7 comments/ 23260 views/ 20 favorites Scruples By: romancer I was ending another week of hard, productive work, feeling that somewhat familiar, somewhat welcomed mix of exhaustion and exhilaration, looking forward to an evening alone and a long night's sleep before a weekend of nothing in particular - some exercise, certainly, maybe take the boat out for an afternoon of fishing on the lake, maybe see if the rare event of something worth watching were on either TV or the local theaters. Traffic had been the usual Friday afternoon parking lot along the Interstate, but I'd managed to get through it by determinedly chilling and reminding myself that I kept that 9mm in the car for defense, not road rage vigilantism. Finally, the idiots survived without incident, I pulled off at my exit, wended through town, stopped at the market for a drinkable red and a steak larger than I knew I'd eat in one sitting, and arrived at my house, the end one on a cul-de-sac, right on the lake, with the dock out back and the screened in porch overlooking the backyard and calm water. I was widowed some years ago, and had adjusted quite well I thought, considering losing a spouse has to be a tough thing for just about anyone. I had made it through the somewhat grueling 40s, gotten the kids well delivered to the adult world, and made it half way through my 50s without any significant health or financial issues, being fortunate in both, and having moved up a bit in the big corporation I worked for as well. Suburban life was good, and I had a metropolis within a half hour when I wanted. That included female companionship when I felt like it, but I'd come to be pretty stoic about that. Many single females in my age category saw me as security material, which became obvious on about the second or third date. I didn't need security, and I was damned well not going to be lured into being just security for someone - that was a decision I was determined to drive if it ever happened, not be driven to. Meanwhile, younger women liked younger guys, and older women were mostly, well, set in their ways. I am fortunate, or cursed (if that's your perspective), with finding women endlessly fascinating and endlessly attractive in ways far beyond the magazine presentation ideals. Since my second bachelorhood, I've dated and not bedded, and dated and bedded, women from 35 to 75, finding all those bedmates arousing, and mostly aroused by the experience. My days of being a stud are past, if they were at all, but I'm still functioning on all cylinders sexually. It's just that it's a social hassle, and so, I haven't had a serious partner since my wife died, while I haven't had to go without sex for more than a month, maybe two, and that mostly due to distractions at either my business at work/life, or my lack of motivation. All that said, I wasn't expecting social company that weekend, just some time to veg. I'd put on shorts and sandals after a post-workout shower and was reading up on the week's accumulation of magazines with a cold beer side and oldies on the radio out on the back patio, when I realized through my focus on other things that the doorbell was - had been? - ringing, faintly. I get few visitors, and the neighborhood rarely gets solicitors, so I hustled into the house, grabbed a shirt from a pile of clean clothes I hadn't gotten around to putting away, and made it through the kitchen to the + door, buttoning as I went and getting about 2/3 of them done as I opened the door. Yes, I have a peep hole, and no, I didn't use it. Walking down the steps away from the house toward a nondescript car parked and apparently empty at my front sidewalk, I saw a woman and called out to her, "Excuse me, were you looking for someone?" thinking she had the wrong place. She turned and I could see she was young - early 20s, I guessed, petite, shoulder-length blond hair, trim, dressed in an off-white linen shirtwaist dress (or that's what we used to call them) that was flattering without being provocative in the least, and loafers. A bit of a throwback, I thought, since I rarely see young women in loafers these days. The outfit altogether could have been worn without adjustment 30+ years ago. Seeing me, she stopped a moment as if to take my measure, and seeming to take a breath, came back toward me. "Mr. Arthur?" she asked. "Hello, yes, that's right. Can I help you?" I was wary - how come she knew my name? A rare solicitor after all? Someone I should recognize from her youth that I was blanking on? There was a distinct familiarity, but nothing I could put a name to. Think, Bill, think! Nope, nada. OK, go with the flow. "I'm Lissa Wright, but you might remember my mother, Fran Anderson - you two dated back in your college days?" Fran! The memories flooded back. Fran was smaller than her daughter, really petite, a great figure, actually my age but way ahead in terms of "social experience" at the time. She looked so young that when I approached her at a college town welcome back students picnic, my friends thought I was after a high school girl (hence their not having beat me to her - I was hardly the lothario in those days). It turned out she was a rising sophomore at the state university but had grown up in the town where the small