From sandman@bitsmart.com Tue Mar 31 18:12:06 1998 Content Warning: This story contains a very long, very hot sex scene between a self-aggrandizing male writer and a self-depreciating female writer, somehow this all combines into something that is illegal in a lot of places and isn’t really fit for young, impressionable minds (go watch MTV, it’s apparently a lot more wholesome). Subject: What REALLY (but not really) happens when two erotica writers meet in the flesh? Subject Matter: (M/F) (Sickeningly Romantic) Rating: (X) Not suitable for minors. May be illegal in some areas. Author: SandMan Copyright ( c ) 1998 sandman@bitsmart.com Archive: ftp://asstr.ml.org/pub/Authors/sandman/index.html Distribution Rights: May be distributed freely WITHOUT MODIFICATION on USENET, USENET II, not-for-profit web sites, not-for-profit ftp sites, and news archival services which offer free public access to archived articles. Janey can do anything she darn well wants to with it (hopefully this includes many printouts crumpled in passionately clenched fists) but all other rights are specifically reserved by the author. Credits: Poetry by Samuel Coleridge who said it all better than I ever could, two hundred years before this humble, would-be writer could really begin to understand the true passion of the words. Dedication: To Janey who inspired me to be better than I am. To Linda who captured my heart but lets my spirit soar free. Two better women never graced the face of this earth. Creation Date: 3/30/98 Distribution Date: 3/31/98 Author’s Note: Authors find inspiration in the strangest of places. This time though inspiration found me in a wonderfully tall, depreciatingly demure woman named Janey who is FAR more sexy than she lets on even in her wildly erotic stories ;-) Janey inspires me to verse, even if not my own. With one lone exception (duly noted) any verse you see in this story is from Coleridge’s "Kubla Khan". Janey also inspires me to do a very poor imitation of her writing style but for some reason I felt that maybe I had an invitation to enter her world. Shameless sucking up to reviewers: Celeste if you’re reading this maybe it will please you to know that I once thoroughly embarrassed a student teacher when, in front of a bunch of horny high-school students, I began to explain in graphic detail the erotic qualities of allusion and symbolism in Coleridge’s "Kubla Khan" (which remarkably slipped through the rather strict southern Baptist school board censors! Obviously strict southern Baptist school board censors wouldn’t know erotic allusion and symbolism if "A mighty fountain momentarily was forced" up their "romantic chasms". :-). To this VERY day, I still count as one of my greatest sexual exploits the blush which graced that young student-teacher’s cheeks and regret our regular English teacher so masterfully stepped in and diverted me. I got an A+ on the report however and I noted that, unlike my peer’s reports, my report had been graded by our regular teacher. There’s probably a bit of allusion, symbolism, and metaphor in that last sentence (maybe throw in a parable for the whole ball of wax) but it’s probably something only an astute student of literature would be able to discern (or someone who wasn’t blind and had an IQ above that of a grapefruit – my apologies to those of you who didn’t get it – inside joke.) ;-) Disclaimer: Janey’s world is remarkably similar to our own, but this is a work of FICTION folks. It’s a far, far better place than our own world for sure but it’s only a "might have been" in the fabric of time and space. DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME! There are laws against this sort of thing – geez! ============================================== Sandman’s Bolero: In four measures (but all the gushy stuff’s in the fourth) By Sandman ========== Introduction. ========== In my real life I have three all consuming passions; sex, computers and writing in that order. The fact that writing erotic stories tends to combine all of these passions is a rather nice bonus. Reviewing erotic stories for the Celestial Reviews also manages to combine all those qualities. So generally I’m a pretty happy-go-lucky-fellow indulging in an orgy of, well, indulgences. Just when things started getting a bit routine, Malinov and DG announced a spring orgy for writers and Jane Urquhart included me in one of the hottest stories I’d ever read! Celeste in her review stated that I probably wouldn’t rate that story as highly as "Janey’s January" but she was just a little off. Any story which costars ME has a definite appeal! Naturally I became more than a little interested in this rather wonderful mystery woman. Finding out a bit about Janey involved my passion for computers. Few people know either computers or the Net as well as I do and even fewer people realize how little anonymity they actually have from someone like me (or the CIA -- but I’m less threatening). I found Janey without