Article 108891 of alt.sex.stories: From: jhm@sentex.net (John McMullen) Subject: Pushing the Envelope, Chapt. 1 Date: Thu, 23 Nov 1995 11:05:43 LOCAL Pushing the Envelope by Jordan Shelbourne Chapter One A Question of Etiquette Murdock was drunk, and I was listening patiently as he castigated himself for going to a strip club. "Kim wouldn' understand, y'know? She was pure when I married her. I mean, we were both virgins, but... She's a hell of a woman, Kim is, a hell of a woman. Takin' care of the kids, y'know, and the home." He looked around at the bored factory workers and the equally bored stripper, then leaned forward conspiratorially. The effect was ruined when he nearly fell over. "Only woman I've ever, y'know." He got his elbow on the table to support himself. "I mean, you've probably been around, but me, I'm, well, I'm a small town guy. Y'know." I nodded. "I've never cheated on her, but... well, all I'm saying is, sometimes a guy gets the urge to look. Kim wouldn' look. I'm the only man she's ever... y'know?" He sat there, blinking. He looked like he was about to weep from the beauty of his wife's purity. "Why don't we go?" I suggested. "One more drink," he insisted. "It's a big deal. This' firs' time Murdock signed with an outta-state comp'ny." "Why don't we have that drink at home?" I suggested. "Good idea! Y'meet Kim. Meet the little woman. She's salt of the earth. Y'r salt of the earth." I flagged down our waitress before everyone in the bar became salt of the earth. Murdock tried to pay, but I waved him off. He was the client, and I didn't mind. It wasn't my money. We'd come to the bar in his car, and I drove, handling the big Cutlass clumsily at first. Murdock fell asleep giving me directions, but I found his home without much trouble. When I woke him, he made me promise not to tell his wife where we'd been. He actually refused to get out of the car until I promised; I wanted to spit twice and cross my heart. I helped him stumble across the lawn with only a minor mishap - he whacked his toe on a sprinkler head - and I rang the doorbell. He kept repeating, "Sh! Shhh!" while he sorted through his keys, leaning against the door. He pitched forward when his wife opened the door, and I wasn't quick enough to grab him. He looked up glassily from the floor and said, "Kim, this's Gil Freeman. Gil, it's my wife, Kim." She sighed and then she looked up at me and the sigh caught in her throat. "Hello," she said carefully. I felt the weight of twenty years, but all I said was, "Hello." Miss Manners, what is the etiquette when you meet a former lover this way? * * * Back in the seventies, during that time after the gas crisis and before AIDS, there had been a group of us - Meyer, Apple Brown Betty, the Swordfish, and me - sprinting around the edges of society in Meyer's beat-up microbus. It was our own portable commune, our shelter against the Me Decade. Meyer was the philosophizer and the glue, Betty was the perception, the Swordfish was the driving ambition, and I was the teddy bear. We travelled place to place, setting up for a few months while Meyer and Betty created sexual performance art in their own ways, and the Swordfish and I hung around for reasons of our own. I remember we were in a park the first time I saw Kim. The Swordfish's appetite for carnal matters was legendary, and his taste ran to women built on the Playboy model, like Kim: large-breasted, cute, corn-fed. The only reason I noticed Kim before the Swordfish was because he had a woman on his lap who had just discovered that his fly was not closed. (The Swordfish liked to do it in public places.) I thought of Kim as a girl when I saw her, since I pegged her age at eighteen or nineteen (I was all of twenty-one, legal wherever they could sell you booze) - and she was walking an Irish setter. I like Irish setters. I left the Swordfish to his tumblebunny and made the dog's acquaintance. The girl told me his name was Zeke and hers was Kim. I told her mine and we chatted. Kim was eighteen then, fresh from a small city in Iowa, I don't remember the name, but she was just starting whatever the local college was. She was seething with hormones, a sexual cornucopia waiting to happen. I brought her back to meet everyone else, and we waited to see how she'd get along with Betty. Betty approved, and Kim stayed with us (or we stayed near Kim) for five or six months, until we were forced onward by the February blahs and the Swordfish's quest to fuck a woman whose middle name started with Q (he'd already run the alphabet through first and last names). * * * It took both of us to get Murdock upstairs and stripped for bed. He was charmingly shy when it came time to remove his trousers, and refused to let either of us watch. Finally he was asleep and we were downstairs in the kitchen drinking instant coffee. "Well," Kim said. "Well," I replied. "It's been a long time," she said. "Almost twenty years." We sat silently, and I compared her with the lithe teenager I'd known twenty years earlier. A little thicker and graying, yes. Still pretty damned attractive. She'd changed her hair to a walnut brown; I rememembered it as chestnut. She wore it short; that looked nicer on her than the standard-issue Farrah-Fawcett-do of the mid- seventies. "Do you still talk to them? I mean, how are Meyer and the Swordfish and Betty, and all of them?" I shrugged and smiled. "Older. Meyer's still Meyer. Betty got everything lifted and went to Cancun to live the professional Club Med life. The Swordfish finally got married, six - no, seven years ago." She laughed. "The Swordfish? My God, I thought he'd never get married." "Neither did he. I was his best man, and he kept turning back to me while she walked up the aisle. He looked like he'd been gaffed." Kim laughed again. She still had a nice laugh, from deep in the throat. "What do you do, now?" "Sales, of all the damned things. Envelopes." "Oh, God." I spread my hands. "Everybody needs them. Everybody uses them. You can't kill people with an envelope." I shrugged. "It's a living." She nodded. "And the bills have to be paid." "It's shameful," I said, "but I like three squares a day. Not like it used to be." "God, those were the days." "Weren't they, though?" * * * I don't always remember the last time with someone, but I remembered the last time with Kim: She'd participated in one of Meyer's