I wasn’t sure why she wanted to get together. All she texted was ‘meet me at Cisco’s at 6:30,’ a typically terse demand.

She was on time for a change, weaving through the chairs with an attractive long haired woman in tow who looked uncomfortable, like she didn’t wanted to be here. When they sat down Lisbeth introduced her as Harriet Glover then picked up a menu, quickly scanned it before indifferently tossing it aside, sitting back and stabbing me with her eyes. “I told her about your plan. She wants to go.”

“My plan?” I repleted stupidly, having no idea what she was talking about, which was nothing new: Lisbeth is the worst conversationalist I know. She assumes you totally understand what she’s thinking; she tells every story from a point three-quarters of the way into it, and she could care less if you’re interested in what she has to say.

“The world tour.” She said this like I was an idiot. “She wants to go with you.”

“Ah,” I said, “that plan.” Which wasn’t a plan at all. I had mentioned in passing a few days ago that I needed a break; I needed to get away. ‘The Plan’ came, not from my heart but from the top of my head: I was thinking of bicycling through a bunch of countries in Europe and Asia for a couple of years. But it was just a spur-of-the-moment thought, certainly no plan — and subsequently, I had not made a single move to put that fleeting fantasy into action. In fact. I hadn’t thought about it again … though, in fact, it had been simmering for awhile.

“Ya, the timing couldn’t be better for her.” I knew from experience that Lisbeth’s irrational enthusiasm could make even the dumbest idea sound doable. “Harriet needs a break, too, needs to get away. Two years on a bike would be just perfect for her. Tell her about it.”

I looked over at Harriet for a reaction but got nothing more than a feeling that she had been coerced into meeting me, never mind joining me on what was now billed as ‘a world tour.’ So I didn’t feel even mildly awkward talking about a trip I hadn’t yet thought through never mind actually planned. Given the vibe, there wasn’t even the remotest possibility that this woman, whom I just now met me, would want to go anywhere with me, never mind around the world on a bike.

So I said to myself ‘what the hell’ and waded in. My plans were obviously fuzzy but I got through them in a few minutes of halting ad libs and stabs at memories from my grade 3 geography class.

When I finished Lisbeth turned her sparkling eyes on Harriet. “What do you think?”

Harriet’s reaction seemed midway between a grimace and a grin but she nodded what might have meant her acceptance so, with Lisbeth’s prodding, we spent a few minutes considering an acceptable departure date. Then, before a waiter had even shown up, they were gone and I was left alone wondering what just happened.

It had been fun. I like bullshitting, especially when it’s absolutely harmless. And this was harmless. It was impossible to believe that this stranger had any intention of peddling out of town with me; she looked so uptight she could barely tolerate my presence: all the time she was at the table she never once looked at me.

I started feeling a little more … troubled four days later when the woman herself phoned to ask about the list I had promised her of the things she’d need to buy for the trip, something else I had not thought twice about. I covered my ass by saying that my list wasn’t quite ready but would be in three days when we could meet for coffee and go over it. That was fine by her: it would give her a few more days to continue experimenting with the recipes she was trying for quick, nutritious meals on the road. I felt my balls shrivel.

When I put the phone down I tried hard to imagine the woman I had just been speaking with; the one I had met for 20 minutes a few days ago; the one I was supposedly going to be traveling with … for two years … on a bike. All I could remember of her was that she had long brown hair and indiscernibly coloured eyes that never once glanced my way. And she may have had a nice rack, it was hard to tell through her shapeless, baggy sweater.

What in the fuck was going on here?

Her eyes are brown, I discovered that three days later in the coffee shop. Brown, intelligent and dartingly evasive.

In fact, I hadn’t prepared the list I had promised for this rendezvous. Why would I? I had absolutely no intention of going anywhere on a bike, except maybe on the city’s bike paths. No, I had come to the cafe to put an end to this silly misunderstanding, not that I felt I had to. The likelihood that this woman actually wanting to peddle her ass around the world was probably zilch.

So why was she still pretending? That had me fascinated … and stumped. So before I called the whole charade off I thought it might be fun to find out what was going through her head; it was pretty enough I was coming to realize.

I hadn’t thought about the tact I’d take; I just struck out blindly taking a somewhat suggestively erotic tact. I deliver what I thought was a very good, although spur-of-the-moment lecture about the need for partners on an adventure like this to be an intimate team, after all, we would be living, eating and sleeping together under nylon as a near-married couple. Did she understand this?

“Yes,” she responded in a whisper, somewhat sullenly.

I blanched at this with a snort — her wimpishness was getting my dander up, and I didn’t even know what dander was. Enough of the toying around. End it. “You can’t even look at me, Harriet, never mind live with me. Give your head a shake. There isn’t a chance in a million you have any intention of pulling this off.”

I felt good about my conclusion. It was the perfect kiss off. I was just about to push away from the table when those gleaming eyes, now tear-glistening, caught me in a fiery glare. “Look, I have some issues, OK? I know that. But I’m trying to deal with them. And I’ll continue to work on them. I want this, Jim. I need this. And, ya, I get the partnership thing. I know I have a big responsibility with that. It’ll take time and effort … and some understanding from you. I know it’s a huge challenge for me but I know I can pull it off, too. I know how badly I want it.”

I looked at her tear-stained eyes dumb-struck. Was she fucking serious?

Then she added, entirely enigmatically, “‘If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading.’”

The quote was from someone, I gathered, I should know. I didn’t. But the quote hit me hard: it says exactly what I had been thinking, why I wanted to get away. I felt my heart sink and my butt cheeks clench but I still didn’t think she fully understood what this trip would be all about. I’m a good guy, I simply couldn’t let this doe-eyed dreamer continue her fucked-up fantasy. I had to find the coup de grace to put her away. And I had it. “Look, Harriet, this wouldn’t be some passive platonic partnership pasted together just to get by. This would have to be a raging, rutting, arranged marriage of loud arguments, territorial battles, dirty laundry and sore muscles. Why in hell would you think you would want to go through that with someone like me, someone you don’t even know?”

She weakened now. I knew I had her. My hand, that just seconds before had been trembling nervously, now reached out confidently for my coffee mug.

I had her. I could see she was searching for her inner wimp. Her voice was entirely absent of confidence. “Lisbeth and Janet said you’re the perfect guy to do this with.” It sounded like she was about to break into full-on tears. “And from what I’ve seen I think they’re right.” She passed the back of her hand against a slightly damp cheek. “They told me how much you’ve done for them over the past two years and that you could help me, too.” Now, she seemed to be gaining confidence: she sat up straighter and leaned forward. “Ya, sure, I’ve never thought of doing anything like this before. Never once. But when Lisbeth told me your plans and told me I should go with you, she said it would turn my life around, like you turned theirs around. That’s what I need — I don’t want to end up where I’m heading.” She hesitated for a dramatic impact that may have been more heartfelt than theatrical. “I’m in Jim. I think I know all the implications … I might not be prepared for them all but I think I understand them. When I handed in my resignation last week I was scared stiff but I’m not now. I’m just really, really excited and really, really determined.”

The phone rang four different times in my black-out apartment. But I didn’t answer it. Each time I thought it might be her. And anyway, I was thinking. Hard. Obviously I had to extricate myself from this stupid predicament of my own making. But how? I had thought through a number of tactics but nothing quite worked. Nothing quite dealt with the reality that she had spent the past week slaving over a hot stove to find the right recipes for a two-year bike trip I had no intention of making. Nothing quite made up for the fact that she was struggling hard to over-come some mysterious psychosis that made her so adverse to me she couldn’t look me in the eye. Nothing quite addressed the shocker that she had already quit her job to go on a trip that had always been a pipe-dream. And nothing quite mitigated the horror that she had me tightly and painfully by the balls.

The key, I concluded, the ticket out, was in her weird behaviour. How could I co-habit in a sleeping bag with a woman who was afraid to look at me? I couldn’t. But nor could she. Obviously.

“Look,” said the grand creator of all these troubles, Lisbeth, after I carefully explained the next day why I was calling the whole thing off, “you made a commitment to her. It’s a done deal.”

I almost screamed into the phone. “She won’t even look at me for fuck’s sake. How are we supposed to get …”

“So she’s got some baggage!” Lisbeth fought back. “Big deal. We all do. Work your magic for fuck’s sake. You did it for me; you did it for Janet; you’ve done it for all kinds of people. Take her under your healing little wing …”

“What baggage?” I demanded.

“I don’t know. I think she had a bad marriage she hasn’t recovered from. Not yet, but then she hasn’t had the tender care of Saint Jimmy Mallory, either.”

“Ya, ya. So how long ago did they split?” I couldn’t imagine this woman getting close enough to anyone for an altar walk.

“Don’t know. Years.”

“Come on, Liz. Details.”

“Lisbeth for crissake! Right? I hate Liz and you know it. And no details. I don’t have any. I’ve never asked. But there was violence I think, and there are trust issues. She just needs a little of your … niceness, Jimmy. Two days in that tent with you and she’ll be cured.” She threw me some hope. “Maybe you can turn back then. Maybe all she’ll need is a few miles.”

“Ya, well,” I protested, embarrassingly weakly, “I can’t see those few miles happening.”

She snickered derisively. “You’re going, Jimmy. The last thing Harriet needs is for her to finally put some trust in a guy and the first thing HE does is screw her … and I don’t mean the loving kind you’re so famous for. Anyway, think of that body. Have you had it yet?”

For the first time in my life I was feeling the utter helplessness of despair. “I didn’t know she had one,” I said, sullenly, “she dresses like a bag lady,” although I thought I saw some impressive pressure against her formless sweater when she turned to get her purse from the back of the chair at the coffee shop.

Lisbeth could be dismissive and she was now. “She’s a wonderful woman, Jim, with a fabulous body — trust me, I know. And you can thank me any time you want for putting her in a tent with you — FOR TWO FUCKING YEARS. So if you’re phoning to find an excuse to get out of this, forget about it. Jan and I have already planned the going-away party. You’re going and that’s fucking final!” She hung up.

‘Not fucking likely,’ I thought as I dialled my dad’s number. If anyone would put the boots to this insanity it was my ever-responsible, always-practical father. I edged into the reason for my call hesitantly, positioning my tentative plan in the worst possible light, certain that he would positively forbid me from dumping my job to pursue such insanity, not that he has ever forbidden me from anything in the past.

But at the first sound of his response I got to know the absolute pit of despair. The moment I put out the two words ‘bike+trip’ together he exploded in envy: it was the very thing he had wanted to do when he was my age; he had always “bitterly” regretted he hadn’t (he had to settle for having my sisters and me as a wholly lamentable alternative). He couldn’t wait for his vicarious pleasures to start.

I stared at the ceiling wide-eyed from my bed. Was I really and truly fucked? No! Three hour after I hung up with my dad it hit me: the one sure-fire tactic to sabotage the trip. I called Harriet from the office the next day and invited her to dinner at my place three days later.

With each passing minute I grew more optimistic. A woman who couldn’t stand to look at me wasn’t about to let me lower myself into her. Not a fucking chance.

I barely recognized her when I opened the door. The long brown hair was familiar enough, so were the darting brown eyes. It was the wonderfully thin lips, they were way off, they almost wore a smile, and the nicely rounded chin in the perfectly heart-shaped face seemed unrecognizably set with more confidence than I remember, or was it determination? But even if I recognized the bits and pieces of her face what was entirely new was the body holding up the head: it had form! And from the brief glimpse I allowed myself, it looked like a killer form.

She wasn’t even through the door when she turned to me and used every bit of her new-found self-confidence to look me straight in the eyes. Her head was slightly cocked to the side when she said, “I’ve had three days to work on this and I’m still not going to get it right but I want you to know right from the start that I’ll be trying as hard as I can and I’ll get better. OK? I promise. I’ll get better.”

I didn’t know what she was talking about. “Get better? Get better at what?”

“The sex.” She seemed confused that she had to explain herself. “You asked me over to give me a test drive, right? You read me the lecture, now you want to see how much of it sunk in: you want the performance. I get it. I’m just telling you that whatever happens I can and will do better.”

Now, MY eyes were darting. I could feel them involuntarily poking about the room behind her looking for anything that could help me deflect the accusation or change the subject. I heard myself utter a limp denial but I knew I wasn’t convincing. ‘Test drive’ was a pretty accurate description of what I had in mind. What she didn’t know was how badly I hoped she would crash and burn on the first (and hopefully only) attempt.

“Scary isn’t it?” She was obviously reading my body language now, it wouldn’t have been hard. “We’re committed to spending two years together and we don’t even know if we’re … you know, physically … if we like each other.”

I grabbed at this. “Ya, I’ve been thinking about that. It wasn’t very considerate of me. Maybe we should get to know each other first; maybe put this off for a year.”

She turned and moved gracefully to a chair in the living room. She was slimmer than I had thought, with a delightfully contoured ass. Before she sat down she turned back to me (almost catching me in mid-glance). “I’ve kind of had some problems in the past; dug myself into a deep, dark hole that I’m trying to get out of. An emotional hole that just doesn’t make sense any more. I need to grow up and move on. But that isn’t always easy to do, especially when you’re avoiding the very issues you should be working on.” She sat down and looked up at me. “I’m just saying that I don’t want …” she hesitated, then went for it, “I don’t want this to be an issue with me any more. But there may be some … ah, rocky moments ahead; trying to work things out isn’t always easy or predictable”. She smiled sweetly. “But you know that about women, don’t you … some women.” She shrugged her shoulders in helplessness. “What can I say. That’s about it.”

I half expected her to be gone by now so I hadn’t put much effort into dinner. But that’s not why I turned to go into the kitchen. I turned because I was getting a fucking hard-on.

To kill time I fumbled with a bottle of wine and mentally scanned through my diminishing options. How do you throw out a woman who warns you she might not be very good at first but to keep trying and, with a little work, she plans to get it right? Fuck. It was only two weeks ago that we agreed we would peddle away. That makes it just over a week before I have to hand-in my resignation … which means I have only seven days to find a way out of this mess and as far as I could see there wasn’t a single person out there, my putative partner included, who thought that this punishing Tour to Nowhere was anything but an excellent idea. Fuck, fuck. Fuck.

I turned off the stir fry which could easily be nuked and went back into the living room with the bottle and glasses. I put them all on the table, filled the glasses then went to get my clipboard before sitting down. “Did you bring your list?” I asked, resigned to seeing through at least this part of the fucking charade.

She smiled an assent then sipped her wine. “I wonder, though, that if before we get to that, we might stay on this for a bit.” When she saw I didn’t follow her she explained. “Sex.” She hesitated then asked an alarmingly direct question: “What are your expectations?”

Fine. Sure. I can talk about this. I deliberately scanned her body, deliberately hesitating on the remarkably impressive rack, nicely straining at her thin shirt. Then I sipped, sat back and asked, knowing that I’d found my winning tact, “Do you have an imagination?”

This didn’t phase her. She sipped before she answered, perhaps wondering what the catch was. “Yes, I think I do. A good one.”

“Good. Then imagine a man, say, me, imagine him in a four by six tent with a woman like, say, you, and imagine him, me, trying to get to sleep when those,” I pointed at her chest, “are resting peacefully not more than a foot away.” I wasn’t trying to read her; I was just concentrating on getting this out. “Now imagine how long it might take him, me, to get to sleep each night with those.” I pointed again, “resting not a half an arm-length away, and imagine what he, me, might do to facilitate his necessary and hard-to-come-by sleep, like what he might do to himself to get some relief. Then imagine how you might feel if night after night you had to endure this man’s sleeping ritual. Are you with me so far?”

“I think so.” She was entirely impassive … but noticeably unimpressed.

“Any man might call that torture. But not me.” I raised my voice now, “Because there’s not a chance in hell I would put myself in that situation. I would only ever get into that tent with you if there was an agreed upon and full range of … reciprocity.”

“Equal parts of giving and taking,” she said, helpfully.

“Precisely,” I nodded. “Underpinned, of course, by respect, consideration and …”

She waited me out but when I didn’t fill in the final blank she added, “Romance?”

“Passion, certainly,” I conceded.

She waited a moment before speaking. I think she looked a little pissed off. “There are more mature ways to have this conversation, aren’t there?”

“Ya, probably.” I had talked my way into feeling a little pissed-off. “But the gist of it would be the same.”

“That if I go into a tent with you I give you full access to my body.” I didn’t say anything. I just let the full weight of her words hang out there so they could sink in. Then she added, “But with respect and consideration. Have I got that right?”

I could see her ire was up but not up enough so I pushed a little harder. “Sort of like an arranged marriage.”

“An arranged, loveless marriage.”

I objected. “Not all arranged marriage are loveless.”

“No they aren’t,” she agreed. And then things started to unravel. “And your arranged marriage would never be loveless, would it?” She didn’t wait for my answer. “It wouldn’t be loveless because the moment you crawled into that tent you would be doing everything in your power to make that arranged marriage work, or so says Lisbeth and so says Janet, and that’s what I’m thinking, too.” She looked at me hard; she didn’t look annoyed any more. “I’m just telling you that when I crawl into that tent with you I’ll want to make it work too, just as much as you will, but I won’t be as emotionally sophisticated as you are or as emotionally equipped to pull it off, not at first. Am I clear?” Again, she didn’t wait for my answer, “Oh, and one more thing. Sorry, but I don’t have any choice in this. It’s the way I’m made. I have to treat this, not as a reciprocating transaction or even as an arranged marriage but as a romance. That’s just the way I am. OK? And finally? This will be the last I have to say on this subject, but in matters of physically loving I will have to be taught. The only other shot I’ve had at it I was a complete and miserable failure.”

I was pissed of course. She’d beaten me at my own game; beaten me up with my own words. But I stayed calm. After she finished the only thing I could think to do was refill the wine glasses. I thought of telling her to take off her clothes or get into the bedroom, I even thought of pulling out my hard prick to scare her with it but she had me pegged about right, I am a romantic. If I ever got into that fucking tent I would, like her, try to turn it into a romance, I had no doubt about that, it’s my nature, my fucking wussie nature. So scrap Plan A and start Plan B: there was no fucking way I was going to touch her. Not after that. Not a chance. Lay my arm on her shoulder or my lips on her cheek and I might as well start peddling now.

We never got to the stir fry or a third glass of wine. To change the subject, out came the clipboard and we methodically compared notes, while we made a final list of all the things we needed to do and buy.

When she left it was really hard not to think that this team of two had a new leader. I was in full-mode panic.

It was her idea. We’d go for a bike ride then head back to my place to have one of the meals she had come up with for The Trip. But it was my idea to put up the tent in my spare bedroom.

I’d thought it through, every which-way, and concluded that fucking seemed to be the only way out of this for me. Apparently, she had problems in bed. What they were I had no idea, but fucking was the only thing I could think of to exploit my way out of a bike tour I increasingly didn’t want to take. As far as I could see every other option had been tightly closed off.

My plan then was to get her into the tent; introduce her to what I thought was her greatest vulnerably, then hope like hell things fell apart quickly. What might her problem be? I could only guess: a rigid frigidity? psycho-sexual traumatic flash-backs? debilitating sexual deviances? Whatever. All I needed was just a little something to scare her off, or give me an excuse to cancel.

The bike trip part turned out surprisingly well. It was fun. We cycled for a couple of hours, the first part on passive bike trails, then I got her out onto roads. She was impressive; she held her own even though she was on a rickety old piece of junk she had borrowed for the day.

The food part was OK, too. I drank beer as I watched her use one pot to make a pasta of about five ingredients. Pretty impressive and impressively tasty. In fact the whole damn outing was impressive. She was apparently competent at everything she does (well, everything but THAT) and the sour, self-effacing disposition I had first encountered had been softened by a seemly effortless pleasantness that caught me way off guard.

As did the body. Shucked of the bag-lady togs, and adorned in tight cycling clothes the woman may not know how to use it but there was no doubt she had a great body. It almost made me forget my plan: I could easily see us piling into the tent and franticly rutting for hours. But that would mean two years of peddling in the rain. Not going to happen. No way. I would find her fatal flaw, exploit it, then watch her flee. It was the only way out.

I cleaned up while she sipped wine and when I was done I deliberately walked into the living room, passed by her and entered the bedroom stripping off my clothes as I went. I climbed into the tent entirely nude. I had thought through my plan this far (it helped that I was a bit pissed) but I had no way to predict what she would do once I got into the tent. I hoped that at the first sight of my naked ass she would have freaked and run from the place screaming. But it didn’t sound like this was happening; for the first few minutes it didn’t sound like she was doing anything. I just lay in there, alone, and naked, feeling increasingly stupid.

Then, after what seemed like an eternity, her head poked through the flaps, then she crawled in fully clothed. It was dark enough so I couldn’t read her face but her body language was pretty clear: she was tense; totally unsure of herself. When she was in on all fours, fully in, she hesitated a moment before sitting down next to me bent over with her legs crossed. Then nothing.

“Hey,” I said after a long wait, “it was your idea to simulate a day on the road, not mine.”

“I know.” Her voice sounded delightfully glum. “I didn’t think it through this far.”

I shut up, allowing her ample uninterrupted peace so her freakish, sex-averse idiosyncrasies could grab hold of her. I had a song running through my head: ‘Bad boy, bad boy, what’re you going to do, what’re you going to do when they run from you?’

But she didn’t move a muscle, not for more than a minute, then she slowly, almost sacrificially, criss-crossed her arms and brought her hands down to slowly pull her cycling shirt over her head. It was anything but sexy; she didn’t even seem willing; the action looked like it took all her courage because the moment she threw the shirt to the side she seemed to slump: dejected, defeated. I watched her carefully, waiting. She sat like that for maybe a full minute before she said, “I couldn’t wait to get into this tent with you. Couldn’t wait. Now look at me. I knew this was going to happen.”

I waited for more but it didn’t come. “Knew what was going to happen?”

“Never mind,” she muttered.

“What do you mean ‘never mind.’” I could feel myself getting angry, as if she was keeping a secret from me, an intimate secret. “How could I not mind?” I had entirely forgotten my plan to coerce her into flight; instinctively, I was doing what I’ve always fucking well done: I was getting concerned; starting to care; reaching out; wanting to help. I have always been an absolute fucking jam tart.

“I’ve had it for years,” she said, cryptically.

I bit. “Had what?” It could be any one of the gynaecological screw-ups women are always getting.

“I can’t get by this paralyzing fear.”

Huh? “Fear? Fear of what?”

She waited, summoning the courage to spit it out. And then it came: a single word. “Rejection.”

It sucked the breath right out of me: the sheer stupidity of it. There isn’t a man alive who doesn’t have a fear of rejection. It’s part of the fucking game. “Rejection? Rejected by who?” I just wasn’t getting any of this. It seemed ludicrous.

She was back mumbling again. “Who do you think?”

It took awhile but the moment it hit me I lost it. I started laughing uncontrollably; I couldn’t help myself: the absurdity of it all sunk in and I just couldn’t contain myself. And I can laugh, loud and long, and more often than not, alone — I have a very well-honed sense of the ridiculous. “That’s you problem?” I was almost shouting. “That’s what all this is about? Rejection? Are you kidding me? You haven’t even got me yet so how can you get rejected?”

“I know.” She seemed to understand my outburst, and her irrational childishness. “I haven’t gone on a date since my husband left: I couldn’t handle rejection again.”

I let the implications of that sink in and suddenly this wasn’t so funny anymore. I could feel her despair, her anguish — I’ve always been a caring guy. Lamentably. I pulled at her arm. She resisted, but just instinctively, then she came with my tug and lay down beside me, her right hip on top of mine, her head on my shoulder.

It felt good. I felt good. For some reason I like to comfort woman, and being the wuss I am I’ve had a lot of experience at it … from about the age of five when I started softening the blows that were raining down on my two aggressive, outspoken, go-for-broke older sisters. And over the past two years I’ve spend endless hours transforming a broken Becky into an assured Lisbeth, and nursing a bitter, man-hating Janet into a slightly less bitter, slightly less man-hating Janet who now actually had a quasi-boyfriend.

Harriet knew this. She said as much to me a few days ago. That was one of the reasons she wanted to go on this trip, for my “legendary healing powers,” as Lisbeth phrased it.

I held her patiently for a long time. Even though my arm had gone to sleep I let her take her time. All of us are damaged in one way or another. All of us need a little nurturing from time to time. Some require more than others. Some of us are like Harriet with a deep and identifiable problem and no useful mechanisms to attack it. I know better than to psycho-analyze someone else’s deep seeded angst. My approach has always been to comfort, to be there to listen and to help in any way requested. I think of myself as a pillow to a troubled head.

The blood started flowing through my arm again when she rose up and looked down at me. She has a sweet face that can glower with melancholy and glow with happiness. I wanted badly to cheer her up. “I’m not going to reject you, Harriet. How can I? We have a two-year, non-negotiable, possibly renewable contract. I couldn’t reject you even if I wanted to. You’re safe, Harriet. You aren’t going to get rejected.”

She bent down and kissed me lightly. “I know,” her lips mumbled on mine. “It’s all happened so fast. I just can’t believe it yet.”

I knew. I knew I had blown it. It just crept up on me; I talked her out of the one trump card I had and talked myself into doing something I really, really didn’t want to do. With her lips on mine one of the two things I could think of was how can I salvage this? I knew I wouldn’t be able to if we did the other thing that was on my mind.

I pulled her down, as much to buy time as anything. She broke free and looked at me, her sad eyes beginning to glow. “You’re a good guy, Jim. Everyone says that. And now I’m saying it. Thanks.”

When I squeezed her arm reassuringly she went back on my lips. I didn’t kiss her back. I was trying hard not to lose it: two years on a fucking bike were at stake here; two long years through God knows where. Still, she had an amazing body and she seemed willing enough. I slid my hand along her naked back then over her sports bra, all the time trying to read her. She remained composed, quietly nibbling at my lips. She pushed her hips into me when I slipped a finger under her bra. It wasn’t the response I needed. I pushed back, feeling my stiff prick stab into her inner thigh. Dumb. There was only going to be one outcome of this: a fucking bike trip. No way.

I pushed her away but the fear that flashed cross her face brought me back to her reality: she would take any form of dissent as rejection. What could I do? I could go on the offence. I decided to push her hard and hope she flinched. I twisted her onto her back and brought my hand up under her tight elastic bra. That didn’t work. The moment my hand squeezed her breast she was on my mouth, sucking on my tongue. I tried more aggression. I pushed at her bra, pushed it hard until her mountainous breasts sprang free. But this was no deterrent, she kissed harder, her pussy now pressing fiercely against my thigh. She was losing it, but worse, I was losing it, too. I had to up the ante. I quickly turned her on her side and shoved my flattened fingers down under her tight bike pants, into her hairy, wet pussy. She shrieked … but not the good shriek I was waiting for, the shriek that would start her running. No it was the bad shriek, the one that made her suck harder on my mouth, the one that presaged the orgasm I could feel building deep within her as she squirmed hot against my fingers. Then I felt a chance. She was pushing at my hand … I hoped to repulse me. I immediately reacted: I quickly pulled my hand from her pants hoping she would get up, grab her clothes and bolt. But no. She was pushing at her pants, struggled out of them and in a few seconds brought my fingers to her to consummate our partnership. And she couldn’t have been happier.

But for the black bra around her neck, she was as naked now as I was. So even in the dim light there was no hiding it. I had no idea what she was going to do. Ignore it?

I didn’t have to wait long to find out. She took me gently in her fingers; arranged herself along side me so she could watch her handiwork, then she slowly, exquisitely coaxed a very willing orgasm from deep, deep inside of me. Then she scooped up the mess with her fingers, which she wiped on her discarded shirt, before using it to scrub my belly. As I’ve said, the woman seems absolutely competent in everything she does.

I think I nodded off for few moment. She didn’t, she was staring wide-eyed at the top of the tent when I looked over at her. “How are you?” I asked, with quiet sincerity.

She turned and looked at me in a now familiar way. “Embarrassed.”


“You know very well why. I’m a 28 year old, fully capable nurse. I have no business freaking out about being dumped. Women have fought like hell for years to give girls like me an even-footing and all I can do in thanks is to wimp-out. It sickens me but there doesn’t seem much I can do to fight it.”

“Ya, OK, fine. Beat yourself up about it.”

She bent down and kissed me. “Nope, I’m not going to. I’m going to be better, a lot better. I’ll have my moments, I know that but you’re going to be the tonic I need. After two years with you I’ll be marriage material.” She realized what she said and hastened to add, “If I can find a poor sucker out there somewhere.”

I was totally screwed. It was an unbelievable turn off. I really, really didn’t want to go on a bike trip. I crawled out of the tent and picked up my clothes.

Ya, I was fucked, truly and totally fucked. I couldn’t conceive of a single possible way out; I was hoisting myself on a petard of my very own, and very unwitting, construction. In just a matter of days I’d be peddling my ass out of town. I couldn’t see any way around it.

Then it occurred to me. Hang on: while I couldn’t figure a way out of this mess, it didn’t mean that someone else couldn’t. And I had just the person in mind: the very one who got me into this fuck-up in the first place. Lisbeth, aka Becky Mitander.

I met her on Friday night at the pub; her, Janet, a gaggle of lesbians, a small throng of once-battered wives and a coterie of other misandrists whose aversions to men were less easy to figure out. I’d been weirdly fitting in with this crowd for going on two years, after I accidentally hooked-up with Lisbeth who was looking to try a guy on for size. I met her at this very pub; three days later she knocked on my door and stayed for three months.