any problems at all. The only problem would be getting to know her the way I really wanted to know her without seeming like some sicko stalker. ======================= Chapter 1: Testing my mettle ======================= When I finally met Janey she was almost exactly the way I pictured her. That in itself is fairly remarkable considering that I’m usually very far from the mark when it comes to guessing how Net personalities look in real life. Janey, in her stories, always puts herself down as too tall, too flat-chested, too-old (33 is old?), too middle-class-average woman. Somehow though I always read that as a strikingly tall, well proportioned, just-the-right-age, wonderfully normal woman. Oh how right I was. Sitting behind her desk looking harried and just a little bit annoyed (as anyone who’s had a hard day at the office with the prospect of a harder night at home would look), Janey probably would not impress most people as a sexual creature at that particular moment. But then Janey had not included most people in her island fantasy either. Just as I had seen through her depreciating prose, I saw through the effect of a harried workday. Janey was a striking woman in every respect. I can’t describe the rush I felt as I opened the door and gazed at her for the first time. I expected to be disappointed. I expected to have to rapidly re-appraise my mental picture of my fantasy woman. If anything she was even prettier than I had imagined. She was studying some papers on her desk and biting into a pencil, oblivious to my presence. I didn’t even realize I had stopped dead in my tracks, captivated by her, unable to tear my eyes from the woman I had come so far and gone through such trouble to meet. I could have stood there until the end of time. Janey looked up, finally noticing me and smiled (SMILED! The whole grungy academic cubical suddenly was filled with the ambiance of a warm spring day! "And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.") Yes it was a professional smile, a polite smile, the kind one makes but doesn’t mean a dozen times an hour, but when she smiled she was radiant beyond belief. Janey looked down at her notes a moment then looked back up. For just a second she stared at me with an odd expression on her face, probably because I had a dopey expression on mine -- I guess Janey didn’t get the "thunderstruck, love-at-first-sight" look every day. Shaking off the oddity, Janey asked, "Mr. Sands, won’t you have a seat please?" Her voice was sweeter than honey, a thousand rapturous bells in perfect harmony. Still in a daze I moved forward. One foot forward. Down. OK, now the other foot. Something which had always been so routine, so automatic now took every last shred of will. I was like a kid on a first date all over again trying desperately to control everything I did so as not to look the fool. The effect was off course predictable, I looked very much the village idiot (pity him, he knowth not what he do for the only thing more foolish than a woman in love be a man). Judging from Janey’s expression I must have been doing a fairly good impression of Frankenstein (the monster -- the mad scientist impression wouldn’t begin until I started talking). I finally managed the three paces and sat awkwardly in the chair. "First visit to a vocational guidance councilor?" Janey asked, sounding and looking a bit amused. "Uh-huh," I replied. Wow! That was almost a coherent word! "Well relax a little. I’m not going to stick any needles in you!" Janey said soothingly though with an amused smile that said I was a bit of an oddity in her middle-class academically sheltered life. Being sensible for a change I remained silent and she continued, "You’re a bit older than what we normally get. Usually by the time someone’s thirty they’ve already found their vocation." I had actually, and was rather successful at it but then I thought meeting Janey this way would be better than say knocking on her door and saying, "Hi Janey, I’m Sandman wanna fuck?" I mean that might work in a story but in real life she’d be calling the cops. In real life I wouldn’t blame her! "I’m a late bloomer," I replied. Oh! That was almost good! She smiled politely and returned to her notes. "Well your test scores are really rather good. I think we can skip right past ditch digger and move straight to garbage collector." In real life I’m an over-paid, under-worked, systems analyst/programmer/network administrator. I have to admit that Janey masterfully extracted me from my daze. It’s one thing to love a woman from afar, quite another to have one’s lively-hood threatened, after-all one’s lively-hood allowed one to love a woman from afar with the chance of loving her anear! I wear my feelings on my face it appears and Janey laughed lightheartedly. "Just a little joke Mr. Sands. It’s a bit cruel but it tends to get the client’s attention." "Well at least you didn’t say attorney or politician!" I quipped. That’s the old boy again -- back in the real world! "Well you do score high in community involvement and writing skills, so neither is out of the question. Your analytical and organizational skills are very high though. You’d make excellent management material either as a business major or in the computer sciences." Damn! Beautiful, intelligent, creative, attractive, seductive, exotic, AND dead solid perfect at her job. "It doesn’t say anything about maybe becoming a writer?" Janey looked up at me with a considering expression. I DEFINITELY liked that. Let her consider me all she wanted as long as she considered me as a person rather than a lab experiment! "Normally for the arts we recommend a day job until you get your big break. Do you write?" "Frequently." I answered, leaning forward. That’s it boy! Smile! Turn on the old charm! "Have you published anything?" She asked, still in that considering tone. Ohhh, good question! Oh yes! I’ve published TONS in ASS. Surprise! I’m Sandman! That would be about two seconds before she called the cops. "Nothing professionally. A few things in high school and a few local magazines. Just fun stuff. Are you by any chance a writer?" "Why do you ask?" Janey replied. OOPS, stepping outside the profesional/client relationship, which was exactly what I wanted. I already knew my vocation and one of them was Janey. "Something in your tone maybe. I tend to notice things like that. Helps in the writing." I winked warmly. At least I think I winked warmly, these days there’s a fine line between lewd and warm. Janey didn’t seem to mind though -- she smiled and this time it wasn’t polite, it was genuine. "I dabble," she replied noncommittally. Dabble! That was Janey for you, in my opinion maybe the best writer on the whole bloody group (and therefore the whole world) and she dabbles! Well she was doing a masterful job of dabbling with my heartstrings whether she knew it or not! "So this is your day job?" I asked, trying to tear down the walls between us. Janey laughed. "My job-job. With a husband and kids I honestly don’t know where I find the time to write!" "But you make the time," I said confidently. Oh yes, this was very solid ground here. "Writing is who you are. It drives you, consumes you, makes you human." Oh boy, DOCTOR Frankenstein just had to make a cameo. I probably had a crazed, burning look in my eyes as well. The kind of look one couldn’t help but see and think "Weirdo! Crackpot! Fanatic!" If I started foaming at the mouth it would probably be a really nice touch! Janey considered me another moment. This time I was uncomfortable under that gaze. Being passionate about something (or someone) can be a good quality, but it can also land you in the loony bin (or the pervert stalker wing of your local county jail). Funny how life’s just filled to the brim with politically correct razor fine lines like that. "You seem to know me pretty well," Janey said cautiously. An opening! "I know myself," I replied. "It’s the way I am about my writing, I assume it’s how others are about theirs." "I’d say you assumed rightly. It certainly beats doing laundry." A slight, demure smile lit her face. "You know, I’d love to discuss our writing in a less formal setting. Maybe over dinner? You could bring some of your writing – you strike me as a very interesting person, I’d love to read a sample." Janey blushed (BLUSHED! Forget Coleridge even he couldn’t capture this moment! "Untamed beauty knoweth no bounds when graced by an unbidden blush." If someone hasn’t said that already then damnit someone should’ve!). Her gaze fell to her hands, one of which was twirling her wedding ring – heads I decline, tails I accept. Oh God let it be tails! "I don’t know if it would be …," she cast about for a word, " proper." Her eyes never left the wedding ring. This was for my benefit, my chance to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was already spoken for (lucky bastard). The ring twirled. I could smell Janey’s perfume wafting across the tiny room carried on cool breezes from the open window. Janey looked up and considered me again. My reply was strictly friendly but every nuance of my body shouted that I considered her an interesting and very (oh God how very) desirable woman. "What could be more proper than a shared evening between two stuffy writers?" I asked. I knew it was an inside joke, SHE knew it was an inside joke. I was daring her to be adventurous and take a step on the wild side and she was enjoying every second as she flirted with the idea. That much I knew. A writer puts just a little bit of themselves in every story. I knew Janey well enough to know this. "I don’t think I could make it tonight," Janey said. "Maybe tomorrow?" Tails I accept, you win, maybe I win too. "I hear the Four Seasons has a most excellent restaurant, would you like to meet me there or should I pick you up?" I asked. I’d already managed to pick her up, but the hard part most definitely was not over yet! "I’ll meet you there. At