Sunday Morning

She came by for breakfast around 9 this morning – coffee, French toast with vanilla extract in the batter, and bacon. She enjoyed the contrast between the sweetness of the maple syrup soaked French toast and the saltiness of the bacon, as this was the first time she had tasted the two together. One very attractive thing about her, in a never fixed top 3 – her incredibly soft hair likely another - is how honest her enjoyment is – giving pleasure to such a person is a luxurious pleasure in its turn. And like most luxuries, better to occasionally indulge than to expect on a regular basis.

After breakfast, we talked, restarted the fire in the woodstove, and walked around the house, looking at the various plants flowering, sprouting, and growing. The wood from the forest is neatly enough piled, and most the kid toys put away, but still, no yard and garden are that attractive in early spring. We came back inside – the gorgeous spring weather of the last 3 days is today gray and 50°. Considering that various things we like to talk about are best without others around, private time is just the first step in a woven tapestry.

She had arrived in the way I generally prefer women – unshowered (not that there is anything wrong with freshly showered, by itself – I was), no make up, hair done in a couple of pullbacks. Adorning / braiding / brushing / pinning / tying is so easy to make hair attractive, and look interesting – but most women spend more time on make-up which generally is a waste of time, in my generally shrugged off opinion.

The room is still full of her scent. That is a sense I fully enjoy, and the smell of her body, especially as the accepted back massage inevitably turns her on, is irresistible, leading to even better massaging, a positive feedback loop of the best type. And I only do my best massage work on bare skin – that is one of my requirements for good work. And in her case, no problem at all. She left her jeans on, and laid down, lightly kneeling with a couple of pillows supporting her stiff back. A half hour or so of working her body over with my hands led to definitely less tension. And because she had pulled off her shirt and bra a long while before. less clothing getting the way of my hands.

Cutting a lot of wood by hand makes giving a decent massage pretty casual if very enticing work, and she kept wondering if I was getting tired. Not really, and considering how hard I became leaning ever closer to her skin and rubbing her ass through her jeans, there was no way I would stop. My lips started brushing her skin as I kept smelling the perfume of her skin, somehow dark like her hair, and then my fingers started running through her exquisitely soft hair, tracing along her ears and neck, and back into her hair. By this point, we were both enjoying ourselves and getting too turned on to stop, not that we wanted to. After several minutes of lightly using my lips over her back, neck, and ears, I started to very lightly run my fingers over her back, and she started quivering at the touch, gasping at times. My other hand started stroking over her jeans, at times rubbing along her thicker seam at the V of her legs. Then the phone rang, a slight interruption, quickly answered – real life is like that.

I knelt back down beside her, and started rubbing her back, moving my hands in a pattern which sank slowly but steadily lower over her chest. Her quivering and gasping became more constant the closer I came to her breasts, and as I started to rub the very edge of her breasts, and then along the outside of her dark nipples, she started moaning without any hope of stopping, her body relaxed but still tensely waiting for more. My hand moved steadily between her glorious breast and the giving pillow, my fingers spread underneath her, and I knew exactly where her large, rounded nipple was, merely from her gasping. Her breast lay heavy but soft, and moving my other hand to her other breast the same way caused no objection from either of us – if something works the first time, it will probably work again and again. And paying attention closely to someone's pleasure at what is happening always leads to me enjoying myself in turn, a delightful spiral.

But anything can be done too long, so I moved one hand to her ass while the other still held her breast, nipple in palm, but no longer was it being rubbed, a simple circle the only motion my hand was making, holding her breast balanced on my outstretched hand. I started stroking the taut fabric of her jeans, and my hand moved over her ass, then down along her thighs, to her knee resting on the carpet. As my hand started back along the inside of her thigh, moving up, she started to be heavier on my hand, her breast being ever more deliciously a handful of sexy woman. I played with her ass and thighs for several minutes, sometimes my hand sliding and pressing along her crotch, and the harder I became, the more she would move against my hand.

Then the phone rang again, and after another short interruption, she rolled over, saying it was a good time to put her shirt on, since she had to leave in 15 minutes or so to go home, in time enough to casually get ready for another dancing lesson with her long time boyfriend and another couple.

As I kneeled back down at her side, she rolled over, lightly moaning that we should stop, while her hands went back behind her, baring and raising her breasts, with the dark nipples irresistible and her turned on breathing making a gorgeous rhythm of hot liquidly rolling tits – and in this case, the difference between the words and the actions was unimportant, as she was playing her own version of our game, getting both of us ever more turned on. My hand reached out, and it was hard to understand whatever it was she may have said, as she simply started to moan as my fingers reached the breast nearest me, and started making her nipple hard, pressing together with more force the harder her skin crinkled, working her normally flat nipple into something more noticeable. Very shortly after, I bent down, unable to stop myself from kissing her on her other nipple, and as soon as my lips felt her, we were not concerned about anything except our enjoyment. There are a number of ways to enjoy a woman's breast, and carefully listening and feeling while being so turned on yourself is a good way to know which ones are best enjoyed – a swirling tongue, light biting, and as the nipple gets harder, ever more games to make it harder, easily felt when done well. After maybe 15 minutes of wet kissing and sucking, her nipples were hard, the wet one not being currently sucked in my fingers, slipping between them. In my experience, such large nipples never seem to get very erect. After I had stopped, she moaned we should stop, and said she wanted to stop, panting the while. I simply put my hand between her legs, and she started rubbing herself liquidly against my hand. I did absolutely nothing else – my hand merely stayed in the same place, without any motion of mine at all, and said nothing at all.

She started gliding her crotch along the full length of my finger, and I could feel how she shifted herself until we both knew that her spread wet lips were on each side of her jean's stitched seam and my fingers, with her clit being slid up and down, slowly faster and harder against my hand. She started to gasp, and really grind herself against me, my cock now hardening in turn from her obvious arousal, and the fact that I was the direct cause of the orgasm she started to have, at the end with her pussy simply quivering against the edge of my finger and thumb at her crotch. We slowly noticed the time, and it was around 12:45pm – not late, but definitely time to be leaving.

As she got up in front of me to put on her halter/sports bra, I couldn't resist feeling her breasts to try seeing how hard I could make her nipples, and how they would poke through the fabric of her cotton elastic bra. A somewhat minor key fun - her large nipples never really get that erect. She ran her hands over my jeans, and after a few seconds, she was doing to me what I had done to her before. Incredible – jeans are some of the best material for playing with another person, whether a vibrator or another's hands. But the time was gone, and regardless of how wonderful her hands felt on my cock, and how much she wanted to do to me what I had done to her, she did need to leave. After a few more delicious strokes, my cock hardening more and a certain feeling in my balls, I told her to stop, more or less moaning while I moved against her hands on both sides of my cock and thigh, and she did. I then grabbed her back, wanting more, and she simply pulled away, and she and then I just started laughing, since I obviously was as completely turned on as she had been before. If you can't laugh about sex as part of life, you probably don't have the right partner. The entire thing has more than its share of absurdity, and laughing honestly with someone is a good sign of having a true partner, even if it can be hard to take first at times. And this is what makes male/female friendships a challenge, if sex is not completely ignored by two people who are interested in each other.

We are both looking forward to a hot and sunny summer, where we can keep enjoying our time alone at the lake.