Afternoon In La La Land

"Of course not. Tell me Boss, are you getting laid Right This Very Minute?"

*****

Chapter Three: Unusual Sex

I really hadn't considered what to say if the conversation went this way. Which shows how little I'd thought things through.

"Ahhh... yeah. Something... yeah, like that. Yeah."

"Again? God, you're a cad. To phone in the middle."

"That's ahhh... that's the word. I was... I was looking ahhh... looking for, ahhh... earlier. Couldn't think of it. Actually I... we... ahhh... that is to say, ahhh... we began after I dialed."

She laughed. "Even worse! So tell me – is he just gorgeous? A cute blond surfer dude with rock hard abs and tight, tight buns? Lie to me if ya' gotta', Boss. Let a girl dream."

Now how the hell am I going to I explain this? Despite all her teasing, I never lie to her. She knows me far too well, and I need her far too much.

"Ahhh... not that, sorry, Dearest. No, I ahhh... I can't say that. No... sorry."

"Oh, come on now. I know your type. You like 'em pumped, buffed, and trim. I hear LA is just crawling with guys like that. No wonder you're leaving us."

I leaned forward, to look over. Admired her behind again, below the rippling water as she continued her beat. It was more than a little larger than I usually prefer, true; and the shape was completely different. But she was tensing hard with each thrust in, and looked very trim and firm. Was that what tempted me? I examined her closely for a few more moments, careful not to drop the phone into the pool.

"Ahhh... no, not like that at all, sorry, Cutie Pie, not... ahhh... not at all. Like that. More like... ahhh... more like the shyster's type."

I put up with her, and I paid her an awful lot of money, because she's smart. She caught my drift instantly. "A girl?" She was incredulous. Well, so was I, I suppose. "You're fucking," she took a deep breath, "a girl!?!" Loud enough to be heard in Brooklyn.

"Watch your sexist language, young lady."

"OK then Mr. Smarty Pants, a woman? A female-type person of the opposite gender?"

"That would appear to be the, ahhh... yes. The case. Yes." Why was I so embarrassed? I've confessed worse things to her before, I suppose. It's hard to say how being blown by the unusual sex relates to other indiscretions. And then phoning in the middle. How do you score these things?

She was obviously getting tired; her flagging rhythm showed it. "Gotta put you on hold again, Sweetheart. Just for another second." I didn't wait for her answer, but just hit the button.

Again, I set the phone down. I gripped her hand with one of mine, and dropped the other square on top of her head. Squeezing both, I stopped her. She looked up at me, expectantly, at the back of the stroke. Breathing very hard now.

Running both hands under her ears and holding gently, I slid her off me. She popped loud exiting. I let her catch her breath for a few seconds as I scooted forward a few inches, and then guided her head down and around until the tops of her shoulders were level with the water. Her hair got a little wet, but it gave a better angle. Her pink tongue slid past her pink lips as she turned slightly more. She pulled up a bit, aiming carefully, and caught my balls square with the tip.

"Right there, for a while," to the woman between my knees. Into the phone, "Back again."

"So tell me, Boss. When, exactly, did this happen?"

"Just... a little while ago. Just...ahhh... ahhh... just now, actually."

"OK, yeah – well I can see that. But when, exactly, did you turn straight?"

"When did you turn nosy?"

"No fair! I asked first! What I want to know is, why have you been humping hunks all these years when you could've been humping me like any decent boss would?"

"I... I don't know... it... surprised me, really it did. I don't know. Don't know why. Or why I'm even talking to you about it," I said into the phone. "Lower, under," to the woman in question. "Up behind."

"I mean, I've heard of guys turning queer when they get to The Land of Fruits, Flakes and Nuts. But never the other way around."

She switched sides, twisting her head the other way, but stayed down low. I'd covered everything I needed to say and it was time to wrap things up. "Have them send me the details, will you Darling? Of what they worked out?"

But she wasn't ready to let me go quite yet "I think you've completely misunderstood the 'bi-' in 'bi-coastal'."

"You should write for Letterman. I'll call you tonight. At, ahhh... at home, your home. Tonight. Not too late, your time. To, ahhh... to go over the details. Of what they worked out."