She was Becky then. That was before she read the Stieg Larsson novels about Lisbeth Salander, the brilliant, ball-busting crime fighter who swung both ways, each with lethal aggression. The Larsson novels completely changed Becky’s worldview. Becks had no idea that you were allowed to be mysterious, secretive, conniving, dangerous and misanthropic. Lisbeth showed her the way and in thanks, Becks stole her name and as much of her personna as she could manage. Just before she left me she even got a dragon tattooed on her shoulder. She left me for any number of reasons but the biggest was that The Lisbeth would never grow close to anyone, so how could Becks?

But we remained friends and, in the Salander way, occasional lovers and to add to her mystery she occasionally took me back to the house to allow me to spectate on how the other side lives.

And that’s were we were tonight when, with a bottle in one hand and a reefer in the other, I brought it up.

Part of Beck’s passion to identify with Lisbeth Salander is the similarity in their appearance. Both are microscopically petit with noticeably small breasts (before Salander bought bigger ones) and an equally notable cold stare. I got that when I asked for her help.

“Come on, Beck, jeez …”

“Lisbeth,” she insisted, annoyed.

“You’ve got to help me.”

I could see her eyes narrow into cunning slits, always a good sign because, like Salander, it meant Becks was sizing up her advantages. To Becks, it is never about loyalty or generosity or, God forbid, friendship. It’s always only about advantage. This is why I thought I had a leg up on Harriet: Becks knew she could get something from me, God knows what, but I wasn’t sure Harriet had anything to offer Becks.

“I like her, I like her a lot.” An obvious opening negotiation.

“I do too,” I insisted, “it’s just that I don’t like the idea of the bike trip any more. That’s the problem.”

“She’s fragile right now.” More negotiation.

I wanted to ask her how she knew that but two of the women started making-out across the room, a common practice in this female free-for all, and I momentarily lost my train of thought.

And anyway, Becks wasn’t budging. “If she wants to go and you said OK what am I supposed to do about it?”

“Tell her I’m an untrustworthy prick, a sexual predator, a deviant — whatever she needs to hear to scare her off.”

She scoffed at this but I could see she was thinking hard, her eyes were squinting nearly shut in concentration. “I need a place …,” I was about to agree when she held up her hand, “not for me, for her.” She pointed to a lonely, large girl who was sitting statue-like in the corner watching us. “For a year. No rent. Food provided.” She got up from the chair beside me. “Think about it.” She turned and walked over and sat, doll like, on the big girl’s lap.

The evening deteriorated quickly from there. I awoke on the floor with a blanket over me. The sun was strobe-ing into my eyes but I could still see a little activity. Lisbeth was in the kitchen, a pair of bright yellow panties covering her unbelievable ass. Janet was there, too, in sensible whites and Nancy, Janet’s sometime partner and owner of the house, was completely nude, a matutinal habit.

This was always the highlight of my time at 36 Hawkins Street: the morning after; waking up to naked and near-naked women beginning their day. There was something far more erotic about this then whatever went on the night before when I was always too pissed and stoned to really care.

Even so, I always woke up here with a hard-on and, hung-over and horny, and that always grew as I watched these fabulously different bodies move to the rhythms of the day.

But this morning it wasn’t the images that got me going. It was a conversation. I had met Janet the same time I had first met Becks. She wasn’t nearly as appealing. Ya she is better looking and a whole lot smarter, but she was and is all attitude. She is an advocate, a lawyer defending the rights of migrant workers who, she claimed, were being routinely exploited as chattel as they were worked to exhaustion before being shipped home. She’s a serious woman who, I’ve always thought, has spent way too much time thinking about others and never enough time thinking about herself. She has issues. A lot of them, starting with a highly confused sexual identity and sequencing out from there, in multiple directions.

She lived with me for four months a couple of months after Lisbeth left. She was trying me on just like Lisbeth did, with about the same result only the process was a lot more serious. I have some good memories living with Janet. Conversations mostly, but mostly it was a bust. Emotionally she didn’t care about me; sexually she was uninterested and, as a roommate, she was unobliging: she simply didn’t understand the concepts of sharing and co-operation.

But she liked to talk and she did last night. About Harriet. She must have heard part of my plea to Lisbeth because when Lisbeth left she came over and gave me an ear-full. Which I didn’t need to hear. I knew how dead in the water I was and I knew what a shit I was by trying to get out of the dreaded trip. Fine. I tuned her out, a skill I learned from our time together, until she started talking about the Harriet I didn’t know.

Turns out it was Janet who first met Harriet at a coffee shop. Janet subsequently invited Harriet out to a Friday night pub session with the girls, then back to the house. There, I was now learning, Janet found out how ‘injured’ Harriet really was. No details at first, just the usual spiteful allusions to the debilitating impact from thoughtless men. I only half listened to this but as I was watching two women across the room undress each other I perked up when she got into specifics. She must have been loaded because she doesn’t talk much about sex, or have much of it, with men certainly and, if you believe her on-again-off-again partner Nancy, with women, either.

She told me that for the first time ever she seduced a woman that night. “She was so sad, so vulnerable, so broken, so lonely, so much in need. I knew she wasn’t gay but I also knew she was too weak to resist.” If I got my facts straight, Harriet came back for more at least four times, once, apparently, she stayed with Lisbeth when Janet was at her new boyfriend’s place.

Interesting. Harriet’s debilitating fear of rejection apparently didn’t extend to women.

So the next morning, when Lisbeth came over and handed me a coffee, I couldn’t resist. “So you’ve slept with Harriet. You didn’t tell me that.”

“Ya, and I didn’t tell her that I’ve slept with you.”

“And?” Usually, Lisbeth isn’t a tell-all but it was worth a try.

“And what?” She turned and walked away. I thought it was over but she came back in a minute with a coffee and sat down in her yellow panties on a pillow beside me shamelessly crossing her legs.

I took a quick peek at her crotch while she sipped. “She’s got a viscous body on her but you know that,” she said.

“What about her marriage, her husband?” What was causing her paranoia, if that’s what it was?

“Haven’t a clue. We never talked about that. We never talked much about anything. We just had sex. Twice, no three times.”

“And?” I prodded.

“Was she any good?” She smiled, well, it was more of a smirk. “Ya, she was really good. The woman has a whole lot of passion stored up behind those amazing tits. You’re nuts not to want her in your tent.”

I ignored this and even though I knew Lisbeth as the second most uncaring, insensitive woman on the planet, next to Salander, I tried for more insight. “So what’s her problem? Janet says she’s really injured and she isn’t gay.”

“How should I know!” She was obviously irritated. “Ask her!” Then she changed the subject. “Have we got a deal? I’ll get you out of your trip if you take care of Cindy … for a year.”

Just then the woman I now knew as Lisbeth’s Cindy came out of a bedroom (there were four bedrooms, each, as far as I’ve been able to interpret, unassigned). She looked ridiculous in one of Lisbeth’s t-shirts, stretched to near translucence. I couldn’t imagine living with her. “I have to think about that.”

“Why?” she shot back. “You want out. You’ve got lots of room …”

“I never win when I make deals with you.”

Lisbeth gets mad easily. She got up. “I have to find a place for her soon. Your time is running out.”

She was right about that. I watched Cindy for awhile. I dreaded the thought of waking up to her every morning, even if she was sleeping in another room. She just looked so dull and unappealing and slovenly. I was wondering what Lisbeth could possibly see in her when Lisbeth slipped a hand under Cindy’s t-shirt which caused Cindy to nearly melt. When Cindy leaned back against the table Lisbeth could have taken her there and then. She looked like one very horny broad who only had eyes for one

I still hadn’t decided four days later, just 23 days from our proposed departure date. Cindy? For a year? Get real. I didn’t think I could do it. But that isn’t what caused my dithering. My growing fascination with Harriet was. Who was she? That question was really starting to intrigue me. She sure wasn’t the shy, passive, glum woman of our first encounter. Nor did I think she was the horny heterosexual hell-bent to please. No, I believe there’s a lot more to her than meets my just-turning critical eye. But what? And do I really care? Maybe all she really is to me is an irreparably damaged woman with a fabulous body. I didn’t know. But, increasingly I wanted to.

It had been more than 2 weeks since we’d agreed on our final list. And, as agreed, we would shop together because we had a vested interest in what the other bought: too much and the wrong stuff and the other would suffer with a bigger, more complex bike load. So we met at MEC on Tuesday at 5:30. I had hoped to have aborted the mission by now, but a few hundred bucks for a bunch of outdoor gear I didn’t plan to use (at least on a two-year bike tour) didn’t much matter.

Add another item to her list of impressive competencies: she is organized. And it helped me a lot because I hadn’t even looked at my list since I made it. Socks, underwear, pants, shirts, jackets: when she bought hers I bought mine. Simple. And when we finished with clothes, it was an easy matter, with the help of expert advice, to purchase all the camping gear we would need. In all it took us just 2 hours to get fully outfitted for 2 years on the road. And we didn’t once argue.

When it was over we had so much stuff we had to hail a cab to get it all to her place. It surprised me when she invited me up so I didn’t have an excuse ready. I went.

I drank beer and cut off clothes tags while she made a quick supper, which, frankly, went so smoothly and quickly it had to be planned (like the cold dozen in the fridge).

Then, it just happened.

I don’t know what she was thinking but my thoughts were entirely practical. I had just cut one of those plastic tags from a pair of her black, sports-type underwear when it occurred to me. I held them up and studied them wondering what was so different between these and a bikini bottom — why couldn’t she swim in these and a sports bra rather than having to take up extra space with a swim suit? Myself, I had already decided to make do with a pair of sports-type boxer shorts.

That’s what I saw. What she saw was a perv holding up her panties, speculating … on what? I didn’t know. And I didn’t wait to find out. She freaked. She took the few step over to me and snatched the underwear from my startled hands and shrieked something that made me feel like a depraved sicko. I fled.

Out on the street I dealt with my panic quickly. I knew if I went home I’d brood so I called a married friend who I knew would appreciate an excuse to get out of the house. I met him at a pub a half hour later where I had a few, fast. Then it just came to me: a kind of eureka moment. My life was screwed up; I vitally needed a jump-shift. I spoke without thinking, at least consciously: I told him that I was going to quit my job tomorrow and go on a two year bike trip!

He was shocked, of course, but only for a moment. Then he was envious. “You lucky fucking bastard. I’d give my left nut to be doing that. Who are you going with?”

“No one,” I said with utter conviction. “I’m going alone.”

I was pretty loaded when I got home. If there was a phone message there I didn’t look for it. I flopped into bed a pretty happy guy. And I woke up that way. Funny. When I first said I wanted to go on a bike trip, I didn’t know it but I had meant it. It was all the complications I was running into that pissed me off. Now, I didn’t have any.

As soon as I got to work I walked into my boss’s office and quit. He wasn’t happy; asked me to take a leave of absence, but, flattered though I was, I knew I wanted a clean break. I was going to make the May 1 deadline. Nothing could stop me. For the first time in years I felt truly stoked.

It was a planned get-together. My father was going away for a few months and this was to be a send-off. Good on him. He deserved a great and prolonged holiday. He’s a hell of a good guy. What I hadn’t banked on when I showed up on Friday night, just 3 weeks before my own exit date, was that my dad had spread the word that I was going on a prolonged trip, too. So I, not him, became the centre of attention.

There was a lot of family there, a lot of hugging and back-slapping and oddly, very little second guessing. My family knows how to party and a few frantic hours had flown by when the front bell rang. And there she was. I sat stunned. My jaw must have been resting on my lap. She was the last person I expected to see tonight … or again, for that matter.

I got up and awkwardly introduced her around without attempting to define who she was. Another competency: she was great at meeting new people: relaxed, smiling, effusive. I left her with the last person in line and quickly found myself yet another beer.

“So what’s up?” My sister joined me at the bar with her smirky grin.

“Just a friend,” I said, as casually and obliquely as I could.

She eyed me mischievously, she’s a master of that look. “A friend you’re terrified of?”

I shrugged. “I was surprised. I didn’t know she knew where I was.”

“Bullshit. What’s the story?”

I hesitated, not because I wasn’t going to tell her, I just didn’t know which story to tell. So I asked. “Do you want the condensed version or the whole sorry mess?”

The mischievous smile that reappeared told me she wanted it all. And I wanted her to hear it all.

Annie and I have been the best of friends my entire life. She’s two years older than me, two years younger than Catherine, our older sister, but she always seemed to relate best to me. I knew I was going to have this conversation with her at some time. Now, during the full swing of the party, seemed particularly appropriate: this is a story best told and heard with lots of booze.

I was only just into the saga when she started laughing; she’s got a fabulous laugh, loud and contagious. I ignored her, anxious to get all the details out. And I did, in the precise sequence they happened. And I didn’t leave anything out. Anything. She laughed through every step of my self-inflicted dilemma. At one stage she said, “God, you nice guys really do find the most amazing ways to screw yourselves, don’t you?” That was the only pause in her steadily increasing laughter that somehow encouraged me to roll out the story, one deranged detail after another until I got to the punch line. Up to this point I had let the facts of the story speak for themselves but at the end I couldn’t resist it: I pretended to be holding up her black sports panties, my baby fingers delicately raised like I was drinking tea in England — she was shrieking with laughter at the very moment I glanced up and saw Harriet looking at me from across the room.

In fact, she has a wonderful face, more handsome than beautiful, a perfect complement to her aura of competence. Her head was slightly cocked to the side as if she was straining to concentrate. And then her slightly crooked smile flickered, redolent in mystery: warm and welcoming; fun-filled; loaded with curiosity; somewhat teasing and appealingly self-effacing. To me, the brief glance before I looked away was saying, “Ya, weird, wasn’t it, but what do you do?”

Annie had tears streaming down her cheeks as I turned away from Harriet and recounted my rapid descent down her stairs. I expected sympathy when I explained that Harriet was now out of the picture. I was going it alone. But no. For some reason that put her over the top and into an hysteria that actually had her doubled over. Fighting for breath. That pissed me off. I left her.

I was on the couch when I awoke the next morning. I quickly got out of there.

I was at home licking my wounds when my sister called at about 10 the next morning. I was still a little pissed and pissed off at her. I didn’t mind her laughing at my story, even my predicament, I expected that. What I didn’t like was her laughing at my conclusion. THAT I expected to be taken seriously, and respected.

“Why would I respect that? It would be the dumbest mistake you’ve ever made and you’ve made some doozies. I drove her home last night. We talked for a few hours. The girl’s fabulous. Are you nuts? You’re going without her?”

It never occurred to me she would drive Harriet home, but it didn’t surprise me. “You saw her at her best last night. The girl can be a wacko.”

“I hate to tell you this, Jimmy-boy, but we all can be wackos. With this, you’re a fucking case in point.”

“She’s a project, Annie. I’m through with projects. Becky and Janet did me in.”

“So who are you looking for? Someone like … me?” When she snickered I did too.

“Point taken.”

There was some seriousness in her voice now. “I’ve got the whole story. Do you want it?”

“It scared the hell out of me when she showed up last night. I felt like I was being stalked. I can’t even figure out how she knew where I was.”

“You told her. You were supposed to pick up your new bikes last night. You said you couldn’t, you were going to a family party. She got our names from Janet. She tried the older sister first and got it right. The girl’s resourceful, among other things.”

I let that sink in. This wasn’t getting any easier.

“So, do you want the story or not?”

“What story,” I said, stupidly, I was hung-over; I didn’t want to think of Harriet.

“Her story for fuck’s sake!”

I got it. Small farm town. Big breasts early. Lots of sexual tensions. Big pressure to marry childhood sweetheart. Big mistake. Instant misery. Husband big man in town, big bully at home. Philanderer, abuser, sexually immature. She runs after two years. Goes into nursing. Studies relentlessly; works constantly. Avoids men. Tries girls …

“She told you that?”

“She told me everything because she knew I was going to tell you.” Heard a lot about this really nice guy. Wanted a change; wants to find out who she is: jumps at the chance to go on tour with him. Told him she was sexually immature. Wanted understanding. Thought she had it from nice guy who nurtured two friends through rough times. White Knight runs from first blip. Showed up at party to apologize. Knight wouldn’t talk, got drunk, passed out — takes phone call from sister.

“It was weird,” was all I could think to say.

“Ya, she knows that,” she snapped. Told you she’d occasionally freak out. Felt lousy two minutes after she did. Felt even worse when told that my husband Pete spends as much time in my panty drawer as I do. She laughed. The girl likes to laugh. And she’s determined. She’s going with you. She just doesn’t know how to convince you. Told her not to worry. You’re going to meet her for lunch at 1 PM at the Denny’s on Fourth. You’re going to make one promise: whenever she fucks up again, White Knight will sit with her holding her hand to talk her through it. 98% of the time you’ve got the perfect woman. Problems rest of the time. Deal with it. Call tonight. “My work’s here is done.” She hung up.

I was there a little early. I sat at the very back so I could watch her walk in. I wanted to try to read her before she confused me with her words.

I noticed the body first. She had dressed to impress. Her clothes were much tighter than usual; her top was cut lower. The enigmatic grin was there. She had a bag in her hand and she walked with confidence. Good. I wasn’t going to take any bullshit from her.

She stopped at the table. The grin was gone, she was all business. “Look, you can’t just run every time I’m an idiot. That’s ridiculous.” She stuck out her hand. “Agreed?” I could feel my sister behind these words, she had already said as much to me.

I didn’t shake. “So this is all about me, right? It’s not what you do, it’s all about how I react to what you do.”

“Ya, ya,” she said enthusiastically, smiling now. “That’s about it.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. That’s not fair to me.”

She still didn’t move to sit down. “Oh, poor you,” her words were filled with distain. “Sure, it isn’t fair to you but you’re a whole lot stronger than I am in the ways I need you, and,” she shrugged, “I may be a whole lot stronger than you in ways you may need me. It’s a quid pro quo kind of thing; that’s what a travelling partnership is all about. ‘A good traveller has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving.’”

“What’s that supposed mean?”

“What it says.”

I didn’t react. I wasn’t going to let her push me around again.

“Oh, for God sake,” she climbed into the bench across from me, “we’re leaving in less than 3 weeks. Can’t we both just grow up and start looking forward to it. We’re going to have the time of our lives.”

“You started it,” I mumbled, admittedly childishly.

“Fine,” she reached out for my hand. “Then I can end it. It’s over.” She tried to shake my limp hand but I didn’t let her. “Oh, for pity sake, the next time something stupid happens we could be in Poland, for God sake, or Thailand. Let’s start dealing with issues together; not run from them. It’s called maturity. Can we at least shake on that?”

I did, reluctantly but before I let go of her hand I asked something that occurred to be after talking to my sister. “Will it just be sex that creates your weird behaviour?”

She nodded and smiled. “Ya, probably.”

I looked her in the eyes. I wanted to try to understand her. “My sister told me about your past.”

She didn’t flinch. “Ya, she said she was going to.”

The waitress came, took our orders and left.

She squared up and took me on. “Look, I like sex, at least I like sex with women. But I’m no lesbian. I’m going to love sex with you … I’m just going to run into problems sometimes; we’re going to run into problems. If I knew what they were I’d head them off. But I don’t. Like that panty thing. It just got to me; I have no idea why, I mean, Jeez, even I get off on panties. I love watching Lisbeth with that spectacular ass walking around in the things. I even bought a pair two years ago when I was at my all-time low, sexy things that I hoped would make me get in touch with whatever sexuality was hiding in me … I couldn’t even masturbate then, nothing. I never did put them on. It just felt too weird; too pointless. But I put them on this morning. OK? What else do you want to know?”

“How bad was it with your husband?”

“I was a piece of meat to him, me and half the women in town. It wasn’t that he was particularly abusive, he just took away all my self-respect. No, that’s not true. He didn’t take it away. I let him; it was my decision. I lost my self-respect with him and I haven’t got it back. Not yet. But I’m close. That panty thing didn’t really bother me. I knew it was stupid right after it happened. What bothered me is that you didn’t stick around to find out what went wrong.” She stood up and pulled the red lacy top of her bright yellow underwear from above her jeans. “You can look at my underwear all you want.”

“Good,” I said, as she sat back own, “because I have a panty fetish.”

She smiled and sipped her water. “That’s not going to scare me off.”

“And a few others,” I added.

She smiled. “Ya, me too. I hope.”

“This is going to be hard work, you know.”

That smile again. “What, working out our fetishes?”

“The trip.”

She threw herself back in the booth. “Sure, but it’s going to be a blast, too, the whole fucking thing.”

I still felt I had to push her a little so I asked the next question to shock her. “Do you masturbate now?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Ya, Nancy showed me how. Lisbeth and Janet were no better at it than me … which is to say terrible. Nancy though, she wrote the book on it,” she laughed, “a book that she can’t get Janet to read. She has these little masturbation parties. A few girls just doing it together for the fun of it. I learned a lot from them. It took a little guts at first but I don’t have any problems with masturbation any more. At least I don’t think I do. Why? Do you think I will?”

“Are you trying to shock me?”

“No,” she smirked, “your sister is. She told me to come out with every sexual peccadillo I could think of. ‘The more grist, the more active his mill’ was the way she put it.”

This seemed weird to me; it felt like she was investing way too much of herself in me, a virtual unknown. “What do you want, Harriet? What do you want to get out of this trip?”

“Fun. I haven’t had any fun since I was about 5, not any real, sustained fun anyway. And adventure. By that I mean new experiences, experiences that will test me, help me to find out who I am. And I plan to read a lot; histories of where we are — all I’ve been reading and thinking about for the past eight years is nurse-stuff. And I want to try to learn to express myself. Up ’til now I’ve been a kind of emotional cut-out; a stick figure.”

She was leaning forward with her intensity. I couldn’t help myself. “Stick figures can’t press their breasts into the edge of a table like that.”

She smiled and sat back. “And romance.” She looked at me challengingly. “I know there is a chance of that with you or you wouldn’t have let me come. Do you admit it? Are you open to it?”

“You have this annoying habit of turning things around and putting me on the defensive. Wasn’t it me who lectured you on this very subject.”

“The lecture, as I recall, was that I have to put out. You said nothing about you giving in.”

“You aren’t a piece of meat to me, Harriet. I don’t work that way.”

“I know.” She leaned forward again, this time deliberately pressing her breasts hard (and effectively) against the table edge. “I’m just trying to get you to accept something I’ve been perfectly up front about. If I have my way this will be a full-on romance.’

I took a long and deliberate look at her erotically crushed breasts. “Speaking of up front.”

She smiled, not moving. “I’m trying to express myself, Jim. It’s one of my big ambitions. I want to get centred with you then I want to learn how to express myself in every way, including sexually.” She pulled back again, allowing the server to put the plates down in front of us. “What about you?” she asked when the serve left. “What do you expect to get out of this trip?”

This I had thought about. “It may sound kind of odd but I want to get a different sense of time. I’ve been living to a clock all my life; I’d like to try to learn to live by rhythms or something — don’t know if it’s possible. And I want to get away from my North American isolationist attitude and become more a citizen of the world. That, I think is doable.”

She pushed at her food. She didn’t appear any more hungry than I was. “Not very romantic.”

“I’m 29, Harriet. I’ve never been particularly good at living the care-free life of the rake; I don’t think I’m selfish enough for it. Of course I want a romance. So ya, I’m open to it but …” I shook my shoulders.

“So make it happen.” There was a touch of very un-romantic scorn in her voice. “Decide you want to sweep me off my feet and do it. It won’t be hard. I’ve already told you I want to be swept.”

“It isn’t that simple and you know it.”

“Ya, sure it is.” The scorn had turned to disdain. “We have two choices. We can wait and see if it might happen or we can tell each other that we want it then work like hell to make it happen. I vote for the second option. You?”

“You don’t really think it will be that easy, do you?”

“We may fail but we’ll have tried our damnedest. That should be our plan. OK?”

I didn’t have to think it through, it’s naturally me; it’s the way it would work out anyway. “Ya, sure.”

“OK.” She stuck out her hand for another shaking — these all seemed honour-bound business deals to her. She pushed her barely touched food away. “Let’s go and seal the deal.”

I signalled for the check then pointed when she picked up her bag. “What’s in there?”

“Cycling stuff. Once we’re finished, we’ll go get our new bikes, take a long ride then head to my place to celebrate.”

“You’ve got this pretty well planned out.” Loss of control was making me feel a little wimpish.

“No, this was your sister’s plan. She was right, wasn’t she?” She eyed me mischievously, as if there was a hidden meaning behind her words. “She knows you pretty well.” That made me squirm a bit.

After I paid, I took her bag and followed her out the door. “It’s going to be a long three weeks,” I thought out loud.

“Not for me,” she added quickly. “It’s going to be a blur. I’ve got to work just about every day, 12 hour shifts alternating between days and nights, starting tomorrow. We’re short staffed and my leaving isn’t going to help.”

“So what are we celebrating?” I asked, alluding to our post ride get together at her place.

She elbowed me hard in the ribs. “Are you serious?”

I wasn’t. But I was in a hurry. And so was she. We walked to my place as if we were late for an appointment, which, in effect, we were: in a lot of ways we were long over-due.

Keen anticipation can make you focussed, quiet and thoughtful. It occurred to me as we rushed along the street that this emerging relationship had to go through a cerebral stage before it could get physical: it had to be talked through before it could be put into action. Even so, I still didn’t know what to expect, whether at my first misstep she would turn into a raging fishwife.

We were both nervous when we got to the apartment. It’s all very well to decide to have a romance, but is there any chemistry to make us bind together? I think she was as worried about that as I was because she quickly appeared tentative, even wary; gone was all the bravado force-fed by my sister. Harriet was a school girl again; I felt like a grade 10er.

As soon as we got inside we naturally gravitated to the couch. She looked at me expectantly.

Obviously, despite all her faux self-assurance, the lead was going to be mine. “We talk a good game, don’t we?”

She almost looked scared. “I feel like there isn’t any room for mistakes.”

“Maybe we should just do it and get it over with.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’ve done that. This is the first day of the rest of the life I want to live.” Then she got even more serious. “I don’t mean to be too retro here but would you teach me to be the girl you want?”

“Is that my sister again?”

She giggled. “It sounded good at the time.”

“Jesus, how long did you two talk?”

“Hours.” She stuck out her hand for me to shake for the umpteenth time in the past hour. “Ready?”

I took it and pulled her into me half-expecting resistance. There wasn’t any. She moved willingly, her heavy chest pressing insistently against mine, her lips open and seeking. For just a second I was intellectually conscious of the woman I had decided to love. Then I fully gave in to the thought of her. I kissed back with a passion I didn’t know I had; my moans were at least as loud as hers; I felt like I wanted to pull her inside me and it felt like she wanted to come.

The fingers that had been pressing hard into her back, edged against her bra strap. That did it. I was a clasp away. My hand quickly went under her shirt. Her back was hot and smooth to my fingers, the strap taut and tight. I pinched hard on the clips and the moment the strap flew open I was on her shirt. And she was too. It was off in a second and as my hands went to her waistband she fell back and helped and seconds later her pants were off with her underwear and there she was, entirely naked but for the white bra still caught above her breasts.

I sat stunned. Her heavy breasts flopped wantonly; her wonderfully seductive thighs were open and waiting; her rounded hips seemed perfect parenthesis for the thick tangle of black hair, and her meaty mound was split exquisitely by a glistening pink slit.

I couldn’t help it. I have my sister’s sense of humour. I started to laugh. Uncontrollably: it was a laugh inspired by the ridiculous, sure, but by joy and astonishment, too. Harriet was lying there like a soft, robust temptress, all breasts and hair and pussy, the most erotic sight I have ever seen. And she was waiting there for me, she wanted to be taken, to be loved … by me. It didn’t make any sense. I was in awe. “God, Harriet, you’re spectacular. What in the fuck is your problem?”

She reached up for me. “Come on. You can laugh at me later.”

I jumped to my feet, quickly stripped off my clothes then knelt between her open legs and put myself in the pink, moist lips amidst her wonderfully black thicket. I looked into her eyes as I slowly eased my prick into her and when I did I felt a profound joy. It was a joy at the thought of her: her complexities; her vulnerabilities; her beauty. And I was enjoining with her in the most intimate of unions, I was binding myself to her bodily but emotionally, too. I put my hands behind her head and held her to me. I didn’t move; she didn’t move. The thought of being in her; the feeling of her surrender to me; the sense that we were honestly trying to give ourselves to each other, it was so exquisitely erotic, so lovely that the orgasm began to build immediately. We still didn’t move, we just held on as our friction-free lust grew all by itself until, near the end, we thrust wildly at each other, demanding more from our bodies, wanting to give more to the other.

I collapsed on her, knowing my weight would be a burden but I couldn’t help it, not for a few minutes until I regained my strength. Finally, I slid off her and sat up. “God, you were fantastic,” I said, scanning her body then adding, “are fantastic.” But there was something wrong. When my eyes met hers there was a fire in them, a fire that might have been rage. I was about to reach for her hand, to console her, reassure her when she quickly sat up, flopped around and took my prick in her mouth.

