Wednesday Evenings with Babs Pt. 05

Literotic asexstories – Wednesday Evenings with Babs Pt. 05 by secret_passion_49,secret_passion_49
A Brief Recap of Wednesday Evenings With Babs Pt 04

As the Thanksgiving holiday approached, James and Babs shared two more Wednesday evenings in her shower and then in her bed.

James was so taken by his first experience eating pussy that for their fifth session he suggests that she ride his mouth instead of his cock. More specifically, he says “Use me and any and all of my facial features in pursuit of your pleasure”. He had no idea how literally and liberally she would interpret that offer. Long ago Babs had discovered a delightful variation of facesitting. It involved stimulating her clit by brushing it oh so gently against the very tip of her partner’s nose by rocking her pelvis back and forth. She would then begin to gradually shift forward and downward, grinding away on the bridge of the nose until it was buried in her pussy.

From that point, her trip to Planet Orgasm proceeded at warp speed, and after she had pulled herself together she responded to the encouragement he had given her by saying “YOUR turn to use ME! TAKE me as you wish, and be selfish in the doing!” Whereupon he pumps himself dry in her, doggie style.

It appeared that the two of them were settling into a groove, as the sixth session was a clone of the fifth. This was the last Wednesday before Thanksgiving week. After, they had a brief mattress-top conversation during which Babs informed him that she would be out of town for that week visiting relatives, and would not be back until the following Monday. She gives him something to remind him of her while she is away. The ‘something’ was a pair of her panties that she had worn to work that day.

While Babs is away, James is like a teenager suffering from puppy love. For him, the holiday week just drags on. He thinks of her constantly and much of those thoughts consist of comparing her with his girlfriend Liz. The comparison is physical, emotional, and psychological. He cannot wait for Babs to return and hopes his office phone will start ringing again when she does.

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Monday, December 2, 1968

Finally, Thanksgiving week was over. In the past, I had, like most working people, looked forward to weekends off. Then three-day weekends… ooh-la-la! But Thanksgiving? Thursday AND Friday off? Now that was awesome! Eating Thanksgiving dinner and afterward falling asleep on the sofa during a football game with two teams you probably had no interest in whatsoever. Then the bonus day, Friday. Back then ‘Black Friday’ with its crowds sitting outside in the cold waiting for stores to open with their ‘doorbuster’ deals was not even a marketing concept, let alone a reality.

But for me, this particular Thanksgiving was just something to endure. Something to just ‘get it over with’.

On Monday afternoon my phone rang, and the voice on the other end of the line sent my pulse into overdrive.

Babs: “Hey there, I’m back.”

I am sure she was in her office and equally sure her door was closed, but it was obvious from the first syllable of her first word she was trying to keep her voice down. I picked up on this ‘vibe’ and made sure I kept mine down as well.

Me: “Hey there. Missed you!”

Babs: “Ready to pick up where we left off?”

Me: “You mean where we were before we were so rudely interrupted by the holidays?”

Babs: “Yep THAT place.”

Me: “I’ll be there with my batteries fully charged and ready to jump-start things.”

Babs: “JUMP start eh? BATTERIES fully charged? Cute. I can help with that. Uh… remember what I gave you before I left?

Me: “Of course. Made good use of it too.”

Babs: “Well, look, uh… Bring it with you.”

Me: “You… you want it back?”

Babs: “Oh no… Don’t think the wrong thing about it. You’ll get the idea when you get there.”

Me: “Oh… Okay. Usual day and time?”

Babs: “Yep”

By the time we got off the phone, my heart was pounding with pent-up excitement. For twelve long days, from the moment she told me that she was going out of town I had been a basket case. I wallowed in self-inflicted anxiety. And when Monday finally came, I knew or at least assumed she was back in town and back in the office. I wondered how long it might be until I heard from her. I figured if I heard from her at all it would be at least the next day, on Tuesday. But to think she wasted little time in reconnecting was thrilling. It was as if the electricity had gone out and I had shivered in the cold and dark all those days, and then suddenly the power came back on.

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Wednesday, December 4 1968 – The Seventh Session

During that long holiday break, my thoughts of Babs were all-consuming, maybe even approaching the level of an obsession. When in the company of family my mind was someplace else. By the time I was driving to her house on Wednesday evening, I realized I had become quite keyed up. I found a spot to pull over and did the ‘take a few deep breaths’ thing. ‘Calm down, boy’ I told myself. ‘All last week you made yourself sick with worry over whether or not you would ever be with her again, and ever since she surprised you on Monday, you’ve been like a caged animal badly needing to get set free’.