college I attended was. The university started later, hence her still being home, and thus at the picnic, her family nearby. I asked her to dance, she accepted, and we chatted while the band played what we called beach music, thankfully not so loudly that we couldn't carry on a conversation. By the end of the picnic, I'd met her younger brother, her parents (including an apparently humorless dad with the "I'll kill you if you touch her" look down pat, her mom gracious and attractive, keeping dad's protectiveness from actualization), and we had a date for the following Saturday. I was carless at the time, but she had a clunker and offered to drive - I was counting blessings! Come that day, she arrived as planned at about 10 a.m., with a lunch packed for both of us. The college had a lake nearby and gave sailing lessons free, with a minimal day sailer sailboat rental to students. My definite pretensions to the life of Gatsby ingrained, I'd taken the sailing lessons, envisioning myself at Newport someday. As I'd suggested to her earlier, we headed out to the lake, and I spent the next several hours doing my best to keep us (1) upright, and (2) not heading in the wrong direction. I hoped I hadn't shown myself to be a total landlubber, but found that she wouldn't have known the difference. While the life jacket I insisted she wear did nothing for the outfit (shorts and blouse) she wore, I also hoped she appreciated my concern for her safety (and mine, as I dutifully wore mine as well). We lunched when back ashore, eating at a table by the docks after I'd put away the sailboat, a massive 18-footer maybe - long time ago, so don't hold me to that. I do remember we were the only ones out there, and that we were both pretty worn out. I wasn't comfortable at sailing by any means, and she'd been game, wanting to try everything and my leading her through the steps. After eating, we lay on the grassy slope, watched the clouds, and generally had a wonderful time of it. As we packed up, I was out of ideas and money to have any. I figured she was probably sensing that when she said she'd heard about a party that night we could go to. We gathered our things, and the picnic basket in the trunk, I held the door for her at the car, and she took the initiative, stepping close to me and kissing me. It was gentle and wonderful, and I remember it distinctly, and have from time to time over the years. I returned the kiss, and we stood, bodies pressed together, at the car, as I pulled her to me, felt her bra-restrained breasts against me and hoped that she would both feel and not be offended by my growing erection. She was beautiful, we were adults in the legal sense, and I was totally smitten. I don't know how long we "made out," but we ended up sprawled across the front seat, that erection undeniable as we continued, with her gently but firmly moving my hand when it came to grope at her breast or her ass. I sort of expected that, but it was part of the game that I'd need to try, and that she'd rebuff on a first date, but not so vehemently that it wasn't an implicit promise for more in the future, or so I thought. We finally came up for air, and I immediately asked her when I could see her again. She hemmed a bit, then said she'd write me and we'd see (no address was needed at our small college beyond the college's and town's names, and yes, it was back when people actually wrote letters to each other), but that she really did need to get home. Meanwhile, it was a bit too early to go to the party, but she said maybe we could help set-up, and off we went to an apartment complex off campus. There were three guys who lived there, and they seemed happy to have the help, so we pitched in and go the keg tapped, ice set out, and even made a grocery run since the guys were pretty unprepared for snacks. When we got back to the apartment, the guys had tequila shooters going, and she joined right in - sort of a surprise to me, but ok. After several of those, she was feeling no pain (I don't like tequila, so was sticking to nursing a beer), and one of the guys brought her a fruit drink of some sort from the kitchen. We were just sort of hanging out, when she really got loopy, and the lead party guy started laughing that she'd gone so easily, now was time for some fun. It didn't take long to figure out that he was intending a gang-bang without her consent, and while she was still conscious, she was really in no mental condition to assent or physical condition to resist, and I had to pretty much take on the odds and threaten the guys in order to get her out of there intact. I took her keys and thought we could just drive around or go someplace until whatever she'd been given wore off. I was figuring quaalude, but I'm no druggy, so that was a guess. I figured if she didn't come back down in an hour or so or showed other, worse, symptoms, I'd take her to the emergency room. I headed us out into the countryside to just kill time, and she got all blubbery about my saving her. She said she felt sick, and I pulled off onto a dirt road and helped her out of the car. She promptly spilled her guts into the roadside ditch, and I used the stuff from our earlier picnic basket to clean her up. Now she was really blubbering, and