Courtship for the Clueless

"I want you," she whispered huskily. "I want you inside me, stud. Please."

Roger pulled her to her feet and swept her into his arms, her arms going around his neck as he carried her into her bedroom. He set her down and untied the belt at her waist. Tiffany lifted her arms cooperatively as he drew the long tee over her head and tossed it aside. Her hands pulled his head to her stupendous boobs and he eagerly suckled her pink nipples, hearing her moan with lust as he pulled her to him, kneading the buttocks so firm under his hands. They kissed passionately as he worked off his shoes and socks, dropping his pants to the floor. She unbuttoned his shirt and it joined the pants. She broke the kiss and opened the drawer of her nightstand, fishing out a condom and expertly unrolling it down his dick, taking a moment to suck him through the latex to make his schwanz grow even longer and thicker. She got to her feet and leaned on the bed, her legs parted, her pussy winking at Roger, glistening with the oils of her arousal.

"Don't be shy, sweetie," she said, twerking her ass at him. "I want that big cock in my cunt. Fill up my pussy and fuck me!"

He stepped in behind her and rubbed his prick over her mound as she whimpered, ready and eager to have him. Lining up with her pussy, he began to ease into her. Tiffany was not in the mood for a slow, gentle fuck. She thrust back against him, taking most of his cock into her hot, wet cooze.

"Yes! That's what I need! Fuck my hole, stud! Use me good! Make me cum!" she cried as they began to move together.

He grabbed her hips and drove deep into her, a hard, steady pistoning that she seemed to enjoy. She thrust back to meet him, wanting his cock deep inside her.

"Fuck me!" she panted as they moved together. "Give it to me! Give me all of it! Use me good! I want it! I want your cock in me! Fill me up and make me cum on you!"

Roger leaned over her back and got his hands on her breasts, finding her nips, twisting and pinching them as they screwed. The extra stimulation pushed her over the edge and she screamed her pleasure for him to hear as she climaxed, but she never stopped moving on his hard prod.

He dropped a hand to her pudenda and located her clit by touch. It was a nice big one, the kind he liked, easy for a man to manipulate or tongue. And, as he now discovered, Tiffany's was super-responsive.

"Ohhhh!" she cried as he touched it; he felt her love-tunnel clamp down on the rod reaming it as she came again. "Oh, you bastard! You magnificent bastard! Don't stop! Make me! Make me! Ohhh, yes! Force me to cum for you, you bastard! I love it! Don't st-o-p-p-p!"

He pinched and rubbed her clit, the tissues slicked with her female sex oils, and she began to shake uncontrollably as the sensations overwhelmed her and she orgasmed continuously, rolling from one to another to another, caught up in a stream of sexual pleasure she could not control and did not want to, desiring only the feeling of her climaxes. She shrieked in outrage as Roger pulled out of her, but only long enough to move her up onto the bed. She lifted her right leg and looked at her partner with hot, lust-filled eyes.

"Get up here and take me from behind!" she ordered. "Put your dick back inside me! Now!"

He climbed onto the bed and slid back into her eager box, picking up the thrusting where he had left off. Tiffany gave a happy groan as he resumed their fucking, twisting her head back to kiss him as his left hand burrowed under her to find her left tit. He gently squeezed and jiggled it, using his index finger to flick the hard pebble that was her nipple back and forth in time with the penis sliding in and out of her vagina.

"Fuck me ... fuck me ... fuck me," she chanted as she felt a massive climax growing in her valley of delight, a sensuous balloon of sexual pleasure expanding and pulsing within her. "Just like that! Use me, stud! Use my pussy! Make me cum! Make me! Make me! Make me -- OHHHH!"

His right hand found her swollen clitoris and pinched it firmly. Already blown up past its breaking point, the hot golden balloon popped, ecstasy overwhelming her. Tiffany came powerfully, screaming her joy for him to hear, going off like a rocket with pleasure-bursts burning all through her being, as great a climax as she had ever experienced in her life.

As she fell from that incredible high, she realized Roger was still thrusting inside her. She pulled away from him, sitting up in the bed and grabbing him by the prick. She stripped off the rubber and began to masturbate him.

"I want you to cum on my tits," she said, looking at him eagerly. "Give me your spunk! Shoot all over my boobs! Give it to me!"

Getting to his feet was awkward, what with trying to stand up on a mattress while his lover held him by the cock; but Roger managed, bracing himself with one hand on the ceiling as she jacked him off with both hands. It did not take her long to bring him to the point of no return.

