” “Which position do you want to be in?” “Cut it out before we end up doing something we both regret.” “No. I know you want to fuck me. I bet you were laying in bed last night with your cock in your hand thinking about me. Did you have a wank while you were thinking of me?” I couldn’t answer that. “I knew it. I was thinking of you. I got wet thinking of you.” She reached over and put her hand on the front of my trousers, my cock was getting hard. “Jane, stop. We can’t do this.” “Yes we can, and we’re going to.” She kissed me as she undid my trousers. I swear, I tried to resist, but the combination of the wine, not having sex for a while and the fact Jane was here, doing this, well my resistance didn’t come to much. She was stroking my prick, which she had now got fully from my trousers. I was so hard. My cock was throbbing, pre-come was oozing from the tip. She knelt in front of me and kissed the end and then took me into her mouth. She sucked and licked and swirled her tongue. By some miracle I had managed to find a small cottage in the woods about half a mile from the highway, and there was a protected cove near the end of my driveway with a small beach that got plenty of sun in the afternoon. We would walk down on weekend mornings and spend the whole day there swimming, grilling burgers, lolling in the sand and climbing the overhanging rocks. My k**s were wise enough to know the divorce was probably the best thing, but I could they worried about what they thought was my hermit-like existence. I didn’t think of it that way. I didn’t want any company besides theirs, I had long worked from home, and I got all the conversation I wanted on my twice-weekly trips to town for groceries. I usually stopped in for a beer at the beachfront bar, where I was one of the regulars whose privacy others respect. Now and then a woman I met would show some interest in me, but I could never seem to work up much interest in them. I missed the sex, of course, but not as much as.
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