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Subject: {SJR}"The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane 4D"( bf mF mF+ )[13/52]
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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
real name. The version that I have copied used his initials, and I have
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 4D:
Martha Jane and my mother helped walk me into our apartment,
where they settled me on the sofa and placed a wet rag over my
face. Mom called our closest relatives, my Grandma Rose Ricci,
to hurry over in their car and get me to nearby St. Joseph's
Hospital. But Grandma Rose was too distraught to drive and she
called my Aunt Frances, who in turn was so distraught she called
my Aunt Josephine, who in turn was also so distraught she called
her neice, my cousin Josephine Louise, whom they all knew drove
like the wind at all times.
Within 30 minutes Josephine Louise arrived in Aunt Frances'
black 1947 Dodge, the car packed to the hilt with relatives like
clowns in a circus act. They rushed into our little apartment
and shook the walls with their hysteria. Martha Jane, stroking
my forehead and cheek with the cool wet cloth, watched calmly
with me as yet another car drove up and Grandma Rose and the
Ricci's and Gagliano's got out. Soon the place was so full, no
one could walk.
"My God," Martha Jane whispered incredulously. "How many
more of them are there?"
"No one knows," I said dryly.
Amid the moaning and wailing and my Aunt Frances swooning
into a chair, her husband, my Uncle Johnny, cooly and sanely
brought the crowd to attention. "You all remember why we're
here," he said, gesturing toward me with his hat. "We gonna
take him to the hospital, or we gonna stand around and faint?"
They all gaped at each other momentarily, then everyone
started issuing different instructions at once. My mother and
Josephine Louise edged their way through the panic and calmly
lifted me into Josephine Louise's arms.
"Come on, Speedy," she said, carrying me with one arm around
the back of my neck and the other under my knees. "While they
work this out, we'll go to St. Joseph's. Follow me, Betty," she
said to my still distraught mother, and she wiggled her way
through the crowd, through the kitchen, and out to her car. My
mom and Martha Jane followed, with Uncle Johnny almost casually
in the rear, hat in hand. The last I heard from the others, they
were still screaming at each other in my living room.
At St. Joseph's I was cleaned, poked, wrapped, injected,
xray'd, gowned and wheeled up to a bed with a window overlooking
the project a few blocks away. A doctor who looked and sounded
like Joel McCrea with a Southern accent told everyone I was a
sturdy kid and no great damage was done--although I would have
to keep my arm in a sling for a day or two to keep from stretching
torn muscles around my left rib cage, and I'd have a fat cheek
for a while, and I'd have to wear a thick pad on my side for a
few weeks to restrain movement there, and I was warned to not
strain myself by attacking any more trees.
I was in St. Joseph's for two days, strapped tightly in a
corset to keep my torso immobile, and continually monitored by
a nonstop parade of Italian aunts, uncles, godparents, great-
aunts and uncles, great-grandmother Nifa and her two morbid
sisters, cousins, near cousins, and a number of people I never
saw before who claimed they were related. Nurses groaned and
complained, shuffling people in and out of the waiting room
and forced to keep count of how many people were in my room at
one time. I was kissed on the cheek by innumerable elderly aunts,
most of whom appeared grieved as if I were dead and laid out
in my coffin instead of propped up in bed.
I was obliged to "be nice" and appreciative and, as Josephine
Louise whispered to me with her luscious, red, magnificently
sexy mouth close to my ear at one point, "Look as if you're in
mortal pain, Speedy. These old Victorians just thrive on
melodrama."
Martha Jane visited me each day, but we were hardly able to
have a few words between ourselves. On the second day she had
enough time alone with me. While the others were out getting
coffee, we had a brief chat.
"I'll bet you just love all this attention," she said.
"Martha Jane, you know I feel so creepy around them. I get
the same questions: Hi, Speedy, how are you? How old are you
now, Speedy? How are you doing in school? What do you want to
be when you grow up? Did it hurt bad? Was your--?"
She interrupted, touching my hand. "Now, hon. You should be
grateful all these people care so much for you. Your Grandma Rose
has been so nice, they could have just sent you straight home two
days ago, but your Grandma Rose is footing the whole bill so you
could be more comfortable here."
