Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
Ok. Let’s write this down. I need to find out what I’m feeling. And the only way to do that is to spill my thoughts out onto paper. Sometimes it’s a messy business. I can do a lot of spilling.
Come on Betty, use that analytical brain of yours. Articulate. Organize. Stop crying. Control yourself. Ah, there’s the fucking rub. Control. The one time I relinquish control I have the best might of my life. And the worst. And a hundred other fucking superlatives jump and climb all over me like a pack of crazed monkeys. .
I know myself pretty well, but, of course, you, Ms imaginary reader, don’t know me at all. So who am I? Well, I’m married. I have a daughter. Oh, I forgot. I have two. I’m forty. I never lie about my age. I’m proud of being forty.
I’ve kept a diary every day since I was eleven. You’re reading it now. I can go back one, two, five, twenty years, and look at who I was then. Boy, I was precocious and smart when I was a kid. What’s that Bob Dylan line? Oh, but I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now.
I live in… Oh what the fuck does it matter where I live. Mind your own business. Wait, this is supposed to be a diary, not a story. I’m rambling. We women do that. Such flighty scatterbrained things, ain’t we? But I don’t need to ramble, I just do it because I enjoy it. I also wander the streets aimlessly in the Summer evenings like a hobo sometimes. No, I’m not crazy. Not according to my definition of the word.
So I slept with this guy. No, let me rephrase that. I had sex with this guy. Neither of us did any sleeping.
My husband will find out. He’ll find out because the next time we fight, I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him, then apologize. That’s not what I intend to do, it’s just a prediction.
Or he’ll find out because he reads my diary. No wait, that’s stupid, if he’d ever read my diary, we’d have divorced ages ago.
I had sex with this guy. I just said it aloud to myself. So now you really think I’m crazy, sitting in my kitchen alone, talking to myself. When I just said it, it sounded like “I had sex with the sky.” I don’t know, maybe I did say that.
This how my husband and I fuck:
About once or twice every month, when the girls aren’t around, we go out, for a meal, to a movie, to a party, what does it matter. So at the party, or after the movie, he’s too drunk to drive home. So I drive. And while I drive, we sit, and he watches the windshield wipers dancing like a couple of Ziegfield girls, with his arms folded. We don’t talk. Then one of his hands strokes my right knee. I ignore him. He rubs my knee, feeling my smooth tights, I feel his rough, fat hand on my leg.
He has big hands, big feet. When I first met him, he shook my hand. It made me feel like a kid to have my little hand enveloped like that.
So I asked him, straight out, if he had a shlong to match that hand. He blushed. So I asked him again. He blushed even more, and then laughed. That night we fucked — I guess I fucked him, really — and I found out he had. Did I say he was tall and skinny? I weighed about the same as him. Now I weigh more than him.
So there’s my Mack, with his fat calloused hand scratching my tights. He likes it when I drive him. My hand touches his, partly to acknowledge what he’s doing, partly to stop him making a ladder in my tights with the strap of his wristwatch.
We get home. We still haven’t said a word.
I look at him. He looks at me, and says, “Anything on TV?”
And I say, “I doubt it.” And we look at each other and he says, “Baby, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
And I say “I doubt it.” But anyway, we go upstairs and fuck. Or we do it right on the floor. Whatever.
When he undresses, he’s always hard. If I had a dick, I’d never be hard before a fuck. Not nowadays. Except for one time, the time I had sex with this guy.
When me and Mack fuck, it’s like masturbating, only better. It’s kind of like the way you can’t tickle yourself. For some sexual activity, you need more than one person, preferably someone who knows your body. And Mack and me know every inch of each other.
I like to suck his dick. It’s hard and knobby. My Grandpa had a walking cane made out of an old holly branch, which he said had been in the family for ever. Mack’s Dick is like that old walking cane. Its big bulbous head fills up my mouth, and I drink his cum. I make him shudder like a fish on the riverbank, when I make my tongue pointy and lick the cum from his hole.
Sometimes when I’m down on him I joke that I’d like to take a big chomp and bite that old dick off his right off. He laughs and says to go ahead and try, you’ll break your teeth. Good old, stupid old, lovable Mack. He doesn’t realize how close I get to doing it for real.
I like my pussy licked, but only when he’s shaved. I like him putting on aftershave so I can feel it stinging my pussy. That’s what we do most times. A little wine, a little sixty-nine.
After sex we still don’t talk much. Sometimes he chuckles, bouncing my Onwin head on his chest, remembering a funny thing he heard one of the guys say at the depot.
