Double Tears
Chapter 120
“For women, the best aphrodisiacs are words. The G-spot is in the ears. He who looks for it below there is wasting his time.”
—Isabel Allende, Of Love and Shadows
MOM WAS CONCERNED. Not about me spending the night with Donna but it was a school night. I assured her I had all my homework done—and so did Donna—and I’d be home right after my morning run to get to school. The way Donna was looking at me, I wasn’t sure I’d get a morning run in.
We were still holding each other, naked from the waist up. We continued to kiss and pet on the porch swing for a long time after I finished talking to Mom. We didn’t rush to bed. Now that we knew we had all night, we slowed down and took our time exploring each other. Kissing. This was the Donna Levy I’d fantasized since 1952 and my fantasy was living and breathing in my arms, kissing my lips, exchanging nipple caresses. Intoxicating.
“We’re all hot and sweaty,” she whispered. “Let’s get a shower and cool off.” I kicked off my shoes on the porch and grabbed our T-shirts as I followed Donna’s bare breasts to her bedroom and the master bath. She started the water and then turned to push my shorts down. She had no trouble getting my waistband over my cock but got me naked with quiet confidence. I unzipped her shorts and pulled them down, exposing the soft blonde down that covered her mound. I kissed over it and heard her sigh as she pulled me upright. “Not that I’m opposed to that but it will be better when clean and fresh.” She pulled me into the big shower in the master bath.
There was no way my cock wasn’t going to take every opportunity to announce its presence, slapping into her and pressing between us. Donna neither attacked it nor avoided it. The cool shower brought our body temperatures down as we rinsed but did nothing to cool our ardor. We continued to pause for long deep kisses with our bodies pressed tightly together and water sluicing over us.
“Mmm. We should make love beneath a waterfall one day,” I whispered.
“Yes,” she hissed. “One day when we are much better acquainted with each other’s body.” She turned off the water and led me out of the shower where big fluffy towels awaited us. She wrapped her towel around her chest so it covered her from breast to thigh and walked out to the kitchen. I followed her example and tied mine around my waist. She had the refrigerator door open and was pulling things out. “I know I usually do chicken but I have a couple of steaks for us tonight. Can you light the grill, please?”
I paused long enough to kiss her shoulder and went out to the porch to prepare the grill. Having just had our naked bodies pressed together as we kissed beneath the shower, I was a little impatient to move to the next stage. V1 laughed in my head. I’d waited sixty-eight years. I could wait until after dinner.
Even wearing nothing but our towels—a potent reminder that we were merely at an intermission, not the final curtain—we relaxed at the dinner table and resumed our discussions of life.
“It was an interesting conversation with your music advisors and mothers last night,” she said.
“I’m sure I’ll get an earful from LeBlanc in orchestra tomorrow,” I laughed. “But it was Mrs. Marvel’s idea to keep everyone in the dark after we’d shown her the video.”
“She confessed to that. I’m not sure Monsieur LeBlanc will be too harsh. Maestro Sokolov was most stunned, but he is twenty years older than LeBlanc and somewhat more set in his ways.”
“I hope it doesn’t cost Cindy her place in the orchestra,” I sighed. “That wasn’t what we wanted. But if she’s going to rise to her full potential, she needs to move beyond what just playing in an orchestra can do for her.”
“Both of you do. I hope you don’t mind, but they wanted to know why I was in the conversation and I simply told them I was your producer,” Donna said. “We can change that anytime you want to, but I felt you needed someone more familiar with your goals than either Betty or Mary. I mean, since I was present during the planning and filming, and arranged to get John involved.”
“Donna, I’m wholeheartedly in favor of you as producer. I should talk it over with Cindy, but she’s different from me. She just wants to perform. What I’d compare it to is that she is a product—without intending any slight but just so I can get this comparison out, let’s say she’s a Lamborghini. I don’t even know what their hottest model is but the name says it is a high-performance car. The orchestra is a day job. You drive a Ford Focus to it. The Lamborghini needs to be taken out on the highway and opened up. Preferably in Europe where they aren’t so particular about speed limits,” I laughed.
“Okay. Putting aside the idea that you are comparing a talented young woman to a racecar, I can see the comparative merits. But I don’t see the relationship to what you called a product.”
