Sunday, September 11, 2005

Musings: The Uncle's Fish

My mom's youngest brother is closer to my own age than to hers, and when I was growing up he was more like an older brother to me than an uncle. He was quintessentially cool to the Nth degree and he never made me feel like I was a pimple on his ass when I followed him around adoringly. In retrospect, I must have driven him nuts, but he never let on that I did. He taught me a lot about life and he's still a part of my life, though not as much as when I was a kid 'cause I can't quite spend the weekends at his house any more.

Unk taught me to enjoy fish and seafood which my mom never really served. Oh, she'd plop a pan of Gorton's or Mrs. Paul's on the table now and then, but that was "chewed and glued" shit of the processed variety, straight from the box and with more breading than fish. Unk's buddies who went fishing often gave him their surplus catch, so this was real fish with heads and all that he served me. One of the things that Unk did every time we sat down to a meal of fried or baked fish that mystified me was to offer me a forkful of the fish from his plate when I had an adjacent piece of the same fish on mine. I'd object that I was eating the same fish and that his wouldn't taste any different. But, he'd insist because he wanted to be sure that I was having the same great taste experience that he was having himself. Invariably, after my token, logical protest, I'd take the piece of fish from his fork into my mouth and make the requisite Mmmmm noises. And I'll be damned, but that bite of fish from his plate would taste somehow better in spite of having come from the same fillet that I had on my own dish.

In a sense, I think I'm like old Unk with his fish when it comes to sharing Dee with other men. It's like what's on my table is so good that I want others to be able to savor that same sweetness. Dee's lovers' cocks have felt other warm, gooey holes before, and while it seems terribly presumptuous of me when I think about it like this detached from the moment itself, when I present Dee's bare bottom to a man for his hard cock to enjoy it's like I'm saying, "I know you've had good pussy before, but see just how lucky I am to have this one all the time."

It's not only that, of course, because any guy who's been around the block knows that there's a hell of a lot more to great sex than the old timers had us believe when we were kids and heard them say often enough about women, "Turn 'em upside down and they're all sisters." It's not Dee's hot mushy pussy alone that I want other men to savor when they make love with her; it's the whole package - the sight of her soft tits with their hard capped nipples rolling as she's being drilled by a lover's dick - her hands roaming his bare back and squeezing his ass to pull him deeper inside or reaching down to tickle his balls - the way her eyes roll back a little as her climax is nearing - the moans or dirty words that come from her mouth - her vocal eagerness for her lover to experience the greatest physical pleasure she can offer by welcoming him to cum in her - the punctuated sounds of her breath when the spasms of an orgasm rock through her, and even some subtle things that I can't see but know, like how her pussy squeezes and milks a man's cock when she's urging him to let go and spray into her. That's the "just how lucky I am" - the wholeness of the experience that Dee brings to a bed.

Yes, a man might have at home a wife who's just as much into sex and as eager to please as Dee is, but if we end up in a motel room with him I'm like old Unk with his forkful of fish. "Here! Try mine! See how good it is!" And, it is. It truly is!

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