Less cream this time than before, his seventh. Still, he added more of his seed to my soaked pussy. In ragged huffing, his breathing made his chest heave, slivering his tongue over his thin lips while his eyes held mine with a hungry, craving glower. With greedy clutching, his paws roamed over my back, arms, and butt. Taking his arms into my hands, I pushed them down on my bed.
“Be still,” I ordered him.
With a noticeable reluctance, he calmed himself. Descending to him, I lowered myself and wound my legs and arms around him, covering him with a protective cocoon. Now that the three and a half hours of fevered rutting passed, the night’s adventure remained as only a fond reminiscence in our afterglow.
All the while, his seed seeped from me over his belly. For many long minutes, we stayed together in the warmth of our first hesitant torrid bout of mutual, satisfying self-indulgence.
Yes, self-indulgence is the word for want of a more polite one. The experience satisfied me, which, in retrospect, was all that mattered to me that night. Considering my partner’s rather tender years and his professed lack of knowledge, our copulation proved memorable. With our lovemaking finished, at least for the moment, it was time to move on.
I turned my attention to something else, for I longed for a shower and sleep. To Slumber alone in my bed was foremost in my thoughts.
Most women are clingy after sex. They fill up with this neediness, wanting so much for him to cuddle, cooing in her ear, while the man ‘toys’ with her equipment, and entertains her with praise as she comes down from her adrenaline high.
Well, screw all sappy, sentimental twaddle. Not my style.
Frankly, I wanted the fellow out of my bed, on his feet, and moving out the door as soon as possible. Now don’t take this wrong. After all, I liked Aaron, liked him a lot. And to my surprise, I discovered I had the hots for him. Still, I want solitude after I’m done with my partner of the moment. Not unlike Greta Garbo, “I want to be alone.”
