From: bckrub@aol.com (Backrub) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: Backrub "Once... You're Rubbed... By Amy... " (mf, rom) Date: Sun, 11 Feb 1996 17:01:49 GMT Once... you're rubbed... by Amy... [This particular story is based on an unfinished (the creep! <g>) story by Amy , posted on a.s.s. a few months ago. I have rewritten the story and finished it, but from the man's perspective. The original story was wonderful, IMHO, but it begged for an ending. And since I'm a guy, I changed a few things. I said this was rewritten from the man's perspective and, hey, we also tell things differently sometimes. One of the reasons I liked the story was it did such a great job of expressing the magic and insecurity of first meetings, of the beginnings of relationships. I've had a few pretty magical beginnings, so the story particularly appealed to me. Please understand that "Amy" in this story is now a fictional character. I've never had the pleasure of meeting Amy and she's attached, even married. We have no personal connection. This is work of fiction, and although I tried to remain reasonably true to Amy's original theme and story line, an old "ex" of mine figures into some of the character development. Amy has shown that SHE can tell the difference between fantasy and reality, and I'm reasonably sure that I can. I hope that you can do so as well.] It would be more interesting if I could say that it started out as a normal day, but it didn't start that way at all. This is the story of how I met this fascinating woman, her best friend, and her dog. The story also involves Brad Pitt, but his involvement is sorta beside the point. Perhaps I should stop for a moment. I'm sure he's NOT beside the point to lots of the women who are reading this. Already, just at the mention of his name and the prospect of his appearing in this story, I'll bet at least a dozen of you have already made adjustments to your clothing to permit easier and earlier access when I mention his name again and particularly if the story involves his taking off his shirt. We'll, if that's all that's going to turn you on, then rezip your pants. He's in the story, but not for long and he doesn't go home with you, he goes home with... well, that would be giving things away. Since this story is about a big event in my life, you might as well know a bit more about me. My name is Mike, I'm 37, 6'2", 175 lbs., long black hair, tied in back during business hours. I run a bookstore in a medium-sized Mid-western city (based on the non-coastal definition of "medium sized"). After getting shot and watching friends die in the service, finishing college and working at a marine biology lab, teaching high school and working with environmental groups, I "settled down" to owning and managing this bookstore. I've always liked bookstores. They attract interesting people, and allow you to keep a roof over your head without completely becoming an adult. Since this is a university town, there's a market for all sorts of interesting stuff and I don't have to depend on Jackie Collins and Stephen King (Jackie? Stephen? Just kidding, OK? You are the LED of my cash register, my bottom line, my cash cow, especially around Christmas). This city, and my connections, are substantial enough so that I can get promotional events from publishers and authors. That's how Brad Pitt fits in. Mr. Pitt (OK, Brad, I'm not calling anyone younger than me "Mr.") had written a book on fly fishing in the wake of "A River Runs Through It," and we'd met a couple years before. I got up the nerve to call him and he agreed to fly in on his way to New York for a book-signing event. After we'd finished for the day I suggested stopping at a bar for a few drinks. He demurred, in keeping with his desire not to be mobbed and maintain some semblance of privacy. So we (Brad, me and his bodyguard Barney) walked from the bookstore and I went into the bar, leaving Brad and Barney outside talking with a few normal people like normal people. Barney, by the way, is the size of the other one, but is neither as upbeat nor as unnervingly obnoxious as the purple dinosaur. I noticed her almost as soon as I walked through the front door. She was a regular in the bookstore, looking charmingly clunky but also with an unmistakable concentration of intelligence. She bought and had me order computer books, "Bart Simpson's Guide to Life," a few cookbooks. You are what you read. I'd always noticed her but never had the courage to introduce myself or talk with her beyond, "That'll be $24.95, ma'am." So I walked through the door of the old "Brew and Barf," spoke briefly with a few friends sitting near the door, looked around and there she was, sitting at a table across the room with another woman who I recognized as one of her friends. I didn't hesitate to wave and smile but after an initial warm set of return smiles, I was faced with the age-old "do you make a fool out of yourself - again" dilemma. Hanging out with Brad all day left me with a nice false sense of invincibility, so I strode across the bar, came up behind her and briefly clamped my hands down on her shoulders. "So, never seen you here before! Come here often? What's a nice woman like you doing in a place like this? Any other cheesy lines you haven't heard yet tonight?" Like I said, I excel at making a fool of myself. I was in good form. She said "Hi," I asked if I could sit down, we went through formal introductions (Me Mike, You Amy, She Shelly) and