Estelle Ch. 03

I woke before her.

During my four years in the Air Force, well, my three years in northern Japan as a communications analyst, I had done what we called "trick work." The listening post to which I was assigned operated 24/7/365, as they say. To staff it, we worked rotating shifts. In good military phonetics, the shifts were designated "Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, and Delta." I was on the "Delta Flight." In the Air Force, everything was a "flight," so, of course, we called it "Dawg Flight." Shifts rotated so that you worked seven-to-three day shifts for four days, had a day off, three-to-eleven swing shifts for four days, had a day off, and eleven-to-seven mid shifts for four days. Then we had four days off.

The reason I mention this is that my circadian system was left confused, a condition from which I still suffer. I would often wake after a two- or three-hour "nap" and have trouble getting to sleep.

So, I woke before her, but I had no interest in trying to fall back asleep.

I just watched her sleep and sent a silent "thank you" to Marty for my "blind date."

With her muscles slack in sleep, there was no doubt that I lay beside a senior citizen. I won't call her an "old woman," because those two words together have a connotation of, well, that witch we all saw when we watched Snow White, the cartoon, with the oversized nose complete with wart, the prominent chin, the buggy eyes, and the oversized hanging ears. My Estelle, and I was already thinking of her as "my" Estelle, was far from that, but I knew she had her Medicare card, so there was no doubt that she was, well, "senior."

Her carefully coiffed hair was a tangled mess. When I touched it, careful to not wake her, it was stiff from the mousse or pomade or serum or whatever she used, along with what felt like multiple coats of hairspray. The stray thought passed through my mind that it would be interesting to see how she got that mess untangled.

Her forehead was deeply lined, and in the relaxation of sleep, even that thin pad of fat couldn't keep it smooth. Her makeup was mostly gone, and where any remained, it was smeared. The last traces of her eyeshadow and eyeliner were faded, and a dark line of mascara or eyeliner had formed along the crease of her nostril. There was a bit of crust in the corner of her eye, the residue of her tear ducts and mucus membranes as they accomplished their job of keeping dust and grit from tender eye surfaces. Her nose had run a little, leaving another crust around the bottom of her nostrils. Her lips were parted slightly, and she was drooling, a wet line from the corner of her mouth ran to the wet spot on the pillow case.

I smiled as she snored, a loud, bubbling snore, and smacked her lips before settling back into her sleep. Maybe her dreams were of me, and she wanted to get back to them.

Okay, she was an old woman. But she was a pretty old woman.

So I lay there, watching her sleep, and wondering if maybe the notion of love at first sight wasn't bullshit after all.

I mean, well, look.

It had certainly been like at first sight. I liked the way she looked. I enjoyed her conversation. I liked her quick wit and bright mind.

And it had damn certainly been lust at first sight. She was as passionate as a pubescent teenager. More importantly, she was as skilled as a Japanese Geisha.

And as I watched her sleep, I felt something unfamiliar. Call it tenderness. I wanted to kiss her cheek, not roll her onto her back. And it hit me that it might actually be love.

So I watched her sleep. Hell, I watched her sleep until my damn arm, the one my chin was propped on, went to sleep and I had to stretch out, my cheek sharing her pillow, our lips so close they touched with each tiny movement.

I guess I slept, which surprised me.

I guess I felt that comfortable and safe.

I woke to the sensation of a spider crawling across my cheek. When I opened my eyes, I saw hers close enough that they filled my field of view.

"You're still here," she said, her voice morning-husky.

"Say it," I said.

Her eyes got big.

"David," she said.

I held her eyes.

"Say it," I said.

Her eyes overflowed.

She held my eyes for a long ten count, her tears slowly making tracks down her cheeks, her nose starting to run.

She kissed me, suddenly and hard, a sloppy, snotty, hard, almost desperate kiss.

A good kiss.

She squirmed in that way a woman can, and molded her body to mine. I could feel her breasts and her belly against me as she held the kiss.