After she closed the door and threw the deadbolt I just pulled her into my arms and held her. And held her and held her in total silence until finally I whispered “I missed you like you wouldn’t believe”.

“I missed you too, James”. she replied. “Say uh… No shower tonight. Let’s use every minute getting ‘re-acquainted’. I’m starved for some intimate bodily contact, and I’m sure you are too”.

With just those few well-chosen words, Babs had set the tone and calmed me down.

“Ooh yeah… You bet I am.” I replied.

For the seventh time we are in her bed, up on our knees, locked in an embrace. As a way to initiate intimacy, it has few equals. Our beds are probably the most personal of our personal possessions. Beds are more than just pieces of furniture. For each of us, our bed is also a PLACE. It is the place where we get the rest we need to be ready to deal with whatever the next day brings. It is a place where in all likelihood parents will conceive some, if not all of their children. In recent weeks my own bed had taken on the additional task of being ‘Masturbation Central’.

I believe it was at the start of our third session that I began to see a bed as something else. See it as a sort of ‘refuge’ or ‘safe space’ that can, even if only briefly, separate us from the tensions and turmoils of life that lay beyond the edges of its mattress. No matter what her motives might have been, for Babs, the former Mrs. Barbara Knight, to have invited me on multiple occasions to share with her that most personal of refuges, is to this day a special memory.

This time we took it slow. It seemed like we were on our knees in the middle of that bed for twice as long as any previous time. This time it was less an exercise in feverish groping, fondling, and feeling each other up. This time it was a repeated cycle of melting into the warmth of each other’s arms, then releasing for a moment to savor the moment, then embracing again. In an unspoken language, our bodies were saying ‘This feels SO good. Let’s interrupt it for just a moment so we can feel the pleasure of embracing again’.

The sex that followed was among the best we had ever shared. Intense but somehow tender at the same time. For me, it was the point where all the anxiety caused by her absence completely evaporated. And when it was over, as we lay side by side on her bed, she rolled over, put her head on my shoulder and began brushing my chest hairs with her fingertips.

This blissful moment was disrupted when I had to make a brief visit to the bathroom to take a leak. Couldn’t have taken more than a minute, but I emerged from the bathroom to find her sitting cross-legged on the bed. The last time she did that it was to inform me about being on vacation Thanksgiving week, a real bummer of a disclosure softened only by her ‘gift’ of the panties. Seeing her sitting there like that for the second time, my immediate reaction was one of alarm. ‘Oh gee, what now?’ I thought. Was she about to tell me she wanted to break things off? I had no way of knowing what she was about to say but was prepared for disappointment. I could not have been more wrong.

Babs: “I know both of us aren’t big into small talk, but for the record, I must ask ‘How was Thanksgiving?’

Me: “Well, I got through it. I missed you. I missed where we are right now.

Babs: “I missed it too. Last Wednesday night I found myself thinking about you and I.

It took every bit of restraint I could muster to avoid spilling out an account of what I was doing that night. That she was thinking about me at roughly the same time as I was out there in the cold and dark blew my mind almost completely. In the next breath, she came close to finishing it off altogether.

Babs: “Look, uh… I have a little ‘proposition’ for you.

Me: “Proposition? Please… I’m all ears!

She reached out as if wanting to take my hands in hers and I wasted no time in accepting the gesture.

Babs: “Well, would it be too much of a burden if you came over this Friday too? And stayed over until, say, Saturday afternoon?”

Me: “Stay over? A burden? Are you serious? Before you have a chance to withdraw that offer let me hasten to accept! AB…SO…LUTE…LY!”

Babs: “Gee, and I thought I was going to have a hard sell on my hands!”

Me: “I don’t know about a hard sell ON your hands, but you can bet at some point you’ll have a HARD ON, IN your hands!”

She laughs at my quick rejoinder.

Babs: “I thought it might be nice to take our time for a change. Order takeout, then find something on TV to watch… Cuddle on the sofa and… you know… whatever. Then later on we fall asleep… spooning. You ARE familiar with that practice, aren’t you?

Me: “No, but I’m sure I’ll be well informed about ‘spooning’ after Friday! All this sounds like the setup for The Night of My Life… at least of my life so far!”

Babs: “I promise that for my part I’ll do everything I can to make it be just that”.

Me: “Outstanding!”

Babs: “Oh, before I forget… Did you bring the panties with you? I didn’t see you carry them in when you came.”

Me: “Oh, sorry. I have them in my inside jacket pocket. Let me go get them. My jacket’s in the living room on the chair by the door.”