began stumbling through small talk. The stumbling included her tossing her drink onto the floor, where it found it's place amongst the sawdust and I don't want to think of what else. These woman were sharp. They didn't play it up, and they might have felt nervous being too intelligent around a man, particularly when they did not yet know that I adore smart women. But after talking about life in town, I got them to talk about their work and from that point on I was Butch Cassidy, asking myself, "Who ARE these guys?" I was having a great old time. I felt very comfortable and I had the impression the feeling was mutual. After a while, Shelly got up and said she had to get home to ensure a clean house for visitors the next day. Shel was a delight, but my heart skipped a beat knowing that Amy and I might now be able to concentrate more on being socially awkward one-on-one and not caring about it. I should note as an aside, that when Shelly left the bar she literally walked right into Brad Pitt, who was still talking with people just outside. She shrieked, "You're Brad Pitt!" He laughed and within two minutes he was thoroughly charmed. That night Brad Pitt was doing housecleaning into the "wee hours" talking with Shelly while Barney sat in the living room mumbling about how his employer was beyond his comprehension. I don't want to say more except to suggest that you take a look at the June issue of People Magazine and to say that now, when Shelly has an orgasm and she's looking into Brad Pitt's eyes, she's no longer holding a movie magazine in her spare hand with his picture. Back to the bar. With Shelly's departure I was faced with the anticipation of spending time "alone" with Amy, or at least as alone as you get with friends briefly stopping by every so often; and also the fear of screwing up big time. I suggested trying out the video trivia games. She was slightly resistant at first but after mutual, "we got through the SATs OK didn't we?" stories, we grabbed one of the boxes and dove in. Of course while she spent some time apologizing for not knowing much of anything, she was, of course, very bright. Use of the video terminals also required us to sit close together and I was very pleasantly treated to almost constant thigh-to-thigh contact, her scent (unfortunately in competition with the cigarette smoke and Eau de Bud wafting through the bar) and her wonderful habit of tugging on hy shirt sleeve or making some other physical contact every time we got something right. Since our areas of intellectual strength complemented each other, that happened quite a bit. Earlier in the evening I had been subconsciously aware of how much I wanted more simple physical contact with her, and now that it was happening I felt high. Hormones that had been sitting around on "standby" were going onto "yellow alert." After a while she complained about the smoke getting to her and I suggested going for ice cream and fresh air. We went across the street for ice cream and on our way out a friend of hers came from behind us, surprised her with a "hello" and he walked with us for a block or two. Then he excused himself to return to his girlfriend at a bar, squeezed her hand and she kissed his cheek. I felt a quick twinge of jealousy ( not healthy at this point, huh?) or need and attempted to cover it over by stumbling over, "Lucky guy." "Well now, don't feel jealous," she said, as she gave me a peck on the cheek. "There, feel better?" She laughed and wiped chocolate from my cheek. We were standing in front of this alley and, I swear I didn't really think about this before I did it, but sometimes the Universe just tells you the right thing to do. I had a vanilla cone and she had chocolate. I took her hand gently and said, "I've got vanilla, but I sorta want some chocolate." I took a lick of my ice cream, she took one of hers I pulled her to me and I kissed her. Really kissed her. She started to giggle as we exchanged ice cream and when we parted we both were a mess: ice cream covered lips and chins and shirt fronts. We looked into each other's eyes and, in perfect unison said, "Mmmmmmm... ice cream." We laughed and licked ice cream from our faces, fingers and lips like ten-year-olds. For me, that kinda sealed things. I had been feeling more and more comfortable and more and more attracted, but something about the ice cream, the kiss that was both playful and a bit nasty, and the sharing of the thoughts of Chairman Homer, ensured that once we were reasonably de-creamed I reached for her hand and didn't let go very much after that. We continued walking around town, looking in store windows and talking, until she reported that she needed to pee, which led to a decision to go back to her place. The offer and the moment were still very real time, unplanned, not contrived. I had no major expectations and felt that having many might screw things up. But I also knew that I had to make sure she knew that I didn't consider our meeting to be just another casual evening. We got into her truck and, after a few minutes of silence I jumped in. "You know, I had come to the bar to meet some friends after this reception at the bookstore, but when I got there and saw you... well I went over and talked to them for a few minutes. They wanted to go bar hopping and get all shitfaced but I didn't want that. I went over to see if you were still there and I'm glad you were. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything, but it's been really nice, and very strange, I'll admit, to find someone who I can just be comfortable with. I know some guys are jerks and some women are bitches, and I can't find many people who I just enjoy being around, you know." She looked a bit awkward and part of me cringed about making the statement, but then she said,"Well, I do know what you mean. Shel and I are sorta that way but I've been surprised at how well we've... meshed? I mean, I've known of you for some time from the bookstore, but only really met you tonight, yet it's like we've been friends for a while. Weird, huh? But enough of the mushy stuff, I think we're on the same wavelength, but I think I should warn you... I live with someone." In a second, my heart violated the laws of physics by plummeting at faster than 33 feet-per-second-per-second. I went for the Olympic stumbling transparent dork award, "Oh... I didn't mean anything... well maybe I did but not really, I mean I, hummmina, hummina... I," sounding like a cross between Woody Allen and Ralph Cramden, as she snickered and said, "Yeah, I live with my dog, Chelsea! Man, I've sorry, but I've always wanted to do that to someone!" My heart returned to better-than-normal and I kidded her about being a tease (actually, I think I used the word, "creep," but in an affectionate sort of way). She continued, "She's a little hyper and loves people, just like her owner. But she's the only one who humps legs." "Darn!" I replied, laughing. "I just thought I'd warn you before you saw this black ball of fur flying towards you." "Well, I'm a member of that union. My old black lab Rita used to squirm into bed between an old lover and I after we'd made love (her turn her to flash a look of mock jealousy), roll over onto her back and expect to get a double belly rub. Which, of course, she always got. We used to kid about our Rita would come over and plant a paw on my knee as if to say to the woman, "Hey, he was mine first."" She opened her front door and a medium-sized "Chien D'amour" jumped all over Amy doing her "Oh Boy! Mom's home!" dance. Then she started in on me and I decided I might as well surrender to the doginevitable. I slid down to the floor with her, played with her, scratched her behind the ears and petted her while she licked my face, nuzzled me and looked generally happy. The conversation went something like this: CHELSEA: Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! ME: Isn't she a good, good girl!? CHELSEA: Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! (Tail wags faster) ME: Yes! She's such a good dog! CHELSEA: OH BOY, OH BOY, OH BOY!(Pins me to the floor and licks my face) While I was committing acts of unspeakable pup love on the kitchen floor, Amy lit some candles, grabbed glasses, ice and a bottle of Coke, turned on the stereo and said, "... whenever you're finished with the dog... " She lived in a nice place, which clearly reflected her mix of intelligence, informality, earthiness and slight disorganization. We talked while I checked out her bookshelf (occupational compulsion) and amongst the computer books, guides to Midwestern wildflowers, and some pretty classy fiction, I noticed several volumes on massage. "Does this stuff really work?" I asked. "Well, for what ends?" "Well just for relaxing and stuff. I've thought of going to one of the people here in town, but never know if it's really legit, you know? I'm only really interested in a backrub, not anything else." "At your service," she said, tabling her drink and rolling up her sleeves. "I'm not a professional or anything, but I've read my books, taken a couple of courses and I please my friends. Beats $40 an hour." My bluff, or innocent inquiry at any rate had been called. "Uh... okay... uh what do I do.?" "Whatever you want. If you want to keep your shirt on, that's fine but then I can't use oil. If you want to take it off, that's fine; hell, if you want to strip naked that's fine and we'll do the whole head to toe thing. Just remember, and this is the official volunteer massage rap: that this is a massage, a gift I willingly give to you and expect nothing in return, and one in which I hold strong to respecting your rights and desires. A lot of people are really uncomfortable about this stuff but there's really no need to be. Like I said, it's your game." "Let's stick with the back for now, eh?" still taken somewhat aback, for all my talk about liking women who are assertive. She positioned herself near the edge of the sofa and I sat with my back to her, between her legs. She placed my arms over her knees to spread my arms. I heard a squirt of oil and a few second later I felt her strong, warm oiled hands on the back of my neck. I felt a rush up my spine and my shoulders immediately started wondering what the hell was going on. "Remember, now, this is much easier for me if you give me feedback. Tell me if I'm being too light or too hard or if I need to stay in the same spot for a while." I think she heard me sigh contentedly. I'm sure she didn't see me bite my lip. Her hands were simultaneously intuitive, strong and gentle; she literally flowed over and through my back, leaving soothed muscles and nerves wherever she went. I felt pretty comfortable to begin with, but as the minutes went on I felt even more so, allowing myself to moan, grunt and even dog whimper (Chelsea raised her head in question from across the room; Amy laughed, gave me a light dopeslap and teased, "Oh, stop!"). After moving down my back, back up again