The Sunday story on a Monday. I get a few days off, and this is what happens. Oh well… Happy holiday to those in the States!
I belong to a ukulele club that meets every Tuesday night to jam at a local coffee shop. There’s maybe fifteen of us regulars, and we’ve been doing this for over a year. Most of us play soprano, some like me also have baritones, and a couple oddballs will bring in alto or tenor ukes now and then. Julia is the only one to play alto every week.
We always sit next to each other on the shaggy green couch, with our soprano ukes in the cases at our feet. For an hour or two every week, I get to rub elbows with the most beautiful brunette uke player in town.
I often wondered what it’d like to rub other parts of her body. One night, I got to find out.
Julia had been particularly flirty the entire session. Slapping me on the thigh when I said something off-beat, which is often. She traded jokes with me, sat a little closer than normal, and stared at me a lot.
Truth was, we’d been flirting for a long time, but I never thought she was single.
“I broke up with my boyfriend,” she told me as we packed up our ukes.
“Oh?” I said, not entirely sure how to proceed with this.
“We didn’t even get rough makeup sex afterwards,” she continued. “I was disappointed.”
“Ouch. Maybe I can help you with that?”
“I’d like that.”
“Your place or mine?” I was half joking, ready to back up if she was just teasing me.
Julia gave me her address and phone number. I drove as slow as I could, giving her as much time as possible to freshen up. But I didn’t want her to worry that I had cold feet.
“I was afraid you had cold feet,” she said after I entered her apartment. Her studio was a ukulele mecca. One whole wall was filled with ukes of all shapes and sizes. Another wall had photographs of her playing gigs at various places. A third wall was entirely blank except for the nails sticking out of the drywall.
“That used to have photos of my ex,” Julia pointed to the blank wall.
I nodded, said appropriate things, drank tasty black coffee with her on her couch. Truth, I don’t remember exactly what happened. All of it was just a lovely, euphoric blur. I knew right then that Julia was the woman of my dreams. And she was all mine.
I pulled her close in my arms, and kissed her. To my pleasure, she kissed me back. One thing led to another. I grabbed her breast. She ran her fingers through my hair. I massaged the small of her back. She unzipped my pants.
It was as if somebody turned up the thermostat to a hundred degrees. Our warm bodies tangled together, meshing as if we were one. I slipped a finger up her skirt, and plucked her clitoris like a ukulele string. Eyes closed tight, she humped my finger, moaning softly in my ear.
Fully hard and aroused beyond control, I pushed her off me. Julia stammered, uncertainty in her eyes. Uncertainty was replaced with ecstasy when I turned her around and bent her over the couch’s arm.
I rammed my cock inside her, pumping her gentle at first. Only when Julia begged for more did I pick up speed, my balls slapping against her. Not jackhammer fast yet, but I found a nice andante rhythm that kept her moaning and whimpering. Julia pushed her backside against me, grinding and rotating around my cock. I spanked her on both cheeks and grabbed her hips, forcing her to be still.
And then her whole body shook and quivered as if she had convulsions. Goosebumps rose on my arms, and I gave her my everything. A fast, allegro pumping.
Julia screamed out loud. It was as if somebody poured hot water on my balls as she came, the sensation driving me insane. Her juice dripped on the carpet in fat, noisy drops, making a big puddle.
I pulled out, my cock dripping wet from her come. And then I blew my load all over her back.
I let her rest facedown on the couch while I went to the bathroom to find towels. I cleaned her back gently. Julia kissed me, thanking me over and over.
“It’s not midnight yet,” I said.
She only smiled, and led me to the bedroom.
Months later, we still jam with the uke club, and my photos take up the once blank wall.
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