I wouldn’t describe Christy as a stalker, but she knew a lot about me before I knew anything about her. She was friendly with Vickie, a wine distributor and worked in a wine store. Apparently she was good at her job and earned the title “wine whisperer” for her wine pairing skills. I visited the store on occasion and she was always engaging. I construed her demeanor as professional and friendly and never assumed that she might be flirting with me.
She was an attractive woman. Imagine a slimmer version of Kirsty Alley combined with Amy Adams; shiny black hair, soft grey eyes, pert nose, a glowing complexion and an electric smile. She wasn’t slim, but she carried herself well and seemed comfortable in her skin.
I had a fairly senior position at work, I was featured in an article on the front page of the business section. I learned later that she’d clipped the article with my photo on her refrigerator. For a while, she housesat for Vickie and confessed later that she’d watch me walking my dog, Jake every day.
A year later I was retrenched, I did my best to find work and eventually reconciled myself that I was going to have to sell my apartment. This would have to happen over a period of months and I started packing my books and any articles that would fit in my car. I needed boxes and knew where I’d find them. I went to the wine store and Christy greeted me with her usual bubbly brio.
When I told her I was in the process of vacating my apartment, she seemed concerned and said. ” We can’t have someone like you leaving town.” It didn’t occur to me to ask what she meant by that. I hardly knew her. We chatted briefly and on the spur of the moment, I invited her to dinner at my apartment.
“I’m not trying to get into your pants or anything” I said, “It’s just dinner.” She laughed. I think she found my directness amusing. I invited a neighbor who lived next door and she brought a friend. The dinner was great, as was the company and conversation.” Upon reflection, I was pleased to have an uncomplicated platonic relationship with a woman and felt safe around her.
Christy was born again and I assumed that abstinence and piety came with the package. She would often talk about her relationship with HIM. I made the mistake of playfully suggesting that HE might be a SHE. “HIM” she said, “It’s HIM”. I wasn’t about to disagree with her or compete with HIM for her affection. After all, millions of women cry out HIS name in the heat of the moment every day. HE must be amazing in the sack.
I found her religious outlook quirky and comforting. She was always quoting scriptures and would pray for me. I naively assumed that any feelings she may have had for me were sublimated. Then again, I was never that good at reading sexual cues.
Over time, she dropped some subtle hints about her past, slyly packaged with the sheen of biblical sanctimony. “They say having impure thoughts is as bad as acting on them” she said one day as we stood in her kitchen. “As a matter of fact,” she added “There’s no daylight between thinking and doing. You may as well have done the deed.”
“Indeed” I responded and dropped the topic. That’s how clueless I am.
On another occasion, she recalled a bible study discussion about inappropriate immoral conduct and concluded that after ‘some of the things I’ve done in my life,
I’m hardly in a position to judge.’
Did I accept the invitation to ask? No madam, I did not.
Sensing that her arrows of innuendo were not hitting the mark, she opted for a blunter instrument.
One day at her house, out of the blue she confessed. ” I have this thing about watching porn on the internet. I can’t help it. I like it. I know I shouldn’t but it’s sinful.I have to stop.”
That club should have found its mark, but sadly it didn’t. I suppose I am really circumspect about flings. Even though we’d achieved a comfortable rapport I was uneasy. I wasn’t (nor am I) that confident about my sexual prowess, besides I take sex seriously and need to have a real connection with my partner. There’s another side to me. A side I haven’t seen often and one that would only reveal itself much later.
I was all set to make my final move out of town and as a gesture of appreciation I called her invited her over for a final dinner. I offered to prepare one of my favorite dishes A simple peasant meal that calls for fresh ingredients. Late summer heirloom tomatoes and vegetables were in peak season and I was able to find a local farm raised chicken. After all she’d done for me, I felt it was the least I could do for her.
“Sounds good” she said, “I’ll bring the wine”
“Great”
“And another thing” she added, I’d like to give you a going away present.”
