"Christ, Amy, you do that again and I'm not ever getting out of this bed."
She giggled and totally ignored me, a fact for which I thanked every god I could think of. I'd wondered last night how this morning was going to play. I'd half expected, dreaded might be a more accurate term, that my little kitten was going to be back to her shy, old self once the light of day put a new spin on the evenings activities. Happily that wasn't the case.
I'd woken to an empty bed and a stomach that told me it was way past breakfast. A look at the clock confirmed it was almost noon. I hadn't slept this late since... Well okay, since last weekend, but still this wasn't my house and usually I'm not one to linger after the night's festivities.
I had an excuse - several in fact. Seemed that Amy wasn't one of those girls who needed a lot of sleep, at least that's how it felt to me after spending the night with her. Every couple of hours she'd woken me up with her wet little mouth and hot little fingers demanding lessons I was only too happy to teach. Hell let's face, all she had to do was ask and I'd become her permanent personal tutor.
But lessons are hard work for both student and teacher and eventually this new and apparently insatiable Amy curled up in a snug ball, her head resting lightly on my chest. I fell asleep stroking her hair and listening to her soft breath deepen. Swear to god, I heard her purr.
I thought I could just stare at her all night, but at some point, my brain called it quits and shut down. One minute I was plotting out strategy on how to get Liam to seriously think about moving to Afghanistan and the next I was squinting in an effort to keep the morning sun from blinding me.
I rolled over and tried to find where Amy was hiding under the quilt. Yeah, stupid, but somehow in my groggy brain I seemed to have shrunk her already diminutive form down to Tinkerbell size. I couldn't find her so I stuck my head underneath the sheet and started to do that windmill thing you do with your arms when you're looking for that one sock you know is stuck in the bed somewhere from the night before when you came home drunk and couldn't be bothered taking off both of the pair before you crawled under the covers and passed out.
"Charlie, what are you doing?" Amy's voice came from the direction of the doorway.
I was halfway under the covers - the wrong way - with my ass waving it's naked self proudly in the cold morning air, so I suppose it was a pretty reasonable question from her point of view. Probably even more so after I said the first thing that popped into my mouth.
"Um, looking for you."
I backed out from under the covers and slid back in feet first all the while looking at Amy halfway across the room, wrapped in a pretty, pink bathrobe holding a tray with two mugs, a thermos of coffee and a plate of something that looked liked a homemade bundt cake.
She regarded me seriously. "You aren't really a morning person are you?"
She had me there.
I grinned at her and shook my head too busy getting my first glimpse of Amy in the morning to care how nuts I looked. Oh god, I'd been kind of hoping I'd been just reacting to the events of the night when I'd made my little discovery. Now I knew for sure. I was totally, hopelessly in love with Amy. And the emphasis, I'm afraid, was on the hopeless part.
"What?" She smiled shyly back at me and my heart lurched painfully in my breast.
"I was just thinking," I finally managed to speak, "there should be a rule that people shouldn't look as good as you do in the morning. It's too much of shock to the system when you're trying to get your heart started."
Amy rolled her eyes, "You really are full of it, aren't you, Charlie?"
"Hey!" I protested. "I'm being totally honest here."
For once, I was actually telling the truth. Amy's pink robe would have made most of the women I'd dated look like a fat Pepto Bismol bottle, but on her it looked unbelievably sweet and feminine. She'd obviously taken a shower and her hair was damp, the curls clinging to the matching pink headband she must have put on to keep her hair off her face. She was barefoot, but even her toes matched the robe with their glossy nail polish.
I wanted to jump her.
Instead, she jumped me. Not right away, first she set the tray down on the floor, but once that was done, she somehow levitated across the three feet that separated us and lightly landed, straddling my pelvis.
"Ommmph!" Okay, maybe not so lightly.
"Oh geez, Charlie, are you okay?"
"I will be," I gasped, "once my balls get out of my chest."
Amy slid off me. "Let me look."
That sounded like an excellent idea. I spread my legs and shoved the covers down to my knees. Amy obediently bent her head and took a gander at the, er, root of my problem.
"Looks okay to me."
Of course it did, there was nothing wrong with me. I'd only been kidding. A more experienced woman would have known that from the beginning. But now that she was down there I thought I may as well at least pretend I had some motive for wanting her to examine my cock other than the obvious.
