Let me tell you about my boyfriend Mark. If I asked you to guess his age, I'll bet you'd say late thirties, just like everyone else does. Well, you wouldn't even be close – Mark turned sixty this year. There's not a trace of flab or wrinkle on his splediferous physique nor a grey hair anywhere, although that might be more about the fact that he shaves everything. That's right, I said e-v-e-r-y-thing. No six pack abs, but no gut either and I'm just fine with that. Add to the picture the fact that he regularly visits a tanning salon and you've got one helluva package. Actually we'll get to the package later and that's really the best part.
He has deep brown eyes and a scruffy head full of sandy brown hair. He dresses like a gentleman, no ass crack on display ever, no tattoos, no wife beaters, often in a well tailored Saville Row kit, and comfortable enough with his own masculinity to sometimes even wear a pink shirt as part of the ensemble.
There was something very unique about him when we first met and I had a feeling we would be naked together someday. After a few weeks of flirting we were out at a waterside party one afternoon, me in my teeny tiny white bikini and he in shorts and a polo shirt. I was staring at his beautifully tanned legs and perfectly manicured feet when suddenly it hit me.
He had six toes.
I stared and he caught me at it. I was embarrassed to be caught, but he didn't seem the least bit bothered. No one else around us seemed to notice, but then, I guess unless you have a foot fetish you don't do a lot of staring at other peoples' feet. He put a hand on mine and I shivered with delight at my first touch by this extraordinary man. His touch and gentle smile put me at ease again immediately. After another margarita he asked if I'd like to go grab a quiet dinner and I jumped at the opportunity. I changed back to the short little frock I'd arrived in and we headed out.
Over dinner he offered an explanation with regard to his "pedicularity" as he put it. His mother had taken an experimental prescriptive back right after the second World War and later had gotten pregnant. An unforeseen latent effect of the drug was that the children born to mothers that had taken it developed additional digits. He showed me his hands and explained that the small bumps to the side of each of his "pinkies" were actually the stubs of sixth fingers that had been amputated when he was an infant. I shuddered but he assured me that it was nothing he even remembered, that it had been done within weeks of his birth and was not unlike being circumcised at that age. The decision had been made not to alter his feet, as that was less likely to be considered as freakish and even if it became an issue, it was easily concealed with shoes.
What a unique and fascinating man I thought to myself. I was smitten by the fact that he was willing to share his secret with me. Our dinner proceeded with tales of his youth in Manchester with me totally mesmerized by his voice and his quiet confidence. I was smitten and as the evening went on, I believe he realized I was.
Outside the restaurant, he slipped an arm around me and I absolutely melted into his embrace. Our lips met and I was treated to a kiss that started out soft and sweet, before turning to firm and passionate. The second kiss found our tongues becoming aquainted in a juicy pas de deux. His hands wandered across my back and into my hair. The next kiss was to the nape of my neck and I was helpless from there on. I knew I would do anything for this man.
In his car my dress rode high up my thigh and I left it there. He noticed, smiled, and rested a hand on my thigh in between shifts as he throttled his Vantage through the evening atmosphere. His fingers wandered to the inside of my thigh and that gushy excited feeling of lust began to occupy my lower regions.
I'd had no idea where we were going, but we pulled up to a smallish, well kept place just a stone's throw from the shops on Lido Key. It was contemporary and looked to be from the fifties or sixties, well kept and resplendent in tropical foliage. He parked, opened the passenger side door like a true gentleman and then led me inside. A bottle of Remy Martin appeared, two glasses were poured and then clinked. We sipped briefly and the kissing resumed.
Before I really knew it, my dress was off and he was unfastening the clasp on the lacy balconette bra that I'd worn. It fell to the floor and his hands cupped my breasts as his fingers found my nipples, gently teasing them into an ever more excited state. It had been a while since I'd been fondled by anyone and I was enjoying every moment. These were the hands of an experienced connoisseur of the delights a woman has to offer. I could tell he was savoring every moment.
Now wearing only my heels and a lacy thong that matched the now discarded bra, I was led out through a sliding glass door into the back garden and the night air. The full moon made it easy to negotiate the pathway through the plantings and past a pool. A heady floral aroma filled my head and a warm breeze drifted across my naked flesh. It was absolutely delicious.
At the far corner of the property stood a smallish structure which turned out to be a poolhouse. We entered and I could make out in the dim light that it held little more than a large bed. Mark struck a match, the acrid sulphuric odor a sharp contrast to the scents of the garden. After lighting several candles he returned his attention to me, this time bending slightly to enable his lips to meet my nipples, kissing, licking and gently nibbling at them while at the same time exploring the rest of my body with his hands. He cupped my ass with his hands and slipped fingers between my thighs, stroking them gently before meandering up and pressing against the crotch on my thong, driving me crazy with the almost there contact.
I could stand it no more. I slipped my thumbs into the waist of the thong and slowly slipped it past my hips and off then stepping out of it with his assistance. I stood there naked save for the shoes, legs slightly spread, offering my sex to him.
His fingers gently explored me, stroking, fondling, cupping my fruit before finally penetrating me. I was obscenely wet, ready to be entered, dying to be. A second finger joined the first and he explored me inside, knowing just where to rub, how deep to go, and knowing that I needed to feel friction as well, sliding the pair of digits in and out, up and down, bringing me to the verge of a climax, but then withdrawing them, instead choosing to now focus on my clitoris. This time his dexterity continued until I cried out in ecstasy as the glory of an intense orgasm engulfed my entire being.