I returned from the living room with the panties, still in the plastic bag.

Me: “Here you go. I made sure the jacket pocket was zipped up tight!”

Babs: “I didn’t want them back so much as I wanted to exchange them with you… for a ‘fresher’ pair. Here, take these. I remembered to put them on this morning, so they are fresh as my pussy… uh I mean uh… fresh as uh… yeah… that’s right… fresh as my pussy! Got it right the first time!

More laughter. The pair she gave me wasn’t just any typical work-a-day pair. They looked like something that a woman badly in need of getting laid would wear to get a guy’s attention. You know, like a wife whose husband is in the recliner with his nose stuffed in the Sports section instead of stuffed in her pussy?

Me: “Whoa! Nice. No… HOT! But I’ll need the plastic bag.”

Babs: “Now remember to bring a ditty bag, a change of clothes and if you have them, pajamas, preferably all cotton.”

Me: “Oh, a pajama party is it? Okay. Yes, I do have a nice pair or two all-cotton PJs. Haven’t worn them much, but for this special occasion I will.”

Babs: “There is just something about cuddling up on a sofa in soft, all cotton pajamas that… well… if you don’t know you’ll get the idea Friday night.”

Another good-night kiss at the door capped off an evening that approached the level of being sexually surreal.

Driving home that night the tires on my car didn’t touch the pavement. However, amid my over-the-moon excitement, I realized that in accepting her offer there was a risk of exposure. I’d have to concoct some plausible story to cover my ass with both my parents and Lizzie as to what I would be doing Friday and Saturday. I figured I’d call in a favor. One of those ‘you owe me one’ situations. I had a friend who back during the Summer needed a similar ass cover story. His girlfriend’s parents were going to be out of town for two weeks, and she was going to stay home. The guy and the girlfriend planned to take full and intimate advantage of this situation by spending one night together… in her bed. Full advantage of not only the opportunity but of the trust her parents had in her as well. He pulled me aside and confided about their plans. He asked me to cover for him and HIS parents. If they had any questions concerning his whereabouts that night came up he was going to tell them he had stayed the night with me. I reluctantly agreed to this, and now it was time for payback.

It is amazing how reckless and devious we can be in our youth…

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Friday, December 6th 1968

We ate pizza. In her den (we call ’em ‘family rooms’ nowadays) we cuddled on the sofa and watched TV. The boob tube (ancient term for TV) and the warm glow of a fire in the fireplace were the only sources of light in the room. During commercial breaks, we made out like two teenagers.

And that ‘something about cuddling up on a sofa in pajamas’ she threw out? After a couple of hours of experiencing it firsthand I ‘got it’. We could have ripped the PJs off at any moment and given into the desire for skin-to-skin contact, but why? We knew how this evening would end, so why rush things? Those two layers of soft cotton cloth separating our bare skin helped produce a sense of calm. It was cozy. It was… what else? Cuddly!

As the evening progressed it became obvious she had prepared for our intimate time together. For example…

At one point she laid down, plopped her feet in my lap, and playfully demanded a foot massage ‘for a woman who has had a hard week at work and deserves some pampering’. This was clearly a cleverly planned ambush as it was just too coincidental that a bottle of hand lotion was parked on the end table and in easy reach of her hands. An ambush like this I’d gladly fall for anytime and every time.

I had no idea that giving a woman a foot massage could feel as good to the hands of the ‘masseuse’ as it did to the feet of the person getting the massage. Taking each foot in both hands and massaging both the top and bottom simultaneously. Cupping the heel with one hand while kneading each toe with the thumb and forefinger of the other. The feeling of the forms and textures to my palms and fingers.

And as a first experience in being a foot masseuse, I could not have a more lovely pair of ‘training’ feet. Babs, ever the well-groomed, well-manicured woman had not neglected her feet. As I ‘finished’ each foot it just seemed like a natural thing to cradle it in my hands, lift it up and pelt it with little kisses from the ankle to the and with a look towards Bab’s smiling face, press it affectionately to my cheek.

I had always thought of a person with a foot fetish as being a bit strange, but on that special night with Ms. Knight, I joined the fetish crowd. ‘Next time I’ll suck her toes one by one’ I thought.

Babs: “That was wonderful sir, how much do I owe you?”

Me: “Well, as an apprentice foot masseuse I am not allowed to charge for my services. Actually, I should pay you for the privilege of using your feet for training purposes.”

Babs: “Really sir? You are but a lowly apprentice? Really? But your performance was so professional! It seems you are a natural talent, just like you are for eating pussy!”