I was shocked, stunned. It was so quick, so animalistic — a lust I had never experienced before. I pulled at her hair but she wouldn’t move away, she kept sucking, frantically until I pushed at her shoulders, hard. She sat up. But she wasn’t pleased. “Now who’s freaking out,” she said, clearly pissed off.

“I wasn’t ready for it.” I hated feeling defensive, which I always seemed to be around her.

“OK,” she said, pushing at me. “Then get ready.” She was penetrating me with her eyes.

I felt a little like a sacrificial lamb as I slouched back. The extent of her sexual intensity was just beginning to occur to me. Her orgasm sounded as intense as my own but she was anything but sated. It wasn’t a turn off, but it was worrisome.

I wasn’t where she wanted me; she coached me into sitting back against the arm of the couch then she lay belly down and took me in her mouth. She wasn’t in a hurry now. She was gentle, sucking and nibbling and inspecting. She looked up at me for a brief moment and smiled, “And to think its mine.” Then she put me back in her mouth.

At first I felt weird with this kind of vulnerability: lying back with her head bobbing between my legs. It had never happened to me before, not like this. But pleasure quickly trumped concern. “Can you really think of it that way?” I said as I gently thrust.

She held me up and kissed and licked me. “Why? You don’t?”

“Do you expect me to think that way? That your body is mine?”

“Of course I do. And not just my body. Me.”

I tried to make light of it with a laugh, but it came out with no humour. “I’m getting a much better deal than you are.”

“No. Uh un. This is all one big deal, Jim; we both get it. It’s us.”

There wasn’t any room on the couch but I thought I’d try anyway. I quickly dove past her to lie wedge between her and the back of the couch. I was curled awkwardly around her head with my face pressed into the side of her ass, not where I had planned to be.

She rolled off the couch, stood up, reached for my hand and pulled me to my feet and led me to the bedroom. When we got on the bed she pushed me down and quickly positioned her pussy near my face then gave a little hop pressing herself further into me before lying down with a wonderfully pleased sound that reminded me of the one dogs make when they lay down after a long walk. I got the impression this wasn’t sex to her so much as some form of surrender. The woman was quickly reeling me in: I felt I was entering a level of intimacy I had never experienced.

I saw Harriet only three times over the next 19 days, each time for only a couple of hours when we did a little planning before I edged her into sleep and left. Continuous twelve-hour shifts are a killer.

And I wasn’t having an easy time of it, either. As it turned out I had a lot more work tidying up my projects than expected, and I had to deal with all the irritating things necessary to be away for two years. It was all very time-consuming so I was looking forward to the going-away party Lisbeth was arranging the night before the take-off … at my place, away from the mayhem of 36 Hawkins.

In fact, it was more a get-together then a full-on send-off. It was just going to be the four of us: Harriet and I, Lisbeth and Janet.

Soon after they all arrived I was sipping wine on the couch with Janet watching Lisbeth and Harriet in the kitchen. They were talking while putting cheese on crackers — there would be no dinner. I was about to answer Janet’s question when Lisbeth, quite casually, wiped her fingers on the shirt covering Harriet’s left breast and kept wiping. Harriet was clearly surprised, but just for an instant, then she laughed and did the same back. Lisbeth had set the tone for the night, as she always does.

Janet had been watching, too. She turned to me. “Does it bother you?” She flicked her fingers in their direction. “Jealous? Them flirting like that?”

The question caught me off guard, I had to search myself for an answer. “She told me she liked to be with girls. I guess she’s just confirming it.” I was just getting to know Harriet; she wasn’t mine in any sense, other than we had agreed to take a stab at romance, so it wasn’t as if my girlfriend was fooling around. But it did feel a little weird that the girl I’m supposed to be with was playing with another. Would it have made a difference if she was playing not with a woman but with a man? Ya, absolutely.

Janet was all tucked together, her legs under her, her elbows leaning on her thigh and her hands bunched into her chest. Her fingers were holding a glass of wine. Her glance at me held suspicion. “And maybe she’s challenging you, too?”

This was Janet’s biggest flaw: she always had to find conflict where none existed. “Do you think?” I said, dismissively.

She looked over at the two then back at me. “Ya, I do think … well, at the very least she’s sending you a message.”

I didn’t think so and I didn’t want to appear too interested in what the two girls were doing together in the kitchen so I concentrated on Janet. “And you? Have you got a message to send me or is this party just for them?” Janet needed to be challenged; she seldom did anything spontaneously, or even willingly.

She reached over for my hand. “I’m going to miss you, Jim, I know you aren’t going to believe that, but I am.”

I squeezed her fingers. “We never quite connected, did we?” God knows I tried. From day one I liked her looks, liked her aggressiveness, liked her smarts, her lawyer’s mind. And I liked her body, though it surprised me I did. She looks like the apple-eating feminist she is: slim, tight and somewhat flat, kind of sexless in a very female way. In fact, I came to learn that her body is a perfect personification of her sexuality. Sexually, there wasn’t a lot of there, there but if you want a sharp opinion or a passionate argument this was your girl.

She smiled, wanly. “We tried.”

“No,” I challenged, “I tried. You never did, and I’ll bet you aren’t trying very hard with Allan, either.” Allan was her erstwhile boyfriend whom I had met twice.

She glowered and turned away. “Why are you’re always banging on about that?”

“Because it’s true.” I pressed. “You’ve never figured out that you actually have to give to get.”

“Come on, Jim, jeez, give it a rest. I’m not going to see you for years. Don’t leave me with another one of your fucking lectures.”

“You’re going to lose the guy, Janet. You’re going to lose him through neglect because you just aren’t trying. That’s stupid. You’ve got way too much to offer.”

Lisbeth put plates of crackers and cheese beside us on the coffee table, Harriet put a beer beside my half-full one. When they sat down on the carpet on the other side of the table Janet sat up, pushed me onto my back and lay on me, pressing her head against my shoulder. Her voice wasn’t far off a whisper. “Well, as a matter of fact, I have been listening to you; I’ve been thinking of exactly that: I’ve been trying. I know I should have tried harder with you but not everyone is as naturally giving as Mr. Perfect here.” She kissed me perfunctorily on the lips. “But I am trying with Allan, honest. Can I try harder? Ya, sure, it’s just that it isn’t as easy for me as it is for you.”

I could see from the corner of my eye that the girls were lying on the floor now but the coffee table blocked most of my view. When I rubbed my fingers into Janet’s shoulder she snuggled closer into me. “Do you want the guy?” I asked. I didn’t really know; didn’t know if she would rather be snuggling up to Nancy at 36 Hawkins. Actually, I didn’t know if she could really be with anyone, of either gender. Some people are just too pre-possessed to share themselves. I’ve never been able to read her, which is probably why she interests me so much.

She thought for a bit then said, “Do I want him? Ya, I think I do.”

She didn’t sound very convincing. The only reason I asked the next question was because I thought her answer would be revealing. “Is the sex any good?”

She didn’t have to ponder this. “No,” then she quickly added, “I know, I know, it’s me, it’s always me, but it isn’t just me this time, not entirely. It’s him too. Maybe we suit each other that way.” She pulled back and looked across the coffee table. “Maybe you can remind me of how it’s supposed to be.”

All her vulnerabilities were coming back and the memories: there’s nothing quite so disarming as a super-confident ball-busting feminist showing doubt, showing chinks in her armour. “Come on, Jan, it’s not ‘suppose to be’ any way. You’re supposed to both want to express yourselves to each other and hope that it’s enough to bring you closer together.”

She glared down at me, typically anxious for an argument. “But according to you, I don’t express myself.”

No, she doesn’t, she just selfishly takes, she always has. “Do you think you do?”

She looked over the table again. “Well, I’ll never be a Lisbeth.”

I probed further. “But will you ever be the Janet you want to be?”

She flopped down on me and squeezed my neck. “Oh, fuck, Jim, are you ever going to just leave me alone?”

I persisted: she really had to understand what I thought was her greatest failing. “Do you want him, Jan?”

She didn’t say anything for a long time but I could feel her thinking. “Ya.”

“Then you’ve got to give yourself to him; he has to know that, in every way, not just sex; he has to know that you are prepared to sacrifice for him … to get him.”

She abruptly sat up, stood up, pushed the coffee table out of the way and sat back down again. With an unobstructed view I watched Lisbeth’s hand disappear under Harriet’s shirt before Janet crawled on top of me again and with one hand, she awkwardly started to undo her belt.

I hadn’t anticipated any of this. I had expected a few more people and a lot more backslapping but with Lisbeth here, it was bound to be odd. Obviously, Lisbeth wanted to say her unique goodbyes to Harriet; Harriet seemed all for it, or maybe she wanted to tease me with her liberalism … her other side, and Janet wanted to exploit all possible conflict (or perhaps even show me she could care). I helped her push down her pants.

Janet, as I’ve said, has a feminist’s body, an awful temperament and is a dreadful lay. But she means a lot to me, for the reasons I’ve given but also, I think, because she just expects so much from me. She moved in with me a couple of months after Lisbeth left, mainly because she thought I might be useful to her. It was a good time … for me. We had long interesting conversations and very short bouts of feeble sex. She needed me to help her explore her past; to help her try to understand her emotions. I wasn’t a shrink to her, just a willing ear. In return, she gave me hesitant access to her spare body.

We both thought the core of her problem was her mother, a dreadful woman who thought her daughter was a slut well before Janet ever once had physical intimacy with anyone, man or woman. When that finally happened at 19 she was already significantly damaged: she was maturing into an obnoxious contrarian anxious to distance herself from everyone, her mother included. She went wild for awhile, senselessly, almost proving her mother’s prediction, then she stopped, cutting herself off from everyone — for almost ten years. Her halting progress back into society had only begun in the past twelve months, but mostly in the four months with me, then at 36 Hawkins Street.

But she had made progress. She was slow to sign on to what I thought of as Hawkins Street Exhibitionism: women expressing their sexuality to women … no matter what the circumstance, no matter who the audience. She resisted, but she was gradually pulled in — how could she not? She was Nancy’s partner for the most part so how could she escape the spotlight? She couldn’t.

But tonight the spotlight wasn’t on her here. By the time she started in on her shirt, both Lisbeth and Harriet were topless and I was pulling off my pants. I wasn’t at all comfortable with this. Was I having misgivings? Only subconsciously: this didn’t feel right, but then nor was watching a houseful of woman going at it (or having a startlingly ripped Norwegian guy suck me dry, but that’s another story). What over-rode my aversion was the knowledge that with Lisbeth in the room, stuff happens.

And now it was happening to her: Lisbeth was on her back, her legs wide open and her hands grabbing Harriet’s hair as Harriet bent over her, pressing her face into Lisbeth’s bright yellow panties, a favourite colour. I couldn’t help but watch, my prick now pig-iron hard. I think women are beautifully together and oddly natural in ways hetero couples don’t seem to be.

“What are you thinking?”

I looked up at Janet, she was smirking. “How weird this is,” I said.

“It’s going to get a lot weirder.” I had always needed to be the aggressor with her but this time, perhaps as a going-away present, she took my stiff prick and put me in her, kissing me lightly. “Slow, OK? We don’t want to cum.”

She seemed far more intent then usual, more focussed, as if this actually mattered to her. In the past she wanted to get it over with as soon as possible, or that’s the impression she left. Then it occurred to me, something was stoking her engine. “You do really care about Allan, don’t you?”

She smiled down on me, “Ya, I do. It’s kind of neat.” I put both hands on her ass and squeezed her cheeks while thrusting deeper into her. “Careful, lover-boy. We have to pace ourselves.” Then she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me with more feeling than she ever had.

The slow fucking gave me time to think. I was happy for her. Janet could use a break; maybe Allan was it. He was definitely bringing a lot out of her, from which I was just now benefiting. But not for long. After just a few minutes she curled off me and sat up, her once impressive breasts drooping onto her belly.

I followed her gaze. Lisbeth’s trade-mark panties were off now. She was on her knees, her head on her arms, her fabulous ass in the air, she was moaning mournfully; Harriet was behind her, stretching the fabulous ass licking Lisbeth’s asshole teasingly.

“Jesus,” I heard Janet mutter. Then she dropped onto her knees and crawled over behind Harriet, bent over her, fitting herself along Harriet’s fabulous frame and cupping both of Harriet’s wonderfully swaying breasts, kissing her upper back and neck.

I love the smell of pussy and I love the feeling of pussy juice on my cock. I stroked myself very slowly, taking in the threesome, revelling in all the sensations. Harriet was doing what every ass-lover in the world would want to do to Lisbeth, it was just that great an ass. I wondered why I had never found the nerve, especially seeing how much Lisbeth was enjoying it. But Harriet was obviously not sharing my reserve, nor having any performance anxiety, and no fear of rejection. Could she ever transfer such passion to a man?

Harriet was kneeling upright now, Janet beside her. She had turned and was smiling excitedly at me and motioning me to come over. When I did, when I was kneeling beside her Harriet spat on her fingers and rubbed them into Lisbeth’s already wet anus. The implication was clear. I tried to be cool but I could feel myself leaning back (in horror). She laughed and pulled me closer. I looked at Janet for her reaction. She seemed uncertain but by no means repulsed.

Lisbeth was looking back, waiting. “Do you want this?” I asked, (it appeared unnecessarily).

“Ya, ya, I’ve only ever had toys.”

With her encouragement, Harriet got more insistent, lining me up then collapsing down beside Lisbeth who coaxed her forward until Harriet could position her pussy under Lisbeth’s face as Janet slid along the floor then strategically kneeled over Harriet who wrapped her arms around her.

I have never had anal sex before, never mind in a string of fabulous women. I had wanted Lisbeth’s ass, of course, but never found the courage to ask — or face rejection over something so … base. I dribbled a wad of spit on my fingers and added to the juices on Lisbeth’s anus, then I placed my prick against her and pressed at her carefully, in and out, not deep. I was about to live a fantasy: sticking my prick into Lisbeth’s fabulous ass. “Let me know if this hurts.”

She was eagerly eating Harriet now, I couldn’t see it but I could easily tell by Harriet’s moaning and Harriet was frantically clutching Janet’s thighs as she shimmered over Harriet’s mouth.

I pushed in, more insistently now, waiting for the protest. None came. What did was a pressure, a steadily increasing pressure as Lisbeth pushed back at me until I stretched her wide and broke through.

It was a weird sensation. I liked it, physically, but anthropologically I was a little repulsed. It seemed so animal-like; so culturally wrong. But watching the three women daisy-chained together helped. They all wanted to be where they were; the sounds and body language were unmistakable. So I relaxed and tried to make the most of a moment I might have dreamed about but never expected and never expected to luck into again.

Her sphincter was clenched tight around me, like an elastic band. I wanted to go easy, but she didn’t, she was slamming into me like she wanted my prick to poke through her throat. I thought it was her at first, or Harriet, it never occurred to me it could be Janet. But it was, the moans, they were so deep so primordial. But all I could see was her thin feminist’s back.

“Turn around. Janet, turnaround.” My words came out before I could stop them. But they wouldn’t matter, Janet was far too into it to share. But she didn’t have a choice. Harriet pushed her off and I almost laughed when Janet looked down confused, pissed off at Harriet.

“Turn around,” Harriet repeated. And she did, obligingly and quickly and she was back into it in seconds, cantering like on a horse, smoothly, fluidly riding her pussy on Harriet’s lips. All the noises were soon back. I watched in awe as the face I’d looked down on countless times became transformed in lust, base, unbridled, yearning lust. It was scary in its way, scary that Janet could lose herself so utterly. This wasn’t sex or pleasure. It was utter abandonment; a rational being had turned animal — all the more fascinating because it was the same Janet who never lost herself, except in argument.

I couldn’t help but cheer her own. “Go for it, Jan. Fuck her, fuck her.”

And then Lisbeth stopped. She pulled away and was on her knees beside her. “Come on, Jan, fuck her, fuck her, fuck her …” With Harriet’s insistent squeezing and loud muffled shouts we had all turned cheerleaders.

Her eyes were out of focus now, her mouth gaping, she was panting, leaning forward, her breasts were beating at her stomach. Harriet was holding on to her even tighter, pulling her in, squealing into her cunt.

And then it hit her. Like a vicious jolt of electricity it coursed through her body in wave after wave sending her into spastic convulsions that she fought hard to ride out, riding hard on Harriet’s face as Harriet pulled frantically on her thighs until the jerking after-shocks took over and she shuddered and shook before she finally slumped in exhaustion.

It was a stupendous performance, breathtaking and it wasn’t just a man that thinking, either. Almost from the moment it was over Lisbeth had Janet by the shoulders and had forced her down on her back, laughing uncontrollably.

I was uncontrollable, too. I uncontrollable fell on Harriet, who was struggling to sit up while I tried to kissed her frenetically … until she pushed me away, laughing, “Yuk. You just want her cum.”

A few minutes later I was feeling kind of sheepish. I had cum in my first ass … in public and Lisbeth was walking around theatrically pretending a major injury to her bum. But the three women had cheerfully moved on, they were laughing now about the prospects of reasonable female hygiene on a long bike trip.

Actually, it was kind of a piss-off. Here I was a fully functional, impressively together man with three women, each with significant psychological problems, (and dubious sexual identities), yet it was me who was having the problem, not them.

But I didn’t have much time to develop the thought. Lisbeth came over and abruptly knelt on the couch, nimbly straddled me, putting me in her and slowly eased herself down. “What am I going to do with out you?”

I peeked over to see how the others were reacting. They weren’t, they were chatting in the kitchen.

I worry about Lisbeth, I have since about the first day I met her, about two years ago. She seems like an adult child to me, excitable, undeveloped, unpredictable. Astonishingly, she has changed dramatically since she read the Lisbeth Salander novels; she has calmed down significantly and become much more focussed as if in the books she had finally found a life plan. But Salander is hardly a constructive role model. While the fictional character has some impressive characteristics, she is essentially a semi-deranged computer hacker, not someone either easy or advisable to emulate. But even so, the best of Salander, even the fictional stretch that she is, has been an enormously calming influence on the old Becky and a calmer Becky has a much better chance in life than the the old frenetic flighty head case.

I tried to smile up at her but I could feel it came off more as a grimace. “You’re going to take care of yourself?”

“Ya. I’m moving back to Hawkins Street.” She had been staying with Cindy, the fat girl I had met at 36, the one she wanted me to take in for a year — I heard she’d been booted out of her place. “I feel more whole when I’m there. I think it’s Nancy, she kind of feels like a mother to me.” She laughed. “And she’s bossy enough to be one.”

Her going back to Hawkins was good news. Nancy is an odd woman with a very strong and varied sexuality, but while she likes to grandstand, in every other way she is a positive role model. So great. It felt like I was leaving her in good hands, if literally. “It’s the best place for you,” I said, encouragingly. “Will you stay connected to Janet?” Janet still lived there but was spending increasing time at her boyfriend’s.

Lisbeth kissed me on the forehead. “Why do you always worry about us so much? We can take care of ourselves, we did before you came along and we will when you leave.”

“Will you stay in touch with Janet?” I repeated, I couldn’t help but pinch Lisbeth’s strangely pointy nipples.

“Ya, although we have nothing in common.”

“You’ve always helped each other. I want that to continue.” Janet got Lisbeth her job at the corporate mail room, a job, astonishingly, that she loves, especially after she looked at the job as a kind Salander-esque spy mission. As a quid pro quo Lisbeth softened up Janet’s more dominant sober side. Actually, they liked each other, they just didn’t know it.

Lisbeth put her arms around my neck and kissed me with real feeling, then she pulled back. “I love it that you care about us. We both know that. That alone will hold us together.”

I wanted to lecture her, yet again, on her promiscuity, I’ve always thought she takes way too many risks but Harriet sat down beside me and pecked me on the cheek.

Lisbeth looked entirely perplexed. “So, two years in a tent. Together. Is that even possible?” I knew Lisbeth couldn’t possibly get her head around what we were about to do.

Harriet looked at me as if the question was entirely new to her, then she smiled, teasingly. “There won’t be any Lisbeths and Janets to distract him.”

Janet was standing in front of us now, her remarkably intelligent face, sagging breasts and lush pubic patch always a turn on. “They’ll still find him, you know: we always do: all the frail and fragile, all the bent and broken women needing a strong shoulder to cry on. Your tent will never be big enough.”

“How about you?” Lisbeth turned to Harriet and squeezed her left breast. “Can you give up girls for two years?” She then leaned forward, held Harriet’s breast in both her tiny hands and sucked on it.

When the girls left, we went to Harriet’s where all our gear was, I had vacated my place this morning. Soon after we arrived we were in the tub together; she was leaning back against me; I was massaging soap into her belly and breasts. “You never answered Lisbeth’s question. Can you get through two years without girls?”

She strained to look back at me. “What are you saying?”

“Could you?” I pressed.

“Of course I could. And I could go two years without eating ice cream but do I want to? No. Do I have to? No. Do you want me to? Now that’s another question.” She sat up and looked back at me for the answer.

I stayed quiet. I really didn’t know if I did, but I did know I wasn’t the type to lay down boundaries for others.

She smiled. “‘Follow diligently the Way in your own heart, but make no display of it to the world.’” She lay back down against me.

“Who’s that?”

“The Man, Lao Tzu.”

“Is that who you’ve been quoting all the time.”

“Hardly all the time, only when his wisdom can teach.”

I let this pass, but I was impressed. “So it’s in your heart?”

“Lao Tzu? Ya.”

“No, girls. The need to be with girls.”

“‘When you are content to be simply yourself and don’t compare or compete, everybody will respect you.’”

I thought about this for a moment. Not the meaning of it, the tactic. “So I’ll always have to argue not with you but with Lao Tzu?”

“Are you arguing?”

I pinched her nipple.


We didn’t sleep very well. We tossed and turned trying to settle our excitement. But we couldn’t. When the clock read 2:18 Harriet turned on the light and looked at me. “So how did sex with your sister start?”

It hit me like a blow to the belly. I was reeling, my head swimming. I always knew I’d be caught … but how did she know? It took me a moment to recover, to consider a response. What is the lie? Then she elbowed me in the ribs. “Just tell me.” I didn’t say anything, didn’t breath, didn’t move. “Just tell me, Jim.”

It began innocently. We were lounging on the floor of my bedroom, having just completed a puzzle, when she said she wanted to see it. Though there had been no context, I knew immediately what she meant by ‘it.’ I demurred, uselessly: Annie always got what she wanted. Within a minute she pulled down my pants and inspected me, soft, at first, but quickly stiff to her touch.

As she inspected me, with pinched fingers she turned me like a joy stick in all directions, she told me she’d had one in her and wondered what they looked like, you know, up close.

I wasn’t shocked, either that she had had sex or that she would admit it or even that she was holding me. Annie was impulsive, the type to try anything. I asked her when. A few times, she said, starting last year and she told me with whom and where, not like she was proud of it but like it was for the record. When she finished looking at my prick she gave me a little peck on the cheek and said, thanks.

It was about a week later when she asked me if I wanted to see her. I did. Which part? I went for the tits but I really wanted to see her pussy. I was talking as if in a confessional, but to the ceiling. It wanted to come out.

As she took off her shirt she said she expected to grow to be at least as large as Catherine but they would look bigger on her because she would always be slighter than our older sister.

That afternoon was the beginning of my underwear fetish. I had seen her bras and panties lying around her room, which was always a mess. They never did much for me on the floor but on her it was different. When she dropped her shirt it was there, white, flimsy and feminine. She started to take it off but I stopped her. I told her I wanted to look at her. She leaned back against her arms and let me and she let me touch the material, let me drag my fingers across the stiff nipples that were poking at the amazingly soft fabric. She told me to undo it when I wanted to. When I did, I held the cups of the bra in my fingers and felt the heat through the cloth. I wanted to smell where her breasts had been but I thought that might be a bit much.

I looked but didn’t touch. They were beautiful. Big enough to hang down a little. Her nipples were very stiff and very pink in a very round field of pink. She smiled as I looked at them. I think she was proud of them. Then she took my hand and put it on one, the left one. I still remember how soft and warm it was. She asked me if I wanted to suck it. She held it for me and I did. I still remember how stiff the nipple felt in my mouth and how salty her skin was.

When I got out of there I went directly to the can and masturbated. When I got back to my room she poked her head in and asked me if I had a good one. I knew what she meant. It wasn’t a tease or a throw-away. She wanted to know. It was amazing I told her and so where you, that’s what I said. She laughed and left.

For the next week her naked breasts were all I thought about. But I was careful not to make it too obvious. She thanked me for that when we were finally alone. She said we could ‘mess around’ only if we could keep it totally secret and that meant we had to be absolutely cool about it. Did I want to be cool about it? Yes. She kissed me on the cheek and left. And that was it for about a month. I think she was testing me because we had lots of opportunities. But if she was testing me, I passed.

The Pharmacy is a place to get medicine for healing, a dreary place where truth be told nothing ever exciting happens at least that’s what I thought. It was a Saturday, a little down in temperature, but still mildly pleasant.

I was standing in line, I was greeted by an amazing and beautiful sight. A woman stood in down the aisle to my left, who looked gorgeous, she was clad in attire for colder climates. Her dark hair cascaded down onto her shoulders and her light blue eyes created an unforgettable contrast. In addition to her light skin, she wore a light beige sweater dress and was clad in black stockings which were dark in colour, along with black boots which complemented her beautifully. However, it seemed that just as quickly as she had appeared, she disappeared.

“Story of my life,” I thought as she disappeared.

I carried on my errands, getting what I needed and heading out to my car. As thoughts about the low odds of ever seeing her again flowed through my head, I look up and saw her walking with the sun shining on her, the red tint in her hair became visible. She looked amazing, it was a sign there was no time to fuck about.

I quickly put my items into my car and then strode up to her, just as a full bag slipped from her hands. I reached out and grabbed it and lifting it up just before, it had touched the floor. I lifted it up and handed it to her just as she had placed the other bags of hers into her car.

“Thank you, I thought men like you didn’t exist anymore, the chivalrous type is still here it seems.”

“You are most welcome, it was just the decent thing to do.”

“You have impressed me. . .” She said to me with an outstretched hand.

“Bill,” I replied as I grasped her hand and shook it.

“Scarlett, nice to meet you Bill.”

“It is very nice to meet you Scarlett.”

“You are intriguing and not just because of your chivalrous nature.”

“We could always delve deeper into this discussion, if you wish.”

“Now that is a good idea, pass me your phone.”

I obliged and handed it to her, she typed in her number and handed it back to me. I saved the contact, her full name was Scarlett Johnson. An honourable name, and an interesting past. After I bid her goodbye I walked back to my car and drove home. I kept thinking how quickly that went, my actions were too swift for me to get nervous or decide to not go through with it.

It certainly was not the thing I normally would do, chatting up women almost never happened. An annoying voice in my head would normally be enough to dissuade me from even trying. I certainly do not know what it could have been. However, for the first time in my life, I decided that the mystery before me should remain.

I called her the next day.

“Hi Scarlett, it’s me Bill.”

“Oh hey Bill, I was kind of hoping you would call. How have you been?”

“Fantastic, could not be better. How about yourself.”

“Great, I’m doing great.”

“So Bill, down to brass tax.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Now that I like, say it again.”

“Certainly, Ma’am.”

“So how about that discussion?”

“Certainly, when is good for you?”

“How about we meet Saturday. A little late morning coffee.”

“That sounds perfect Scarlett, 10 or so.”

“Sure, there is this great little place I know, I’ll text you the address.”

“Look forward to seeing you then Scarlett, cheers.”

“Cheers Bill.”

She ended the call and I placed my phone back onto the bed and wondered how and why? I half suspected I was dreaming, I pinched myself just to be sure. Sure enough, I was not dreaming. I firstly would have never considered myself a ladies man, or even a womaniser, far from it.

Just after college, I confessed my love to a particular woman whom I quite liked. She was not interested, and was kind enough to put me down gently. Although that did little to ease the pain of rejection.

I did have a little fun, but it wasn’t of my own actions like what was shaping up at that time.

Afterwards, I had more less contented myself to the single life, visiting strip clubs, watching porn, and other activities the single life would present a person.

However, something might have changed or the old saying of love will find you may have turned out to not be bullshit after all.I put on the brakes, I was getting way ahead myself, much to my dismay. I reeled it in, told myself, it was a chance to get to know a woman.

It could hardly be classified as a date, I mean I would sit and talk to women I work with at the cafeteria, that certainly does not qualify as a date, merely some usual conversation between two co-workers.

So would my mind be more or less settled by time Saturday rolled around? I was not sure, but I realised I would only find out when the time came for me to meet her. I then carried on lazing around the rest of the day and preparing myself for the week ahead.

The week dragged on, as one would expect. The weekend could not arrive soon enough. Eventually, it had arrived. I found myself waking up on Saturday morning. I knew I would see her in a couple of hours, for some coffee, a light breakfast, and a little conversation. I glanced over at my phone and realised it was rather early for a Saturday, even though my mind refused me rest the night before.

The morning lingered on as I continued my usual routine on the weekend. Soon 10 am arrived, and so had I at the location we had agreed upon. It was a quite a nice place, a coffee shop cum restaurant tucked away in a prominent part of an affluent suburb.

I had arrived and sat down awaiting Scarlett’s arrival. I needn’t wait long as soon I had my eyes fixed upon Scarlett approaching me. She wore a blue jeans, a sweater and a light beige colour jacket.

“Hey Scarlett, you are certainly the fashionista.”

