I had a rough time, when my marriage dried up and died. I tried to do divorce right, and got counseling. I spewed and cried, and then I mourned. I sorted out what I was angry about, and what I missed, and how I'd contributed to our breakup. Eventually I felt some resolution and started to look forward, tentatively.
Dating was awkward. I tried sporadically, but nothing went well. Every time, after a date or two, one or both of us would lose interest. Nothing clicked. The one time I went to bed with a woman, I couldn't get it up. I tried to think of this as a sign that we really didn't belong together. I'd learned about that in the last years of my marriage. That's probably all it meant. But still, I started to worry, and not just about my plumbing. Would I ever really be with a woman again?
Then I met Jane, and my frown began to melt. It was at a block party she'd organized. She owned a house just down the street from my apartment. We played volleyball, had a beer, and talked. Jane was animated and friendly, and easy to talk with. A few days later, she asked me out to a movie. I was attracted to Jane, and I liked her direct approach. Soon we were seeing each other several times a week. Very low-key, just coffee or tennis, that sort of thing.
Jane's interest in me really boosted my spirits. I became eager to make a good impression. When she mentioned, just in passing, that she hated mowing her lawn, I did it for her. She thanked me, but seemed a bit uncomfortable, like I'd intruded. So I didn't mow her lawn again. I didn't want to go too far, too fast, and scare her off. I do think she was touched at my effort. I wanted very much to find out what Jane would accept from me, how I could get close to her.
As I got to know Jane, she made two things clear. First, she was attracted to me. Second, she didn't know if she wanted to have sex with me, or not. She was involved in a long-distance relationship, which she told me about in great detail. He was great in bed, but really full of himself, which could be pretty annoying. Oh, and he had a big deal career, and made about five times what I did. This was an issue for Jane. She owned her own business, doing market research. I'm sure she made a good deal more than I did, too. She asked my income, and when I told her, she seemed distinctly unimpressed. As she put it, I had "lousy demographics." But that didn't keep her from flirting with me, and getting physical, in her own way. Jane liked to rub my cock, through my pants, and get me hard. She did this idly, while we talked about what movie to go to, or she told me about her latest business trip. I squirmed and got all moony, and Jane liked that, too. Once she got me hard, I didn't care what movie we went to, or that she was fucking another guy, or even that she could be such a jerk.
The petting was all one-way. Once, I put my hand on her leg, just her leg, for crying out loud. She immediately removed it, backing me off with an intense look. I didn't do it again.
Jane liked to get me bare, too. She would run her fingertips, or just her long nails, lightly over my shaft. She got me harder, with less effort, than any other woman, ever. She'd give my swollen cockhead a little squeeze, coo appreciatively, then go back to telling me about how she'd charmed some client, or about her remodeling project. I didn't have much to say, but I tried to be a good listener.
I loved Jane's attention to my cock. She told me it was large, and that she really liked my erection. And I was glad to have erections again, so easily. I became a real slut for Jane, always quick to whip it out, or drop my pants, or strip, whatever she wanted. When she patted the cushion, I sat beside her on the couch. When she pushed gently on my inner thigh, I spread wide for her. When she held her hand out, palm up, and gave me a mischievous look, I stood in front of her, and placed my genitals in her hand. Jane teased me about how easy I was. I didn't care. She was having fun, and I was glad for that. I just gave her puppy eyes, and presented myself to her, swelling even before she touched me. Eventually, I got an erection just from being with her.
Sometimes we kissed while she played with me. Jane let me know that how a man kissed was very important to her. So I really threw myself into it, in an effort to please her, and persuade her to have sex with me. Jane enjoyed my attentions. During one hot make-out session, she told me I was a good kisser. Pulse racing, I pressed forward. I pulled Jane's blouse out from her skirt, reached around, and undid her bra. Jane pulled back, and gave me a cold, distant look. Even before she spoke, I realized I'd crossed a line. All Jane said was, "Don't do that again." Then she stood up, fixed her clothes, and walked out, looking ready for her next business meeting. She left me naked and erect. And forlorn.
Sometimes I got frustrated, even angry, with Jane. But she didn't want to hear about it, and withdrew. So I learned to let it go. Being teased was a whole lot better than being ignored. Jane was magic for me, and I needed her.
Jane never got me off. Sometimes she'd toy with me when I went to pick her up, then have me put it away, so we could go out. Or she'd invite me in after a date, for a glass of wine. We'd sit on her couch and talk, while she had her way with me. I was obviously ready for the sex that might have followed, in a more conventional relationship. But when Jane decided it was bedtime, she sent me home.
Once, after an extended tease at my apartment, Jane kissed me goodnight, ever so lightly, on the tip of my cock. Then she touched my cheek, gave me a sweet smile, and left. I listened to her go down the stairs. When I heard her leave my building, I crept out to my porch and knelt by the window. I watched Jane walk down the sidewalk toward her house. I could see her buttocks flexing with every step. Back and forth, full and firm, just for me. Then I saw her nude, in my bed, raising her ass to me. I felt her sex, all wet. I rubbed the tip of my cock along her slit. She spread her legs wider and pushed back at me, trying to take me in. I placed my cock along her pussy, and let her feel my heat.
I pushed just slightly, gliding easily towards her clit. Jane started to whimper. I repositioned and let her have it, full depth in a single stroke. I fucked her slowly, pulling her hips, then pushing her away. I teased her with my cock, going slow and shallow, then hard and deep, over and over. I pulled out suddenly, and Jane gasped. I played with her breasts and pinched her nipples, and she begged me to fuck her again. I fingered her clit while I pressed my thumb against her asshole. She moaned and begged incoherently, and I pressed harder. I let go and made her wait, panting. Then I plunged back in, and built a steady rhythm. Soon Jane was vocalizing in time with my thrusts. Wordless, primitive sounds, from a time before demographics. I pumped faster, and her grunts turned to shrieks. When I felt my orgasm start I stopped bucking, and pulled her tight against me. Jane screamed as I came.
I watched my cum spurt to the porch wall and the floor, and on my hand. I slumped to the floor, dizzy. I thought of Jane, home by now, and wondered if her fingers were wet.
Day by day, I built a fantasy sex life with Jane. She was always available and eager. We screwed with abandon, and sucked and groped our way to countless orgasms. It was wild and unbridled, and never enough.