"Aaaaah!"

Milky semen spurted from his fuckstick. She directed the spray onto her bountiful breasts, the white droplets splattering on her skin. As his cock stopped jerking, she used a finger to gather the last string of cum her hands coaxed from him and, looking up at him with knowing eyes, slowly rubbed his juice into her boobs. He dropped back down on the bed and gathered her to him. She moved into his embrace, assuming that this was the post-coital reassurance phase of sex, where the male reassures the female that he still respects her before he gets up and leaves. She felt his hands caressing her back and arms with the lightest of touches, then stop. She looked at him and discovered he was sound asleep. But instead of the smug, I-just-fucked-the-slut expression she was accustomed to seeing in her partners, Roger's face held a tender thank-you-for-this-pleasure look. When she tried to ease away from him, his arms tightened around her. With a shrug, she settled in with her head on his chest, and was surprised at how comfortable she felt. She too drifted off to sleep.

Some time later, Tiffany awakened to find herself alone in her bed. She mentally shrugged. Apparently Roger was no different than any other partner she'd ever had. Find 'em, feel 'em, fuck 'em, forget 'em; the standard operating procedure of the American Horndog, be he a Guido from Joisey, a California beach bum, a horny frat-rat, a politician out to press the flesh, or a good ol' boy passing through on his way to the track. She got up and went to the bathroom to take case of business and brush her teeth. As she put back her toothbrush, she started as two arms encircled her from behind.

"I'm sorry; didn't mean to startle you," said Roger as she relaxed against him. "Just wanted to get a drink of water from the kitchen, and managed to slip out of bed without waking you. How do you feel, sweetie?"

She wriggled her buttocks against him, feeling his cock spring to attention. "Like having seconds, stud. Interested?"

His hands moved up to her breasts and she sighed happily as he caressed them, teasing her lustful nipples and gently squeezing her melons. Turning a little in his arms, she pulled their heads together, her lips already parted and ready for the deep kiss he bestowed upon her, tongues dancing, teeth lightly nibbling each other's lips. She led him back into the bedroom and put another rubber on his rampancy before they resumed their foreplay on the bed.

Tiffany had a fast-burning sexual fuse, as she well knew; one that burned even quicker when she had a man who knew how to treat a woman in bed. Roger had learned already that she liked to have her nipples worked, and that her lovely big clitoris was very responsive to manipulation. Between his mouth on one boob sucking and tongue-lashing a hard nip, a hand on the other tickling her aureola and rubbing its nipple lightly but rapidly between index finger and thumb, and his other hand tickling her clitoral shaft and intermittently brushing her clit, it was not long before she was dripping, her swollen pussy craving a hard piece of man-meat to fill it up and fuck it.

She pushed him onto his back and climbed on top facing his feet. Grasping his ramrod, she slapped her eager slit with it before rising up and taking it into her waiting cooze, moaning with pleasure as her pussy-lips parted and she sank all the way down onto him.

"Ohhh yesss, that's good! So hard! That's what I fucking need! You fill me right up! Just lie there, stud, I'll do everything ... ohhh, so goood!"

She rode him in reverse cowgirl, thrusting down onto his waiting dick and grinding on it, groaning at the fullness in her pussy, satisfying her need to use a man's cock for her pleasure. She bounced up and down, up and down, taking him all the way inside her, feeling the cockhead on its long shaft bumping into her cervix as she fucked him.

"Oh yes! Oh yes! Like that! Fill me right up! All the way in! Oh! Oh! Oh! So gooood!" she cried as she corkscrewed down onto him, her hips rocking, seeking more sensation as she strove for her climax.

Roger got a hand onto her mound and began to masturbate her as they screwed. The effect was immediate.

"AAAAHH!"

Her body went rigid as she orgasmed, instinctively sinking all the way down onto his prick so he was completely inside her and their groins ground against each other. Her body suddenly glowed with sweat as he drummed his fingers on her little boat, its paddler swelling under his attentions. She began to ride him again, each plunge of her twat onto the prod inside it pushing sound out of her.

"Ohgod! Ohgod! Ohgod! Ohgod! So good! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fill my hole! Fill it up! Fuck my pussy! So big! So hard! Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh! FUCK M-E-E-E!"