"But--"
"But nothing, Speedy. You have to admit, that was very
generous."
Guiltily, I conceded, "Well, I do like my Grandma Rose,
she's the only one I like."
"And your poor Aunt Frances and Uncle Johnny--"
I groaned and slapped my forehead. "No, not Aunt Frances."
"Stop that, hon, I know she's hysterical and a lifetime of
criticism every five minutes, but she means well."
"No, no, not Aunt Frances..." I groaned in mock dismay.
"Stop, it squirt," she reprimanded gently. "They all love
you, and you know it. You devil, you're just eating all this
up. It's more attention than you or anybody else gets in a
lifetime."
"Okay," I pouted.
"Don't say okay unless you mean it."
"Okay."
"I gotta go study, hon." She rose and gathered her sweater
over her shoulders. Leaning down to me, she looked back at the
door to see if anyone might be listening. She whispered, "You
get well. Hear me?"
"Okay."
"Because..." She licked my ear. "...I miss us."
I smiled, blushing. "Me too."
With a peck on the cheek she was gone. And just in time for
the return of Aunt Frances, Uncle Johnny, Grandma Rose, Aunt
Josephine, Aunt Lucille, Aunt Mary, Uncle Louie, Mom, my sister,
Aunt Catherine, my *other* Aunt Catherine, Aunt Yiya, Aunt
Theresa, Grandpa Joe, another Aunt Josephine, Uncle Vito, Uncle
Lawrence, Aunt Cecilia...
By the end of the second day I felt well enough to start
getting unbearably bored again. Whenever I shifted restlessly
my injured side ached and cramped. Except for visits to the
restroom and the coffee shop, Aunt Frances and Uncle Johnny were
a permanent fixture in the room, Uncle Johnny sighing restlessly
and winking at me now and then, recognizing our mutual discomfort.
The worst part of the day was when Aunt Frances began cajoling my
mother into moving out of the project.
"But I want my children and I to have our privacy," my mother
objected, trying to be as nice as she could about it. "And where
would we stay? I wouldn't want to take rent money from all my
relatives. I just can't live that way."
"But, Betty," my Aunt Frances pleaded. "You and Speedy
could live with *us*."
On hearing that, I raised my eyes to Heaven. Please, Jesus.
Not that.
My mother said no, it just wouldn't work. She thanked Aunt
Frances. She told her she had a good relationship with my stepdad-
to-be, it looked as if they were steady now, and perhaps they would
marry in a year or two. I was grateful for her persistence. Not
only would I not be able to bear seven days a week of Aunt Frances,
but leaving the project meant leaving Martha Jane. Aunt Frances
didn't let up all day, but Mom didn't give in and didn't even appear
to be tempted--for which I was deeply grateful. Maybe there really
was a God.
In a spare moment, when no one was looking, I found myself
unable to resist the urge to stick out my tongue at Aunt Frances. I
did so, mildly, about half an inch of it. And just as I did, Aunt
Frances looked at me.
I withdrew my tongue immediately, but already her big round eyes
had widened and her eyebrows rode halfway up her forehead.
She turned to Uncle Johnny, beside her. "Johnny, did you see
what he did?"
"What'd he do, Frances?" asked Uncle Johnny, trying to keep
awake.
"He stuck his tongue out at me."
Uncle Johnny's repressed laugh started out as a smirk, then he
deftly transformed it into a wheeze, and then a mild cough. "Forget
it, Frances. The boy don't feel well."
Three or four weeks later, when Martha Jane was with me again,
my cheek had cleared but I was still wearing the heavy restraining
pad at my left side, held in place by thick layers of gauze around
my middle. Martha Jane turned the lights out early. I had already
got into bed and was lying on my back when she turned out the last
light and walked over to the bed. In her jeans and white shirt she
lay down beside me and began taking off my clothes in the dark.
When my shirt came off she traced the bandage with her finger.
"That's horrible what that little rat did to you."
"I can take it," I said stoically.
"Sur-r-re, you can, cowboy." she said. "You sure threw a fit.
I knew you had a temper, but...I had no idea it was that much of a
temper."