the bar. Say around seven?" "Don’t forget your writing," I reminded her. She gave me a quirky smile. "Don’t forget yours." I rose from my chair, amazingly managing to keep my balance! She rose as well and despite herself let out a little gasp. Even separated by the desk Janey could see how tall I was. In her stories she belittled (no pun intended of course!) her size, but I stood a good five inches taller than her. Short and average sized women always made me feel uncomfortable, like I was robbing the cradle or something. Where Janey considered herself too tall, I found her breathtakingly perfect. Recovering herself admirably she offered me her hand – a nice professional handshake to close a not-so-professional meeting. I accepted and then did something completely out of left field and bent over, raising her hand to my lips for a light, promising kiss. No ring on this hand. None at all. I think I got it down perfect, not too long, not too short, just perfect. Then I glanced up into her profoundly fascinating eyes and smiled. With a single, simple smile I tried to tell her without words just how happy, how complete she had made me feel. Sometimes I know exactly when to quit and with Janey gazing after me I beat a hasty retreat, wondering how I would possibly survive the doubts and uncertainties which would consume me until we met again. ======================= Chapter 2: Dinner for two. ======================= The next twenty-seven hours was the oddest mixture of dread, anticipation, fear, and exhilaration. I was like a kid on Christmas eve, a kid who knew Santa would be bringing the most wonderful toy that had ever been made. But I was also a kid who had to perform a most intricate dance for Santa and one false step, one missed queue and not only would Santa not give me the toy but there would never be another Christmas again. That pretty much sums up twenty-seven hours (twenty-seven years… twenty-seven lifetimes… twenty-seven eternities…) of heaven and hell each existing in the same exact moment in time. I waited at the bar for another eternity slowly nursing the Perriers the bartender kept bringing me with a slight scowl which seemed to say a real man would be drinking something more expensive and mind altering. What can I say, save for a very fine wine on occasion I simply do not imbibe. I think I manage to make a fool of myself quite well without the necessity of consuming large quantities of alcohol thank you very much. Janey was fashionably (agonizingly, soul-searchingly) late, but Janey was also dressed to the nines (and tens and elevens and twelves!)! At the risk of sounding like a cartoon character, my jaw was on the bar as this absolute vision of perfection, elegance, and grace stepped into the smoky bar like a goddess descending from on-high. Her eyes flitted nervously about the crowded bar as she sought me out, then our eyes met. I smiled, she smiled, all was right with the world. I floated out of my chair and walked on air over to greet her. Taking both of her hands in mine (funny I didn’t feel a wedding ring!) I took a step back and took her in, drank her in, let her fill me. Under the intensity of my gaze she blushed (Oh Janey don’t ever stop doing that, your blush makes all things possible and all things desirable). "You are staggeringly beautiful," I said admiringly. The blush deepened and spread to her neck and shoulders. She raised her eyes and met my gaze, "You exaggerate." "To you I will speak only the truth, always," I replied. OK, OK! I’m a romantic – shoot me. "Well you’re not doing a very good job!" She protested. "You want me to stop?" "Oh definitely not!" "Good! Because I intend to compliment you and flatter you shamelessly all evening." Amazing how bold I had become. Fortunately twenty-seven hours had allowed me to remember what set seven years of a frustrated teen-aged sex-drive apart from the last decade of reasonable success with the women I pursued. I had never pursued a married woman before, but I didn’t really think that saying "I Do" made anyone less human. She rolled her eyes and grinned. "Then how am I to believe anything you possibly say?" "You’ll believe everything because it is the truth." I replied, then shifted the subject. "Would you like to have a drink at the bar or shall we retire to our table?" She glanced at the crowded, smoky, noisy bar behind us and very sensibly replied, "A table would be very nice." I led her out of the bar and could feel her drift away from me as we neared the ground-floor restaurant. In very good humor I pulled her back, she looked at me curiously as we entered the elevator. Like most modern hotels the Four Seasons had several restaurants with varying degrees of quality. Generally, the rule of thumb is, the closer to the ground the cheaper and more common the food. I had refined tastes in wine, food, and women. "This table wouldn’t happen to be in a private room would it?" Janey asked with just a note of anxiety. She really didn’t know me from your average psycho on the street – a perfectly sensible question. "A table in The Garden on the top floor." I smiled back at her. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I hear that’s terribly exclusive! How did you arrange a table on such short notice?" "They had a last minute cancellation when I inquired," I replied. Funny how even at the most exclusive restaurants someone always cancels at the last moment if you slip the matre de a few pieces of paper with some old philosopher’s picture on it -- very intellectual those restaurant types. Pasqual’s face brightened when the elevator deposited us in the Garden waiting room. "Mr. Sands, how very pleasant to see you again! And just look at this ravishing creature you bring us! You said she would be beautiful but missure that is like saying a rose in beautiful." Amazing what you can get away with having a French accent and a pencil thin mustache. Janey liked it though. The French are also quite good at whisking and Pasqual whisked us to a small, dark, secluded table set in front of a large picture window which overlooked the glowing city far below us. Janey leaned over and said in a low, admonishing voice, "I don’t know what to say! I certainly never expected anything like this! I’m not dressed for it, I certainly don’t move in these circles! What the hell are all these forks and spoons for?" The expression on her face was asking, "what have you got me into?" The LOOK on her face was saying, "I am SO excited." "Pasqual is the official dress code enforcer. He liked you just fine. Now me, I just kinda pick a fork and spoon at random and stick withem." I gave her my patent-pending, award winning "ain’t I just the cutest little devil" grin. Just as she was starting to relax and go with the flow her eyes narrowed suspiciously again, "How can someone who’s still looking for a vocation afford a place like this?" I shrugged. "Someone still looking for a vocation is probably independently wealthy." Don’t look at me like that, it was probably the truth even if it DIDN’T apply to me. I mean she didn’t exactly ask me how I could afford a place like this. "A man of means hmm?" She asked, giving me another one of those delightful considering looks. I especially loved the way her right eyebrow arches when she does that. Not too much, not to little – just perfect. "I guess you could say that." I smiled back at her, a self-assured smile. I’m not Bill Gates or anything, but I’m comfortably comfortable even if I do have to make my own means – whatever that means. The waiter brought us our menus and after a minute or so of glancing over the selections Janey peeked over her menu and confessed, "I can’t READ any of this! For all I know I may be ordering a copyright message!" I grinned wickedly. "Do you trust me?" "Would I be here if I didn’t?" She answered conspiratorially. I raised my hand slightly and our waiter appeared instantly at our table -- for those on a power trip nothing beats an exclusive restaurant. I ordered a very, very fine white wine, salad, baked fish with those little baby potatoes and green bean sides. There wasn’t exactly a menu item with that particular combination, but a good restaurant could improvise – this was a good restaurant. In my restaurant French I also casually mentioned that they not be too concerned about rushing the order. The waiter frowned at that (turnover was after all where the money was) but like Pasqual he was an aficionado of old philosophers and he smiled as I returned the menus. "You didn’t order snails or anything did you?" Janey asked after he had left. I smiled warmly. "Just a couple of light seafood plates." I assured her. Janey considered that a moment then reached down and pulled a few papers out of her purse. "Your writing?" I asked. "Well it IS why we’re SUPPOSED to be here." She reminded me. I accepted the papers. When I began to read however she cleared her throat. "Ahm, this isn’t one sided or anything. I got the impression this was an I’ll show you mine if you show me yours affair." Ohhh! Stunning double-entendre. "I promise I’ll let you read mine after dinner." I replied. "I’d much rather read your story without having to worry about how you’re feeling about mine." It was the truth. It wasn’t the only reason of course but it was the truth. She considered that as the waiter poured our wine – he would lurk in the shadows the rest of the evening never allowing our glasses to get dangerously low. He was a most excellent waiter, unobtrusive and invisible. Under Janey’s considering gaze I read her story. It wasn’t an erotic story, after all she really didn’t know me, but it was a very good story – if you ask her nicely she might even share it with you. ======================= Chapter 3: Just Deserts. ======================= Even by my excruciatingly paranoid high standards, dinner was a smashing success. We talked about her story for at least an hour and at the end I’m not so sure we