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Subject: {SJR}JDR"The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane 12A"( bf mF mF+ )[43/52]
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The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults. If you are
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This particular series is by Santo J. Romeo. That might even be his
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followed suit. It is more a tragic story of coming of age than simply a
sex story, and individual segments might not contain any sex. The entire
story, however, is a hot one.
========
**** WARNING **** WARNING **** WARNING ****
THIS DOCUMENT IS A SEXUALLY GRAPHIC STORY ABOUT AN INTENSE SEXUAL,
EMOTIONAL AND INTELLECTUAL RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN A TEENAGE GIRL AND
A YOUNG BOY AND THE COURSE OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP OVER A PERIOD OF
10 YEARS. IT IS A DRAMATIZATION ABOUT REAL PEOPLE AND THEIR CON-
FLICT WITH SOCIAL EXPECTATIONS. IF THIS SUBJECTS OFFENDS YOU OR IF
SEXUAL LANGUAGE UPSETS YOU, OR IF YOU DON'T WANT THIS MATERIAL SEEN
BY UNDER-18 OR OTHERWISE UNQUALIFIED PERSONS, DELETE THIS DOCUMENT.
THIS DOCUMENT IS COPYRIGHTED 1994, 1996 BY SJR. SO--HEY, YOU CAN
COPY IT BUT YOU CAN'T CHANGE IT OR SELL IT UNLESS I SAY SO.
====================================
THE ADVENTURES OF ME AND MARTHA JANE
by S.J.R.
sjr <73233.1411@CompuServe.COM>
============
PART 12A:
Some events are like dreams. Their cause, their meaning, their place
in one's history remain forever unexplained. They occur once in time; in
memory, they are recurring, timeless, with vague borders and an always
jumbled, inexact sequence. All one can say is that they occurred, and
defiant memory recalls only the pieces, but never their source or their
reason.
In the yellow-white sun Martha and Ronnie slipped into their swim-
suits and I pulled on my shorts. We strolled through a small forest to a
nearby village We drank iced tea with lime and munched sandwiches.
Ronnie and Martha chatted and debated while I gawked and watched the
parade of Fire Islanders drifting from the city and lounging about the
pier. The teenagers passed by, the freaks in their outlandish costumes
and body markings passed by, the New Jersey families and the Manhattan
executives and the yacht owners and the working girls and average guys
passed by. In my mind, while the rest of the world churned around us, I
had the sense that the three of us -- hair-bleached me, sunny-faced
Martha, dark-eyed Ronnie -- were somehow insular, absolute. Looking back
on the whole day, we seemed to be moving in a different direction from
everyone else, at a different pace.
After a long lunch we strolled across a wide, open plain of sand dune
and low brush, and then through yet another secluded wood, and then to
yet another village, speaking among ourselves while no one spoke to us,
no one deflected our conversation or our thoughts. Martha and Ronnie
gabbed away, I gaped away, and the rest of the world left us to our
business. We watched the beginning of the sunset in the early evening,
boarding the ferry just as the sun painted the world red and sank into a
black sea, and during the ferry ride we watched the day end. The stars
came out. Distant lights glowed lazily. The boat docked and we piled
into a taxi that barely made it in time to the train station, and then we
were on a train going in the opposite direction from everyone else,
headed for Manhattan. Two hours later we decided to walk home from Penn
Station, the three of us joined as Martha grabbed my hand and pulled me
between her and Ronnie and then Ronnie took my hand as well and all three
of us strolled, and looked in the same windows together, and commented on
the same sights together, and were all tired together from the trip, and
all three of us climbed to Martha's place. We made berry tea and sat on
the floor in front of the sofa and talked and drank tea and ate cheese
and crackers. It was Ronnie who suggested the lights were too bright, so
she turned off all but the small table lamp, and all three of us contin-
ued as before. Then it was Martha who lit the first cigarette and Ronnie
followed, and then I, and Martha told me to open the window a little
wider and I placed the small Hunter fan on the sill. Ronnie was too un-
comfortable with her swimsuit under her clothes so she removed her jeans
and shirt and Martha followed suit, and I got down to my cutoffs, and
Martha said, exhaling a stream of smoke into the room, that we were all
getting to be smoke fiends. Ronnie talked about Michigan and bad parents
and Martha rose and lit two candles, one on each side of the room, and
turned off the table lamp. "Nice, Martha!" Ronnie cooed, as the candle-
glow draped an almost palpable cocoon of dim, lazily flickering light
around us. Martha sat in the middle of the circle we made around the
small towel on the floor where we placed the tea and the cheese, and the
girls rested on their sides in their swimsuits.
