I met Donna several years ago at a psychic fair.  She is short, comes about chin high to my almost six-foot height, slender, and possessing a wonderful pair of breasts.  She must have been in her late forties back then and very appealing to me.  I feigned interest in her life coaching, and we chatted off and on for a few hours in between people who were actually interested in her line of work.  All I was interested in was the cleavage she was showing. 

Over the years, we crossed paths often and I watched her age quite nicely.  Her hugs are amazing, and I can feel those sweet breasts pressing against me as we each squeeze the other tightly together for longer than friends usually hug.  She was the one who always held tight when I would loosen my hold.  I thought that was interesting.  Over the years, I’ve also noticed that those hugs were longest when we were alone or in the company of strangers.  She’s married, quite happily she professes, so I never thought our friendship would progress beyond where it was.  Still, there were those hugs. 

Donna began holding a monthly gathering of various people; some were her clients, some friends, some friends of friends.  It was an eclectic group that varied every month as to who was there and how many.  One month it was just Donna and me.  We spent the evening discussing all sorts of things.  Another month there were about fifteen people, many of whom wanted to out-talk all the others.  The topics are mostly woo-woo type of stuff, which interests me, and I always sit where I have a good view of Donna, so I keep going.  If nothing else, I get a couple of delicious hugs and a couple of hours checking out her body.

During one meeting, she announced she had added Reiki to her practice and that she needed some volunteers to help her finish her internship.  Of course, I jumped at the chance.  A few days later, I was in her office, lying face down on the massage table, listening to soft music as she began.  I’d experienced Reiki several times before with several different practitioners and only once did I feel anything; that was a profound sense of calm and peace.  Naturally, I didn’t expect anything this time, either.  At the start, she gave me some tissues to hold because my nose was running.  I never used them, and it wasn’t until the next morning when I sniffled that I realized it had stopped before the session was over and stayed that way all night.  There were some other sensations, too.  Enough that I decided I wanted another experience, and not just so I could be around her.

The second session was a week later, in the morning, so I had to take off work.  No biggie since we were super slow, anyway.  Afterward, as I shared my experience, she said, “I’m sensing you are needing … (long pause) … human touch.”  What the fuck?  OK, I hadn’t popped a boner; the entire experience while I was on the table was non-sexual.  Where had that come from?  When I just sat there looking at her dumbfounded, she continued, “I don’t know why, but I’m being told you are … (another pause with a sigh) … not lonely, not lonely at all, but needing closeness, human closeness.” 

“So, you’re saying I need a girlfriend?” I asked.  She nodded thoughtfully, watching me closely with those dark brown eyes.  It occurred to me that she may have wondered if I was gay, since I’d not been in any relationships since long before we’d met.  “I’ve had an interest in a few ladies since I moved here, but they never developed beyond me having an interest, and that’s probably a good thing.”  I went on to tell her about my poor record with relationships, my dislike of one-night stands, and how I’d pretty much accepted a life alone.  I also mentioned the occasional hook-ups I’d had at festivals with stoned hippie chicks when the need was strong.  Momentarily fun and physically releasing, but in the one-night stands category.  Not totally satisfying.

We were sitting in her client’s chairs in front of her desk, turned so we were slightly facing each other.  She leaned over, placed her hand on my forearm and squeezed, saying, “You need some human touch.  I’ll leave it at that,” and released my arm.  The parting hug seemed even longer than usual.  Needless to say, my head was swimming with “what ifs” and “what the fucks” as I left.

The third session progressed differently than the first two.  She seemed to linger longer on my midsection both when I was face down and on my back.  Warm hands on my stomach, hips, and thighs, and more time spent on my feet, I suppose because I’d told her how good that felt.  The fantasies from last week swirled in my head and I could feel my dick stiffening as I lay there face up.  Just as it did, she stopped.  Coincidence?  Hmmm. 

In the prior two sessions, when she stopped, she had softly told me to take my time getting up, that there was no rush, then left the room.  This time there was silence, and I knew she was still there, next to the table.  I felt her hand rest flat upon my chest.  “You still need some human touch.  It’s as important to you as air and water.” 