“Bill, you are quite the snake charmer, and you don’t look so bad yourself.”

“Why thank you Scarlett.”

“You are most welcome.”

We ordered some coffee and began to converse.

“So you have been here most of your life.”

“Pretty much, more or less grew up here.”

“High school and university. It was a good time, mostly university.”

“Oh I see,” Scarlett responded with a bit of a smirk.

“Like I said, it was a good time.”


“No, home was pretty close by, not too far from where we first met.”

“You mean where you restored my faith in humanity?”

“I was doing what seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Modest as well, makes me wonder why I used to date the men I did.”

“It is just me, who I am, I have more or less accepted it.”

“Back to university, you said, near where we first met.”

“I would pass it on the way.”

“I know that place Bill, I never went there but I know it.”

“You knew somebody there?”

“Yes, one of my best friends.”

“Her name?”


My response was sly grin.

“Oh I see, she told me about all her sexual adventures, but she never would mention names. However, you do seem to fit description for one particular story. She shared you with one of her other good friends.”

“Wow, you are good, that is me guilty as charged.”

“Wow, I would say it is a small world but that is a cliché that has been driven into the ground a long time ago.”

“We had some fun, some of the best times of my life.”

“Well, it seems it might be faith, but I am not really keen on believing that.”

“Neither am I, after all this was your decision.”

“Not to mention your suggestion for this conversation.”

“Well I like to forge my own path.”

“As do I Bill.”

“So should we eat?”

“I thought you would never ask I am famished.”

Our little conversation continued. Words kept on flowing and it seemed like we had known each other for our whole lives. Our personalities were different but they interlocked so well it was uncanny. Again, the little feeling of dreaming crept in but the annoying voice never did.

However, we did share views and interests on almost everything. It was around noon when we finished off, she gave me a quick peck on the cheek before we went our separate ways.

Whilst driving home I shouted in joy “FUCK YES.” That was unreal, it seemed all that waiting had finally paid off. All that rejection had finally come to an end. These thoughts flooded my head as I drove home. I had done it, after so many women had said no, one finally said yes to me.

A few days a later a chilly night lead us back to one another. I was ready to go, I headed to my vehicle a black BMW X5 and fired her up. I was dressed the part, a tuxedo, it fitted well and would certainly allow me to look the part.

I was off to pick up Scarlett. I drove, through the dimming light as the sun was well into its decent beyond the horizon. I enjoyed the music I had picked some of those easy listening and seductive tracks.

I eventually reached her house and parked and headed inside. I then knocked on her door and she then ushered me inside. She had her hair done, her make up applied and a smile on her face that outshone all of that.

The noise of her heels was unmistakable on the wooden floor. Her jewelry shimmered a little under the lights inside her rather opulent home. However, there was one thing she still had to put on, that was her clothes.

“Scarlett, you certainly know how to dress for an occasion.”

“Well, I wanted to give you a little show.”

“For that I am grateful.”

“Oh so humble, and quite dashing tonight, I must say.”

“Why thank you, just trying to look the part.”

“You certainly do my dear, there is no denying that.”

“There is little I could do to resist you.”

“Well, I suppose not, would you excuse me while I slip away to put some clothes on.”

I watched as her naked body gracefully moved up the stairs, her ass accentuated by the lighting and the way she moved as she went up those stairs. It was quite the sight to behold. I waited a while and my attention was again caught by the sound of her heels on the tiled floor upstairs.

She came into view and she looked ravishing. She was not one to shy away from revealing clothing during the colder times of the year. She had one a short black dress with her gorgeous legs exposed to the elements. It stopped a little bit past her pussy and it hugged her body like a second skin. The dress tapered around her sizeable breasts and left much of the side of them exposed. The final bit of the dress was the straps that that tied up behind her neck. Much of her back was exposed.

Her golden jewelry accentuated her outfit, the way her hair was done. It was still loose and flowing but looking amazing. Her red lipstick matched up beautifully with her hair and the fiery streaks that were in it. She accessorised her outfit with a shawl which was transparent, shiny and draped over her shoulders.

“Okay Bill, you can pick up your jaw from the floor.”

“Please forgive me, the way you look tonight just has my mind in a trance.”

“You know just what to say, so shall we go?”

“Certainly,” I replied as I offered her my arm and she accepted.

We made our way to the car and I opened the door for her, a gesture she appreciated. I then made my way over to the driver’s door and stepped inside. I fired up the engine and began the drive to the venue.

It took some time but eventually we reached the destination. It was a rather opulent old mansion nestled up in the hills. I stepped out and then opened the door for her. We walked toward the door and Scarlett passed over a gold envelope to the doorman and he then ushered us inside.

Inside there was the sound of a piano playing softly throughout the venue. There were people mingling about, all dressed to the nines, just as we were that night. We mingled amongst the guests, shaking hands and making conversation. It proved enjoyable, being among such company. After some time mingling, the organiser of the party gave a speech to all present.

Afterwards he began mingling amongst the guests, eventually he came to Scarlett and I. He shook her hand and Scarlett then introduced him to myself.

“Jack this Bill, my date.”

“Hi Bill, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise Jack,” I replied as I shook his hand.

“Well I say you got lucky, she will certainly take care of you,” Jack said in a manner that was not lost on any of us.”

“Jack here, is married to my sister,” Scarlett interjected.

“Happily I might add, for five years now,” Jack responded whilst pointing to the ring on his hand.

“Well congratulations.”

“Thank you, and you hold onto her,” Jack replied whilst pointing toward Scarlett.

He then left us as we noticed, dinner was about to be served. We then made our way to a dining hall of sorts and sat down at one of the tables in the corner. It was secluded, just what we were looking for as we wanted to converse with one another for a little bit.

“Having fun Bill?”

“Yes, I am, thank you for bringing me along.”

“Thank you, for driving me here.”

“I could not resist.”

“Well aren’t you sweeter than honey tonight.”

“How kind of you.”

“I hope you know there is a real reason why I asked you to come with me tonight.”

“You needed a date?”

“Far more than that, I wanted to spend time with you.”

“Well I am glad to be spending time with you.”

“No, you don’t understand.”

“I feel a connection, something invisible binding the two of us. I know you feel it too, don’t be afraid you can say it to me. After all it is exactly what I want to hear.”

“Well, I am not and never was a ladies man. I love women but they never loved me before. Meeting you was wonderful, where I got the guts to come up to you, I do not know. However, every word you have just said to me I feel as well. My feelings mirror yours, I feel connected to you, and I want you.”

“It feels like you have waited years to say that Bill.”

“It has been years, for a long time I wanted to express my feelings for a woman and have a response which is favourable.”

“Well, I hope I can ease the pain I can feel in you.”

“Thank you Scarlett, that means so much to me. It has been a long road, so much has happened, I had given up hope but you caught me.”

Scarlett put her hand on top of mine and said to me “I will bring you back, that abyss will not take you I will save you.”

Without saying another word Scarlett brought me close to her and we kissed. It was unlike anything I had felt before. All her love seemed to flow through the both of us. It was as though it was coursing through our very veins.

“Thank you,” I whispered to Scarlett.

“You are welcome. Come with me.”

We stood up and Scarlett led me away from the dining hall. We slinked through the atrium and up the stairs. We eventually came to a door which Scarlett opened and then gestured me to follow. It was a large bedroom. Complete with all the décor one might expect to find in a French chateau. There was an expensive painting on the wall, a four post bed with large tree trunk size wooden posts.

A balcony lingered on the opposite end of the room past the bed and looking out onto rolling hills below. The red walls were quietly accented by the cool white lighting. Interesting details adorned the ceilings whilst soft music played into the room. My footsteps made no noise as the thick shag pile carpeting cushioned my footfalls.

Scarlett headed to a table and began to light some candles and set the mood. Once she had done that the electric lights were switched off. The room whispered sweet nothings to us at that moment.

Scarlett then pushed another button. A long cylindrical pole began to rise from the floor, it extended to the rather high ceiling and locked into placed once fully extended.

“Well this room certainly has a lot of designer touches to it, love the pole.”

“Oh I am sure you do Bill, take a seat, I think you will like what comes next.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“You are just the person to push my buttons, now let me push yours.”

Music began to play, it had a bit of an up tempo and it seemed to be made for pole dancing. Scarlett dropped her shawl onto the floor beside the bed. She then walked back to the pole, her hand grasped it softly. She turned around the pole, before bringing her right leg up to rest against it.

She then begin to do the zip on her dress. She then began zip it down a little, a little bit more each time. She turned her back to me and gestured me to undo her zip. With her zip all the way down, she began to ease the dress down. First her gorgeous breasts came into view reminding me of what I saw earlier, not that I could ever forget that for rest of my days.

She then slipped her dress down to her waist and back herself onto the pole. She bent over and slowly brought herself back up running her hands over length of her gorgeously long legs. It was something I sat there watching and enjoying every little bit of it.

Scarlett then decided to stop teasing and slipped off her skirt to the floor, leaving her in the state in which I found her earlier. She then began grasp the pole again, this time with both hands. She began to climb up, showcasing her agility and strength. She went further up and began to invert herself, she wrapped her legs around the pole to keep her body in place as she then went upside down facing me.

She spread out her arms and began to bring herself the right way up. She then slowly slide back down as sexily and gracefully as possible, giving me full disclosure of her most intimate of places. She then got herself onto her feet and began to twirl around the pole again.

She stopped and then extended her right leg, showing great flexibility, she lifted it up so her leg was extended vertically upright. I sat there wide-eyed and open-mouthed, and she carried on dancing for me with that smile on her face.

She grinded on the pole a little, teasing me to no end. However, this show was to end a little differently. She then stopped, facing me looking in my eyes. She then walked toward me and pulled me to my feet. I stood up and she began to undress me.

First she took off my jacket and it landed on a chair to the side of the room. She took her time unbuttoning my shirt and in between laying kisses on me. She then untied my bow tie and slipped it off and dropped it on the floor in one swift move.

Once my shirt was off and lying on the floor, she then got to her knees and then began to unbuckle my belt. She slipped it off much like she did my bow tie, my pants then followed suit. Soon my cock was out, at attention and ready for some hot sweaty action. My shoes found their way off my feet and soon my legs were free from my pants.

“You like to savour things don’t you, Scarlett.”

“Oh, you know me too well.”

“It seems we knew each other long before there was we or us.”

“Bill, that is true, but it is time to get a little better acquainted.”

The talking then ceased, I got myself back onto my bed. Scarlett then came along to my side and began to slide her naked body over mine. She positioned her pussy in front of my face, beckoning me to do kinky things to it. I then felt her hands caress gently, my balls and then stroke, with the tips of her fingers, the length of my cock. I felt a slight shiver shoot up my spine, but that had nothing to do with the temperature outside.

Her tongue then slowly protruded from her open mouth and I could feel the slightest sensation of the warmth of her breath caressing the tip of my cock as it stood upright, inches away from her awaiting mouth. I then gently ran my fingers over her exposed pussy and it then sent a shiver up her spine. It did garner a response, though not one of words, however it told me exactly what she was feeling at the moment.

My tongue followed suit, moistening and creating a response much like moments ago but a little louder. Scarlett then wanted in on the action, she dipped my cock into her mouth taking it in inch by inch. She continued until all of it rested within her warm mouth. All the while my tongue swirled, swished, slashed across the folds of her pussy.

Authors note:This is based on factual events. If not mentioned, all characters that engage in sexual activity are over the age of 18.

In this variation of the story, I choose to focus on the main heterosexual coupling, so this will be a plot and character driven romance with a fair amount of erotica throughout; however if your looking for a quick fix, you might wanna come back to this one. If not, grab your snacks and enjoy.


Chapter 1: Pinky Promise!

“Mhhhhhhh,” I moaned. My eyes closed, drawing a deep breath through my nose, “I want you in me so bad.” My eyes shot open and stared at the oven’s timer: five more minutes. “Dammit chicken, hurry up and cook!”

I pivoted in the barstool and let my head tilt back, spilling my black hair over the counter as if it were a waterfall. The slowly baking chicken’s savory aroma hung in the air temping me. “If only I didn’t have company tonight,” I thought and bit my lip, chiding myself for comment.

My friend Taylor was moving to New York from Florida, and she wanted to stay with me while she was in the city looking for an apartment. I owed her more than a few favors for letting me room with her back in Florida before moving to New York. She was a good friend who I have missed since moving here. I was more than glad to see her, not to mention I would have another friend in the city.

Ding! I jumped off the stool and walked around the counter. My feet carried me down the hallway to the door automatically. My hand wrapped itself around the metallic knob, and in one motion flicked the lock open, twisted the doorknob clockwise, and swung the door open. And there she was just as I remembered her: her straightened shoulder-length brown hair—matching her eyes–swooped to the side, her face and ears pierced aplenty, and her curvy five-foot-ten figure was not so hidden in a pair of skinny jeans and a black Tee.

“Hey,” she spoke.

“Hey” I replied.

“You need a new bra, Alice,” she leaned forward, facing my breasts as if she was talking down to a child, “They’re still growing.”

I recoiled crossing my arms and guarding my front from her penetrating gaze. By the time I recovered, she had ninja’d though the door past me and was following her nose down the hall, dragging a suitcase in her wake. “What’s for dinner?” she called back.

“Chicken” I shouted back. I shut the door, and still flustered, I followed Taylor down the hall stopping at the kitchen.

By the time I entered the kitchen the stove was beeping, signaling that its contents of its belly were ready to be eaten. I donned a pair of oven mitts and approached the oven, like a surgeon prepping for a C-section. I removed the chicken, spinning around and placing it on the adjacent counter below the bar where Taylor now sat. After tearing off the mitts, I doubled-back, closed the oven, and turned it off.

Turning all the stove top burners off with a click, I began to transfer the multiple pots to the counter. After sorting all the dishes to fit on the counter, I fetched the last dish from the fridge, baked macaroni and cheese. Upon setting down the glass dish on the last bit of available counter, I held out my hands, “ta-da.”

Taylor stared at me utterly flabbergasted, “you cooked all this?”


“By yourself”

“Yep, I just followed the recipes,” I gestured to a number of note cards taped to the cabinets.

“And you didn’t set anything on fire?” She was still in complete disbelief, which was completely understandable given the last time I attempted to cook I almost burnt down her apartment.

“Nope,” I smiled with pride.

“Um, okay, um, is it—edible?”

“I guess we’ll find out” I chuckled nervously. I pulled a scrunchy off my wrist and pulled my hair back into a ponytail. Then I washed my hands in the sink and grabbed two plates from a cabinet. I caught Taylor getting off the stool to fix her own plate but stopped her, “nu uh, be my guest.”

Taylor hopped back unto the barstool and started singing her favorite song from Beauty and the Beast. I fixed her plate as she pointed to what she wanted while she sang. She stopped when I slid her full plate in front of her and asked what she wanted to drink.

“Beer?” she answered, unsure if I had any.

I pulled a bottle out of the fridge, “this okay?”

“Yeah,” she smiled; I had remembered the kind she liked when I bought it for her. I handed it to her and poured her a tall glass of water along with it. Then I fixed my own plate and sat beside her. We ate, filling the room with munching and moaning: yes, it was that good.

“Your right,” I sighed, “I didn’t cook this. It tasted amazing. I must be delusional.”

“Agreed, you’re crazy,” she said as I took our clean plates, “do crazy people have cable? Or is that a sane people thing?” She grabbed her beer and headed for the Japanese Katatsu–a Japanese low lying table that has a quilt sandwiched underneath the top–in front of the TV.

“No cable,” I replied, “Netflix’s on the Xbox though.”

I cleaned up and saved the leftovers in the fridge; meanwhile, much to my dismay, Taylor had discovered the new episodes of Doctor Who on Netflix.

“I don’t understand how you can watch this,” I placed another beer in front of her on the table and sprawled out half underneath the Katatsu’s quilt.

“I don’t understand how you can like anime,” she countered.

“Point taken,” I was too inoculated from the food to think of an intelligent answer in my defense, “Different people have different tastes.”

“I’ll drink to that,” She took a swig.

“You drink to anything.”

“Your point?” She took another swig.

“Don’t you have to go apartment hunting tomorrow?”

“Don’t remind me,” she finished off her second beer, “I might need another.”

“You could always stay here,” I said without thinking, “I have a spare room.” I sat back up.

“You’d be okay with that?”

“I don’t see why not,” I smiled, “just us two girls living together, no drugs or smoking though.”

Her face lit up, “You finally got everything sorted down there?”

“Yeah,” I said bashfully, “I had the surgery about two months ago—I’m serious ’bout the smoking and drugs thing, Taylor.”

Her face flashed back to normal, “Yeah, I know. I won’t be doing drugs anyways; they were very adamant on the drug testing in my job interview, and I don’t smoke.”

“You already got the job?”

“Yep,” she finished off her second beer, “starting in two weeks I’ll be a new secretary for the Anderson, Beckworth, and Holly and associates law firm and soon I’ll be a Mrs. Anderson, Beckworth, or Holly.”

“You’re still going through with that?” Taylor had developed this plan: she would get a job at some law firm as a secretary, use her charms to marry some rich lawyer and never work another day of her life.

“Yeah,” she laughed, “It’ll be a piece of cake—so does everything,” she motioned to my lower half, “—work down there.”

“Yeah, kinda,” I sighed, “The um-equipment is still kinda unresponsive.”

“Is that supposed to be that way?”

“Yeah, it’s different for everybody, I think.”

“Oh that’s good, I guess.” She got up and walked over the kitchen and trashed her two empty bottles. She returned and plopped herself back down. She put her fist out, extending her pinky finger.

Puzzled, I looked at her, and she said, “Pinky promise.”

“What for?”

“Best friends and roomies, and that I’ll marry a lawyer and you a doctor.”

“Why a doctor?”

“Because doctors and lawyers go together.”

“Since when?”

“Since ever, just do it.”

“Okay,” I laughed and wrapped my pinky around hers.

“Pinky promise.”

“Pinky promise,” we shook.

She let go and smiled, “good, now we have time tomorrow.”

“For what?”

“Shopping, and on that note our first stop is to get you new bras.” She broke into a lighthearted laugh her eyes stuck to my chest.

My lips scrunched to the side in protest, “well sorry.”

“Awww! God, you’re cute! It won’t be hard for you to find a nice guy.” She smiled, blushing: the alcohol showing on her face.

I highly doubt that. The one thing I’ve noticed about Taylor is that the minute the alcohol starts to influence her she has an instant case of puppy syndrome: anything and everything is cute.

She yawned, “Jet lag.”

“You can crash on my bed. Come on.” I got up and led her down the hall a little ways past the guest bathroom to the second door on the right, my room. She entered quickly behind me with her suitcase, and I went into the connected bathroom and grabbed a stealthy, travel-bag looking black bag. I caught my reflection the moment I flicked on the bathroom lights: my blue eyes shone like azure sapphires against my soft black hair witch draped down the sides of my face and over my breasts protruding from the low-cut v-neck I wore. I stood six feet tall, and my body not-so-proportional: my breasts now—according to Taylor—c-cups made the rest of me look like a stick.

By the time I retrieved the bag and reentered the bedroom, Taylor had stripped to her underwear: a pair of black lace panties with matching bra. Undressed her figure was gorgeous. Her bust was rivaled by her hips, and her slim stomach pierced at her navel. Her legs toned, and her entire body evenly tanned and freckled from the harsh Floridian sun.

“Like what you see?” She flaunted.

“Your gorgeous Taylor, I’m jealous,” My heart sunk.

“Don’t be so honest, kiddo.” She said softly.

“Well,” I stuck out my tongue, “I wouldn’t be a real best friend if I didn’t say what I really thought.”

“In that case, you’re not so bad yourself hot-stuff,” she winked at me sarcastically.

“Uhuh, sure,” I ran over to the mattress on the floor and stole one of the blankets and a pillow and then ran out of the room.

By the time I was situated in the living room, Taylor reappeared in an oversized t-shirt, “Do you have work tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll be back a little past twelve.”

“Okay, Good night,”

“Good night Taylor.”

She retired for the night, and I was alone again. I powered on the Xbox and played matchmaking on the newest C.O.D. After a few matches I decided that Taylor was most likely passed out, and I should head to bed soon.

I produced my smart phone from my pocket and pulled up the erotic novel I was reading. I laid back and started to read where I left off. It took only a few pages before my imagination took off and I was feeling flushed. I shed my shirt and jeans and scooted away from the Katatsu to stretch out on the floor. I grabbed the little black bag and unzipped it, producing a dilator and lube.

I lay back down and squeezed the dilator in between my legs, warming it up. I continued reading; the sexual tension built as the novel climaxed into a vivid sex scene. The cocktail of my horny imagination and the kiss of the cold A.C. made my nipples hard and gave me goosebumps.

My free hand fumbled with the hook on the front of my bra, but I managed to undo it and throw the bra to the side, freeing my breasts. I began to tweak my nipples, pulling, twisting, and squeezing them sending shivers of pleasure throughout my entire body. I bit my lip and tried to quiet the involuntary moans.

My body was squirming; I could no longer concentrate on the tiny print on my phone. I glanced at the time and grabbed the tube of lube. Squeezing a large glob of the clear stuff on my hands, I spread it on the lukewarm dilator.

Completely skipping to remove my last piece of clothing, I pulled the already wet fabric to the side and work the dilator in to the humid sex. Too fast! I grimaced and gritted my teeth as the sharp pain from stretching too quickly. The pain was quickly killing my mood as I tried to work the dilator in and out without hurting myself any further. I get it all the way in and pulled my panties over it, trapping it in. I felt full, completely stretched.

I begin to relax again. Closing my eyes, I replaced myself with the girl in the novel:

An average built blonde haired man stared back at me. We are connected at the groin. He begins to pump me, pulling out almost all the way and bottoming out at each stroke. I receipted the movement with my hips, shifting the dilator in and out. My right hand found my clit and started to strum it, sending jolts of tingling electricity up my spine and across my body.

The man flipped me on my stomach. He was pounding me into the ground with each stroke, my hand furiously rubbing my clit in response. My body was livid.

And then I hit the wall, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t climax. With a frustrated groan, I flipped myself back over, and I let myself continue for a while enjoying the sensations and slowly started to wind down. I felt warm from head to toe despite lying almost naked in a 55 degree air conditioned apartment. I checked the time. I spent more than enough time dilating. I removed the dilator: I felt empty.

I got up and walked to the kitchen and cleaned up and then disinfected and washed the dilator. I returned it and the lube to the black bag and threw my tee back on: I was cold again.

Straightening up the mess of the room I made, I threw my bra, jeans and black bag under the table. Then I flattened out the blanket I was laying on and grabbed the pillow that somehow made it to the opposite side of the room.

Back in the kitchen I mixed a glass of chocolate milk and took my bi-daily medication, dissolving it under my tongue. I watched my breasts jiggle unrestrained underneath my shirt. The little hard nipples poking through and grinding against the soft, thin fabric; I bit my lip and giggled at the feeling. I finished the glass and returned to dive underneath the blanket. After a quick glance at my phone to set the alarm and turn it off silent, I dozed off.


As always, we love feedback! Both praise and constructive criticism is most welcomed! Leave a comment or shoot us an email. And please vote!

Also, even though this is Chapter 2, this story is light on plot, heavy on fantasy. Even if you haven’t read Chapter 1 you will likely still be able to enjoy Chapter 2. But by all means read both!


Satyr81 and Juicy_Peach


Lucy and John lounged in the warm bath, letting the heat soak into their bodies pressed against one another. As Lucy turned to face John, her glossy tits slid across his hard chest easily as the bubbles had made her skin slick. Her free hand cupped the side of John’s handsome face, allowing her to draw his mouth to hers. Her other hand still stroked his magnificence, which was now immense in size.

John wrapped his arms tightly around her waist as she devoured his mouth. Taking her hand from his cheek, she pulled back to look at him with a devilish look in her eye. Then she leaned forward, bringing her mouth to his ear and whispered, “Baby, I need to feel you inside me. Please.”

She leaned back to look at him again, grinning.

“Aren’t you a little sore?” he asked her, smiling at her insatiable need.

She reached around behind her back and placed her hand over his. Slowly she guided it down to her wet, shiny ass.

“Not back here.”

John chuckled at her answer and gave her a smile. Though he was amused at her answer, his cock also swelled at her implication.

“My, my… Someone is feeling like a very dirty girl, isn’t she?”

Lucy’s only response was a shy smile, biting at her lower lip.

John’s hands squeezed her ass, spreading her cheeks which stretched her tight little hole. He loosened his grip, letting her ass relax, then he repeated the action. Over and over he toyed with her, teasing her asshole without even touching it. Gradually, his hands slid closer and closer until one finger on each hand was at the edge, playing with her, slipping around the rim.

Then one finger suddenly stopped, right over the center of her tight little asshole. No pressure, no movement, the tip just sat there. Lucy’s hips buck in reaction, but John was ready and as her ass pushed back, it pushed his arm with it, always keeping the finger just out of reach no matter how hard she pushed. Eventually she gave up, giving John a sexy little frown, but knowing he would give her what she needed soon enough.

Once her hips came to rest, squeezing John’s hard cock between them, he reached up and grabbed a bar of soap. Coating his hands, he began to work the suds into her back. Starting at her shoulders, he slid down her arms, then back up and massaged his way down her back. Reaching her ass, he kneaded them firmly in his soapy hands before washing the back of her thighs. When he finished washing as much of her as he could reach, he brought her hands back to her ass. The middle finger on his right hand slipped down between her cheeks pressing against the tight little hole. John’s other hand moved up and gripped her chin.

Thinking he was looking for a kiss, Lucy pushed towards him, but he pushed back, keeping her in place. He didn’t want to kiss her, he wanted to watch her. He wanted to see her face when…

And then it happened, her eyes widened and rolled up slightly, her mouth opened in a silent moan. His finger had finally entered her ass. He moved it around in gentle circles, stretching out her hole, creating the look of uncontrollable bliss on her face as he watched her intently.

Eventually, he stopped toying with her and brought her face closer for a quick kiss.

“I think its about time for my cock, don’t you?” he asked, a finger still in her ass, her face grasped in his hand keeping her face locked on his.

Lucy’s eyes lit up, making her eager nod unnecessary. John’s hands moved through the water, running over her slick skin till they were both on her hips. Then he turned her back around, so her slick back was on his chest. She pushed up out of the water with her legs, and reached down finding John’s throbbing cock. Her slippery hand stroked it lovingly as she guided him to her heavenly back door. The swollen head pressed against her, and for a moment the world seemed to stand still. Then the tip slipped in followed by the rest of the head.

His hands supported her back as she gradually worked inch after inch of cock into her tight ass.

God, it always grips me so tight, John thought to himself. If I hadn’t already cum twice this morning, I would have already lost it.

Eventually Lucy’s ass came to rest on his lap under the water, and for a moment they just lay together, enjoying the sensations from being connected.

Then John reached for the soap again, and repeated his movements from earlier, but on her front. This time though, there was nearly no friction due to the thick layer of soap on her back. So as his hands massaged up and down her chest, belly, and breasts, Lucy’s body moved up and down with John’s hands, causing his cock to slide in and out of her ass as he washed her.


The feeling of John’s hands as they glided over her wet skin, the clean smell of the soap, his cock gently stretching her under the water; it was all just so divine. Whereas the sex they had earlier was passionate and frenzied, there was a delicious languidness this time. A dirty act, but so clean and sensual. It was heaven.

The smoothness of his dick felt so incredible in her tight hole. John’s hands worked in circular motions on Lucy’s chest. Each time they passed over her breasts, she exhaled loudly. She placed one hand over his and guided it between her legs. Her other hand reached up to her soapy breast, giving it a hard squeeze.

She pressed his hand firmly against her so John was palming her clit, now quite swollen again. He took the lead and slid it back and forth, his fingers opening slightly. The soap provided an amazing lubricant.

Her head fell forward, her long hair creating a curtain. Lucy moaned quietly, a shiver running through her body. Her breathing a slow pant. Peeking through her curtain of hair, she looked at John in the mirror again. He was watching her intently. Mesmerized by the pleasure he was giving her.

Emotion poured over her in a wave. The pleasure he was giving her was so unbelievable, it almost felt undeserved. The desire to worship him overcame her and Lucy realized she was completely his. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to give him the same euphoria he was giving her.


The sensations were incredible, almost too much. The warm soapy water covering him, the smells of bath oils and soap in the air, the sight and feel of Lucy’s perfect body, and the slippery sensation of his fingers sliding through her lips. But above all, the tight, warm feeling of her glorious ass wrapped around his cock. Every time John’s cock pulsed and twitched it stretched her, but to him it felt like she was tightening around him.

John watched her pleasure grow in the mirror, which in turn caused the muscles in his groin to clench, making his cock swell further inside her. The sudden change in her face was all he needed to know she could feel his reaction.

His fingers continued to stroke, explore and toy with every fold of her slit, while his free hand slid up to her throat. Gently taking her throat in his hand, John pulled her back so that she was laying on him. His arm pressed and squeezed one breast while her own hand squeezed the other.

Once their heads were side by side, John pushed up into her ass, slowly but deeply. The gentle rhythm of his hips causing waves of bath water to wash over Lucy’s chest. Meanwhile, his fingers became more frantic, needy. John could hear her moans and see her face across the room in the mirror. Just as she was getting close John’s hands and hips stopped. He lovingly rubbed his cheek against hers, before he kissed her neck.

