by Paul Charles
Then, as if there wasn’t enough going on, Jean added her tongue to the mixture. It was cool – not cold, just cooler than everything else going on around me. I was happy to say that this was it for me, I couldn’t resist any longer. I didn’t even want to try to resist any longer, I just went with the flow. I started following her in her dance again. I was happy that I did, as my entire body gave an uncontrollable shudder and I exploded. No other word for it, just an almighty eruption, and she contained it all. I suppose that in itself made it all the more exciting when I realised what she was doing.
Otis Redding was singing ‘My Girl’ and as I tuned into the lyrics, I got a quick flash of Mary Skeffington.
But here was Jean Simpson, making herself comfortable beside me. She’d just given me the treat of my life – no exaggeration – and guess what she said?
She said, ‘I really loved what you were doing to my breasts there. Do it some more please.’
And I did.
‘Mmmm,’ she purred, and drifted into a trance-like state. She was lying on her back, I was lying on my side leaning over her, touching her full but sturdy breasts and I might as well have been in Heaven. And get this; she said she loved the treat I was giving her.
Then, after a few minutes she said, ‘Would you kiss them please?’
Would I kiss them?
I did!
She started to purr some more. The more I caressed her nipples with my tongue the harder they got, and the harder they got the more she purred, and the more she purred the more I got in the mood again. That’s the way it worked.
Otis had finished and she whispered into my ear, ‘I don’t really want you to stop what you’re doing but it’s your turn to put on a record.’
I rearranged my boxer shorts to make me look semi-decent and went over to the record deck, took off Otis Blue, put it back in its sleeve and replaced it in its section, and then took out a Muddy Waters album. That kicked up the mood a bit as I returned to the bed.
She flashed a bit of an impish smile as I got under the covers. Pretty soon, I realised why: I was about to fondle my new toys – my new favourite toys, her breasts – again when she gently took hold of my hand and lazily pulled it away from her breasts, down over her naval. She circled her naval a few times, using her hand to chaperone mine, and then she pushed it down even further.
I genuinely got the shock of my life when I realised Jean Simpson had removed her pants when I’d been putting on the new record.
I’d been told that some women have a little hair, some have a lot, and some are badly thatched and flimsy, just like someone who is going bald. But Jean Simpson, well, she was soft and silky and it felt, to my finger, like it was lovingly washed, shampooed, brushed and combed at least once a day. Jean Simpson’s private hair was exquisite. I just loved that.
She took my fingers in her hand now and caressed them ever so gently, before tentatively combing her bush with them a few times. She was putting more and more pressure on my fingers, which were in turn putting more and more pressure on her. As she did this she spread her legs further and further apart and raised her knees. She gave out a little gasp as she finally pushed a solitary finger of mine into her.
She’d been looking away from me towards the wall but she turned to face me and whispered, ‘be very gentle, David.’
Then she pushed my finger further into her and took her hand away from mine, leaving me free to explore. I’d never done this before with anyone and it felt so far out. It’s difficult in the middle of experiencing all of these new sensations to pull words out of the air to describe exactly what I was feeling. I was as gentle as I knew how to be and eventually another of my fingers followed the first. The word was obviously going back down the line of how brilliant this new sensation was, because some of the other wee fingers wanted to find out for themselves. She was purring louder and louder now, pushing herself against my wrist. I was happy just to feel inside – it was as soft as velvet, and I caressed her, inside and out.
Jean’s breathing was growing louder and she took my hand again in hers and directed me to places inside her. Every time she found a new spot she purred louder and let out a few ‘oohs’ and a few ‘ahhs’.
‘I can’t believe how good you are at this,’ she said, seeming to forget that she was directing my hand. ‘God, this is so gorgeous I want it to last forever. I want you to do this to me forever and ever. Yes, just there. Yes, yes, a wee bit harder, David. Oh yes. Oh yes. OHHHH YES.’
She was wildly grinding herself against my wrist and I began to get a bit of cramp in my arm, the last thing I wanted to happen in the middle of all this heaven. She released my hand again to its own devices and used her own to caress her breast.
She tried with her other hand to free me from my boxer shorts but before she achieved this she screamed at the top of her voice: ‘David Buchanan, you dear boy, YOU FLIPPIN’ GOT ME AGAIN!’ After that, she groaned and purred and moaned for at least a couple of minutes.
We were both drenched in sweat from head to toe. While she was enjoying the last of her convulsions I took the opportunity to lift the top sheet up and steal a glimpse of her body. I was seeing her in the nude for the first time: she was positively glowing from our latest encounter. The mixture of all of her scents and the sex was totally intoxicating. I hungrily took several deep breaths to truly wallow in this new sensation. No one had ever described this to me, no one had ever let on how just how naturally addictive the mixture of aromas of a passionate woman would be, and how they would ignite senses I’d never before dreamed of experiencing. She turned and cuddled up towards me, burying her head in its favourite resting place, the nook of my neck.
And that’s how we fell asleep.
I woke up a couple of hours later, at midnight. I think I would’ve gladly slept the whole way through the night were it not for the fact that she was stroking me, ever so gently, using the tips of her thumb and forefinger.
