Ilse

When we were living in San Francisco in the mid 1970s, my wife and I attended an encounter group for couples. It was a counter-cultural thing, part of the "human potential movement," and there were eccentric people of all ages (we were hippies, sort of) at the weekly sessions in the living room of an apartment. To our surprise, the leader of the group announced that the last class would be an orgy. Jen and I, who in retrospect had married way too young, attended. But, as the date of the orgy neared, I had to promise Jen we would only be observers.

It was tough, as you can imagine. The host had placed a number of pads and cushions around the room, and he encouraged people to try as many different partners as they dared. We stayed on the couch, and when the lights went out we heard (and dimly saw) people changing partners. We heard clothes coming off. Then the slurping began.

For weeks I'd had my eye on Ilse, a lithe, tall (my height) blonde with a heavy Dutch accent. She and her husband, who had lived all over the world because of his job as a manufacturing consultant, were about 10 years older than Jen and me, in their late 30s. Ilse, a yoga teacher, was in great shape, slim and supple with a sunny personality and bouncy short hair. She seemed smart, and worldly wise. Her husband Jack was a bit boastful; we didn't seem to have much in common.

In the dark that night, more than once, I heard Ilse's high-pitched squeal of orgasm. It was actually more of a drawn-out keening, mewing sound. That stuck in my mind.

A week later, when I was still kicking myself for missing out on the excitement of fresh pussy, Jack and Ilse invited us to dinner! Predictable, Jen made me promise on the way over that we would definitely not swing with them.

Ilse came to the door in an embroidered peasant blouse and a straight blue skirt with white stockings. How well I remember that her skirt was tight enough to show her mound when she stood up straight. I tried not to let anyone know how much she turned me on.

Dinner was fine, though the conversation was a bit stilted. They explained that their marriage had been an open one from the beginning. We all knew what was being left unsaid. After dessert, I left the table to help Ilse with the dishes in the kitchen. She seemed grateful when I took my turn at the sink.

Soon, with my hands in hot water, I felt Ilse's fingers lightly stroking my neck! She said she liked my curls. She was so damned perky. I was enchanted, though a bit flustered. When I turned my head to see her wide smile, her arms came around me at chest level, under my arms. I guess she liked more than my curls. I was so gratified, the way we all get at times like that. I was excited, flattered, and nervous all at once. When she pressed herself against me, all these feelings turned to pure lust. I grabbed the dish towel on the counter to quickly dry my hands, then turned to meet her front to front. We hugged. As her hand slid down against my bulging jeans, I heard her say, in a matter-of-fact way, yet still charming because of her accent, "Won't you put this inside me?"

"Oh, God," I moan, pulling back to look at her bright, intelligent face. "I promised Jen we wouldn't."

"Yes, I gathered that," she said, then placed her lips next to my ear.

"But please," she whispered, giving my erection a little squeeze through the denim. We both knew how this was going to go. She was no dummy, and I was only a man.

She pulled away from me and led me by the hand into a room just off the kitchen. It was a sunroom, with a couple of chairs and a daybed. She locked the door. We could see each other, but only by light from the streetlight out front. Her hands went to my hips, mine to hers, and we kissed again, softly but with great expectation. The kiss turned more passionate, and we clung tightly to each other. I remember thinking this was the greatest night of my life. And, looking back 35 years later, I think it probably was.

I reached up under her blouse to her braless breasts. I felt tiny nipples, which I immediately pinched very lightly. They hardened instantly. We were both breathing hard by now, as we lowered ourselves to the bed. I snaked a hand up her skirt. To my surprise, I felt a stretch of smooth upper thigh — the white stockings were not pantyhose! And when I moved my fingers a few inches higher I was still more excited to feel a shaven vulva with a very slippery slit — no panties, either. As my fingers traced the endearing curve of that slit, her "vertical smile," as the novelist Tom Robbins calls it, she mashed her open mouth against mine. Then her lips were at my ear again.

"Take your clothes off," she said in a husky growl.