then she started getting sexual! Now, messing around with a beautiful woman was a great idea to me; on the other hand, getting it on with a recently sick drunk wasn't my idea of romance. I resisted her advances as she came on more and more directly. We got back in the car, and she pulled her blouse open to show me her bra, then unclipped its front and showed me two delectable breasts, pulling my hand to grasp one. Initially eager, after a moment sufficient to reveal the wonderful liquid heft of one of them, and to roll the nipple that was itself seeming to reach out to me, I reluctantly pulled back and told her I wasn't going to go there as long as she was under the influence. She reached over and grasped my crotch, confirming to us both that I had an erection (hell, back then, seeing peaches in the grocery store gave me erections). I removed her hand quickly (concealing my regret in doing it), and lectured her a bit until she calmed down. Long story short, I got her home, dropped her off after some tears and remorse (good indications she was sobering, along with a return of her bodily control), and walked back to the campus. I knew it wasn't really her fault, due to the drug thing, and I was otherwise smitten, happy with the whole day (figuring when she was really sober I'd have major points on my tally in her mind), making mental plans for more, already considering she may be "the one," and trying to figure how I'd manage the logistics of cross-state travel to see her. A week later I got a note from her, saying she was sorry, but that she'd gotten engaged, that she shouldn't have led me on, but she needed to know about the guy by being with me for the day, that she really liked me and hoped I'd understand and all the best and such. Lovely Dear John, but a Dear John nonetheless. I was a bit crushed, but it hadn't gotten very far, except in my imagination, so I reconciled pretty quickly and got on with life. All that came flowing back as I stood looking at Lissa on my front walk. I was curious at the least, and waited for her to continue. "Could we go in? My mom asked me to look you up." "Sure," I said, leading her back to the house and into the front room, then going to get us both a soda. Settled on the couch across from me in a straight chair, she continued. "Mom died six months ago." "Oh, I'm so sorry!" I said, with helpless surprise. "It was pretty quick, a couple of months after her diagnosis, and the doctors kept her comfortable and the end was in her sleep, so it was as gentle as it could be. She had time to get her affairs in order, as they say, and one thing she did was to write me a long letter." "That's no doubt a treasure to you," I said. "Yes, but it's also something more. In it, she gave me a list of things she wished she'd done and asked me to do them in her memory after I'd gotten emotionally settled after what she knew would be her death. Accordingly, I've taken a flying lesson, and I've been to the Grand Canyon, and I sat in the audience of her favorite late night TV show, and now I'm here." I honestly, at that point, had no idea where this was going. "And what's here?" I asked, clueless. "You're here," she said. "Well, I think we can agree on that," I smiled, willing to let her get to whatever the point was in her own time. "Listen, this isn't easy, so I'll just put it out there," she said, taking a deep breath. "Mom said that you were the most gentlemanly guy she'd ever encountered, that my dad, great guy as he was - he's also gone, but that doesn't matter - that he was something of a safe haven to her. What you didn't know at the time was that my grandfather, her dad, had just gotten the word that the company he worked for had gone bust, he was shortly to be let go without benefits, and that meant she'd have to drop out of college since they couldn't afford it until maybe he got a new job, but that was uncertain. My dad, the guy she was dating, had some family money and told her that if she'd marry him, they could finish the university together. He didn't mean it in a bad way, he was just in love and it seemed to make sense. She told me that she grew to love him and their life together, but that she never did feel that swept away feeling she felt with you on that day, and that she always wondered, always had a tinge of regret that she didn't have the courage at the time to go with her heart, which meant to go to you, to take the risk, even though it was such a slim thread, even though you two hardly knew each other." "Whoa." was about all I could come up with. "Of course, I never knew that - she pretty well ended things, and I didn't want to intrude on something I knew I didn't understand. I am glad it worked out for her, which you're proof of, but I'm sorry she had some regrets, however small, about me. I've thought of her often over the years, and I've got to tell you, I've had the same regrets for not fanning that spark. I didn't realize she felt it as I did - I guess we were both too young to be very good communicators about personal things like that - I just figured I'd lost out on something, wished it had been different and all that. I thank you for telling me this - it makes her memory even more special for me, and while it does rekindle those