Upon the Shoals of Anticipation

He was done, and done in. He had tried to get a jump on the yard work before the heat and humidity climbed, but now it felt like steam was rising off his head. He had long since stripped his shirt and stood clad only in damp, khaki shorts; a sheen of sweat made his shoulders and chest glow like chrome and droplets dribbled off his brows, splashing his cheeks and making his eyes sting. He rolled the mower to a corner of the yard and headed for the house.

Inside, the cool, conditioned air made him shiver. “Ahhhh,” he exhaled.

He found Linda in the kitchen bent over the table sorting papers, lean, toned, leggy and topless, clad only in denim shorts that revealed the lower rounds of her ass. Anticipation made his dick twitch.

She acknowledged his presence with a “Hi, honey,” but didn’t look at him. Instead she continued to collate the papers, stopping only to fling a long, dark-chestnut ponytail over her shoulder and bare back.

God, she’s beautiful. His thought was accompanied by a quick intake of breath. How did he come by a bride as stunningly lovely as this girl? She took care of her body, and it showed in every inch. All the yoga, swimming and jogging kept her in the same trim she debuted at college. It made him want to keep himself in shape. He’d be ashamed to let himself go to pot while her body remained flawless, nimble and nubile.

She straightened herself and turned. Her smile made him want to rush to kiss her.

“All done?” she asked.

“Yeah, yard looks like a professional did it. Damn, it’s hot though.”

“I can tell; you’re a mess. Well, cool yourself off while I get dressed and run these over to the office.”

His face must slid down to his knees. Her smile evaporated. “What?”

“But … you said you’d … you said last night that this morning …”

She shook her head like a disapproving elementary teacher. “Um, you really don’t expect me to do it right now, do you? You’re all dirty and sweaty.”

“Okay, I’ll take a shower then.”

“You certainly will.”

“But you’re not going to go to the office … you said …”

“It’ll only take a few minutes; I’ll be back by the time you get out of the shower. Really, you sound like a little child when you whine like that. Is that supposed to get me in the mood?”

He gazed at her a moment, her breasts and hair free, her deep-shadowed belly button. He hated when she talked to him like that, but by God he wanted her so much.

“It’s just, once you get there you’re just as likely to get caught up in other stuff and I end up …”

“Not getting your blow job?” She rolled her eyes.

“Well … I’m beginning to think …”


“You just don’t want to. Does it gross you out or something?”

“Look, why do you have this obsession with blow jobs all of a sudden?”

“Whaddya mean, ‘sudden’?”

“You know what’s going on? You get together with your friends and they all start bragging about what their wives and girlfriends do for them, and you start worrying that you’re not getting your due.”

“That’s not it at all.”

She rolled her eyes again. “And the thing is, I’ll bet they’re all full of shit because their heads are bursting with porn images of insatiable women swallowing penises that have been photo-shopped to look like elephants’ trunks. Really.”

“That’s not it at all. I just think women … well, normal women like to give their guys blow jobs. What, you don’t?”

“Hey, I don’t like that accusatory tone. So, I’m not normal, I suppose?”

“Honey … It’s just … I don’t want to have to nag about it, okay? So, if you don’t like giving blow jobs, just say so. I’ll never pester you about it again.”

“Oh, so you’re the martyr then?”

He ground his teeth. “Shit, I hate it when you do that.”


“I try to propose a resolution to an issue and you twist it into … into … like you make me into some passive-aggressive asshole.”

“Oh, for the love of God. All right. I’ll give you a blow job, but you’re going to take a shower first.”

“Well … fuck it. I don’t want one if you’re going to make it sound like you’re doing me a favor.”

“Shit! Take the fucking shower … and you better scrub down there. I don’t want to be smelling putrid, sweaty groin.”

“Oh … you don’t want to blow me cuz I stink?”

“You’ve been working in the yard all morning in 90-degree heat, dear. Why don’t you try doubling over and smelling your own crotch and tell me what you think.”

Okay, so she had a point. Still, their argument had sapped his pent-up enthusiasm.

“Fuck it, I don’t want you to do it if …”

“Goddammit! Take a fucking shower and wash your cock, will you? I swear, right now I am so pissed I will go next door and suck Stanley’s cock, right in front of Marjorie, and tell them both you can’t get it up.”

