In the Kitchen

She's sitting opposite me on the chair next to the kitchen table. After a walk we're back at her house. As usual, she has desire for a cigarette. Now she's sitting there, with her legs pulled up, feet on the edge of the chair, her chin resting on her knees, smoking. At least she's making an effort not to blow the smoke in my direction. She's wearing a short, tight-fitting, blue dress. I love this dress because it emphasizes, in an effective but unobtrusive way, her wonderful body.

One of the side-effects of the dress and her pulled-up legs is that I have completely unobstructed line-of-sight on her skimpy black thong. Is she aware of that? Or could it be intentional? By her who is always so watchful to keep her distance, especially physical distance?

I pretend I can't see anything or as if her sitting there in front of me in that provocative way were totally normal. As always, we're engaged in a lively conversation; that allows me to keep the effect that her sight has on me under control. Yet, my eyes travel down there on their own accord, to that place an inch above the surface of the chair. Her thighs are flawless, and that with her being a few years beyond fifty. She's taken her sandals off. I notice her feet are surprisingly dirty. That's probably the result of the extended walk we just finished.

I also notice that her legs have fallen wider open still. Now I can see the insides of her thighs. Again I'm amazed how a woman her age can have such a youthful physique. That, however, I've known long before this evening since we've been to the sauna on several occasions, and at the beach we found it natural to always undress completely. (We're both nudists.) That's how I actually know her body quite well.

After my initial approaches, which she sooner or later shut down in their entirety, I reluctantly accepted that I'd never have my way with her. That wasn't easy since she has an almost magical appeal to me. But what would I gain if she gave in to my wishes against her will?

All the more her present behavior confounds me. What's all this about? She has to be aware of the fact that I have a pretty good view of her nether regions. It's practically impossible she "just happens" to sit like that, as if by accident. What's really behind it? Is she testing me? If that's the case, all I can say is: 'Mission accomplished. You really got my attention.'

I have an idea. If she thinks she can (or should) test me, the same goes for me.

"Take off your panties," I tell her without warning. I want to take her unawares.

"What?!" She looks at me aghast.

"Take off your panties," I repeat, straining to keep my voice under control. "If you insist on sitting there like that, I insist on seeing everything."

She looks at me with an expression that is probably intended as "outraged". What arrives at me instead is utter disbelief. 'Mission accomplished,' I compliment myself.

"You gotta be out of your mind," she manages to say with a tremble in her voice. "You'd love that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," I give back, "I'd indeed love that. Apparently you love sitting there like that too."

She's looking hard for a fitting reply. Can't come up with one. So she stays silent and eyes me with hostility.

I stare back at her. At this point I don't have anything to lose.

"Take it off. I've seen you naked. If you really want me to see you, do it right."

She frowns, probably considering the possibility I really lost it. Or how she can extract herself from the tight spot she's in.

"You wanted to see how I'd react," I tell her. "Now you've seen it. And now I'd like to see how you react."

"I will not react at all," she retorts quickly. "You've lost your mind."

"That's a definite possibility." I manage a halfway convincing chuckle. "But if you're in full possession of yours, and still sit there like that, at least you should do it right."

She stares at me belligerently. I stare at her. I can see the reflexes of the kitchen lighting in her eyes. They are quivering ever so slightly.

Her mouth contracts to a thin line. Almost imperceptively, she nods. She stands up. Adjusts her dress, that has ridden up on one side. Then she straightens herself.

"You wanted to know it. Now you will."

I'm not sure what she means by "know", but I get the message.

In that inimitable way that women have (and not even all of them), she puts a hand under her dress, wiggles her hips a little, and then pulls down her panties beneath her dress's hem. With impressive dexterity, she manages to pull them all the way down and over her feet, until, triumphantly, she holds them in her hand. With theatrical disdain, she throws them in my lap.

I confess her covered-up striptease has the desired effect. Watching a woman taking off her panties is arousing under any circumstances. To watch her is way more exciting since she usually makes it such a point to seem respectable.

"There." The corners of her mouth twitch. "Are you happy now?"

"Sit down."

She remains standing, stiff as a board.

"Sit down," I repeat.

I'm convinced she will not follow my wish (or was it an order?), but then she sits down. On the edge of the seat.

"Sit down the same as before," I instruct her.

Incredibly, she does as she is told. I can't believe my eyes.

"Pull up your legs. Exactly as you did before."

Her expression is probably meant to signal contempt. But her eyes are gleaming. She wiggles her ass a little on the chair, then back in order to put her feet on the edge. Again I'm amazed at how dirty they are.

She leans back on her chair, but her knees remain pressed together. However -- if she knew, it would kill her -- in the gap between her ankles the dark triangle of her pubis is still visible.

I let a moment pass. She should be able to enjoy this as much as I. For by now I've realized that she hasn't yielded to my demands but, at least in her mind, she's turned the tables. 'So you really want to know,' I'm sure she's thinking, 'all right, then I'll go for it. Let's see how you hold up.'

"Spread your thighs."

I'm deliberately crude with my instructions. Something tells me that she get off on that. And, miracle of miracles, she slowly spreads her thighs.

