A life with love

I used to teach English at a small New England college. Single, I became attracted to Lois, a new associate professor of American history. A slender brunette with medium-length hair and shapely legs, she liked to dress in the style of the 1940s, with padded shoulders and tight skirts. Usually part of a tailored suit that fit her like a glove, these skirts went below her knees. Although some had short slits, they always kept her legs together. I began watching her from my office window as she walked across campus every afternoon at about 4.

I asked around and learned she was in her early 30s like me, was unattached, and had a master’s from a prestigious women’s college in the same state. One brisk autumn day I got up the nerve to run down the stairs and catch up to her as her high heels clipped along through the fallen maple leaves.

She looked so businesslike from behind, but she turned to greet me with a welcoming smile that made it easy for me to introduce myself. I said I was going the same way and thought it was about time we met. She said she knew who I was too, and had known it would be just a matter of time before our paths crossed.

I had never seen her face up close before. It was beautifully shaped — soft, yet firm. Carrying an attaché case in one hand and a shoulder bag on her other side, she was a neat, well-groomed woman who knew where she was going. But her fresh, wide smile made her green eyes sparkle with life in the here and now.

I teased her about her clothes, saying even without her first name they would have reminded me of Lois Lane. Her comeback was quick: “All I need is a Superman,” she said, catching my eyes with hers for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

She said she was headed home to her apartment at the edge of the campus, and would I like to come along and have a glass of wine. I politely accepted; my spirits were high, and there was by now an electricity between the two of us as we strolled down the brick sidewalk through the trees, trading puns and other smalltalk. I tried to hide my excitement.

Her apartment was the upper floor of a duplex, tastefully decorated and adorned with houseplants — ferns, African violets, even philodendron vines that trailed along the woodwork in places. Setting her purse and case down just so on a table by the kitchen door, she uncorked a bottle of chilled Chardonnay and poured two glasses. I followed her under the vines and into her living room, and we sat down at opposite ends of a large couch. Her skirt-confined legs were pressed tightly together, crossed at the ankles. She held her spine upright, even though the couch was quite soft. After a sip of wine, she set her glass down on the coffee table and opened a drawer that contained some joints and a book of matches. She didn’t ask if I smoked pot; I do, but I was a little surprised that she did. From her looks and manner, I wouldn’t have brought up the subject, but maybe my hair was long enough for her to assume I would have no objection. In any case, she lit up, took a deep toke, and handed me the joint in a matter-of-fact way with that full, wholesome smile of hers. Her complexion was perfect. This lady has her act together, I thought to myself.

The dope and the wine made the conversation even easier, of course, and we started to laugh at things. We both admitted that we got a lot of satisfaction from our jobs, in spite of the trials and tribulations of teaching. “I feel good,” she said, leaning back on the couch at last. Her lips were wet from her last sip of wine. I took a chance and moved closer, reaching out to stroke her wavy hair, which turned out to be as smooth as it looked. She closed her eyes and told me not to stop. My fingers touched her cheek, and she reached out to touch my arm. My heart was beating fast and furious. She smiled again, and I kissed her lightly. Her lips were unbelievably soft and delicious. When I started to draw away, her head followed mine, to keep our lips together. Her hands went behind my neck, and then I felt her tongue dart in to touch my own. That cinched it.

I noticed she was breathing faster, and I let my right hand follow her body, down her side to the perfect curve of her hip. She drew her legs up on the couch beside her, and my hand continued down her thigh. My penis was aching by now, straining to be free. Lois glanced down, saw the bulge in my pants, and looked back up to my eyes with another slow smile. “Did I do that to you?” It was a rhetorical question.