When her breathing calmed down, his thrusts and probing began again. This time, when she neared her peak, he slowed again and her hand that was guiding his in her sex reached up and ran through his short hair, her fingers grasped his head and pulled it down slightly so her mouth could reach up and bite his chin. Not too hard, just firmly getting his attention.

Knowing what she wanted, John leaned down and took her mouth to his, their tongues meeting. As they kissed, John began his thrusts again. His swelling cock getting closer to cumming, pushing slowly but blissfully into her tightest hole. His fingers stroked, pulled and pinched Lucy’s delicate lips and clit sending pulses of pleasure through her body, causing her ass to clench, sending pulses of pleasure through his body. He broke their kiss as their motions halted, once more letting their bodies and minds back away from that edge.

As their hearts and lungs slowed, he moved his lips to her ear while most of his cock left her. Speaking in a harsh, commanding whisper he told her, “Lucy, there’s something I want you to do for me.”

“Anything,” came her weak, raspy, but eager reply.

“You must not cum,” John began, before being cut off by Lucy’s whimper.

“You must not cum,” he begin again, “Until you feel me filling your ass with my load. Can you do this? When you feel my cum filling your ass, then you may cum.”

Lucy nodded her head, and whimpered her agreement through clenched teeth. At that, John’s cock forced its way back into her ass.


Lucy’s teeth clenched at the delicious, cruel torture he had put upon her. She bit her bottom lip hard as he pushed into her tight hole mercilessly.

John loosened the hold on her neck, moving his hands to her hips. She leaned forward with a whimper, breaking their contact, John’s cock slipping out of her, and pulling the top of her ass up to the edge of the water.


John spanked the top of her ass hard, making Lucy very aware of his displeasure. The force of the water slowed the impact, but the growl he released made it clear to her that she wasn’t in charge.

Lucy turned to face the mirrored wall, grasping the far edge of the glossy tub. The sleek coolness felt good in her hands as she knelt forward in the tub. Her back arched, lifting her wet cheeks out of the water. They were glowing bright pink from the heat of the bath. She lowered her chin to her hands, raising her ass even higher. Her body trembled in anticipation of what was to come.

Through lowered eyes, she watched John’s reaction in the mirror. His face was a complicated mix of satisfaction and restraint. Once again, he raised his hand to her bum.


This time the sound was quite clear, as was the sting. Her body smarted slightly and a small moan left her.

Grabbing hold of his throbbing fuck stick in his fist, John spanked her pink hole repeatedly.

“Does my fuck toy like it when I do that? Huh? You like when I spank that asshole with my dick?” he asked.

She nodded her head yes, still biting her lower lip.

“Tell me, my little cum slut,” he ordered her, his voice hoarse but commanding, “Tell me how much you like it. How much you love it.”

Her throat was so dry, her voice was barely an audible whisper. “Your little fuck toy loves it when you spank her with that fat cock.”


His hand came down on her again, harder than before. A bright hand mark now displayed on her right cheek.

As John leaned forward on her back, his dick pressed into her, causing her to whimper. He gave her shoulder a tender kiss as he wrapped his arms around her small waist.

“Good girl.”


His arms slid up her chest from her waist, his own chest still pushed against Lucy’s slick back. His hands sought out her breasts; gripping them both, he used them to pull her back, forcing his cock to push harder against her tight hole. It began to stretch around the tip, accepting his intrusion.

He watched her face in the mirror as he slowly penetrated her. As her eyes began to close, he stopped, and withdrew. John’s hands slid back to her hips, bracing him as he stood. The water cascaded down off his lower body, some falling on her back in fat droplets, the rest mixing with the ripples created by his exit. Reaching down, he gripped her hair and pulled her around so that his hard fat cock hung above her, seeking attention. Lucy sat up, her hands running up his wet, powerful thighs to his pelvis, her mouth open as she rose up. One of his hands slid to the top of her head, bracing against her, preventing her from rising any further. Slowly he eased up, letting her get closer and closer until his cock was just out of reach of her tongue. He could feel her heavy breathing across the tight, sensitive skin. Lucy’s normally warm breath was cool compared to the heat from the bath and the hot blood filling John’s swollen member.

His other hand found one of hers and dragged it across his skin until it reached his smooth cock. Her hand wrapped around him without instruction, slowly stroking the base. Her other hand moved around to the front, wrapping her thumb and finger around his dick, just below the head. Lucy began stroking with her other hand as well, the ring of her fingers sliding across the ridge of his head, tightening as she passed over the large purple tip.

John moaned loudly at the sensations caused by her hands and breath. Lucy smiled at the reaction she drew out of him before speaking.

“See, I can be a good fuck toy. Is this what you want? Do you want to cover your cum slut’s face with your load?” Lucy’s desire to please him was evident from the eager tone in her voice.

“Yes,” he hissed. Then a low growl emanated from deep inside him. “But not now,” he said; his voice was primal, as he struggled to maintain control over himself.

John’s free hand pushed Lucy’s hand off his cock, and his hand in her hair slipped back, gripping her wet brown locks. He gently pulled up, so that she knew what he wanted, and as she rose, he continued to pull till she was on her feet. He held Lucy still for a moment, still gripping her hair, he looked her up and down. Her perfect body flushed from the heat of the bath and their passion, the water glistening on her skin. Droplets ran down her chest as her breasts rose and fell with her breathing, the water beading on her nipples. She was so gorgeous it seemed almost impossible that she could be real.

Savagely, John pushed her against the tiled wall beside the tub, stepping behind her. The tile was cold on her cheek, chest, and nipples. Lucy pushed her ass back towards him and spread her legs, instinctively knowing what John wanted. He loved that ass, so perfect. One cheek was still pink from the water, the other cheek was red from his hand.

“Does my fuck toy want me to use her ass?” he asked, a hint of a growl in his hushed voice.

“Yes,” she whimpered back.


His hand connected with her pink cheek, making it a crimson copy of the other.

“Yes! Fuck my ass!” she cried out.

“Much better,” John replied. Stepping close, he lined himself up and began to slowly push inside her. His hand pulled back on her hair, his other hand holding her hip as he pushed, bit by bit, into Lucy’s tight ass. When he felt the soft curves of her ass brush against his skin, he stopped, taking a moment to enjoy the feeling of her ass squeezing his throbbing member. His left hand slid up her side from her hip, gliding across her soft, wet skin. His fingertips traced the side of her breast before moving up her arm till his hand covered her own, holding it against the wall. John’s right leg lifted up out of the water, the inside of his thigh pressed against the outside of hers, and his foot found leverage on the side of the tub.

John pushed up into Lucy, using his hips and leg; at the same time he pulled her head back with her hair. He moved close to her, his chest on her back, his chin on her shoulder so he could hear every breath, whimper and moan that escaped her lips. Once John was completely inside her, he stopped again, enjoying the way her ass felt pressed against him at the base of his cock, how tight she felt wrapped around him. He enjoyed the sound of her breathing and the look on her face, knowing how full she must have felt. Then his hips began to buck, slowly at first, fucking her ass. The thrusts gradually increased in tempo and force, her moans becoming cries as the pleasure built inside her.

“Remember what I said,” John said, a reminder, not a question.

“Yes,” she gasped anyways, “yes, yes.”

“Good, play with your clit, I’m getting close.”

John could feel her free hand reach down as it began to toy with her wet pussy, the juices mixing with the water from the bath on her skin and running down to her ass, helping to lubricate their fucking. At one point John stopped, thrusting deep inside her and held still, his muscles tight from the strain. Her fingers slipped down further, her palm dragged across the lips of her pussy as her fingertips swirled around his balls. With a moan he began fucking her again, his cock so hard, ravaging her tight little asshole.

The pleasure became too much and he cried out, “Oh fuck, Lucy, I’m cumming!”

“Yes, yes, John, cum in my ass!” she begged.

He began to growl, Lucy could feel the vibrations from his chest on her back. As his dick swelled further and then erupted inside her, her own orgasm ripped through her body. As Lucy screamed in pleasure, John bit down on her shoulder; not too hard, just gripping her, claiming her with his teeth as his hot load coated the inside of her ass.


As Lucy felt John’s cock spasm in post orgasm bliss, she wrapped her free arm around him. She wanted to hold him inside for a bit longer. The feeling of their sexes pulsing and twitching was so sensual and powerful, prolonging their self-induced high.

As their breathing slowed, Lucy could feel his lips pepper her wet shoulder with kisses. She moaned at John’s sweetness, mentally giggling that he was ravaging her ass only a moment before.

They slowly straightened up and she turned to face him, giving him a sweet tongue kiss as her nails worked lightly up his strong back. Their once wet kisses felt soft but dry.

Parched! The thought comes to her mind, realizing she’s dying of thirst all of the sudden.

“Shall we rinse off and then replenish our energy?” she asked.

“That is a great idea. Yes, definitely.”

Once they had rinsed, Lucy moisturized and dried her hair a bit. John ran downstairs, returning a few moments later with provisions. She joined him in the bedroom, finding him relaxed on the bed with his arms behind his head.

“Hey, we’re wearing matching outfits!” she exclaimed, laughing. “Very large grins!”

John giggled and smiled at her, his eyes lingered as they made contact with hers. She climbed onto the bed next to him. Her arm brushed against his torso, giving her a shiver.

‘Mmmmm, you smell good! What is that?” he ask her.

“Vanilla Body Butter. It’s yummy isn’t it?” she replied.

John nodded his head as he handed her a glass of ice water. Lucy took a few sips before setting the glass down, sitting at the edge of the bed.

Noticing he brought up more fruit, Lucy grabbed a few grapes. As they popped in her mouth, she giggled at how ridiculously sensual it felt. Every nerve in her sexual being was still turned on high. Her mind shifted and she started having a thought. Lucy lowered her eyes for a moment and then turned to gaze at John.

Looking at his handsome face, she took in his gorgeous features. Her eyes traveled down his sexy chest, lingering on that patch of soft fur she loved to run her fingers over. Her gaze continued further down his stomach. She noticed how tight and defined his abs were becoming. All those hard workouts at the gym had paid off beautifully.

She wrapped her arms around him, her head on his chest. The smell of her clean skin intoxicating to her. One of John’s arms wrapped around her as she closed her eyes. Within moments, they both fell asleep.

Lucy was not sure how much time had passed when she woke up. The light in the room had softened, making her think was late afternoon now. They were still in the same position they were in when they fell asleep. With her head still on his chest, John’s deep even breathing told her he was having a lovely sleep. She allowed her glance to travel down his body once more.

That thought she had before their nap emerging once again.

Lucy’s left hand stroked his torso slowly, softly but not too soft. She pushed her face into the slight fur patch on his chest, inhaling deeply before giving it a sweet kiss. “Mmmmm…” she sighed.

His smell was a blend of clean and cookie.

Huh? Cookie? she wondered.

She giggled quietly as she realized her body lotion had married into his skin as they slept.

Carefully, Lucy slid her right arm out from underneath him. John adjusted to her movement without wakening. One of his hands moved down to give his manhood a gentle scratch before resting on his chest.

She moved onto her knees next to him in bed. Noticing that he was still wearing a smile on his face in his sleep, she paused for a moment. The scenes of their day played in her head like a film and she felt a large smile form on her face also. Grabbing her glass from the nightstand, she took a few sips of water. The cubes were now melted, but the water was still cool in her mouth.

Lucy leaned down and kissed John’s strong chest again, her hair falling around her. Both her hands were moving smoothly on his body, feeling every soft contour. John’s eyes fluttered opened briefly and he allowed himself a good stretch. A satisfied groan moved through him but he still remained asleep.

As he settled, Lucy slid down on the bed. Her hand moved just below his tummy. They slept without the sheets this time so there was nothing to obscure her view. His member was completely soft and yet still so inviting. Her only thought was how badly she wanted to taste him again.

She moved her long hair to one side as she positioned herself on her elbows above him. Using the strength of her lips and tongue Lucy drew him into her mouth. Gently but hungrily, she slid her wet mouth around John’s cock. She noticed how easily it fit in her mouth being soft still. However, he began to harden before that thought was finished.

There was something so incredibly sexy about feeling him grow in her mouth. She moaned against him despite herself and felt him stir above her. John’s head lifted to look down at her.

“What’s going on there?” he asked her with a wicked, albeit sleepy, grin. “Have I told you how insatiable you are?”

Keeping him in her mouth, she smiled, nodding her head yes.

“Have I told you how much I love it?” he inquired, a hint of humor on his voice.

Again, Lucy smiled around his cock and nodded. Continuing with her fun, she swirled her tongue over the silky head and lapped at the tip a bit before taking him completely in her mouth. She moaned against him once more. John moaned back in response to the vibrations of her mouth as his hand gently moved to her hair.

Shifting her weight, she took one hand to his balls, giving them a gentle massage. Her mouth moved down to give them a kiss before lifting them up slightly. Lucy spread John’s knees wide apart for more access. Wanting to find that sensitive spot, her lips traveled the area between his thighs. The movements of his body told her where to go as she sucked, licked and tongued her way around. He smelled so clean and tasted so delicious.

Somewhere she could hear him moaning in the background, but all she could focus on was his body and how much she loved sucking him. Her tongue slid between his balls, catching each one in her mouth, savouring the feeling. She nibbled up his shaft, using her teeth and lips. John’s hips started to lift off the bed slightly.

“Lucy, slide around so I can taste you, too. I want you,” he commanded gently.

Grudgingly, she pulled her mouth off of him. “No, no, I want this to be all about you,” she replied with a giggle.

“I love that but, come on, just slide up here. You know I love tasting that beautiful pussy of yours,” John retorted.

She took him in her hand, stroking him easily, his cock wet from her mouth.

“John, baby, just lay back and relax. Let me worship you a bit. It’s something I want to do for you. It’s what I need to do for me.” A wicked grin spread across her face as his head relaxed back on the pillow.

“If you must,” he laughed.

This time she dove in. John’s hardening member not quite at full mast but getting there. Her hands rested on his thighs as her soft, pink lips worked to bring him deeper. Then she pulled back so just his tip was in her mouth. Lucy gave it a nibble, sliding her tongue between the slit and tasting that heavenly precum. She repeated this a few times and felt him start to writhe underneath her, a constant stream of gasps and moans escaping his lips.

Sliding him in deep, she felt him hit the back of her throat. John’s breath caught mid moan and his other hand grabbed her hair. Her mouth grasping, sucking him hard. The more divine sounds he made and the more his hips bucked, the hungrier Lucy became.


John’s fingers slipped into her hair, gripping Lucy’s head as her efforts intensified. Leaning up, he watched her head bobbing up and down over his cock, her hair obscuring her face. Using one hand, he brushed her hair aside and held it clear, and then moaned at the sight. Lucy’s piercing brown eyes stared straight into his before the hair was even clear from her face. He took in the sight of those soft sensuous lips wrapped tightly around his thick cock, and the soft lewd sounds of her worship reached his ears.

His shaft thickened, hardening at the sight of her face and the sensations her mouth and tongue were creating on his sensitive dick. The head growing bigger and more tender as her tongue slid sinuously around it.

Lucy’s head slid up, till only the head was in her mouth. She held it still, though her tongue continued to lap at the tip inside her mouth. Her right hand slipped around the base and began stroking over the slick skin.

“Oh fuck, Lucy…” John moaned, and in reply she moaned on his cock, causing it to twitch in her mouth.

Soon it was all too much and John gripped her hair and pulled her mouth off, though her hand never stopped stroking.

“I need to taste you,” he commanded.

She pouted a little with fake annoyance, a pout which vanished behind a sinful grin as an idea occurred to her.

“Very well, if you absolutely must have a taste, who am I to deny it,” Lucy said, her sultry and exotic voice edged with a teasing tone.

Slowly, she began to crawl over him, dragging the soft skin of the underside of his cock across her body. It slid down her chest, between the soft valley of her breasts, the lotion making her skin impossibly soft. The gentle curves of Lucy’s breasts connected with and caressed the sides of his hard shaft as it slid past. Her eyes remained locked on his, the devilish grin never leaving her face as a confused but excited expression covered John’s own face.

As her face reached his, she lowered it, their lips parted and touching, but not kissing, their eyes still locked. Lucy’s hair fell all around them; there was nothing else in the world but each other.

“You need to taste me?” she asked again, her tongue darted into his mouth to tease the tip of his tongue. John moaned and nodded, the tips of their lips still touching. At his agreement, Lucy’s hips rose, and her hand slid down between them. She guided the head of his cock to her wet lips, slowly working it into her. As she penetrated herself with his cock, her eyes closed and neck arched, breaking the contact of their sensitive lips.

Putting her other hand on the center of his chest, covering the tuft of hair, she pushed herself upright and slid down onto him with a moan. For a moment she held still, back arched, chest thrust forward, hair cascading down behind her. Then her hips began to rock and she looked back down at John. His chest tightened, giving her a place to push with her arm as his hands reached for her ass. Not gripping or even holding them, he let Lucy move as she wished, simply wanting to feel their perfect curves sliding over his hands as she fucked him.

And then just as quickly as it started, it was over; Lucy rose up, a wet sound filling the air as John slipped from inside her and she quickly made her way back down. Starting at his balls, her tongue licked up the vein on the underside of his dick, collecting her juices. Reaching the top, it swirled around the head, collecting more before running down one side. Then back across his balls her tongue glided, then up the tender spot where John’s legs and cock met. Around and around her tongue moved, driving him wild with pleasure as she collected every drop she could find.

Satisfied that he was clean, she climbed back up to him, this time their lips pressed against each other roughly, as she fed him her juices off her tongue. Then she drew back and looked him in the eyes.

“There, you’ve had your taste. Now, shut up and let me finish,” she whispered, her incredible, exotic voice mixing with her desire.

Giggling, she moved back down to John’s cock to finish what she started.


Somewhat deterred by the joyous interruption, she got back to devouring him. Lucy playfully lapped his tip with the end of her tongue. Soft butterfly licks that tickled and titillated the swollen flesh. She continued this for a few moments, teasing him with her hot breath. John started moving his hips in search of her mouth, needing her to stop the tortuous teasing and swallow him already.

Her tongue swirled around the head, over and over as she placed her hands behind her back. She watched the look of pleasure and pain on his face. A look that told her John was enjoying her tongue but desperately wanted to fill her mouth.

She giggled quietly, thinking about how he brought this upon himself. And then she had another idea. Pulling herself up, she straddled him. John’s now throbbing dick nestled against her cunt. He smiled, thinking he knew what was going to happen.

Oh, you have no idea sweetheart, she thought, her heart racing as she imagined her naughty plan unfolding.

She reached to the nightstand and felt around for a moment. Finding what she was looking for, she withdrew a pair of fuzzy cuffs. His gaze followed her hand as she grabbed his wrist and cuffed it to the bed, followed by the other.

With a mischievous grin, she went back to what she was gleefully doing before being so rudely interrupted.

This time, she nibbled and kissed the entire shaft. Her wet mouth moving slowly across his cock and balls, down his sensitive area. John’s moans reaching a pitch that warned her he was close. As she licked slowly up the vein on his shaft, his hips lifted completely off the bed. His needs were clear, and in one swift motion, Lucy slid her mouth down on him.

John’s cock disappeared completely in her mouth. His eyes opened wide at the sensation and her name screamed from his lips. Lucy sucked hard with him deep inside, not moving her head, just using her mouth. He was so close; a string of ‘fuck’s leaving his mouth. She could feel him try moving in and out of her mouth, but to no avail. She came up for air, taking her mouth completely off of him.

Immediately, she firmly placed her thumb and finger around the base of his pulsing member. John lifted his head in protest, giving Lucy a ‘what the fuck are you doing’ look. With a grin that could, in all honesty, be described as evil she looked him in the eye. He looked back at her in shock and disbelief.

“This is what you get for interrupting that amazing blow job I was giving you.” And she started giggling.

“It was all about wanting to taste me, yes? Ok, baby, you get your wish.” As she said this, she released her grip on him and climbed up his body. As she moved up his glistening torso, she straddled him once more. This time, her knees were on each side of his handsome face, her drenched pussy just out of reach of his mouth.

Lucy grabbed his hair with one hand and lowered herself onto his mouth. John’s tongue was outstretched as it connected with her clit. She held his head still and let her hips guide her pussy over his mouth, grinding forward then pulling back slightly in a circular motion. John allowed her swollen clit to grind against his teeth, causing a shiver to rip through her body. Lucy looked down at him and gripped his brown hair harder, rocking her hips faster.

Even tied up John had a sexual power over her she found hard to process. That feeling he had given her so many times today was swelling back up inside her. She moved up slightly, guiding his strong tongue into her pink hole. He delved into her wetness and sucked hard at her. She felt her orgasm building fast.

“Oh god…” she moaned, “John, don’t stop. Please! Oh fuck! Please don’t stop! Just like that…..that’s it!!”

A yell rose up and out of her that would surely grab the neighbors’ attentions. Her hips pushed her harder onto his mouth as he drank her cum. Lucy’s body shivered, making her movements jerky and uncontrollable. Panting, she flipped her hair back off her face and climbed off of him.

Leaning down, she licked at John’s lips with a smile. Tasting her own juice on him had an aphrodisiac quality she couldn’t resist.

“Good boy!”

John bit his lip, rolling his eyes at her as she giggled.

She kissed him deeply, keeping her eyes open. The look on John’s face was saturated with lust. She gazed at his cock once again.

Wow! So hard and quite a beautiful color.

Lucy stroked it softly with one hand while she looked at him. His head lifted off the pillow involuntarily as he groaned.

“Better take care of that,” she whispered.

“Fuck yes! Please Lucy.”

She climbed on top of him, this time facing away. Lucy leaned forward between his knees as her hand reached back to guide him inside. John watched as his engorged dick invaded her pussy lips, slipping in with ease. A delicious wet sound filled the room as he filled her. She moved slowly, giving him a clear view of him stretching her as he moved in and out. Her hand reached under her to cup his swollen balls.

So tight and in need of relief…


John’s arms pulled tightly against the cuffs holding him in place, the muscles in his arms straining, the fuzzy fabric rubbing his wrists. His resistance was, of course, futile. But at this point he was not really thinking. His entire world was focused on watching Lucy’s gorgeous ass rise and fall, her hips rocking as she rode him, her pussy stroking his throbbing erection as her fingers toyed with his swollen balls.

“FUCK!” he cried out, yanking on the cuffs, his voice deep with need and lust.

Unable to hold back, but unable move his upper body he began to push up into her with his hips. His cock moved easily through her wet folds despite how tightly her pussy was clamped around his hardness. Feeling him thrust up into her, Lucy’s hips halted their sensual dance, and she placed her arm in front of her, bracing herself so John could fuck her from beneath. As he saw her hold still, his thrusts became harder, the pace increasing. The scent of her pussy juice and lotion coating his face drove him on, making him push himself harder and harder.

Fuck! Every nerve in my body needs you, Lucy. The feeling was so strong John wasn’t sure if he said it aloud or merely thought it.

John stopped thrusting, and blinked his eyes, trying to regain focus of the world around him. The only sound in the room was his own deep panting. He saw Lucy’s beautiful face looking back at him, questioning him with her eyes. His own face was a mask of longing and exertion. But before she could speak, he bent his legs, putting his feet flat on the bed. With a sudden push, he used his legs to push back up into her.

It felt so good his eyes closed against his will, but at the same time it was not enough. He pushed up, straining his back and thighs to fuck her as hard as he could. Harder and harder he pushed himself, pounding into her, desperate to cum inside her.

“Fuck,” he cried out, “fuck, fuck, fuck!”

John knew anyone outside could hear him, but he was too far gone to care. His hands gripped the chains attached to his wrists, the metal cold against his hot hands, and with each curse his arms yanked on the restraints as his cock invaded her. The room was filled with the sounds of their fucking, John’s growls, curses and gasps mixed with Lucy’s cries and moans. The slick wet sound of his dick in her cunt was punctuated by the sound of their skin slapping together.

“Oh fuck, it’s too much,” he growled, the pleasure exquisitely painful. After a day of fucking, his body was overwhelmed, his need to cum again filling him but unable to find the edge. He heard one long cry come from Lucy, and was briefly aware that she had collapsed, her body pressed against the bed, her ass held in the air by her knees. A part of him realized that she might be cumming again, but the thought hardly registered, all John cared about at that moment was himself, his need. The need was so strong he had trouble remembering to breathe.

And then suddenly, without warning, he reached the edge and was thrown over. One more deep thrust up into Lucy, and he came, ropes of hot liquid filling her. His hips dropped to the bed and he felt her reach back for his shaft. With the swollen head still nestled in her pussy, Lucy’s hand stroked his wet shaft, drawing out more and more cum.

“Oh fuck Lucy, stop! Stop, baby, it’s too much!” John didn’t know if she was too lost in her own haze of lust or just didn’t care, but for a moment her hand continued to work over his slick smooth skin while her pussy clamped around the swollen head of his member.

“Shit, oh fuck, stop Lucy, fuck baby. So good, oh fuck Lucy…” He growled her name as he felt as if he was thrown over the edge again, a shudder running through his entire body. This time his words seemed to reach her. Still gripping his cock firmly, she lifted herself off of him. Another rope of cum shooting out, coating her pussy lips as she moved off of him. Holding his dick tightly, Lucy slowly lifted her tight fist up the soaked shaft, sending another shudder through his body as she squeezed one last stream of cum out of the tip of his cock, the white fluid running down the head and over her hand.


Lucy softened her grip on him slightly, slowing down the rhythm. Shaky in her own movements, her focus was caught up in the incredible energy coming off of John. Whereas she focused on his moans and breathing as indicators usually, there was an intense vitality that exploded from him this time. An even higher level of communication than they had experienced with one another previously. Gently, she released him from her grip and lifted her hand to her mouth. She began sucking at her fingers, savoring his tastiness.

Turning around, she grabbed the key with her free hand and unlocked the cuffs. Sweet relief filled John’s face.

His breathing had calmed but he remained motionless with his eyes closed. Lucy brought her mouth to his sex and started cleaning every drop of their love. Her tongue lapped at him softly and his body shuddered slightly. With each lick, she let out a tiny moan as her hands massaged the sides of his slack torso. It was over stimulating for a moment, but then John’s mind relaxed and he melted into the sensation of it.


Lucy’s mouth continued its ministrations, sending ripples of pleasure through his relaxed body. His hands, finally free, reached down and lovingly stroked her hair and cheek. Eventually, he drew her head away from his softening cock, and guided her up his body. Occasionally she stopped to place a kiss from her soft, rosy lips on his torso. When her head reached his chest, he stopped her. She laid her head on John’s chest, her soft body pressed against his. With one hand, he continued to run his fingers through her long brown hair. His other hand lightly explored the curves of her side, back, hips and ass. Gently running across her smooth skin.

For a time they simply laid together, a breeze blowing in from the open window, toying with their naked skin. The smell of her: her lotion, her shampoo, the smell of sex and sweat creating an aroma that John found completely intoxicating. The mixture caused conflicting feelings of relaxation and arousal that he never wanted to end. Finally he broke the silence, and they began to chat. Nothing particular, just discussing their weeks past and plans for the next. Idle chatter to fill the room now that it was no longer filled by the throes of their lovemaking.

But the real conversation was not an audible one, but a tactile one. Their fingers explored one another, kneading, pressing, stroking and caressing. Though their strength may have waned, their touches said that their passion for one another was far from sated.

Looking at the clock John was surprised by how much time had passed. Taking Lucy in his arms, he rolled them over,pushing himself up on one arm as his head leaned down for a kiss. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered as their lips parted. Moving off the bed, he headed downstairs, returning with food, two glasses and a bottle of red wine.


“Yummy!!! When did you order pizza??”

There was no hiding Lucy’s surprise, or glee. Vegan be damned, she was starving. They toasted to an amazing day, their faces plastered with silly smiles. They looked intently into each others eyes as they each took a sip of the wine. It was juicy, a nice full body that suited their heightened senses well.

They replenished their energy easily. What would normally seem like a heavy meal was ideally fulfilling after their aerobic, albeit erotic, activities. And the intimacy of eating in the nude was a truly delectable dessert.

Dinner consumed, they snuggled into each other, each holding their glasses. Their chat continued, though Lucy found herself tenderly kissing the curve of John’s neck during lapses of conversation.

An exuberant day had led them to a sweet evening spent connecting in a way that brought them together to start. Their commonalities and ability to make each other giggle was just as valuable as their amazing orgasms. She smiled quietly at the thought, relishing the moment…


John sighed with contentment as he drained the last drops of wine from his glass, feeling her lips on his neck at the same time. Placing the glass down, he slipped an arm around her back and attacked her neck with playful kisses and bites. Laughing, Lucy dropped back onto the bed, pulling him down on top of her. His free hand roamed her body, sliding up her supple thigh and hip, and up the side of her lean torso so that his palm brushed the side of her breast.

As he explored the curves of Lucy’s body, his kisses changed from playful to sensual. Her own hands began to roam his body as she moaned receptively to his advances. His lips worked their way up her neck to her cheek before finding her own lips. As their lips met, they parted, their tongues expectant and eager. The flavor of the rich wine was still heavy in their mouths, tasting it on one another as their tongues probed and teased one another. Pulling back, John gripped her lower lip in his teeth, giving it a slight tug as he looked her in the eyes. The lust and desire was obvious in both of them, and punctuated by the growing hardness between John’s legs pressing against Lucy’s soft thigh.