What she reveals to me nothing new. In the course of my life I've seen plenty of pussies, from far, close-up, big and small; and in details that are impossible to express in words. Yet the sight of her now fully exposed muff is almost brutal.

And she's not even all that pretty. Framed by hairy growth, she doesn't come close to my ideal. But it's her twat, and that makes all the difference.

"Wider."

Doubtless the trembling in my voice gives me away. Still she follows my instructions. She widens the gap between her thighs.

The effect is twofold. For one, by spreading her thighs she removes the shadow that her left leg has been casting on her pussy and grants unobstructed view of her naked vulva.

On the other hand, she's giving away far more than a privileged view of her most intimate parts. What she reveals to me is so much more erotic than her nudity.

I'm not finished with her.

"Set your feet farther apart."

She does it almost without hesitating. That excites me further.

"Stay like that. That's beautiful. You're beautiful. She is beautiful."

"And you're a pig."

"Then why did you do it?"

"You wanted me to."

"Evidently you did too."

Her thighs begin to close again.

"Leave them open. You look wonderful."

"Horndog."

"You're right. But it turns you on too."

She doesn't reply. Seems I hit the target.

"There's no need to hide anything. It's an arousing situation."

"Maybe for you. I feel used."

"Wrong. You deliberately provoked me. I simply responded in kind."

"I'll make sure it won't happen again."

Saying that, she slumps back. Right now she sits there in exactly the same pose as in the beginning, with the trifling difference that now she's lacking her panties. Slowly she let's her thighs fall to either side. The sight she's offering me is becoming more mindboggling by the second.

Opening her legs causes the hem of her precariously short dress to ride up even more. Her abdomen is now fully exposed. Her pubic lips are beginning to gape. I have a hard time keeping it together.

What I took for an ironic tease she would immediately undo is fast developing into a deliberate, sensual spectacle she's evidently enjoying. In particular, it seems to excite her that in her mind she has turned the tables and is having her fun with me. And I'm certainly a priceless picture to behold.

Her hairy snatch I never ceased to tease her with suddenly acquires a very special charm. Her bush is not particularly dense and primarily concentrated along her midline. It looks as if she's trimmed it that way, but I know better. Contrary to other pubic underbrush, hers doesn't hide anything at all but rather looks like an embellishment. Is that why she decided to swim against the zeitgeist?

With a mocking grin, she places her hands to the left and right of her pubic area and starts massaging her thighs softly. At first she seems hesitant, but then gets into the flow. Of her own sensations and also of the effect her performance is undeniably having on me.

Could she have done something like this before? Judging by all I know about her, that's completely out of the question. She simply isn't the type.

But what she does now challenges everything I thought I knew about her. Could I be that wrong?

Her hands, so far about the width of a hand removed from her private parts, are now closing in. I can't believe my eyes. Is she really going to --? And then her thumbs are already caressing her wiry intimate hairdo. My eyes must be popping out of their sockets, for she grins in an almost malicious way. She seems to derive exquisite satisfaction from playing with my lust -- or, let's be honest, with my horniness. Meanwhile I've become supremely aroused. A woman like her being able and willing to give me this once-in-a-lifetime performance is by far the most erotic thing I've ever had the privilege to experience. And I've experienced a lot.

Her thumbs are a lot more agile than I would have expected. She makes them perform little dances on her Venus mount, twirls her scanty pubes into little curls, continues on to ever more extended excursion toward her lower lips. Is that the way she jacks off?

Apparently it's only the introduction, since by now her other fingers are crowding into the gap between her large pubic lips. They glide up and down effortlessly, they really seem to slither. Is she that well lubricated? Her pubic hair is without a doubt glued together by something wet, liquid. I'd never have believed her to be this arousable. But then, I also never expected her to turn my churlish provocation on its head. Or that she even had the capacity.

She arches back further. For the first time her facial expression allows the slightest insight into what actually going on inside her. Her mask is about to drop.

Her legs are as spread open as wide as they go. Her fingers are gliding up and down her crack. She closes her eyes, continues. Meanwhile I really don't know anymore what to do. Pounce her and enter her erotic theater? Or run for the hills and skip town in shame? After all she has amply demonstrated how wrong my ideas about her were.

I decide to let her decide. She seems to have a purpose. I wouldn't want to interfere with that. So I remain riveted to the spot and enjoy with my eyes what my body is increasingly urging for.

She doesn't seem to need any more instigation. Her movements are slow but of such intense sensuality she seems transformed into a different woman. It makes her appear even more beautiful.

She lets her head drop back. I can't see her face anymore. Her diminutive bosom heaves. One hand lies spread cross her abdomen, the other is proceeding to enter her inner world. Her fingers are slick with her juices. The sight of her pussy is brutally pornographic, and yet of downright artistic estheticism. Never in my life would I have thought her capable of such sensual abandon.

She sits on her chair, legs wide open, her fingers working overtime. Her pelvis is slowly easing into the rhythm of her right hand. It is more than evident how much she's enjoying this. And indeed, she begins to utter soft sighs.

Until now, I've never thought she might be capable of such behavior. But what she's displaying to me now is impossible to ignore. I place a hand on my fly. My cock under the fabric has curiously shriveled. 'Completely intimidated,' I observe to myself.

