The Ex-Mermaid, Part 3.
I wandered into the kitchen and pondered what to cook. It's a hobby of mine. There was a two-pound package of chicken in the fridge that would be "best by" tomorrow. That, an onion or two, and the remaining veggies would be the basis for a good stir-fry.
I cut up the chicken and put it in a big bowl with a half-cup of Sesame Ginger salad dressing for a mini marinade. Covered, back in the fridge. Then I washed everything very very carefully and wiped knife, cutting board, and counter with a disinfectant towel. Maybe it's paranoid, but I've internalized my mother's fear of "germs".
It was nice to return to the simple domesticity of cooking. Chopping, slicing, peeling. Sharing food with people you love. It was a ritual from the ages, the first hunter-gatherers with flint knives and wild roots. And the automatic nature of the process was meditative. I could relax after a stressful day at work, or contemplate weekend plans.
Today, of course, I was thinking about Mike. My weekend plans had been engineered better than a NASA Mars rover. Abby, my housemate, had teamed up with our friend Cathy to get me together with Mike. Mike was friends with Bill, and thus with Abby. That Friday night's Halloween party was the first time I saw Mike. Now I was pondering my life with this man, with whom I had made love for the first time but far, far from the last.
I finished prepping and cleaning up. It was too early to start cooking, so I went upstairs for a nap. Mike was at my desk, tapping away at some kind of computer code, multicolored text on a black background. I shushed my lips with a finger and gave a sneaky tiptoe to the bed. Mike looked over at me and held up a finger.
Pretty soon he finished typing, and turned to me with a smile.
"Hi. How are you doing?"
"Great. I made an appointment at Planned Parenthood for Wednesday afternoon. I didn't want to bother you, but you're welcome to come with if you have time."
"So that means..."
"It means we have ten condoms left, and four days to use them up." I started unbuttoning my shirt. Mike said, "I'm at an OK stopping place, lemme just make a few notes." He scribbled a few things in his notebook, dropped his pen like a mic drop, and stood up.
I peeled back one side of my shirt to flash a (small but pretty) boob at him. Bras were an un-necessary annoyance at work, but I'd never liked wearing them and often went without. It hadn't made much difference unless it got cold.
Mike echoed my move exactly, showing me one side of his modestly hairy chest. Of course I had to open the other side. Our flirtations were in synch, not the first time. Mike was so smart, and so aware of others, that he picked up on my games and went along with them. Words were unneeded.
As if in a mirror, Mike opened the other side of his shirt. I sat up and slipped one arm out of a sleeve. Ditto. I reached across my chest with my bare arm, as if to shuck off the other side. Mike copied, but then he smiled and pulled his hand back to stroke one of his little man-nipples.
I had to copy, of course. It was hypnotic. Mike licked his fingers and returned them to his chest. I did, too. He traced around outside the areole, then moved in and circled the tiny point of his nipple. I did so too, and escalated by undoing my fly. So did Mike, but since I wasn't wearing a belt, he couldn't do it as effectively.
I saw my chance at victory. Raising my butt, I slid my pants to my knees. Mike struggled to copy, but he was going to have a tough time slipping his still-buckled belt over his hard-on. That sight was almost enough to get me giggling, but I knew the rules. I held it.
Finally Mike gave up. "You win." He undid his belt and dropped his pants.
I beckoned him within arm's reach. "I like this game. Now, let's see. What was the penalty when I lost? Oh, yeah. A blowjob." I stretched the elastic out, freeing his long-suffering cock.
"But that was when I lost." I pulled his briefs down and he stepped out of them. "You have to remove my panties, and then you have to lick me till I come."
"I don't know if this game is more fun to win, or to lose." Mike obeyed his penalty, and began to kiss my calf, slowly working up.
"Hey, my pussy's up here." I tried to imitate the sound of someone telling a man to quit staring at her boobs. Mike's snorted chuckle blew a tiny raspberry on my leg. That gave him the idea to blow a bigger one on my inner thigh, and we both cracked up.
I pulled him up to lie next to me, and hugged him. His penis was pressing against my hip-bone, so I rolled back and grabbed a condom from under the pillow. (Hey, what can I say. I'm a planner.) I tore open the foil, but hesitated.
"I shouldn't assume anything. What do you want to do?"
"I want to use that condom. First, I want to roll it onto my penis and second, put it in your pussy. Step three is to make you come, and then for step four I will come into the condom." God, he was delivering the lines as if he was wearing a lab coat and standing in front of a chalkboard. But then he returned to his normal voice. "Other than those basic steps, I'm open to ideas."
I put on my business-meeting voice. "Well, I'm glad to see we have the framework of an agreement. However, there may need to be a few points of detail that will need emphasizing." While speechifying, I had dipped a finger into my vagina to wet it. "For example, this point right here." I rubbed my slick finger over the hot tip of his penis.
"That is a good point, and I hope to prove it to you again and again." Mike palmed my mound and tickled a finger through the hair and into the fold.
I bucked upward so his finger slid over my wetness, and he began moving up and down, slicking his fingers in my inner lips and sliding them up over my clit.
"Oh... oh... oh... Mike, I can't focus to put the condom on you. I hate to say this, but stop."
Mike's hand was gone immediately. I gave him the condom and he rolled it on. I spread my legs and lifted my knees, and Mike entered me, carefully aligning his cock and pushing gently until he was well in. I gave him a welcoming squeeze. He put his arms around me, laying on his elbows, then kissed me as we began our slow hip rocking. I stared into his eyes, kissing all over his face. My hip motions were beginning to speed up and he matched me in pace and intensity. I could feel that he was following me, letting me lead and watching my responses. I found that timing a hip grind to his thrusts caused my clit and G spot to pulse together. We got that working in synch, and I soon began to grip him with my orgasmic contractions.
Mike's hips bottomed out and I could feel the first surge. I gripped his butt and pulled it in for the next three distinct surges, which were echoed by my own little cries and the rippling muscles in my pelvis.
"I... I didn't mean to come so fast." Mike wrapped the used condom in tissues and threw it away before lying back down.
"Fast can be good, Mike. You may have noticed I came just as fast. Don't fret, your dad's rule is unbroken. My orgasm started about three strokes before I felt you come."
Mike mumbled something, and closed his eyes. His arm was still across my stomach, and he cupped a breast, lazily circling my nipple. The circles grew slower as his breathing calmed, and he dozed off.
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