orchestrated orgies, and she was wrecked, exhausted. I think she'd just finished four essays or something; it was February. I rescued her when I discovered she'd fainted under two other girls and the man they were blowing. I carried her up to the loft where the bath and the sleeping bed were and I laid her in the tub. I tried to undo the nipple clamps, but they were too slippery with come. Finally I took the plastic showerhead for washing hair and hosed her down. I unfastened all the clamps - nipples, labia, elbows - and stripped off her rubber gloves and boots. I checked her for dildoes and other insertions, anal and vaginal, and filled the tub with warm water and bath oil. Threads of semen floated off her as the water rose. After a half hour, she was just asleep. I woke her enough to dry her and put her in the big sleeping bed. The sleeping bed was my rule; I insisted that everyone had to have a place to go where there was no pressure to perform. I tucked her in and she took hold of my arm. "Don't go," she murmured. I stripped to my underwear and lay beside her, and she moulded herself to me. We both fell asleep. I woke in the night to find that my shorts were gone and she was astride me, flopped forward against my chest, her head nuzzled against mine. Her hips moved up and down, riding me gently. I don't know how long we performed like that, but she slowed and shuddered several times. Downstairs, I could hear the susurrus of orgy. At last Kim pushed herself upright and tossed back her head. She pumped up and down the full length of my cock, keeping me in only by my foreskin. Unlike every other time we'd had sex, she was silent; we made no sound except for the whispering of moist skin against skin. I was almost detached from what was going on, just the instrument of her pleasure; I watched her breasts move as she rode me. She gave a long sigh, and I thought we were finished as she lay down on me. Her nipples were cool and soft against my chest. Instead, she tugged gently, and we both rolled over, keeping my cock inside her, and settled into the old-fashioned missionary position. "Hold me," she whispered. "Come inside me." I didn't last very long; after only a couple of dozen strokes I came with surprising force. We lay there for some time, listening to our heartbeats. Finally she kissed me and asked me to be a dear and fetch her clothes. She was still wobbly when she tried to dress, so I drove her back to her residence in her car. Once there, I had no way home but to walk. Kim invited me to spend the night, but I sensed that her time with us had ended, and I'm no good with good-byes. I scratched Zeke behind the ears and walked back to the loft. Betty noticed Kim was gone, but she said nothing. Betty knew when to be quiet. * * * "Thank you," Kim said. "For helping with Paul." She played with her coffee spoon. "He doesn't drink that much, normally. Only when he goes off to the strip clubs." I smiled. "He doesn't think you know about that." She shrugged. "You learn things about your husband, and one of the things you learn is which lies are important." "Like your virginity," I said. "What?" "He said you were a virgin when you got married." "Oh. I hoped - " She started again, explaining: "I didn't mean to lie. It just seemed so important to him, and it didn't matter to me - " I held up my hands. "I wasn't criticising." I stood up. I hadn't drunk any of my coffee. "I should go. It's late, and I've got clients all through the state to see this month." She seemed grateful, and nervous, and she walked me to the door. I stopped after I put on my jacket and asked her, "Whatever happened to Zeke, anyway?" She laughed. "Zeke! Oh my God, I'd forgotten about Zeke!" Her hand went to her cheek. "He died in his sleep. He lived a long, good life. I miss him still sometimes." "He was one of the good ones." "So were you," she said quietly. We looked at each other for a long time. A lot of things flashed into my mind: the solid rhythmic weight of Kim on my hips; Meyer's fussy voice as he directed someone; the sound of Kim's laugh; the musty smell of the tarps in the back of the microbus; time on the road and all the strangers, all the time; how Kim had said good-bye and I hadn't, and the cold walk home; and her husband, sleeping upstairs. Part of me said, What the hell, so I leaned forward and kissed her good-bye. She returned the kiss, staying with me when I pulled back, pressing her body against mine. We didn't break the kiss but stayed like that. Her tongue was urgent, forceful. I could taste coffee and Amaretto in her mouth. There was that stirring of my cock, that awareness, that hadn't been present for the strippers or for a long time, it seemed. I wrapped my arms around her, the warm solid sweetness of her, and hugged her tightly. She bit gently on my tongue, and I withdrew it, her tongue following mine. I heard, or thought I heard, a sound from upstairs. I pulled my head back; she leaned hers forward to follow but I broke free. I tried a smile. "Whew." She moved away from me and sat on the edge of an end table by the coat rack. "How long are you in town?" "All month," I told her. "I'm using this as my base for the month." "Maybe we could have coffee. A breakfast or lunch or something." "Maybe. Kim," I said. I could see the clean line of her neck and shoulders, the weight of her breasts, the curve of her calves. I wondered what she looked like naked, now. "Yes?" she asked. I still didn't say anything. To be honest, I was listening for noises from upstairs. She uncrossed her legs, and I wanted to tear her clothes off. Instead, I said, "Kim, I don't play with clients' wives. It's a fairness thing." "I don't cheat on my husband. We'll have coffee." She grinned. "It's an old times thing." I nodded and I left. I didn't even shake her hand. * * * I didn't expect her to call me for coffee, and if she did, I wasn't going to accept. Playing around with a client or a client's wife is just trouble. But in my hotel room the next night, I found myself thinking about her. I flipped through channels on the television, found myself seriously thinking about the porn movies, and grabbed the Yellow Pages phone book off the nightstand. I opened it to the Escorts section, then shut it again. Damn it, I didn't want a pro. And I didn't want to go to the bar and sift through the teases and the tarts. Finally, I