You picked up my case. You were much taller than me, film star-size. With a cheerful, sly glint in your winter sea green eyes, which reminded me – why not? – of clear, fresh oysters.
“You were leaving on holiday?”
“Yes,” I answered. “I was going to spend Christmas with my family in La Rochelle. But I’m worried that my train might be full and I forgot to make a reservation…”
You looked me straight in the eyes, pondered just half a second, turned toward your lorry.
“Say, I’ve thought of something…”
And there we are…
Just enough time for you to go to some office to complete the paperwork and for me to make a phone call, and we were on our way, on a long, unexpected, delicious Christmas Eve journey.
We had reached a hill. You slowed down, had to change gear, your hand left my knee for a moment, then swiftly returned. “The truth is,” you said to me, “I’m very shy.” And I was so enjoying this strange conversation where words seemed to be possessed of different meanings. The charming way you said “the truth is”, so pregnant with possibilities.
“Really?” Did I doubt you?
“Not usually,” you added.
“But tonight?” I sought confirmation.
“A bit.”
“Because of me?”
“Thanks to you.”
“And does it feel good?”
“It’s delectable!”
I thought that for a lorry driver your vocabulary was quite charming. And I loved the way you thought.
“How funny…” I said.
“Yes, for a lorry driver, eh?” you answered, and smiled once again. I looked back at you and drowned my gaze in your deeply lined brow. I had always known vile seducers had wrinkles just like yours. And I allowed myself to be seduced…
I put my hand on yours. It was warm, strong. Wise. I pulled my skirt up and encouraged your large hand to shed its innocence and explore further.
“You’re really funny!” you said. “You don’t really look like…”
“But I’m not…”
“What, only tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It’s Christmas!”
The disappointment on your face was almost comic.
“I thought it was because of me…”
“Thanks to you!” I corrected you.
And we sealed our complicity with an exchange of meaningful looks and smiles.
“Keep your eyes on the road. Our hands are old enough to look after themselves. Especially yours.”
“It’s not always an advantage to have such large hands,” you said, as your fingers approached the edge of my knickers.
I did not answer but pulled my buttocks up, and pulled off the piece of underwear obstructing you. And wedged myself deep into the seat, opened my thighs and again closed my eyes.
Your hand sported intelligence. At first, it made no demands. Wandered quietly over my fur, knuckles slowly skimming over its surface, a pleasing caress. The hum of the lorry’s engine and the bumps in the road echoed all the way through to my sex, where I could feel a whole network of nerve terminals vibrating in unison. It was like a sort of telephone switchboard in my lower stomach, impatiently awaiting calls and demands.
“Tell me…” you asked.
I did not misunderstand your request. All you wanted to hear from me was how I felt right then.
“I know it’s called a pussy,” I said. “I feel as if it’s about to miaow!”
“I love animals,” you answered.
“They always return your affection,” I whispered back, my voice suddenly quite hoarse as one of your errant fingers penetrated me.
You found it amusing to enter and withdraw from me in a slow, gentle rhythm. I slipped my hand under the palm of your hand, still warming my mons, found my bud and delicately landed on it, careful not to rush anything, to make this holy moment last as long as possible, this very instant when imagination moves residence and settles in highly secret places.
My dreams were at sea, balanced on the waves. My cunt was the sea, waves crashing against each other, ebb and flow, ebb and flow…
I was in the depths, dark, salty, wetter than wet and my stomach was initiating a new, steady pulse, ever increasing in strength: hold back, hold on, hold back, hold on… I was becoming an underwater cave, a dizzy abyss. Soon I would require something stronger, something to war against, to fight back, to digest. I beckoned the myths of the great sea serpent, the indefatigable swimmer, the steel-membered Argonaut. I begged to be taken…
You were still driving, your eyes on the road, a foreigner to all that was happening between my thighs. You kindly offered me another finger. It was welcome, but the angle of penetration slowed its movements, causing pain in the midst of pleasure.
“You’re wet!” you said.
“You’re the one who’s making me wet. I’m like a jetty covered in kelp, you know, after the wave has subsided… A jetty after the storm…”
I thought of mooring bitts. I placed my left hand on your flies.
You raised yourself slightly to allow me to unbutton your top button, as it was too tight. The rest came easy. I quickly found you.
It’s damn crazy to jerk off like that, a thick cock in hand, and dreaming of being elsewhere. Can drive you mad.
I don’t really know you, but there’s a place for you inside of me. Several places, even. This was the moment when I realized how perfectly we complemented each other. This cock I held in my hand, I wanted to take it everywhere into me, wherever it might fit. I also felt like devouring it, an imperious desire, a ferocious appetite, a pressing need to be one with it, to commune in agony. But if I bent towards you, you would have had to let go of me, and I did not want that. The explosion was approaching, I could no longer control it. I looked around at you, disturbed.
“I think I’m…”
“Yes, of course. Yes!” you gently said. As you would put a friend at ease. The kindness of this permission reassured me and banished all the mental storm clouds away.
But, please, don’t let it make you stop!
And you understood so well both the situation and the urgency clearly, and your fingers pursued their passionate, dizzy journey inside me, this hesitant waltz strong enough to melt all resistance, travails worthy of Sisyphus and the ocean and handfuls of planets. Forward, further, much further, gently, back a bit, almost pulling out, ever so slowly, forward, much further, back a bit gently… I keep company with you, with all my soul, with all my guts and I’m chased by a giant wave riding behind me, biting at my heels, catching me… Lo, here it comes…
I held your cock tight in the grip of my hand, froze, winced, riding the crest of the giant tidal wave lifting me up, sitting on the throne of an eruption of sheer undiluted pleasure, cushioning all its aftershocks…
You parked smoothly on the side of the road, switched off the engine. I turned towards you, short of breath, still boiling. You explained: “It was either that, or move into second gear…” I acquiesced. Yes, yes, you were quite right to do so! If you’d switched gears, the let-down would have been awful, a true low in my career… The teacher in me smiled at the analogy, but offered him no explanation… Anyway, all my energy had quite dissipated…
“It was good!” I said, with a lack of conviction that saw you roar with laughter.
“I’m absolutely delighted,” you declared theatrically, waving your hands upwards, and for just one second, I