Oh yeah, I didn’t say: He drives trucks. Mack Trucks. That’s my joke when I introduce him to people. I haven’t introduced him to people for a while.
I always loved trucks, but when I was eighteen I loved truckers even more. They seemed to be like me, always moving, looking for something. Now I think of it, what they usually are looking for is a nice clean rest stop with a nice clean hooker to help them smooth out the kinks in their sore backs.
Mack and I fuck missionary sometimes. But he prefers me on top, sixty-nine. He likes to look at my big ass. Once he asked if he could fuck me up the ass. I said ok. He liked it. I didn’t. It hurt.
My daughter is eighteen. She started going out with this guy, the guy I had sex with but didn’t sleep with. This guy and me gave each other the Look the first time I saw him. Let me tell you about the Look:
The Look is when someone you’ve never met makes eye contact with you, and you recognize each other. And suddenly you and he become real, and everything else becomes unreal. It’s like in the old movies, when they did this crummy back-projection, and you see that the actors are really in a film set, and not really on top of the skyscraper, or in front of the volcano, or whatever.
When you’re in the middle of the Look, your secrets are shared, and you find they’re the same secrets. You know each other. When we shared the Look, I saw he was a Seeker, like me. And we knew we had to do the dirty, sooner or later, even if it destroyed lives. That fucking Look. A lot of people confuse it with Love. Who knows, maybe it is Love.
This guy was probably about twenty, lean, dark-haired and sharp-featured. I thought Maybe there was some Jew or Italian there. He was pretty nice to look at. When he spoke he sounded smart and well educated. He spoke fast. He was really enthusiastic about everything. But his eyes were heavy-lidded and almost dopey looking. He was studying some kind of science. He tried to explain it to me and my daughter, but we didn’t understand. Something about the atmosphere. He called me Mrs. Ryan. I told him to call me Betty.
My daughter was proud of having a smart guy for a boyfriend. She’s the opposite of me in some ways. She’s not too bright, so she wants to better herself, marry a smart guy. I’ve always been way smarter than most of the people I know. I read Anaïs Nin at age thirteen. Like I say, I was smart even as a kid. And who do I choose to marry? My sweet, dumb, Mack.
I didn’t really explain the Look too well. It’s not about sex. Not just. You can get the Look without the sexual side. Not often, I admit. I had the Look with a crazy old bag-lady. I gave her a light for her cigarette, and she cupped her hands around over mine to shield the match from the wind. Then she turned to me and said exactly these words: “Thank you lady. Buy a green rose, lady.” Then we had the Look.
So this guy and me get on with our lives after that Look, until one evening he calls up asking for my daughter. I tell him she’s out with some girls on a shower, and sleeping round at a friend’s later. Then this conversation happens:
“Oh yeah, I should’ve remembered.” Pause. “How are you, Betty? How’s the hand?” I’d burned my fingers on a barbecue trying to retrieve a wiener that had fallen into the charcoal.
“Much better, thanks, er, Joel.”
“Jake.”
“Sorry Jake. I’m bad at names. It happens at my age. I’m not so good at names or wieners anymore.”
Pause.
“Jake?”
“Yes, Betty. I -“
“What?”
“-I really like Gina. She reminds me of you. Oh fuck, I mean…”
“You mean, she’s like me. Well she isn’t, Jake. She’s a lot nicer. You don’t know me, honey.”
Pause.
“Jake.”
Pause.
“Jake. You’re binding me with silence, Jake.”
“Instead of blinding you with science. That’s really clever, Betty. You have the gift of words.”
“Thank you. I always felt I had a little Irish in me. And then I looked down, and there he was!”
“Jake. You’re laughing. Come on over Jake. I want to make you laugh some more.”
Pause.
“Betty, what is it with you? You know what I’m thinking and say it before I get a chance. Things I think but wouldn’t dare to say.”
“Well, that’s one good thing about being older. You don’t edit your speech so much. So are you coming, or what?”
Pause.
“Betty, what are we looking for?”
“What do you mean, Jake?”
“I – I saw inside you. And I know you saw inside me. We’re looking for something. I don’t know what it is.”
A green rose.
“Excuse me, Betty?”
“Nothing. Why don’t you come over and we can look together?”
After that conversation I started shaking. I was so fucking brazen! I wanted him, I wanted him inside me so badly. And he was going to come to me, and we were going to fuck, me and my daughter’s Onwin Giriş boyfriend.
