Shut Up And Kiss Me Susie

Author's note:

This is a love story. Apart from changes in names, places and background in order to protect both the innocent and the guilty; what you are about to read is substantively true. There is no real end, because the story is still being acted out.

*****

Sue answered the Skype call wearing a white towelling robe, and a white towel over her hair; she had just had a shower.

"Hiya," she said, her voice and her eyes showed that she was pleased to see me.

"Going out tonight?" I asked, equally pleased to she her.

"Not really, felt a bit grubby that's all."

"Not seeing NB1?"

"No," she tutted, "you know that's Mondays only."

'NB1' was her new boyfriend: my replacement. I couldn't bring myself to say his name, so I invented a nickname. I decided that I did not want to keep inventing nicknames for her new boyfriends, so he was NB1 - New Bloke One, and when she moved on, it would be NB2 and so on.

She took the laptop to a coffee table next to a cosy armchair and sank into it, rubbing her hair with the towel as she spoke.

"Where are you calling from?" she whispered.

"Home, of course, don't you recognise my study?"

"Yeah. It's been a while; you don't normally call from home. Where is Sarah?"

"At her parents' and staying over; Alice is at her boyfriends', and Frances is sleeping over with her best friend. So I am home alone."

"God, aren't we a couple of sad cases on a Friday night. Not slipping off to Canterbury?" she grinned, disingenuously.

Canterbury was where Jayne lived. When Sue dumped me, I earnestly tried to live a monogamous life with Sarah, my wife. It lasted three months; Jayne, a work colleague, and I were on assignment away from our homes. With nothing to do in the evenings, we just naturally sought solace in each other's arms. It certainly helped dull the pain of losing Sue.

"No, I am not slipping off to Canterbury." I said, refusing to bite. Sue was openly jealous that I had found a replacement so soon after she split up with me. She knew it was unreasonable to expect anything other, but it is human nature to want to possess everything. Her honest selfishness was one of the things I loved about her.

"Do you want to make this a long chat?" she said, continuing to rub her hair.

"Don't mind."

"Then I think I'll get a glass of wine."

"I'll make a G&T," I said.

We both departed from our computers and a few minutes later, reconvened with our drinks. She chose red, and had brought the bottle.

"Hmm, that's better," she smiled warmly, after taking a long sip. I could see the strains and stresses of a long working week oozing out of her as she relaxed into her cosy chair. She put the glass down and unwrapped the towel from her head, releasing her dark brown tresses.

I thought, as I had done so for the past twenty years that she looked beautiful. During which time, I am not sure when I had fallen in love with her.

She was short, 5' 4", with a very slim, almost boyish figure. Her thick shoulder length, wavy hair was rather unmanageable, but now that it was still wet, it lankly framed her head. Her face was slim and her skin was very white, very celtic; she didn't tan well, and it contrasted strikingly with her dark hair and her beautifully warm, brown eyes. She smiled a lot (something else I liked), and 53 years of smiling had resulted in crow's feet emanating from her eyes. It was the only thing that really showed her age.

Her mouth was another strong point: her teeth were her own, white and holding up well against time; and her lips were pretty, though while not fulsome, were eminently kissable.

"You're gorgeous," I said, speaking my thoughts.

"Oh I don't know," she mused, "I feel much older than when we first met..."

*****

Nearly two decades ago, work had brought me to the West Country with Sarah, who was heavily pregnant with Alice, our first child.

I am a keen runner, and decided to join the local club. A few days later I had gathered with the seniors for a gentle 10k, and as we waited to start off, I noticed two pretty, short, dark haired girls about my age (in their early thirties) chatting to each other. I thought they were sisters, and primitive instinct kicked in such that I found myself walking up to them and introducing myself.

They looked up at me, both with welcoming smiles. Actually, more than that; both had smiles which said they were addressing potential husband material. I am athletic, tall, and attractive to women. I learned during my youth how to capture them; a winning smile, a show of confidence and seeming competence, and a deep look into their eyes and their souls.

With established ease, I engaged both of the girls with my smile and my eyes and pleasant, light hearted, non-confrontational chatter.

Sue looked the same as she did twenty years later, minus the odd straggling grey hair and the crow's feet. The mutual attraction was evident. By the end of the run, they had established that I was married. I was not interested in deceiving anyone. Janet, the other girl, left us with a look that said that I was no longer in the ball park; but Sue kept chatting, smiling, giggling, competing for me, when there was no competition and ultimately no hope of having me in the entirety.

