Picturing her naked, I reach down and start stroking my fully aroused dick. I wonder how thick her nipples really are and how aroused she’ll get when I suck on them. I imagine myself between her legs lapping up her pussy juice as she achieves her first multiple orgasm.
When I think about fucking her doggy style, slapping against her firm ass, I shoot my load across my stomach.
I fall asleep dreaming of her licking it off and cleaning up my dick with her tongue.
A week later, near the end of my shift, I’m recording sales when I see Amaka enter the shop and look around. She walks over and speaks to Gbenga, who’s in charge of customer service. He points to me at the cashier desk, she looks over and our eyes meet. I smile, give my customer his change. Walking towards Amaka, I notice she’s dressed more casually tonight in a green blouse and jeans.
The top clings in all the right places, accentuating the fullness of her breasts, and the jeans show off her shapely hips in ways that her skirts couldn’t. Her breasts bounce lightly as she walks up to me.
“Let’s go the bar if you are free” she says, raising her eyebrows questioningly.
“The drinks are on me.”
“Sure!” I say, maybe too enthusiastically. “I’ll be done here in about five minutes,” I uttered, checking my watch, “I’ll meet you there.” Without answering she turns and walks towards the door. I’m entranced by the jiggling action of her ass cheeks inside her tight fitting jeans.
They’ve ridden up in the crack of her ass and the stretched material displays the perfectly round shape of each cheek as she walks. She doesn’t have the shelf kind of ass like some women, hers is more of a round bubble and I’m dying to squeeze it.
“I owe you an apology,” She says before she sip her drink, not looking at me.
“I let my own frustrations make me angry and I took it out on you.” She looks up at me with those seductive eyes.
“No!” I counter.
“It’s me who owes you an apology. I said some things that were really out of line. I was assumptive and rude and… and…
” I’ve imagined this conversation all week and now, just being this close to her, I’m tongue-tied. “I’m just so glad you’re here and I’m sorry about before.”
She laughs. “Okay, we’re both sorry. Let’s start over.” She sips her wine and I take a drink of my beer.
Great! Now, remembering my active listening skills, I say sincerely, “you mentioned your frustrations. Do you want to talk about it?”
“You are straightforward, aren’t you?” she asks, smiling. God I love her smile.
“The thing I said before, Lenny, about you being young and inexperienced. I really meant that. I’m not comfortable discussing my sex life with you.”
Don’t argue, I tell myself.
“I am young,” I concede. Use questions.
“What if I was more experienced than you think, would you feel differently then?”
“What do you mean?” She leans forward placing her arms on the table in front of her, clearly interested in my answer. Her arms create a cradle for her breasts and I’m trying not to stare at the considerable amount of cleavage bulging over the neckline of her blouse.
“Well, what if I’m more knowledgeable and skilful in the art of lovemaking than you might expect for someone my age?” I ask, trying to keep her engaged in this discussion, while stealing glimpses of her sexy breasts, packed tightly against each other and overflowing from the top of her black bra. I lean forward to afford us more privacy and my face is only inches from hers. It takes all my willpower not to drop my eyes down to her exposed cleavage. Her scent is breathtaking and my dick is hardening as I continue to explain.
“During my first year in the university I rented a room off campus. My landlady was an attractive 48 year-old woman who invited me to… um, partake in some extra-curricular activities. Let’s just say, she became my unofficial tutor and taught me some amazing things about how to satisfy a woman.” I’m smiling, but it looks like I’ve done it again.
“Is that what this is about?” she clamours, pulling back from the table, her breasts bouncing as she fumes.
“You got the taste of an older woman who needed your attention to make her feel young and now you’re out to offer your services to other hopeless older women? Well, mister, this is one older woman who doesn’t need your mercy fuck!” She’s starting to stand up again.
“Mercy fuck?” I shouted, unbelievingly.
“Is that what you think this is? Oh, Amaka, you couldn’t be farther from the truth. You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. You’re smart, sexy, funny, and ravishing. I haven’t stopped thinking about you. I dream about you. I fantasize about you. Mercy fuck? It would be you showing the mercy, if that’s what this is.” Oh damn! I think I just blew it again. When will I learn to keep my thoughts to myself?
Surprisingly, she slowly sits back down, staring at me. My admission of how I feel about her is hanging in the air between us.
“Beautiful? Who says beautiful anymore?” she laughs. More quietly, she says, “do you really fantasize about me, Lenny?’
“I couldn’t wait to see you again, Amaka. I was certain that I never would. You can’t imagine how excited I am just sitting here talking with you and how scared I am that I’ll blow it again and you’ll never come back.”
I take her hand between my two hands and look her in the eyes. “Yes, I fantasize about you. I fantasize that I’m the one who finally makes you feel what you ought to be feeling.”
I look down at our hands. The whiff of fragrance from her body conjures up a vision of our bodies, entwined in the throes of passion. She pulls her hand back breaking the spell, sits back and looks at me.
“My husband,” she begins slowly,
“Is a very religious man. He’s not like one of those insincere pastors that you hear about. His religion is all consuming. He was raised to resist temptation. All temptations. In fifteen years of marriage I’ve never seen him waver. He doesn’t smoke. He doesn’t drink and he especially resists temptations of the flesh. Even my flesh,” she sighs.
“He believes that God made sex for procreation not recreation.” She pauses, sipping her drink.
I don’t say a word. Even though I don’t believe for a minute that any guy, including her husband, is going to be satisfied getting laid twice in fifteen years of marriage.
While Amaka is harbouring her frustrations, I lay odds that her husband is ministering to his female congregations’ most urgent needs, spiritual and otherwise. Quick learner that I am, I don’t voice these thoughts.