Divine Intervention?

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This may seem long, but what else do you have to better than learning about us?


Dolores moved into the house across the street when she was six. Our neighborhood was small with few playmates in any age group. In my 5 to 7 group there was a girl, a boy, myself and then Dolores. We four, or any combination thereof, played tag, hide-n-seek, monopoly. And, ashamed to admit, we played 'house' for the sole benefit of the girls. Sometimes we played 'doctor' for the benefit of us all.

Dolores and I were nearest neighbours. When we saw one another we would holler or run over asking 'can you play', share supper, catch lightening bugs? We became close, she and I, till sixth grade when puberty slowly began to separate us all. Best of friends fractionated into genders to giggle or strut, tell secrets to friends forever, to wrestle and have mock gun fights.

Later in high school, Dolores and I gently began to drift towards closeness again. We were both tired of the posturing and propositioning, of finding and keeping boyfriends or girlfriends. We were old buddies with no romantic past, still neighbours. With this history in friendship we could confide and rely in each other without judgement, snits or snubs, teasing or rejection.

By nature this confidentiality led to hand holding, then hugs and kisses, necking and ultimately to heavy petting. There we hit a wall of frustration with a door neither wanted to open. Past that point lay sneaky lies by omission, possible pregnancy bringing shame and stigma in a small town.

We were both frustrated, with bodies full of screaming hormones and heads filled with social fear. Our friendship was dissolving in a mix of frustration and anger. Much later we both admitted to lonely masturbation after every petting session. Of course I did it with guilt, never dreaming a good little Lutheran girl would even know how.

By accident one al fresco afternoon with great fortune we were voyeurs to an intense sexual episode. Close-up and personal we saw friends having sex. Our arousal level rose to become uncontrollable. After the couple left the scene we both began fierce masturbation, oblivious to everything. Surprisingly neither knew the other did 'it' but relieved to share the secret with near simultaneous orgasm. From that time forward we practised to perfection the sport until the end of college when, still virgins, we married.

Certainly shared masturbation taught us what the other liked and needed for climax. We grew confident, self-assured and conformable with each other, convinced masturbation together was as good as sex got. What could feel better. Our wedding night was joyous and relaxed. That night was also eye-opening for we discovered intercourse was indeed much better than masturbation.

Throughout the intervening years we neglected masturbation except when separated by distance. Maybe unconsciously believing to have moved upward like everyone else we adopted the missionary attitude. After all, couples made suggestive little jokes about intercourse, but never admitted to masturbating. The message seemed to be, 'no need to do that now'.

Fast forward to a warm autumn Sunday. Delores, dressed in a white flowing gown with a modest blue band collar, is singing in the church choir. As I sat in the pew ruminating when an angel or a devil brought a revelation. Like an artist might, I appreciated how the gown swelled over her breasts then fell like a waterfall past her waist. Fabric softly caressed her hips suggesting the lovely feminine shape beneath. It struck me that I was the only person in the congregation, the town, the world who had loved and fondled every part of her. I intimately knew and loved every dimple, nipple and hair under her angelic pure gown. An urge overtook me.

Watching small movements of her body and hearing her voice above the others I got an admirable hard on. The image of her body would not leave my conscious nor would the blood leave my dick. It got stiffer as my thoughts stuck on pleasures of the past when my eyes sucked up the image of her fingers playing an erotic tune on her pussy. I wanted to see that again, now! I wanted to jack off under her cloudy stare and to do it now!

The erection got harder, clear pre cum leaked in copious drops during the last hymn, beyond the final prayer. How the heck was I going to get out of the church this way? How could I smuggle the rampart bulge with spreading wet spot in my pants past the pastor and a gaggle ladies gossiping in the doorway?

With my jacket held casually in front as if it was a hot summer Sunday I met Delores in the vestibule, shook hands with the pastor then finally more or less normally walked down the steps.

Relief was not coming soon for we had a traditional breakfast table with friends at a cafe far from our house. My dick had no intention of softening. Worse, with Delores so close I could smell her, dick began to surge. Out of control it began to pulse up, down, up again like an athlete waiting for the game to begin. In agony I began to walk a bit funny.

At the car Dolores asked if I was feeling O.K. We, dick and I, had to fess up, She listened in sympathetic silence then grinned. Her smile was beautiful. Her eyes devilish.

'Drive to Ruby's roadhouse'. she directed. There we parked in shade under trees with a smattering of cars left by Saturday night too-drunk-to-drives or getting-luckies. Fortuitously our sedan side windows are tinted, smoky to near opaqueness.

From her purse Delores produced a small tissue. Way inadequate though the thoughtfulness and implied promise inspired dick to push even harder for an escape. Moving for the back seat I found in the trunk an upholstery saving shop rag.

Sitting on her side of the seat Delores, without blinking, looked in my eyes, lifted her skirt and said, 'is this what you want?'. Dripping strings of lubricant, dick escaped my fly instantly in reply.

My lustful gaze focused on her panty covered pussy, my hand slowly stroking dick en-route to needed relief. Then in her eyes I saw the past. Eyes clouded, lids half closed, face reddened as she stared unblinking at Mr. dick. Her hands moved to pull her panties aside. Soon for better access and view, Delores raised her hips to swiftly slide them off.

As she opened, stroked and manipulated her pussy I expected to cum, but could not. Perhaps in a zen state where an orgasm would end the moment I could neither stop stroking nor cum. With her pussy spread open I vividly relived our first time. I looked into her beautiful face twisted with the agony of sexual tension. I believe my hand went still. Hearing her panting and puppy whine of orgasm Mr. dick erupted without encouragement. It was magnificent.

We cleaned and wiped, made it to breakfast only a bit tardy.

We both thank whatever spirit reintroduced us to the ignored intensity of mutual masturbation. It is a pleasure not to be ignored, a delicious appetiser to a fulfilling intercourse.



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