In the time before he arrived, I showered. I stood naked before the mirror, reflecting on my reflection. I looked at my body. I’m big. Sexy big, the shape black men like. The Black guys at the depot dig me. I have the Look with the black guys, but a cut-down, pure-sex version. The Look with the black guys at the depot is more like this dialog, though of course nobody says anything:
I’d like to ram it in you, woman.
— I bet you would.
Sit your white ass on my face.
— I’d squish you like a little brown cock-a-roach.
I dressed. Blue lacy brassiere, clip at the front. The one Mack brought from me from New York. A light black cotton low-cut summer dress. No tights. Undo one, two, three little buttons. A little perfume in the cleavage. Ok, so he was right, Jake and me were of a kind, both Seekers. That wasn’t going to get in the way of me gettin’ some tonight. Afterwards, maybe, we could do a little Seeking, if there was time.
The doorbell rang. I took a last look in the mirror. And then the darnedest thing happened. I got the Look from my reflection.
I must have still been troubled by it, because the first thing he said to me was “What’s wrong?” That was not the way I wanted it to go. So I steered it round.
“Nothing, Jake. I guess I’m a little excited. And nervous.”
“And guilty?”
“Well, to tell the truth no.” Suddenly I found my defense was gone. “Jake, you’re here because you know we have to do this. We both feel it. How can a bullet feel guilty as it flies through the air? It just flies.”
“Who’s the bullet here? You? Or me?”
“You know what I’m saying. These crazy, out of control things. They’re, I don’t know, they’re the magic that makes lies worth living.”
“Life worth living. That was a deliberate pun, wasn’t it, you word weaver.”
“I was hoping you might have a quick tongue too. Or have I tied it up?”
We Looked at each other, gazing at each other’s eyes, delighting in the common desire we saw there. We spoke in smiles. And this time, if I had a cock, it would be hard as Grandpa’s cane. I asked him if he wanted a drink. He said no. I took his hand. I felt like a big sister. I led him upstairs to the dark landing. We paused at my daughter’s bedroom. He looked at me for a moment.
“No, Jake, that ain’t what this is about.”
We passed another bedroom. The door was open. Jake saw piles of teddy bears on the neatly made-up bed.
“Gina’s kid sister — your other daughter, Sherry. Gina told me about her. She’s away in summer camp. Miss her?”
“Uh, huh. And this is the bathroom. And this is the study. And this is my bedroom, where Gina and Sherry were conceived.” I scanned his face for a reaction, but it was in shadow.
In my bedroom, we sat on the bed. He was silent. I asked him if he felt awkward. By way of reply, he looked at me with a cheeky smile, and put my hand on his pants so I could feel his erection.
“No, I guess not,” I laughed.
“So, make me laugh.”
“Come again?”
“I haven’t come once yet, but I’ll do my best.”
“Oh, I remember now, I said I wanted you to come round so I could make you laugh some more. Well, sorry, that was a trap. I tickled your funny bone, so you’d come over. Now I just want to tickle your bone.”
“So tickle.”
“Are you Jewish?”
“Armenian. New York. All New Yorkers are Jewish, even the Russian Orthodox. You? Are you really Irish?”
“Cornish. English. No religion. Druid. I dunno. Whatever.” Time for action. I leaned towards him and stroked his cheek and looked at him. He turned and placed his hand on my dress, cupping my breast.
I giggled. “Who do you think I am, Mrs. fucking Robinson?”
He started to laugh. He pounced on me like a dog, and pushed me back onto the bed, pinioning my arms, still laughing. He paused to examine my face. Through his heavy lids, I saw his eyes shining. He closed them completely and kissed me very, very gently on the lips. So tender was this kiss that I became shy. But then he kissed me again, this time with almost violent hunger. He released the hold on one of my hands in order to free up his own, and with a middle finger stroked the inside of my thighs, which were held together between his. He kissed my chin and eyelids, and licked my earlobes. His lips were wet, and they cooled my skin as they touched it . I smelt toothpaste on his breath, and faint aftershave on his face. My pussy started burning for him. I freed my other arm and squeezed his ass hard with both hands. He buried his face in my neck. I hunched.
“I don’t like that,” I told him.
“I like it. Do me.” He arched his neck so his Adam’s apple protruded. An impulse came to me, like when I was sucking Mack off, to bite that Adam’s apple right off. Instead I craned my neck towards him and sucked and licked at it like it was his dick. He grunted, then sighed. I felt his muscles relax.
“So Onwin Güncel Giriş that’s your G-spot.”
“One of them.” His voice vibrated in my lips.