She held the kiss as she pushed me back, her hand on my shoulder, and straddled me.

She held the kiss as she worked her hips, rocking to find alignment and then accepting me into her body.

She broke the kiss finally, pushed herself up to look down at me, and held that position, showing an odd athleticism.

"I think I could fall in love with you," she said, "but that's the best I can do for now."

"Well," I said, smiling, finding her breasts with my hands, tugging her nipples gently, "I guess that'll have to do for now."

"And you?" she asked, smiling and holding still now.

"Oh, I'm certain I could fall in love with you," I said.

She smiled and kissed me.

"That'll do," she said, and went wild. Her hips were thrusting, demanding, almost desperate. Her kisses were hard, almost painful.

She came. It was sudden, hot, and very wet, accompanied by a gasp and her nails digging almost painfully into the round ball of my shoulder muscles.

She held still in the rigidity of her ecstasy for several seconds. Her muscles were so tense under the thin, soft pad of fat that I wondered about cramps. But then she gasped a loud intake of breath and pushed herself up until she was in the classic cowgirl position, impaled on my erection, her legs spread, her back straight, and on her face was a happy smile.

I started to say something, but she touched my lips, stopping me.

I smiled back, lay back, and watched. Hell, I figured it was her show. And it turned out I was exactly right. It WAS a show.

She smiled, did that thing only a woman can truly pull off, running her fingers through her hair, tugging past her tangles, laced her fingers behind her head, and began singing Natalie Wood's song from Gypsy while setting up a good bump and grind.

"Let me," she began, ending the first phrase with a gentle twitch of her hips to the right, "entertain you," she sang in a soft, breathy voice, and twitched her hips to the left.

As the song went on, and as near as I can tell, she had every word, although I've only seen the movie twice, so I can't be certain of that. And an amazing thing happened. Her age became, at once, more and less obvious.

She was young, maybe a gymnast past her prime, deep into her 20s, with the way her body moved. Her muscle control was flawless, and she seemed to be able to move any part of her body independently. Her smile was the happy smile only the young can really pull off, although I found the appliance white teeth a bit off-putting. When she stretched, keeping the beat of her song, she was as flexible as any cheerleader.

She was old. There was no hiding the stretch marks across the tops of her breasts, the universal sign of a woman with large breasts who had breastfed at least one baby. In that position, with her fingers interlaced behind her head, the incipient bat wings of her upper arms, with their own stretch marks combined with the wrinkles and a couple of now-visible skin tags in her armpits, showed her two-thirds of a century. Her breasts swayed in an interesting way, almost flopping as the tempo of her song sped up. They were full but dramatically fallen, and her pink areolas had tightened with her dance, putting the oversized love bumps, the Montgomery glands that some women have in abundance, very much on display.

She stopped, suddenly, her breath catching and a rush of her hot nectar wetting my balls, and resumed her dance.

I wanted to say something, but I thought she would prefer silence, so I just watched.

I wanted to say, "You're beautiful."

I wanted to say, "I want you."

I wanted to say, "I love you."

And as I watched her, once again my mind asked itself, "What in the FUCK do guys see in young girls?"

But she was, when you get down to it, leaning on 70 very hard and obviously starting to tire. I waited, and when I felt another climax take her, the sudden gasp and gush of her release unfakable, I squirmed, freed myself, and rolled her onto her back. I knew the leverage better than she did and managed the move without hurting either of us.

I slipped back inside of her, our bodies knowing what we needed now, and smiled down.

When she opened her mouth to say something, it was my turn to shush her with a finger to the lips.

"You are beautiful," I said and kissed her, moving just enough to remind her that I was inside of her.

"I want to go to sleep with you," I said and kissed her again, holding still now, just enjoying our merged bodies.

"I want to wake you in the middle of the night to remind you how beautiful you are," I said, kissing each eyelid.

