Chapter 12
Lido Towers hove into view just as the first red fingers of the sun came poking across the ocean's horizon. I could scarcely lift my swollen feet as I trudged wearily toward the elevator. I had headed instinctively for Babbs' place. Why, I don't know.
I felt a twinge of regret at getting her out of bed in what was the middle of the night for a girl like her. I sure hoped she didn't have a cash customer....
I could just picture myself at the door, seeing some seedy-eyed old cunt-lapper from town hopping out of her warm, relaxing joy bed. Yeah, I'd really flip if I caught sight of a frightened John struggling to get dressed, thinking the joint was being raided.
"Why flip?" a still, small voice in me questioned. "Surely you couldn't be nutty enough to be jealous of Southampton's most expensive play-for-pay girl?"
Babbs answered the door, her gold hair tousled and rubbing her sleep-clouded eyes. Miserable as I was, the sight of her mouth-watering nipples blushing against those marvelous tits, the glimpse of downy golden bush-hairs between the femininity of her thighs, lifted my spirits and as I saw her empty bed and realized that she was all alone, I felt even better.
She grabbed my arm and tugged me inside. Like a rag doll, minus half its stuffing, I sagged into the nearest chair.
The last thing I heard as my red-----rimmed eyes closed, as my head fell against a stiff satin pillow, was Babbs's stricken voice.
"Phil, what happened?"
Teetering over the edge of sleep though I was, I sensed the anguish-for me ... in her voice, and the enfolding love.
I am sure I smiled, for I knew my dreams would be pleasant.
Youth has quite a few drawbacks, but it has compensating factors that more than make up for its disadvantages. When I awakened ... somewhere along in the early evening, judging by the deep gold light slanting through the heavy drapes ... I felt almost as good as new. That is, until I tried to stand up. It's tough to walk on blisters.
The first thing I saw as I opened my eyes was a solemn blue gaze under a crown of soft, gold braids, a red-rose-petal mouth that quivered.
"Are you all right, Phil?" Babbs asked anxiously.
I sat up. As I looked at the deep V of her softly clinging negligee, at the way the folds of white nylon fell away from thighs every bit as white, my eyes sparkled. I even forgot my blisters. For some things, Babbs leaned back, her own eyes beginning to twinkle ... and to take on an even more interesting brightness ... I hoped.
"I can see you are," she said, almost sarcastically.
Knowing it was Saturday, I was concerned for the money Babbs must have lost, having me here in plain sight looking like a passed-out drunk.
"I didn't answer the phone all day," Babbs said, gently.
Ye gods, were all women mind readers? "In that case, I get the humping today, is that it?" I teased.
"Yes, you do, Phil, dear," Babbs answered almost shyly, and she wasn't teasing.
I got up, sort of the way my grandfather gets out of a chair, but I made it.
Then I noticed that my feet were bare. There was an open jar of something that looked like salve standing near the leg of the chair.
"I rubbed your feet," Babbs said simply. "Can you walk or shall we just stay here?"
The husky, sexy timbre of her voice sent plesant anticipatory shivers through my cock, and I knew what I wanted. I wanted to head for a bed and for a couple of hours of taking my fill of pure fucking pleasure.
Babbs' fucking pleasure.
The best in the west. Or anywhere.
I winced as we walked to the big, beckoning bed, but I made it.
Babbs took care of buttons, buckles, zippers, mine of course. All she had to do to stand lusciously nude before me, was to untie a wide pink sash.
We made a perfect contrast in one important respect. Babbs was all softness; her full, parted lips, her warm, teasing tongue, those ballooning mounds of pink-nippled delicious tit, her nearly-flat tummy, her curvy hips, that delightful bouncy ass, her already-spreading thighs.
One after the other, I lingered over those wonderful pleasure places. Her eyes grew bright and wild, her hands clutching, her breath jerky.
"Now, Phil!" she half sobbed, pleadingly, as my hand covered her golden bush-hair and then her moist cunt, feeling its quivering heat.
That's when the contrast between us paid off. Into the moist, hot softness went something very hard known as my prick and we pressed close together in an agony of wanting, breast against hard chest, lean-muscled legs against creamy accepting flesh, hard belly welded to soft, and as we clung to each other, the hump-rapture mounted.
I held her back, and she loved my control over the too-rapidly rising emotions of each of us. I was the master here, and we both knew it.
Sensuously, I set a slow pace of screwing that kept our minds at a giddy reeling peak, until finally, we both knew it could not last, and moaning and whimpering in unison, I shot my hot load of scum into her yearning cunt as we reached our fabulous orgasm together.
After that, except when we got up to eat a cube steak, instant mashed potato, tossed salad, and ... believe it or not ... milk snack around midnight, we stayed in bed screwing until Sunday morning.
We didn't need booze. We were drunk all right. On pure lust ... and on pure love.
Babbs and I stood halfway up a path, between old-fashioned plots of flowers; poppies, sweet alyssium, cosmos, pansies. We were pleasantly aware of flowers, of apple and plum trees, of robins, of sunlight, of a warm, gentle breeze. But we were keenly aware of something more important; a small boy, hurling himself past his beaming great-aunt and uncle, down the dirt path, into his mother's arms.
When Babbs finally looked up, her eyes were wet with tears.
"Philip, this is ... Philip," she gulped.
Ever hear of love at first sight. It happens. And not always between guys and broads.
I found out a man can fall in love with freckles across a snub nose with a grin somehow more fetching because of a couple of front teeth missing, and with a small, sturdy body.
As I stared at little Philip, recognition dawned. It was like looking at an old snapshot of myself.
I raised my head to face Babbs. Our eyes met over our son's head. Hers held a look half pride, half pleading.
Mine held a look of reassurance. Then they did something that eyes sometimes do, though not often. They asked a question: "Will you marry me?"
Babbs read me loud and clear.
Her eyes warmed.
"Yes," those gorgeous blue orbs fairly shouted. "Yes! Yes! Yes!"
That night it felt good to feel Babbs snuggle against me in the roomy double bed. The old folks had given us the guestroom in their rambling, comfortable country house.
"Why so quiet?" Babbs asked as she wriggled her wonderful asscheeks against me.
"A boiler doesn't make noise while the steam is rising. It's only when it pops ... ," I said, kissing those gorgeous, satin-smooth breasts. I always would marvel at the way her pink nipples deepened in color as they stiffened and erected to the size of giant strawberries in my mouth.
Babbs' tits were the most comfortable cushion in the world as I impatiently decked her and thrust my cock into her hot, wet cunt. I lay still, just thrilling to the feel of the sexy grind she went into under me. As her undulating belly and thighs got to me, I cupped her soft, yielding asscheeks. She drew my lusting prick to the sweet smoothness of her intimate vagina with a little wriggling movement.
My prick began a powerful steady lunging which she met with her weaving hips and churning cunt.
She let go with a shrill scream of pleasure and wound her shapely legs around my middle in a scissor-lock. Her thighs flashed in the flurry of peak ecstasy which boiled through her quivering body as she came like a house on fire. My safety valve popped, and I shot my load of hot sperm into her cunt and whizzed right along with Babbs on a rapturous pleasure flight for two.
We landed safely in each others arms, gasping for breath.
Somewhere, maybe it was Grandpa Overton, someone had told me that an experienced whore makes the best wife. Now that Babbs and I were getting married, I thought I'd find out.
"Let's have some real cock-sucking stunts, honey, after that straight job," I grinned, winking lewdly.
"Why, what do you think I am-a common tramp?" Babbs asked huffily.
"No, doll-an uncommon one...."
I smiled.