and he began kissing them away between verses. Soon his mouth was on mine again, hungry and wanting and I asked him if he was ready to take me to bed and ravish me. He lifted me from the counter, swept me up into his arms and whispered, "Just show me the way, babe." I pointed to the foyer and he carried me to the bottom of the steps before putting me down. I kissed him again then took his hand as we climbed the stairwell together. We walked up silently, hands clasped together and I led him into my bedroom. We stood at the side of the mahogany sleigh bed, arms wrapped around each other, kissing for a moment until he lifted me up onto the bed and stood between my legs. His hands went to my stomach first, slipping beneath my sweater, his fingers clutching and stroking my skin before pulling the sweater over my head and sliding his fingers inside the waist band of my jeans. Michael unsnapped them quickly then slowly unzipped them, his dark eyes never leaving mine. I lifted my hips up for him as he pulled them from my legs and dropped them into a heap on the floor. His hands caressed my bare thighs as his fingers teased the edge of my pale pink panties, never touching the skin beneath but setting fire to the core of me just the same. I quivered and squirmed beneath his hands, struggling to force his fingers inside the lacy fabric but the man held fast, taunting me with his touch. I closed my eyes when I felt his tongue running along the skin of my inner thigh and moaned as I felt the heat of his mouth against the wetness of the silky fabric between my legs. His teeth bit playfully at the thin cloth and the tender mound beneath it making me ache for more. My mind spun as I grabbed the back of his head urging him to take what he wanted and in a second he removed the thin material between us. His tongue teased and titillated until his soft kisses drew the core of me into his mouth. I bucked and writhed what I could beneath him, a prisoner to the strength of his grip on my thighs and when he slid his tongue inside of me, his nose rubbing against my tender nub, I felt my release cover his face as he drank me in. I couldn't think, my mind had left me somewhere in that hot whiteness and I was aware of nothing but his mouth on me. I was running on pure emotion or perhaps raw passion because when his tongue began the slow grind again I could think of nothing but to hope this never ended. I rode wave after wave, lost in a place of utter sensation, unable to bring a discernable thought into focus, I only knew I could not stand it any longer but at the same I could not bear him to stop. When I finally found I had no more strength left in me and slowly released his head from my grasp, he gently bit my inner thigh before raising himself up and stripping in front of me. I looked at him, hard, throbbing, dark blood running through the swollen tip, and I knew I wanted him to make love to me. He gave me a look that was both tender and filled with lust at the same time and as I clasped my fingers into his and whispered, "I want to feel you inside of me," he groaned softly and slipped between my legs. He drew my legs up onto his shoulders and stared into my eyes as he slipped slowly into me. I let out a gasp as he touched every part of me, there was something about the way he filled me, like he was molded perfectly for my body alone and in just a few moments I was close to release again. He must have known, must have felt it, because his thrusts became harder, more determined and he told me to come for him. I needed no further urging and I clamped down on him, my muscles contracting again and again as I coated him with my hot wetness. I felt my body fade away, but even as I drifted into oblivion I was ever aware of his long, slow strokes. I couldn't tell you how long we remained like that, I was no more aware of the time than I was of my own name. He made love to me for hours, pulling more and more from me from what seemed like a bottomless fountain until I collapsed and trembled beneath him. I saw him relax then as if he understood that I was completely spent and his concentration seemed to shift. I watched him as he continued, I wanted to take him in now, to see his face and expressions, to see his pleasure as he slid in and out of me. It was an amazing thing to watch, his dark eyes focused on mine, and I could feel his blood and white lust engorging him. He watched his erection disappear inside of me, glistening from my silky cream and then he drove into me, hard and furious and I begged him not to stop. My muscles clutched and held him as a loud groan escaped his throat and he suddenly plunged deep inside of me, lifting me from the bed as he gave me my due. His thrusts continued for a few moments, eventually slowing even as I felt him pulsing inside me. I couldn't stop staring at him and I didn't want to let him go. Michael carefully lowered himself down on top of me, my legs wrapping around his waist to hold him close. He kissed my face, the hollow of my neck, my shoulders, my lips. He held me next to him, our arms and legs wrapped tightly around one another as we whispered the words only lovers share until sleep took us both over. I awoke hours later to find him still sleeping even as the sun was seeping through my window blinds. I kissed his chest, his neck, and finally made my way up to his lips to wake him. He stirred, opened his eyes and pulled me to him, holding me firmly to his chest as he kissed me back. There are more things said without words in that moment, and I stared into his eyes, falling in love with him as I did. Should I have been more careful? Perhaps. Maybe I should have reined my heart in a little but I felt no fear in giving myself to him. And as he was standing in my kitchen in his boxers later that morning, making me breakfast, I discovered the card that he had buried inside the flowers he surprised me with hours earlier. I opened it up, and tears came to my eyes as I read what he had written to me the evening before, realizing that all things happen for a reason. "To the woman who fell into my arms this morning. I am falling for you now and I have no intention of letting you go this time."