She came again, her body shivering as her climax tore through her, bright colors flaring behind her tightly closed eyes as she gasped from the quickness of it. But when she would have slowed down, she felt herself being lifted and dropped onto the rigid pole in her cunt as Roger took over and thrust deep into her, using hands and cock to ignite her passion.

Tiffany rejoined the fray, rising until just the helmet of his penis was inside her inner lips, then dropping until he bottomed out in her cooze, again and again and again. Rocking her hips on the downstroke like a belly dancer, she sought more and more sensation, reveling in the pleasure her sport-fucking playmate was giving her. Little orgasms like sparks from a fire crackled through her, but the fuse to the big one building deep inside remained unlit. She sped up, shortening the strokes, not lifting as far off his prod but jamming herself down and squeezing with each downstroke, trying to set off the blast of sexual rapture she knew was coming. Roger changed from drumming on her clitoral shaft to stroking it in time with her rising and falling on his rock-hard pole. That did it.

"AIIEEEHH!"

The ecstasy-bomb detonated as she bottomed out one final time, cutting her spirit loose from her body to dance among the stars, far brighter than they, patterns flowing across the surface of her being in colors never painted by any artist, simultaneously triggering Roger's climax as he shot a heavy load into the condom insulating her from contact with him while her juices spurted around it. Fading to black, Tiffany fell onto the bed like a marionette whose strings had been cut, out like a light before her head hit the mattress.

When she woke again, sunlight was striping the floor through the blinds on her bedroom windows. Smells of a good breakfast cooking caused her nose to twitch. After splashing water on her face and throwing on a kimono she used as a bathrobe, she padded out to find Roger carrying plates with raised baking powder pancakes to a table already set with her sterling silver coffeepot, creamer and sugar bowl, place settings, a platter of scrambled eggs and bacon, and her sterling Tiffany trumpet vase with a single silk rose.

"Good morning," he said pleasantly. "I was just about to come in and wake you. Breakfast is ready; come and eat before it gets cold."

"No syrup and butter?" she asked.

"Oops," he said sheepishly, trotting back to the kitchen and returning with a 1930s cut glass covered butter dish and a bottle of maple syrup. She sat down, added eggs and bacon to her plate, and began eating.

It was a quiet meal; Tiffany felt companionable but awkward at the same time. The usual pattern of the paramours she picked up was a cup of coffee or a drink or two, a little necking and petting, then sex, following which the man would depart, perhaps with an "I'll call you sometime," which both she and he knew was a little white lie. Her partners rarely stayed the night, and none had ever made breakfast before. She wasn't quite sure how to proceed, so she just ate quietly.

Breakfast done, over her objections Roger cleared the table. They stood close to each other by the front door, each knowing this interlude was over but neither sure how to end it gracefully. At last, Roger spoke.

"Tiffany, I've really enjoyed this. I'd like to see you again."

"You can see me anytime you like at the Bird & Bottle, sweetie, except Monday and Tuesday. Those are my days off."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it. Would you give me your cell number so I can call you?"

This startled her. What was he, some sort of stalker? "Well, I don't know. That's kind of personal."

Roger laughed. "Tiffany, we've spent the night together! You brought me into your home. You've taken me to bed and we pleasured each other mightily. Are you really trying to tell me that giving me the ten little digits of your phone number is more intimate than making love?"

She saw the absurdity of it and chuckled. "When you put it that way, I guess you're right. Give me your phone, sugar." He unlocked it, touched it to the phone directory, and opened an entry for her. She rapidly tapped the tiny keyboard for a minute.

"My cellphone, my house phone, my work phone, my address, and the address of the Bird & Bottle. Is there anything else you'd like?" she asked.

"Yes. A kiss to remember you by until the next time we meet." He held out his arms and after an instant's hesitation she flowed into them, head tilted back, lips parted, ready to receive his kiss. Time halted as their hands roamed over their bodies, twined in their hair, and squeezed buttocks. Genitalia rubbed together as the kiss deepened and their embrace tightened, neither wanting it to end. At last Tiffany broke the kiss and cuddled against his chest.

"You'd better go now, Roger, or I'm liable to drag you back into the bedroom and fuck you until you're all used up. Give me a buzz on Wednesday, if you want."

"I'll do that." He kissed her forehead in a guerdon of farewell, then with resolution walked out the door to his Jeep and drove off without looking back. If he had, he would have seen her in her kimono standing on the front porch, watching him drive off ... something she had never done before.

2.