Lying there with my eyes still closed, I responded, “I would love some human touch, but that would require a relationship, which is not a good idea for anyone.  It would be nice, sometimes, I’ll admit, to have someone to cuddle up with.”

“You don’t want a relationship, you don’t want a one-night stand with a stranger, and you don’t want a friends-with-benefits arrangement because one or the other would eventually want that to develop into a relationship.”

“Yep, that about sums it up.”

“What if you could have human touch from someone who is happily married, has no desire for another relationship, but someone you know so it wouldn’t be a one-night stand with a stranger?”

Fuck me in the heart!  I thought she was happily married.  Or maybe she’s thinking of hooking me up with someone else?  A quick scan of our mutual friends came up with nothing.  The pressure of her hand had increased to a firm but comfortable amount. 

“Well, first thought is that it sounds rather difficult to arrange.  How would she get away from her husband?  Seems like it would be quite one-sided, timewise.  Second thought is, if she’s happily married, why would she want this?”

“Because she’s bored.  Because the husband she loves dearly, with all her heart and soul, is boring in bed.  Because she wants more than missionary and goodnight. It could happen here, as an appointment.  I know that sounds cold, but it would work.” 

There it was.  Oh, hell, there was no way I could turn that down.  With my eyes still closed and guessing where she was standing from her hand’s position and the sound of her voice, I moved my hand out and around, getting a firm grasp on her ass.  “Then how about a blowjob to start?”

The hand slid down over my belt and began massaging my dick through my jeans.  It, of course, responded quickly.  After a minute, she unbuckled my belt, lowered my zipper, released the button, and began pulling them down.  I lifted my hips to help.  Once they were at mid-thigh, I felt her soft fingers wrap around my almost-erect shaft.  “You’re uncircumcised.  I like that.”  She stroked up and down on my shaft, hiding and revealing the head with the foreskin.  By now, I was rock hard. 

“It’s been so long.  This will probably go quickly,” I said. 

“I know,” she replied, and I felt her tongue teasing the glans just before her lips wrapped around the head and her mouth sank down the shaft.  I started trembling and thinking of every ugly thing I could to delay the inevitable.  After sliding her mouth up and down several times, her tongue swirling around the shaft, she lifted her head and continued pumping her hand up and down.  “Wow, lots of precum already.  Let it go, Steve.  You need this badly.  Cum for me.”  My whole being was shaking as the pressure in my groin built rapidly.  “Yes.  Let it out.  Give it to me,” she whispered in a deep, sultry voice.  Her hand pumping increased in speed and length of stroke. 

“Oh, fuck,” I cried as my muscles spasmed, sending squirt after squirt of hot semen somewhere.  I didn’t care; I was cumming with a hot woman’s hand on my cock.  Her mouth would have been better, but at this point I didn’t care about that either. 

Eventually, after what seemed like several minutes, the squirting stopped, as did the pumping of her hand, although it remained gripping my now softening shaft.  As my breathing returned to normal, I felt the hand release me.  Fingers gripped around the base of the shaft and stroked up, milking out the final drops.  Then I felt a soft cloth dabbing up the residue on the glans, followed by a kiss on the underside of the shaft.  I opened my eyes to see her standing there with a small towel, smiling while she wiped my cum from her fingers.  “How was that?” she asked.

“Nice.  Very nice,” was all I could say. 

Tossing the towel into a hamper, she continued, “I’d planned on sucking you off, but my height and the table height don’t work together, and it was bothering my back, so I resorted to a handjob.  I really wanted you to have some release from someone other than yourself.  You were needing this badly.”  Sitting up, I looked down at my shirt.  “The towel caught it all,” she assured me.  I’d not even felt her put it there.

“So, next week?” I asked. 

“Same time, if that works for you.”  It did.  She continued, glancing at the couch, “I’m thinking next time, if you’d like, we can pass on the Reiki and go into some expanded human touch.”

“That would be great.”  I left floating down the stairs.