Lynn’s Journeys Ch. 12
Oca 6, 2023 // By:analsex // No Comment
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“Please raise your tray tables and seat-backs as we prepare the cabin for landing,” the voice intoned from above my head. The swamplands of Louisiana were below us as I scanned the ground underneath us as our plane banked for final approach.
An interesting three and a half weeks since Alice left to return home after her meeting. We talked every night; I’m not exaggerating, every night.
We sent each other countless emails, and with each passing day, our excitement at seeing each other, being with each other again, mounted for us both. Listening to our conversations, reading our emails to each other, a blind man could see that we were clearly desirous of one another.
She didn’t ask me ‘not’ to sleep with any one else, nor did I ask it of her; it just became so, it just didn’t cross my slutty mind to sleep with anyone else after Alice left. It just didn’t and it puzzled me greatly.
I could have; of course I could have.
Between Dee and Nat alone, I could have all the lovin’ I wanted, and that wasn’t even counting Janice who called every other day, trying to hook up again with me.
I was running out of excuses when the day of departure arrived, thank God.
I left my office in good hands with Betts cracking the whip and becoming more and more important to me. That was good, I thought, that I have someone like Betts; I should give her another raise, or maybe another 5% stake. Well, I decided, I’d do something to show my appreciation of her and her value to our business.
As in Hawaii, the humidity of Southern Louisiana wraps around you, trying to choke the breath from you, when you walk from the plane into the Jetway.
I trudged down the concourse of the Louis Armstrong International Airport and saw Alice waving just past the security check point. We fell into each other’s arms, our hugs tight to our bodies, our kiss ‘just a tad bit’ longer than a friendship kiss should be.
Our eyes drank in the sight of each other as we walked towards baggage claim, our arms around each other’s waists.
“God, how I’ve missed you,” she said softly, leaning her head against mine.
“Yeah, me too baby, me too,” hugging her a little tighter, “It seemed as if the weeks just dragged along, this day didn’t seem it would ever get here.”
“You did bring your clubs, yes?” Alice was also a golfer-bonus!
“Yep, I did” as we reached the baggage area.
“How long can you stay?” she asked, holding my hand now.
“I’m planning on two weeks, but if you get tired of me, you can throw me out anytime,” I told her.
Leaning her ahead against mine, she just said, “Not a chance of that happening. I can’t believe how much I’ve missed you,” she repeated.
Baggage arriving saved her from me attacking her right there, in the terminal, right there in the claim area. We shared the load and loaded it into the back of her car, and jumped in to leave the garage.
We kissed briefly once inside of the car, and then buckling up, she asked, “Okay princess, where to?”
“Princess, that’s what my dad always called me, princess,” I remarked, smilingly. Adding, “I’m on your time-table, surprise me.”
“Well, my first thought is to pull off to the side of the road and take you right now,” she said, “but that would probably wind up involving lawyers and cops, so what do you say about a quick run to the Quarters; for some beignets and Café Au Lait?”
I discovered beignets, a light, fluffy pastry sprinkled with powdered sugar when I was a teenager, on a family vacation; my first trip to the city. No trip to the Crescent City, for me, would be complete without at least one trip for coffee and donuts.
“I’ll hold off on raping you,” I said, “but only until we’ve eaten our share of beignets,” laughing as I said it.
Looking at me quickly, seriously, she held my eyes with hers; “It wouldn’t be rape, Lynn, not by a long shot,” smiling sweetly as her eyes returned to the road.
The sun was setting across the river as we made our way to the Quarters, blue tarps visible on homes affected by Katrina a couple of years ago.
“This area, the Metairie area, wasn’t hit as bad as the Ninth ward or other areas of the city,” she said, “but it still took a beating. Before you leave, maybe tomorrow, we’ll go down to the ‘Nine’ and you can see for yourself.”
“What else is on the agenda?” I asked, watching the pigeons fly over us as she took the exit ramp towards the French Quarter.
“Well, in no particular order, some sight-seeing of my home town, a trip to the plantation homes on the River Road, definitely some golf; in fact, I’ll call tomorrow and get us a tee time for Sunday, okay?”
It was, and I told her so.
“Pretty much,” she continued, “no hard and fast rules for us while you’re here; let me know what you want to do, and I’ll make it happen.”