“Oh really” I replied. I was curious, but unprepared for what came next.
“I want to give you a massage.”
Silence.
“Okayyyy……….” I responded. This one landed like a bullet to the back of the head. And I knew the inevitable was imminent. A massage? Really?
She arrived looking stunning. Simple black slacks, white blouse; elegant and understated. The dinner went well. The scent of herbs and roast chicken suffused the room as I set the casserole down. The wine was perfect, the air thick with sexual tension.
And then another guest arrived. The ‘Kevin’ Christy knew had excused himself to visit the men’s room and the other Kevin, thought it timely to arrive fashionably late, though not fashionably dressed. He was buck naked.
“I’m ready for my massage.” I declared.
Christy was at a loss for words. She surveyed me with a mixture of shock and amusement. I walked towards her and turned her chair towards me. I straddled her hips, cupping her face with my hands, and kissed her. I ran my hands through her silken hair, kissing her neck, her face her lips. She responded in kind.
I slipped my hand into her blouse and fondled her breasts. She moaned and kissed me harder. I lifted her blouse and caressed her skin. Snaking my hand around her back, I slipped my hand into her slacks and discovered she was wearing no panties.
“Nice” I commented as I tickled the dimple at the top of her ass. “I see now that you had this planned out in your head.”
“No, I didn’t.” She protested weakly.
I opened the button on her blouse and freeing her nipples from her bra, I gently licked her nipples. Her chest swelled and her breathing became ragged.
“Harder” she said.
I bit her nipples softly
“Harder” she said.
I squeezed them, slapped them, pulled them.
At that point all the sexual asides, the confessions the comments she’d made in the past coalesced in an erotic event, the likes of which I had never known. Try as I might, nothing I write will even do justice to it.
I carried her to the bedroom and set her down gently on the bed. I hovered over her and looked into her eyes. I was overwhelmed by the way she looked at me. Never had she expressed so much without saying a word.
The strong opinionated, dominant Christy suddenly became submissive, inviting me to dominate her, to take her. This time I read the cues right. It’s as if our communication was telepathic. We moved as one without a hint of awkwardness or shame. I was on my knees before as she lay supine on the bed. I removed her shoes and taking each foot in my hand I kissed them and sucked each toe one by one.
That’s when I discovered something else. Christy was a screamer. A real screamer. Like Michael Bolton channeled through Nigel Tufnell’s Spinal Tap amp, Christy went straight to eleven and stayed there. I removed her slacks, lifted her legs and placed them on my shoulders. I noticed that she’d sculpted her pubes into the most exquisite landing strip I have ever seen. Just the right length and breadth,arrow like, inviting me in. I was touched that she had take so much care knowing what the evening would bring. Or perhaps she didn’t know yet.
As much as I tried to linger on her legs and inner thighs, I could no longer postpone my enthusiasm to devour her exquisite pussy. Her clit called to me like an inviting blossom. Her scent was intoxicating. She wrapped her legs around my head,pulling me in, which did nothing to dampened her screams, which had now reached fever pitch. Her scent filled the room and my face was soaked with her nectar. I wanted more. I filled her with my fingers and captured more juice. She watched as I wiped my face with her cum.
But I wanted more and gently prizing her legs open, I noticed her puckered anus.
I took a tentative lick and she screamed.
“May I?” I asked.
“Yesss” she screamed.
I continued to lick and explore her ass with my tongue for longer than I think she could stand it.
Finally, we fucked. We moved like blind dancers, who who could read each other’s bodies like braille. Every position came naturally. Nothing was off bounds and we went everywhere. As one.
Imagine the excitement of a first night, married with the comfortable intimacy that comes with familiarity and experience. That’s how it felt.
And as we fell down on the pillow, satiated, spent, she kissed me and looked at me. She shook her head slowly and said,
“It’s the quiet ones you have to watch.”