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Subject: Pushing the Envelope, 1 (Jordan Shelbourne)[MF]
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			  PUSHING THE ENVELOPE

			   Jordan Shelbourne

Copyright 1993 Jordan Shelbourne; please do not archive without
explicit permission; Eli and the ASSM archive have explicit permission
Send requests and comments to jordan@u36.com.

		  CHAPTER ONE: A Question of Etiquette

(Gil)

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 remembered 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," I agreed. "Other people, you know them for years but you
never know them."

"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.

 # # #

See The Ivory Gate (http://www.u36.com/jordan/) for more stories by Jordan
Shelbourne.

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