picked up the phone and called Betty in Cancun; I didn't know what time it was there. She picked up the phone on the fourth ring. "Hey, Betty," I said. "Gil?" Nice to know she still recognized my voice. "Where are you?" I told her. "Betts, I hate to do this, but I need a favor." I heard her murmuring to someone at her end, and there was a rustling sound. I heard a door shut. "I sent Marco to get some K-Y. He's been desperate to get into my ass." "Hope I'm not causing any problems." "No, it was time I said yes anyway. What's your problem, sweetie?" I told her about Kim, and said, "Betts, I'm lonely. Who do we know in town?" "For a good therapeutic fuck?" Long silence. "You can't glue a broken heart with jism, Gil. You just can't." "My heart's not broken, Betts. I just don't have the patience for the bar scene tonight, and I don't have the balls for a hooker." She sighed. "Please," I said. She sighed again. "Renee Parks. You be nice to her," Betty told me. "Remember there's two of you in bed." "You're starting to talk in platitudes, Betts." She grumbled and gave me Renee's phone number. "Thanks," I told her. "And hey - don't be a tight-ass." "That's half the fun." * * * Renee was blonde and slim and handsome in blue stretch pullover and black denims. After a meal of Szechuan food, we went back to her place and chatted. She worked as a property assessor, and taught a fitness class three times a week. She'd met Betty at Club Med a few years earlier. "I still write Betty sometimes," she said. "Well, I haven't written for a year I guess, but it still counts if I mean to, doesn't it?" "I think so," I told her. "I don't see Betty very often, but I think of us as friends." "Some friends, you can be away for years and when you come back, you're still friends. Others, you don't see them for a week and it's like you never knew them." "Uh-huh. Some people, you know them for years but you never know them. Others, you meet them and you've known them all your life." "True," she said. She made a toast - "To friends" - and we drained our glasses. She got up to pour more drinks: another daquiri for her and another club soda for me. "How come you don't drink?" she asked. I shrugged and brushed my fingers against hers as I took the glass from her. It was cold and slick with condensation; her fingers were startlingly warm. "Used to have a problem with it. So I gave it up." Renee sat next to me. "I know how that goes. I had a boyfriend for a while, claimed I was a sex addict. So I gave it up." "Really?" "Yes," Renee said. "I gave him up right then." She had a big wide smile, lots of teeth. "My problem with booze," she said, "is the calories. You know how many calories there are in three daquiris?" She paused meaningfully. "No," I told her. "How many?" Her leg was solid, firm and muscular, against mine. I could still leave; I didn't have to sleep with this woman. On the other hand, that was why I was here. "A lot," she said, still smiling. "A lot?" And that was the cue. I gave her a grin and a wink. "You'll have to work that off." Renee's smile got bigger and she leaned forward. "I thought you'd never ask." Her eyes were mismatched, I noticed: one green and one hazel. She closed her eyes to kiss me. I leaned into the kiss, ran my fingers along her spine to the nape of her neck, stroked her behind the ears. She moaned softly into my mouth as her tongue explored. I liked the way she smelled. Renee shifted her weight and pressed against me. I fell backwards onto the couch. "That's okay," she said. She scraped a fingernail along my fly before opening my pants. My cock was starting to swell, and with one warm finger she pulled it free. Her mouth was warm and liquid. She sucked the head into her mouth, playing with my foreskin until it had grown too large and stiff for that. She bobbed up and down, not deep-throating me but tasting me and exploring my cock with her tongue. I fumbled with her top, pulling it up but not pulling it off, unwilling to break the marvellous connection between her mouth and my cock. "My God... " I murmured. She lifted up her head and smiled at me. "You like?" I brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen across her eyes. "I like very much." "Never had a guy who wasn't circumcised, before. I like it." She wrapped her hot hard hand around my cock and pumped it slowly a couple of times. She bent down again and licked the tip. "I hope you don't come too soon." "I'll do what I can," I told her, and pulled off her top. Her breasts were small and conical, her nipples dark and compact. I cupped one breast in my hand; the nipple slipped between two fingers and I squeezed it gently. She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, then tugged on my pants. We spent a moment sorting out clothing, and suddenly I was naked and Renee was wearing only her jeans. I stood with her and we embraced, touching each other along the lengths of our bodies, the head of my cock pressed against the base of her sternum, and we kissed some more. I traced her jawline with my tongue, sucked her earlobe, and blew in her ear. She shivered and reached for my nipples. She pinched and fondled them until they were as hard as her own. Still holding her tightly against me, I slid down her body, kissing and nipping warm tender flesh. I took one hard nipple into my mouth and swirled my tongue around it, then licked the pebbled tip of the other, then blew gently on the first one again. I nipped at the underside of one breast and circled her navel with my tongue. I undid the button of her jeans and pulled; there was a loud tearing noise. "Sorry," Renee said. "Velcro. My zipper broke, and I thought I'd try - " "I like it," I told her. "It lets me get" - I pulled down her jeans - "*here* that much faster." Her underpants had a floral pattern, and her pubic hair had been trimmed short and shaved to a narrow strip. I mouthed her mound, tasting her through the cotton. "Don't," she said, and skinned off her panties. "Don't eat me yet, Gil. I come so hard I'm no good for anything else. I want you to fuck me first, then you can make me come." She took hold of my cock and began to walk backwards, pulling me towards her bedroom. "I want this cock in my cunt. I want you to fuck me hard with this lovely stiff cock." She giggled as she fell backwards onto the bed, her legs spread. "Or you could fuck