both weren’t reading things into the story just for the sake of continuing the conversation. The food, wine, and service were exceptional though Janey did cast a despairing glance at the rather small portions on the artistic gold-leafed plates. I didn’t, a well-trimmed hoagie was just a call to room service away. "Dinner’s over," Janey said reminding me of my promise. "Nothing is more honest than one’s writing." I said cryptically as I pulled a few pages from my coat pocket and handed them to her. She glanced at the pages, leaning forward like a cat pouncing on it’s prey. Just seconds into the story she looked up sharply, her eyes wide, her hands trembled slightly causing the paper to bristle, the look on her face was completely, completely unreadable. I took a sip of wine. At times like this even tea-toddlers needed a good stiff drink! "I had to meet you," I said simply, apologetically. "If it were just your stories… But it was more than that; the e-mail, our fictional trip. When I started making cameos in your months I just had to meet you." Her mouth was moving but no words came out. NOT a good sign. "I didn’t come to whisk you off to bed!" OK now I was a blatant liar, I wanted that very badly but it wasn’t the ONLY reason I had traveled across the country to be at this table with this woman. I gave her a quirky smile. I’m harmless! Really! See? I’m just one step away from being the local village idiot! "You DIDN’T come to whisk me off to bed?" Janey asked and was I ever confused by her tone – angry, pouty but mostly angry which was at the exact same time extraordinarily exciting and extraordinarily disturbing. "Well I toyed with the idea," I said defensively. "But this isn’t exactly a story!" "No, it’s not a story it’s a fairy tale romance! Even if you weren’t the same Sandman I’ve let myself fantasize about these last few weeks you’re a handsome man, you’ve made me feel like Cinderella at the Prince’s ball and I was all worked up for a really great evening -- something that would have Beth drooling for months on end and I, and I," she started to giggle, "and IIII can’t believe I just said all that." I had to smile, Janey embarrassed was another side of her that I found extraordinarily attractive! "And I finally meet you, face to face. I always pictured you much better than you wrote yourself and even that pales to your reality. You tell everyone you’re a Yugo but you’re really a Porsche. More than looks though you’re EXACTLY the Janey I know, warm, creative, intelligent, funny, witty… " Yes folks in a former life I was a thesaurus editor. Janey interrupted me. "I hate to be forward and all, but as they said on dot dee lets blow this pop stand." "Wasn’t that blow this joint?" I asked with a twinkle in my eye. (Here comes Santa Clause here comes Santa Clause right down Santa Clause lane …:-) :- ):-) :-) :-) "Let’s just blow," Janey said sounding exasperated but electric with anticipation. ======================= Chapter 4: "By woman wailing" ======================= Janey paused at the door to my suite. "Room 607. That sounds familiar," she noted with an enigmatic smile. "The devil’s always in the details," I replied cryptically. "He must have a very nice suite prepared for you." Janey quipped as she stepped inside. "I don’t doubt it at all." I stepped up behind her and removed her wrap, kissing the base of her neck softly as I did. Her wrap safely hanging on a convenient hook I stepped into her waiting arms. As I peered down into her endless, inviting eyes I took one brief moment to glory in how lucky I was to be here at this time, at this place, with this Woman. Janey smelled like fresh cut flowers in full bloom, her "non-existent tits" were pressing into my chest and as I tasted her lips in a brief, hesitant kiss she tasted of sweet wine. I pulled back and smiled. "You are so much more than I ever dared dream or hope for." "You’re going to make me horribly self-conscious if you keep saying things like that," she scolded but her eyes danced. I turned my head to glance at my laptop sitting on the desk. "JOBE," I commanded, "PLAY RAVEL BOLERO REPEAT." Modern technology is so wonderful even technogeeks like me can appear suave and sophisticated – the soft discordant notes of Ravel’s perfectly erotic masterpiece began to waft through the room. "My you’re full of surprises," Janey said with the most wicked smile as she ground her hips into mine. "All pleasant I hope," I quipped, but didn’t wait for a reply as her luscious, inviting lips beckoned me. Her lips parted and we partook of each other’s tastes, textures. When she began to sway oh ever so pleasingly, so sensuously to the music I gently tugged at her zipper. Her breath caught as the zipper traveled down to the small of her back. She broke away from the rapturous kiss as her dress fell to the floor around her feet and looked up at me, a probing look, a pleading look, a perfect look. "The only thing fictional about your stories is the description