Her threat was ludicrous, but it stunned him. Stanley Grimm and his wife were in their seventies, yet the image of Linda on her knees Hoovering Stanley’s – presumably—pasty old dick while Marjorie offered encouragement jumpstarted his erection. He said nothing, but turned toward the stairs on his way to the bathroom.

Standing under the cascade of water, he soaped and lathered his balls, cock and asshole with determination as Linda’s words echoed mockingly in his head.

She was right. The guys were full of shit about all the sex they got, but he knew that. Still, their talk made him realize that in all the years they had known each other, from dating in college and now ten years of marriage, Linda had completed perhaps four blow jobs on him. And except for one, when he came in her mouth like a fire hose causing her to cough it up so it dribbled over her chin, she hadn’t ever shown any genuine enthusiasm for her task. That one time she smiled at him with loving, adoring eyes as his jizz drooled in great viscous droplets over her cheeks and jaw.

The other three times she spit it out like it was bad medicine, or ran to the bathroom to do the same into the sink. It isn’t like he wanted her to swallow; it would have been enough that she just showed she liked doing it, like that one glorious time.

He turned off the water and toweled himself down before tying the towel around his waist. His cock lifted the towel, but his enthusiasm was still tempered so he wasn’t showing a full-on tent pole.

He descended the stairs and peeked in the kitchen. Linda’s voice directed him to the den.

Linda had slipped out of her shorts; the sight of her was more than enough to fortify his cock like a bowsprit.

“Come here and sit in the love seat, on the towel.”

He noted the bowl of soapy water on the floor.”

“But I just cleaned …”

“I’ll decide if it’s clean.”

He sat. She kneeled and parted his legs with her hands. She dipped a washcloth into the bowl and tenderly moistened his dick. Placing the washcloth back in the bowl, she began to piston her hands over his hardening cock until a froth of lather formed. Her hands slid rhythmically along his shaft and a roiling began at the base of his dick.

“Ohhh, no, honey, you’re going to make me …”

“Shhh!” Along with her admonishment she let go of his throbbing cock.

“Gawd, no!”

“You want me to stop?”

“No-no-no! Please … just … Don’t make me come with your …”

“Hands? Don’t you like how my hands feel? You don’t want me to touch you with my hands?”

“I-do-I-do-I-do! Please-please. Put them back.”

“Okay, then, behave yourself. I just want to get your dick nice and ready for my mouth and my tongue.” As she spoke she resumed her rhythmic stroking of his cock aided by the soapy foam the action worked up.”

His question emerged as a high-pitched plea. “Are you going to suck me now?”

“Oh, sweety … you sound like a little girl when you talk like that.”

“Huh … what?”

“Are you a little girl?”

“I … Linda, c’mon …”

“Uh-uh-uh … you want me to stop again?”

He groaned. Her hands were wonderful, miraculous. Were any woman’s hands as soft as Linda’s? She gently raked her nails along the underside of his dick and over his plumb helmet.

“Jesus … please, Linda. Please, honey … suck me … I can’t last …”

“But don’t my hands feel nice … you love my hands, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes … Jesus, yes.”

“Do you want to come all over my pretty hands?”

“Gahhh! Linda!” He moaned, lifted his ass out of the seat and plunged back down. “You promised!”

“Okay … are you my little girl?”


She instantly let go of his cock; it bobbed almost painfully.


“But you said …”

“I’m a girl! I’m a girl!”

“What? You mean you’re my little girl?” She closed her hands around his cock again.


“Yeah, what, honey?”

“I’m your little girl! Jesus, please.”

“Come for mommy, little girl.”


* * * * *

His eyes opened; he forced them to focus. A thick tendril of jizz clung to Linda’s face, from her hairline, across her left eyebrow, thence over the bridge of her nose to the corner of her mouth to her jaw just aside her chin. She was smiling, a sweet smile like one a mother would afford a child.

“Wow,” she said. “You came like a rocket. I thought you’d shoot my eye out.”

He said nothing.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I know I promised to blow you, but you just … well, lost control. But I promise, tonight in bed, I’ll give you a best blow job a guy’s ever had. You’ll like that, won’t you?

“Fuck you, Linda.”

© 2015 Robert Buckley. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

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