"I don't know," I tried to sound pitiful, "maybe if you kissed it and made it better."
She actually snorted. This girl was catching on fast. Still, she leaned over a little farther and the next thing I felt was her wet little tongue giving my dick first aid like you couldn't get from the Red Cross. From there things followed the normal course of what happens when your encased in something hot and soft. Next thing I knew Amy was doing her vacuum cleaner impression.
Now we'd covered this ground the night before. In fact we'd reinforced her technique on several occasions. I thought we might even have been justified in saying we'd reached perfection. I was wrong.
"Christ! What are you doing?"
This was actually a rhetorical question since I knew what she was up to, I just couldn't believe fastidious Amy was willing to go where no man had gone before. Or ever would for that matter.
Of course Amy doesn't recognize rhetorical very well so there was a wet pop as her luscious mouth left my cock. "Looking for your prostrate."
I groaned, "Sweetie, you found it."
She grinned evilly at me and pressed on my ticket to Disneyland again. Then she had the nerve to giggle when my dick drooled in joy.
She didn't say anything else, just went back to licking my lollipop. Of course with the double assault, I wasn't able to speak at all. Instead I moaned and groaned and did my best dying fish imitation as I flopped all over the bed. Fortunately, quick study Amy no longer thought this kind of action on my part was a sign that she was doing something wrong. Instead, she took it as the encouragement it was meant to be and just kept at her heart stopping manipulations until the desired effect was achieved.
We lay there quietly for a bit, Amy's head resting lightly on my hip. I hazily thought about how I was going to thank her for the nooner, but I couldn't seem to get my body to go along with the plan quite yet. By my count this was my fifth orgasm in twelve hours, a new record if my half dead brain wasn't counting those three months when I was twelve and discovered for the first time how much fun sex with one person (the one being me) could actually be.
I distinctly remember my mother being amazed when a giant-sized bottle of Oil of Olay disappeared in less than a week. She went on and on about it at the dinner table one night until I thought I'd die from embarrassment. My dad looked like he was going to explode himself and later I heard him and mom laughing hysterically in the kitchen. Nothing was said to me, but the next day there was a new bottle of Jergen's all for me, (they were sympathetic, but no way were they going to pop for the expensive shit) sitting on my nightstand. Ah, the good old days.
Abruptly, I was brought back from my walk down memory lane by the feel of tiny hands. I forced my head to raise and I looked tiredly down at my crotch. There was Amy poking and prodding like she thought I was hiding the lost Dutchman Mine behind my balls.
"Um, what are you looking for?"
"Nothing," she didn't look up, "just looking."
"See anything you like?"
She laughed, "I never really got a look at one before, you know? And I didn't think you'd mind."
"No, not at all. Carry on, just forget I'm in the room." I struggled up to rest my weight on my shoulders and now we both were looking at my sleeping prince.
Amy looked up and smiled. "It's kind of silly looking isn't it?" She spoke slowly and turned her head sideways like she was studying modern art.
I looked at the dark patch of hair with the little sausage flopped upside down in the middle and the loose sack below. Okay, she had a point, but that didn't mean I was going to let her know I agreed with her.
"Actually, it's fairly normal," I responded a tad defensively. "And about half the world has one."
"Oh sure," she grinned again, "but I've only got this one to look at."
This was true. So being the gracious guy that I am, I laid back down and let her get on with her fun. There wasn't a prayer in hell that she was going to get me going again, but I don't think that was her goal anyway. She seemed perfectly content to look and touch and...
"Sweetheart, Peanut, what the hell are you doing?" I sat up as best I could with a ninety-pound girl straddling my knees and crouched over my dick. "You know, you really can't see down that..."
"Charlie, how'd you get the scar?"
I froze. "What scar?"
"This one." Amy pointed to a place on the base of my scrotum as if I had more than one scar to choose from.
"Oh that. It's nothing." I tried to move away from her, but she wasn't having any of it.
"I don't know," she traced the slightly raised welt with her finger. "Looks like it might have been a pretty big deal at the time.
I ran my fingers through my hair. "Uh, it happened a long time ago, I barely remember."
"Uh huh. Go on."
My mind tried to come up with something, anything that would sound better than the truth. Then I looked at those big brown eyes, so warm and trusting.