Ronnie told Martha, "You haven't burned candles in a long time."
Martha said, "No, not since our all-nighter. When was it? Three
months ago?"
"Yeah, right after gorgeous George," Ronnie lamented. "How did I
ever end up with him? Steven, you'd love this guy. Testosterone city.
Talk about nuclear overkill."
Martha gave a muffled laugh as she spread cheese on a cracker. "You
keep dating the same guy over and over, Ronnie. Only the names change."
"They're all alike anyway, aren't they? I mean, the whole idea is
to get sex, right?"
"No," Martha said.
"Sure it is. Steven, you're a guy, right? You know other guys,
right? It's biology, isn't it? Getting sex is the whole idea."
I shook my head. "The whole idea is to give pleasure."
Martha smiled at me and nodded.
Ronnie said, "Okay, honey, so you're different."
Martha said, "Steven's very different."
Ronnie leaned toward Martha and said, "And, Martha, my god, his back
rub was something else. Steven, you oughtta start a business. I never
felt such warm hands. Are your hands always that warm?"
Martha grinned, lying face-down, her eyes secretly teasing me. "He
has very warm hands. Very intuitive."
"Lemme see," Ronnie said, reaching for my left hand. "Gimme your
hand. Martha, I can't believe this, feel how warm this guy is! You have
fever, sweetheart? C'mere. God, his arms are warm, too. Must be that
hot Italian blood."
Martha said, "Steven isn't hot-blooded, Ronnie, he's warmhearted."
I blushed and pulled my hand away, grabbing another cracker.
"Aww," Ronnie said, "look at him blush. Aww, look."
Martha said, "Ronnie, leave him alone. You already embarrassed him
once today."
"Really? Steven, were you that embarrassed? Aww, I'm sorry. I
thought it was pretty funny, myself."
Martha said, "Ronnie, there's a difference between hot-blooded and
warmhearted. They don't necessarily go together."
"Ain't that the truth!" Ronnie said. "I've had some very hot-
blooded, co-o-old-hearted dates."
"You deserve better, Ron," Martha said.
"Steven," Ronnie said, taking a puff and tilting a finger toward me,
"I like your attitude. Martha, why can't I find somebody with an attitude
like his?"
"Because," Martha said, sighing, "you grew up with a lot of aggres-
sive people who didn't like you and you're still trying to -- "
"I know, I know," Ronnie said, ruffled. "Martha, I told you not to
tell me that again or I'd wash your mouth with soap."
Martha pestered her with a small, sly smile.
Ronnie said petulantly, crushing out her cigarette in the ashtray on
the floor at her side, "Why can't I find somebody nice? Everybody I
know has the same problem. I always end up with heavyweights who just
...get some kinda kick out of tormenting people."
Martha said, mildly reproving, "Maybe you don't pay that much atten-
tion to people who are good to you. It's easy to take them for granted."
"I pay attention to you, don't I? And you're nice to me."
"Maybe you have a problem accepting niceness in men, not in women."
"Steven's nice, isn't he? I like Steven. And you have trouble
finding nice people, too, Martha. You're so picky."
"I was spoiled early," Martha said. "My first lover was...very, very
good to me."
I bristled at Martha's words, turning my eyes to the ceiling. She
smiled at me furtively.
"Steven," Ronnie began, reaching for a cracker, "I bet you don't
have any problem finding somebody who's nice to you."
"Doesn't happen often," I said.
"Really? But you're so interesting and sensitive." She beamed at me
playfully. "Great with a bottle of Coppertone." She narrowed her eyes
skeptically. "I can't believe you have a problem finding someone."
"Only happened once, so far," I said.
Ronnie didn't say anything right away. She frowned, pondering, and
absently spread cheese on a cracker. "What's it like," she asked softly,
"to be with someone who's really good to you?"
"Wonderful," I said.
"No, Steven, I mean -- seriously -- what's it like? How does it
happen? How do you make it happen?"
Martha interjected, "You don't 'make' it happen, Ronnie. It just
happens. And not that often."