When she saw that I had awoken she said, ‘Okay, I want to try to put one of your theories to the test. You know you keep saying that you think I’m beautiful and that I’ve a beautiful body.’
‘Never more beautiful than now,’ I said, risking her wrath and modesty by lifting the sheet and viewing her in full again, and not bothering with what she continued to do to me. As the sheet fell it expelled another whiff of her unique collection of fragrances.
Unbelievably that was nearly enough for me.
She flashed me a playful chastising look and said, ‘Well my question, David, is – are you reacting like this because of something within you or because you are looking at the body and the face which goes with the hand that is doing this to you?’
I closed my eyes to prove my point and my immediate reaction in her hand surprised her. ‘That’s definitely because of you, because of the you inside,’ I said when she was convinced, ‘and of course the body, and the face, and the mind, and the person that goes with all that makes you. You!’
She looked at me like she was considering something and her eyes betrayed the fact that she was hovering this way and that over her decision.
‘I can’t for one moment imagine it could ever be this amazing with anyone else,’ I whispered, and in that hallowed moment I meant it. In moments like that you do believe that, don’t you?
She let go of me and snuggled up close again. I was lying on my back; she was on her side, her mouth right beside my ear.
‘Okay,’ she sighed and took a deep breath. ‘There’s something else I’d like to try to do but I need to know that I can trust you, David.’
I nodded.
‘I want to take your shorts off so that we can be close to each other but you must only do what I want you to do; you must not try to enter me. I want you close, David, but I don’t want you inside me. Are you okay with that? I’ll be okay if you feel that you can’t do that. If you think that you might get carried away and lose control then it’s okay; we can continue to have our other fun. But if you can promise then–�
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‘I promise Jean,’ I said. On reflection, I was happy to promise. She obviously didn’t want to have full sex before she got married and if she felt that by doing this she wasn’t being unfaithful to John, then by the same logic I wasn’t being unfaithful to Mary. I mean, Mary and I certainly weren’t as far down the line as John and Jean were, and I had an inkling that Mary had decided to stay in Bath for the week so that she could make her final decision as to whether or not she was going to give me a try. I have to admit most of those thoughts came afterwards. For when I said, ‘I promise, Jean,’ I was bursting with nothing else but excitement.
Jean was nervous and I suppose that was probably adding to her own excitement. She tentatively removed my shorts after a few false starts.
‘Now; don’t forget what you promised,’ she said, as she threw them on the floor.
Now we were both completely nude. And then she lay on top of me. She had her legs tightly shut but had placed me between them first. I could feel her silky hair brushing against me as she moved up and down while locking me between her legs. She was shivering with excitement. I nudged my head around so that I could get one of her breasts to my mouth. I grabbed her nipple between my lips and trapped it there as I used my tongue to caress the tip of it. I felt it grow harder against my lips. I could feel her growing wet between the legs at the same time. I was hardly able to contain myself and probably wouldn’t have if we hadn’t already enjoyed two encounters thus far that evening.
She rolled over on to her side, keeping me trapped between her legs. It was as though that was her final method of control, the fact that I couldn’t move unless she wanted me to. I kept kissing her breasts, moving from one to the other, and she started to groan a little and her body visibly relaxed.
I pulled my hips back from her, freeing myself. She didn’t react – I mean, she didn’t react negatively. I nudged her over from her side onto her back, letting her breast go. I placed my hand between her legs, and she was a lot more welcoming to my hand than she had been to another part of my anatomy, and I used it to explore her silkiness, while the other I used to massage her nipple.
She brought both her hands down to my hand, the one that was between her legs, and lovingly caressed it, pushing my fingers deeper into her. Her eyes were closed this whole time.
‘Oh David, I love what you do to me with your fingers. It’s like they’ve known me all my life! That’s so beautiful,’ she said. Then she took my hand away from her and brought it up to her lips and kissed it. She then pulled me over on to her.
‘Oh please be careful, David,’ she pleaded.
I was above her, supporting myself on my arms. She cupped me gently in her hands and gingerly pulled me towards her. She carefully used my tip to caress her through her silky private hair. She groaned. I could feel her wetness along my length. It felt lush. It felt wonderful. I was now positioned between her legs, our private hairs messing, and she was pushing herself along me. The more she did it the wetter she got, the wetter she got the more I pushed against her. She relaxed a little more as she realised there was no way I could accidentally slip into her while we maintained this action. To be honest, the pleasure I was experiencing at that moment was so beautiful, I doubt it would have felt any better even if I had entered her; she had already formed a sheath for me, using her hands beneath me and her silky bush above me.
She seemed to accept the fact that I was going to be careful because she wriggled and snaked beneath me, pushing harder and harder against me all the time.
‘Oh David, you’re getting so hard, it’s so delicious – please be car…’ she said. She either didn’t complete the last word because she cared or because she no longer cared, you choose.