“I’d like to ‘do’ the steamboat thing, if we could,” I said.
“And maybe some antiquing?”
“Done and Done!”
“And I’d like to bury my head between your legs and never come up for air,” looking gaziemir escort at her, feeling a well of emotion spring to my eyes, wetting them just a wee bit.
“Done, for as long as you’d like,” her own eyes showing a bit of moisture. Reaching to me with her hand, I took hers in mine and we squeezed together, a jolt of electricity seeming to jump between us, I thought.
Parking in the Quarters can be quite the feat but on this night, Lady Luck was on our side and Alice found a spot not a block from the Café Du Monde, the only place I’ll have beignets and Café Au Lait in the city.
That’s not to say there aren’t any others as good, or even better, it’s just that I’ve always liked it, liked the street scenes that unfold before you as you drink and nosh on the open air patio.
This night was showing signs of being busy, busy like it was before the hurricane sucked the life from the city. We sipped our strong coffees, heavily laced with milk, and devoured the beignets, both of us winding up with powdered sugar all over us, causing us to laugh.
It was good to laugh like this, I thought, as I looked at Alice while she scanned the unfolding street scene. She caught me looking at her, and grinning, put down her cup and asked, “What?”
“Nothing, buttercup, just admiring your southern charms,” I said, feeling something in the pit of my stomach that I couldn’t yet identify; not a bad feeling, just a different one, one that I wasn’t use to.
“Shall we head to the manse?” smiling as she said it.
“You bet, I’m with you.”
“And I’m so glad that you are, with me,” touching my hand with hers.
As I found out from our phone conversations and emails, Alice is from ‘old money’; old southern family money, and her father made even more of it when the oil boom hit the state all those years ago.
Both of her parents were gone; her mother when she was a baby, and her father, not too many years ago.
She’s an only child, raised in the best of circumstances, sent to the best schools and yet, despite having any and everything she could possibly want, she maintained a sense of balance, of perspective, a grace that the Paris Hiltons of the world sorely need.
Her meeting that brought her to me all those weeks ago? One of the many boards that she sits on. She’s active in many different charitable causes; has contributed time, labor, and money to the rebuilding of this great American city.
She lives at the family home, but keeps an apartment in the French Quarters; an apartment she had planned for us to stay in for some of the time that I’d be visiting her.
In short, she was loaded; at the ripe young age of thirty-three, she was set for the rest of her life, and many more lives after that. And yet, talking to her, being around her, you’d thought she was a mid-line manager at some brokerage house or something.
She could have anything she wanted, just about, and she wanted me.
I didn’t question it, but I was glad for it.
Her husband was walked in on, by her, as he was screwing a couple of fifteen year old girls; them, for his money and him, for his perversions.
Not only did she kick him out that very night, she called the police commissioner and had him arrested.
The girls, once sure of not getting in legal trouble, were going to testify against him at trial but he pleaded guilty on all counts. Not because he developed morality, oh no; but because if he survived his subsequent sentence of thirty years, he’d have a million dollars waiting for him, at the ripe age of seventy-two. That was the price for a non-contested divorce and release of all claims against spousal shares, etc.
“A cheap price to be rid of the rat bastard,” she had said when she told me the story, “but, I don’t think he’ll come out of prison alive and that’d be just fine; one less child molester to worry about.”
She went on to say that the divorce would be final in a few weeks and she would be forever rid of his perverted ass.
“Why do you still wear your wedding band?” I asked her that night.
Thinking a bit, she took it off of her finger, took my hand in hers and walked to the railing of the steamship; taking aim, she flung it out into the depths of Ol’ Man River, the Mighty Mississippi.
“What wedding band?” she asked, looking at me with a smile on her lips.
The family ‘manse’, as she called it, was a turn-of-the-century mansion; two-storied, sitting on a rise, on a huge lawn, on a lovely treed boulevard.
There was a drive-through portico, under which she parked after activating the large gates by a remote, in her car.
There was a ‘carriage house’ building at the rear of the property where the cars were garaged, and where there was an apartment that Alice turned into an art studio for herself.
“Wow, nice spread, Alice,” I commented as my eyes swept the grounds, the large, old oak trees, some with Spanish Moss hanging from the huge branches, themselves as big as trees trunks.
