I'd seen Jeannette's sweet smile in our webcam chats and in photos she'd emailed me, though a smile is always better in person. She was waiting at Logan for my flight to arrive, leaning against a wall just past the security checkpoint, and I recognized her immediately - those familiar dark, penetrating eyes, her constant smile with parted lips, and her shoulder-length wavy brown hair. As I walked toward her, we each did that quick initial mutual assessment. Her 5'8" frame seemed unexpectedly tall, and her body looked larger and stronger in person. She looked every bit as youthful as her 33 years, which was a dozen years younger than me. These were minor details, not surprises. Jeanette was altogether an appealing woman.
We clasped hands and kissed each other on the cheek. The first surprise was the roughness and strength of her hands, befitting her job as a landscape architect. This was a woman who did physical work. We walked to baggage claim, hand in hand, making halting small talk. It was our first face-to-face meeting after months of Internet chat and email conversations. The mutual assessments were normal, of course, especially when you both knew that the plan was to spend the night together at a downtown hotel. My on-again off-again girlfriend was three thousand miles to the west. Her apathetic boyfriend was 100 miles north.
Our months of online conversation had covered many topics - my early marriage and divorce; her first marriage at 19 to a man who came out of the closet two years after their wedding, followed by a five-year relationship with a man who had taken them both to bankruptcy, then almost on a whim a three-year relationship with a man who seemed more interested in other women than with her.
Our rendezvous had taken weeks to arrange. I was making an early stop on my way to a conference two states away. Jeanette was supposedly spending the night with a girlfriend. It was her suggestion, three weeks earlier and much to my surprise, to spend the night with me. Our chat had then turned clinically sexual. "I hate condoms," she'd informed me, "and I'm allergic to latex." We discussed health issues. No herpes, no warts. She told me she was on the Pill. I'd had a vasectomy. We both knew were our night was headed.
Jeanette's drive from the airport to downtown Boston was easy on this Sunday evening. Our talk was still full of trivialities, gradually evolving from awkward toward comfortable, tinged with an undercurrent of nervous anticipation. She maneuvered her car through the narrow downtown streets to the hotel's parking garage. We walked the block from the garage to the ornate hotel lobby with its carved wood and formal tables and three-foot vases with cut flowers. I checked in at the front desk as Jeannette hung back, studying the rack of tourist brochures at the concierge's station. Placards in the reception area announced a pharmaceuticals convention that was due to begin the next morning.
Electronic key in hand, we shared the elevator with conference attendees who wore name badges and tipsy smiles. They were all jibberjabbing in the elevator. Jeannette and I were silent. At the seventh floor, we slipped past the elbows and walked down the long hallway to the room. I rolled my suitcase, Jeannette lugged a duffelbag slung over her shoulder. We found our room, 724. The card key worked.
And then there we were, inside the privacy of the room, still on that unspoken path from being almost strangers to bedded intimacy. We had a corner room, spacious, with an obvious king-size bed and a nearby couch, a sitting chair and a desk. Jeannette dropped her duffel on the chair, I flopped my suitcase on the couch, and we stood there, facing each other. It was time. We embraced and kissed, this time with open mouths, friendly tongues, and stroking hands.
With a new lover there is a flood of new sensations. Jeanette's body felt different in my arms. Her kisses were assertive, her hands busy on my back and shoulders and head. I cupped her softball-sized breasts through her blouse, and she inhaled a quick breath and stepped back a few inches. Her eyes glued to my face as she unbuttoned her blouse, then unhooked her simple white bra, casually laying them on top of her duffelbag. Her breasts were magnificent - firm, tipped with small brown nipples that were curiously smaller in diameter than a pencil eraser, each standing proudly erect.
Mere minutes later we were in bed, naked, still kissing and still stroking. Jeannette's rounded tummy descended to her dark pubic hair, which was wildly unshaven. When she spread her legs, her pink inner labia peeked out to say hello. As we nuzzled and caressed, her breathing became erratic, her dark eyes glistened. Her rough hands found my erection. "So hard," she whispered. I couldn't wait to be inside her. My penis throbbed in her fist.
My mouth explored her face, her neck, her breasts, her nipples. Jeannette lay on her back and I moved atop her, my mouth moving lower and lower. Down, down, past her innie bellybutton to her lush thatch of soft pubic hair. Her fingers caressed the back my head, playing in my hair, while I explored her pink nooks and crannies. Her scent invaded my nose as it teased through her hair and brushed ever so slightly against the edges of her labia. Jeannette groaned and her thighs sprawled open, her labia yawned wide and inviting. She murmured and squirmed as I breathed hot air and readied my feast.
My first lick was an upward swipe that spread her labia and grazed a flat tongue along the length of her stiff clitoris, and Jeannette's gasping wail made me hope the room had sufficient sound insulation. Again and again, my hands held her ample hips and my tongue lapped her open pussy, her clit jutting, her outer labia fattened thick with her arousal. My tongue found the source of her heat, thrusting inside her vagina and then up and down her crimson cleft. Her juices - and my saliva - dribbled down across her anus to the white bedsheet.
