Our date ended up a bit of an adventure. We left at 6:30 PM and got to the restaurant at 7:30; it was really a nice tiny Italian place. Monsieur called it “faux Italian” but I thought it rather charming. It was supposed to be close to this little club where we were going, to see some music.
Dinner was lovely. I had told him I would not be having wine already, so we both had iced tea. I had this shrimp ‘n’ cream sauce thing. He had some kind of stuffed pasta. We talked, a lot; mostly about the boys and issues, but some about me and school/professional plans; some about Maggie.
The boys are growing up in their own ways. Bigglest Boy is the one who worries me the most, because it seems like he’s become so serious. He would rather sit inside and read science books than play outside with his friends. That morning Bigglest Boy had asked me if I had a convex lens, a 3 inch mirror and a cardboard tube. “Maybe a cardboard tube,” I said, “what do you need it for?”
“I wanna build a refractory telescope and look at the mountains on the moon,” he said.
Most kids want to look for frogs and lizards. He wants to explore space. Like, today.
Monsieur doesn’t say, but he misses Maggie. I can’t imagine what it must feel like for him. She was so young. He must be grieving so hard. He is trying to stay positive, and trying not to let it show, but it is there. I wish I could ease that for him, soothe him, and make him feel better. I guess that’s what I’m doing here; well, part of it.
So, we talked, and we ate, slowly, taking our time. Our babysitter H had permission from her mom to stay the night if she needed to. And H didn’t mind staying late – she’d get a bonus if she did.
Eventually we headed on over to this dance club where this show was supposed to be. But, when we got to the door, the show was canceled.
I looked at the sign. “CANCELED: Sorry. This show will return! See you in December.” There was a phone number for advanced ticket holders to get refunds or rain checks. I looked over at Monsieur. “Damn.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “I was looking forward to hearing them.”
“I was looking forward to dancing with you,” I replied.
“I though you hated dancing,” he said.
“I did hate dancing … with anyone else. I like dancing with you,” I smiled.
“Ah well,” he shrugged, and took my arm.
“What now?” I asked, walking with him.
“I think we should perhaps call it an evening,” he replied. “I suppose we could look around for another show, or get dessert.”
I was thinking about what I wanted for dessert, but we’d have to find somewhere private for that.
We got into my car, which we had taken because his does not have an air conditioner and he wanted to leave his van for H, just in case they needed to go anywhere. My car was my dad’s at one time. It’s a decent enough car. I was glad that I had cleaned it out; I’m a bit of a slob in my car and I didn’t want Monsieur to think I was a complete pig with my waiting tip sheets and other trash scattered all over the floor in the front seat.
He drove, and I leaned over against him with my arm on his knee. I looked up at him; he looked down at me and smiled. “It’s not even ten o’clock yet,” I said. “Can we just go somewhere and have sex?”
“Oh, [Yearning Heart],”he smiled, “the children should be asleep by now. Let’s get to the house, send [H] home and there might yet be time to take care of that,”
We turned and started down the long country road which leads to his ranch house. (We live way out in the country, on a little more than ten acres [about 4 hectares for you folks in less backwards nations] and the road is pretty lonely after sundown.) I ran my fingers up his thigh and was about to lean over and kiss him when I heard a loud *BOOM!!*.
The car swerved to the right. I think I screamed – I thought something might have blown up – and Monsieur slowed down and carefully wrestled the wheel until we could pull over and off the road.
A flat.
“A flat,” he said.
“Oh,” I said, breathing gently. “Sorry,” I added, since it was my car.
“Don’t apologize, dear. But you’ll have to step out since I will need to change the wheel.”
I stood to the side as he fished in the trunk for the emergency wheel and the jack. The night was warm; I know it doesn’t ever get cold for long in this part of Texas but I was grateful for mild weather. He found the tire, and part of the jack but it was the kind you crank, and he could not find the crank part. I felt less than useless; I had never changed a tire before.
“Hmm,” he said, kneeling and examining the jack in the light of the interior of the car. “It might be a little difficult, cranking this just with my fingers.”
“What’s the hurry?” I asked him, my arms going around him from behind. “We do have a lot of time. We could call [H] and maybe camp out for the night.”
He turned to look at me. “It might be a bit uncomfortable, sleeping in the car,” he smiled.
“Did I say ‘sleep’?” I smiled back.
“Oh, [Yearning Heart], you’re not suggesting that I take you in the back seat, are you? I’m hardly a teenager anymore!”
“I’m glad you’re not,” I replied. “Teenagers are much too awkward for me anymore. Anyway,” I said, “if you think it would be uncomfortable, you could always take me on the hood of the car.” I kissed him and smiled.
