What's in a Dry Old Fuck? Ch. 01

Our breathing slowed. We stopped moving. I inhaled the sickly sweet scent between her tits, my hands still cupping them, my mouth kissing the valley between them, making the most of the post-coital climb-down. Jenny pressed her face against my neck and stayed sitting on my dick as it began to shrink to almost nothing inside her sopping pussy. Then she gave it a cunt-muscle squeeze, milking me of the last couple of drops. Oh how I love that last spasm!

Still we didn't move, and I felt what seemed like pints of warm seminal fluid running down onto my balls and probably wetting the car seat. Jenny must have felt the same; she lifted her bum up slightly to allow my now pathetically small dick to slip unaided from its paradisiacal prison, leaned back on my thighs. It felt good to have the soft, sweaty flesh of her ass on my thighs. She looked down briefly at my cock, then up at my face, but I had the feeling she wasn't seeing me. Then, looking around left and right, as though a little lost, she finally sighed, spoke breathlessly, almost impatiently: "Do you have any tissues in this car, Kenny?"

I reached into the glove box behind her back, found a packet of kleenex and handed it to her. She wiped herself down there intently, looking sideways at me in a kind of embarrassed way from time to time; then she dropped the filthy, sopping kleenex onto my bare lap and awkwardly struggled over to the driver's seat, banging her leg on the gearstick on the way. I heard the word 'fuck' again.

There followed an interlude whilst I attended to my own personal mopping up operations, the rustle of clothes being re-arranged before anyone spoke. "That was great, Jenny. You're really nice." It all sounded a bit hollow and false after the total and uncontrollable lust which had just manifested itself, so I shut up.

"Yes, same here, Ken" was all she replied, but I didn't hear anything that sounded like sincerity in her voice. Then she shut up too. I still hadn't kissed her. Suddenly that stale tobacco smell seemed more repulsive than before. Post-coital disgust had now set in.

Twenty minutes later, I dropped Jenny in front of her apartment. I never knew what she really thought, but we never fucked again, and I saw her less and less at Len's Bar. Later, Mike told me she had met a guy whom everybody called 'Clark Kent', allegedly because of the size of his dick. She finally stopped coming to Len's on Friday evenings, and as far as I know, on any other evening. I hope she got what she was looking for. I was condemned to keep looking.