Me: “Wow! Such praise could go to my head! But don’t feel the need to compensate me. As I was in the process of taking care of your podiatric health needs, there were a few times when I stole a glance at you, laying there with your eyes closed and with this wonderful, relaxed expression on your lovely face. That is all the pay I need.”

Babs: “Yes, I felt that way and so could not help but look that way.”

She got up and excused herself.

Babs: “I have a little personal matter to take care of. I’ll be back in a few. Could you throw another log on the fire?”

Me: “Sure.”

I figured she had to take a leak, and in all probability, she did… along with doing a few other things that would soon become obvious. So I got up, went to the fireplace, threw a log into the fieeplace and stirred up the fire.

For the next few minutes, I sat there by myself, the events of the evening running through my almost disbelieving mind. Everything about it seemed so right. So comfortable… so… normal. To me, the differences in our age had melted into an insignificant blob. That evening I felt like we were on an equal footing. For those few hours, I felt like I had escaped my late adolescence and had become an adult, and loved the way it felt. This time, instead of being ushered to the door and gently shoved out into the cold December night, we would make love and then fall asleep together.

Yet for all of that, there was still a gnawing sense of frustration. For example, I could think of nothing more exciting than waking up tomorrow morning, getting dressed, and going out for breakfast. Seeing and in some cases feeling the heads turn as we walked into a crowded restaurant, hand in hand. Sitting close together in one of those curved booths, looking at the menu.

Such notions were pure fantasy. Our ‘relationship’ would always begin at her front door when I arrived, and end when I walked out of it. Once beyond that door I was shoved back into the reality of being a draft-age young man in the late nineteen sixties.

There WAS one breakthrough that night. Somewhere between the pizza and the commencement of the cuddling I had finally managed to coax her home phone number out of her.

“You never know if I might need to call you in the event I can’t make one of our little Wednesday appointments”. Weather, car troubles, any number of things could mess things up and leave you hanging”.

This request was made on the assumption that our Wednesday nights had matured beyond a week-to-week whim of hers. I also figured if she can trust me enough to stay overnight with her she’d have a hard time saying no to something as basic and innocent as her home phone number. Finally, she did, and in the process acted like it was something she had meant to do some time back but kept forgetting.

Babs: “Are you ready for a nightcap?”

The sound of her voice gave me a start. In another clever move, she had quietly slipped up behind me. I stood up from the sofa, turned around, and blinked. Gone were her pajamas and slippers, and in their place were a slinky red ‘teddy’ and red ‘fuck me’ shoes. The teddy barely covered a pair of red thong panties.

Me: Wow!… Just wow!

Babs: Like what you see?

Me: Like I just said… Wow!… Just wow! I feel so overdressed for this moment!

Babs: Don’t worry. In a minute or two it won’t matter. But first I need your help with something. We need to take the cushions off the sofa.

It turned out that the sofa was a sofa bed, and once the cushions were out of the way we lifted the frame and a freshly made-up mattress came into view.

Babs: I haven’t had sheets on this thing for months. Can’t remember the last time it was. I made it up last night. I thought sleeping and uh, doing uh, whatever might be nice with the fireplace.

Me: Doing ‘whatever’ eh? So you did this just for you and I?

Babs: Well of course.

It was one of those ‘It just doesn’t get any better than this’ moments.

I struggle to find words to use to describe what followed. All the acts of intimacy we had indulged in previously were employed and enjoyed on top of that sofa bed. In the atmosphere generated by the fireplace, they became super-sized and maximized. At one point I almost whispered ‘I love you Babs’ in her ear. Thankfully I caught myself before blurting that out. No telling what effect it might have had on the moment. It wasn’t love I was feeling. It was being overwhelmed by so many things that made it feel like love.

And when it was over, when the physical passion was exhausted, I had my first delicious taste of the delights of ‘spooning’. It was truly a head-to-toe experience. Her naked back was firmly pressed against my chest. My right arm draped over her chest, its hand cupping her left breast, its nipple tickling my palm. Her ass cheeks, those wonderful, squeezable ass cheeks pushing on my abdomen. Our legs were in a wonderful tangle. Even the bottom of her feet, pressed gently against the top of mine seemed to generate a gentle electricity. And completing this wonderful circuit, the feeling of my lips as they planted little kisses on her neck and shoulders in the moments before the need to sleep consumed us. It was as if our bodies, indeed our very beings, had merged and become one person. Pure, absolute heaven.

How is it possible that such a wonderful experience could be disrupted by things like needing to take a leak, or even so mundane an act as getting a sip of water? Not only disrupted but even destroyed?

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Next: The Bubble Bursts.