I started writing. It seemed as though the wastebasket suddenly filled all by itself. I made start after start and threw them all away. Finally, my thoughts gelled and I made some progress. After about a week of trying, I completed a letter to her telling how I felt and asking a few questions, not knowing if I would get an answer or not. If I got an answer, would it be favorable? Would it be making fun of an old mans dreams? Would it be an angry letter, irate at presuming way too much on my part? What if? The letter finished, I put it in an envelope, held it for a few more days, wondering what the repercussions would be and sent it off. Now the wait began. I think I could be a great underwater swimmer as I’ve been holding my breath for over a week now. I’ve been trying to keep busy on several projects, but my thoughts eventually get back to Betty and her reactions when she gets my letter. The doorbell rang a little while ago. It was the postal person with a special delivery letter.. She tucked her teeth behind her lips and nursed on it, her hands switching between fast, short strokes, and long smooth ones, he moaned louder the faster she went, but she didn’t want him to blow yet. She kept stroking with her right hand while her left ducked under her skirt, keeping her entertained for the moment. She kept sucking and stroking, feeling his precum drool onto her tongue, his cock wet enough to make slick noises. She looked up at him, seeing the look of agony and pleasure over every inch of his face, his chest drawing in quicker and quicker breaths, the skin around his neck now flush with arousal. She looked right at his eyes as she took in a bit more, his eyes closing just the tiniest bit more. He was getting closer and closer, her bringing him to the edge then easing him back slightly, until he couldn’t know which stroke might be the one that pushed him over. He thought he was good enough for a few more minutes until she looked right at him and took in more, that.
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