Alphabetical Orders

By Amelie

Maybe it was turning forty that made Simon curious, who knows?

He’d never asked about sex before and suddenly he was pestering me about all sorts of things. What did I like? Was there anything he could do better? Did he ever do anything that turned me off? That kind of thing.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him, but he kept at it. What kind of things did I think about when we made love? He really wanted to know.

“I just think about things I’ve read in books,” I told him, “and things we’ve done together.”

Actually, that's only partly true, but I didn't want to break his heart. Alphabetical Orders tells the story of the things I really imagine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: e-ROTICA
• Release date: Sep 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310385995

Book preview

love

Where Do You Go To My Lovely?

Maybe it was turning forty that made Simon curious, who knows?

He’d never asked about sex before and suddenly he was pestering me about all sorts of things. What did I like? Was there anything he could do better? Did he ever do anything that turned me off? That kind of thing. 

I didn’t have the heart to tell him, but he kept at it. In the end, I had to throw him something. 

When you’re giving head, I said, take your time. Keep a rhythm going for a while so I can settle down. I bought him a copy of Cosmo. We read the article on foreplay together. It suggested a man could use his tongue to trace the alphabet on the softer parts and that if she hadn’t had an orgasm by the time he reached Z, he could maybe write out a poem or some sexy words.

He was keen to give it a try straight away and it definitely worked for me. I’d not had such a good time since we were married.

He still wasn’t satisfied though and kept at me with the questions.

What kind of things did I think about when we made love?

I just think about things I’ve read in books, I told him, and things we’ve done together.

Of course it’s not true, but I don’t want to break his heart.

As he slips his head between my legs and gently inserts a finger, I get ready to lose myself while he takes me for another lesson in alphabetical order.

I feel his tongue circle an A.

A is for Andrew

Andrew used to come over to clean the pool every Thursday in the summer of 2007. At first, I didn’t pay him any attention. All I had to do was to let him through to the back and let him get on with his business.

It wasn’t until the temperature broke all state records that we really met. He came to the back door and asked me if he could have a cold drink to keep him hydrated. I said, Sure you can, come on in.

I went to the refrigerator and took out a carton of lemonade and a couple of glasses that I was keeping in there to stay chilled. I filled the glasses with ice and poured the lemonade over.

When I turned around, he was sitting at the table.

I let my eyes wander around his body. Boy, had I been blind. The guy was gorgeous. I mean, drop dead. Without his shirt, I could see the tone of his muscles. A drip of sweat ran down from his hair, along his beautiful neck and across the firm, flat chest of his. His nipple was hard, so when the sweat rolled over it, it changed direction slightly. It slipped its way down into a line of hair that perfectly split his tight stomach and carried on right down to the belt of his jean shorts. I’d have given anything to have followed that sweat to where it was going. Just anything.

I passed him the lemonade and he looked at it with his frost blue eyes. Thanks Ma’am, he said, all Southern and romantic. It sent a shiver down my back that ended up right in the middle of my womb.

Andrew didn’t drink it right away. He rolled it over his forehead and then touched it gently against his smooth chest. I was so jealous of that lemonade I must have looked green.

He gulped it down in one and had another and we talked about the weather and about him working his way through college with the cleaning company.

I was hoping he might get round to talking about his girlfriends or about the way I was feeling neglected stuck indoors all day while my husband went to work, but we never did. He just finished up with his drink and excused himself like a real gentleman.

He never came inside again, but when I think about it now, we always have the conversation we never had. I go over and sit next to him. My hand reaches over and touches his skin. It’s hot and soft. I feel the taught muscle under his skin quiver as I stroke. I scratch his neck lightly with the tips of my perfectly manicured fingernails and let my lips whisper my desire into his ear.

B is for Brian

Brian was my first. I’d never have picked him to take my cherry, but he happened to be in the right place at the right time.

Truth is I’d been trying to lose my virginity for months. I was going out in the skimpiest clothes I could find. I’d snogged married men in the backs of trucks and played spin the bottle at parties. I got close a few times, too. There was the cowboy who had his fingers right inside my panties when my mum came out onto the porch to see what was going on. And there was the boy who came over on the German exchange who got me all hot and bothered and then tore a hole in the condom when he was opening the packet with his teeth.

When Brian took me out to the cinema, I made sure I took a whole pack of condoms and didn’t let him touch them until I got one onto his manhood.

I have