I sat up while she removed my shirt. She unbuckled my belt and
unzipped me, shoving my pants to my knees. She stood up, pulling my
pants off past my feet by its legs.
"I hope you never get so mad at me that you direct that awful
rage at me, Speedy."
"I can't hurt people," I said.
"What do you mean, you can't hurt people?"
"I can't hurt people. Only things. I can't hurt them, even if
I hate them."
"Why not, hon? You had every right to take that tough kid and
beat the--" She stopped herself, and continued removing my socks.
"I'm sorry. I don't mean that. You had every right to, but you
wouldn't have done it. Because you're sweet, hon. Even though you
don't like your Aunt Frances and all those other people, you
wouldn't hurt them. You're a very brave boy. It takes courage to be
sweet."
"He had me so angry," I said. "Why do people have to take from
others like that? Poor Stepper, he's so poor and he doesn't have
anything. And he can't help it if he's black. Why does the world
do that?"
"I don't know, hon. I wish I had the answer." She had removed
my socks, and now she grabbed the sides of my underwear. "Lift,"
she said. I did, she pulled, and I was naked.
She stood looking down at me in the dark. Silently she unbut-
toned her shirt, looking at me with a gently intent gaze. All the
buttons undone, she shifted her shoulders back and the shirt seemed
to simply breathe off her. Then her bra. The moon glowed along one
side of the swell of each gently sloped breast. She unbuckled the
belt at her jeans, twisted the top button open, pulled the zipper
down.
"That horrible, violent day is all over now," she whispered.
She pulled down her jeans, dropped them on the floor, and slipped
her thin panties down her long, perfect legs. Her auburn tuft
glowed like a softly lighted powder puff in the moonlight. I was
getting hard watching her. My cock weakly stirred and straight-
ened. A slab of moonlight fell directly on it. It rose, slightly.
Martha Jane looked at it and bent down and slowly, one finger at a
time, she put her hand around it and held it so that only the tip
stood out above her gentle fist.
"I don't know why people have such meanness," she went on,
almost absently, watching my cock. "I don't know why they have to
hurt each other. When they could give themselves pleasure and
affection."
"I would never hurt you, Martha Jane," I whispered.
"I know you wouldn't, hon. And I hope I never hurt you."
She leaned down and licked the part of my cock that protruded
above her fingers, then lightly sucked it. "He's so sweet."
I gulped, and my cock stirred. She felt it and grinned. "He
can almost talk," she said.
She lay down beside me near the window and our arms went around
each other. Propped on one elbow, she caressed my chest. I lightly
squeezed a nipple.
"No more meanness," she whispered. "No more hurt. No more
hate. Wouldn't it be wonderful if that could happen?"
"It happens here," I offered, "when I'm with you."
"What a beautiful thing for you to say, Speedy," she breathed,
surprised, her eyes glowing. "What a lovely thing to say." She
held my face in her hands and pressed her cheek to mine. Her lips
at my ear, she whispered, "How can I make you feel good? We have to
be careful with that thing on you. You can't move very much."
"I don't know," I pondered. "I wanna make you feel good, too."
"I know what," she said, and got onto her knees beside me and
bent over my chest and held her face over mine. "I know what we can
do."
"What?"
She kissed my nose. She kissed my right eyelid. She kissed my
lips. "You just wait..."
"What?" I asked again.
Her voice was a langorous, barely audible whisper, mildly
taunting, motherly, lecherous, all at once.
She bagan softly, "The management of this establishment is
establishing new management."
She kissed my ear.
She raised her face above mine again and touched a finger to my
lips.
"Don't talk," she whispered.
She was so quiet, I heard the "k" in the last word linger in the
air for several seconds.
She nipped at my throat, around the side of my neck to my other
ear. One of her nipples grazed one of mine. She put her lips onto
my ear.
"Don't move."
She kissed my neck, licked my neck, trailed kisses slowly across
my chest with tiny, almost unheard little puffs and lickings. She
kissed not with her lips, but with the inside of her lips. She put
her lips on my left nipple and softly opened them, made a tiny pool
of the inner lining of her lips around my nipple, and gently sucked.
My cock got very hard. She used the tip of her tongue, only the tip,
to move down my chest until she got to the bandage. Then she looked
down.