“Thanks, it’s been in our family karabağlar escort for several generations; it’s really too big for me but it’s sentimental and I can’t seem to bring myself to part with it,” adding, “Leave your clubs in the car, no sense in dragging them inside.”
She pulled my Pullman bag and I carried the smaller one, following her into the side entrance. A blind man could see the family money in the beautiful antiques that furnished this huge place.
I followed her up the stairs, down a hall, and into a huge master bedroom, modernized and remodeled not too long ago.
“I was lucky with Katrina; the water came near the house but not into it. Most were not so fortunate and I’m very thankful for my good luck,” releasing the pull-handle of the big bag
She walked to me and putting her arms around me, drawing me to her; we kissed, a long, tender kiss, less lustful than passionate.
“Tired? Want or need a shower? Want me to make love to you?” she said softly.
“No, to the first; Yes, to the second; and a definite yes to the third but after I’ve had a shower,” I answered, kissing her afterwards, a small, little peck on her full lips.
She led me into her master bath; a huge, beautifully decorated room with a Jacuzzi tub, and a shower large enough for a football team, it seemed.
We undressed each other at the same time, taking our time, our eyes drinking in the sight of the other’s nakedness as our clothes fell to the floor around us.
We stepped into the shower, the many heads wetting us totally with its soft, warm waters. We soaped each other, rinsed each other, and made love to each other with our hands, exploring, reacquainting ourselves with each other’s sex.
Drying each other with huge, fluffy towels, she threw me a wrap, choosing one for herself at the same time.
“Let’s have a drink on the veranda, shall we?” she suggested, and following her into the kitchen, we did just that, Scotch for the both of us. Back upstairs again and out of her French doors onto the second floor balcony.
It was comfortably cool, and we left the lighting off as we sat in the darkness, savoring the silence of the quiet night.
“You really haven’t slept with anyone since I was up there?” she suddenly said, breaking the silence.
“No, no one,” I answered truthfully.
“Why? You could have you know, we aren’t ‘together’; at least, not yet,” she said softly.
Hearing that last part of her comment sent a thrill to the pit of my stomach, that same feeling that I haven’t been able to identify, not yet, but it was a good feeling.
“I really don’t know, Alice, but I just didn’t have the ‘need’ or desire to sleep with anyone; I can’t really explain it to you or to myself, it just is what happened, or didn’t happen in this case,” leaning towards her and kissing her on the side of her face.
“I didn’t either; I couldn’t think of anyone but you these past few weeks,” turning her face to kiss me afterwards.
“I’m not sorry that I didn’t, you know.”
“Yeah, I know; I’m not either,” my lips lingering on hers.
And with that said, we rose and walked back inside, leaving the screen doors shut and locked, the French doors open to allow the cool night air join us in the bedroom. We met in the middle of her bed, the sounds of longing escaping our lips as we kissed deeply and passionately, our hands all over each other’s body.
Her taste was as I remembered it, as I had dreamed of it, her scent making me crazily excited as I devoured her with my mouth and tongue.
Many orgasms later, she let me rest, holding me to her as we regained our strength; and then she made love to me in a frenzy of touches and kisses. The feeling of completeness was so strong to me, a feeling that was as comforting as it was sensuous.
We fell asleep, on top of the sheets and covers, my lips on her breast. It was a good sleep, a sleep of contentment.
“So, I was thinking,” she said, her fingers brushing my hair from my face, “that we’d go to the Lower Nine on Monday, rather than today, if that’s all right with you.”
We were sitting against the massive headboard of her four-poster bed, drinking the coffee she had brought up for us, neither of us with a stitch of clothes on. Sitting with one leg cocked at her knee and the other one stretched out on the bed, I could see the beads of moisture on her pubes from the wake-up sex we had this morning.
“Anything you want to do is all right with me, babe,” kissing her on the shoulder, a fleeting brushing of my lips against her warm, soft skin. She sighed contentedly when I did.
“As much as I’d like to, we can’t stay in bed all day screwing; so why don’t we hit the shower, and head back to the Quarters, to my apartment and spend the night there; Saturday night can be a real ‘bon-temps’,” she said, using the Cajun colloquialism for a party; for a ‘good-time’.
“Can we screw in the shower?” I asked only half-jokingly.
“If we must, we must,” laughing and pulling me out of the bed and towards kemalpaşa escort the bathroom and the shower.
We can screw in the shower.
