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Page 21.
 "I'd love to."
As she pranced slowly over to me on six inch high heels, I waited on my knees. Her face looked different, more animated. It was as if a veil had been lifted. "I made a decision," she said, "to let go and love you." She arrived before me, so close that her bare snatch was almost on my nose. "I have let myself fall in love with you, even if you walk out on me tomorrow." She raised her hands and laughed, dropping them so they fell down with a carefree slap against her thighs. "I figured it out! I'm so busy trying to prevent the shoe from dropping that I never get to let myself take the walk!"
She laughed loudly like someone who has thrown all her money off the bridge and plans henceforth to be poor but happy. "I may get hurt, but the best part is that I'm no longer afraid!" With that, she pushed me so I fell backward onto my hands and buttocks. Still in those heels, she advanced on me. Through the bush, I saw that marvelous hood spreading like a snowy hillside, and protruding under it the still flaccid nubbin of her clitoris. "Lick me," she commanded.
As she stood over me, I raised my face to admire the curvature of her buttocks, the longer, subtly curving line of her thigh, and the brownie outtie that awaited me in all of its glory. The prayer-hand labia were dry and slightly parted. A woman making a dramatic and perhaps scary announcement will not have moist labia or a wet oyster (unless she has peed her pants). Rather, she will be bone dry from shock. I was there to help her with that problem. I held her legs and felt the tension in them. Her whole body trembled faintly, and I pressed my hands on the tops of her feet to steady her on the high heels lest she fall. But she braced herself on furniture and looked downward. She noticed a large mirror on a vanity nearby, and took it down and put it near us so she could watch me. I nipped and licked lightly at her labia, which fluttered like fruit peels as my tongue nudged them. "I'm not licking them yet," I said. "I'm waiting for you to send juice down and make them wet." In her excitement, she did squirt a little, but it was pee. I wiped the warm, salty liquid from my nose and upper lip. "Gotta go?"
"No. Keep doing..."
I ran my fingertip along the crack of her butt, along the creases where each cheek tucked a corner into the thigh below it. I traced the ridge between her asshole and her oyster hole. Meanwhile, I ran my tongue back and forth, left and right, over the curve of her hood. Almost before I could miss it, dew sprang up on her labia. Her entire oyster area grew damp, then wet, as in a sudden forest rain shower. I slicked my finger back and forth in the hole, and heard the splash of wetness. "I am so wet," she said. "Oh God."
"What's the matter?" I asked.
She stepped off her heels. "I really do have to pee now. I can't hold it any longer." She took me by the hand and towed me along into the bathroom. She sat on the ring, sucking my fingers while pouring out a flood into the water. When she was done peeing, she dabbed herself with a tissue, dropped that in, closed the lid, and flushed. Then she led me out to the bedroom. We peeled off her stockings. "You are the best stocking stuffer a guy could ever have," I said.
She hugged and kissed me as I lay on top of her, both of us naked. She put her arms around my neck and pulled my head close for a long kiss while her legs wrapped around my thighs so that the head of my swollen cock lay heavily on top of her clitoris. "I love you," she said, "and I want you to know that."
"I love you too," I said.
She smiled wistfully and bravely. "It's nice that you say that. Are you lying, or do you really love me? Oh, I get it." She touched my nose with her fingertip. "You love me this moment. Well, that's something. And you made me into a queen for a day. That was spectacular. I'll never forget that." She laughed. "You rove me. That's special."
I kissed her dove-like breasts with their chocolate chip nipples, and she held her breasts for me to bite, although they were not big. She just wanted to help—sort of an underline or an italic, emphasizing how sincerely she wanted to give herself to me and help me enjoy her.
I liked looking at her long, thin body. Her skin was smooth as a girl's. She had just this little bit of bush atop her Venus mound, and a few curly hairs between her legs below, between the holes. Her knees were up, and she drew her ankles back and partly apart to show me what she offered me. Her genital apparatus looked up at me like a beseeching face.
I fondled her thighs, her buttocks, my fingers working their way toward her labia. "Go down," she murmured in a husky tone. I took my time, brushing her belly with my palm, again and again, like someone feeling a bolt of fine silk. Her hands moved to her groin, and her long, slender fingers with their neat little fingertips parted her labia slightly. It was like holding a door open, welcoming someone in.
I reached down, grabbed her ankles, and swung her legs up onto my shoulders. She slipped a moment, patted the sheets to right herself, and then reached down to part her labia again. The head of my cock thudded against her pee hole. With her middle finger, she nudged the head down so that it plopped into the brownie ring of her hole. The pink, palpitating interior waited for me full of oyster soup. Big as it was, the head rumbled easily over that wet, ready doorway and into that clutching, cloying tube that swirled around it.