I said, "You can't make somebody be good to you if they don't want
to. I've been raised by people who weren't very nice to me. Not nice in
the way one needs, I mean. Relatives bought me things. My parents gave
me a place to live. But I wouldn't say they were nice to me. And it's
not something you 'do' to somebody else; it's mutual, it's not something
you do, it's something that's done."
"Mutual," Ronnie mused slowly, as if tasting the word. "Mutual. No,
I never had that." She looked down at the cracker in her hand and
murmured, a bitter edge to her voice, "That's something I sure as hell
didn't have much experience with in Michigan. Or New York, either."
There was brief silence in the little room. Martha rose on her arms
and then stood up quickly. "Are we finished with this cheese and stuff?"
"Yeah, I'm stuffed," Ronnie said, popping one more cracker into her
mouth. "Come on, get it away from me. I'll never leave it alone while
it's right in front of me."
Martha gathered the leftovers. "Come on, Steven, help me get this
into the kitchen."
In the kitchen as she re-wrapped the cheese and I helped her put
things away, she whispered, "Steven, I have to get her off this subject.
Don't even let her get started." She glanced at me. "Do you like her?"
"Sure," I said.
"I mean...as a real friend. Do you like her?"
I whispered reassuringly, "I feel comfortable with her, if that's
what you mean. Not like people I know in Memphis."
When we finished, Martha stopped me with a hand on my arm and whisp-
ered, "Wait." In the center of the kitchen she paused and reached up to
pull the string that turned off the kitchen light. In the near-dark,
lighted only by a spill of candlight from the living room, she waited,
unsmiling, with a contemplative frown.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
Her eyes examined mine briefly, and she glanced toward the living
room, and she said, "Nothing. C'mon."
We returned to the living room and formed the same circle as before.
Ronnie lit another cigarette, looking somber as she sat with her back
against the foot of the sofa.
Martha pulled bobby pins from her hair. "Wasn't it nice on the beach
today?" she said. "Steven's never seen the ocean before. And never a
nude beach. There's nothing like that where we came from, except in no-
where places in Arkansas."
Ronnie said she couldn't live without the freedom to lie naked in the
sun now and then. The winters, she said, were too long in New York and
the summers too short. Martha said that the first time she and Ronnie
discovered the nude area they were both squeamish about undressing,
making silly jokes and giggling the first time they did it. Ronnie asked
if I had been embarrassed and I blushed and said no, and Martha quipped
that I had "a lot" to be embarrassed about and Ronnie laughed, mildly
shocked, and asked "Martha, how do you know that about Steven?" and
Martha smiled enigmatically and said, "I know," and Ronnie looked at her
and then at me, and sniggered and said Martha was assuming a lot from the
way things must have been with me years before, and we sat quietly for a
while, gazing at the candles. Martha said, "Candlelight is so nice,
isn't it?" and I gave a brief soliloquy on candlelight as natural, and
that for centuries mankind saw something spiritual in candlelight and
even after electricity was invented, fire was still used in ceremony and
pageantry. Ronnie thought about it and said she saw something very
spiritual in candlelight, too, and it struck her as having a quietly
erotic quality. Martha got up and went into the bedroom and Ronnie asked
her why she was frittering around and Martha returned in a bathrobe and
fished a bottle of Coppertone from one of the bags and said she was going
to put on a thin coat of lotion to keep her from peeling. "We got so much
sun today," she said, slipping the robe from her shoulders and sitting
bare-breasted as she rubbed lotion onto her face and neck, and Ronnie
thought it was a good idea. Ronnie told me, "You better put some extra
on, too, Steven, so you won't peel. You're not used to the kind of sun
you get on Fire Island." She slipped the straps of her swimsuit off her
shoulders and rubbed oil on her arms and shoulders, and Martha said it
was silly to sit around in their swimsuits after laying nude together on
the beach all day, and Ronnie said it was rather strange that we looked
at each other all day with no clothes on and here we were, the three of
us, sitting almost like Puritans in our swimsuits, showing most of our
bodies anyway, after spending half the day nude in broad daylight. Martha
joked about how civilization had made us so uncivilized when it came to
our bodies, and Ronnie agreed. "How did the cave men react to that?" she
asked, lighting another cigarette and lighting a second one and giving it
to me, "I mean, we weren't always covered with hair." And Martha told