She lived on the way to my home, and after a few weeks, I started picking her up and dropping her off. A few weeks more, we were having coffees and drinks, and a few weeks more, on leaving the house, I bumped into her; her upturned face was only inches from mine, and it seemed that a kiss on the lips was the natural thing to do.

She kissed back, but fought her instincts, and clumsily packed me out the door.

The following week, the goodbye kiss came naturally and briefly turned French. She still turned me out of her house, but this time with the parting comment: "well I suppose it can't hurt."

There was no attempt at pretence the week after. We looked at each other hungrily throughout the run. We showered at the club, and as I drove back to the house, she chatted endlessly about everything other than us. "Would you like a cup of coffee?" she said automatically as we entered her house.

"No," came my monosyllabic reply. I did not want to play games.

She sensed my urgency, and changed the subject.

"You've not seen my bedroom have you?" She giggled having said that: the unsubtle implication was embarrassing.

"No," I smiled back, enjoying her discomfort.

She reddened prettily, turned and went up the stairs; unbidden, I followed her. Her bedroom was a mess, clothes were strewn everywhere, nylons hung out of drawers, and girly magazines littered the floor. I was a bit disappointed she wasn't expecting me. I did not know then, as I know now, that Sue was a bit of a disorganised scatterbrain.

After moving aside some clutter, I sat on the bed.

"I'm terribly messy, I'm afraid," she said, and bending over, she gave me a pert kiss on the lips. "You'll just have to get used to it if you want to go out with me."

I pulled her to me and she looked down at my face, smiling. I revelled in the closeness of her body, her tiny frame standing in-between my legs. I raised my hands and grabbed her waist.

"Shut up and kiss me, Susie."

She bent over again and kissed me longer and harder. I patiently waited for it to evolve, but she seemed reluctant to use her tongue. I drew her down to the bed, and we lay there kissing. Like a flower in the dawn, she slowly opened up, my tongue hunted hers, but she played tag, only allowing the occasional touch and then withdrawing. Her little hands were balled up into fists; she didn't seem to be enjoying it. We broke away, sensing it wasn't working.

"I'm a bit out of practice, sorry," but for the first time she showed some real warmth, and caressed my face; "be patient, it will be worthwhile, I promise... I'm just a bit shy."

Her humility only attracted me more. She wore a shirt over a pair of old skinny jeans which hugged her figure attractively, but were not conducive to easy access. My hand wandered down to the shirt and I started to undo her buttons slowly. That made her smile, showing her teeth, and I took the opportunity to kiss her again. She responded more warmly as I slightly clumsily finished her buttons and pulled the shirt out of her jeans.

Years of practice with my school sweetheart in the music rooms had made me accomplished at undoing bras, and I found the skill was not lost as with one hand, I swiftly unclasped it.

"Wow, that was impressive," she laughed.

I shut her up with another kiss, as my right hand sought out her small, pert breasts. Her nipples are tiny and rock hard. I broke our kiss, and moved my head down to kiss, lick and nibble her left nipple. This elicited a small gasp. Encouraged, I started to suck it and take in more of her breast in my mouth, sucking it harder and harder.

"God, I love that, I've dreamt of you doing that to me."

Surprised at that comment, I stopped momentarily: "really?"

"Yes, I love having them sucked," she said, a new sultry look was on her face, her unruly locks covered her face; her smile was feminine and enticing: she looked wonderful.

"And what do you do when you dream of me sucking your tits," I asked, taking the break as an opportunity to start unbuttoning those intimidating jeans.

"You know what I do," she said, refusing to be drawn, helping me take them off; she wore little pink knickers with a bow at the front.

"No, tell me," I replied, continuing the game.

Her hand reached down into her panties, she sighed slightly, looked into my eyes and said, dirtily: "I touch myself."

Not so shy after all, I thought, turned on by her descent into a newer, hornier, dirty talking, Sue. I resumed sucking her breasts, and looked into her eyes as I did so. The combination seemed to turn her on even more. She stopped smiling and started to concentrate on masturbating as she looked at me full in the eyes. We were achieving a new level of intimacy. My hand joined hers and I eased my fingers into her sopping vagina. It was very tight, and I could only get three in.

