It's been about two hours of foreplay. I've gotten to know the intimate details of his sofa/bed - white canvass, low back rest, two pillows wrapped in dense cotton sheets, dark wood base where the bags rest, and where the clothes miraculously landed. A foot away was a low standing coffee table where a carafe of water and a mug rest. Beside it, the TV remote, and some magazines in foreign tongue. He has a lovely home. Half a floor of a condominium building all to himself. No maids. Just a cleaning lady who drops by once a week. White walls. Dark wood details. Solid floors. The kind of house I'd like to get myself one day.
He be in his 40's. But he does look miles away from it. Made. Posh family. "Upper A" as he says as my tongue caressed his lips. My right arm traveled his side down to his hips. We were on our sides. We pulled our heads back and gave each other a soft stare in the dark. "What's wrong?" he asks? My hand reached for his ass and my finger felt his rear entry.
"I still haven't gone in."
We laughed.
I spat on my hand and got my fingers wet. And we began to talk about common friends - some whom I've fucked before. I listened intently to his details, mildly reacting as I suckled on his nipples. My index finger made its way into his anal ring causing him to moan half-way through a sentence.
"Are you alright?" I asked.
He nodded. I go back at his nipples and my finger probed. Deeper. He continued to talk about why he has been single for over nine years. I paused. And commented. "I'm past half-way to there." I smiled. I've been single for about half a decade and we practically had the same reasons why we kept at such sordid states.
We were actually proud of it. Then he got up, sat me up, and went down on me. We were finally getting started.
To be continued...
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