"You're hard," she observed aloud, under her breath. "How nice."
It was so quiet and still in the room I could feel the moonlight
on my stiffened, upright cock. My eyes were closed. Now I knew why
she swallowed so much when I did this sort of thing to her. It was
something to replace speech, for there were no words for the
pleasure she was giving me.
Watching my cock intently, she moved as if in slow motion, and
still on her knees she stretched her neck elegantly forward in the
dim light and poised her head straight over my erection. She opened
her mouth. She lowered her head, straight down, slowly and cau-
tiously, hardly touching my cock with her mouth. When her head was
all the way down, and her lips grazed my pubic fuzz, she closed her
mouth around me fully, sucked, and drew up. She did this four
times, wetly. Soon I throbbed and felt a drop of my nascent cum
being siphoned up my shaft into her mouth. Apparently she tasted
it. She came off me, licked the inside her mouth.
Then she turned to face me, hovered over me. She lifted one leg
over me, her knee settling into the bed on my other side.
"Careful," she whispered. "Don't let me hurt you."
"It's okay," I whispered back. It always seemed so sacrilegious
to talk aloud at such moments with her. Like shouting in church.
Her face over mine, her knees on each side of me, her back
raised so we didn't touch below the waist, she looked down and
positioned each of her nipples over each of mine, then pressed
into me.
"Does it hurt your side if I press my titties on you like that?"
"No." I mouthed the word, rather than speak it. I was
speechless, enchanted, amazed.
"I'm not really sure how to do this," she whispered with a
nervous little laugh. "I never did it before. Let's see..."
Closing her eyes and rising on her arms, she bit her lower lip in
deep concentration, and down below she slowly and tentatively hunted
in small movements with her wet cunt, searching for my standing
cock. Her outer lips found my tip, circled two or three times,
wetting me, then lowered. With a long sigh she took me all the way
into her. She looked down.
"That okay?" she asked.
"That feels so good!"
"Yes, it does...verrry good."
For a while she experimented, sometimes moving up and down on
me; sometimes circling just my tip with her warm slithery outer
petals; sometimes taking me all the way and grinding her clit
against my shaft, which she seemed to enjoy the most; sometimes
taking me in only halfway and pumping rhythmically for a while.
Several times she asked me if my side was okay, and I told her it
was. She searched and discovered patiently and ardently, often
breathing her pleasure in my ear with the most obscenely graphic
phrases she could think of. In time she became less careful,
gradually more swept up in her heightening pleasure. Soon her wet
channel became more snug around me and then began contracting irreg-
ularly, at which point she would stop and pant over me for a
moment. Then she would start again, growing tighter around me, her
grinding more urgent and more intuitive. As her breathing grew more
ragged, she began sighing and whimpering. Gradually she assumed
more often the position of settling tightly all the way down,
squeezing me, rotating subtly on my shaft. And eventually she
stiffened, her straightened arms quivering. Her grinding became so
intense she rocked the bed, and I knew she would be unable to stop
this time around.
She began to chant, "oh hon...oh hon...", and then she began
to sing, "oh hon...!" and finally she groaned loudly, "Oh, yes!"
and her head snapped forward and she writhed her clit furiously
against my shaft, holding her breath, and I circled my hips in the
opposite direction against her, and she answered with a low groan,
"Yes...", and her cunt clamped on me madly for a long moment. Then
she passed her peak, her head fell back and then forward, and she
slackened, holding still, gasping deeply and loudly and quickly,
her hips and back softened and I saw her breasts had swollen against
me and were hot, a vein on one side of her neck throbbed and I
reached up and sucked it and her hips jerked once, making the bed
squeak, and her neck was hot and salty with sweat and I stroked her
hair as if strewing balm on her agonizing pleasure, and she rested,
still sucking me inside now and then, and I felt her hot cuntlips
drain wet around the root of my shaft. Twice my cock had felt the
long moment of sweet tickling inside her as she moved on me, twice
I had felt some of me seep into her, and I was content with both
her pleasure and mine.
Continued...
====================================
THE ADVENTURES OF ME AND MARTHA JANE
by S.J.R.
PART 4D
-30-
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