regrets, I'll always continue to think of her fondly, and sometimes to imagine how we might have made it somehow." "That's not quite all," she continued. "She told me she always regretted not getting to make love with you that afternoon, even as she was thankful you didn't take advantage of her willingness. She regretted not running off and getting a room somewhere for the night, not finding out how you two would have been, er, together, um, sexually." She paused and took another drink of soda and another breath. "And so, as she fully expected to be looking down from above on the world at this point, she asked me to do this for her, to find you, to know that she'd be watching and smiling on it. That is, she wanted for me to find you and, if you'd agree, in her memory's honor, for me to go to bed with you." And with that, she exhaled and sat back, a burden off her shoulders. I was speechless for a bit, trying to digest all that. Then speechless some more, looking at her, at her lovely curves, her body reminiscent of the little I knew of her mother's at somewhere near that age. I was immediately conflicted, my male nature coming to the fore contemplating making love to a woman decades my junior, quickly wondering if I'd measure up to whatever experiences she'd had with younger men, wanting to say yes immediately. On the other hand, this was pretty much a mercy fuck in some ways that she was presenting. Would thinking about that render me useless, and even if not, did I really want to do that? And what about her? If it weren't for this thing from her mom, Lissa would certainly never have been in my life in any way. Was she just doing this obligation thing, and would I want to foist that onto anyone, much less someone as nice as she? All that rolled around, jumbled. I finally got my thoughts together enough to speak. "Lissa, that's quite a bit to take in. You're a gorgeous woman, and any man would be no doubt thrilled to go to bed with you. But I'm not used to being a means to paying off some debt, and I'm not spiritually where your mom was, it seems. Even if this were something you really wanted instead of an obligation to Fran, I'd want to know you better beforehand. All in all, I'm not at all sure this is a good idea, but I can tell you that realizing Fran felt that way, and that you'd even consider flattering me in that way are things I'll treasure forever." "So, is that a no?" she looked at me a bit incredulously - no doubt I was the first male who'd ever come close to spurning her charms. "I'd say that it's a no for now - just too much to take in and too soon to sort out. What my baser nature is already pressing for, and that I might give in to if you were still around, that I couldn't quite predict." "OK, fair enough - how about you pick a place and I'll treat you to dinner for being a great memory for mom and for being a gentleman to both her and me." "Dang - you're all about breaking molds, aren't you? I'm not used to being treated, much less by ladies. But ok, give me a minute to change, and I'll take you to where you'll find the best Italian food this side of Napoli - oh, do you like Italian?" "Love it - and deal!" she smiled in such a way that it brought back Fran immediately - same jaw line, same ample white teeth, same laughing eyes making it real. 15 minutes later we were on our way across town, and an hour later we were being served a simple linguine with clam sauce that was a favorite of mine, and now hers. We didn't overeat, but ordered the small portions so we could have more courses before and after, and left, some Pinot Grigio later, with my feeling filled but not stuffed, and liking Lissa more and more. As we pulled back up to my place, I asked Lissa where she was staying, and she said she hadn't arranged that yet, not knowing what the day would bring. Obviously, she expected to bed with me, I guess, and without implying anything, I offered her my spare bedroom. Going back to her car, a rental, she'd revealed - she'd flown in and driven straight to my place, so it was getting to be a long day for her - she pulled a small duffel out of her trunk and we went inside. Scruples I showed her the room and its adjoining bath. Seeing her eyeing the shower, I told her if she wanted to bathe, it was fine, that I was just going to have a nightcap and she could join me then or later or not at all, up to her. She gratefully accepted the bath and nightcap idea, and I went to change as well, and jumped in for a quick shower to boot, then back to the living room, much more in my usual dress of barefoot with loose gym shorts and an open neck shirt. 