I leaned down on her, resting on her bountiful breasts, squashing them between us. I pushed one of my free hands between our bodies and soon came into contact with her hands. Then I pushed two of my fingers deep inside her. She opened her eyes wide, felt around for a couple of seconds with her hands, and when she realised that it was only my fingers inside her she grinded against me for all her worth.
‘Oh David, you’re going to get me again!’ she panted.
This was the first time she had given me advance warning, but she had her reasons.
‘Please, please, please let me get you at the same time.’
She tightened against me. I pushed for all my worth against her.
‘Oh God, you’re going to get me, you’re going to get me, I need to feel your cum on me, David,’ she said. ‘Please, all over me! Please!’
She manoeuvred me so that a certain part of my anatomy, the object of both her desire and her fear, was now placed between us, up between both of our navels. She wrapped her legs around me and pushed and pushed.
‘Oh David, oh David, you’re going to… agh! You got me!’
And right at that precise moment I spurted between the both of us.
We collapsed into each other and lay there, allowing our body sweat and other liquids to mix naturally. I thought she would have wanted to clean off, but she seemed happy to put her hand between us and rub my spurts over her. Perhaps it was just her way of knowing that none of me had gone inside her.
We dozed off again. This time we slept for about three hours. The next time I woke up first, and I returned the favour, caressing her between her legs as she slept. I think she awoke from her slumber quite a bit before she acknowledged this because she gently repositioned her hips so that I’d have better access to her. She surrendered to my fingers immediately this time, making them feel very welcome, and then as she sighed out of her sleep, she took me in her hands. She was very gentle – playful even – and she seemed content for both of us to concentrate on her pleasure. A few minutes later I ‘got’ her again and then she returned the favour by taking me in her mouth again.
She showered, I showered, our energy completely spent. Then we dozed for a while until Saturday broke with the dawn and I walked her home. We passed my flatmate just before we reached Jean’s flat on the graveyard quiet Alexandra Road. He nodded at us in a nudge, nudge, wink, wink kind of way. Jean and I both continued on our way, managing not to smirk.
‘I’ll tell him I just met you when I was out to get the newspaper,’ I said.
She nodded her agreement.
Again on her doorstep we bid our goodbyes, but didn’t kiss. Before I left, though, she hugged me and whispered in my ear.
‘Next time, David, you have to decide what to do. You can do anything you want to do to me, except… enter me.’
Before I could say ‘Pardon?’ she’d let herself into her house and closed the door behind her.
I walked home aching, but not aching so much I wasn’t reliving details of the previous hours’ encounters. And as I reached Rostrevor Road, a combination of guilt and tiredness made me realise that Mary Skeffington would soon be returning from Bath, and when she returned with her decision, I’d have to face up to resolving the Jean Simpson situation once and for all before everything blew up in my face.
Worst-case scenario (for me) was that Mary Skeffington and Jean Simpson could both end whatever it was they had with me and resort once again to a physical fight; they’d already proven back at Tiger’s party that they were both well capable of symbolically rolling up their sleeves and getting stuck into a bout of fisticuffs for their man.
Chapter Twenty-Three.
Jean, Jean Simpson that was, contacted me next. It was that Sunday morning. It wasn’t that she couldn’t keep her hands off me. No, it was bad news. Well, at least it sounded like bad news.
‘Our Jean’s taken a turn for the worse,’ she started, omitting the niceties.
‘Wow!’ was the only word I could find to say. I mean, I wasn’t going to say, Really? as in I didn’t believe her, was I? ‘What’s happened?’
‘I’ve just got a call from her mother,’ Jean continued, a little quaver noticeable in her voice. ‘She says that unless Jean improves a lot by the beginning of the week, the doctor
wants to check her on to a psychiatric ward.’
‘Un-believe-able!’ I hissed.
‘Can you believe it, our Jean in a flippin’ loony bin?’ she gushed, down the phone.
I’m sure if I had been the one to make the comment she’d have had my guts for garters. I let it go, as you do in such circumstances.
‘What happened?’
‘I don’t know, David. I told you she was acting strange. Her mum says she was acting very strange at home and eventually she had to send for a doctor, who sent her to a specialist.’
I was in shock. I mean, we all have the occasional weird thought, don’t we? Well, I certainly do and you know from your own counsel that you certainly do as well, so the next time I say, ‘Well, we all have the occasional weird thought’, you all shout back at me in unison: ‘Yes we do, David!’ Otherwise I’ll start to think I’m only weird one round here.
Now, we all have the occasional weird thought, don’t we?
‘YES WE DO, DAVID!’
Thank you, that was much better. Much better. But even when you’re thinking these far out thoughts, of course, you keep them to yourself and all that, but you never go as far as to think you’re truly mental. Now, I know Jean Kerr. I knew her quite well in one way and I wouldn’t say she was entirely by-the-book normal, but neither would I say she was genuinely crazy. Mary Skeffington on the other hand, well in my opinion, she was as close as you could get to normal, to the normal that I knew and trusted.
Jean Simpson was going on and on, down the phone about how bad she felt about Jean, and how shocked she was, and she eventually said, ‘Her mother wanted to know if I could come up to Derby with a few friends, see if we couldn’t cheer our Jean up.’