Placing his weight on his arm under Lucy’s back, his free hand cupped her face as John moved back in for another kiss. At the same time, her legs spread, welcoming him back to her full embrace. Without breaking their kiss, John moved his hand off of her face and onto the bed, moving his weight so he could slip his other arm out from under her. While he brought that hand up her smooth skin, his swelling head pressed gently against her smooth sex. Her lips parted slightly, and the tip of his cock pressed on her clit.

Feeling the little bud rub against him, his hand gripped her breast, kneading it gently as their kiss intensified. Taking her perfect nipple between his fingers, he pinched and pulled them gently. John could feel tiny goosebumps rise on her skin in response; but the response that really drew his attention was the fluid he felt spreading across the underside of his shaft as he rocked his hips, drawing himself up and down over her.

Pushing back on his arm, his body slid lower, their lips separating, but not for long. John dropped his hips slightly, and pulled himself back up, the head of his cock sliding back into her as their lips met once again. A joint moan left them both at that blissful sensation of penetration. Lucy’s legs wrapped around him, locking behind his ass, trying to draw him deeper as they continued their broken kiss. With each thrust he pushed a little deeper, more of her warm, wet pussy surrounding him.

Pulling back, Lucy smiled up at him, “Don’t you ever get tired?”

“I could never get tired of fucking you,” he replied. “Why?” he asked, punctuating his question by pushing himself all the way inside of her and holding himself there. “Do you want me to stop?”


“Stop? Ummm, maybe. Hang on. What time is it? I don’t want to miss Conan,” Lucy replied as she struggled to keep a straight face while trying to look at the clock on the nightstand.

“Oh!! Is that right?” John asked, pretending to try to pull out.

Her legs remained locked around his waist as she continued to giggle. Lucy brought her hand up to caress his cheek as she looked him in the eyes.

“Never want you to stop, or tire,” she whispered. “Especially with regard to me!!” She smiled at him, giving a tiny chuckle.

John leaned in for what started as a sweet wet kiss, but quickly built with their desire. Her other hand found his hair and she nibbled at his neck. Lucy gave him a soft bite at the curve where his neck and shoulder meet.

At the same time, her insides were full with his smoothness. Her hips moved to meet each of his gentle thrusts. The wetness of her sex enveloped him tightly and those gorgeous wet sounds filled the open room once more. Her tongue found John’s mouth and slid in slowly, searching for its favourite playmate. They kissed so deeply, so sensually, she could feel her toes curl.

Lucy found herself sighing with happiness and contentment rather than moaning, yet. The joy of their sex play satiating her in the best way. Looking up at his handsomeness, feeling his pink cock stretching her again, the closeness… the whole day could only be described as perfect.


John’s rocking hips slowed slightly as he focused on her playful tongue, moaning slightly and grinning widely. He lowered himself onto her, his weight pressed against her as his arms slipped beneath her. He held Lucy tight, and began to increase the force of his thrusts. His hands slid up beneath her and gripped her shoulders. He pulled on her as his legs pushed him up, the force driving him deep inside her. His pace remained slow, despite the deep thrusts; their lips remained locked, the sounds of their passionate kisses blending with the wet sounds caused by his powerful thrusts.

Lucy’s skin was so incredibly soft on his, but the friction from their movements inflamed him further; her hard nipples dragged across John’s chest as their bodies rocked together as one. He broke their kiss, drawing in a deep breath. His mouth moved down to her neck, “Oh fuck, Lucy,” he whispered. His hips rocked faster as his pleasure mounted; his breathing becoming shallow gasps as his fingers dug into her shoulders.

“Fuck…” he groaned through clenched teeth, his head buried in her neck as her legs and arms embraced him. He went still and tried to calm his breathing, holding himself back from the brink. Every slight move of their bodies caused his cock to move inside her, sending pulses of pleasure through John. But eventually he was able to calm enough that his hands released their grip on her.

A thought occurred to him, and a wicked smile crept across his face. “Lucy,” he said, face still buried in her neck, “there’s something I want to try, if you’re willing.”

Sliding back out of her was one of the hardest things John had ever done, his body revolting against the idea of leaving her. But once it was done he guided her, first to her feet and then bending her over; Lucy’s lithe frame folded neatly in half, her hands grasping her ankles.

Kneeling behind her, John started at the center of her left calf muscle, kissing his way up over the underside of her knee. Each kiss not only moved him ever higher, but also gradually inward. By the time John reached Lucy’s sex, his lips were kissing her just beside the sweet wet slit, causing her pussy lips to rub together. He kissed those lips gently, spreading them slightly with his tongue. His hands ran up and down her back, gentle and supportive, as his mouth made love to her wet hole.

Drawing his tongue back out of her, John used his hands to spread her and sucked on her inner lips, pulling and releasing them with his mouth as his head moved down closer and closer to her clit. Suddenly a warm, wet sensation slid across the tip of his cock, collecting a drop of precum and causing him to moan into her folds. As Lucy sucked his swollen head into her mouth, his tongue rewarded her by sliding across her clit, flicking across the tender nub before drawing it into his mouth.

Lucy was so delicious; John loved the feel and taste and smell of her juices on his face as he pleasured her with his tongue; and he knew Lucy could taste herself on his hardness, driving his ecstasy even higher. He was so enthralled by her taste, that he nearly forgot the next part of his plan. Nearly. Reaching behind her, John grabbed the cuffs, slipping one cuff on her left ankle. Lucy’s mouth drew back off his cock in surprise, but not before he grabbed her right hand, tightening the cuff around her wrist.

John drew back slightly, taking in the lewdly beautiful sight of her body, but he knew he couldn’t leave her like this long. Nor could he look at her naked flesh long without needing to act. He snuck a hand up between her legs, drawing the tips of his fingers through her wet cleft. When they reached the top, just before reaching her asshole, they stopped and John pressed his hand flat against her; his middle finger gently spreading her as his hand gently moved up and down, soaking his fingers with her arousal.

“Time for a little payback,” John said with a deep, throaty chuckle; his lust overwhelming his humor.

A wet smack filled the air as his hand spanked her pussy; not too hard, just a playful little slap. Then his hand skimmed up across her skin, where it was joined by his other hand, spreading Lucy’s ass, gently stretching her. His mouth returned to her pussy, kissing, tasting, licking and sucking her, not letting her know what to expect next. Then, suddenly, John’s tongue was on her asshole, licking around her tight opening, the tip probing her gently as his hands gripped her. He could feel her legs buck as he toyed with her and knew he couldn’t keep her like this much longer.

Rising to his feet on the bed, he quickly shoved his hard shaft into Lucy’s wet pussy. Holding onto her ass, he slammed into her over and over taking them both to the brink, their screams drowning out the wet sounds of their fucking. Nearing the edge of his orgasm, he stopped, and pulled out reluctantly. The act nearly painful to his thick swollen cock.


“Don’t stop now!!” Her plea was admittedly desperate.

Lucy’s primal desire was so intense her voice was unrecognizable to her own ears. “John, please, I’m begging you. As your fuck toy, please, please…… I need you to fill me. Fuck my ass. Please!”

John got back onto his feet on the bed and slammed into her wetness. Loud moans filled the room. In truth, she didn’t think she could get to this point again today. That feeling where every nerve in her being was blissfully exposed. Every touch, breath and noise capable of taking her to the edge.

Once his engorged cock was slick with her wetness, John pushed the head at her ass. He loved to tease that tight little hole. This time, however, she could tell he needed it as badly as she did. Lucy reached her free hand up to spread her tight ass cheeks in offering.

There was a whimpering sound coming from somewhere… It took her a moment to realize it was emanating from herself.

John’s skin was pink from excitement and lust. Pushing his thickness into her, Lucy could see his teeth clench. The tightness of her ass was almost unbearable and he gripped her in defense. His eyes were fixated on his cock stretching her out as it disappeared into her ass.

Once Lucy felt him completely fill her, she lost all control.

“Fuck me, hard!! I don’t care how fast you cum. Just pound me, John. Now!!”

John looked down at her, his eyes a tough read. Somewhere between rage and agony, Lucy guessed. She saw his hand raised up…


His hips pumped mercilessly into her ass.




Standing over her bent form, John’s hands gripped her hips, his palms pressed into her red ass cheeks. He thrust himself furiously into her ass, over and over. His cock swelling larger, stretching her as a trickle of precum escaped the tip of his cock to help coat her asshole. He could hear Lucy’s whimpering cries despite his own groans and growls. He was far beyond being able to form words, but it didn’t stop his voice from filling the room.

Just as he reached the edge, he stopped. He slowly worked himself out of Lucy’s tight, warm ass. Her body seemed to be fighting him every inch of the way, squeezing down on him as he left her. John managed to make it all the way out without cumming, but only just. A large drop of precum squeezed from his cock ran from the tip, catching the edge of her tight hole, before trickling down her towards her pussy. The sight of it was so nasty and naughty John nearly came from watching it, forcing him to grab her ass tightly as he leaned his head back and shut his eyes, trying desperately to banish the image before it caused him to spray his load all over Lucy’s ass and pussy.

“No!” She cried out, her accent thick from desperation, “No, no, no. What are you doing!? I need you in my ass, don’t tease me now!” The panic and lust made her voice wild, and her pleading cries in that delicious accent nearly made John give in.

“I’m not teasing you. I’m just getting ready to fuck you like the slut we both know you are,” he finally replied, his voice was hoarse, but deep and commanding. Lucy couldn’t help but believe him, there was no hint of humor in John’s voice. He was going to take her how he wanted and make her his, and she knew it to her core.

John left the bed briefly, but returned soon. She was still waiting for him with her ass lifted up, an offering to him. John smiled lovingly at Lucy, and climbed back behind her. Kneeling down, he gazed at her sex, it was absolute beauty. Her swollen lips were begging for attention, and there was no way he could refuse them. Turning his head to the side, he kissed her soaked cunt, tasting her and sliding his tongue straight into her pink hole. This elicited the moans he wanted to hear and John worked his way down till he could suck her clit into his mouth.

At the same time, he worked a smooth vibrator into her pussy. Once it was inside her, John took her hands and drew them between her legs to hold the toy in place. Then he gripped her ass and pulled her gently down until Lucy was kneeling on the bed, her head and shoulders pressed against the sheet and her chest and thighs pressed together with her hands still reaching back to hold the toy.

He reached over and turned on the vibrator to a low buzz, before standing back up on the bed. Towering over her, John watched her for a moment, listening to her moans and whimpers as her body writhed in pleasure and anticipation. Then, he bent his knees, slowly lowering himself to her. With his left hand, he pulled her ass open, and his right hand took hold of his cock at the base, guiding the aching, purple head, towards her hole. Just as he closed in, he stopped and slapped her asshole with the cock head as the vibrator filled her pussy, causing Lucy to gasp in surprise and pleasure.

Gripping his cock, John eased it back into her tight hole, inching his way down into her. He could feel the vibrator pressing against him through her, its pulses sending him to new levels of bliss as his swollen, sensitive cock filled her up. The pleasure was so intense that he didn’t even notice the sounds of Lucy’s moans as he filled her. When his shaft had filled her completely, he stopped to brace himself on her hips. John could feel her uncuffed hand reach back further, running her fingers over his tight balls.

“I can feel how close you are,” Lucy moaned. “Please, cum in my ass. I need it!”

She moaned louder as John began a slow, shallow thrusting; back and forth. As she got louder, his thrusts got faster and harder from her encouragement, but never drawing out too far, not wanting to lose the touch of her fingers on his balls. When the sensations became too much, Lucy’s head dropped down to the mattress and she cried out her orgasm. Her moans were muffled as she screamed into the sheets. Reaching down, John twisted her hair around tightly, and gripped it, yanking her head up off the bed as he continued to pound into her ass.

“I want to fucking hear it. I want you to scream like a slut for me.”

Lucy’s screams got louder at John’s command, and his thrusts became harder in response. Her fingers on his balls began to slide back and forth, sending her fingertips over the sensitive area behind the sac, her fingers pressing onto the tight muscle hidden there. The vibrator sent waves of pleasure through them as her ass squeezed John’s cock like a fist.

It was too much and John began to cum. Lucy’s fingers felt it first, the muscle and his balls clenched as each blast of hot, sticky semen was shot from his sensitive tip, into her eager asshole.

“FUCK, LUCY!” he screamed, as he unloaded into her, continuing to pound into her ass, using her hair to help pull her onto his spurting cock as he thrust it into her, sending ribbons of cum deep inside her. Their combined screams echoed through the house and out the open windows.

After what felt like an eternity, John’s body gave up. He dropped her hair, and braced himself once more on her hips. Then he gradually worked his cock out of Lucy’s ass so that he could kneel down and remove the toy from herr slit. Turning it off, he dropped it onto the sheets, then removed the cuffs and tossed them across the room.

He wrapped his arms around her, the muscles in his arms squeezing her as he pulled her down with him. Spooning her, John held Lucy close, their breathing was ragged and uneven, their bodies trembling from exertion and pleasure. His need to feel her, to hold her, overriding the immense heat from their bodies.

Holding her as close as he could, John pressed his head against hers, her hair filling his face. “God, you are so bloody amazing, Lucy,” he whispered into her hair, not really caring if she heard him or not; he needed to say it out loud, his mind overwhelmed to the point that he had to get it out so he could process any other thought.

“I don’t ever want to leave this bed.”


Lucy’s own feelings could only be described as exhausted euphoria. She felt John whisper in her hair but could only respond with a smile. Laying against him, her body had melted into his. There was no discerning who was who and in that moment, it didn’t really matter. It was unity in it’s most exalted form. Here and there, she felt one of them tremor uncontrollably as their bodies tried to heal from their fervor. Their rapturous adventure had come to a close, leaving them with a sense of awakened serenity and weariness. She could think of no better way to accomplish such feeling.

© 2013

Please do not reproduce this original work in any form without written permission from the author.


I wonder what she’s doing right now. It’s 8 p.m. on the East coast, so her conference is over and she’ll have eaten dinner by now—probably with Melissa. I know they haven’t seen each other lately, so my love will have enjoyed spending time with her friend.

Is she reading about financial management? Although it’s her least favorite part of her job, I know she’ll do it brilliantly—like everything she does. Partly because she has a hint of OCD, but mostly because she’s conscientious. Her ability to concentrate astounds me, but maybe that’s because my call letters are ADD. She’s also much smarter than I am. She denies it, but we both know it’s true.

It’s hard not to talk with her for a few days at a time. Years ago we decided not communicate while she’s at conferences. Absence makes the heart and body grow fonder. In any case, it’s exquisite torture. When she comes home, the sex―and our emotional connection―is stunning.

So I wait. And remember. And breathe. And miss her. And fantasize.

Alone in our bed, I think about the first time we was physically intimate. We’d been together a couple months. She was hesitant because of her history. But I’d been gentle with her, reassuring her that I love her and wasn’t going to leave. Then one evening after dinner she took my hand, led me back to our bedroom, and started peeling off my clothes.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded, her brown eyes on mine. Then she carefully removed my bra straps from my shoulders. She cupped my breasts, then leaned in to gently bite my shoulder. I still wasn’t certain, until she kissed me, her mouth hungry. Then I gave in.

She nudged me backwards onto the bed and straddled me, her dark hair hanging over her eyes, breasts swaying with her movement. I grabbed one dark pink nipple in my mouth and the other with my hand, sucking and squeezing. I saw her eyes start to glaze over and her breathing deepen. And then suddenly, without asking or giving any warning, I plunged two fingers deep into her. She gasped in surprise, then groaned deeply. She met my thrusts over and over until she shuddered and shook on my hand, her juices flowing down my arm and onto my stomach as she came.

I fantasize about her return. Out of thoughtfulness for me, she’ll take a taxi to the house so I don’t have to pick her up at the airport late at night. She’ll try to be quiet when she comes in, but I sleep lightly and will be waiting. I’ll hear her in the kitchen and call to her. She’ll tell me to shush and go back to sleep, though she knows I won’t. I’ll stay half-awake until she slides into bed. We’ll spoon, my breasts to her back, and fall to sleep, warm in each other’s arms.

The next morning I’ll start nuzzling her neck. Even though she’ll be tired after the flight and the week-long conference, she’ll want it as much as I do. I’ll kiss behind her ear and down her neck as she murmurs she loves me.

I’ll run the tip of my tongue around her earlobe and breathe into her ear. There will be a hitch in her breathing. Then I’ll lick the side of her neck and roll her over onto her back.

“I bought something for us.”

Her jet lag will give way to intrigue. I’ll see anxiety in her eyes too. She doesn’t like surprises, so she’ll be quiet as I show her the butt plug and a harness I bought while she was gone. She was embarrassed the first time she admitted anal play excited her. Perhaps she’ll think I’ve forgotten. But I love her, so I pay attention. I remember everything.

The plug will make her more anxious than the harness. But she’ll take her cue from me. And I’m comfortable with the idea. I’ve been thinking about both for a long time. I won’t use either until we’re together though. She and I can learn and explore together. She’ll blush—a rare and beautiful sight. We’ll have to talk about it as she gets used to the idea. But I know she’ll be interested.

Her eyes will be an intoxicating mixture of nervousness, uncertainty, and excitement. She’ll want to use the harness on me, of course. It suits her butch nature. She’ll have trouble containing her anticipation once I suggest that she take me doggy style; my ass turned up excites her tremendously. She’ll strap on the harness and I’ll try to sooth her uncertainty by giggling. That will put her more at ease. I’ll get on my hands on knees for her and she’ll groan. She’ll guide my favorite dildo into my pussy from behind gently.

She’ll start to thrust into me, hesitantly at first. When she hears my eagerness, she’ll begin to push more quickly, teaching herself as she moves in and out of me. She’ll learn quickly, and start to move with more assurance. I’ll hear the sound of her entering my wetness over and over again. When she hears me start to moan, she’ll reach between my legs to stroke my clit. I’ll beg her to fuck me, faster, deeper.

After only a few strokes of her fingers around my most sensitive spot, my legs will start to shake. Then I’ll strain and buck as I come, my cunt tightening around the silicone cock. I’ll collapse on the bed breathing heavily, thanking heaven for my butch lover.

Her butch attitude is partly her birthright, and partly a response to a childhood I can’t begin to comprehend. I see beyond that to her vulnerability. She knows she is safe to be all of herself with me, not just the tough part. She’ll still be embarrassed that she’ll want me to fuck her with the harness. Her love of being penetrated conflicts with her butchness. It’s one of the things I’m drawn to about her—that contradiction between her dominance and her enjoyment of being fucked. I embrace it all—her butch attitude, her hidden softness, even her wounds. I love all of her.

She’ll grab the back of my head and pull me towards her in a passionate kiss. The kiss will grow in intensity; I’ll crawl on top of her. Because of her history, we’ll never play rough. But over the years she’s becomes more comfortable with my passion.

I’ll suck on your lower lip while I take her hands in mine. Bringing one hand to my lips, I’ll take her fingers into my mouth one at a time and suck on each of them, running my teeth over the tips. She’ll moan.

Then I’ll run my down to the soft pillows of her breasts, while I breathe into her ear, then suck on her neck. She loves when I bite gently on one nipple and squeeze the other hard enough that she’ll gasp. , and keep doing it until I hear she say “Please.”

Like the first time we loved each other after her surgery. She said it felt like she was a virgin all over again. I touched she, rubbed her clit until she couldn’t take it anymore. She needed me inside her. A pleading, urgent, “Hurry.” Not said in an attempt to be sexy, no hushed whisper. It was, ironically, the sexiest thing I’d ever heard; I could have come right then.

I’ll run my hands down the swell of her hips and grab her ass.

“So…do you want to try it?”

We’ll take time out. To put lube on the plug and on her adorable ass. Then I’ll ease it in, checking with her, watching her face.

Once it’s inside, I’ll check again.

“Is this ok?”

“Yes. Ohhh….”

I’ll shift onto her left side so I can run my right hand down to her wetness, touching her outer lips. Teasing. I’ll run one finger up her labia from bottom to top, feeling her heat. Again. And again. Each time, pushing in to her hot cavern just a little more, feeling more of her juices on my fingers. I’ll stop touching her for a few moments, then start again.

I figured her out years ago. I know how to love her to get the response I want. Sometimes I’m too impatient, eager to have her explode. But when I take my time, the reward is glorious. When her breathing starts to get ragged, I’ll stop, stilling my hand for a moment. Then I’ll start again. It does something to her. Her orgasm is much stronger and sobs wrack her body when she finally comes, wrapped in my arms.

I’ll stop and start. This time, just before she comes, I’ll reach behind her and tap the plug.

We’ll be in gloriously uncharted territory. I can’t wait to see what she does.

“Come on, David, just jump before we get caught.”

“Ana, are you crazy? You know that if anyone finds out about this we’re both dead.”

“We’re not even completely naked. And what’s the use of breaking into the school’s swimming pool if we’re not going to take advantage of it? Are you being a chicken?”


“Then get your ass in the pool, David.”

“My dad is going to kill me if he ever finds out.”

“He won’t now come on.”

“You know, Ana, when I suggested that we do something exciting, this wasn’t a part of the plan.”

“I know, but isn’t that the reason why you love me? I’m spontaneous.”

“I never said I loved you.”

“I already know that you do.”


My heart is aching. Ever since I saw Ana two weeks ago I haven’t stopped dreaming about her. It’s as if everything is coming back to me little by little and I’m overcome with emotion. The dreams all end the same way: her face smiling at me with love and trust—something I’ve lost since my departure.

If I could turn my brain off then I would. I don’t want to pass my days seeing her sitting on my desk in my office or hearing her infectious laughter. I don’t want her greeting me at the door in one of my button ups and a pair of my boxers. I don’t want to fall asleep with the phantom imprint of her soft cheek against my chest. And I definitely don’t want to awaken with her soft voice attempting to sing in my ear. Shit, I swear that I’m starting to lose it.

I don’t know if I can experience another week this torturous. What am I supposed to do? I can’t go back. I refuse to bring confusion back into her life and expect her to accept it with open arms. I do know that I miss her like crazy and that I love her like hell. Now I know how my father felt when my mother passed. Sometimes I would walk through the door to find him staring listlessly off into space with a smile upon his lips. He would say that my mother just gave him a visit. During that time I was concerned for him. He was so out of it that I had to feed him or he wouldn’t eat a scratch. I was worried about losing him too.

Now here I am with a waning appetite for the past week. I’ve continued repressing my emotions through the guise of work, but even that has its limits. How do I focus when Ananda is talking over my shoulder or tracing awkward imaginary circles all over my blue prints when I should be paying attention while the super intendant gives me updates on the building’s progress? I can’t live like this. I want to talk to her.

With much effort I drag myself out of bed. I’m usually an early bird but I feel the pressure of my pent up sentiments weighing me down. Sometimes it’s just easier for me to remain in bed than to deal with all of this bullshit. I can honestly say that I’m experiencing withdrawals. I’m so fucking bent right now that I watched Austin Powers and nearly tore up when Ananda’s favorite part, where Austin is embarrassed about his dental hygiene, came on. She would make me rewind the DVD while she laughed until her eyes watered.

David: There’s a part of me that’s missing. I have to admit it and live with the ramifications of my actions. “I’m doing this for us.” Not even my reflection believes me though it’s the truth.

I shave and take a blistering shower. It’s the only thing that seems to get me back into my right state of mind. Jason suggested that I get out more. He told me that staying locked away in my apartment will make matters worse. Tom thinks my issue will be solved by bedding some random chick on the street. The guys are the only ones I’ve told about what I’m going through. My father doesn’t even know and he makes it a habit to call me every week to stick his nose in my business.

He tends to call when I’m at my best then leave me low by bringing up questions and concerns about Ana. I can’t seem to get away from her. I wish that I could just tell everyone to shut up about her, but deep down I look forward to the updates even if they consist of news concerning her and her new boyfriend.

“You should wear the green tie. It makes your eyes sparkle.”

“Ana, I don’t need sparkling eyes. What man do you know wants to walk around with sparkling eyes like some kind of fairy?”

“Wear the damn tie. I got it for your birthday and I’ve yet to see you put it on.”

I hold up the olive green diamond patterned tie and smile. I never told her that it’s one of my favorites. I’m not a suit and tie kind of guy, but Ana has nice taste in fashion. I make it a habit to always use the gifts she offers me. Today however I don’t want a hanging reminder of her on my person. I sit on my unkempt bed already exhausted though I’ve only been awake for an hour.


David: “Hello?”

“Hi David?”

David: [whispers] “Ana?”

Leleti: “It’s Leleti, I know it’s early, but I just realized that you left your fancy schmancy mac book in my car with all of your important appointments. I was worried that you would need it.”

Shit. I can’t believe I just did that. Luckily, she didn’t hear me. Next time I need to check the damn caller I.D.

David: “Hey Leleti, thanks a bunch for the call. Where are you?” I can hear car horns in the background and a muffled hum on the other end.

Leleti: “I’m in my car, duh! Just kidding. I was on the way to work when I saw your little friend glowing eerily on my passenger seat. Note-to-self, open garage door before sitting in your car and getting the shit scared out of you.”

David: [laughs] “Sorry about that. I didn’t even know that it was missing. How about I drop by your office to pick it up?”

Leleti: “That sounds lovely and bring a blue berry muffin as compensation while you’re at it.”

David: [chuckles softly] “I guess I do owe you.”

Leleti: “You do. See you soon.”

I end the call with my spirits slightly lifted. I’m always in a good mood after interacting with Leleti. Perhaps Jason is on to something. I need to get out more and make new friends. I’m pretty sure that Leleti isn’t going to want to spend every waking hour with me. And to be honest, she’s a great gal, but I would feel smothered too if I saw her every single day. I’ve only felt the contrary with one woman: Ananda. We used to lounge around reading comics and munching on Cheez-Itz all day until we decided it was time to leave our cavern and reintegrate with society.

I’m finally dressed and heading out the door. I know that I’ll be early to my board meeting, but I prefer to be preoccupied with the gym than sitting in my apartment staring at the box of picture albums and other paraphernalia that will remind me of Ana. It’s been sitting in the corner of my living room since the move and even Leleti is starting to get curious whenever she comes over. She’s eyeing it more than my dad eyes turtles in the market. I keep reminding him that in America they’re domesticated pets. He sees them as lunch and perhaps even dinner.

I find my closest coffee shop, purposefully avoiding Starbucks because of the creepy, middle-aged manager with the bad highlights who always stares at me and smiles that disgusting yellow colored smile whenever I walk through the door, and stop at a quaint coffee shop that the average person would drive by because they don’t have a huge green and white sign with that weird mermaid, princess looking woman as the logo. I could never figure out what that thing was supposed to be.

My barista looks to be about seventeen. I had to take a double look for verification. I don’t know what they’re putting in the water, but Asian girls are starting to fill out quite nicely, if I do say so myself—not that I’m ogling jailbait. I will admit nonetheless that when she does come of age, and removes the braces, she’ll have many suitors at her door.

“Hello, my name is Amiee. What can I get for you?

David: “Hi Amiee, how are your muffins?”

Amiee: “Excuse me?!”

I realize the way that sounded and laughed. If I was on “Dateline’s To Catch A Predator,” I’d be on my way to jail right now. It didn’t help that I was looking at her nametag while wondering exactly how many ways one could spell the name Amy. I was caught off guard by its orthography. Seriously. I’ll confess right now that nothing does it more for me than a beautiful black woman with glowing chocolate skin. The darker the berry the better. Amiee has nothing on Ana.

David: “I’m sorry, let me rephrase that before you call the cops—that’s a unique way to write your name, by the way. I’m here to purchase blue berry muffins—and two Frappuccino’s.” I add the drinks as an afterthought thanks to my raging guilt and her suspicious stare.

Amiee: “What size?”

David: “Two mediums, please.”

Amiee: “And the muffins?”

David: “Medium as well?” She steps aside and I see why she asked. There lie the biggest muffins I’ve ever seen in my life. They’re bigger than the ones you find in Sam’s (aka Costco for those who don’t live in the South). I can’t help but laughing imagining someone with small hands and a small mouth eating them. “As a matter of fact, will you give me one medium and one gigantor, please?”

I wait for my drinks to be made then pay for my purchase before exiting the shop with a creepy grin on my lips. I can never show my face here again—unless Amiee isn’t on duty. I like the place. It seemed nice and cozy. Ana would have enjoyed a coffee within its confinements while we laugh at how ridiculously large this damn muffin is. It would probably take two days to eat. Okay, so I’m exaggerating, but seriously you wouldn’t need to eat lunch or finish your dinner if you took this bad boy on.

I navigate through traffic until I reach Leleti’s building then ride the elevator up to her floor. I’ve only been here about twice, but the personnel seem nice.

Secretary: “Ms. Pierterse is currently on a business call, but since it’s you I’ll let you in anyway.”

David: “Thanks Nate.” I can feel him watching my ass as I walk by. That guy couldn’t hide his homosexuality to save his life. The first time I met him he blew kisses at me and pretended to be a tiger. I was afraid. Leleti says he’s harmless then again he’s not staring at her crotch with hungry eyes thus she has no reason to worry.