me stiff with this lovely hard cock." I shuffled forward on my knees. "I'm going to fuck you, lovely, with this stiff hard cock." I placed the head of my cock between her swollen lips and thrust forward, sliding my cock along the length of her lips, wetting it. She was very wet. I thrust again, and again; she moaned each time my cock rubbed her clit. "Fuck me," she said. I pushed the head down so it was at the entrance and I thrust again. She was so wet the head popped easily in. She gasped. I pulled back slightly, feeling my foreskin slide, and thrust again, pushing myself halfway into her. "Oh god," she said. "Oh god oh god." She was panting, and her eyebrows were knit together. "Fuck me - " Her eyes were squeezed shut. I pushed a third time and sank my cock almost all the way in. With the last thrust, I was buried in her, my pubic bone pressed heavily against her clit, my cock engulfed in her warmth and wetness. And a funny thing happened: Renee came. She gasped and then forgot to breathe; her arms and legs spasmed and her hips thrashed once, twice, sliding down and up my cock. I froze. I'd never had a woman come with so little cause before. Renee tried to speak but all that came out was a little mewling sound. I adjusted my weight and stroked my cock in and out of her pussy. She gave a few gasping breaths and then opened her eyes. After another moment, she focussed on me. "Oh god. Oh, Gil... I've never... your cock is just... It's just made for me... " I withdrew almost all the way out; she grabbed my ass and tried to keep me in. I began to tease her with just the head, in-out- in-out-in-out and she gave a little grunt each time the head popped in, a little catch each time it pulled out. Her fingers clamped tightly on my ass and I suddenly drove my full length into her, then all the way out, long hard fast strokes. She rotated her hips, thrusting back at me, and suddenly she came again. We tried a half-dozen positions before she was too exhausted to move, and finally she just lay there and moaned, "Please... I can't... " She looked so weak and spent that I didn't have the heart to just pump until I came. I lay beside her while she dozed. I felt tired. I felt unsatisfied. I felt frustrated, and used. I felt distantly amused that she had used me instead of the other way around. After an hour she woke up and traced a finger along the side of my face. "Hi there," she said. "Hi." "That was... incredible. I mean, it was never like that before. Not even on drugs or anything." "I'm glad." She reached down for my cock and began to play with it. "It's not even that *big*. Sorry, I don't mean that the way it sounds, it's not small, it's even bigger than average, but it's not huge. I've had really big cocks and I didn't come like *that*." She cupped my balls in her hand and gently probed my asshole with one finger. "I don't suppose you could leave it when you go?" My cock was starting to get hard again; after all, I hadn't come yet. "I don't think so. You'll just have to take advantage of it while it's here." Renee was all lean body and eager flexibility. I went back to the hotel at dawn, exhausted and still frustrated. When Kim phoned two nights later, I said yes. Article 112303 of alt.sex.stories: From: johnmc@mks.com (John McMullen) Subject: Pushing the Envelope, chapter 2 Date: Wed, 06 Dec 1995 20:17:12 GMT Pushing The Envelope by Jordan Shelbourne Chapter 2 Lost and Found The night before we met for coffee, I dreamed about Gil. I woke up with my heart clattering against my ribs. The dream was vivid but it faded quickly. I tried to hold onto it, but all I had was impressions: cold porcelain and slick metal, breathing ragged as torn silk, the taste of Kahlua, the sweet smell of sweat and exertion. I couldn't hold onto it, and lay there in bed, looking at the ceiling and listening to Paul's soft snoring. It was nearly six anyway so I got up, and when I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, I discovered I was *very* wet. Paul still hadn't moved - when he sleeps, nothing short of Gabriel's trumpet can wake him - and for a moment I thought about waking him up for a quickie, to take the edge off. And, I admit, as a bit of an apology for last night's argument. But he gets so grumpy when he doesn't make the first move that it's usually not worth it. I took a shower instead and got dressed, making a little more noise than necessary. It didn't wake Paul. I chose my yellow off-the-shoulder sundress which shows off my cleavage and hides that distressing bulge around my middle. I wasn't dressing to attract, you understand. It was just that Gil had looked so fit and trim that I suddenly felt old and dumpy. That's unreasonable, I know - I'm thirty-eight, I've had three children, and I just can't expect to look the same as I did when I was eighteen. I shouldn't *have* to; Paul doesn't look the same as when we met. Like Inez says, men have it easy. To prove I wasn't dressing to attract, I didn't open fresh pantyhose; I used an old pair with a hole on the inside of the right leg, just below the crotch. The boys were already arguing when I got downstairs, so I got them quiet, fed, and off to the schoolbus on time. Then I left to meet Gil. Okay, I was fifteen minutes early. His hotel was a six-story fake-adobe affair sprawled over a block on the edge of town, and the coffee shop was mostly stucco and ferns, very airy. It didn't matter that I had an air conditioner blowing on my neck, my palms were so sweaty I had to wipe them with Kleenex. And he showed up ten minutes early. I waved him over. "You're early," he said as he sat down. "I'm always early. It drives Paul crazy." I took off my hat and ran a hand through my hair to fluff it. I get hat-head something crazy. "You're early too." "I was already up. I swim laps every morning." I had to smile. "Uh-huh," I told him. "So neither of us was anxious about this meeting?" He grinned that grin, and suddenly I wasn't thirty-eight any more. "Of course not. After all, it's been twenty years, what's another ten minutes more or less?" "You're right. You're absolutely right." We both grinned at each other like idiots, and might have for hours except that the waitress came to take our orders. The waitress was seventeen and pert, with a perfect complexion and a carelessly svelte figure; Gil, bless him, didn't look twice at her. He ordered