My Friends the Allens -- Coming Home by Mark Aster = = = Note: this story contains a graphic account of sexual relations between two consenting adults. If you are a minor, a U.S. Senator, or anyone else whose brain implodes when exposed to such things, stop reading now, and go take a cold shower. = = = "Any chance you could meet me at the airport? My plane gets in at 8:20." I think Pat could tell from my voice I was seriously unhappy. "Sure," she said, "I'll be there." I was exhausted from a long bus ride, and still down and stressed from my Tanta Marietta's funeral and one of those interminable "you can't go home again" visits with the family. At the time, Pat wouldn't have been my first choice for a friend waiting at the airport, but everyone else seemed to be out of town. I thought of her as a very hot woman, terrific in bed and fun to hang around with, but with a sharp edge, a razor tongue, a demanding soul. Her younger sister Julie, the sweet one, was off on a ski trip with some friends from college. I slunk up the jetway and into the terminal, and there was Pat, having charmed or bribed her way past security. She put her arms around me and we hugged, and she kissed me softly on the mouth. I breathed in deeply; the smell of her hair and skin and the feel of her familiar body were amazingly comforting. There was lots of woman, but little sex, in her kiss. We picked up my luggage and went out to the car. She was wearing a long coat, a loose flannel shirt, and tight jeans. We hugged again briefly before we got into the car. On the drive to my apartment, we talked a little about my trip, and I dozed, getting a bit of my strength back as she drove. She stood in the doorway watching me as I unpacked most of my stuff. When I eventually gave up and pushed the suitcases into the back of the closet, she took my hands. Her fingers were warm and gentle. "Want to stay at the hotel tonight? I could use the company," she said. "That makes two of us," I answered gratefully. She drove us to the hotel, and we went up to the sisters' suite. I made popcorn while she put some disks in the TV and hit "shuffle". We sat on the couch, our arms around each other, eating popcorn and watching random snippets of "Perry Mason", "Dragnet", "Bob Newhart" and "Babylon 5". She had slipped out of her jeans, and her innocent white panties peeked out from under the soft flannel shirt. We had our feet up, and I admired her long tan legs as we vegged and cuddled. Gradually, the delicious warmth of her body relaxed and soothed me, and I could feel the stress of the trip falling away. She snuggled into my shoulder. After awhile, I felt the feathery touch of her lips on my neck, and a marvelous shiver ran up my spine. We sat, talking rarely, giggling together at the silliness on the screen. Now and then, she playfully toyed with my earlobe between her lips. Once, I turned to look down at her just as she turned to kiss my neck; our lips met in a soft embrace that lengthened and became more ardent. She put her arms around my neck, and one leg over me, and we kissed, eyes closed and bodies pressed together, for a long quiet time. The popcorn bowl slipped to the floor, but we didn't notice. When we finally untwined, we smiled at each other, and went back to watching Sergeant Friday. I let one hand play gently over her body, feeling the firmness of her skin under the flannel. I gradually unbuttoned her shirt, and pushed it back from her shoulders. She kissed my neck as I casually explored, enjoying the incredible softness of her nipples, the lovely yielding of her breasts and stomach. She turned to me again, and we kissed. "Ready for bed?" she whispered. "I think so." We lay naked in the bed, under the covers, cuddling and nuzzling. We kissed again for a long time, our bodies held comfortingly close together, our breaths mingling. Her tongue circled sweetly around my lips, her mouth opened softly to me. We talked, we were quiet. We held each other carefully, and touched each other gently. Her hands on my body were like two kisses, soothing and exciting. Her breasts pushed softly at me. Our legs twined together, her thighs like silk, her calves strong and firm. Her heat and her sharpness were sheathed for now, sheathed in a warmth that overwhelmed me. I kissed her nipples with my lips, and stroked them lightly with my tongue. She ran her fingers through my hair. We breathed. We purred. She spread her legs, and gently pulled me on top of her. With small quiet motions, we coupled together, her hand guiding me between her legs and inside her. We lay relaxed, my penis erect but not aching, nestled in the velvet softness of her vagina. My mouth was by her ear. "This is nice." "This is very nice." Soft laughter. I kiss her collarbone, and say something I don't think I've ever said before. "You know something, Pat?" "Mm?" "I love you." She lifts my head and looks at me. Her mouth bends in a familiar ironic smile, but her eyes are shining. "If we didn't love each other, we'd probably have killed each other by now, eh?" she says, and kisses me on the mouth. Inside her, I stretch and swell, and her hips move just a little. Very nice. We make love, slowly and sleepily. Her eyes are closed, our bodies move slowly in the ancient rhythm. I watch her face, I touch her eyelids with my lips. Sweetness grows, and pleasure, and the slow urgency of sex. We kiss again, and again. I begin to lose track of myself. Someone is breathing in long gasps, someone is moaning long and low and happy, someone's mouth closes on soft and slightly salty skin. We interpenetrate, moving in and out of each other, our mouths lovingly devouring each other. The thing I want second-most in the world is for this to last forever. The thing I want most is for it to end, to end with an incredible rush of pleasure somewhere deep inside her dark and ineffable femaleness. Eventually, it does. I roll off of her, but we keep our bodies pressed together, in contact. We kiss and purr and laugh gently and fall asleep. We'll worry about the sheets and cleaning up, somewhere the other side of morning. As I drift off, still surrounded by and surrounding the warm amazing reality of her, I whisper, "It's good to be home." And I think I feel her hug me in reply. She loves me. My Friends the Allens -- Coming Home by Mark Aster The End