of yourself," I told her, overwhelmed by the goddess standing before me. Janey’s no super-model able to instill lust in men at first sight, but Janey is ever so much more than he sum of all her parts. Her nose may be merely a pretty nose, her cheekbones may be ordinary cheekbones, her eyes may be fascinating but not exotic, her lips appealing but not remarkable but take all of these almost but not quite ordinary parts, roll them all up with Janey’s remarkable personality and what she considers a bunch of disjointed ordinary parts becomes to the eye of the beholder a face that would indeed launch a whole Greek armada. As she undressed and retired to the bed I let my eyes drink in that beauty, idly discarding my own cloths as I indulged my voyeuristic urges. Janey was blushing furiously as I joined her. Ordinarily, a woman like Janey would become a canvas to me, her pleasure becoming my pleasure in a long, lingering exploration of the senses but Janey’s pleasures I knew chapter and verse. Lazy explorations were not for people such as ourselves stealing moments between reality. Her legs parted invitingly, pleadingly as I moved over her, her back arched to greet me, her eyes beckoned me, her breath anticipated me. "But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! " She engulfed me, wrapped herself around me and for one brief, perfect timeless second I existed within her, complete, whole. Her hands caressed my back as she inhaled deeply. To the undeniable tides of Ravel’s Bolero we began to move. "A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover!" Janey bit her lower lip and whimpered between fast breathing pants as I moved within her, over her, for her, for me. Her hands roamed freely across my back, clenching my taught buttocks in her hot palms, letting her fingers trace the back of my legs. In the distance Bolero began it’s final crescendo. "The shadow of the dome of pleasure Floated midway on the waves; Where was heard the mingled measure From the fountain and the caves." Janey’s legs entwined mine, rubbing against mine as her low, passionate, oh so breathtakingly erotic moans touched the edges of my consciousness. Suddenly, her whole body trembled and her fingernails dug ever-so lightly into my flesh and I let go the last shreds of my self-control and moved with her in passionate pleasure. "And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething. As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, A mighty fountain momently was forced: Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail: And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever It flung up momently the sacred river. Five miles meandering with a mazy motion Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man," *** "Wow," Janey said between a very satisfied and pleased giggle. You know, "wow" always struck me as exactly the most perfect thing a woman could possibly say to a man after exhilarating sex. Wow is an emotion, it’s the only word/emotion that can fill a sentence all by itself. It is both simple and profound and coming from Janey it was a validation of everything we had just shared. "Wow." I replied. OK when the earth moves (and oh did it move in fast thick pants!) I’m not exactly the most creative guy -- we all have our faults -- deal with it. "Now what?" She asked as I poured us a glass of bubbly. Janey could really ask the most amazingly profound questions but I was having far too good a time to answer with anything other than, "Now we have a nice glass of bubbly, I tell you how beautiful, sexy, erotic, and inspiring you are and before you know it we’ll both be ready to make a REAL night of it." Janey’s eyes lit up eagerly as she exclaimed, "You mean that was just an appetizer?!!" My eyes twinkled as I nodded. "And around midnight or so, room service will arrive. I took the liberty of ordering a few omelets with those raisins you seem to like so well." Janey sighed and kissed me. ======================= Afterward ======================= It all seems like some dream now, unreal in it’s perfection. Now a continent apart I sometimes have to e-mail Janey asking her if it really happened. Sometimes she simply answers yes, sometimes she writes vividly descriptive prose that somehow makes our brief time together come alive all over again. "Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight 'twould win me, That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome! those caves of ice! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware! Beware! His flashing eyes, his floating hair! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise." -- Sandman This has been a test of the romantic broadcasting system, this was only a test. If this had been an actual romance Janey and I would have lived happily ever after. We now return you to "My Mommy, My Lover" already in progress. ==================================================== ftp://asstr.ml.org/pub/Authors/sandman/index.html