“Well, it gets a little tricky there. The car isn’t meant to sit on the showroom floor. That highway thing, okay? But to get it on the highway requires an entire staff. Someone has to design and build the car. Someone has to develop marketing and advertising—create its image. Someone has to build a showroom and attract the right customers to look at the car. And someone has to buy it. But even then, there are more people. Someone has to provide fuel. Someone needs to do maintenance and make sure it is tuned up. And someone has to take it out of the garage and show it off. Cindy won’t do any of those things on her own. I think she’s creative enough to write some of her own music. But, in general, she won’t choose it. She’ll wait to be told what to play. She’ll step on stage and turn on the talent and charm and win an audience. But she won’t be the one who advertises the performance and sells tickets and pays for an orchestra to back her up and hires a videographer… and, and, and. She’s the product. The rest of us are all the other people she needs to be successful.”
“I still have difficulty with the concept of comparing her to a car but I get the point of what you are saying. How is that different from you?”
“Well, I’m more like one of those self-driving Teslas. Not a cheap car but one that takes over a lot of the tasks itself. I can design programs for us to perform. I can talk to potential sponsors. I can go out and hang up posters. I can encourage her when she’s down. I’m not just the product, I’m a lot of the support staff, too.”
“Well, now that you are a car, too, I can forgive much of the Lamborghini,” Donna laughed.
“I started that whole diatribe as a way of saying I think Cindy will be happy and relieved to have you as our producer,” I said. We finished our meal and put the dishes in the dishwasher. Donna led me not to the bedroom but to the sitting room, looking out the big windows toward the back of her property. She settled me on the sofa and then sat across my legs, mostly on my lap as we looked out. We were still just wrapped in our towels and they were pulling apart. I put my arm around her and through the gap in her towel to caress her soft skin from her thigh almost to her breast. She kissed me again.
“What do you think about when you’re running. Music?” She asked as we softly petted each other. I stole another kiss and then sighed.
“Sometimes music,” I said. “Especially if I’m racing but not so much when I’m just doing a morning run. Music helps me even out my stride. You know one of the first things Nanette taught me when she found I was still limping when I ran last year was to three-count my steps.”
“Three-count?”
“Yes. You know marching cadence is a four-count. Left right left right. The emphasis is always on the same leg. But if you count out a waltz while you’re running, the downbeat switches from left foot to right foot. One-two-three, one-two-three. It makes it hard to favor one foot. It took a couple of months but I lost my limp when I was running.”
“That’s amazing. What else do you think of?”
“Well, on a long practice run I often listen to my characters talk. I get a lot of story ideas just listening to them yammer on about what is happening in their lives. And sometimes, I just let my mind dwell on my girlfriends and how much I love them.”
“You do love all of them, don’t you?”
“Yes. You know I know what you’re doing, right?” I laughed. She welcomed my kiss and my hand squeezed her left breast, eliciting a moan.
“What am I doing?” she asked innocently.
“You are getting to know me better while still keeping us sexually aroused.” I let my hand drift down her stomach and across her pubic mound as I continued to trace down her legs. When I reversed my direction, her legs parted slightly and the last wrap of the towel tugged loose, exposing her breasts to me. I wasn’t sure if my towel was covering anything any longer or not.
“Both objectives are being met,” she said.
“Do you study psychology and human sexuality as a pastime?” I asked.
“No!”
“Seriously,” I said next to her lips as my fingers ruffled her curly pubic hair. “Besides mowing the driving range and reading, what are your hobbies?”
“Well, there is reading, reading, and reading,” she laughed. Her legs parted more fully and I could feel the heat and moisture gathering there. Her hand had found its way between us and was lightly rubbing the head of my cock with my precome.
“I think you can only count that once.”
“No. I read fiction, poetry, and biography. Those are definitely three different things. And lately, I’ve become interested in men’s erotica.”
“Men’s erotica? What about women’s erotica?”
“I include that with fiction.”
“Men’s erotica is different?”
“Yes. Most women would consider men’s erotica to be pornographic. For example, a woman would spend three-quarters of a book describing our afternoon together and never discuss what your lips are doing to my nipples right now. Then she would let slip that your fingers found the evidence of my arousal and drove me to orgasm. Which would be… an accurate… description. Jacob!” Donna pressed her mouth back to mine, entwining our tongues together as she shuddered through a climax. I felt more of her liquid heat drench me. Her hand briefly clenched my cock tightly, driving back my own urge to come.
“Men don’t do that?” I whispered as I caressed her lips with my own.
“I only have your writing to compare,” she panted. “But I think I know the words. They are just embarrassing to say or to admit to.”
