Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring, the Winter Garment of Repentance fling.
The Bird of Time has but a little way to fly — and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.
— Omar Khayyam,Rubaiyat
Chapter 45: Gulf Coast moment
It was one of those tall narrow nineteenth-century houses on the bay-front, three floors, about two rooms per floor, which proved Florida waterfront footage had been expensive a very long time. We climbed the outside back stairs all the way to the top and the blonde let herself in with her own key — the place belonged to her daughter’s boyfriend, a well-to-do doctor.
“You get the door lock,” she said, “and I’ll get this.”
She knelt in front of me.
Before I knew what was happening she had me unzipped and in hand. Her abundant blonde curls bobbed forward and now she had me in her mouth.
Midway through my fifties, after the night we just put in I was astonished how fast my cock sprang to rigid attention. It was like clinical depression and erectile dysfunction and migraines during sex were something I read about somewhere, nothing to do with me.
Almost instantly I was nudging her palate, my nerve endings firing so fast to the base of my spine it felt like my knees would buckle. I leaned against the wall and rested my hands in her bright hair. She tipped her head up and released me momentarily. A strand of clear pre-orgasmic secretion trailed from the head of my cock to her glistening lips. She licked it up salaciously.
“Just relax, baby, I know you’re tired. I’ll do all the work.”
Then she engulfed me so deeply her nose buried in my graying pubic hair. When I wondered how she could breathe — how I could keep my feet — she pulled back, oh so slowly, then began a steady pumping. My hips twitched in response. My fingers curled in her hair. She moaned around my shaft.
“That’s it, baby, fuck my mouth,” she gurgled. Then she lodged the head of my cock in her throat and went back to work.
I first saw her less than twenty-four hours ago. Before that I knew her only through internet correspondence, modern-day equivalent of a pen pal. One of my first internet contacts to initiate me into the Cyberian mysteries. Not first to be with me in person. But none of the first three came close to her bawdy sensuality. One had been a heart-breaker, the next sweet and memorable, the third frustrating and confusing. Three redheads of differing hues and personalities and body shapes. One Yankee, one Midwesterner, one Gothic Southerner.
This earthy Mississippi blonde had turned me every which way but loose. I should have been done for the year. Instead, like all my life before the crash, heavy usage energized me. All the blood in my body seemed to rush into my engorged phallus. My brain went blank. My body vibrated with sensation, like subterranean rivers of lava bulging toward daylight. In one blazing volcanic cataclysm, I came.
The explosion liquefied my spine and sucked it out of me. She nursed on me until there was nothing left. Then she stood up with swollen glistening lips curved in a winsome smile.“I told you I liked oral best of all.”
“But what about you?” My voice sounded rusty.
“Oh, baby, don’t you know I sort of came when you blasted your load in my mouth? Don’t fret, honey, we’ll have more time later, but my daughter’s goin’ to be here any minute. We’re goin’ shoppin’ and I didn’t want to be interrupted. And I didn’t want you to forget me while I was gone.”
Sometimes there’s just nothing left to say. My legs trembled as if I had run a quarter-mile. The weather was mild for Florida but I had soaked my shirt with sweat. She solicitously led me to the high front porch, settled me in an old-fashioned porch swing with a bottle of beer to cool off. I wondered if this was how pashas felt being pampered by their concubine.
The on-shore breeze dried sweat. It rattled leaves of shade trees tall as the house that she said were mimosa. Her daughter showed up before I finished the beer and she looked out the screen door to say they were going. I spread out on the swing with a couple of pillows and was asleep before they left. I dozed, then wakened when a couple came out on the adjoining porch almost close enough to touch, and started lazily making out. Maybe it was something in the air.
I lit my pipe and finished my beer. The cute girl next door said she loved the smell of my black Cavendish. I gazed at the sparkling waters of the Gulf, at traffic driving at a Sunday pace down the shore-hugging boulevard. I put my pipe on the railing and lay back. The sensual murmurs next door, and the breeze, put me right back under.
Something woke me. For a long instant I had no idea where on the planet I was. Maybe even who I was. The sun had moved far west. Shadows of the houses stretched over the boulevard.
Cars had their parking lights on. A big white flush-deck cabin cruiser ambled by offshore, so close I could hear its loafing diesel. The neighbors had gone indoors. The shoppers had not returned. I felt refreshed as I could ever remember and had the urge to walk.
I went down the outside stairs, leaving the top door unlatched, crossed the boulevard to the sidewalk and strolled. I walked farther than intended, beguiled by balmy air and gulf breeze and the sun, pale on high cirrus clouds. There was a strong Navy presence in town. It looked as if every sailor had access to a convertible or a motorcycle. Almost all of them had girls beside them or clinging to their backs on the bikes. Definitely something in the air. When I finally turned back, far down the sidewalk a woman with bright blonde hair was walking toward me.
For the first time that day, I felt a nervous little clench in my stomach. The shoppers had returned before I did and I had left no note. In my long experience as a domesticated male this was not good. I expected a dressing-down of the sort that goes you’re supposed to stay where I put you!
As she drew closer I saw she had two champagne flutes in her hands. A convertible full of sailors and girls went by. The horn sounded the old shave-and-a-haircut-two-bits rhythm. She raised a flute to them in a toast. She was smiling.
She handed me a flute. “I thought you might be dry from all that walking.”
I toasted her and drank. It was pretty good champagne as befit the cabinet of a high-priced doctor.
“Let’s just stand here a minute,” I said. “I want to memorize this instant for all time. You walking toward me with champagne, the way you look right now, the way those sailors saluted a blonde out for a stroll with champagne.”