She Is Who She Is

Lazy London summer sounds filtering through Jenny’s window, distant police sirens and rumble of traffic and children playing. Her naked body sliding close to mine, snuggling. The air still cool enough for us both to be free of sweat. Hey baby, what do you want, do you want to get inside me or should I suck you some more? You choose honey.

Jenny reaching over for a condom, tearing open the packet, putting it on me. Me on by back feeling as if in heaven. Jenny’s expert hands making light of the condom hassle, procedure transmuted into erotic embellishment.

Moving a leg over my body, sitting astride, leaning forward, her nipples in my face, her hand guiding my cock along her pussy’s length, parting the lips, finding the point of surrender. Pressing down, realigning slightly, pressing down again, her eyes closing, her body adjusting. Grinding her hips, getting me fully inside, moaning softly.

Opening her eyes, looking down at me, seeing me smiling, smiling back. Hey honey, your pussy feels wonderful, lovely and clinging, strong, not too tight. A pause, her new English registering, then smiling. A kiss on my forehead, acknowledgment of gentlemanly compliment.

Rolling her over on her back, still inside her. Kissing her neck. Her knees rising high, taking me deeper. My hips and cock thrusting slow and long into her. Smiling at one another again. Your pussy honey, it’s so beautiful, and it stays so fresh, amazing for such a hard-working little thing. Another pause, Jenny’s English checking again.

Registering, looking at me for any note of sourness, finding only fondness, smiling. Another kiss on my forehead. Her arms around me hugging tighter. First time ever, acknowledgement from me of her time with other men. The implication that it matters not, who cares? The further implication, I’m not signed up to the general hypocrisy about escorts somehow being inferior. She is who she is, my darling Jenny.

Immersed in the moment so deeply, and so at peace, as to make climax unlikely. Increasingly recognizing climax as being unfundamental, it’s the sexual sharing and sensual touch that matters. Yet suddenly a sudden tightening of some tiny spring, and pressure building. Jenny lying still under me, receptive. Physical sensations becoming guided, like a wave. The wave becoming bigger, my body clenching. Then the crest and the break and the roar.

Jenny beneath me, holding my face. Hey baby, that was lovely, hey baby, you needed that.