“As we kissed, I felt the heat rising from her center,” I said in a mock narrative tone. “A heat I recognized from our kisses and, as I probed more deeply, I discovered was just as wet. Collecting her juices on my finger, I stroked upward to her clit and circled it. The tiny shudders racing through her body were precursors of a greater quake to come as I pressed down beside her little bud and slid into her wet depths. I captured her left nipple with my lips and flicked it with my tongue. Her nipples and areolae, normally so pale as to almost blend with the paleness of her breast, were now flushed red as they engorged to meet my questing tongue. As I dragged my fingers once again out of her depths to circle her clit, I nipped lightly down on her nipple, eliciting…” Donna groaned and shuddered through another orgasm as I demonstrated my words on her body. “…a groan of passion that rose from those same fiery depths as she shook in the throes of her climax and flooded my fingers again, telling me the time was imminent. Soon we would consummate our love.”
“Ah! Oh… kiss me again, Jacob. Let me feel your lips caress mine.” I did as she asked and gave her a few minutes to calm down. As we returned to our playful kisses and caresses. “You see? Women would never describe the physical actions in such detail. They would focus on the emotional. She would say how she’d never felt so connected to a lover. How he transported her to other realms. She would talk about the linking of their souls in an act of love that obliterated all thought of the world around them. But to talk about how he collected her lubrication and tortured her clitoris with his fingers until she thought she’d seen God? No. She’d never say that.”
“Would either mention that he whispered in her ear, ‘I love you, Donna’? Because that’s what I would do. I love you.”
“Ah, Jacob!” We kissed again, both our towels finally giving up their supposed purpose of covering us. “I think I need to explore this a bit further,” she said as she slid down until she could grasp my cock with both hands and hold it up to her lips. She licked and traced each vein with her fingers. I had to have my hands in touch with her and petted her hair lightly with one hand as I moved the other across her shoulder. She engulfed the head of my cock between her lips and washed it with her tongue then bobbed slowly up and down about half of my shaft.
“Donna darling, I won’t be able to hold back long. I don’t know if I’ll be able to warn you again,” I panted. I could feel the tension behind my balls and the vibration in the base of my cock that told me I was past the point of no return. I lightly tapped Donna’s shoulder, unable to get more words out of my mouth. She dipped onto my cock once more, taking at least three-quarters into her mouth and pulled back slowly until only the head was between her lips as I sent the first of four powerful jets into her mouth. I don’t think the sound I made was quite human.
She sucked gently on me until she was sure I was drained and then looked up at me, cradling my cock against her cheek as she lay her head on my stomach.
“I learned a great deal about you just then,” she whispered.
“You are about to learn something else,” I said, pulling her up toward me by her shoulders. As soon as she was in range, I pulled her to my lips and kissed her deeply and earnestly. When she started to pull away, I held her there, petting her breasts and reaching down to hold her butt in my hands as I felt her pubic hairs scraping along my deflating cock. When she realized I wasn’t going to back away from her because she’d had my come in her mouth, she relaxed into the kiss and arrested the deflation of my cock by grinding her pussy against it.
“Yes,” she said. “That told me a great deal.”
We needed a rest and fluids. I watched Donna’s bare bottom for the first time as she padded to the kitchen and retrieved the pitcher of iced tea. I followed and put my arms around her as she poured two glasses. She leaned her head back against me and I realized she was not as tall as I once thought. In school she had always worn high heels and I didn’t consciously compare our heights during the brief times we’d hugged or kissed this summer. I thought she might be a little shorter than Rachel’s five-five. I could rest my chin on her head as she backed her butt up against my cock.
“Grab the towels,” she said as she headed toward the sliding door out onto the porch. I did and she directed me to spread them out on the swing so we could sit on them more comfortably than on the wooden slats. I was amazed, though, that we’d just walked outside in our altogether and sat down on the swing to watch the sunset behind the trees on her woodlot. “Hold your breath,” she directed and then sprayed the immediate area with a bug bomb to keep the mosquitoes away. The fog soon settled and she settled back against me on the swing.
“So, aside from establishing that you like to read three or four times over, I didn’t find out if you had any other pastimes,” I said. Even talking and watching the sunset, I couldn’t keep my hands off her breasts. She didn’t seem to mind.
“I don’t suppose you’ll accept ‘long walks by the lake in the rain,’ will you? No, I didn’t think so.”
“If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain…” I sang softly. Well, I was a young man when that came out. Maybe she’d get it.
“Now there’s a problem. I do go to a yoga class on Tuesday evenings. It’s not an obsession, but we all need to stay fit and trim.”
“Have you noticed how that is becoming a national obsession?” I asked. “It wasn’t long ago in my memory that the entire population was obese.”
