The M.I.L.F. Man

"Have the courage to be free..."

I grabbed and hugged it as if it were Cici herself. Sending up a little puff of her scent that drove me wild enough to begin with. But unzipping that bag and finding a t-shirt and a little pair of panties I could huff...dear God...

I wadded that little thongy thing up against my nose and my cock jerked so insistently that there was no time for lotion--one spit and it was on. And over, quite quickly, too.

Frosted the place with great gushes of cum and then curled up in fetal position, sobbing her name pitifully. Thank God no one came looking for me. What a fright they'd have gotten, me crying, lying in a pool of creamy cum with those little panties draped over my face.

And admittedly, all that wanking actually only made it worse. I could conjure up the way she looked when I made love to her, but nothing I did could replicate the feel of that slick, silky pussy caressing my cock.

We sometimes laughed, Cici and I, about how "flammable" we were, even when we weren't together. She loved to drive me mad talking about all the crazy things she'd "played with" to relieve the tension. The handle of a particular brush, the "fist shaped" front end of a chair arm, a tube-shaped pillow, an electric toothbrush with the bristles facing the wrong way.

She'd scooted her cooch under the gushing spigot in the bath to get off once, too, after waking from a particularly hot dream. And a female roommate at the house she'd lived in when we first met had opened the bathroom door just as she was scooting back up.

"I'd just met you and I was acting like that," she said. "I could feel how you'd feel before you'd ever even touched me."

And I could feel her even though they'd locked her away from me. Or...the lack of her, actually, is what I really felt. And it was driving me absolutely insane...

So, I was deeply grateful I had our little gathering to return to. Where Ma Mere was drowning herself in Lupita's luscious mole sauce.

Guy couldn't get enough culichi. It's a sort of creamy green poblano sauce Lupita had poured over massive shrimp. He sopped up every drop with a corn tortilla when the shrimp were gone. They'd gone "native," my parents. Meaning there would be some pretty savage sex in their suite later on, too, no doubt.

But to their credit, they were both demonstrably delighted by the friendships that had brought all this bounty into our lives. There'd been a "pact" of sorts between Bea and Lupita (who knew and did not care by then), not to tell the parents exactly how I knew them. But after watching them morph into these two almost unrecognizable beings that day, I honestly began to think it wouldn't matter all that much if they knew.

They seemed happy that I'd found my "pack," after years of being an intentional exile in every world to which I'd been introduced.

"You've got quite the little community, haven't you?" Guy marveled, more effusive in his cups than his British blood normally would've allowed.

In fact, we were huddled up on a terrace couch almost as cozily as I'd been with Ma Mere. Who had finally gone to relieve herself of some of that rich food.

And I said, "If you let yourself go and forget about all the things you think you need, this city--this entire part of the country--will show you better ones. Simpler ones, but...more real, I think, than the ephemeral ones so many people chase after all their lives."

He squinted at me, drowsy with alcohol, and said, "She has always called you her little savage. Son petit sauvage. The wild child who didn't really belong to us."

"Really?"

"Oh, she loved it. Envied it, I think, your complete disregard for the things we were tethered to. She was a wild child herself. Tamed over time, but she recognized it in you. And feared that you might die of it if you didn't find something to give it to. Some-one, even. Of whom she would be very jealous."