The flat doesn't play an active part in this history, but without it there may have been nothing to tell. Firstly, for you readers not from England, a Studio flat is one comprising, living room, bedroom, kitchenette, in one space, with bathroom attached. You may know it as a bachelor, or efficiency apartment. It was into just such a dwelling, thirty five years ago, that I, and my then lover, Susan, moved. I would have described previous partners as girlfriends, but we were definitely lovers. No games playing, except in a good way, and no doubts about how each felt. We loved being together, while it lasted it was love. I don't recall a time when one of us wanted a picture, a vase, or anything and the other had doubts, everything was positive.
The place was so small, and cheap, that the bed seemed to take up most of the space. No matter since the bed took up most of our time as well. The kitchenette was used to provide tea or coffee, and biscuits mostly, there may have been the odd cheese on toast or something like that made but I don't recall. We got into a habit, like an old couple, of the first home after work putting the kettle on, and the second making the drinks. Freshened and changed from the daily grind, we would prop ourselves up on the pillows and sip our teas. Now here is a strange thing, because I am right handed, and Susan is left handed, we would be, me on the right, her on the left, easier to pick up the drinks, but we always slept the other way round. So, as we chatted I was on her side of the bed, and she on mine. Don't get crumbs on my side of the bed, while you tell me about your day, was the gist of the conversations, but it seldom lasted long enough for our mugs to be empty. When you're young and in love, is not just the line from a song, it's the thing that governs your world, should you be so very lucky. Outside the world had gone jogging crazy, everyone was pounding the pavements, but in our little room we were pounding each others bodies! Squeezing, kissing, licking, sucking and fucking; now soft and gentle, or else fierce, ardent, and passionate. There was no let up except every couple of weeks she spent a day with her Mum.
On these days, usually a Saturday, I would go for a walk, or tidy the place while I listened to some music. That is the one thing we didn't have in common, my love of jazz. Hot or cool, I love it all, but to Susan it was just a tuneless noise. If I were to say Yvonne Elliman - If I Can't Have You, you would see the difference in our tastes. Now I also like the song (check out the HD Video of her live on YouTube, she can still sing, and is better looking than ever) but its jazz that does it for me. So with two or three hours to kill, until the one person who made my life complete returned, I would put on some cool jazz, and lay naked on the bed and casually masturbate. Not to cum necessarily, just for the pleasure, the luxury of taking my time on myself. I could (and still can) stop and start when I liked, without listening to the sounds of another's passion, and gauging how to react, how fast, how slow. I love taking a shower, and showering together is more fun than a box of monkeys, but sometimes only a long slow bath alone will do. Same with sex, to fuck Susan every which way was heaven on earth, but a slow wank listening to Miles Davis, on my own, has a special place too.
So that was the scene, me laying there, erection in hand, eyes closed, gently stroking, Flamenco Sketches filling the air. Sometimes we become aware of something, without seeing, or hearing, we just know there is a difference, I hesitate to call it a sixth sense, but I opened my eyes. It was the odd smile I noticed first, Susan was very early and had let herself in, and because the door opened straight onto the bed, there I was. She had closed the door behind her (quite a good thing) and just put her bag on the floor beside her, and folded her arms. The smile told me she was amused, and thinking of, well I believe she was still going through her options. There was an attempt to stifle a laugh as she put on a teacher voice, and asked if this was the sort of thing I got up to when she was out. There were also oblique references to me having a quick jerk every time she popped out for some milk. The thing that puzzled her was why I felt the need, when we were shagging each other pretty well senseless every night! Also who was I thinking about? The truth was easy because I was thinking of her tits, listening to Kind Of Blue, and feeling the pleasure in my right hand, and that's what I told her. I tried to explain by an example. When I fuck, or lick, or rub her, I am aware that I can never get it perfectly right, she would cum in the end, mostly, but it was often frustratingly, just off. She wanted to protest that she had no complaints, but I put my finger to her lips to stop her. She licked my finger and smiled, it tasted of my cock. When she had felt the need she had masturbated, and I pointed out she often did just that while she sucked me. She agreed, and also accepted that she was never just off, that she could rub herself perfectly.
I started to undress her, but she shrugged me off and did it herself more quickly, then stood with a, what next, look on he face. I drew her to the bed and lay her down, on my side, placed her left hand on her pussy and nodded assent. I then lay down next to her, took my now semi limp cock in my right hand and looked towards her. Susan was reluctant, this seemed too mechanical, not the spontaneous passion of our usual lovemaking, but since neither if us had ever refused the other, she gave it a go. Slowly, and a little self consciously, we both began. There was an unspoken understanding that we would not touch each other, just ourselves, but we soon found that we were holding hands, and looking directly into each others eyes, and smiling.
The pace was slow at first, feeling the way, getting to the first stage of excitement. Then, as the tension rose, so did the rhythm. I could see her hand steadily moving up and down, and hear a slight squelching, she was also watching, and smiling. Susan had seen me stroking my erection before, many times, as I had finished myself off by cumming on her tits or in her mouth. This was different, this was just myself, for myself, and she was doing it too. As our excitement grew, so the speed of our masturbation increased, her hand almost became a blur, as did my foreskin as it uncovered and recovered the swollen bulb of my cock as fast as I could manage. I then realized we were conveying our level of pleasure through squeezing our clasped hands, the hotter we became the tighter we gripped. On we raced in a strange silence, our wanking became furious, unstoppable like stampeding horses, then as Susan looked me in the eyes she nodded intensely to show she was about to cum. The sound burst out of her like an explosion, it was like nothing I had heard from her before, and the spray of juice from her cunt would have almost drowned me had I been sucking and licking her at the time. All that was too much for me I also burst with more than my usual force, so much more in fact, that I shot onto my own face, and even into my own mouth.
Susan thought this the funniest thing ever, still finishing herself, she laughed as loud as I had ever heard her. It was at this moment that I realized she had her whole hand inside herself, I had missed the sight of the woman I loved fisting her own cunt. She looked down smiling in a, how did that get in there, sort of way, and slowly eased it out. She gasped and sighed, and grinned a mischievous, if sheepish grin. I told her that next time I would be propped up with more pillows, so I could see the fun, she countered with her plan to get a Polaroid of me with a facial, to keep in her purse. Today I remember those two plus years we spent together, and yes I did get to see the beautiful Susan fisting herself, and I still pleasure myself to the memory. One more thing, I am so glad there were no camera phones and no Internet in those days, you know whose face, covered in his own cum, would be all over it!
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