"I want to watch you sleep in the morning," I said and kissed her again, "To hear your snores and see the way you drool and the way your nose runs a little."

I kissed the corner of her mouth and the tip of her nose.

As I was saying these things, the only movements were her squeezing where I was inside of her, and me working those muscles deep in my groin that made me move slightly inside of her.

"You are so beautiful," I said, and I meant it.

But that broke the moment.

She giggled, said, "Such a bullshitter you are," in such a perfect Jewish mother voice that I wanted to look around for a yamulka or something.

But I couldn't look around because her fingers were in my hair suddenly, her legs spread wide, and her heels digging into my ass.

"Now get to fucking, Bullshitter," she said.

There was nothing gentle about what she was doing now. Her hips were thrusting, her heels were digging, and with each thrust she grunted, a harsh little sound.

"Nympho," I said, laughing softly as I matched her rhythm, my thrusts hitting her pelvic arch and her swollen labia with audible slaps and splashes.

"Sexually disinhibited," she said, laughing as her fingers raked my back, making me arch away and wonder if she was drawing blood.

"Slut," I said, grinning and kissing her hard enough to leave our lips swollen.

"That's right," she said, her fingers entwined in my hair now and pulling me down for a kiss hard enough to match mine.

"Now fuck me, David," she said, her fingers pulling me away far enough that out eyes could meet and focus on each other, "fuck me hard, make me feel it."

So, I did.

I was thrusting hard now, and she was matching each thrust.

I was grunting as I did, and she was matching each grunt.

I was sweating with the effort of what I was doing and I saw from the sheen on her body when I looked down at her boobs, rolling and swaying in very interesting ways, that she was slick with sweat too.

I was starting to worry about my control when she came.

It was sudden and spectacular. Her cry of ecstasy was almost soundless, a bare whistle through a constricted throat as her back arched, her heels drummed on my ass, and her fingers hooked into claws and pulled me to her.

I held still, feeling her soaking us both with her release. Her womanscent was thick in the air, that pheromone-laden perfume of a fully satisfied woman.

When the orgasm passed, she went limp.

"Relax, Estelle," I said, kissing her, "Don't move."

She smiled and whispered, "I don't think I can."

I grinned, said, "Good," and started a slow rhythm.

She stayed so completely still and relaxed that I would have thought she was asleep if it wasn't for the blue eyes that held mine, smiling, making me understand that phrase "the smile reached her eyes." Way back in that analyst's mind that the Air Force had trained so well, I wondered if there was a word like "narcophilia." In a Psychology class, I ran into the term narcolepsy for a condition that caused people to fall asleep without warning, so "narcophilia" seemed logical. As it turned out, later, when I Googled "narcophilia," the system returned plenty of hits for necrophilia, giving me pause. Could the desire for sex with a dead body really be more common than the desire for sex with a sleeping person?

I digress.

So we held each other's eyes as I kept up that slow rhythm.

The only sign of her first orgasm was a little hitch in her breathing, a slight widening of her eyes, and a sudden hot, sticky wetness on my cock and balls.

She didn't move at all, completely relaxed, as her nose started running through a second and then a third orgasm.

Finally, her control broke. Or maybe she had rested enough to allow movement.

She wrapped her legs around me suddenly, her hands digging into my back, and pulled me down for a kiss.

Her mouth was a hungry thing, the kiss hard.

When she pushed me away a little, she said, "Yes, Baby, I love this. I love your cock. I love you being inside of me."

I grinned, no, I smiled, and replied.

"I love this," I said, pulling out very slowly and then moving back inside of her just as slowly, holding her eyes.

"I love your pussy," I said, repeating that slow out and in, watching her eyes get big.

"I love being inside of you and I wish I could knock you up," I said, doing the slow out and in, and watching her smile spread slowly.

"I love your big saggy tits," I nipped her right nipple, "this soft third chin," I nipped it, "the sweet soft spots," and I nipped at the soft flabby flesh at the back of her arm.