"You'd better be ready to give some details, too, Buster. You've got a lot of explaining to do. Meantime, have fun. You might even start liking it."

"It's possible. I'll try. Bye." And I hung up before she could come up with another zinger.

My cock was brushing across her face as she continued to lap, bumping hard, smearing the makeup. Her mascara, eyeliner and blush were a mess, her hair wet, matted and disarrayed, her lipstick in ruins. I found the effect surprisingly charming.

After admiring the sight for a minute or more, appreciating her obvious efforts, I reached below her chin, and lifted. Her gaze rose faster than her head, until she was staring straight into my eyes once again, the tip of my cock exactly even with her still open lips.

There was no need for stage directions any more. She knew what was next. She blinked twice, then once again, took a deep breath and opened her mouth very wide. She even pulled herself forward against my hand a little. I let it slip around her neck, then reached across to hold her hand once again.

Straight, hard and deep, on the very first push, very hard, straight in, fully in, no question that now she wants to.

But do I? I wondered.

It's been years since I'd even thought about screwing a woman. I mean, I'm no virgin. Not that way. Well, not any way, actually. I even started out with girls. But that was a long time ago.

The thought hit like a hammer. What if I can't? Now that would be embarrassing, after all the build-up. I should be OK, I mean, a mouth is a mouth, after all. And I've come into dozens and dozens of those over the years. Many of them not nearly as eager as hers is now, not trying anywhere near as hard.

I'd hate to disappoint her, make her think I didn't appreciate her considerable effort.

One thing I've found about coming is, you can't chase it. It's there, or it isn't. Trying doesn't make it any easier. So I did my best to just relax; closing my eyes, leaning back and remembering the clenching of a very tight ass. To her credit, it was hers I was thinking about, right in front of my nose, just as her panties cleared her ankles. That surprised me all over again. This was turning out to be a very surprising afternoon.

I drifted like that, quietly; feeling her lips, teeth, and throat pushing hard over my cock; over and over. Her tongue was pressing up hard with each thrust in and dragging across the sensitive spot, her breath blowing hard into my tummy each pull out. She was holding tight to the pool's edge with both hands and really pushing.

A few more strokes and the familiar tightening, tensing, triggering told me that I was going to. And soon. I lingered on the image a little longer, exploring unfamiliar mental territory while the familiar physical sensations flowed through me. I opened my eyes and looked down just as the first spurt shot hot and fast into her. She stopped instantly, looking up, suddenly focusing on me. Green eyes were asking permission. I didn't hold her, but I didn't give it either. It wasn't my pool yet.

I continued to come into her, deep into her, for a very long time. It had been longer than usual for me, and I'd built up. She took me all, or at least most of me. Some semen leaked out around her lips, dripping down her chin while I felt her tongue and throat working quickly to swallowing as much as she could.

After the last of the sperm, but before the last of the spasms, I reached down, below her arms and lifted straight up. I pulled her out of the water, across my lap, and held on as she gasped for air. I very carefully pulled wet and matted hair from her eyes once again and stroked her cheeks, soothing as best I could. It had been a long time since I'd held a woman that way, and wasn't quite sure where to put my hands. But I tried, rocking slowly.

Gathering up the thick drops from her chin, I held my finger to her lips, not pressing in at all. I wouldn't have minded at all if she'd turned her head, but she didn't. She let her tongue slip out one last time, accepted the last, and it was over.

*****

Chapter Four: Turning About

We sat like that for quite a while. Me, remembering it all; every single image extraordinary, distinct; from the moment I first saw her, looking cool, crisp and efficient in her air-conditioned office, right up to the instant I began pumping sperm down her throat. In retrospect, it was even more amazing.

Her? She didn't say.

After a while, when she'd settled down, I lifted up and set her next to me. Carefully, I got my feet below and stood, then stooped to pick her up, arms below her back and under the knees. She turned into me, snuggling, sliding one arm up around my neck and the other grabbing the far shoulder. She kissed me, delicately, on the collarbone, her breathing smooth and easy and semen scented as I carried her to the nearest deck chair and carefully set her down. I lowered the back so the chair was flat, pulled another one next to her, and settled it in tight. I reached across once more to stroke her cheek gently.