the continental breakfast and I had already eaten with the boys. She asked if we wanted coffee, and Gil and I looked at each other and for no reason at all I was thinking about coffee breath. I hadn't even planned on kissing him. He laughed and nodded, and I said, "Hell, yes. Coffee. Bring a whole pot, if you want." She left and I shrugged and asked, "So what's new?" "You mean besides parting ways with Meyer and Betty and getting married and divorced and selling envelopes to your husband? Not much." "The longer the time, the less there is to say about it." I sighed. "Well. No divorce, and we have three kids. Currently fifteen, thirteen, and nine, and obsessed with, um, girls, rollerblades, and dinosaurs." "Nice." "Oh, don't take that tone with me. Kids *can* be nice, but they can also be a royal pain in the butt." I paused. "In the ass. A *fucking* pain in the *ass*." "A fucking pain in the fucking ass," he laughed. "Get it right." Our coffee arrived with his breakfast. When the waitress had left again, he said, "I love imagining Mom sneaking out to swear." "I don't get to swear at home. Besides the kids, Paul doesn't like it. It's not ladylike," I said. "And it's not like I know more words than they do. I caught Trevor, our oldest boy, saying `felching' last month. `Felching' is not in Webster's." "I know what it is, but you don't want to hear before breakfast." I set my elbows on the table and rested my chin on interlaced fingers. "You can't shock me, fella. I've been to Tupperware parties." He sipped his coffee, primly dabbed at his lips with his napkin and then said delicately, "To felch. Verb, transitive. To suck ejaculate from someone's anus." "Eccch," I said and shook my head. "And I thought `fuck' was daring." "Told you you didn't want to know." "I don't think I'll use that one at the next Tupperware party. But `fuck,' `damn,' and `shit' are still delightfully wicked." "I wondered what went on at Tupperware parties. I always suspected they were a seething sea of passions and perversions." "Oh, please," I told him. "Inez - my friend Inez - once threw a Fuckerware party - " "A what?" "Fuckerware. That's what Inez called it. Basically it was a bunch of women from the neighbourhood being terribly daring and modeling lingerie for each other. The sales representative also showed us different toys and lotions." "Interesting. Did everyone enjoy themselves?" "There was a lot of nervous giggling and double entendres. But mostly the party was dull. And it made *sex* dull. Inez was so pissed off." I had to smile. She'd been hoping for some hot experience and she got... suburbia. She wanted cajun chicken and she got KFC. "And Cloris Mayhew, who's really kind of creepy, keeps calling Inez up to see when the next party is. *Cloris* thought it was great, but next time, she thinks, we ought to have games." Gil looked blankly at me. "Tupperware games. Like for instance, whoever can make the most words out of the letters in `Tupperware' gets a prize." I shook my head. "We didn't have games." "I can't imagine Tupperware games helping. What would you do - see who can name the most positions?" "We know there are at least sixty-nine." "Ninety-six - that would be lovers arguing." I winced. "Too close to home." He said, "You could ask them how many words they can make out of the letters in `felch.'" He smiled and tilted his head and suddenly I had this flash of memory, a whole scene: Betty's sweaty flesh stuck to the length of me, her tongue buried in me, my breasts squeezed heavy against my sides and my face wet from her, the taste of her something like watermelon and fresh- mown grass tight against the back of my throat. Gil was over my head, his nearly hairless balls starting to relax and sag after his orgasm. I could see his cock softening and there was a ring of color around the base as it withdrew from Betty's asshole, I could hear the sticky pulling sound as it shrank away from her, I could smell the heady smell. As he pulled away, I tilted my head back to see his face tall above me. He smiled down at me, tilting his head just so. A bulge of his come oozed out of Betty's asshole and I licked the length of her pussy, finally catching his come on my tongue. "Oh, god," I said. "I've *done* it. I've felched." He nodded. "I remember." "I haven't thought of that for years." I made a face and then swallowed, not sure if I liked the memories I had just evoked. " - You remembered?" He shrugged: *no big deal*. And that was when I knew I could sleep with Gil if I wanted to. "You were... eager and apt," he said. "You were ready and willing to do anything." "Jesus. I was, wasn't I?" I giggled. "And last month I turned down a chance to chaperone the boys on a school trip, because Reg Lewis keeps hitting on me and I was afraid it would look bad." I shook my head again. "What ever happened to that young woman?" He shrugged. "She got married, had kids. She grew up. Every choice remade her until she was something she couldn't have imagined." I snorted. "She certainly didn't imagine *this.*" I gestured at myself. "You don't have to tell me. I sell envelopes for a living." "Poor Kim," I told him. "She lied about who she was. She pretended to be someone else, and while she was pretending, she grew old." "You're not old." "Thanks." I shrugged, suddenly depressed. "I feel like one of Robert's fossils. All the living stuff has been replaced with rock, leaving something that *looks* like Kim but isn't really." I ran my fingertip around the smooth rim of my coffee mug, smearing the lipstick that had come off. I looked at the red stain on my finger. "And why? So Paul could marry a virgin." "It didn't matter to you, it did to him. That's what you said." "I know what I said," I told him as I scrubbed my fingertip clean with a tissue. "Except... except I think it does matter." I inspected my finger. It was fine. Unblemished. Born-again virginal. I looked past it, up at Gil. Awareness of him, of how *male* he was, hit me like leaving a cool building for the summer sun. "I don't know what to think, Gil. What do you think?" "Kim," he said carefully, "I want to fuck you." My blood was roaring in my ears, I wasn't sure I had heard him correctly. "You said - " He nodded. "I know what I said. That doesn't change what I want. I may not be able to have it. I can live with that. It may be a mistake. I can live with