"Fill me up, David," she said, rocking her hips to meet mine.

"Say it," I said, slow out and in.

"Please, David, give me the Gift," she said, her eyes big and starting to overflow.

"Say it," I said, slow out and in.

Her eyes were big and red, tears overflowing. She sniffed hard, her nose running.

"Please," she said softly.

"Say it," I said again, slow out and in.

I watched her take a deep breath. I felt her chest expand. I sensed that somehow this was it.

Eternity waited.

Her fingers tangled in my hair.

"I love you," she whispered, and pulled me down for a kiss.

And exploded.

Well, we exploded together.

Her fingers twisted in my hair as she sprayed her release, making me wonder if she was literally "snatching me bald-headed," and my great-grandmother might have said.

My fingers mirrored hers, tangled in her stiff hair as tiny muscles low in my belly clamped down, sending my ejaculate deep into her.

Her mouth opened as she pulled me away from her, making a high-pitched keening sound, as her body arched and she sprayed a second wave.

My mouth opened and I felt drool run down my chin, my own sound something Charles Schultz might have heard at some point to develop Charlie Brown's famous, "Auuuuugggghhhhhhh" as those muscles sent a second jet into her.

Her fingers, hooked into claws, raked my back, drawing a second, "Auuuugggghhhhhh" from me as her back spasmed, her hips bucked, and she sprayed a third time before collapsing, spent.

My fingers twisted in her hair, forcing her to bend her neck, exposing her throat on which I latched like a hungry baby, marking her with a hickey like we were two horny teenagers, as my system shot a final weak jet into her.

She collapsed, spent, exhausted, panting. I could barely make out her words as I saw her lips moving, and then she pulled me down so her lips touched my ear.

"Say it," she breathed.

I pushed myself up enough for her to focus on my face and mouthed the words for her.

"I love you," I said soundlessly.

She smiled and relaxed completely. It was as if she had gone to sleep.

And right then, with her face flushed, her body suffused with the blood of her excitement, she was beautiful.

Like any human with a Y chromosome, I softened and slipped out, pulling a soft mutual gasp from both of us.

But I held my position, looking down into that beautiful face.

Then, dammit, she smiled and those overly white teeth broke the moment.

"You're too lovely for this," I said, brushing her lips with my fingertip.

She blushed very prettily and covered her mouth with her hand.

"My granddaughter said it makes me look younger," she said.

I chuckled and said, "Proving, once again, why you should never go to grandchildren for fashion advice."

She giggled and then gave me that sidelong, pursed-lips-pulled-down-and-to-the-side look only a woman can pull off, and got her hands between us, pushing at me.

I took the hint and rolled off of her.

"Well," she said, keeping the look on her face, "she also suggested this," and she rolled onto her belly, reached back, and spread the cheeks of her slightly oversized butt.

I smiled, bent, blew on that well-bleached, pink, tiny starburst, and then traced it with my tongue.

"Welllllllll," I said, tickling her back, smiling at the goosebumps I raised, "that's pretty sweet, although natural there is okay too."

"Take what you want, David," she said, arching her back, lifting her hips, and giving a little wiggle.

I smiled and leaned across her, reaching for the drawer on the bedside table that I figured would hold a tube of Vaseline or K-Y Jelly or some more anal specific lubricant.

She caught my arm.

"No, Baby," she said, "I'm an old woman and things are pretty stretched out back there."

She giggled.

"And, Honey," she went on, "I like ALL of the sensations."

I sprang erect. Well, more erect, as I realized what she was saying.

I bent then, covering her ass with kisses as I slowly applied pressure, spreading her cheeks, exposing what she wanted me to take.

I traced down her gluteal cleft with the tip of my tongue and then began slowly spiraling in to that well-bleached pink starburst.

She shivered when I touched and then pressed with the tip of my tongue, but then I pushed myself up again.