She was on her side, mostly, hips turned down and one knee up. Breathing lightly now, eyes closed lightly, lying lightly in the sun. We lay together for a while, drying off quickly in the afternoon heat, as I remembered it all over again. Now and then she would burrow a little closer into me.

My nose was pressed a little into her scalp, and I noticed again how good she smelled. That's pretty much the only thing I'd missed about sleeping with women.

After drifting together for many minutes, I decided that if we were going to be in the hot sun, we should probably use that leftover lotion. Had she been the one to leave it there? I wondered. Planted it? Had she planned for something like this to happen? Did she do this kind of thing often, if in fact it was planned? Did I really want to know?

I had a lot to think about as I grabbed it and got to work.

Starting at her shoulders, I massaged some lotion carefully into her skin. She twisted slightly below my hands, turning to lie fully on her tummy. I used the stuff generously, stroking and smoothing across her back, around to the side and halfway up her breasts, then down to her waist. I squeezed a large drop square onto the hollow at the base of her spine, and spread it up and about.

Turning around, I started with her feet, holding an ankle, kneading into the sole. I even pushed a little between each toe, working across from little to big. Then the other foot, continuing from big to little, having a surprising amount of fun in the process.

Up the calves, each one in turn, to her knees. I casually slid my hands between, and pressed out. She opened wide for me without any hesitation or resistance. It was far too early to even think about another, but I do like to be prepared. Speaking of prepared, I remembered that there were a handful of condoms tucked into the inside pocket of my jacket, just a few feet away. My gaze was well in advance of my hands, and my thoughts were even farther ahead, wondering just how surprising this day would turn out to be.

I slowed my pace even more, gradually inching up the thighs. Mostly on the back and outside, but I let my hands move inside every once in a while. She wiggled her backside slightly when I passed the halfway mark, settling completely and fully into the chair.

Did she think I'd be insulted if she didn't cooperate? Not buy a multi-million dollar property, just because of that? Or buy it because she did? That was silly, of course. But people believe silly things. I added it to my list of questions, and continued higher. Did I really want to know?

As I was considering all of the questions, my hands drifted from honeyed skin to milky white. I really should have started there, I thought casually. If what I was doing was meant to be protection and not foreplay. Another question to think about. Why is screwing always so dammed complicated?

Back in my youth, back when I was fooling around with girls, I suppose they didn't work out as much as women now days. I sure didn't recall any female buns as firm as the ones below my hands now. She rolled her hips again as I smoothed on the lotion, and I noticed that her breathing was much huskier now than it had been, and that her cheeks were flushed red once more. The other pair of cheeks. The ones I was covering with suntan lotion were taunt and trim, smooth and pale, but not clenched. Slipping my hands across so that each palm was centered on a cheek, I pressed my thumbs in and apart, spreading her slightly.

She was pink, between. Very pink, and looked very small. Had she ever been penetrated there before? I wondered. It was possible, I supposed, that she hadn't. Even possible that she didn't quite realize what I was doing, or rather thinking about doing. What my cock was beginning to wake up about. After all, if a mouth is a mouth...

Holding her apart with one hand, I dripped some more lotion at the top of the valley, watching it drizzle gradually downward, covering. Using just my middle finger, I began to rub it around, very slowly and gently, then pressing in slightly. Feeling her muscles move under my fingertip.

"Not there. I don't do there." Smooth and level, calm. She didn't close her legs, didn't tense, didn't even move below my hand. She just set her boundary, firmly. It was the first time she'd spoken since I'd began undressing her. I paused, holding very still.

"I mean, I know that that's the way you like it. There. Screwing there. Isn't it? Boys."

"Not kids, no."

She allowed her eyes to open, slightly, and turned to look straight at me over her shoulder. "But guys. Other men. That's what I meant."

"Yes. Do you always check up on your potential buyers? I mean, that way?"

"Not that way, not specifically, no. But yes, we always check, and very carefully. At this price level, you can't be too careful."

"Does it bother you?"

"It flatters me. That you would want me. To do that. For you... to you. I know I'm not exactly your type."

"But you're exactly my type. Apparently. Believe me, I had a very good time."

