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Subject: {SJR}"The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane 7B"( bf mF mF+ )[23/52]
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The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults. If you are
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matters that you find distasteful. Caveat lector; you read at your own
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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 7B:
The guy she was talking about soon appeared to my left. He was tall
and brawny, well over six feet, with shoulders to match. He had a
bellowing, gruffy voice and wore a blue and white wool athletic jacket
whose padded shoulders made him look gigantic. He approached our table
and called out heftily, "Hi, Janie, you gorgeous heifer, you!" He lifted
one large thigh and planted a foot on the opposite side of the table,
then lifted the other big leg to stand beside Martha Jane.
"Hello, Frank," Martha Jane said politely.
With sweeping, commanding, swaggering movements, Frank grabbed a
chair and sat backwards on it, huge legs spread and massive arms draped
across the chair's metal backplate.
"Hiya doin, cutie?" he bantered. He nodded toward me. "Hey, Janie,
who's yer friend?"
"That's Steven," Martha Jane said. I immediately realized that she
had not introduced me as "Speedy." and I gave her a half-hidden Groucho
Marx raised eyebrow in return. She winked.
"Steven, huh? Hiya, big guy. You look like you're new here this
year."
Before I could answer, Martha Jane told him that I was her "prize
student"who was checking out the campus. Frank continued to make small
talk with her, his speech as swaggering and masculine as the rest of
him. Finally he asked her, "So, you goin' to the big Homecomin'? Ain't
goin' by yourself are ya?"
Martha Jane told him she was swamped with work.
Frank shook his head. "Damn, Janie, you are the workin'-est heifer I
ever saw. C'mon, now, you ain't accepted my invitation for three
months." He looked directly at me and winked, "Is she always this hard
to get, fella?"
"She's a busy girl," I answered, trying to deepen my young voice as
best I could.
He made another attempt or two at getting a date with Martha Jane,
persisting in calling her Janie, and Martha Jane remained politely
adamant and told him that her Homecoming weekend would be spent trying to
finish her final papers before the semester piled up on her. Eventually
he stood up to leave.
He joked, "You sure you wanna pass up a big Homecomin' date?"
"It's tempting, Frank," she flirted, "and I'm sure I'll regret it for
the rest of my days. But, really, I have a lot of work to do."
"Still doin' that student teaching, huh?"
"Yes, it's a back-breaker."
"Well, that's OK, it'll get you a nice job after graduation. But a
gal like you, you won't have to put up with that teachin' racket for
long, some guy'll snatch you right up before you know what happened."
"Yeah right, Frank, happens every day."
"Well, see ya, then. You, too, fella."
After he was out of hearing range Martha Jane heaved a long, relieved
sigh. "See what I mean? Pride of the campus, that big ox. We could sure
use all that muscle to help us move...but it's not worth it."
"He seemed nice enough," I remarked.
"Speedy, he's not nice. He tried to fuck me on the first date,
strictly on the dubious merit of his membership on the football team,
without so much as a word about how I might feel about it. He was so
surprised when I said no! As if it's the first time in his life a girl
didn't undress the minute he walked in!" She shook her head. "I hate
the name Janie. And I don't like being called a 'cutie' or a 'heifer' as
a sign of affection, by some good ol' boy from Arkansas who can't talk
about anything but beer, football, and his daddy's money. I should have
known better than to go out with him in the first place, but somebody
fixed me up and I was in desperate need of a night out." Again, she
winked at me. "So don't think you're going to be some kind of dummy the
first day you start taking classes here, because most of your mental
competition is in the form of that big palooka."
We finished our coffee and headed across the campus toward Martha
Jane's apartment a few blocks away. Martha Jane said there was no big
hurry; she'd spent two weeks packing and she didn't have that much gear
to move. The sun was sinking near the rooftops by then, the late after-
noon sky beginning to deepen in color. We strolled, and she lit a ciga-
rette and talked. She was in her last undergraduate year now, and had
spent most of it struggling to make it through in three years and quali-
fying for an award that might get her a Master's, and the rest of the
time warding off the good ol' boys whom she described as "so eager to get
me in bed you can smell the lust a mile off."
I told her, "It's because you really are very pretty, Martha Jane."
She flicked her cigarette and sent a smooth stream of smoke into the
chilly air. "You have a nice way of saying that, but...in Memphis, being
pretty just means you're like prey, you're some kind of prize that guys
just want to show off and get their cookies with. Have their babies and
cook. I don't like being so pretty sometimes. I wish I were more
average...or more cosmopolitan, you know--chic, I guess, like my sister
Evelyn. She looks so sophisticated, a guy looks at her and knows he has
to take his time. But for some reason they see me as a sex kitten who's
just waiting to get pounced upon, and I'm supposed to show my thanks by
giving up everything I've worked for and sit at home continually getting
pregnant out of love for their 'Prince Charming' complex...No. No, I
sometimes wish I were not as pretty as they think. I'm being interviewed
for teaching jobs, and the men who interview me--well, what they're
thinking is written all over their faces, they're so patronizing. They
see how I look, that's all. Other than that, I'm just another new
special education major, nothing special, nothing unique. And not a word
about the work I've done and the research I did, not a minute spent
talking about new methods or the problems with abused or precocious kids
or any of that. It's just 'Hi, what a pretty girl.' And it never goes
beyond that."
