Yes. I meant dock, not cock.
A few nights ago Lover was out of town, Soulmate was (and still is) on the other side of the planet and I had curled up with a glass (ok, half a bottle) of wine and the Travel Channel when my phone vibrated.
Hadn’t seen you in a while… Want to grab a beer?
Now, the last time I saw this man I was very drunk, but not too drunk to forgot that he had strong, massage-capable hands and a particularly talented mouth. I was also not drunk enough to forget that I wasn’t particularly attracted to him.
No. I don’t feel like smelling like a bar.
The phone rang. Ok… I’ll give you points for calling after I’ve just texted you no. I answered. He asked what I was doing. I told him. He said he’d like to see me. I said uh-huh. He said we didn’t have to go a bar, but could meet at his hay barn and sit on the tailgate of his truck. I paused. It was a nice evening. The sun would set in about twenty minutes.
“Where’s this barn?” I asked.
I drove with the windows down, drinking in the twilight air, which hung thick with cool humidity and the fragrance of wild jasmine and honeysuckle. I pulled in beside his truck and climbed out of my car. We did the awkward side-hug greeting before he grabbed a six-pack out of the cab and said, “Let’s take a walk.”
Intrigued, I followed him through a swinging gate and into a pasture. There was still enough light to see, but dusk was fast approaching. Cows watched us with little interest and did little more than flick their tails as we passed. We walked up a short rise, went around a large live oak and started downhill. Even in the fading light, the pasture glowed with the iridescent green of new spring grass. At the base of the hill was a large, irregular shaped pond with a wooden dock. Its still waters reflected every cloud and color of the twilight sky. I stopped, inhaling quickly at the beauty.
When we got down the hill to the dock, I slipped off my sandals and sat on the edge, letting my feet dangle above the water. He sat down beside me and opened us both a beer. I sipped, silently. The evening was too beautiful to pollute with unfeeling, meaningless words. And because I did not care about the man who had shown me this pastoral paradise, that’s exactly what they would have been. Unfeeling. Meaningless.
“Thank you,” I finally said, the beer almost gone. “Thank you for not making me talk.”
“No problem,” he said before sliding a hand up my back and gently working loose the tension in my shoulders.
I leaned into his hands, letting him take his time, letting him loosen me up, knowing I was using him. His fingers crept up my neck and into my hair, sending bright tingles of awakening down my body. Slowly he worked, massaging my scalp in deliberate circles until my head tilted back, leaving my neck exposed for a kiss. He started just below my earlobe and moved slowly down my neck to the top of my breast, leaving a delicate trail of desire with his kisses. I didn’t kiss back. I didn’t touch him. I didn’t even look at him.
Well, I thought, if he was that open to being used, I might as well use him thoroughly. So I lay back on the wooden dock and let him slide his hands down my v-neck tee shirt and into my bra. I let his strong fingers tease up my nipples into sharp points before his mouth moved in to take their leave of them. I let him unfasten my jeans and ease them off before he knelt between my legs and did wonderful things to me with his mouth and hands. I let him make me come over and over again, drenching the wooden dock. I let him look at me in wonder, amazed that I could come so easily. I let him unzip his fly, pull out his cock and touch it to my clit, rubbing back and forth against my wetness. I let him do all that before I spoke.
“You can’t put it in me,” I said. I didn’t apologize. He didn’t complain.
“No problem,” he said before leaning back on his heels, taking himself in hand and quickly finishing while staring at me lying open and content on the dock.