MY JEAN
BillyG (hayden@mindless.com)
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Chapter 10 -- Tender Moments
In a soft, contralto voice Jean asked, "Billy, what are you
thinking? I mean, what do you think of us?"
"What?" I replied, almost stupidly. I'd heard the words but
I didn't understand them . . . they didn't make any sense. None
would have. I was still out there, dumb and floating in some
post orgasmic stupor, largely incapable of rational thought.
With a low laugh, she nudged me with her toe. "Earth to
Billy . . . Earth to Billy."
Some small part of my brain knew where I was, but my
thinking sludged somewhere between languid and torpid. Usually a
linear, left-brain type of guy, I'd simply lost it all and was
hanging out in some emotional wallow, playing and re-playing
those vivid tapes of our erotic connection, Jean and me. I was
remembering the excitement of our sexual discoveries in the past
months, remembering the quickening of fear when I'd dared
acknowledge my desires to her. More strongly, remembering the
extraordinary energy we'd generated when we surrendered to the
moment.
"Back side of the moon . . . static . . . failing . . .
failing communications . . . ," my voiced tailed off to a fake
mumble.
"Billy, come out. I know you're in there!"
Momentarily lifting my head and squinting, I asked, "Why . .
. why do I have to come out . . . or down . . . or what ever?"
"Because this is important, that's why. We have to talk . .
. now!"
Eyes closed, I rolled over and pushed myself to one elbow
and paused, half sitting up. I was suddenly aware of my dick.
It felt cool. Looking down I saw my cock, soft and lolling over
my thigh. The air was drying the moisture on my shaft, cooling
it off. I stared at it a moment, confused and with a start,
embarrassed. My cock was wet because Jean had it . . .
had taken me in her mouth and me off! I pulled my shorts
over my loins in some futile attempt to cover myself.
Looking up at Jean sitting in a chair, I stared at her for a
few moments. >From my position on the floor where I'd slumped in
my gray out, I could see her nakedness in the soft, diffused
afternoon light. She sat, unashamed, one foot on the seat of the
chair, leaning forward. Mentally shaking my head to clear the
fog, I said something bright like, "Uh . . . yes . . . talk.
Sure. What about?"
"You remember . . . like I've told you a hundred times . . .
we weren't gonna do it?"
Nodding that yes, I remembered, I just stared at her
breasts. They were full and, I thought, remarkably firm with a
slight upturn to her pebbly areolae. How, I wondered, could her
nipples be so hard when my cock was so soft? Going on as if it
were the rhetorical question it really was, she continued, "Like
you're my and as much as I love you . . . well, you know
. . . it's the thing."
Still nodding, I liked my lips. God I was dry! With one
foot on the chair that way, I could look right up between her
thighs and see how her was pulled slightly open.
"And this is the part that scares me," she continued, "Every
time we go a little bit farther . . . farther than I intended to
go . . . and I LIKE it. I like it more than I realized I would.
I think *too* much . . . I mean, it scares me, you know?"
My part of this conversation was easy. I nodded again.
Hell yes. I knew -- I loved it and it scared the shit outta me.
This was all new stuff, very deep and with a strong current that
was pulling us God knows where. Every time we'd drifted into the
tug of our mutual desires, we seemed to end up someway we never
planned. When we started something, we had no idea where it
would take us.
"Yesterday . . . yes, even as late as this morning, I would
never have thought I'd take your cock in my mouth." She looked
at me with a slight tilt of her head as if to ask, so what do you
think?
I smiled. My cock? Jean never called it my cock. It was
usually "my thing" or something like that.
"Don't you see? Taking your cock in my mouth is like really
close to really doin' it?"
I looked up to heaven, closed my eyes and just smiled.
"Oh you! Listen to me, you jerk. Be serious will you?"
"Jean, I *am* listening to you. I just can't help smiling.
I love you and I'm all wacked out. Can't you tell that?"
Jean looked startled for a moment. She stared at me as she
idly cupped her and rolled a nipple between her fingers.
I could barely hear her voice. "Yes, I *can* tell that, Billy."
"Maybe we just have different definitions. When I just
touch you, I don't think of it as incest. So when you touch me,
I still don't think of it that way. Oh sure, it's sexual, but
*that's* not incest."
She smiled warmly at me as she retorted, "You are *such* a
lawyer."
I didn't want to get into an intellectual word game with
Jean. She was too smart for me. No, it was always best for me
to be honest with her. I didn't have to defend my honesty. We
accepted that while our views on things might be different,
neither of us need be wrong.
"I mean . . . uh, I think of as, you know . . .
fucking. We're just foolin' around and if I touch you, that's not
incest. And if you touch me, that's not incest. And if I come .
. ."
"Yeah, yeah . . . I know about that. But it's the feelings
that scare me. It makes me *want* to do it."
"Jean, when I wake up in the morning with a boner because
I've been dreaming about you, I want to do it. When you flashed
your butt at me this morning, I wanted to do it. *Wanting* to do
it and really doin' it are two different things."
We'd been over this a dozen times. I was so hot and so
confused I didn't know anymore if I really meant it. Being
honest was very important to me, but I suspect that if I thought
I'd get in Jean's pants by telling a lie, I'd jump into duplicity
without a second thought. Jean knew this, for I'd once admitted
as much, but we continued to treat our impetuous lust as the
elephant in the living room.