10 minutes later, she joined me. Her short hair was damp, her understated makeup gone, wearing a pajama set of loose shorts and a thin tank top - altogether a lovely vision. I had a glass of bourbon ready for each of us - she'd admitted to a fondness during dinner - and she chose to sit on the couch next to me. I swear, I wasn't thinking of it, but then I realized I'd made it look like an invitation when I took the couch and not a chair, my drink already in a coaster on the couch arm when she came out of the bath. Sitting in silence at first, she asked, "Music anywhere around here?" "CD player's there, CDs in the cabinet - anything you'd like?" I said, starting to get up. "Oh, let me browse," she said, leaving her drink but going over to the cabinet. Her back to me, I watched her great legs as she bent over to see the CDs on a lower shelf. The pajama bottoms rode up wonderfully, revealing that cleft where the buns start. I wondered if she knew the view she was presenting, and when she looked around at me, a CD in her hand, and saw me watching her ass, I knew I was busted and that she'd set it up. "You're blushing," she smiled. "That's sweet. Maybe some Diana Krall?" "Great choice," I said, not knowing what else to say. She quickly had the tunes playing, soft and sultry - are all younger folks just naturals with electronics? It had taken me some time when I got that rig, and I had the directions! "Dance?" she said, standing in the middle of the room, looking all innocent and sexy as hell. "I'm no star at it, but sure," I said, and we started swaying, sort of stepping but not much more than sort of, to Diana doing old torch classics. Whether it was the fresh smell of her hair, the feel of her back through the thin top, or the glance at her breasts that revealed the outline of pert breasts and firm nipples, or the remnants of the view of those legs, I knew I had an erection forming that my thin shorts were doing little to disguise, against all my good intentions and no doubt better instincts. I debated whether she'd feel it and whether I should just stay as is, it pressing gently against her belly, or move back awkwardly, and then being obviously tented in front. I stayed as is, and we swayed some more, her one hand in mine, her other now softly stroking the back of my neck, her head resting gently on my chest. And the erection grew some more, I knew. When it was pretty much full, and no doubt undeniable, she murmured, "'Seems you're feeling more amenable." "Gee, how'd you know?" I joked back. "Well, I'd chalk it up to memories of mom, but I didn't notice it when we were talking about her, so I'm going to take that as a compliment to me." "You've got that right - that and my apparent lack of scruples," I said back. "Well, I'm not going to quibble about scruples. I've had a great time, and while you've been working through all this, I've gone from being a dutiful daughter to realizing why my mom might have been so taken, and from there to realizing that going to bed with you would be as much for me as for Mom." And with that, she freed her hand from mine and reached between us, grasping my cock and making it swell some more as she leaned up and I leaned down and we finally kissed. It wasn't quite a "The Princess Bride" kiss, but it wasn't far off, and it certainly reminded me of how long it had been since I'd really shared a mutually enthusiastic kiss with a beautiful woman. Lips and then lips and tongue, and then my hand on her ass, and one in her hair, pulling her to me, and a wonderful taste hinting of bourbon, and no more swaying, just hanging onto each other, my eyes closed without thought. OK, I'm weak, or ok, I'm just lucky. Either one, I left scruples behind, victims of gentle genital strangulation, I figured. "You talked me into it," I said, coming back to reality. Leaning further and sweeping her up in my arms, I did best Dread Pirate Roberts and hoped like hell I wouldn't pull anything in my back in the effort. She was lighter than I'd estimated, and it was thankfully easy to carry her to my bedroom. Managing to pull off the bed cover and laying her down gently on the sheets, I knelt over her, legs on each side of her, on my elbows, our faces inches apart. She looked up at me, wide-eyed and a bit breathless, even though I'd been doing the carrying. I held her gaze and kissed her again, only our lips touching, it seemed. Again our tongues dueled, and again it seemed more magic than old guy gets to screw young thing. In fact, it seemed nothing of that at all. "I only got a glimpse of Fran. I want to see you," I said, rising back up and tugging down on her pajama bottoms. Her pussy was lightly coated in fine, trimmed but not shaved, light brown silken hair. It was the most beautiful thing I'd seen in a long time, and I knelt there for a moment, memorizing it for the future when I knew I'd want to be able to conjure it back. It reminded me of a purse, but one with its opening in shadow, and that shadow revealing just a trace of glistening along the seam. Her legs were flawless, containing it, the pale outline of a bikini framing the whiter skin than the legs and belly above. I held out my hands to hers and pulled her up to sit, then eased her top off as well. She lay back down, her breasts rising and falling, showing a similar bikini reverse shadow, the nipples rising, alluring, the areolae matching them in a pink shade next to the white skin. I could hardly remember Fran in detail, but noted the same puffy nipples topped with hard nubs. She was maybe a 34B, with no sag and a wonderful fullness that made them keep their shape even on her back. But, lying there I was less interested in her numbers than in her whole being, submissive to me, her eyes watching me, maybe still not quite convinced this was going to completion. I had no such doubts. I stood, silently, and stripped off my shirt, then