I closed my eyes with the delirious pleasure of it, and groaned loudly. I heard her too. When I opened my eyes, I saw that her face pointed to one side. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was slightly open, as if she were in ecstasy.
She had her hands down there to assist. One set of fingers held one labia open, while the other fingertips oscillated over her clitoris and its hood. The labia fingers slid forward and she rubbed her pee hole. She slid it further, down into the brownie ring where my cock was sloshing back and forth like a pump. From there, she repeatedly picked up dripping juice on her fingertips and transported it up to water her hillside. With her legs sprawling up my torso, and her ankle bones brushing my cheeks, I could look straight down and see those fingernails blur as the soft pads of her fingertips worked the hill and the button it contained.
I caught glimpse of its pinkness. The hood was brownie, the clit brownie on top but pinkie underneath. I bumped against her in steady rhythm, and heard the slap of her thighs against mine. I listened to the waters in her pussy.
She began to arch her back. Tremors fled across her stomach. She writhed and whimpered, then moaned and sobbed. She rubbed her clit faster now, and I @ed her as furiously as I could. Suddenly, she doubled over and rolled away, holding her fingers to her oyster. She jerked her shoulders this way and that as she came. She rubbed her hands between her legs as if she were furiously cleaning something with a brush—continuing the frenzy of her climax until the contractions abated and she lay limply before me. Not for long. I still had plenty of pepper in the pot. Seeing her buttock cocked up at me, I walked on my knees and slipped my cock into her oyster from behind. One of the neat and unique features of H's build was that her oyster hole and asshole were close together, and her behind was small, so I could @ her oyster with equal easy from the front or the rear. The only slight inconvenience about the rear approach was that she'd get excited and squirm, and somehow her heel would knock into my nuts, sending a testicle rather uncomfortably up into my body.
Then we'd have to stop and wait a few minutes, while I made swallowing motions, and she looked shocked and concerned as she rubbed my back and said she was sorry...and inevitably, the testicle would drop back out into its scrotal sack. She would then spend much time fervently kissing it until both nuts ached, but I enjoyed the kisses on my ball sac. She liked playing with it too, with both hands, gently toying with it, one palm below and the other above. "It's like a little mouse," she said. Still palming my nuts, she would take my cock full in her mouth and warm it, wet it, embrace it with her gums.
I took my Christmas Buddhist from behind, and rode her like the surf. She was like a swimmer, herself, arms forward and chin on the sheets as she cried out for me to take her hard. I fondled her buttocks and her long back as I rapidly slapped against her rear. My cock slipped in and out of her moist oyster with a sloshing noise. I straddled her, making gorilla fists on the bed, while she stretched her long legs out around the outsides of my knees and pumping thighs. When I felt myself going, I cupped my hands under her hips and pulled her buttocks up tight against my abdomen. She slapped her hands on the sheet and sprang backward to help, pushing her butt against my stomach. I was starting to groan deeply, feeling the ejaculation muscles kick in. I glimpsed the brown flower of a slightly open asshole, and wanted to put my fingertip in, but I was overcome with my orgasm. The sight of her flower added to the passion in my climax, and I collapsed on her sobbing with my exertions.
That is how I like to remember us—that, and her prodigious clitoris. Within a few months, H had begun to become more and more needy as my own flight became imminent. We started to argue and spend time apart. She still called every day, and I sat there in my dilemma trying to decide if I must cut it off. If the decision was to either commit for life or cut it off, the stark choice was obvious. Something remarkable happened, though. Because of her new modeling contacts in New York, she became interested in a very wealthy and handsome young Canadian Chinese of Hong Kong wealth, a billionaire with a private jet. The last time I saw H , she had me over to her modest apartment for tea. We never made it to the bedroom. She started crying and explained that she still loved me, and would stay with me if I wished, but that her heart was torn over this other man. I saw the opportunity then, and knew what I must do. My only regret was that I could not tell her I loved her, which I did, because it was meaningless. Not meaningless in the moment, but meaningless in the world in which clocks ticked and trains rushed on their tracks and airplanes thundered up in to the sky. I had a long, dark road ahead, unknown and fraught with uncertainties, and I could not pull her into that. I rose and took her hand.
We looked into each other's eyes. Hers read the truth in mine, and her eyes glittered with tears. Killing the love in her for me, I kissed the back of her hand, inhaled one last time the pinkness and the gentleness there, turned, and walked out the door never to look back. As far as I know, she is married to that man to this day (he is actually a few years younger than she! Is it somehow symbolic that his age is exactly halfway between mine and hers?). They have several children and live in a great mansion overlooking the sea near the city of Victoria on Vancouver Island. If by some chance she reads this book, and recognizes herself, I hope she will not contact me, but know that I did love her in my broken way, and still do. I did not know it then, but I recognize it now—a truth lives forever.
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