to my shoulders, her hands moved around my neck and chin to my chest. She massaged my chest and stomach, and I felt her moving over me. I felt her warmth, her scent, her hair as she began to envelop me. By the time she reached the edge of my pants I was hard and I thought I felt her nipples in that state as well. Her head was next to mine. I turned my head and whispered into her ear, "Please don't stop," kissed her ear and leaned my head against hers. She moved further on top of me , moving me onto my back as she unbuttoned my pants, undid the zipper and rubbed oil onto the washboard flat of my stomach and then into my pubic hair. I reached down and slid my pants down as she moved completely on top of me. I reached around and held her denim-covered ass in my hands and began to knead as her hands encircled my cock, rubbed it with oil and stroked it, leading to an amazed whimper on my part. I nudged my head under her and between her legs, rubbing my face between her legs. She continued, including a number of motions I suspected were unprofessional as far as masseuses are concerned. I reminded myself to take a look at her massage books later and see if they mentioned a stroke involving spanking the palm of her hand with a man's penis listening to the sound that makes and making a lascivious "Oooo!" sound. I moved and flipped her off of me, smiling dopility at her and saying that "turn about is fair play." I told her I didn't have her experience but I certainly felt motivated. It was her turn to have a bluff called as I stripped off the rest of my clothes while staring right into her eyes. Part of my brain began a mini research project about the last time I felt this great, and soon abandoned the effort as pointless. She stood and slowly shed her clothes, and as soon as she had done so - actually before she's removed her socks - I took a step forward, took her into my arms, grabbed her ass and rubbed as I kissed her long, deep and smooth. She ground her pelvis into my thigh. I felt her need and rejoiced in it. Changing to repeated shorter kisses, I moved one oiled hand in front between her legs and slid fingers over her mound, which was already damp. She shuddered as my fingers slid back and forth over her lips and clit and my other hand rubbed her ass. She reacted through the hips grinding against my hand and her lips and tongue communicating her needs to mine. My mouth moved down to her neck and began to lick and nibble and I slid one finger into her wet slit and another from the other hand into her clutching anus. I pulled up on my front hand to rub her clit hard as the oily hand slid back and forth and my fingers moved in and out of her. She held me even tighter and it was her turn to whimper, moan, and breathe desperately through her teeth. I felt her nails dig into by back and her hip movements became desperate as she came against me, all over my hands. After she stopped pulsing I removed my fingers, held her tight for all I was worth and lowered ourselves to the sofa. She whispered, "So sweet, so sweet... " into my ear and I melted once again. She led me to her bedroom, and we heard padded feet in our wake and a slumping sound across the room as we moved onto her bed. I placed her on her back and kissed her again and again as I caressed her breasts. I kissed my way down her body and, finally, slid my hands beneath her to cup her ass cheeks and pressed my face into her musky wet cunt. I licked her with long, slow, wet strokes at first, tracing her lips, drawing them into my mouth and running my tongue, stiffened, up and down the length. She reached down, took my head in her hands, ran her fingers through my hair, pulled gently on my ears as I ate her. She became aroused quickly and I responded by licking her clit, sucking it gently, and slipping a finger into her. She panted, squirmed, whimpered and bucked herself up at my mouth. Finally she grabbed my head hard, said, "That's it, that's it, right there, do it, yeah, do it like that," pressed my face hard into her, as she ground herself against me and came, loudly. I rubbed my face into her wet cunt, still licking until she slowed and called me "Baby." I moved up on top of her and took her into my arms. She reached down and wrapped her fingers around my hard cock. She placed it against her pussy and began sliding herself against my erection as she spoke. "I don't wanna break the moment. There are condoms in the drawer, but I don't have the energy to reach over and... yeah!" I had already taken the hint. Instead of slipping inside of her, I rubbed the length of my cock repeatedly over the length of her pussy. She moved up against me, her eyes glazed over and she moved her hands over my back and neck as I ground down against her and kissed her. I rubbed my slippery cock back and forth over her pussy again and again. I felt her begin to shudder, she groaned "Oh shit!" loudly and grabbed me down on her as she came. She felt me tightening and her voice calling my name and whispering "Sweet baby," pushed me over the edge. Several very large spurts splatted over her stomach and breasts and quickly became smeared over both of us as we held each other close. As we rearranged ourselves slightly I heard a thumping from the foot of the bed. I looked down and say Chelsea's wide, happy dog eyes and the tail wagging against the floor where she lay watching. "Goddamn pervert voyeur dogster," was the last thing Amy said as she nestled her head into my chest and snoozed.