dropped my shorts and stood for her inspection. She first still just looked into my eyes, then lowered her glance and coated my body with her looking. I was erect, hoping she wasn't a size queen but knowing I wasn't challenged in that area either. My cock twitched a bit in the air, and she gave it a thoughtful look, maybe wanting to remember this as I did. Then she smiled and said, "Yeah, this is going to be fun!" as she scrambled down onto the floor. Kneeling in front of me and sweeping her hair back over her shoulder - the better to see her with? - she licked me in one stroke from under balls to tip, then sucked in the head. Smiling up at me, she teased the tip in her mouth, circling it I supposed, although the sensations were a bit of a jumble. Then she slowly sucked me further in, and further in, her eyes still locked with mine, taking a bit over half, I guessed, before drawing back out to just the head was hidden in her lips. After several of those, I knew she was eager but not as experienced maybe as some other women I'd known, but hey, who ever doesn't enjoy a first fellatio? I imagined Fran watching too, finding it easier to buy into her expectation of seeing all this, and finding that I welcomed her imagined or real presence. Thinking of Fran watching her daughter suck me, and watching me enjoy it was erotic in its own sphere, but if this was a fuck for Fran, I was damned well going to make it good for her, not just for me. I pulled out, eliciting a curious frown from Lissa. But as I grasped her under her arms and eased her back up to the bed, she knew I wasn't through by any means. Resting her head on a pillow, I scooted back down, parted her legs and lay between them, lifting her knees over my shoulders, freeing my hands.!was closer now, maybe 6 inches from her opening, but took my time, stroking the fine hair with my fingers. Finally, I lowered my head and licked up the length of her slit, letting my tongue barely open it, seeking the taste of her, which was so mild as to be almost absent. She moaned at that, and gave a bit of a quiver when I licked past her clitoris, not pausing, just passing by. Bit by bit, I repeated, delving more deeply, pressing my tongue at the sides more and more, mixing my saliva with her fluids, hearing her sporadic sounds and feeling her breathing quicken. Dipping my tongue as deeply as I could into her vagina while lifting her hips up to manage that, I finally determined to do more than explore, and concentrated on her clit, and he responses seemed to be in eager agreement. I licked and twirled and thrummed, orchestrating her climb upward, and when I thought she was almost there, I sucked the nub into my mouth, pulling on it and still flicking it more and more quickly. She cooperated fully, rising and spilling over in her orgasm, whimpering as her legs clutched my head and I watched as her hands gripped the sheets at her sides, her hips humping reflexively. She was no screamer, but her sounds were clear and expressive, and I felt happy that I'd been able to please her so. I relaxed the suction and slowed the tonguing as she began to come down, then decided maybe another, and went back at it, I think surprising her, and she fired off again, within maybe a minute of the first. She was whimpering, not from lack of pleasure I guessed, but then I let her come down all the way, still lightly kissing her pussy as she landed. "Ohhhh. . . " she said, after several moments of nothing but catching her breath. "If Mom had known, she never would have let you get away!" "Well, I'll admit I might have learned a few things about women since meeting her. And I know enough to know that you're a treasure, a singular, gorgeous treasure." "Will you do me a favor now?" she asked, stroking my hair, my head still at her groin. "Try me," I said. "Fuck me. After that, I need to be fucked, and I want that to be you doing it." Sometimes, I get so into cunnilingus that I lose my erection, focusing on the woman. That day, crawling back up, I was a relieved that my cock was still engorged - maybe not at 100%, but certainly at 90 or better. Without further preliminaries, I shoved forward, and as if our bodies had been designed for it (which, of course, they are), my helmet slipped between her folds. Only encountering the most exquisite restriction at the opening, I kept on, and was easily half way embedded. Pulling back, I pushed again, and on about the third stroke was in her all the way. I paused a second to revel in the fit, feeling her walls around me snugly, then started fucking her slowly. "Oh, harder, right now!" she pleaded. And I complied, realizing that I was fully hard by then, and rearing up to ram into her repeatedly, feeling her heels wrap around my back, her hips rising to meet every stroke. I'm not 18 anymore, and I wondered if I'd be able to keep that up long enough, when she settled the issue by coming again, hard, burying her face in the hollow of my neck and clutching me to her. Then, falling back, she gasped, "Oh, so many thanks for that - you just made me want it that way, and then you did it!" I stayed engaged, but let our bodies relax, and kept fucking her slowly, doing my memorization thing again, one hand testing the feel of her breasts, my