“I guess we can chalk up that one to the National Service,” she sighed. “People have realized they are going to get two years of fitness requirements whether they want it or not. The increased number of high school students in sports is evidence that most have decided it will be easier if they are in shape before they start.”
“That and pressure on the schools from the Corps to require physical education classes all four years of high school.”
“Yes. Well, yoga is a necessary evil since my other passion is cooking. It has its downside because I don’t like to waste food and cooking for one isn’t that much fun. So, I’m hoping I have a regular flow of visitors out to the farm so I can cook for you.”
“That seems so… uh…”
“Non-feminist?” she asked.
“Well, yes. You are a professional woman with a career. And I know the number of essays and quizzes and literary journals you have to review each week has to make time a premium,” I said.
“Yes, it does,” she said, twisting to kiss me again as we continued to relish the touch of each other’s flesh. “But the essence of feminism is to not be forced into a role that you don’t fit, not to be forced out of roles that many consider traditional. I like to cook, but every Wednesday morning, Mrs. Krebbs arrives about the time I leave for school and cleans my house. It is the best $75 a week aside from food that I spend. I hate housekeeping!”
“I understand. I try to keep my things neat and tidy and help with dishes and housekeeping at home, but it isn’t something I enjoy. The thing is, I know Mom doesn’t enjoy it either so it doesn’t seem fair that she should work and keep house if we don’t do anything.”
“That’s a good way to look at it. Even in the pod. Maybe it won’t be housekeeping, but there are tasks associated with being a family that have to be done and it might be that no one likes them. Even if someone likes to cook, for example, it doesn’t mean she wants to be responsible for every meal, all the grocery shopping, and all the cleanup,” Donna said. I think I’d just been put on notice. She shivered.
“Are you chilly?” I asked, wrapping my arms around her.
“A bit of breeze just dried some sweat on me and raised gooseflesh on my arms,” she said. “Jacob, I imagine a lot of nights like this, sitting naked and cozied up on the swing as the sun goes down. But… You should know that I don’t imagine them all with you.”
“Um… I’m not sure…”
“Beca and I spent many nights sitting like this this summer.”
“You did?”
“You don’t think that I’d be interested in being part of the pod only so I can be with you, do you?”
“Oh! Wow! Of course not. My head was going all sorts of places with that one. I thought maybe you wanted to bring John into the pod or something.”
“No. I have studied some amount of psychology and human sexuality,” she said. “I don’t consider it impossible that there could be another male in the pod. But there couldn’t be another alpha male. John would assume that because he is older, he would have authority. I believe all the women in the pod would rebel against that and that you would likely come to blows. The loser of that physical contest of alpha males would not simply take a submissive role, but would leave the pod. Come on. Let’s go in. The wind is picking up.”
Whatever our afternoon of learning to know each other had amounted to, Donna led me straight to the shower for another rinse before bed and provided a toothbrush for me. I wished I had a razor so I could shave, but my whiskers could scarcely be called scratchy. I often went a few days between shaves and few people ever noticed.
I was concerned about whiskers because a minute after we pulled the spread off the bed, I was lying between Donna’s legs, determined to satisfy her orally. She welcomed my presence there with widespread legs. And there I saw a delicious and beautiful sight. I could not help but tickle all around her pudenda with my tongue, drawing forth whimpers from my lover.
“I told last spring that you would find some differences in the shape if you were face-to-face with it,” she whispered. “I hope it’s not disgusting to you.”
“Donna, you are beautiful. I want to live between your legs.”
“Lick like that again and I might let you.”
I’d felt Donna’s labia several times this afternoon with my fingers and they were soft and puffy, yielding easily to my intrusion. When she spread her legs, the lips opened revealing her clit with only a thin hood concealing it. From there, however, her inner labia—what on Brittany, for example, were meaty curtains—were so slight they tapered off just at the edge of Donna’s vagina. This meant there was no covering over the vestibule and simply spreading her legs allowed me to gaze right into her vagina. I bathed it with my tongue and focused my attention on probing her opening and on flicking her clit. Both were welcomed and she mounted to a rapid if small climax.
“Lover,” she husked as I made to continue my oral stimulation. “We’ve learned so much about each other today. Now I would like to learn what you feel like when we make love. Come up here, Jacob. Let me guide your penis to its new lodging.”
I crawled up, pausing to kiss her stomach and each nipple again as I approached her lips. As soon as she could reach my cock, she guided it to her opening and I was in her in a single long sweep. I was making love to Donna Levy. V1 did somersaults in my head. V3 was lost in the moment, letting Donna’s depths caress my length until we both clashed together and wept our release.
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