How could it be otherwise. What she's doing there is intimidating to the extreme. Which is likely her intention.

"Mmmmmm," she suddenly moans. Has she come?

No, she's raised her head and looks me directly in the eyes. She seems completely changed. Her blond hair is falling into her face, like a savage's. She wears an amused expression in her eyes.

"Having fun?"

I confess it takes me a suspiciously long time to answer.

"That's the idea, isn't it?"

"And, is it working?"

I decide the best way to cope with her new-found personality is to be radically honest.

"Yes."

"I'm glad."

"Me too."

She leans forward. The dropline of her dress allows me to see her tits. They're so tiny there's not much to behold. But that's the way I like them.

"Come here."

I look at her. Is this the same woman I've experienced for a long time as extremely withdrawn and self-protective?

"Come here and don't ask me why. I surrendered to you, and now I want you to surrender to me."

She sinks against the backrest. I can make out her throat so clearly I can see her pulse. And I can see her entire body: laid back, relaxed, ostentatiously presented. With wide open legs, she's offering me the fruit of her body, of her senses.

I rise slowly, swaying. I can no longer trust the floor beneath my feet.

She remains in position, looking straight at me. I stare back. I notice my mouth is agape.

I look down, to her shamelessly displayed, openly offered pubis. It obliterates my reason, and certainly my speech. Never in my life have I met such a generous pussy. And hers, on top of everything! I kneel in front of her. I have to worship her.

"No way," she interrupts my train of thought and feelings. "I want your cock now, and nothing else."

"Too bad," I can't help muttering, "but be my guest."

I begin to open my fly. When I take too long, she reaches forward and snatches it from me. In no time at all it's zipped down. Another sleight of hand, and my fly is open. My cock is out in the open.

And completely slack.

Shit.

I should have expected this. He always lets me down in the most crucial moments. He's an asshole. (I realize how revealing my cursing is.)

Amazingly, she isn't in the least impressed by my lackluster tool. Apparently she's well acquainted with the scenario. She inserts a hand in my pants and grabs my cock. The unexpected contact with her surprisingly warm hand takes my breath away. And my last reserves.

Suddenly, my "best piece" is in her hand. Where, ever since we first met, I've wished it to be. Contrary to my fears, she seems to know pretty well how to handle it. Against my worst expectations, my little man seems to know too what he's good for. I watch him, almost disinterestedly, as he comes to life in her remarkably competent hand.

She wrings it. Not too roughly, not too gently -- just right. That, I've really not been prepared for. In my voluptuous fantasies with her I always imagined she'd need my loving but precise instructions to know what to do with me. Now it turns out she seems to have more "expertise" than the most audacious women in my life.

My cock recognizes that and knows how to appreciate it. Slowly, very slowly, so do I.

Her face is suddenly very close to my "Netherlands".

"You have an interesting cock," she speaks to it. Interesting?

"You have no idea of all the things that are interesting about you," I give back with a husky voice. Simply couldn't come up with anything wittier.

"Wrong. I know exactly. Unfortunately it's not what's relevant to me. Now suddenly --"

She leaves the sentence unfinished.

I put my hands on her head. She flinches. My intention was clearly too obvious.

"I will not satisfy you orally."

What? Has she really just said that? Satisfy you orally. Seriously? What century is she living in?

"Fine," I say, "I can live without that." For complicated reasons, oral satisfaction has never been all that satisfying for me anyway.

"Don't ask me why," she continues. "There are worse things."

'Indeed,' I reply in my mind.

"Not a problem," I say aloud. Doubtless, my voice gives away what she's doing to me. No problem. Really not. She's overcome her hang-ups; why should I insist on mine?

"Come here," she says for the second time this evening and takes my hand. (Her other hand still has a grip on my meanwhile not quite as intimidated cock.) She pulls me to her while slouching back on the kitchen chair. "Take me."

I look down (where I presume the thing I'm supposed to "take" is located), and almost lose it altogether. Not just my speech. My rational mind is another victim. My feelings are in turmoil and signal "Code Orange". (Thank God not "Code Red".) Unbelievably, my usually so easily intimidated abdominal appendix doesn't seem to be the least impressed.

As a matter of fact, the configuration I behold in the lower regions of her physique so unequivocally beautiful that any word to the contrary would deserve castration. (I mean that quite literally.) Fortunately the many (many) missed opportunities of my lifetime have taught me not to miss this one.

"You have me," I declare, "and I have you. I don't need to take you."

"You're smarter than I thought."

Her challenging look is all I need.

"The same goes for you."

"Lucky me."

"Lucky you."

"Then take me just the way I am. No idea for how much longer the visa will be valid."

I shut up. Our banter has reached its limits.

I pry her thighs apart and up. What that does to her lower regions doesn't require any description. What it does to mine, neither.

When I kneel before her to fulfill her request (or was it an order?), there's no way to match either height or depth. I simply can't get close enough to her. She becomes aware of my troubles.

"You know what," she says, "let's go to bed."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

And then we go to bed. If it were up to me, we'd never ever leave it again.