[Phil was driving half way across the country to our hometown in a hurry in the middle of the night, trying to get there before his dad died.  I was talking with him, helping him stay awake.  This is the third  part of the conversation.  I am stretched out on my bed talking with him.]

I said I wish it had not been so cold when he visited, that I had wanted to do something romantic out on the balcony.  But we might never have gotten to dinner.  He said that would be been all right.  (I don’t believe that).  He said he could have gotten a quick lobster roll somewhere.  He wanted to bend me over the railing.  I wanted to get a blanket and have him fuck me into the concrete.  He said he loves it when I say fuck!

He was amazed how I fit so much into so few hours during his visit.  He had parts of three days to show me around D.C. and I only had about 5 hours here.  I told him I was amazed the timing worked out.  He agreed, especially because he’d met me an hour later than he’d thought.  I apologized that I got him back so late.  He apologized for falling asleep on the way back.  I said that was fine, that it was sweet that he trusted me to drive and not worry, just relax.  He said he’d been in a cab in Israel, nothing that went on in a car was scary after he survived that.

Then he talked about how there was so much sexual tension in my kitchen.  How he liked that.  I asked if it was weird for him to be in my place, if that made him nervous.  He said no.  He’d been nervous to meet my husband, but that went fine.  He was fascinated by my husband’s computers.  I said I’d missed an opportunity in the kitchen to drop to my knees.  He said “Yeah, you should’ve taken my dick down your throat and sucked it dry.”  I told him I thought he didn’t want me because he didn’t initiate.  He said he wanted me desperately but was afraid to rush me. I asked if he thinks I am too forward, if he’s really not that interested but humoring me, and he said he doesn’t think I am forward enough!  He said he isn’t used to a woman who will let him do anything, so it’s hard to initiate for fear of being rejected.  I said he should know better by now.  He said he often wonders what I want, and wishes I would tell him more, and that I would tell him afterwards how it was, and what might be better.  I said I wanted the same thing, that I often think he doesn’t want me, and he said, “nothing could be further from the truth.”

I said I need to learn more, wished I’d been able to make him cum with my mouth.  He said it was wonderful, anytime he can lie back and watch a beautiful woman sucking his hard cock, it’s a good time.  He said I could easily have gotten him to cum if I’d told him, again he wasn’t sure I wanted that.  I told him I was writing that down.  I said, “at least I got to taste you.  It was very sweet.”  Told him that we have to talk more in bed, make these things clearer.  He said any time I want something just tell him. I said he should tell me what’s good, what might be better.  He promised to try to do that, but said it’s often hard to think when we get going.  

I told him about my memories of that night, his touching me so gently and then spanking me the one time.  He said it seemed like the right thing to do to a sassy girl.  I talked about watching his gorgeous butt while he washed up, that I know he works so hard to keep up, of biting it.  He growled and talked about fucking me from behind, feeling his balls slap against me, watching me claw at the comforter in ecstasy.  Oof.  That made me twist on the bed.  I told him I’d missed a chance there, too, to grab my massager and make him vibrate.  He said he would have put it between us, on my clit, so we’d both get the vibrations.  I told him I was thinking about inserting the tip in his ass.  He moaned.

He breathed a bit heavier and asked if it was legal to drive down the road stroking his dick.  Hee!  I admitted I was never sure if he kidding when he said that or if he was really doing it.  He said he was really doing it!  He whispered he hoped I had my hands on my slit, fingers inside.  He’d love to watch that.  I made some noises to let him know he was driving me insane, told him how wet he made me.  He said he never had any trouble doing that, even way back when. He softly asked if I like having his balls slapping against my ass.  I said I love the sound, the skin on skin, the heat.  I made more noises and writhed on my bed. 

I told him I’d been thinking about going back to camp with him, not right now in the cold, but in the summer.  Spreading a blanket out in the field and looking up at the stars, until he could blot them out with his face above me and use his body to take me to them.  He spoke reverently about our time there as teenagers – my overalls, his hands on my ass and my perfect tits, like softballs.  More like melons, I said.  He chuckled.  

He said I probably should get some sleep, didn’t I have to work in the morning?  I said no, that I have these two weeks off.  I had worried that he was trying to say he didn’t want to talk anymore, but once I explained that I could easily stay up and didn’t have to be anywhere, he went right back to the where we’d left off.

He talked about the different places we found to make out as teenagers – at camp, on the bus, over by the elementary school, at church in the basement.  He talked about the notes I would give him in school.  NOTES?  He’d never mentioned that before.  He said I would give him a little piece of paper at school that said, “Come to choir practice early, meet me in the choir room in the basement, and I will make you very happy.”  He said he did and I did.  He said he couldn’t believe how uninhibited I was.  That no other girl would let him do anything except kiss them, and I let him do anything he wanted except go down on me or have sex.  He marveled again at our bus ride, cuddled together in the back seat, how he had his fingers inside me, how he tasted me, how he kissed me with my juices on his lips.  How he should have put a jacket over my lap, leaned over and sucked on me.  How he wished I had touched him.  I asked if he had played that out in his mind over the years, and he said many times.  And other endings as well.  But he likely would never had gone all the way because he was so paranoid about getting a girl pregnant, and there was no way to get any protection.  But he thought if he’d ever had the chance, he probably would’ve done it.  But that we both weren’t ready at that point.  

He talked about how different teenagers are nowadays, how his daughter’s friends are so open about doing and talking about sex, being naked in his pool.  They call him “Mr. Phil” and get away with all sorts of crap at his house.  He told me about a videotape he found of his daughter’s friend giving the girls a lesson on how to give blow jobs, demonstrating using a beer bottle.  And then how to use the same bottle as a masturbation aid!  She came by as he was finishing watching it and said, “Uh, Mr. Phil, did you watch that entire thing?”  “Yup.”  “Oh. Gonna tell my parents?”  “Nope.” No shame, no apology, just kept on walking.  Only a little worried about her parents finding out.

I asked if any of them had come on to him, and he said no.  He said he was not shocked by anything they do, and his wife was a teacher and had seen it all in school too.  He said it is very rare for anyone now to get to age 14 being a virgin!  I said we had project people, geeks, who’re late 20’s and still haven’t done it. 

I asked him how he managed to leave Sally at home for this drive.  He explained that someone had to stay with the dogs, as they’d just gotten adjusted to the house, never been alone a night or been to a kennel, don’t have the shots to be kenneled and they don’t know anyone yet who could pet sit.  And that she hates being in the car so long and he doesn’t mind it and it was actually fine with him if she didn’t come.  I said I appreciated it, not that I matter in the scheme of things but it had certainly been good for me to talk to him.  He said I do matter.  And that it has been way better for him this way.  That he’d much rather talk with me any day.