"Relax," I said, the tip of my index fingers bracketing that puckered little circle and applying a gentle pressure.

"Oh my," she whispered, and I felt her relax under my hands, the slight residual tension leaving those big muscles.

"Relax," I said again, my fingertips penetrating the first fraction of an inch, giving me purchase to begin opening her.

She was, it turned out, right. She was very stretched out, and with just a little pressure, I had her open enough that I could see inside, past the ring of those powerful sphincter muscles.

You're never really "dry" back there. The anal tunnel is lined with mucus membranes for lubrication, making the body's natural functions easier. As I stimulated her with my fingertips, I could feel those cells starting to work. She wasn't as slick and ready as her pussy got, but she wasn't truly "dry" either.

"Relax," I said again as I slipped my middle fingers in to join my index fingers, and began opening her wider.

Her breath caught, and the womanscent of her arousal joined the perfume of our bodies.

"Relax," I said again as I pulled my fingers out and watched as she remained open, closing only very slowly.

I reversed the position of my hands and laid my palms flat on her gluteal cleft.

"Relax," I said again as I eased my thumbs into her and began pulling her open even wider.

She groaned, and I stopped adding pressure.

"Are you all right?" I asked, "Should I stop?"

She giggled softly and said, "Yes, no."

It took a second for me to understand that she had answered both of my questions, in order.

I chuckled and started applying pressure again, stretching her, loosening her up for what we both wanted.

When I had her stretched enough that I could picture my cock slipping in while barely touching skin I pulled my thumbs out, patted her ass, and moved forward, my knees between her thighs. I used my hand to guide my erection until I touched where she was still closing very slowly.

"Squeeze," I said.

I watched that hole close, fascinated as the wrinkles around the tiny opening reformed and she was a pretty, pink starburst again.

"SQUEEZE," I said, squeezing her ass cheeks where I had a good grip, "Try to keep me out."

I felt her take a deep breath, and then felt muscles start to work under my hands. I watched as her starburst seemed to shrink in upon itself, becoming a tiny, hard mound.

"SQUEEZE," I said again as I pushed forward now, my glans pressing against where she was fighting me.

I realized she had been holding her breath as she strained, when she suddenly gasped, relaxing enough that I watched as the tip of my erection penetrated a tiny bit before she bore down again.

Those are very powerful muscles, and it takes a lot of energy to hold them in tension like that.

She was grunting now, a soft guttural sound I doubt she was aware she was making. I could feel little relaxations and with each one, a tiny bit more of my glans entered her.

"Don't let up," I said, pushing harder.

But she was spent.

She cried out, and her relaxation was complete as I watched my shaft enter her all the way in one smooth thrust.

She took a deep breath and squeezed, but there was no power in it.

I laid my palms flat on her ass cheeks and spread them before pushing forward, getting that last fraction of an inch of myself into her.

And she came.

The orgasm gave her new power, and the way she squeezed was almost painful. But it didn't last. It couldn't last. She was pretty exhausted back there.

I held still as her body shuddered, and that wonderful pheromone-laden scent of her release flooded the air.

When she relaxed I set up a slow rhythm, a slow out and in, as my hands caressed her ass and the small of her back.

She came in waves but not as powerfully as that first time, and said softly, almost a whisper, "Oh Jesus."

My body responded, as it must, but I didn't hurry. I avoided the temptation of letting it start those short strokes that would finish me. I kept up that slow rhythm, slow out, slow in, until my ejaculation, something so gentle it could hardly be called "cumming," had me flowing into her through several of those slow strokes.

I kept the rhythm up until I softened and slipped out, and then admired as she slowly closed, my thick white semen leaking until she stopped the flow.

I smiled, patted her ass, and crawled up beside her.

Her smile made her look like a girl.

"Say it," I said, my fingertips brushing her cheek.

She held my eyes for a long ten count.

I waited her out.

"I love you," she said.