that, too." He gave me a sudden smile. "It's not the most romantic proposition I've ever made, but it's the truest." It's funny how much stuff can go through your mind at a moment like that. I suppose I ought to have been indignant or flattered or just one emotion, but instead I was all of those and more: aware of the posturing so I would always be the *correct* person Paul married, aware of the marriage-bed juggling (*too*tired*tonight*but*he*did*last*week* when*I*wanted*and*next*week's*my*period*), proud Gil asked me, worried it was wrong, scared I'd forgotten how to *be* anyone else, to be *with* anyone else, and most of all I was desperately overwhelmingly horny! And I knew I'd said yes, even though I hadn't opened my mouth. Gil threw money onto the table and held his hand out for me to take. His hand was warm and his grip strong: he kept firm pressure on my arm as I stood up. I was glad, because my knees were shaking. Gil grabbed my hat and contrived to brush my breasts with the brim as he swept it to my head; it was so sudden, so unexpected, my nipples suddenly pressed against my bra. "Gil?" I said in a low voice. He stopped. "Yes?" "I'm going to wear you out." "I hope so," he said, and we started to the door. We didn't speak. Once we were in the elevator, alone for a moment, he ran his fingers from the nape of my neck to the base of my spine, and I shivered. I stepped in front of him and pressed myself against his body, making small circles with my hips, feeling the contours of his trapped cock slide across one cheek, between them, across the other and back again. The elevator stopped on the floor before his and a maid got on; I stopped moving and we stood there, his cock straining against the base of my spine. It felt huge and delightful. I'm sure I was grinning like a mad thing. As soon as the elevator stopped, I walked into the corridor without looking back. As I heard the elevator hum off to its next destination, I felt the feather touch of a breeze as Gil came up behind me and then a wash of cool air as he unzipped my dress, laying my back bare to the world. I felt tremendously naked as I spun to face him. "You'd better tell me where your room is." He already had his key out. "Right here." While he put the key in the lock, I paid him back by reaching down and unzipping his pants, pulling the fabric away from the lump of his cock. I giggled, it was such a silly giddy thing to do. I could see the white of his shorts, a sideways eye in his cream slacks. He started to speak as he opened the door but I swept in after him, plastering myself against the length of his body, searching for his mouth, kissing his jaw, cheek, chin. No aftershave, just clean man and a faint reminder of soap. He fumbled for a moment (removing the key, shutting the door) and then his attention was fully on me, like I was something new and different, like I was special and wanted and surprising. Strong hands sliding up the backs of my legs, cupping my ass, smoothing the muscles of my back, clutching my hair. He pulled away from a moment, just to look, and I liked it. He slid his hands down me again, the front this time: collarbones and breasts and nipples and stomach and hips. His hands had a touch of roughness to them - old callouses, maybe. "Pantyhose," he said, and made a face. "I didn't know," I told him. "Next time." I kicked off my shoes and knelt. I wanted to memorize his cock, I wanted to possess it. I wanted him in my hands, my mouth, my pussy, my ass. I undid his belt and let him step out of his trousers. His cock was sturdy in his pale jockeys, strapped to his belly by the elastic. I pulled his shorts down to free it; his cock toppled until it was pointing just above horizontal, the head an inch from my mouth. His wonderful masculine odor filled my nostrils and I kissed the head once lightly, just as a prelude. His cock twitched once and bobbed. The only hint of his foreskin was a slight fleshiness along the shaft. A stranger's cock. I took it in my mouth, sliding my lips over the soft-hard head, letting my teeth rest just behind the ridge of it. He was mine now. I had him locked in my mouth. I ran my tongue over and around the smooth skin, tasting it, relishing it like the first plum of summer, reluctant to finish it off. It was hot and smooth. I drew my head back, dragging my teeth along it, steadied the hot hard shaft in my hand and leaned forward, surrounding his cock with my mouth, my tongue, my throat. Then again, deeper. There was a sudden roiling in my stomach: too far. I hadn't done this for too many years. I pulled my head back and looked at his cock, still connected to me by a line of saliva. I squeezed the shaft and pulled, watching the foreskin suddenly appear. He was so hard and tight I could only just roll skin up to the base of the head. I jacked him again, fascinated by it, and again. "Kim," Gil said in a low voice. I looked up. His face was drawn. "Do you want me to come on your face?" "Not yet," I told him. He'd peeled off his shirt while I was sucking his cock. Nice chest. His nipples were puckered brown pebbles. "Then you should stop. Just for a moment." I felt cheated and excited. I hadn't done anything, really, and he was threatening to come. None of the cues were the same as with Paul - it was all new, all exciting. I could do anything with Gil. He pulled gently on my arm and as I stood up, he slipped me free of one shoulder of the dress and one bra strap. Peeling the cup from my breast, he stroked my breast then pinched the nipple roughly. With his other hand, he hoisted my skirt around my waist and began to fondle my ass, finding the run on the inside of the pantyhose leg. One clever finger slipped through the leg of my panties and traced a wet path from cunt to asshole. I couldn't remember the last time my nipples had been so hard, and I was so conscious of my cunt, the heavy electric feeling of it... I felt delicious. I wanted to *see* myself as a sexual animal, I wanted to see my breasts sway as this man fucked me from behind, see the lust on our faces. I started moving towards the bathroom, he followed me, leaving his pants behind. The bathroom was cool and white in counterpoint to us. My hair was mussed, my breasts were bare and bulging from the twisted cups of my bra, and I had a naked man behind me. I leaned my elbows on the cool countertop, my nipples