her it came from the Bible. "Original sin," she said, "Remember how
ashamed Adam and Eve were when they figured out they were nekkid?" And
Ronnie laughed and wondered how long it must have taken Adam and Eve to
figure it out, and Martha said, "It is silly, isn't it?." Martha giggled
and noticed she was already half nude anyway, with her robe around her
waist, and I wondered aloud if a candlelight bath wouldn't be as soothing
as a sun bath, and Ronnie said, "Hey, wanna take a candlelight bath? What
the hell, it's so stupid to feel ashamed, isn't it? Steven already saw
me with nothing on," and Martha said, "It's our attitudes, Ronnie, it's
our training," and then Martha lay on her tummy and slipped the robe off
and asked me to put lotion on her back, and Ronnie watched me rub oil on
Martha and asked Martha, "Don't his hands feel great? I told you this
afternoon you were missing something," and while I rubbed lotion on
Martha, Ronnie went into the bathroom and came out without her swimsuit
on and a towel held to her front. She put the towel on the floor and lay
beside me and Martha, face-down on the towel, and asked me to do her when
I was finished with Martha. When I shifted over to work on Ronnie's
back, Martha looked at me and asked if I were embarrassed, and I said no,
and she asked, "Why do you still have your shorts on?" and I balked for a
minute, wondering if I could conceal a recurrence of the hard-on's I had
earlier, and Ronnie said, "See? See how we've been conditioned? I wonder
if men are more embarrassed about it than women?" And Martha said she
thought that might be true, because the popular conception was that
women's bodies were pretty and displayable and men's weren't, and Ronnie
said she remembered reading women were ten times more exhibitionistic
than men. "I mean," Ronnie said, "look at the magazine rack, the pinups
and most of the ads are pictures of women, not pictures of men," and I
watched as Ronnie and Martha, lying on their tummies and facing each
other, with me between them, grinned and winked at each other, so I stood
up and said, "All right, you two, you made your point," and they giggled
and I removed my jeans and underwear, and Martha smirked when she saw
that I was a little firm, and Ronnie saw too and turned her head the
other way, resting it on the floor and saying, "All right, I won't look.
Just don't leave my back alone." I knelt down and wet my hands with
lotion and spread it lightly on Ronnie's back, and she moaned and said,
"Oh, I thought it was the sun that was so warm, but it was Steven's
hands!" And Martha said, "I know Stephen's hands," and she looked up at
me warmly and asked, "We're not being too demanding, are we, hon? Ronnie
and I are so used to each other and we've been on the nude beach dozens
of times, when it wasn't closed," and I smiled and said it was okay, and
Martha rose onto her elbows and watched me rubbing Ronnie, and Ronnie
said, "Well, you two shouldn't be exactly strangers to each other," and
when Martha didn't say anything, Ronnie tensed and asked, "Martha, did I
say the wrong thing again?", and Martha said quietly, "No, hon, it was
okay." And Ronnie murmured out of the side of her mouth with her lips
against the floor, "Leave it to Ronnie to open her big mouth," and Martha
said again, "It's okay," looking up at me to see if I had reacted to
Ronnie. I smiled at her and shook my head to tell Martha I didn't mind.
Time passed and the candles lowered. Ronnie moaned a couple of times
as I rubbed, and I moved down to cover her legs and then moved up to put
lotion on her tush, and she smiled and said "hmmm," and I finished rub-
bing that part of her quickly, feeling blood rush to my groin, and Martha
smiled at me and wiggled her feet and said, "Me, too, Stephen, you didn't
do all of me," and I said, "Well, I wouldn't want your tush to peel," and
Ronnie giggled at that, and I rubbed lotion on the back of Martha's legs
and then massaged lotion lingeringly onto her tush, and she smiled,
pleased, and Ronnie turned her head to watch Martha and Martha glanced at
Ronnie and grinned sheepishly at Ronnie and Ronnie chuckled and said,
"See? I told you he had great hands," and Martha said slowly, "Yes,
Ronnie, I know about Steven's hands," and Ronnie blushed and crooked an
elbow and leaned her head on her raised hand, her small soft breasts
leaning toward the floor as she moved slightly onto her side. She
watched Martha as I rubbed her, and then looked up at me, and then back
at Martha, who closed her eyes and smiled as I finished, and then Martha
rose on her elbows and said, "Okay, Steven, your turn. Lie down."
I lay face-down between them, grateful for the chance to hide my
rising penis. I closed my eyes and folded my arms on the floor and
rested my face on my forearms, hearing Martha slither lotion on her hand.
