My guy and I first met in 1979. He helped me bet on a pony I wasn’t s’posed to bet on–I was 13, he was 20–but I went home from my outing $23 richer, and totally in love. My sisted whined to my mother what I’d done, my mother yelled at me how I was a knocle draggin’ dumb ass, and I told my sister to go suck a diseased bowel. But, I got a kiss that lightning struck my groins and I was $23 richer. In 1979, for a 13 year old kid that didn’t get much in money or in boys, I was stratospheric.

I’d forgotten him in the course of 7 years, but when we got together again, it was for keeps. I’d also newly discovered sex and the art and gentle strokes oral sex ushered, and I was in afterglow heaven. Peter taught me everything I know about sex, I taught him to have a grand sense of adventure. What a pair of …. we are.

Those times were puntuated with the freak shows we’d given on an AmTrak train to see his mother, the ten minute doggy style bangfest in Trump Tower elevator, servicing my man in the back of a chartered bus on the way home from a church outing, the near-miss hit we both took doin’ it on a Macybed in the bedding displays, and three times in a portable stellaruim in a science museum in Queens.

All those times, we’d either not been or nearly been caught, save one: When I came up for air while servicing a juicy cock on my man while we were on the AmTrak to Niagara Falls, a priest sitting in front of us got up in time to see my head re-emerge for fresh air–it was hot under that jacket!–and the evidence all over my grinning face. He sat down again, startled … but the question of was there a slight glint of avarice his eyes held is still a vintage debate between Pete and me.

The other times, we were far younger than we are now; why brazen acts are solely limited to 20 somethings always bothered me. But there we were, openly subtle to the nuances of hornyness in public. One date in Manhattan found us visiting Trump Tower and we got carried away. So much so, I got on his shouders to turn around the CCTV camera and the general public below got a free show of how to do a meaty quickie, doggy style. He fucked me, pussy and ass, so hard–and I’m a screamer–it was a huge surprise the cops weren’t called from the muted yelps I’d made. By the time someone thought to do that, we were long gone. And the camera was put back in its original post.

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Oral sex under the stars–even if those stars are contrived, so what?–is a wonderous way to contemplate your insignificance while orgasmically enjoying the vast blackness of the cosmos canopied before you. Cygnus the Swan glided in beautiful formation as he flicked the alphabet across my Eden covered clit, and I couldn’t help groaning submissively. That concrete floor was unforgivingly hard, but so was Peter when he finally plunged himself into me, first just gently, then ever pistoning regularly, building to a rhythm that left me breathless when finished and generously moist during. Back to the oral we go, and from my vantage point, Cassiopeia and Orion, Sirius and Betelgeuse shone majestically above me. Not too bad for a makeshift planetaruim–the very same that little kids, moms and dads, teachers and grad students crawled through to snjoy the splendor the night skies held.

Thank God those domed walls don’t talk!

As that concrete beneath us painfully turned our knee, hip and ankle bones against us, we shifted jackets and coats between us and that stone floor for a final oral pleasure. Final there, that was, as we’d finish our tryst on a softer venue.

Those jackets bought us another five minutes, but it was the sweetest, most flowing five minutes I’d ever enjoyed. As the night stars revolved slowly over our heads, silence ever so deafening and we didn’t say a word but for our moans of pleasure, the welcome tongue dancing over my vintage took away what was left of my resolve to hold back, and I forgot about star formations and constellations. We gave the scaled-down cosmos a show of passion, ecstacy, love and mutual pleasure as we completed out lovemaking with 69’ing one another. Over and again I flowed, couldn’t stop, didn’t stop, wouldn’t quit and the more I gave myself to Pete, the more he took, sucking and tonguing expertly. I was groaning and moaning and trembling involuntarily, he was too, my mouth full of him, the rushing liquid of his DNA pounding in my ears, deafening my growing groans … and we came together, wow, what perfect synchronicity. Little blobs of purple stars exploded in my eyes, blacking out the rotating ones in the domed, dim blackness … and that floor gave my knees a stabbing, painful reminder of who just was boss here.

We left, walking slowly home to ease the protests our bones were yelling loudly … and picked right up where we’d left off. By morning, our loins (and bones) were sleeping most contentedly.

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Last night, I wanted another man, but he was being seriviced by another Joe like him. I’m not the kinda gal to take second fiddle to anyone in that department–and decorum prevented me from being a back alley whore cat to a quadruple male orgy–so I went home, buzzing with testosterone of my own to share with my sleeping prince.

Kissing had its place and time, and though we’d taken that time to enjoy that, it was just the precursor to what we were both eager to do. After 10 minutes of this, I inverted myself first … and slipped my mouth and tongue around his waiting cock. Quivering slightly from my presence–Peter hadn’t loin-trembled in a long time, not from ill-desire of me, but from damn lack of sleep–we both voiced our pleausres simutaneously.

Once again, in rhythm, once again knowing each other as we do, in spite of time, age, changing bodies and shifting schedules, demands of kids and of life, the neighbors got a fast lesson on who’s a great moaner and how exactly to get throaty for full effect. He fucked me like a sailor on leave, a pimp does his street slut and as if we were secretely being videoed and soundtracked on “Candid Porno Camera.” We sucked, kissed, ate, tongued, nibbled, tasted, licked, slurped and bit all over getting animal on one another. He grew thicked and more inviting, I allowed him to enter me–after having him feast on my wetness scented and flavored just for him–and banged me into my fifth orgasm that night, having hung on past the point of no return when he licked my pussy, leaving me to pour into his open mouth four times previously.

We came together, over and over, and still again, though it lasted just a few minutes in real time, it felt like hours. Once finished, he fell asleep cock still Viagara rigid, still inside me, very much satisfied. I slipped into a contented snooze, grinning peacefully to myself, still wet and full of my personal piston, my last thought before drifting off was: While I’m thrilled to still turn a guy’s head and what a turn on that still is, when it gets right down to brass tacks, Pete’s set the gold standard in cocks. Compared to him, in oral technique and thrusting style, lest they take the time to improve, all other fellas are just fool’s gold.

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