“You are insatiable,” he said, kissing me back.
“Mmm,” I replied, “you’re about to find out.”
I covered his face with kisses and then concentrated on his yummy lips, sucking the lower lip into my mouth and then opening my mouth and teasing his tongue. He shut the car door and his hands went around my waist, and then slid up to my breasts.
“I’ve never been this way with anyone else before,” I confessed between kisses.
“What way is that?” he asked.
“Wanton, totally sexual, uninhibited,” I whispered, undoing his pants.
He lifted his hips and I slid his pants down. “Somehow I think you’ve always been a little uninhibited,” he said with a little smile.
“Well, a little,” I admitted, “but usually while making out in a car, my boyfriend is undressing me and trying to convince me to go all the way.” I kissed him, and began unbuttoning his shirt, kissing each bit of exposed skin as it appeared.
His cock was stirring, straining against his underwear when my mouth tried to cover the bulge. I reached under my skirt and slipped off my panties, keeping my heels and thigh-high stockings on, in case we got interrupted.
Pulling the waistband of his underwear down, I saw his cock spring up. My mouth watered.
I covered it with licks, kisses, and little sucks, looking up at him. I could feel his pulse along the big vein underneath it. Licking up to the thick crown, I circled it and then opened my mouth to suck the head. It seemed as big as a softball. I licked all over it and got it wet, running my tongue down the shaft to the balls, then went back up. My hands circled the shaft and then began to stroke him.
“I love sucking …”
I love sucking a sweet guy’s dick, and this man is the sweetest. His gasps were so quiet, moaning my name softly in that French accent, his hands caressing my hair and shoulders, his legs open wide as I knelt on the floor of my car, bobbing and turning my head over his lap, trying to get more of it into my mouth as I stroked it. I sucked him in as far as I could, pressing it against the entrance to my throat, then put my hand around his shaft were my lips joined it, to measure my progress. There’s an article on
Introspectre about how she learned to deep throat a cock, and I had studied it. I’d deep throated a cock before, but not one this big. My eyes watered as I attempted to take him in; I drooled on him and my nose ran, but I kept going.
After a minute of this Monsieur pulled my face up and started to wipe my tears. He handed me a handkerchief and told me, “Here, love. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“I just want to be able to take you into my throat,” I protested, “You’ll love it when I do.”
“To be sure,” he laughed, “but have patience. Not many women have ever done it, and of course I don’t expect it.”
"I sat on him facing the dashboard..."
He lifted me up and I sat on him facing the dashboard, and he rubbed his rubbery thick cock head along my slit. I moaned and my head was spinning, but with those damned bucket seats, I couldn’t get my legs open enough to take him. Also my head kept bumping against the roof.
I opened the car door.
“Where are you going?” he whispered.
“I’m going to hold on to the side of the car for balance,” I answered. “Get behind me.”
He complied, like a good man, I lifted my skirt, exposing my stocking-clad legs to the cool night air, and Monsieur held my hips as I took his cock and pointed it into my vagina.
The feeling of it, the thickness, the hardness, the roundness of it as it slowly burrowed its way deep into me, was so exquisite, so wonderful. I read blogs and erotica about clamps, toys, getting tied up, and group sex; to me this was all I needed, all I’d ever want. I love him and I need him inside me, and that’s all I need.
He held my hips and banged me, slowly at first, but with my encouraging moans, he picked up the pace quickly, lifting me up with each thrust. My face was pressed against the window glass and I could see the reflection of my eyelashes when I opened my eyes. My mascara was starting to smear a little on the glass from my tears. I took deep breaths, feeling my orgasm begin, and just before it hit me I thought to myself, “Don’t pass out this time.”
I clenched, writhed, twisted, but stayed on my feet, which isn’t easy to do in heels. He stayed on target, like a machine, pounding me in a solid hard rhythm. My skirt was falling down and I pulled it up then I reached down and rubbed my clitty, as much for him as for me.
Ahh that did it; my orgasm came in wave after wave of bliss and fulfillment, I could hear, as if from a distance, the sound of his moans; then he paused, like the wind in a gathering storm; I felt that wonderful surge as he resumed, filling me up with his fabulous seed in a great splash that drenched me completely inside. He pounded me, hard. He lifted me up with his thrusts, as I begged him to fuck me.
He held me close to him. I turned my neck to kiss him. “That was good,” he finally said, “wonderful. I am very grateful.”
“I’m more grateful, I promise you,” I replied, “I’m very highly sexual and I need it a lot.”
He finally found a tool kit under the passenger seat, and used a screwdriver to turn the tire jack crank. On Monday he took the tire in to get it repaired. I’ve been grinning for days.