brushing my forearms. He rested his hands on my hips and our gazes met in the mirror. I gave him my sexiest smile - he smiled back and hoisted my skirt to my waist. I heard a low growling but I didn't know which of us it was. I tossed my head and twitched my hips. I hadn't wanted anybody this much in *years*. I loved the lack of words. I loved the obvious arousal on his face, in his movements, in the heavy wagging of his big cock. His cock felt like hot iron against my ass cheeks. He moved expertly with a minimum of fumbling and then the head of his cock was waiting at the entrance to my cunt. I inched backward just a bit, to feel it inside me, but his hands held me where I was. His cock rested there like a promise. I wanted him inside me. I wanted to fuck. I wanted to come. My hips twitched again without my willing it. I shivered though the room was not cold. Wherever he touched me was like fire: hands burning on hips, cock burning on cunt. "Fuck me," I whispered. "You're beautiful," he said and thrust forward. Like fire taking paper, like water quenching a thirst, he entered me. It took two more thrusts before his hips slapped against my ass and I was full. Full of cock, full of excitement, full of life. And even as I thought that, I also thought, God, you can tell I was an English major, can't you? And then there were no more words to describe. There was just the old-new simple-complex business of fucking and feeling good. I don't know how many times I came; I just wasn't aware. Not earth- shaking orgasms, just tiny ones that rippled through me. I watched us in the mirror, un-self-conscious and lusty and noisy and sweaty. I slammed my ass back against his hips and moved it in small circles, feeling him deep inside me. He leaned over me and gruffly handled my breasts and pinched and stroked my swollen nipples. It hurt delightfully. I stood up straight; he was just enough taller that he had to bend his legs, and his cock popped out. He knelt, spun me around and peeled off my hose and panties, then gave me a quick kiss on my clit. I leaned back, certain he was going to eat me now but instead he stood up, lifted me and set me on his cock. I slid down and felt sparks as we ground together. I wrapped my legs around his waist. In the mirror, my skirt had fallen down again, but I got the occasional glimpse of bare thigh, hip, and a shadowy view of cock in cunt. That couldn't be prim Kim Murdock, with that strange man's cock in her. I laughed again and wrapped my arms tight around Gil's neck, striving for orgasm, pumping until I caught fire again, shuddering and weak. Gil felt it, and set me on the counter. He stood still for a moment. "Come in me," I told him after I don't know how long and he began to move again, slowly and picking up speed, just a third of his cock sliding in and out of me, until finally all his muscles clenched and his back arched, stiffened, and I felt his cock throb in my cunt. He thrust a couple of more times and then shivered. I scoonched backward and pulled myself off his semihard cock. A big gob of come began to leak from me. He reached down and caught it on his hand. I grabbed his hand and we touched palms, spreading his sticky warm come all over our hands. I held my hand to his mouth and he licked my palm, then sucked each finger clean. I did the same for him. We looked at each other for a moment. Then I saw myself in the mirror and giggled. "What a slut." I peeled off the rest of my clothes and hugged him. "What a joy." There was one awkward topic to bring. I stepped back and said, "I suppose I ought to tell you that I'm, uh, receptive. Since we didn't use, uh - " He picked me up and carried me over to the bed without putting me down. "I suppose I ought to tell you," he said gravely, "I've had a vasectomy." I laughed because nothing could go wrong today - and then shrieked as he dropped me onto the bed. I giggled. My stomach muscles and my thighs were quivering jelly. Gil lay down beside me and began to rub my legs. I lay there, enjoying his touch. "I haven't done that for a long time," I told him. "Just fucked. Total animals." "How do you feel?" "Great. Oh, you mean about cheating?" I thought about it. "Not terrible, surprisingly. Inez has been after me for years to have an affair. Says it would do me a world of good." I stretched and tousled his hair. "I guess she was right." After a while Gil finished rubbing my legs and tummy and stretched out beside me. I kissed him, teasing him with my tongue. "You know what I liked?" I asked him. "What?" "It was unrehearsed." "Good, I always get stage fright." "Not that, silly. Paul - does it bother you to talk about Paul?" Gil shrugged. "You're a married woman. It bugs me a little but that's because I want you all to myself." I nodded. I wouldn't want to talk about another woman he was fucking. "Anyway, Paul was a virgin, and I was *supposed* to be a virgin, but it wasn't like he hadn't *read* anything. So he was very careful to be a full and tender lover, you know - tried to make sure I came once or twice or three times - except he's *always* like that. Even when I want to *fuck*. And then it becomes kind of... mechanical. Like, when we have sex, there's some kissing, and then some caressing, and then some general body licking and touching and then he goes down on me and then we fuck." "You don't - ?" He lifted his eyebrows. "I didn't notice your technique was rusty." "It is kind of unfair of me, isn't it? No, we fell out of the habit. I guess for the first year he just put me off because he wanted to fuck instead of coming in my mouth. And Paul's got a bit of control freak in him. Going down on someone involves controlling them, and Paul's not really one to give up that control." He nodded and reached out to touch my cheek. "It's tough to give up control." "You'd come in my mouth." He chuckled. "I'd come anywhere you wanted. I'd felch you if you asked." "Mmmm. Next time I want you to fuck me in the ass. I haven't been fucked in the ass for a long time." "Sure." "With a dildo," I said. "I used to like that stuffed feeling, a butt-plug in my ass and a cock in my cunt." "I don't actually have one with me. I could buy one, though." I made a pillow of my arms, remembering things I used to do. "I could tie you up, that would be a control thing." He lazily stroked one breast. My nipple hardened. "I can see I'm