She had started frigging herself very quickly now, any initial desire to take her time over our first act of lovemaking had evaporated.

"Let's do it," she hoarsely suggested.

I quickly undressed, and she lost her knickers. She drew her breath at the size of my erection, and reached out for me, rather roughly grabbing my penis and pulling me to her with it, smiling up at me.

"Am I a lucky girl," she grinned naughtily and sitting on the bed, she started to lick my cock.

She spent some time on it, licking the whole shaft, washing it with her tongue, before nibbling the head. Her tiny mouth could only cope with a couple of inches; however, her fellatio was expertly delivered: no hint of teeth, and with one hand she stroked the remaining shaft in time to her mouth, while the other caressed my balls. Occasionally she would stop and take time to lubricate it with copious amounts of saliva, taking the opportunity to look into my eyes and smile her warm smile.

"Am I a lucky boy," I retorted, mightily impressed at her skills.

"I'm ready if you are," said the new, naughty, Sue.

Without hesitating, I pushed her back further on the bed, lifted her slim legs, knelt in front of her and thrust my hungry cock into her tiny, juicy pussy. It was a perfect fit. She moaned with total pleasure, and restarted fingering her clitoris: making it easy for me. I lifted up her head slightly and we kissed, this time both tongues hungrily sought each other out.

Meanwhile I worked her breast and nipple with my spare hand, but after a while and needing more penetration I moved the hand under her bum so that I could impale her further onto my thrusting cock.

She was so small, I found that I could easily support her off the bed with my arms, totally controlling the pace and intensity of our lovemaking. With her spare hand, she hung onto me by my shoulders, as she started to embrace me with surprising passion. Our bodies were as one. And then, she started to pant, and make high pitched gasps, out of time with my thrusts, as she frigged herself to conclusion with a gentle: " aaahhhhhh."

I slowly continued to penetrate her as she recovered, eventually looking at me with an embarrassed smile.

"I very rarely come without some self-help," she admitted.

"I'm pretty good at that. Let me help out next time," I offered. "But now... it's my turn!"

With silent common consent, she turned over onto her knees. She looked back at me, her hair untidily, yet electrifyingly covering her face and she smiled her smile. She arched her beautiful, rounded little bottom upward, took my cock and guided me into her.

"Fuck me as hard as you can," said the new, dirty talking, Sue.

"Your wish is my command."

She didn't realise what she was asking for. I too can take a long time to come, and it requires a lot of friction. Fortunately, my running has kept me in shape and fit.

I started off slowly, easing all seven inches in and out, relishing the feel of her tight pussy wrapping itself round my phallus as if it was custom made. She squeezed her vaginal muscles, and looked around again to see my look of appreciation.

I played with her rim of her anus with my thumb, but she warned me off with a slight frown. Not this time, I thought. I slapped her playfully on an arse cheek, and she giggled, pushing against me harder. I responded, thrusting harder, faster and faster. I reached round and grabbed a hanging breast, cruelly twisting the nipple.

"God, yes!" she murmured. She started panting with every stroke. With my other hand, I reached under and sought out her clitoris, furiously rubbing it with my middle finger.

"Christ, yes!"

I continued to pummel her, harder, making her produce small noises of pain as my cock hit the wall of her womb. This went on for some minutes at a frantic pace. Sweat was dripping off me, pouring onto her back. I needed completion. I disengaged, and roughly spun her over onto her back.

"That was fantastic," she gasped.

"I'm a long way from done, yet."

Before she could respond, I re-entered her, and assumed a position for maximum penetration. One hand went under her bottom, the other clasped a breast. We kissed, hungrily, passionately, wetly, as I resumed my manic pace, using my hand under her bottom to thrust her onto my cock. She passively accepted my manhood, wrapping her legs around my arse and gasping with every thrust.

As I sped up to the inevitable conclusion, pounding her with rapid, urgent thrusts, my grunts joined her gasps. My hand on her breast joined the one under her bottom squeezing it and maximising her vaginal grip on my cock. My grunts became animalistic yells, until finally, sweatily, I came with a force and a passion that I had not experienced for a very long time.

*****

"You always were a great shag," she said, whimsically. She had just started her second glass of red, and was relaxed and smiley.