I enter her office, sitting down in front of her desk and ignoring the clutter of documents on top. She holds up a finger at me with an apologetic frown on her face and I good naturedly wave her off. I unpack our breakfast and start in on my muffin while she finishes up with her call.

David: “What? You asked for a blue berry muffin, didn’t you?”

Leleti: “Do I look like a hungry nation? How am I supposed to finish this?”

She holds up the large muffin in both of her hands and I lose it. I break out into a fit of laughter while she gives me the ‘you’re a jackass’ look. I push her cup of Frappuccino towards her and smile.

Leleti: “There’s no way I can finish this.”

David: “I’m not expecting you to, but I advise you to save the rest for tomorrow morning. It’s delicious if you were wondering.”

Leleti: “What am I supposed to do with you?”

Love me. That’s what Ananda would have said if I had asked her that question.

Leleti: “You look nice. You should wear a suit more often.”

I fight with my tie in discomfort, taking a sip of my lukewarm drink to wash away the memories.

David: “You should see me out of one.” What? Seriously, what the hell is wrong with my brain today? First the barista and now Leleti. Luckily she’s laughing at my slipup. My embarrassment is obvious from the red tinge of my cheeks. “That sounded much better in my head. Let’s pretend I never said anything.”

Leleti: “It’s too late. Besides, I know you’d look better without one.”

There’s an awkward pause as I attempt to digest her statement. Was that a compliment or was she flirting with me?

Leleti: “In case you were wondering, I was flirting.”

David: “Oh.”

Leleti: “Just oh?”

David: “I guess. I wasn’t expecting that.”

She looks down at her untouched muffin nervously, toying with the wrapper and slowly peeling it away before our eyes reconnect. Her face is slightly pink, a telltale sign that she is embarrassed.

Leleti: “I’m not usually this forward, but I’m attracted to you.”

I shift in my seat as her brown eyes gaze into my own. I should definitely say something before things get even more uncomfortable. My mind is drawing a blank for the first time in my life. Here I am with a beautiful woman sitting across from me, hitting on me, and I’m speechless.

David: ‘”I—uh—”

Leleti: “I know that you’re still confused about Ananda and after deep reflection my gut tells me that she is your ex. I don’t want to rush you however neither am I looking to play the sidelines of the friend zone. I’m just throwing my interest out there so that when you’re ready to move on you’ll know that I’m here.”

David: “Fair enough. Still, I can’t make any promises.”

Leleti: “I’m not looking for any. We’re still in the getting to know you phase.”

A tranquil calm returns to the atmosphere as I sit back in my seat. It took a lot of guts for her to confess to me the way she did. Most women would have sat around expecting men to read their minds. I’ll tell you one thing for sure: I’m not psychic and I don’t even believe that psychics are psychic. My eye wanders to the perfectly intact muffin and Leleti and I share a smile.

Leleti: “I already know what you’re thinking and I refuse to take one bite out of this thing until you’re out of my office. You just want to laugh at my expense.”

David: “I do. Fortunately for you, I can’t stay much longer. I have a meeting to attend. I didn’t expect to still be here.”

She reaches into her desk and pulls out my Mac which I appreciatively accept as I stand to my feet. She nods her head towards the door and I take the hint.

Leleti: “Dave?”

David: I’ll never get used to nicknames. It feels weird answering to a moniker I never use. “Yeah?”

Leleti: “Don’t forget that we’re going to the movies Friday night, okay?”

David: “Gotcha chief. Later.” I make it back to my car stretching out in the driver’s seat instead of revving the engine. What am I supposed to do about Leleti? She’s funny, she’s intelligent, she’s beautiful, and she’s great to be around, but that’s the extent of my admiration for her. I don’t want to lead her on. I don’t plan to. I should nevertheless inform her of my feelings—or the lack thereof. I’m just not ready to start another relationship or even to contemplating getting involved in another.

For years, no matter what I did or who I was with, all roads led back to Ana. She’s out of the picture now yet even so my heart still isn’t in it. I grab my Mac book to check my schedule for the day and guffaw at the picture of Leleti’s smiling face. Her curly hair somewhat blocks her vision yet it’s a lovely photo of her. I shake my head, check my schedule, and finally leave the parking lot to head in to work.

The meeting was a bore and I regret not sending Tommy’s ass out here instead of my own. At least then I wouldn’t have had to sit through an hour and a half of “concerns” that are in fact paltry issues when it comes to the management of the new gym. Even with the success of our chain in the south, there are naysayers on our own damn director’s board. If I didn’t need the investors I would have told them to go to hell and let me do my job. It’s my gym—well, our gym— and I’m more than capable of handling the responsibilities expected of me. What they really want me and Tommy to do is let them have their way and run our gym into the ground. Over my dead body.

It’s a bad idea to open a gym in Washington. Who asked for your opinion? Just give me your damn money, watch me triple your investment, and leave me the hell alone. I’m seriously considering funding the next gym in Atlanta from my own pocket. I’ve already passed it by Tommy, but he’s worried about the financial strain. It’s not like we’re broke. In fact, we’re both making bank now that we’ve made a name for ourselves. Nevertheless, we would have to take out a couple of bank loans for backing. They would have been repaid within two years tops, but Tommy is paranoid when it comes to spending money. He would probably hire about thirty risk analysts before taking the leap.

I go to my office and with the help of my secretary make several callbacks and establish interview dates. The gym may not be anywhere near completion, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t find and train our staff. For the next three months I’m booked with interviews. By the end of my work day I have a huge migraine. Instead of going home and relaxing to get rid of it, I change into running gear and hit the pavement. I get in a good hour and a half. My mind is willing but my body is feeling too weak to continue. I get home and take a hot shower. I skip dinner realizing that I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. I’m not hungry.

My computer chimes right when I’m about to fall on my bed. I already know it’s Jason. I open up the video chat and smile when I see Michelle’s hand waving vigorously before his face. I have yet to learn where she gets all of that energy.

David: “Hello stalker.”

Michelle: “Stalker? How dare you!”

Jason: “David, you know that we’re your only source of entertainment. Don’t front.”

David: “I was talking about Jason, Michelle. How are you this fine evening?”

Michelle: “Great! Guess what?”

Her enthusiasm makes me chuckle as I shrug my shoulders. I have no idea what they could possibly be up to.

Michelle: “Come on. Guess.”

David: “You’ve realized what an idiot Jason is and have decided to call off the engagement?”

Jason: “In your wildest dreams, dick face.”

Michelle: “Ananda has talked your father into coming out to see you, BUT since he doesn’t want to go alone Jason and I have volunteered our services. WE’RE COMING TO VISIT YOU IN WASHINGTON!!!! YAY!!!”

David: “What?”

Jason: “We, as in Michelle, your father, and I, will be coming to see you in Washington. I hope you have enough room for us because we’re mooching off of you for the week.”

My brain is spinning in my skull. How in the world did Ana manage to talk my, stubborn as a mule, old man into flying out to see me? The last time we went back to the Philippines together, he complained the entire flight, he nagged everyone while we were there, and then when we made it back on U.S. soil he complained about not spending enough time with his family. My father can be hard to please at times.

I’m even more surprised that she would be so considerate of me since we haven’t spoken. I want to call her and talk to her. Her voice alone will suffice even if it’s to tell me to stop calling. Why isn’t this any easier for me? I told her that she shouldn’t call, but under these circumstances I’m obligated to thank her.

Jason: “Are you even paying attention?”

David: [head snaps to attention] “I’m sorry, what?”

Jason: “I said that we’ll be there sometime next month which will give you time to prepare for our visit. That works right?”

David: “Yeah, that’s perfect. Is anyone else coming with you guys?”

Michelle: “You mean Ana?”

David: [scoffs] “What? No, more like Jodie or one of the fellas.”

Jason: [snorts] “Jodie and the fellas my ass. Your dad’s girlfriend is not coming with us. Do you want us to tell Ana to come?”

David: “NO!” [clears throat then tries again more calmly]. “No.”

Michelle: “You kind of owe her a big thank you.”

David: “I know. I’m going to call her as soon as I can.”

Michelle: “Then we’ll leave you to it. We just wanted to give you some good news. Have a good night.”

They end the call and I feel my stomach begin to twist into knots. I didn’t expect them to throw me out there like that without a lifeline. If I don’t call Ana, they’re going to kill me. I reach for my cell phone, my finger hovers over her speed dial and my gut lurches. It’s been so long since we’ve spoken that it’s strange finding myself wanting to call her. I ignore the nervousness in the pit of my belly and push the button, holding the phone up to my ear before I lost my gumption. It felt as if the phone rang for an eternity before she answered. I sighed in relief.

Ananda: “Hello?”

David: “Hi Ana.”

Ananda: “David.”

My bated breath slowly seeps from between my lips at the sound of her voice. I don’t know what to say to her. I can feel tension over the phone line. In my mind I envision her resting in her bed on her stomach with her feet up. She’s probably gnawing on her bottom lip and waiting just as anxiously for me to utter my next word. She clears her throat informing me that the silence is unbearable. I speak.

David: “I just wanted to call and thank you for what you did. Jason and Michelle told me about you convincing my dad to come out.”

Ananda: “It’s no big deal.”

David: “I’ve been trying for the longest.”

Ananda: “You’re not the persuasive type, David. You never have been.”

David: “Then what type am I?”

Ananda: “The type to tell the other person what to do and expect it to be done. It works for you.”

I smile. For the briefest of moments it felt as if things were normal between us. No heavy words or unspoken emotions are clouding our connection, but this reprieve doesn’t last for long.

Ananda: “Well, if that’s all…”

David: “Um.”

Ananda: [hurriedly] “Unless there’s something else you needed to tell me.”

David: “No, that’s pretty much it.” Fuck, no it’s not! I miss you like hell. How are you? Can you do me a favor and call me a jack ass for telling you to stay away? Will you forgive me? I need you.

Everything jumbled on the tip of my tongue that I wish to say remain tucked away in the recesses of my mind as I feel her disappointment wash over me.

Ananda: “Okay, well it was nice talking to you, David. Goodbye.”

Don’t say goodbye, please. Don’t go.

David: “Okay.” [Line goes dead]. I get out of bed and end my night with a series of pushups.


I shouldn’t be feeling like this. Longing. I recognized it as soon as I heard his voice. A pang of guilt is ricocheting through my chest after speaking with David. What am I doing? I have a boyfriend who makes me happy. Yea, he’s a little too perfect, but isn’t that what women want? I don’t believe in perfect relationships whether it’s with family, friends, or loved ones. But recently I’ve started to get comfortable.

My head hurts. I recently coaxed myself into ridding my mind of thoughts with David and that beautiful woman he was with two weeks ago. What was her name again? Lacy? Lotti? I can’t remember, but she seemed like a really nice person.

I cried for about two hours afterwards. I shouldn’t have, but it all became so real to me that he’s moving on. As if I should let that fact affect me. I’m in the process of moving on yet for some inexplicable reason, my world seems to be standing still. What should I do? I’m finally back to work which helps a great deal or I would stay at home pondering the reasons why I shouldn’t spontaneously purchase a plane ticket, fly out to Washington, and give David a piece of my mind.

I’m finally grieving and my emotions aren’t able to cope with it. I think it’s safe to say that I’m coming out of the anger stage right now. Every thought of David pisses me off. What makes me even more upset is that I can’t help except to care about him. I visit his father religiously and take him and Jodie out to dinner, I’m forced to smile as they talk about David’s life, and then I return home and cry.

I find myself conversing with his pictures and telling him that things will be different if he only gave us a chance then I get angry and throw it across the room. Sometimes I feel bipolar. I’ll go to bed and dream about him then wake up with tears in my eyes before falling back asleep and finding myself smiling awake in the morning.

[Plops face into pillow] Don’t even ask what all of this stress is doing to my poor heart. I haven’t been back to my doctor yet and I don’t plan to until I’ve calmed down. This feeling will pass. I know it will. This isn’t the first time that I feel so torn about David and me. I just never expected him to call. I almost didn’t respond when I didn’t notice the number. If curiosity hadn’t gotten the best of me, I would have missed this opportunity—more like this moment of torture. I should get some shut eye. I have to be at work early tomorrow morning.

“Ana, wake up. Come on before our parents get up.”

“What? What’s going on?”

“Grab your bag. We’re going to Myrtle Beach.”

“But they said that we couldn’t go without Barrett.”

“He’s already left without us. If you don’t want your folks to know that he’s not playing babysitter, you have to get up.”

“Just give me five more minutes.”


“Okay, but you owe me for getting us in trouble this time.”

“It’ll be worth it. Hey, Ana?”


“Kiss me.”

I didn’t sleep for long. I haven’t thought about our impromptu trip to the beach since our parents grounded us for the remainder of our junior year. Even as seniors in high school they watched us warily. It a while to get out of the dog house because of our prank. If Barrett hadn’t vouched for us, we would have spent the remainder of our high school careers volunteering in shelters as punishment.

I miss those moments of impulsiveness where David and I would be reckless. Murphy is more grounded, more mature, and definitely not adventurous. Even after the amount of times I’ve been to his place, he has yet to make a move. My lips are aching to be kissed. I know that being physically involved with another man won’t wash away David’s memories, but knowing that I’m desired by the man I’m dating would help in a lot of ways.

At times I wonder what runs through his mind when he looks at me. I’ve caught him staring at my breasts and my thighs several times which informs me that he is a healthy red-blooded male. Nevertheless I wait for him to make a move and there’s nothing. I’ll have to endure it.

[Looks at the clock] I still have another three and a half hours before I have to go to work. This is ridiculous. Maybe if I huddle beneath the covers I’ll fall back to sleep. I’m not sure if it will work. Thinking about kissing has led my thoughts astray. My body is craving attention. I should definitely look into getting laid.

“You taste amazing, Ana.”

[Breathless] “It’s my new lip gloss.”

“No, it’s you. ” [Traces tongue down throat.] “It’s unquestionably you.”

“David, you’ve been so patient with me…I think I’m ready.”

“For what?”

“To have sex.”

[Shakes head.]

“You don’t want to?”

“We can have sex any other time, Ana, but for your first time I want to make love to you. Stay with me tonight.”


I wake up to the blaring of my alarm clock and my fingers buried deep within my pussy. One of my fondest memories is the first time David and I consummated our feelings. It was so strong and unbelievable. Even now I can remember how gentle his kisses felt against my skin. He tasted every part of me as if I were a decadent sweet. He was attentive to my body. I can still feel his warm breath hovering over my nipples as if it were yesterday.

His mouth was soft, his tongue wet and hard. My belly shook every time he softly bit down on them and my toes curled. I remember asking myself how something that felt so good could make you ache so badly. My friends used to tell me that sex was amazing, but I was skeptical. David took away all of my doubts from that night forward. He did things to me that took me years to duplicate. His thick fingers were everywhere: trailing down my side, gripping my thighs, fondling my slit.

He had my body absolutely feverish before he even did anything serious. And when his lips finally made contact with my pussy I was already gone. He had to hold my hips down to keep me still. I wanted to run and get away from the intensity of his tongue and his unbreakable gaze. Our eyes never broke contact except when I closed my own. He exacerbated my orgasms with only a stare. I cried his name until I went limp and afterwards his mouth suckled the recesses of my body that I never would have imagined could be erotic.

He held me lovingly in his arms, caressing my breasts and down my belly, smiling when my respiration caught between my teeth. When I had calmed enough, his fingers went back to work claiming the remainder of my body his lips had yet to touch. He taught me how to stroke him and I loved the look of desire in his eyes when my brown hand wrapped around his hard cock. He bites his pink lips. The top means that it feels good, but when he bites the bottom he’s about to come. I memorized all of his likes that night because I wanted to keep pleasing him and to become even better at it.

He made my resisting body accept him with ease. He coaxed me into begging him to continue. When the head of his dick pushed into my tight pussy, I was afraid at first from his sheer length and thickness until I saw the look in his eyes that told me he would treasure me and this moment forever. My nails sunk into him snuggling into his back as he imbedded himself inside of me and afterwards we rocked gently. I can still feel his pelvis grinding against my clit.

I know that I shouldn’t be touching myself at the recollection of my ex-lover, but I can’t make myself stop. I’ll spontaneously combust if I try. There’s an unquenchable fire which sprouts to life every time David interrupts my thoughts. I don’t want to respond to him this way and in spite of the other relationships I’ve had and the other men that I’ve bedded, no one has held a candle to him.

My hips are energetically bucking. I’m so close. All that I need is for David to join me. I want to look into his light changeling eyes as we climax together. At first his eye contact had me self-conscious. Now it’s normal. I can’t imagine myself making love to him without staring into his eyes. It’s as if we’re silently communicating with each other, as if our souls are becoming one, as if the world no longer exists as we stay wrapped in our own little cocoon.

I orgasm with tears in my eyes. I miss him. Nevertheless, guilt overrides my physical satisfaction. I’m a cheater. I’m mentally cheating on my boyfriend with the ghost of my ex. How am I supposed to look at him now? I wish for this all to end.

[Leaves the bed angrily.] David is gone and he’ll be gone. It’s high time that I get my head out of the clouds and face reality. It’s over! So why am I continuously torturing myself? He has a beautiful, new girlfriend on his arm. I have an amazing, handsome man who warrants my time. From now on I need to focus on my life, my family and friends, and Murphy. Why should I allow a man who walked away from me to rule my every thought?

I take a long shower, longer than I normally would if I want to be on time. I don’t care about my tardiness. I’m rarely ever late anyhow. I’m angry all over again and now I’m taking out my frustrations on my poor bed. I toss the blankets around until they’re neat then beat the hell out of my pillows until they’re nice and fluffed. I have to do this or I’ll burst into tears.

My nonsensical reminiscence has been rampant for far too long. I need to reign in my emotions before it’s too late. I want to make things work with Murphy because he deserves it and I do too. I merit a man in my life who is going to love me unconditionally, who won’t hide from his own emotions, who is ready for what I have to offer. I have so much love suppressed inside of me that I need to share with someone worthy. I don’t want to be alone neither do I want to be with a man just for the hell of it.

I guess if I’m honest with myself, I’m ready to settle down. I know that a few months ago I was doubtful of whether this feat was possible for me, but now I know it is. The ache and emptiness in my heart isn’t only present because of David’s abandonment. It’s been there long before he left, long before I was willing to admit to myself that my nights are lonely. All of those dates I went on were unfulfilling. I want to wake up in the arms of someone who loves me. I want to kiss my man awake and hear him moan and grumble about it being too damn early in the morning for this shit then make love to me anyway.

I want to fall asleep on top of him and listen to the gentle thundering of his heart in my eardrums. I want to wake up with his big, hot hands all over my body showering me with affection. I want to feel him inside of me making me feel desirable, loved, and needed. I want to argue with him until I can’t understand my own reasoning anymore. I want to be infuriated so much that I question the stability of our bond then realize that only the person I love can ever make me feel so unhinged yet secure all at the same time!


[Shatters hand held mirror against the wall then balls up on the floor to cry.]

Tell me what I’m supposed to do? Somebody help me. Anybody.


Voice mail: “Hello, you’ve reached Ananda Lewis. I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to answer you call, but if you’d leave me your name, number, and a brief message I will get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you.”

“Nandy! Ananda, it’s your boss, Caroline. I noticed that you didn’t come in today either and I’m really worried about you. If you’re not feeling well just call me and I’ll come see about you. I know this is the tenth message I’ve left in three days, but please call me. I’m worried.”

[Banging on the door]

Barrett: “Ananda! Are you in there? Ana?”

I haven’t gone to work in three days. I haven’t even left my apartment. I’m disgusted with myself and I don’t want anyone to see me this way.

Barrett: “Ana, I know you’re there because you’re not at Mom and Dad’s, you’re not at Jason’s, and the guys said that they haven’t seen you all week. Either you open this door or Frederick and I will kick it down.”

Crap. Barrett I can handle on my own, but not when they tag team me. I hate when my brothers do that. I stumble out of the empty boxes of granola bars and open the door. My eyes cringe at the intrusion of light which only expands as my two brothers push their way inside of my apartment.

Frederick: “Damn, Ana, what the hell have you been doing in here? It smells like stale food and death.”

Ananda: “Hello Freddy, I didn’t know that you were around.”

Barrett: “This has gone on long enough. We’re getting you out of this apartment and in the company of human beings.”

I shield my eyes as he opens all of my blinds while Frederick replays the numerous messages on my answering machine. Even though at times I can’t stand him, Freddy is always there when I need him.

Frederick: “You look like shit.”

Ananda: “Thanks Freddy, that’s exactly what I needed to hear.”

He ignores me, snatching up my phone to make several phone calls. He’s reassuring everyone that I am indeed still alive and he even calls my boss and informs her that all is well and that I would be going to work Monda morning. He told her that I had the stomach flu and that I was at our parents’ house under quarantine thus unable to respond to or return any calls.

Barrett busies himself with straightening up the place then grabs my hand and pulls me into the bathroom before slamming the door shut in my face. If Frederick is here then they must really be angry and worried. Freddy is the type to act like he only cares about himself. He can be harsh at times, but when he cares he truly cares. I take my first shower since the day my depression kicked in and actually feel somewhat human again. I wash my hair and brush my teeth knowing that I needed to look my best if I wanted to get rid of two of my meddling brothers. At least the other three weren’t here. I would have been in a world of trouble.

I exit the bathroom and dress eventually mustering enough courage to go into my living room to find them both sitting on my couch anticipating my appearance. Frederick wastes no time in laying into me.

Frederick: “You are acting like a selfish brat. Do you know how worried Mom and Dad are about you? Do you know how many times we tried contacting you? What were you thinking, Ananda? Should I be treating you like a child instead of an adult?”

As old as I am, my eyes water. One of the reasons Frederick and I never saw eye to eye is because he frightens me. He’s authoritative and he always reminded me of a second father. I was always anxious to gain his approval. I didn’t know why it was so important, but it’s because I respected him and wanted him to love me instead of seeing me as his bratty baby sister.

Ananda: “I’m sorry.”

Frederick: [Grabs her in a gruff hug] “You should be. Stop crying. Tears won’t solve anything. You have to tell people when something is wrong, Ana. We can’t guess.”

Barrett: “I can. I think it has to do with David.”

My increased sobs verify his assumption and both of them are silent. They let me cry it out before dragging me out the house to get breakfast. They watch me eat diligently, both daring me not to put the food in my mouth then relax when my plate is more than half empty.

Barrett: “Damn it, Ana, why didn’t you just talk to someone about this if you were having such a hard time? Why didn’t you call David and tell him?”

Ananda: “He told me not to contact him.”

Frederick: “That prick.”

Barrett: “He’s an idiot not a prick, Freddy. I guess in his warped mind he thinks this is for the best. I’m going to call him and give him a piece of my mind.”

Ananda: “No, Barrett, don’t do that.”

Frederick: “If he doesn’t then I will. Got me driving five hours down here to see about you. You’re an adult now, Ana. I should be visiting on Christmas and Thanksgiving or when you’re getting married or about to have a baby. Or even when I’m on vacation not because Mom called me bawling her eyes out because she can’t get in touch with you.”

Ananda: “I’m sorry. I’ll call her and Daddy as soon as possible.”

Frederick: “Damn right you will and while you’re at it give Eddie, Cleveland, and Derek a ring too.

Ananda: “Okay. I will.”

Frederick: “As a matter of fact, we’re going to see Mom and Dad later.”

I can’t remember the last time Freddy chewed me out this badly. This is worse than the time he spanked me when I was in elementary school for biting my classmate when she refused to share her crayons with me. He always makes me feel as if I’m five years old all over again.

Barrett: “Will you tell us what’s going on?”

Ananda: “I’m just working some things out.”

Barrett: “Like what?”

Ananda: “Depression.”

Frederick: “That’s not funny.”

Ananda: “I know. Look, I didn’t realize it at the time, but I really needed this. Thank you for dragging me out of my apartment.”

Barrett: “It’s our duty as your older brothers to make you do things that you don’t want to.”

Ananda: “Thanks. I’m going to the bathroom. Don’t order dessert without me.”

Frederick: [Watches her walk off] “Are you calling David or am I?”

Barrett: “I think that I can handle talking to him by myself.”

Frederick: “Let me rephrase myself. Call David and give me the phone.”

Barrett: [grumbles] “I’m getting real tired of your shit, Freddy.”

She nervously looked up at him but his height was what attracted her.

6’2, thick sturdy build, grey porcelain eyes, pale alabaster skin with a hue of red. Salt and pepper hair cut short, thin dark lips, and an array of tattoos spreading from his left shoulder to his wrist.

He smiled, looking over her again.

His fantasy was finally about to be fulfilled.

Coming from an extremely prejudice family, he had rebelled and developed an attraction to black women. Always afraid that someone would find out he kept his hands to himself and jerked off to “ebony” porn in his spare time.

At 32 years old and unhappily married, he concocted a plan to fulfill his aching “need” months ago.

“Come here, Bee” he commanded in a light British accent.

Her dark brown eyes fluttered as she smoothed the turquoise dress out.

She flashed that virginal smile that made his cock twitch before taking a step forward.

Absent-mindedly bit her lower lip and making him groan, she stepped between his legs.

The lavish hotel suite he rented was fit for royalty.

He sat on a cream Davenport, watching her through wide relaxed eyes.

Her expression remained impassive.

His, loving.

She held her hands behind her back, her stance the same as the day he met her.


He and his best friend were on lunch break and weighed their options of greasy fast food or a new chain that opened down the street from his law firm.

“I heard Oodles is really good, Dave” his right hand guy, Trevor told him.

They walked into the festive establishment and were greeted by a short dark-skinned beauty.

Her perfectly plump pink lips spread apart in the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen and exposed exceptionally white teeth.

She looked young, no more than 18, with thick curly raven hair that spouted from underneath a black cap.

The attraction was instant. Standing only a few feet away, he could feel the glow of her aura. The heat radiating from her body cause him to loosen his tie.

His heart fluttered then skipped a beat as his vision blurred.

“Hello, gentlemen!” she welcomed with a heartfelt expression.

“Afternoon” Trevor responded reaching for one of the menus she held close to her chest.

A chest David couldn’t keep his eyes off of.

“Here you go,” she handed Trevor a menu. “Would you like one as well, sir?” She gestured to David.

He didn’t respond, he just stared at her glowing aura.

Her dark chocolate skin glittered while she frowned but took a step towards him.

“Excuse me” she asked, looking up.

He shook his head, “I’m sorry, what was that?”

She smiled politely, “Did you need a menu, sir?”

“Yes, please!”

She handed him one, aware that he was indeed staring.

It didn’t bother her, most customers who came in, male especially always stared longer than they thought. She chalked it up to them rarely seeing black people.

She tucked a curl behind her ear and continued with her duties as a greeter; explaining the menu in great detail and with a vast appreciation of diverse food.

“While you gentlemen take a look at the menu, if you see anything that looks good, let me know and I can give you some insight as to how it tastes” she finished.

David’s eyes never left her presence. Just a minute ago he was starving and now he felt himself hungry for only her.

Checking her out, his eyes grew even bigger.

She was about 5’2, but the confidence she exuded gave a grander stature. Her skin seemed flawless, except for the faint dark marks under her eyes.

Cute button nose, light laugh lines, and sultry, almond shaped pecan colored eyes that squinted when she talked.

Even under the black uniform he could tell her tits were big and plump.

He licked his lips.

She swung around to point at a bigger menu further into the restaurant.

Both he and Trevor noticed how tight and plump her derrière protruded.

Trevor gave him an appreciative nod.

David’s eyes traveeld to what he knew would be his new favorite play toy: her ass. It sat high and curved; her waist was narrow but hips were wide and perfect. It gave her the perfect hourglass figure, something he’d never before seen. The light denim jeans hung onto every part of her bottom for dear life.

She turned back around, still smiling and awaited their questions.

“The Truffle Mac looks delicious ” David said.

“It’s actually one of my favorite dishes,” she confessed. “Its really rich and decadent and I love it with a side roll.”

“Sold” he admonished, handing her back the menu.

“I like the Pad Thai” Trevor said.

“Awesome, you can just head straight towards an available cashier and place your order.”

Trevor handed his menu to David and walked ahead.

He handed it to the beautiful greeter.

“We didn’t get your name?”

She smiled and shook her head as if chastising herself.

“Sorry, my name’s Bianca. Thanks so much for coming in sir” she brightly said.

He laughed, “You are too adorable.”

She blushed, “Thank you.”

“See you later” he said before joining his friend.

Trevor practically eye fucked the platinum blonde who took their orders.

“We’ll get all that right to your table, guys.”

Trevor took their cups and walked to the soda machine.

“Can you do me a favor?” David asked, leaning over the counter towards her.

She turned bright as an apple, “I’ll try.”

He pointed to a cheery Bianca, explaining the menu to an elderly couple.

“Can you have that delightful young lady bring our food?” he asked, dropping his megawatt smile and batting his long lashes at her.

She spun around and then turned back to him with a smile, “Sure, as soon as its ready I’ll have Bee bring it.”


He liked the nickname. It was short and cute, just like her.

He thanked the cashier and went in search of his best mate.

With their briefings spread along the table, they were deep in conversation when she came juggling their food.

“Hello again, gentlemen” she cooed.

Trevor rubbed his hands together and gladly accepted the plates.

As she leaned forward to grab their table number, a light coconut smell invaded his nostrils.