After more kissing, I noticed that her eyelids were half closed. But all of a sudden she stood up, and at first I didn’t know what to make of it. She slid the coffee table to the middle of the room. “Take those pants off,” she said calmly. As I stood up, she bent down, reached behind the couch cushions, and pulled up and out, converting the couch to a bed. She then directed her attention to her tight skirt, unzipping it swiftly and stepping out of it as she removed her suitcoat. As I undressed, I watched her reach up her half-slip and pull down her panties and pantyhose, stepping out of them and descending to the bed. Her slip and blouse were still on — perhaps she was too shy to remove them in front of me. In a flash I was in her arms, her tongue was back in my mouth, and our hearts were pounding harder than ever. I unbuttoned her blouse and unhooked her bra. I kneaded her breasts, slightly pinching one of her pert little nipples while kissing the other.

Lois then began to whimper, rubbing those perfect legs together. I moved my hand slowly down her silk slip to her mound of Venus. God, it felt wonderful; the barrier of the slip made it even more tantalizing. When my hand cupped her vulva, still through the slip, her whimpering turned to moaning. I went beneath the slip and felt the satiny skin of her inner thighs. Ever so slowly, my hand moved higher, and I felt her cool fingers gently encircle my erection. Her hot breath was like fire against my face.

After again massaging that sweet mound of flesh covered with curly pubic hair, this time “in person,” I let one finger slide down her slick, swollen labia and up the other side. She started to squirm. When my finger slipped into her vagina she let out a long, low, guttural moan and drew up her knees. Her slip was now bunched around her waist, and as I positioned myself between her legs I kept kissing her creamy, perfectly proportioned breasts, which were poking upward, nipples hard.

As my stiff penis drew closer to the center of her desire, she spread her legs wide, with her knees still bent. I slid into Lois all at once, twitching with the power of pent-up energy. Her eyeballs rolled back. Then she lifted those firm, slim legs toward the ceiling and angled them out so I could go even deeper into her. I started thrusting, and she shouted, “Yes! Yes! Oh, God how I needed this!” A second later she wrapped her legs around me and slid her hands down to the small of my back, massaging the area just above my tailbone. At the same time, she started to contract her vagina, milking me. She said, “Is this what you wanted?” I was gasping. She grabbed my buttocks. Her tongue started licking my neck, but then her head dropped back, her mouth open, her breathing hard. Her vaginal contractions were no longer voluntary at this point, but quick and irregular, finally turning into a continuous spasm, and she screamed. It was too much — I exploded into her, shaking violently from head to toe, hugging her close as I heard an involuntary, animalistic wail emerge from deep in my chest.

For a half hour or more we lay blissfully in each other’s arms. The sun went down, and the room grew dark. I rolled over onto my back, and Lois sat up to take off the rest of her clothes. To my surprise, she then leaned over and took my penis into her warm mouth, all in one motion. Some wet sucking soon produced another rock-hard erection. I was in heaven again, and I started to picture my hot semen spurting onto her lips. But she stopped short and straddled me instead. Kissing me on the mouth now, she lowered her sex onto my penis and began to pump up and down. I raised my knees and put my feet flat on the sheets as her pelvis pounded against mine. I played with her nipples briefly, but by now I was delirious with pleasure. She sat up and put one finger in her mouth, taking it out again with a mischievous smile (and a strand of saliva). Then she reached back and put that finger into my asshole. Immediately, I exploded into her again.

When my erection had subsided, I slid between her legs and started licking her lower lips. It was divine. In no time she was moaning again. Her knees were up, but she was supporting her upper body with her elbows. Our eyes met as my licking turned to sucking and my mouth inched up her sweet, tender vulva toward her clitoris. Hot juices — hers and mine — were oozing out of her onto my chin and neck. As my mouth zeroed in on her nub of pleasure, I dipped my middle finger into her seeping vagina. Then my thumb took its place and I slid the finger to her asshole, where I sank it deep. She shuddered and fell back, as I knew she wood, and her second orgasm came on like a hurricane. She started bucking, screeching with delight. “Paul, oh Paul,” she moaned, as she quieted down. I hugged her.

After still more fun in the shower, we got dressed. As we walked hand-in-hand to a nearby restaurant, talking more about our work and our ideas, I realized I had found the companion of my dreams. In bed and out, everything felt so right. And it was.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/8mihhy/a_life_with_love