mouth lowering to kiss her nipple, sucking and nibbling on it. As I regained my energy from the hard humping, I picked up the pace again, not so hard or so fast, just more deliberate and steady. The steady did it, however, as soon I could tell she was starting to rev up again, and before long she was wracked yet again in her own pleasure. With my wife, I'd become accustomed to women having, if only rarely the rapid-fire multiple orgasms, certainly more than one per session. Since then, I'd rarely if ever met anyone who was that responsive on a first time around with me. I certainly wasn't trying to recall that at the time, but I do recall feeling pretty pleased that things were working out well for her right off the bat. As Lissa came down from that one, I moved up and cradled her in my arms, rolling over so we were disengaged but enveloped in each other, just cuddling, my dick glistening with her juices as it waved in the air, me on my back with her leaning on my chest. "OK, that was great, but we still have some unfinished business here, it seems," she said, wrapping her hand around my cock. "How would you like it?" "I've liked it every way so far, but I'm thinking that you on top would give me a view that would be stupendous at the same time!" "So be it," she said, and climbed over me, taking my cock and positioning it at her entrance, then sinking down slowly to take it all in with a single stroke. She was still somewhat snug, but the copious lubrication made it slick such that it didn't seem as tight as earlier. Or so was my initial impression. Once she was mounted, we started fucking again, and I got to massage those wonderfully pert and young breasts. Sitting erect, they were sag-less, pointing slightly askance, the left a mere tad larger than the right, each seeming full and young and so full of promise. Liking my attention to them, she covered my hands with hers, sitting erect, and helped me, squeezing them just the way she liked, I figured, and moaning again. Before long, the urgency rose and then I was grasping her hips, grinding into her, making sure the base of my cock was mauling at her clitoris on each stroke. That and a different angle was hitting something inside her that brought forth gasps from her, and soon she wasn't fucking to get me off - she was fucking to get off, which in turn was making my day yet again. She came soon after, then collapsed on my chest, her lungs heaving. Lying there, I thought she was just recovering, when I felt a squeeze around my dick. Rhythmically, at maybe a squeeze a second with a so slight stroking, her muscles started milking me as she moved her hips just a little. Squeezing and stroking with her Kegel muscles, she was pulling me along in more ways than one, and soon I felt the familiar heat rising at the interior base of my cock. It may have taken a minute or maybe three, but it didn't take long until she'd brought me past the point of return, and I knew my cock was swelling and pulsing, and she urged, "Oh, yeah, just like that - let it go, come on!" I blasted into her what felt like a quart of semen, jerking over and over as it shot into her depths. She rode and squeezed and kept on squeezing as I became spent, and as I opened my eyes (no idea when I closed them) I saw her smiling down at me with a triumphant kind of genuine happiness reflected there. "Am I still alive?" I asked, trying to get my breath. "Seems like it - the music's still playing out there, but the sheets are a bit damp, so I think it's reality," she joked. "Can I just stay here for the night?" she asked, quietly. "Only if I do too," I answered, wrapping her in my arms and pulling the sheet over us. At some time we disengaged, and at some time we both got to the bathroom, and at some point, the music got turned off; but the next morning the half-gone glasses of bourbon were still in the living room, and her rental car was still out front. We didn't get up early, in fact, we made love again in the morning - sweetly, like two familiar lovers very much in like. Finally, we showered (not together - my shower's not that big) and dressed, and I fixed a full breakfast that we shared. At about 11 a.m., she said she needed to get out to the airport for a flight in several hours. We were both avoiding both committing and parting. I broached things, "Lissa, you're wonderful, and I'll always love you in a way and love your mom in a way that wouldn't have been possible if you hadn't been such a wonderful daughter and if she hadn't been a wonderful mother. I'd love to see you again, but you're young and with limitless horizons. Here's my email and phone, and if you find, after a couple of months, that you want to drop by again, I'll always welcome you, but frankly I think it would be better for you if this were a once-only, and at most a very rare thing - maybe once a year if you were really for it, not more. And if you're not for it, just let it go - nothing but gratitude and wonderful feelings will go your way from me if I ever do or ever do not see you again." "I love you, too, Bill," were her last words, spoken with a kiss on my cheek, as I held her car door soon after, at the curb. I think Fran was smiling, and I'm sort of looking forward to seeing her again.