Sex in the Suburbs

She had been enjoying "save the horse, ride the cowboy" for more than a year. She never thought she liked country music. That was before she came . . . in his arms . . . in his bed . . . with twanging providing the soundtrack.

"O my god!" with steel guitars accompanying . . . it was a whole new form of music appreciation.

The opportunities were rare though. He traveled. She traveled. He had two grown sons and he was still trying to compensate for supposedly screwing up their family life when he divorced his cheating wife some years before.

She didn't mind the sporadic nature of their hook ups. Her life was filled with friends and activities that stimulated and challenged her.

But when they did get to "check each other for ticks" (can you believe that's an actual line in a song?), they did a thorough job.

Tonight was no exception.

She knocked on the door this particular Saturday night wondering if he would be his usual eager self or if the weekend might be taking its toil on him. The proverbial candle burned at both ends and in the middle when he was in manic mode. Of late, that was his perpetual state. He met her at the door to his ranch style home in the suburbs (took her a couple of months to truly forgive him that fact since she was all about downtown and its restaurants, theaters and diversity).

He opened the door and his eyes took her in ... the tossled hair from the convertible ride got a nod, the freckled face touched by recent sun received a more aggressive affirmation, but the neckline that was dipping well into the D cups made him open the door that much wider.

"Hmm ... mmm ... mmm."

"Missed you too," she smiled and determined that small talk wasn't really appropriate.

She didn't mind. Fuck buddies with few demands and somewhat negotiable schedules were few and far between. She'd take manic over meaningful if it meant she came multiple times in one setting. With him, it was guaranteed.

Now in the entry way, less than an inch from him, she drank in the silence. No words. No touching. Just awareness of space and possibilities. She loved this moment. Anticipation.

Slightly turning her head as she closed her eyes, she inhaled, relishing the smell of him. He'd been cooking and the onion and garlic would taste good on whatever ... but definitely later. His cologne always pleased her -- not too Old Spice and not too I-couldn't-afford-to-shop-for-it either. A man smell -- clean and suggestive of power.

Her hair brushed his face and he moved toward kissing her but she turned her head again away from his mouth. She wanted to keep the "distance" just a bit longer. She raised her fingers to his face and traced his features acting the blind woman aching to take in the details.

Gently, she rested her fingertips on his lips.

"I want to take you in my mouth. I want to do it now. Would you like to close the door?"

In one motion, he kissed her fingers, took her hand, led her away from the now closed entrance and to the hot bath he'd already drawn for her.

Surprised, she thanked him by sitting on the tub's edge and unbuckling his belt. She was past making the clothes removal a seduction scene. One pull and his now hard cock was very evident, nicely positioned within reach. Her only confusion was mouth or hand first.

She toyed with the idea of toying. But several fantasies were in need of fulfilling tonight. She went with immediacy. He tasted of salt and sweat and she smiled as she licked her lips and his tip simultaneously.

She had recently discovered the variety of reactions he could muster based on the location of her lips. On the tip, he moaned in anticipation. Down and with a slight pulsing action along the shaft, and he began to enter into the self-absorption-no-one-else-matters-gutteral-noises she couldn't quite name. When she reached the base, he stopped breathing. One suck up and then down with force and he was hers ...

Lather, repeat, rinse. She thought of the shampoo bottle as she repeated the sucking, pulling, pushing, tongue tickles and more from first the left vantage point, then shifting to the right. The water's steam was gone by the time she got to his balls but a mouthful and she really didn't care. Things could heat up with little effort, right? At least, he could.

She wondered if he noticed the different reactions he produced. She tested her theory. First the tip again. No lips. Just tongue on tip. He sucked in the air in surprise. Hmmm... maybe he did notice? Now the shaft, but this time she used her finger and the wetness her kisses had created to make the massage that much easier. He smiled but kept his eyes closed. Wonder where he is? she thought.

One more dive to the base in a single motion and he almost came.

"In my mouth?"

"May I?"

She knew it would taste of spearmint and thought the refreshment was overdue. So she stayed put and placed her mouth back in familiar territory. A squeeze of the balls. A rub with the hands. And deep, deep throat and he was in the land of the "oh yes, fucking yes" inaudibles.

She felt him grow and the spill was as she knew it would be -- strong and warm and somehow tasty. She always laughed silently at memories of Sex and the City and Samantha's encounter with funky spunk.

He shuddered. She waited. He pulled out. She began to undress. And reached for the hot water dial. She wanted to be ready for round two.