“This looks great, thanks!” Both men said.

“Anytime gentlemen, did you need anything else? Extra napkins, chopsticks or chili paste?”

Stuffing his mouth, Trevor shook his head.

“Chili paste, you say? David asked.

“I’ll grab it for you” she voluntarily replied, heading towards the dispensary station.

His mouth nearly dropped when he saw her switch away by his command.

Returning with his chili paste, she wished them a lovely lunch and returned to greeting.

They enjoyed it and talked about how the court precedings would go.

Upon leaving, David shook Bianca’s hand and thanked her for an amazing experience

“Oh, you’re welcome, sir! Hope to see you again, soon” she replied.

He gave her a less than formal smile and his eyes twinkled.

“You can count on it, darling” he winked.


He couldn’t escape her smile, not even in his dreams. She would sashay past him in those hip hugging light blue jeans, every curve being flaunted.

Her perky breasts, bouncing with each step and that naive smile plastered on her face.

Her face, bright and full of wonder as her brown eyes danced.

He imagined her hair was even thicker without the cap, draping along her delicate shoulders.

On one occasion, when Debra was too tired to please him, he jerked off to the image of him fucking her ripe ass. He came in his hand while silently saying her name. He needed her and soon.

Silent Love: Part One

Note to reader: The words that are in italic are either the thoughts of the characters in the story or non-English words. This is an interracial romance, and is my first story so constructive criticism is much appreciated. I don’t have an editor yet, anyone interested? The story has a slow start be advised, but I promise it will get spicier soon. Enjoy!!!

Atlanta, Georgia

She could not believe she made it. She was really a Callaway student. Fear and excitement that has been building up since she got her acceptance letter kicked in to the maximum as she ran, with a map in one hand and coffee on the other, toward her first class.

Coming in as a transfer student from a two year community college, she knew little of some of the happening that go on in college life and was excited about getting a chance to experience all the opportunities a four year college has to offer. Coming from poverty and working her way to one of the best schools in the country she had only one fear. The fear that she will not fit in with the rich and privileged students that come from all over the country and around the world to attend Callaway. She knew she was as intelligent as the rest of the student body and that she will do well academic wise, but the fear of not fitting in socially and the possibility of being titled the “Poor African Girl” hanged over her head since she got her acceptance letter in May.

Over the summer she had worked her butt off to make enough money to buy new cloths, fix up her car, and by a decent looking phone so she won’t stand out with her new class mates. At her two-year college nobody cared about who they impressed, because there was nobody to impress, but Zoya knew Callaway was going to be different.


An erotic love-letter from Elliott McCrow


We were trekking through the urban jungle, a concrete forest of shining, florescent lights and signs, the cold and open streets that surrounded us like a tempestuous storm cloud. The beating heart of the city. We had been about to part ways for the night, allowing one another to disappear in to that lonely dark, letting each other spend the empty hours of the night alone. I felt your silkily soft and warm hand slip out of mine, and I knew that it was a mistake to go away from you, even if only for a few hours.

Wait, I called after you before you could disappear out of my sight, out of my night. The distance between us melted in to the warmth of our bodies meeting again as I took your hands in mine, holding them tight. Stay with me, I asked, come with me. I could see the hesitance in your eyes, the uncertainty. But whether you decided to take a chance, or whether you decided that you didn’t want to be cold and alone anymore, like I did, I don’t know, just that after a long moment you smiled and pushed your body against mine, your sweet nectar lips pressing up against my cheek as my arms wrapped protectively around you

We found ourselves at the front door of my apartment building. We stepped up the creaky stairway quietly as we could, smiling shyly at one another. I pressed our way in to the apartment, my hand still enveloping yours as you came in after me in to the near-complete darkness of the room. You started to reach for the light switch, but decided otherwise, allowing just the gentle glow of the tender moonlight to illuminate our way.

You entered first in to the warmth of my bedroom, a sheen of silvery light pouring in through the window, the comforting embrace of the moon. The faint light painted the outlines of the room; the wide bed in the middle of the bedroom with its silkily delicate dark-purple sheets and crimson pillows was framed by the shelves and bookcases that lined the walls. I slid on to the top of the bed, sitting perched on its end. I reached out to take hold of you, enjoying the sound of your soft, melodious giggles as I pulled you atop of me, your legs wrapping around my waist.

Our lips coalesced in to one another’s as our bodies did, meeting with heated fervor, and you tasted sweeter than ripe strawberries in the spring. We inched backwards on the bed, coming to a rest with our heads on top of the soft, sanguine-red pillows. I slowly opened my eyes only to see you looking back at me; the affectionately soft light of your eyes gazing back at me amidst the pale moonlight that curled around us like a blanket. More than anything, I wanted to know what you were thinking right at that moment, but I didn’t dare interrupt the harmonious silence that hung sweetly and serenely over us.

I leaned in intimately close to softly whisper something in your ear, waiting for a long moment before you finally answered with a coy smile and a nod. Wordlessly, I stood up, moving away for a precious yet brief moment, allowing you the space to lie flatly on your stomach on the soothingly warm edge of the bed. My fingertips ran lightly over your bare, naked arms first, a sensationally electric thrill passing through us both as our skin met. Gently parting your hair to let it fall beautifully around the back of your neck, my lips brushed tenderly over your neck and shoulders, drinking in deep of the lusciousness of your presence.

I reached down to your waist to slowly raise your light-blue blouse up to your chest, sliding it off of your arms to reveal the black tank-top beneath. With that gone, my hands returned to your waist, sliding gently under the soft fabric of your shirt, my fingers dancing along your back.

My lips beat a steady staccato on your back as I softly pushed away the remaining piece of clothing that separated your hungry, delectable flesh from the bed, daring enough to not-so-lightly paint the length of your spine with my tongue. Your obsidian-dark tank-top disappeared over your shoulders, revealing the frilly red bra beneath, and I had half a mind to believe that you had worn it just for me to see. A sly sidelong grin from your pale lips told me that I just might be right.

I retreated my caress down to your waist, stroking your thighs with a desirous, dream-laden focus, trapped by the serenity that was the softness of your touch. I tugged gently at the ocean-blue folds of your skirt as you unclasped the red undergarment on your chest, slipping it off, already forgotten. Your skirt fell away to bare the sight of a pair of soft, crimson panties, a colored match of the other delicate that you’d just discarded.

My eyes strolled up the smooth curves of your pale back, the half-covered glimpse of your breasts as they were pressed up against the dark-purple bedsheets of my bedroom, meeting your own gaze from where you lay. For the first time, your head rested on the pillows that soothed my sleep each night, and more than anything, I hoped that it wouldn’t be the last. I raised a single eyebrow at you in question, and your answer was a single, want-filled wink.

I dipped my fingers underneath the strands of your crimson undergarment, and tenderly pulled them down with barely-restrained desire. I didn’t bother to hide my lustful want as I soaked in the fire of your body, the undeniable paragon of raw beauty and sex that you lived and breathed.

This was not a time for words, but I said them anyway. You are so beautiful… I said. You are the stars to me.

You lay there, naked and radiant, the touch of the moon illuminating your graceful curves, the smooth arc of your back, the alluring peek of your pert breasts, the enticing view of your delicate sex, and I had never wanted you more.

I reached over to pluck a clear bottle of something from the end table next to the head of the bed, grinning over at you, listening to the harmony of your light and flighty laughter. Undoing the top, I turned it over and allowed a trickle of thick, clear liquid to cascade down on to your back. You shivered as the cool, glistening fluid pooled up just below your shoulders

My touch, light at first but with increasing pressure, spread angel wings on your back as I massaged the strawberry-scented oil in to your silky skin, leaving a shimmering trail that enveloped your upper back as I attentively worked. My fingers slipped over the curve of your shoulders as the palms of my hands hugged your body closely, delighting in the sensation of your flesh against mine. You quivered quietly as my fingertips connected with your sensitive neck, and your skin was like fire beneath my caress.

I let more massage oil fall in to my hands, lowering my attention down to the small of your back. My fingers wrapped around your waist, sliding down to your hips and up to graze the undersides of your breasts as I squeezed you gently. My touch retreated to your back, spreading the rest of the oil along the yet-untouched areas of your spine and lower-back.

With breath held in unconscious anticipation, I lowered my liquid-laden hands down past your back, my fingertips pressing down on your rear before my hands fully engulfed it, spreading your cheeks as I caressed your soft body. Your delicate and delectable sex shined up at me as I stroked the inside of your luscious thighs, my fingers lightly pressing up against your waiting womanhood. Your hips arched slightly upwards, pressing your body up against my warm hands, and although the temptation almost overcame me right then and there, I wasn’t finished.

I rubbed down your long, elegant and beautiful thighs and legs, washing across the entirety of the backside of your body with the strawberry-scented massage oil. With a word whispered in your ear, you turned around, releasing a shy smile from your angelic face before you turned and lay flat on your back, allowing me access to your graceful front. My eyes flowed over your body, unabashedly taking in the sight of your exquisite womanliness. Rosy tints of blush flowered faintly on your cheeks, but I silenced them with a surging, enveloping kiss, my lips embracing yours as I snaked one hand behind your neck and the other around your waist, drawing your body up against mine.

The distraction proved only momentary, but as much as I wanted to have you right then, I wasn’t done, yet. I squeezed another stream of lotion in to my hands, my eyes never leaving yours as my hands slowly descended to your waist. My fingers rubbed softly at first over your smooth skin, letting out an involuntary laugh as one dipped in to your tiny belly-button. Finally, I pressed my palms down, spreading my hands out lengthwise as they stroked up and down your torso. With only a moment’s hesitation, my hands flowed up to your chest, caressing, making love to your firm and attention-demanding breasts.

I spent more time there than I likely needed to, but neither one of us seemed to mind. I rubbed the massage oil on and around your luscious orbs, circling and twisting your nipples teasingly, just to see that sly smile on your face underneath your dream-laden, half-closed eyes. Reluctantly, I drew my gaze elsewhere, allowing my fingertips to lightly brush down along your torso. Your thighs proved to be yet another easy distraction, my hands running up and down along your beautiful legs, stroking the soft flesh around your womanhood with increasing intensity and lustful want.

With the whole of your alluring, daydream-inducing body delightfully covered with the massage oil, shimmering and glowing in the light of the moon, I put the strawberry bottle back on the table. I whispered another set of words in to your ear, my tongue sneaking out to lick the length of your earlobe, even delivering a quick, playful bite, enjoying the resurgence of bashful pink on your blushing cheeks.

I pulled away, your body rising with mine. Your naked, lustful and seductively glistening body sat upright on the edge of dark-purple sheets of the bed, your arms splaying out behind you as you leaned back against them. I knelt down in front of you, my heated breath beating up upon your entrancing flesh. In that moment, all I wanted was you.

I leaned in, playfully lifting your legs to rest upon my shoulders as I closed my eyes and sank in to you, drinking deep. My wanting lips pressed up against your lower, inner folds, my tongue darting out to taste your body, and you were delicious. The taste was yours, and that alone was more than enough reason for me to want it, and want it more. I grew more daring, suckling and devouring you, my unrestrained lust taking over and pressing in to your body.

My tongue pressed up in to you, fondling and caressing the lips of your sex, delighting in the vibrations that sped through your body as you moaned. My hands raised up to stroke your thighs as my mouth continued to nuzzle against your sensual flesh, my lips wrapping around the growing, pink nub just above your glistening folds, a vigorous shudder overtaking your body as my tongue flicked against your most sensitive area.

Your hands were flames of passion as they wrapped around the back of my head, pushing my face emphatically up against your femininity. I could scarcely breath as I drank deep of your ambrosial flesh and fluid, but that didn’t seem at all important at the time. My tongue thrust in to you, stretching you apart from the inside as my hands spread your sensual inner lips apart from below you.

Your thighs pressed tightly against my head, your legs wrapping around my ears as you gave one final pant, an erotic and lascivious moan, and a last, lust-filled and impassioned cry as you came, your nectarous and gratifying womanly fluids flowing out to shower my face, and you never tasted better.

After a long moment, when you had finally caught your breath again, you unclenched your thighs from my face (a feeling that I could have honestly stood to endure for quite a bit longer, soft and delightful as your body was) and drew my body up against yours, both of us falling back on to the bed behind you.

My body hovered tensely over yours, my eyes gazing in to you, and I couldn’t help but grin. Your beautiful, tender smile shone back up at me. I cut us both off suddenly, reaching down to wrap my hand behind your neck and pull you up in to me, my lips coalescing with yours. And despite that I knew better, despite that I knew I would eventually have to, I never wanted to let go of you in that moment, to allow our bodies not to be connected, even if only for a moment.

Last night, I had a dream about you. Tonight, after the sun goes down, the moon shines out and the city goes to sleep, I’m going to take you to my bedroom, caress your body against mine, and we’re going to dream it together.

Second part of a two part series. Have you ever wanted to make love while your best friends watch? How intimate would you get? What would you confess?

Several months passed before they took another trip together. Matching schedules between two families is never easy, but they kept working the logistics until it happened.

“Looking forward to seeing Sharon again?” Cynthia asked, a sparkle in her eye. She and David were enjoying the evening after putting the kids to bed.

“She’s great at keeping the dinner conversation lively, isn’t she?” David answered.

Cynthia just rolled her eyes. “Nice dodge, but I know better. However, I’ll be honest and say I’ve been looking forward to spending some exclusive time with our friends myself. We’ve had a pretty good time reliving that weekend, haven’t we?”

“You’ve been a tigress,” David said, to a chuckle from Cynthia. “Not that I’m complaining, either. It’s also brought us closer together as friends. You’re right, I can’t look at Sharon the same way anymore. I am looking forward to seeing both of them, and them seeing us.”

“It adds a little to the anticipation when you know we only have one room, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it does,” David said to a stirring in his jeans. “You and Sharon did a nice job finding the place.”

“I figured when we only had one night, we should spend it close to home and enjoy it. Besides, there’s some good food downtown and we’ll get to try it.”

“And then dessert back at the room,” David said brightly.

“Something like that, yes,” Cynthia chuckled. “Speaking of that, I might be tempted by a little dessert tonight,” she said, fixing him with a smile.

“Lead on, madam,” David said as he got up.

“A little eager, are we?” Cynthia laughed and got up as David pulled the chair for her. She leaned back into his arms and whispered, “Just thinking about it is turning me on. You’ve got another tigress in your arms tonight.”

Driving home after work on Friday, David reminisced about their “dessert.” Cynthia’s passion had fueled his own, and they experienced a memorable night. He was looking forward to another one tonight.

This time, David and Cynthia picked up their friends, and they made it to their downtown LA hotel in reasonable time.

“Nice to just drop the car and walk after this,” David said as the doorman took their bags.

“Yeah, we drive enough in LA as it is,” Steve replied. “It was cool not to have too much traffic coming over here—we can enjoy a cocktail before dinner.”

The two couples quickly hung up their clothes and headed out for the evening. While no one spoke of it, an air of expectation hung in the room—how would this evening end?

It started well enough. Sharon led them to a bar she had heard of, and they found a table, got a drink, and caught up with each other.

“Ah, it’s nice to be adults again,” Cynthia observed, toasting her companions.

“Hear, hear!” the group toasted back.

Dinner found the couples seated at a place that Cynthia wanted them to try. They enjoyed a great evening of food, wine, and conversation. Holding hands on the way back, the couples talked quietly, the anticipation building.

“Perhaps David and I should just get ready for bed together,” Cynthia said when they got back to the room. “Might save you some time.”

“Good idea,” Sharon answered. “Go ahead.”

David wondered what Cynthia had in mind as she pulled him into the bathroom.

“I thought we might spend some time on the balcony while they’re in here,” Cynthia explained. “Brush out my hair?”

David took the brush to a sigh of approval from Cynthia. They undressed, and David smiled when he saw the sheer bra and panties on his wife.

“You look smashing, my darling,” he said dramatically.

“You don’t say?” she answered, batting an eye. “Let’s hope the balcony is a little hidden.”

“Not wanting to show off?”

“Oh, I do—just for a private audience tonight,” she replied. “We’ll wow the public some other day.”

David laughed and filed that away for future reference. He knew Cynthia, and he knew she wanted him to wonder.

“All yours,” Cynthia announced as she paraded out of the bathroom. “You’ll find us on the balcony.”

“Sounds fun,” Sharon replied. “Come on, Steven, let’s catch up with those two.”

Steve rolled his tongue back into his mouth and followed his wife into the bathroom. Cynthia took David’s hand and pulled back the balcony door. They stepped out, and she moved to the railing. David stepped behind her and encircled her waist.

“Lovely view,” Cynthia said, looking out. “I think we’re reasonably safe. No other hotels looking into this one.”

“The view’s pretty good here, too,” David said, nuzzling her neck.

Cynthia sighed. “You have such a way with words.”

“Let’s see what I can do without them.” David’s fingertips lightly brushed across her arms, sending an electric current through her.

“Ohhh,” she whispered. She shivered to his touch as his hands explored her arms, neck, back, and upper legs.

“I love you, Cynthia. You are the sexiest woman alive.”

“I am just on fire.”

The door gently slid back, and Sharon led Steven out onto the balcony.

“You two are looking romantic,” Sharon said as she joined them at the railing. “Steven, why don’t we try what they’re doing? It sure seems to be working for them.”

Cynthia chuckled as David continued his caresses. Both ladies watched each other as their husbands’ hands brushed fire along their skin.

“Let’s try out those beds,” Cynthia whispered after a while.

They went inside. Cynthia sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the place beside her. David joined her, wondering what she had in mind. He saw the other couple sit across from them.

Cynthia wasn’t sure yet, but she was in the mood to open herself further to their friends. The memories of their previous encounter often resonated in her mind. The confession of her sexual side to Steve and Sharon had driven her excitement, and she wanted to confess more this time. She leaned over to kiss David, figuring that her body would know what to do.

David kissed her passionately. The session on the balcony had gotten both of them aroused. His hand moved over her breast, and she moaned. He gently kneaded through the material of her bra, and then he brushed over the fastener, asking a question with his fingers.

“Yes,” Cynthia breathed, and David undid her bra, pulling it away and returning to her breasts. Her nipples pebbled under his fingers, rock hard. He alternated gentle caresses with firmer twists, pulling the nubs between his fingers. Cynthia’s breath ran hot in his mouth.

As David’s hand wandered below Cynthia’s breasts, she clamped her lips tighter to his. She wanted him to move downward. He moved a little more each time, finally brushing her legs. A moan communicated Cynthia’s approval, but she made no motion to lie down. Was she going to let him work his hand between her legs here—facing their friends? His heart started to pound.

David moved his hand along the top of her leg, still wondering how far she wanted this to go. At one point, his hand brushed both her knees, and he jumped when he felt her legs move slightly apart. He grew a little more bold, and started caressing the insides of her legs. Cynthia moaned several times while he worked, and slowly moved her legs further apart. David slid his hand up toward the waist of her panties, with the thought of working around to the front.

As his fingers brushed the waistband, David got a shock. He felt Cynthia’s hand on his, and she guided his finger under the waistband. She rocked to the side. She wanted them off! In a daze, David hooked the material and began pulling it down. Cynthia continued to lock her lips to his, and he could sense her mounting arousal.

David’s other hand left her nipple and began to tug the other side of her panties. Cynthia planted her arms and lifted her ass off the bed, allowing him to fully pull the material down around her knees. She then drew her legs up together, which got the panties completely off. She kept her knees together, but still gave no hint that she wanted to move or lie down.

David knew that Cynthia was deeply into the moment. Any parting of her legs would let Steve and Sharon see straight to heaven. He still couldn’t quite believe that she was going to show herself so openly. On the other hand, her lips told a different story. She was really hot, and David decided to see how far this was going to go.

He repeated his caressing of her legs, and she responded the same as before, moaning each time his hand moved along the inner side. He could feel the space between her legs just barely increase, and he finally shrugged off any doubts about going too far in this game. He also realized that one of the rules was that Cynthia would act passively—at least for a time—while he acted like the one directing this show. He increased the pressure of his caresses, and was rewarded by a louder series of moans. Steve and Sharon could definitely hear those.

Confident now that she really wanted this, David began to work his hand completely between her knees. She yielded easily, and David brought his hand back toward her junction, using it to guide her legs apart. He stroked just the outer lips of her pussy and enjoyed her struggle to push his fingers deeper, while not being too obvious about it.

David could feel her body tremble and knew that she was feverish with excitement. He decided it was time to give Steve and Sharon a full view of the action, and pushed her right leg with his fingers, just hard enough to get the message across.

Cynthia understood perfectly. David’s cock thrilled as he felt her move her leg further and further in response to his hand. Her pussy was now fully exposed, the puffy lips just starting to part and reveal the pink inside. David opened her other leg and then pulled back. He took in his wife’s fully naked figure leaning back on the bed, completely open to their friends’ view. He could not remember ever seeing her so hot.

He looked up at Cynthia’s face and saw her half-lidded eyes looking down as his fingers possessively massaged either side of her opening. Her eyes jumped up and bored straight into his, and he saw an erotic mixture of love, wickedness, intense desire, and surprise at herself. He kept the connection as he briefly dipped a finger into her tunnel, and he saw the flame of desire leap even higher. He wasn’t going to rush this, however. David worked a finger on either side of Cynthia’s pussy lips, letting her arousal fully develop. Cynthia was starting to flex her hips, and she leaned back on her arms for support.

Cynthia felt wicked and completely turned on. She knew that, on one level, she was confessing her solitary sexual need by lying back and letting David pleasure her. At another level, she felt the intense relationship of the four people in the room. That helped her release from any restraints. She tilted her head back and moaned deeply and loudly, and pushed her pussy into David’s busy hand. A wave of heat washed over her body. With a start, she perceived that someday, she would hold nothing back from her friends at all, and would let them watch her in any way they pleased. “We never stop learning new things about ourselves,” she thought, but then let her thoughts subside as she concentrated on the intense pleasure radiating from her sex.

David stole a quick glance at his friends and saw the intense look on their faces and the concentration on his hand. He took a finger and slid it deeply into Cynthia’s pussy, eliciting another moan. He then slid it up and started working around the hood of her clit, the moisture making his finger glide freely. Cynthia began humping into his hand, giving all of herself to her friends. David sped up his massage and focused on her clit as Cynthia bucked and moaned. His hand became a blur as Cynthia pushed toward the edge. Steven and Sharon could see her chest heave and her nipples harden even more than before. Her skin shone from her heat.

Cynthia felt herself pass the point of no return, and she clamped down to build the tension to the breaking point. An explosion was forming, drawing its energy from every point of her body. Exquisite pleasure radiated from her pussy as she held on. The heat and pressure built and built, demanding release. With one last effort, she gripped her legs around David’s hand and squeezed, confining the pleasure until it exploded throughout her body. Mindless of anything, she threw her head back and cried out “Aaahhh, aaahhh!,” as her body shuddered.

David could feel the spasms travel through her pussy as she writhed around his arm. Cynthia opened her legs again and continued to moan and buck, milking every last drop of pleasure from her orgasm. Finally, she collapsed, shaking, her hair falling onto her chest as she dropped her head. She covered his hand in hers, holding him close while she returned to Earth. David lifted her chin and kissed her deeply.

“Oh God, Cynthia, that was a huge turn-on,” Steven said. Sharon just nodded her head, not sure if she could speak clearly. Rising, she tugged Steven up as well. She reached around and unsnapped her bra, then quickly tugged her panties down and kicked them off. She tugged on Steven’s boxers, and he got them the rest of the way off in a hurry. David could see the excitement of her erect nipples. He also couldn’t miss Steven’s iron spring free from his boxers. Sharon then turned to Steven and kissed him savagely, running her hands along his ass in an invitation to reciprocate. He took the hint.

Sharon broke the kiss and gently pushed Steven down to a sitting position on the bed with his knees apart. Turning around, she sat down against him and leaned her head back to kiss again. Steven cupped her breasts in his hands, working his way to her extended nipples. Sharon sighed, and spread her knees far apart, giving her friends an unobstructed view. As her pussy opened up, David could see the signs of arousal. Soon, he heard Sharon saying, “Get inside me.”

Sharon lifted herself up to sit in Steven’s lap. She was going to fuck Steven in full view of her friends. Steven placed his hands on her ass to guide her onto him. She took his cock and placed it at her entrance. Steven then slowly let her sink down around his rod.

It was David’s turn to stare wide-eyed as he witnessed the complete opening of his friends to him. Cynthia sat up and leaned next to him, intent as well. He could see Steven’s cock spread Sharon’s pussy lips on her way down and drag them on her way up. His gaze traveled up to her beautiful breasts and then on to her eyes, which were half open but looking right at him.

His cock poked through his fly, rock hard.

“Enjoying the show?” Cynthia whispered. David just nodded.

“Me, too.” She gave his cock a gentle squeeze.

Sharon riveted their eyes again when she trailed a finger down to her pussy, slowly rubbing around her clit.

“Fuck,” David breathed. Cynthia’s breath caught in her throat. They couldn’t believe that Sharon was masturbating right in front of them.

Sharon moaned and closed her eyes, tingling with arousal at sharing herself so openly. Waves of pleasure radiated from her pussy and washed over her. She increased the pressure on her clit, feeling Steven’s hard cock plunging deep.

Cynthia and David watched, rapt, as Sharon’s chest arched and a flush started down from her neck. The color crept to her swollen breasts, tight and hard. She panted with effort, and drove her fingers to a blur. Behind her, Steven grunted with the effort of driving his rod upward to meet her motions.

“Oh, fuck, I’m gonna come!” Sharon gasped. “Uh, uh, uh, ahhhhhhhhhh!” she wailed, pressing her fingers deep into her core. Her body shuddered and twitched through her orgasm, but she kept riding Steven.

“I’m coming!” he announced as he drove his hips upward, pushing his cock as deep as it would go. “Ugghhhhhh!” Cynthia and David watched his balls twitch as he emptied himself into his wife. They stayed pressed together, grunting as the aftershocks passed from one to another. Finally, Steven lowered his hips, and Sharon followed, settling in his lap.

“Whew! That was something!” she exclaimed. “I came really hard.”

“Me, too!” Steven added. “Watching you come drove me right over the edge. Wow!”

“Looked pretty fantastic from here,” Cynthia observed.

“Unbelievable,” David said. “Sharon, you flushed deep red—you’re still glowing. What an orgasm.” He wasn’t lying. Sharon’s pussy was still flushed, the outer lips swollen, and the inner lips clinging around Steven’s cock. He committed the sight to memory.

“So I guess you liked the show, huh?” Sharon asked. “I had fun showing myself to you, especially after watching Cynthia get off.”

“You got me going again,” Cynthia answered “and I think it’s about time to give poor David some relief.” She took his hand and lifted him to his feet, guiding his boxers over his jutting erection and then down over his feet. She then scooted close and kissed the head of his cock, finally plunging down.

“Oh, fuck,” David groaned. Cynthia backed off and kissed his cock all over, keeping him aroused but not too far. She had other plans, and she dropped a hand to her pussy, working her arousal level up to his.

Sharon pulled herself off of Steven’s cock and settled back into him so they could both watch. They alternated their eyes from the sight of Cynthia’s lips teasing David’s cock to the sight of her fingers framing her prominent clit.

Suddenly, she stood and kissed David fiercely. He responded, pulling her tight. Cynthia broke the kiss, and then turned and bent over the bed, spreading her legs and presenting her swollen pussy to him.

“Fuck me hard,” she ordered. David lined his up cock and Cynthia immediately pushed back, flattening her ass against him.

Sharon and Steven watched, mesmerized by the naked lust in front of them. Cynthia had positioned herself slightly to the side so they had an excellent view of her pussy getting reamed by David’s meat. They could also see Cynthia continue to work her clit, clearly driving herself to another orgasm.

David pushed hard but not too fast. He knew Cynthia would speed up when she was ready, and he wanted to save himself for that. Sure enough, she started bouncing back into him, and he picked up the pace.

Sharon and Steven thrilled to the sound of lightly slapping hips as they watched Cynthia’s ass flatten and her breasts shake with each thrust.

“Give it to me, David!” Cynthia hissed. David grabbed her hips and slammed into her, the slaps much louder and mixed with grunts from both of them.

“I’m gonna come, baby!”

“Yes!” Cynthia responded, her hand a blur.

“Uh, uh, uh, uh, aggggghhhhhhh!” David moaned as he pulled her hips back hard and spewed into her. Her pussy clamped the underside of his cock, and the cum surged past in jolts of fire.

David’s climax drove Cynthia over the edge. She threw her head back as she convulsed around him. Strangled whimpers and sobs escaped her lips. Her hand clamped her white-hot clit, the waves of heat crashing through her body.

Sharon and Steven held their breath—sharing the intensity of their friends’ lovemaking. Their skin prickled and little tremors shot through them in response to the scene before them.

“Damn,” Steven said under his breath. Sharon squeezed his hand in hers. They watched Cynthia and David come back to earth.

Cynthia hung her head in surrender. David ran his hands along her back, ass, and legs, prolonging the intimacy between them. Finally, he gently eased out of her, and they both sighed at the loss of feeling. David guided her onto the bed, and he settled beside her, nibbling and sucking at her lips.

“I love you,” he said.

“I know.” They both chuckled. Cynthia turned her head.

September 2018
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