I pushed him away from me and stood up. He sat on the bed. I came towards him, so that I stood between his open legs. I pulled off my dress. He looked at my body appreciatively. He pulled off his tee-shirt. His body was almost hairless, except for a few downy hairs on his chest, and in a line down from his navel to his belt-line.
“I like that brassiere,” he said, reaching to unclasp it. My breasts hung free. He leaned forwards. I held his smooth shoulders while he kissed them, all over.
I placed one knee on the edge of the bed, and slid it gently forward till it pushed against his groin. I bent over him slowly, till I lay on top of him. I wriggled gently on him. He was smooth and slippery with our sweat. So different to my Mack, whose chest was covered with wiry gray hairs that tickled and abraded almost like sandpaper.
He twisted and rolled us over so I was on my back. He stood and undressed completely. He pulled my panties off and held them under his nose. I laughed, a little nervously. “Do they smell nice?”
“Sour.” He inhaled deeply again, his eyes almost crazy with passion. He reminded me of a glue sniffer.
He bent quickly and pulled my labia apart.
“No, no. Not yet, Jake. I still – Ahh…” He’d already pushed his face into me, his sharp sweaty nose pressing against my clit. He snuffled there like a pig, drooling and licking wildly. I liked it. It was a little rushed, but Dear God, I liked it a lot.
He climbed back onto me, and started to maneuver his dick into me.
“Use a rubber… Bedside table..” I gasped.
“Don’t worry. The only other place it’s ever been is inside your daughter.”
“No. No! I could get pregnant.”
“Oh, right.”
He leaned across me. I smelled his armpit as he did. He opened the drawer of the bedside table and took out one of Mack’s rubbers. I wondered if it would fit him. It did. He seemed to be experienced at putting one on, rolling it quickly and neatly over his dick. Either he and Gina did it a lot, or he was lying about her being his first.
“Ok, Betty. No babies now.”
He slithered inside me. I immediately came, unnoticed by him. He began to fuck me, super slow. He kissed my lips as he fucked. I lay still. I just wanted to be passive. To my delight he said soothingly, “It’s all right… That’s right. Just let me do it. Just lie back. Relax.”
I came again. He noticed this time.
“I felt that. I felt that little squeeze.” We laughed. I stroked his back gently while he kept fucking me, slowly, powerfully, almost sleepily.
He started to speed up. I watched his face. Would he make one of those twisty faces when he came, the kind that made me crack up laughing?
He was fucking me really fast now, and I started to approach another climax. I gave myself over to it completely, and this time, we came together. We really did. I felt his cool cum spurting into the rubber as I came. My eyes were closed. So I don’t know if he made one of those twisty faces.
We made love again later, the same way. I asked if he wanted me to suck him off so he wouldn’t have to use a rubber. He said no, he wanted to be level with my face and look into my eyes while he came.
I fixed him a roast beef sandwich, and lemon tea. He took three spoonfuls of sugar.
We sat in the kitchen and talked. He told me about how he started becoming interested in science.
“You know, when you’re a kid, you want to know why the sky’s blue? So you ask your Daddy and he says he doesn’t know. So you learn that the world is out there for you alone to discover; you learn that for some things, you don’t ask your Daddy, you have to go discover for yourself. Well, last year I finally learned why the sky is blue. You need to be a physics graduate to understand the answer.”
“Well,” I said, “Once I asked my Daddy ‘why do fools fall in love’, and he couldn’t answer that, because he wasn’t a fool, and he wasn’t in love. So I had to go figure that one out.”
“And why do they?”
“You need to be a graduate too, honey, to understand it. You will. You’ll open that door.”
He looked at me keenly. “I know what you mean. I do. I know what you mean when you say that. I keep dreaming of a wall, with a blind girl on the other side. There’s a door in that wall with writing it that just says, ‘She is here’. The door’s locked.”
And you think I have the key.
“You and Gina aren’t right for each other. I know it. Do it now, or it’ll only get worse for the both of you. She’ll hurt you. I love my daughter. But she’s not for you.”
He looked at me seriously, listening. “There’s more, isn’t there, Betty.”
“Yes,” I sighed. “There’s more. And neither am I right for you, Jake. I’m too — old. Oh Jake, I really feel so close to you, we have a lot in common. We’re both – we’re both, I don’t know, looking for – for happiness, I guess. And we look at the world the same way. It’s hard to explain, but I don’t need to, do I, Jake. You know how we see the world the same. But that doesn’t mean we’re right together. And anyway Jesus, I’m married. And you’ve been dating my daughter.”
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32