She had me drive her ‘big car’ into the carriage house when she opened the massive doors, revealing a BMW roadster, black with red interior, the top already down.
Explaining, she said that the two-seater was her ‘Quarters’ car, that the lack of space on the narrow streets made her too nervous to use the other one.
“I’ve been thinking about getting one of these,” I said to her, walking around it, admiring its lines and brilliant shine.
“But, it’s just not practical in my part of the world to spend that kind of money for two or three months of ‘convertible weather’.”
“Well, you wouldn’t have that issue if you were living here,” she said as she buckled up and started the roadster.
I didn’t comment on that remark, letting it slide into the recesses of my mind but I remember, clearly, the fluttering I had felt in my stomach when she said it.
Was she making a general comment about the weather in the South, or was she saying that she wanted me to move here?
Well, I couldn’t do that, now could I? Or, could I?
She had re-set the security system and closing the gates behind us, we motored out of the drive and onto the boulevard, heading for the French Quarters. Not quite ‘Thelma and Louise’ but laughing and smiling, glad for each other’s presence that glorious spring morning.
We stopped for breakfast along the way, more of a brunch actually since it was close to noon.
Driving towards the river, towards the levee, she ducked down Royal Street a couple of blocks and turning right onto another street-she was very right about the narrowness-she slowed, pressed a remote on her dash, and turned into a small driveway and into the garage behind the opening door.
“Daddy bought this for me as a graduation present, one of the few with a garage attached; parking, as you have seen, can be haphazard, at best.”
We walked from the garage, the door closing down as we entered into a marvelous bricked courtyard, resplendent with flowers and bushes, the smell incredibly enticing to the senses; Magnolias, Azaleas, Morning Glories, and several palm-type plants ringing the patio.
At the end of the patio stood a two-story, town-house styled building that had to be a couple of hundred years old, I thought.
On the left, as you faced the main building, was another old structure of the same age, the two forming an inverted ‘L’; “that’s my office space on the bottom, and a small art space, on top,” she said, leading me towards the main building.
Opening a set of tall shutter-doors, at least a hundred years old, I thought, I walked into an incredibly modern home; she had all the wiring and plumbing brought to code and made some interior spatial changes.
The bottom floor housed an entertainment area off to the right of the entryway; to the left was a dining area, the kitchen beyond that and the bathroom tucked around a corner. It was the smallest of her three baths, she said, but hardly gets used.
Upstairs, were her master suite with its own bath, and a smaller bedroom, with its own, small bath as well.
“That’ll be your room,” she dead-panned, but seeing the disappointment on my face, she couldn’t keep with her joke.
“To put your clothes when we’re here; closet space is at a premium,” smiling at the relief I must have shown.
Walking over to me, she embraced me to her body, her fingers tracing the outline of my cheekbone, as she looked into my soul with those dazzling green eyes of hers. We shared a kiss, then another, and then each other, completely.
I was on my knees, between her legs as she lay on the side of the bed, her feet on the floor; her hands holding my head to her pussy, my mouth and tongue now beginning to get sore.
“Your mouth is all red around the edge,” she said, tracing the redness with a fingertip.
“The soreness is worth it to me to be able to make love with you,” crawling up next to her, laying my head into the crook of her arm, snuggling my pussy against her hips.
“Lynn?” her fingers playing in my hair, as I rested against her, my hand over one of her breasts.
“Yes, baby?” I answered her.
“I’m not sure what’s happened to me since I’ve met you,” she said, “but don’t panic or get all weird on me, okay? Hear me out; see if this makes any sense to you.”
“Before we met, before you seduced me-you did; you know you did-anyway, before that I had only been with men; more than a few, starting in high school, but not a whole lot in the whole scheme of things. None of them made me feel the way I do when I’m with you, since I’ve made love to you, and I’m not sure what is happening between us but I know that I don’t want it to stop. I don’t ever want it to stop.”
“I know you’ve been with a lot of other women, well whatever the number is, it’s more than mine; I want to please you, I want to do things with you, to you, that I’ve never thought about with a man. Am I exploring? Am I testing the waters, pushing the boundaries of society? What is it? I’m not sure; I am sure that I want you to be a part of my life now, but I don’t want to scare you off, smother you. Shit, shit, shit, I knew I’d fuck this up!” a small sob catching in her throat.
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