"You first," I said, rising to a kneeling position to unzip and pull off her tight skirt. She pulled her blouse over her head to reveal the cutest little breasts ever. Her shoes were long gone, so there she lay, wearing only those white stockings.

In a flash, I was out of my clothes, with a raging hard-on. For a few seconds I stood at the foot of the bed, admiring her smooth, white body. She sat up and reached out to wrap the fingers of one hand around my penis. As I lowered my knees to the floor, she let go of me and lay back on the bed again, with her knees up. Her legs opened slowly to reveal her naked vulva — the most beautiful pussy I have ever seen. She opened her legs a bit more, and I could see her juicy inner lips beckoning me from between the soft, puffy flesh of her outer labia. They formed a symmetrical flower of desire. Her clitoris peeked from beneath its hood, looking like it wanted to come out to play. She formed a V with two fingers, lay it over her mons, and spread her lips a little more, opening herself fully to me. The fragrance, the best there is, was overwhelming.

Ilse then did something that I have never seen a woman do before or since. She stuck her legs straight up in the air and crossed them at the ankles. When her knees bowed out a bit, her legs formed an open oval. At the lower end of the oval, the folds of her sex glistened in a line leading down to the exposed furrow of her bottom. Starting at her anus, where I left a puddle of saliva, I licked upwards, all along the length of her slick, pink clam.

"Yes," she whispered hoarsely.

I did it again, then circled my tongue around her clit a few times.

"Oh God, yes."

Pulling my face back, I substituted my left-hand forefinger for my tongue, massaging gently in circles but never touching the tip of her clit. She arched her back urgently, wholeheartedly offering her private parts to me, and her calves came to rest on my shoulders. At that, I slowly inserted the little finger of my other hand in her anus. She groaned when my lower finger was about an inch in, and I moved my forefinger right onto her clitoral nub, mashing it down a bit. I then began to vibrate both fingers in unison. She writhed and moaned, thrashing her head from side to side. Then the trembling began — a full-body shaking that grew to a crescendo and BANG, she came like a train crash. All her muscles contracted at once, it seemed, and she made that wonderful high-pitched mewing sound that I remembered from the orgy. Her head and shoulders jerked upward, then fell back. Her feet came down to the bed, her limbs splayed and quivering. When I plunged my thumb into her vagina, it happened all over again.

"Magic man," she sighed, as her air-gulping gradually returned to a semblance of normal breathing and her arms reached out to me. "Magic fingers. I'm so wet for you. Please come in me now!"

Her feet came up again, this time to encircle my back as I joined her on the bed and plunged my essential self all the way into her inner core in one glorious stroke.

We just stayed like that for a while, slowly mashing against each other, as intimate as two people can be. Then I began to stroke in and out, very slowly at first. She caught up the tempo, keeping us in synch with her long legs, which were still wrapped around me, and with both of her hands on my ass. We picked up the pace, and then I heard the little squeals from her again, rising in pitch every time I thrusted into her and my pelvic bone bumped up against her clit. It was a helpless, little-girl-out-of-control sound that really turned me on. I came in a torrent, and so did she. She kissed my face all over like she was really grateful. I did the same to her. I certainly was grateful. I felt like I was in love for the first time.

I pulled out and sat up at the edge of the bed. But before I could stand, Ilse was on her knees between my legs, with my stalk in her mouth. She sucked me off so well that I came again in less than a minute! The pleasure was exquisite. I didn't know I had any semen left in me, but she proved I did. I collapsed back on the bed, and she lay on top of me, hugging and kissing in the afterglow for what seemed like the longest time.

"Wow," I said. (Articulate, wasn't I?)

Suddenly, finally, I realized we had been away from our spouses for quite a while. Ilse and I had been in our own little room and our own little world. Where was Jen? Oh my god, she's going to kill me, I thought. I voiced this fear.

"Don't worry," said Ilse. "Jack will keep her occupied."

How right she was. After a bit more kissing, we got dressed. When we entered the living room, we witnessed Jack and Jen hard at it on the rug. Jen's legs were over Jack's shoulders, and he was pile driving. She was shouting, "Yes!, Yes! Yes!"

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