going to have to make a list," he said. "No," I said, "I'll make it." I went to the writing table where a box of Gil's business cards sat. I picked one up and looked at it, then took his pen and scribbled on the back of it: *Fuck*my* ass*. I set it aside and picked up another one and wrote, *Butt-plug* and set that one aside. *On an overnight train* was next, then *Let*me*tie*you*up*, then *You*and*me*and*a* girlfriend*. Ideas and situations tumbled into my mind and I sat down and started writing. On a couple of them, the business card wasn't big enough, so I wrote the description on a piece of letter paper, frantic to get it all down. Maybe Gil spoke to me, maybe he didn't - I wasn't listening to anything but my torrent of fantasies. Eventually I stopped. There was a stack of cards and papers, maybe forty of them. Gil touched the top one with his forefinger. "You want to do all of these?" I nodded. "I'm only in town for a month." He picked up the stack and started to read them - I covered them with my hand. "Not in front of me. Please." "If we're going to do these - " I squirmed while he read through them. Finally he set them down. "I can see I should finally take that back vacation." He sat on the edge of the desk. I noticed his cockhead was completely shrouded in foreskin. None of my fantasies had turned him on. "Kim, we're having an affair. I haven't had an affair in years but I remember the rules." "Rules?" Gil nodded. "I am not to assume you are going to leave your husband for me. We leave the rest of our lives outside that door. Our time together is precious, and stolen. We don't squander it. I don't take sides in arguments you have with your husband. You don't invite me to family functions so we can have a quickie while your husband is around. And last and hardest, when it's over, it's over." I nodded. "Doesn't seem very romantic." "It's not." He shrugged. "In some ways, I'm not a very romantic guy. Sorry." I pointed at the pile of cards. "Did you want to do any of those?" "I want to do all of them, Kim, plus a couple you didn't write down. But we only have a month. Pick your top dozen. Or we'll each pick six. We can do three a week. Can you arrange to meet me three times a week?" I hadn't thought of an affair as something to be *planned*. "I guess." He looked stern. "Yes," I said. "How can you be so calculating about this?" "Two reasons." He held up a finger. "First: it was a poorly handled affair that finally broke up my marriage." Another finger. "Second: I'm crazy about you, Kim. I mean crazy in the teen-age sense - I'd sit on the curb across from your house for six hours just to see you taking out the garbage. You need those rules to keep me from trying to take up all of your time. I need those rules for the same reason." "That's kind of scary," I said. He nodded. "And it's the most alive I've felt in years." "Me too," I said. His cock was starting to lengthen again, the head now a third uncovered like a cautious turtle. I touched the velvety skin with my forefinger. He groaned. "A month," he said. "We have a month of this kind of living." "So make love to me now," I told him. He pulled the other chair next to me and kissed me tenderly and deeply. I closed my eyes. Nothing touched except our lips and tongues, but I could feel the heat of his body. I knew his hand was on the back of my chair, beside my shoulder. I pushed my tongue into his mouth, still surprised by how he tasted. After a while, he pulled away and I felt his kiss on my right nipple. I sagged back in the chair and let him touch me. He stayed there for a long time, caressing and teasing it, gradually working away from the nipple so he was also kissing and touching the rest of my breast. It tingled. He kissed his way to the other breast, this time working his way in to the nipple. The wet neglected right nipple was cool and hard. I reached up and played with it, something I'd never done with Paul. He touched my shoulder and I opened my eyes. His cock was fully hard now, and level with my eyes. I stroked it with one hand, and then opened my mouth for it. He slowly moved the head in and out of my mouth, letting me fondle it with my tongue. Finally he said, "Let me share," and led me over to the bed. We lay on our sides, his cock by my mouth, his face between my legs. I felt a sudden surge of electricity when he licked my asshole, and I had to stop licking his balls when he slid a finger into my cunt. His tongue moved rapidly over my clit, strummed it almost, and he slid in another finger and then another. I felt so *full*. I lay there, one leg cocked so he could get at me, feeling a delightful orgasm build while he moved his fingers in and out. Then his thumb rested on my asshole and pressed and I came suddenly, flopping onto my back. Gil held me until it subsided and then he clambered around and kissed me again. I could taste myself, the heavy flavor I have when I'm fertile, and I kissed his face clean. Somehow during that he slipped his cock into me and I gasped as he filled me. We fucked gently: long slow strokes, his body on mine, our mouths glued together. I was full of his cock and his pelvis was a soft pressure on my clit. Eventually I couldn't wait any more and I told him so. "Harder." He picked up the pace. His hips slapped against mine and every thrust squeezed me so I grunted - "Uh. Uh. Uh! Uh! Uh uh uh UH!" - as I came, a wonderful floaty orgasm that suspended me in warm time. While I was still floating, Gil whispered, "Now," and his body clenched so he pulled on my shoulders while pushing himself into me, like I was a bowstring and he was the bow. His cock twitched several times and he sighed, almost hissing, as he relaxed. His cock was still hard, so he continued to slide in and out of me for a few minutes until it softened. I held him tightly and we kissed some more. We lay there together for a while and then I looked at the clock - our breakfast meeting had lasted three and a half hours! "I have to get dressed," I told Gil. "I know," he said, but he didn't stop kissing me. I giggled and pushed him away. There was no awkwardness about parting, just the desire to meet again. I left him naked at the door. I felt so good, so sexual, I didn't mind the hassles that went with having sex with Paul. If he wanted sex tonight, I was willing. After all, it would keep me ready for next Monday.