As she had so many times before, perhaps wanting to be
reassured, Jean accepted my slip-shod thinking and faulty
reasoning again. "OK," she sighed, "But you've got to help me
with this. Promise?"
"Promise." I intoned, crossing my heart, as I watched her
stand up and stretch, reaching toward the ceiling, hips thrust
forward, and then spin about and walk into the bathroom,
mumbling, "Gotta pee."
She'd left the door open and I could hear the seat
come down as she continued to speak to me in a louder voice. "Do
you still want me to those panties? I mean, after all,
you've seen me buck naked."
Interpreting the open door as an invitation, I got up and
wandered into the bathroom. Jean was sitting on the toilet,
knees together, hands folded between her thighs. Leaning on the
low partition right in front of the toilet, I looked at her with
a question in my eyes.
"What?" she asked.
"Let me watch," I answered.
"You *are* watching," she replied, knowing exactly what I
meant. We stared at each other for a long moment and then she
parted her legs, at first only inches. I made a rolling gesture
with my hand. Again she paused and then parted her knees fully,
opening herself to my stare.
"I don't know if I can go," she began, but that was
immediately interrupted by her peeing.
The bathroom has a bright, southern exposure and the low
afternoon sun streamed in, lighting the orange tile floor and
casting a red-orange tint on her skin. Her brown pubic hair was
tightly curled, pressed by her shorts. Glancing down, she looked
at herself for a moment and then ran her fingers through her
muff, ruffling her hair as she peed. I could see her labia,
pulled slightly open by her spread thighs, and the strong stream
of splashing against the porcelain bowl, high up.
"I have to be careful, " she noted, and bent slightly at the
waist to direct her stream into the bowl. The loud
hissing or her was joined by the clatter of her stream in
the water."
"Let me . . ." I started to say, as I stepped in front of
her and sank to one knee, right between hers.
She looked at me with a questioning expression but didn't
stop peeing. As if to make the stream more strong, I saw her
stomach muscles bunch in a forced Valsalva. It worked. Her
stream again shot to the to a point near the edge and at the same
time, she gave off a little fart.
"Ohmygod," she whispered and put her finger tips against her
closed lips as if to signal her embarrassment.
Without thinking, I reached between her thighs and cupped
her stream with my palm. It splashed, some drops hitting her and
some hitting me. All at once, I was aware of her wide-eyed stare
of incredulity, the satin softness of her thigh against my
forearm and the heat of her in my hand. I curled my
fingers and cupped her sex as she continued to pee.
"Billy! What are you *doing* for cryin' out loud?"
"Don't talk . . . just . . . keep for me, Jean."
Sitting up straight again, she murmured, "Crazy . . . this
is crazy," and continued to out the last dribbles.
"Why, Billy? Why did you do that?"
Leaning back, letting my pee-wet hand drip into the bowl, I
looked at her and grinned. "I don't know. Just wanted to, I
guess. It has something to do with intimacy. I just love the
intimacy of being with you when you . . . of feeling your
hot in my hand."
With a half smile, she shook her head slowly and pulled off
a length of tissue.
Taking it from her hand, I said, "Let me." Dabbing her
pussy, I asked, "Remember the last time you let me do this?"
"How could I forget . . . but I didn't think it would get to
be a habit," she chided me as she leaned back, legs opened
farther. And, as with the last time, I slipped a finger into the
wet and open slit of her pussy, pulling up to the top and tracing
small circles about her clit.. "Oh, God . . . that feels good."
"Let me touch you, Jean. Let me play with you. Come.
Let's lay on your bed."
Without further words, we got up and walked in slow motion
to her room, to her bed. Without prodding, she piled two pillows
and lay against them, half reclining with her legs splayed open.
I kneeled in the "V" of her legs and just looked. Her had
flowered. The inner lips were swollen, partially everted and
very wet. The musky smell of her juices wafted up to my nose
and, as if on cue, she said, "Jeez . . . do I smell raunchy."
The musky essence of her sex was driving my libido while
some other voice was telling me to slow down, to savor the
moment. Somehow I knew I wanted to get out of my own head and
the best way for me to escape the gadfly of self was to think of
someone else.
Once in a rare while I'm given some nugget of advice that
hits me. It's a two-pronged blessing . . . first, that I'm
offered it and second, that I *hear* it. The exhortation of a
good friend and advisor came to my mind. He said: "Bill, where
ever you are, *be* there!"
I sat back on my heels and closed my eyes. My inner
awareness grew and filled the room, taking in the sounds of our
breathing and the soft breeze, the scent of both of us and
mostly, the sweet, delicious tenderness of the moment. I thought
to myself that I must work at being an authentic participant in
my life, for Jean it comes naturally. Her spiritual state rests
easily with her, much as a comfortable, loose garment. Opening
my eyes, I looked into hers. They were deep and lustrous and
filled with affection.
She smiled and asked, "What are you thinking, Billy?"
"How much I care for you . . . how much I love you, Jean.
I'm just filled with you."
She held out her hand to me and said, "Come, lie beside me.
I want to be close to you. I want to feel your skin on mine.
Hold me, please?"
Nestling her head against my neck, I asked, "But what about
. . .?"
"The sex?" she finished for me.
"Well, there is that."
We'll do that . . . whatever it is we're going to do . . .
but first I want to savor this minute with you. The sex will
always be there. Moments like this are rare. Stay with me,
won't you?"
END 10
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