On Wednesday, her cellphone rang as she was stepping out of the shower, getting ready for work. "Who would be calling me at this hour?" she wondered.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Tiffany. It's Roger."

That simple statement took her completely aback. Like most Millennial women, she'd heard the line "I'll call you" a jillion times and understood its meaning in the hook-up culture that had replaced traditional dating to be "See ya later, maybe, sometime;" in other words, a polite kiss-off. A guy calling on the day she'd suggested he call was almost unheard-of. She was surprised to feel her heart speed up.

"Hi there! What's on your mind?"

"I was hoping that maybe we could get together today before you had to go in to work."

He could hear her smile come over the phone. "Roger, you don't have a clue about running a bar, that's for sure. We open at four o'clock on weekdays. That means I have to get there before three to set up. It's not just taking the chairs off the tables and making sure the toilets are clean. I have to set up the bar, meaning make sure we have plenty of limes, lemons, and oranges in the reefer; that the cooler is stocked with enough bottled beers, that we have enough spirits on the shelves and extra bottles under the bar for whatever cocktails have been selling lately. If we have deliveries coming, I have to be there to sign for 'em and show the drivers where to put 'em. Even though Bud handles the cooking, I have to make sure the deep fat fryer is switched on and he has enough of everything ready to hand. All that before the doors open, every day. I'm getting dressed to go open up right now, while we're talking. "

"Wow. I had no idea. I'm sorry I interrupted you."

"Don't be, sweetie. Look, here's what you do. I take a dinner break from ten to eleven. Come on down at ten o'clock and we can eat together. It won't be fancy, but it'll be hot, and it will be a change from your own cooking. Interested?"

"Very. I'll see you then. Bye, Tiffany."

"Bye, sweetie." She thought for a minute and walked back into the bedroom to change her outfit from what she had planned to wear.

A couple of minutes after ten, Roger walked into the Bird & Bottle. Tiffany spotted him standing inside the door as he surveyed the place looking for her and came over, taking his arm and kissing his cheek.

"C'mon. We're eating in the back at the staff table." She led him through the swinging doors by the bar into the kitchen, ignoring the male eyes mentally stripping her out of the pleated green miniskirt and body-hugging white Bird & Bottle tee she was wearing.

Considering it was a bar and not a restaurant, it was bigger than he expected. His date guided him to a plain wood table where two wineglasses and a basket of fresh baked rolls waited. He seated her, which raised her eyebrows, and took the seat opposite before he presented her a carnation in a water tube. She looked at it with amusement.

"Formal, aren't we?"

"Well, we are seated at the chef's table."

"If you want to stretch the point until it snaps, I suppose. But this isn't Antoine's in New Orleans; it's just where we eat when we can sit down for a while." Bud, a sturdy man clad in jeans and a green shirt with a Bird & Bottle logo on it that set off his white hair, ambled over to see what they'd have.

"Bud, do you know Roger Chamberlain?" introduced Tiffany.

"The writer fella? We've met," said the co-owner of the bar as he shook Roger's hand. "We've run across each other at school committee meetings. He and I are usually two of the folks fighting against the 'progressives' who want to cut out all the non-academic programs in the schools so's the young 'uns can spend more time being 'taught to the test' instead of learning how to think, how to play and sing, or explore vo-tech stuff like auto mechanics, carpentry, and HVAC. How you doing, son?"

"Pretty well. I leave on a book promotion trip on Sunday for three weeks. One of those 'If It's Tuesday, This Must Be Houston' deals. I'm already looking forward to getting back home and back to writing instead of playing The Author, know what I mean?"

"I think I do," Bud said, looking at him with a wink and a jerk of his head toward Tiffany. "What'll you have?"

"What's good tonight?"

"I've been playing around with coconut fried shrimp and french fries with cocktail sauce on the side for a different flavor. Sound good?" Roger looked at his date.

"Tiffany?" She nodded, adding, "I'll get us some white wine to go with."

As they ate, they chatted. Tiffany did most of the talking, about running the bar and telling stories about some of the funny things she'd seen going back to the time she'd spent as a waitress at Hooter's and at Gentleman's Delight, a strip club in Phenix City that catered to the soldiers at Fort Benning. Roger was content simply to listen and look at her, injecting an occasional anecdote from one of his book trips or something he'd learned the hard way while doing research. After dessert, she got up and spoke to Bud for a minute before coming back to the table, pulling him to his feet, and leading him out the back door.