Copyright May 2010
In idle moments he often wandered the Internet’s corridors of porn.
As so often with his generation, it posed as many questions as it answered. Sex, in his earlier years had been new and sparse, hard won and often frightening.
His new partner was forty-three, young enough to be his daughter but, as she laughingly claimed, old enough to be a grandmother to his grandchildren.
As they lay late abed one Sunday morning he asked, “What’s face-sitting?”
She giggled. “I love you.”
“Because I ask funny questions?”
“That and because I get to answer them.” She thought for a moment, smiling at him. “Wriggle down the bed a bit.” She gestured.
When he was where she wanted him she got to her knees beside him and looked down. There was that hunger in her eyes, it always made his heart race.
She wore a sheer, pink, baby doll. It covered, but didn’t hide, her pretty breasts.
Gripping the headboard to steady herself she knelt awkwardly astride him.
He was now in the tent formed by the nylon, the soft under-curves of her breasts above him. Nearer was her pussy. She’d let her hair grow back and it formed a pretty bush that normally hid her charms. But now, pantyless as always, she was open, a palette of pretty pinks, inches away.
They’d showered together the night before but now, woman-musk vied, and won, against the soap’s perfume. Nostrils to cock went the signals and behind her, the latter reared in eager response.
His hands went to caress the soft, twin globes of her ass. He loved that ass.
She sank slowly down. He felt her radiated heat on his face. Moisture glistened in her pussy’s gape. Then the first tickling touch of her curls against his chin, his lips.
He turned his head, ever so slightly, and took a bite of her, gently, gently.
Eyes closed, ears muffled by her thighs, he was in a world of breathed scents and tasted sweetness.
It was a mouthful of cunt, a cuntful of mouth.
They were sittee and sitter.