"Not so bad yourself," I countered, then ventured into forbidden territory - instantly regretting it: "What about NB1, is he a great shag too?"

She thought about her answer, and replied with a diplomatic: "well we would be compatible, or I wouldn't stay with him would I. How about you and Jayne?" she politely, but reluctantly asked.

"Same," I said, avoiding the dark path that exploration of that topic would bring.

*****

I met Sue at the wrong time in her life. She was newly divorced; her husband had run off with a previous lover just months after their marriage. Her body clock was ticking, and I foolishly appeared on the scene, and confused things.

Primarily because of the kids, I was unwilling to leave Sarah who was neither as sociable as Sue... nor as sexual. And so I could offer Sue nothing more than some illicit companionship.

We rapidly became an open secret at the running club. Sex can be a drug, and we became addicted; meeting up at lunchtimes at her place, and rediscovering our youth as we sought any opportunity to make love; in the back of the car, fields, orchards, church grounds; we were insensitive to the risk.

She is a remarkable person; full of contradictions: on the one hand socially conscious and liberal, on the other selfish as a cat, or at least a man. She is honest and loyal, but then can be quite manipulative and controlling. She is untidy and disorganised; but always well turned out, with a great dress sense and a body to show off good clothes.

She is a great conversationalist and can talk for Britain about every subject under the sun; and there were days when, after a long days work, I would just sit there and bathe myself in her company, her topics, butterfly-like, changing direction every so often.

Time flew by; months turned into years. The agreement was that I would not stand in the way if she met someone who would offer her a more suitable relationship.

One day, she made love to me with a brutal finality, forcing herself hard onto me, even after I was drained of semen, and exhausted. And afterwards, as I dressed, somewhat taken aback at her fervour, she announced that she was seeing Mark from the club, 10 years her junior.

Mark: the club favourite; athletic, handsome, intelligent, charming, reliable, yet self effacing and respectful. I couldn't help but like him, and I took the news philosophically. It hurt, of course it hurt, no one wants rejection; my feelings for Sue were somewhere in between lust and love at the time. But I felt that if it couldn't be me, then why not Mark?

She was deliriously happy; she had captured the man of her dreams, they went everywhere together, hand in hand, arm in arm. He seemed devoted to her, and she seemed in love with him.

For a year I withdrew into my world of work and family. I did not stray, and in fact had resigned myself to the monotony of monogamy.

Then one day, she phoned me in tears. It was over: there was no future in it he had told her and he had found someone his age. Within days I was back in her life, comforting her, and in a few more days, I was back in her bed.

*****

"I've never met the right man at the right time," she mused, well into her third glass.

"That's true," I replied; I was always brutally honest with her.

"Maybe when we are old, our time will come. I could push you about in your wheelchair," she laughed.

She tipsily raised a naked leg onto the coffee table, affording me a glimpse at what lay within her robe. It reminded me a little of Anne Bancroft's flirtation with Dustin Hoffman in 'The Graduate', and I plagiarised his:

"Mrs Robinson, you are trying to seduce me."

"I don't intend to cheat on NB1. Not yet, anyway," she giggled, "but it not cheating if you don't touch me, is it?"

"Look and don't touch?"

"That's right," she said mischievously, and quickly opened and shut her robe, offering no more than a glimpse of her bosom.

"You dirty thing," I encouraged her, (I was well into my second large gin), "show me more."

She seductively opened her robe and showed me her right breast. She smiled her lovely, tipsy smile, and started caressing her nipple.

"Do you miss it?"

"You know I do."

"I loved it when you sucked these, I still dream of it."

"Even when you are being fucked by NB1?"

"Sometimes."

"Whore."

"You made me a whore," she said, clearly turned on by the dirty talk.

"Show me more," I said again.

"No, it's your turn."

We hadn't been together in a year, yet suddenly all inhibitions had gone, and it was like we were lovers again. I quickly stripped off, and sat naked, slightly uncomfortably in my cold leather chair, slowly stroking my penis. I was pleased to see in the window showing my video on the PC, that the angle made it look bigger than normal.

"I'd forgotten how big you are," she said, opening up her robe so I could see both breasts. She had filled out a bit over the years; in a positive way. And now she had reduced her commitment to running, she had less of a boyish figure, her breasts and bottom were fuller, and there was a little more meat on her legs.