She spread her palms on my back and rubbed languorously, then more
softly. She said to Ronnie, "Steven likes the soft touch, at first," and
she massaged me gently for a moment and then I heard her say to Ronnie,
"Here, you do him," and then I heard Ronnie wet her hands and then felt
her long-fingered, hot hands making feathery trails up and down my back
and across the back of my neck and my cock got harder, and then her hands
left and reappeared as trailing fingers down my thighs, and the young
dark-brown hair on my legs and arms bristled and I heard Ronnie give a
little squeal and a chuckle and she said, "Mm, he likes that," and Martha
said, "yes, he does," and after lightly rubbing my legs for a minute she
gripped me on my lower calves and ran her hands firmly up my legs to the
tops of my thighs, saying "It brings the blood from the legs to the
heart. Fiore taught me that." I moaned approvingly into my forearms and
then Ronnie's hand left and I heard her lathering her hands again and her
fingers spread them over my buttocks lightly and she gently rubbed lotion
on me there, giving my globes a little squeeze before trailing her
fingers across the skin, whispering, "I'd die for a tush like this," and
Martha said "He's so cute back there," and Ronnie murmured, "Very cute.
I'm so envious," and then her fingers made long, slow, feathery trails
over my buttocks and then across the back of my thighs and back up to my
buttocks, skimming gently along the crack and then ever so sneakily
grazing the hair on my balls, and I jerked and gave a little yelp, and
Ronnie whispered laughingly, "Sorry, sweetheart. That was an accident.
Really," and as Ronnie re-capped the lotion bottle she told Martha, "I'm
not used to testicles, y'know. They're so mysterious and amazing, and I
never saw them from this angle," and they both tittered about that. With
my face against my arms I nodded okay, and then Martha leaned on me from
behind, one nipple against my back, and she stroked the back of my neck
and whispered to both of us, "Touch is so reassuring, isn't it? It can
be so comforting," and Ronnie whispered, "Yes. They say that of all the
senses, the sense of touch brings the most pleasure," and Martha said, "I
love touching. It doesn't matter where. Steven's a toucher, too. Does
that feel nice, Steven?" and I nodded yes, my cock pressing pleasantly
into the floor. Martha said, "Ronnie, Steven and I still hold hands in
the movies, like old friends," and Ronnie said, "Really? That's so
sweet, you two are so sweet with each other," and Martha whispered, "It's
nice to just sit and hold hands." I cleared my throat and lifted my head
slightly to murmur, "Holding Martha's hand is a different kind of touch-
ing. She's a great hand holder." Martha gave a low, pleased little
laugh and said, "You like holding hands with me that much?" and I nodded
yes and then I felt Martha lower her head and her hair grazed my shoulder
and her lips touched my back. She skimmed her lips across my back,
barely touching, and she said to Ronnie, "Lips are nice, too. They're
more exciting than just touching, but they're also soothing when you do
it right. Steven likes it this way," and she gave my back a little kiss
with the inside of her lips and said, "Such nice skin. Everyone in his
family has touchable skin. Try it, Ronnie," and Ronnie said, "Me?" and
Martha said, "Yes, go ahead," and Ronnie leaned close to my head and
said, "Is it okay, Steven?" and I nodded yes, and braced myself during a
long pause and heard Martha whisper, "Go ahead, he won't jump on you,"
and a few seconds later Ronnie's lips were on my back, gliding wetly, and
my cock lurched under me and Ronnie said, "Hmm, yeah. Nice. He smells
good, too. God, I'm so used to men who smell like sweat and beer," and
Martha said, "Steven hates beer," and I cleared my throat and said, "I
can't stand beer," and Ronnie said, "Good for you, sweetheart," and
Ronnie bent down and held her arm near my face and asked "Do I smell like
anything?" and I sniffed her arm and said "Like Coppertone," and she said
"Is that all?" and I sniffed again and said, "Hm, it's like...Well, I
don't know what it's like, but it's nice, it's kinda sweet," and Ronnie
laughed and said "We look like a bunch of eskimos in their igloo,
sniffing each other." We laughed at that and then Martha joked "We
oughtta be using whale oil instead of Coppertone," and then Martha leaned
close to my ear and said, "Roll over, Steven."
====================================
THE ADVENTURES OF ME AND MARTHA JANE
by S.J.R.
PART 12A:
-30-
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