She turned and reached high and across to her purse, pulling it to within easy reach. Then slipped back down, onto my hand once again. I'd just held still, and she maneuvered her bottom back into position. "You can fool around some more, there, if you want. I even like it, kind of. For a little while. But not inside, OK?"

"OK."

She reached into her purse, found a mirror, and cringed at the sight. Quickly, expertly, she removed the worst of the damage and began to reapply her makeup while I worked my way outward, reversing my path, spreading a second layer of lotion.

As soon as she had everything more or less repaired, she started brushing her hair. She was shifting around far too much for me to continue massaging, so I just put one hand directly on the small of her back and felt her move below me. When she had herself more or less in order, she rolled over and sat up, took the lotion from my hand, and motioned for me to lie flat. I lay back on my back, raised my hands over my head, closed my eyes, and tried to relax into her.

Moving much more swiftly than I had, she covered my shoulders, chest and stomach. Then shifted down to my ankles, and worked back up, like I'd just done. She hesitated not at all when she reached my crotch, just filled her hand with a big squirt of lotion and massaged it onto the balls, then made a fist around my cock and pumped easily once again. I started to firm for her once again, slightly. It was early, way too early, but the afternoon was still young, too.

"You sure are pale. You'll need to work on that, if you want to become a real Californian." Her hand slowed, then stopped. She slid way forward on the edge of the chair, and squeezed just a tiny bit of lotion on her fingertips. Gently, she worked it into the skin over my eyes, then down my face and neck.

"How do you get such a deep glow?" I wondered.

"Lots of time in the sun – the real sun, you know. Not a tanning bed, never. And lots of really good moisturizer. You have to do it carefully."

"And be careful you're in a very private place, I suppose." I opened my eyes slightly, and gazed at her taunt and tanned tits, jiggling pleasantly a foot or so from my nose.

"Actually, the pool at my condo is pretty cool. For topless, anyway. You have to be a little careful, though, even there. Women have to be careful everywhere, you know. You never know when some creep is going to try to have his way with you."

I let that hang in the hot stillness of the afternoon for a very long time. Then decided to steer the conversation in a slightly different direction.

"I looked for a ring. In the car."

"Oh, I never wore mine when I was working. Back when I was married."

"Attached?"

"I didn't wear a ring then, either. Over?"

That wasn't exactly what I'd meant, but I guess she'd answered the question anyway. I rolled over, and she started between the shoulder blades, then worked outward and down.

"So you're definitely going to make an offer?" The exact inflection as the first time she'd asked the question, standing fully clothed next to the pool. She was a pro, all right. She hadn't lost sight of why we were here.

I turned to look at her over my shoulder. "I think so. Not full price, of course. But a good offer. Good enough, at least. And all cash." I named a figure a little more than two thirds the latest asking price. She winced once again, even harder than when she'd looked in the mirror. I'd just taken a big bite out of her commission.

"He'll scream – and loud. But in the end, something near there will probably work. If it really is all cash. Dollar bills carry a lot of weight in this town."

"I know. You didn't think you had to, did you? To get me to buy the place?" I guess I did want to know after all.

"Surely you're joking."

"No I'm not. And don't call me Shirley."

We shared a good laugh at that.

"See? You're starting to become a local already. Quoting movies."

"Actually, that's vaudeville. And old vaudeville at that. It was ancient before it was ever filmed."

"True. But you were quoting the movie, not anything you ever saw on a stage."

"I suppose. Then why?"

"It's a common enough fantasy; at least it is for women. To be swept off her feet. Ravished. Read any romance novel. Or any fairy tale for that matter. I must have written that scene, or something near it, a dozen different times. I wanted to see what it was like in real life."

"Written?"

"I'm a screenwriter. When I'm not selling real estate."

"Oh? Have I seen anything of yours?"

"If you had, would I be selling real estate?"

"Good point." I paused, searching for something other than the inevitable next question. I didn't find anything. "And?"

She turned her head to look directly at me. Cool and level. "I didn't care for it all that much. Sorry."

"Sorry too, I guess."

She turned fully around to start at my soles, and worked back up the legs. When she reached my ass she squeezed hard. "Someone's been just sitting around too much lately. You need to work on that, too, you know," and she smacked me just as playfully, and every bit as hard, as I'd done to her.