If the sex had been mediocre, would I be as interested? If he had fumbled when he touched me, being too gentle or too rough, would I want him as badly. If his kisses had turned me cold instead of lighting a fire deep within me, would I be replaying each moment as I bring myself to a frantic orgasm?
The hard, honest truth has to be no. We would have continued our emotional rekindling with me shifting ever-so-slightly towards “friends” rather than “lovers”. When our talks moved to sex I would have had less to say. My love for him would have been more platonic rather than cosmic. I think he knew this.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” I said, “But I didn’t expect you to be that good.”
“I know you didn’t. I read subtle things like that for a living dear. That’s why I was very happy when it was all said and done. I earned my ‘get at Marian’s pussy card’,” he said.
He had read the shock on my face (that I tried to mask with pleasure) when his fingers brought me to an almost instant orgasm. He felt the surprise as his cock penetrated my well, and I had to expand to accommodate him. He tasted the awed trembling of my lips with his own while his fingers tormented my nipples with devastating pleasure. He heard my astonished gasp when his member rammed into the end of my channel.
“Am I turning into a pest?” I asked him after we had exchanged several I-miss-yous and can’t-wait-to-see-yous.
“Never love… never. But if it entitles me to another visit between my cock and your pussy, then what ever it takes,” he replied with a smile.
“You can have all the visits you want,” I told him, “You earned your card. I’m yours.”