The place she was moving from was in a small two-bedroom, typical
modern apartment building with thin carpets and thinner walls. Her former
roommates had been evicted, leaving only a mattress in one of the bedrooms
and a painted wooden chair in the living room. All the rest of it -- some
bundled clothes, an old trunk, and a few dozen boxes of books -- belonged
to Martha Jane.
Puffing and heaving, we began loading Evelyn's borrowed Pontiac.
Martha Jane was right: those boxed books were *really* heavy. But I was
up to the task, exhilarated at finally being able to move and fling some
weight around after so much torpor in the suburbs. It wasn't long before
we had the car filled with a little more than half of the full load and
were on our way in the car to Martha Jane's new place, several blocks
away on the other side of the campus in an older part of the neighborhood.
Martha Jane drove to an old, well-kept dark red two-story house with
white shutters. It stood in the middle of a deep lawn amid many large
oak and birch trees. Her apartment was in back, atop the two-car garage
behind the house. As I carried the first boxes up the creaky wooden
stairway at the side of the garage and entered the front door, I was
immediately struck by the serenity and homeliness of the interior. It had
a tiny kitchen, a small but ample bedroom in the rear, and a spacious
living room. The many curtained windows looked out over the main house,
the trees, and the rest of the neighborhood.
"Beautiful!" I whispered as I set the box on the floor and looked
around. "This is cute!"
It was furnished with keepsakes, most of it simple early-American
gear having a basic, useful look. One wall had a painted wood bookshelf,
another a long ancient sofa with fairly new, flowered upholstery in good
shape, a big fluffy easy chair covered with the same fabric as the sofa,
and an ancient writing desk with a roll-up top. The carpet had seen
better days and was seamed together from several smaller pieces; but it
did have a certain bohemian character that fit the circumstances.
Her brow dotted with sweat even though the air was cold, Martha Jane
followed me inside and dropped the box she carried onto the floor with a
thud, and the weight of it pushed her across the room and into my arms.
I caught her, and she stopped to give me a hug.
"Whew! Damn, where did I get all these BOOKS!?!" She stood still
and relaxed against me, catching her breath. "Speedy, you're hardly out
of breath! How do you do it? Whew!"
I held her lightly, wanting to simply crush her against me. She was
wearing a turtleneck sweater and jeans and loafers. The sweater clung to
her light frame and slim shoulders; outwardly she appeared dainty, but my
hands felt the lithe and solid body under her flesh, and the warmth and
feel of her seemed to seep into every pore of my body. Her sweaty cheek
was against mine, my lips near her long and elegant neck. Embarrassed by
a sudden wave of affection and passion, I pulled back from her and said,
"You rest, I'll go get the other stuff."
"Oh, I will not!" she protested, leaning into me and still looking for
her second wind. "I can carry my own weight in this job, mister. Whew!
As soon as I get my breath!" She kissed my cheek and hugged me. "I'm so
glad you're helping. You've grown an inch taller, haven't you?"
"I have a long way to go before I can compete with guys like that
Frank fella."
"Don't you *dare* become...whew!...another one of those bull-necked,
overgrown jocks." She moved away from me and collapsed onto the sofa.
"Thank goodness *everybody* isn't like him! Whew! How did I get so old
so fast?"
I headed for the front door. "You stay there and I'll bring up some
more stuff."
"Don't you dare, without me," she said weakly, staring at the ceiling.
But I was already on my way out the door and down the stairs, hearing
her yell behind me, "Don't you dare!" Grabbing the wooden bannister, I
dropped down two steps at a time and was soon into the car and grabbing
another box. I was on my way up the stairs with it when Martha Jane met
me on her way down. "Don't you carry this stuff by yourself!"
I insisted, "Listen, you rest a minute. I'm all right."
"Oh, you men, you always think you can do it all."
In no time at all we had emptied the car and then collapsed on the
long sofa side by side, staring at the ceiling, our feet dangling toward
the floor.
"Are we finished?" she asked, winded again.
"Just one more carload oughtta do it."
"Oh, God...whew!...We have to hurry, Evelyn will drop by for her car
soon, and we have to get you home."
"No. Don't wanna go home."
"Don't be silly...whew!...You have to go home, Steven."
I stopped thinking for at least half a minute. She had called me
Steven! She had not called me "Speedy." It was the first time she had
used my proper name, and the first time in my memory that anyone had
called me by Steven. I was so surprised I was speechless.
After a minute she sat up, her arms hanging limply at her sides, and
looked over the half-filled room. "What a mess. Will this endless
moving ever come to an end? I'm so sick of it."
I lay back into the sofa looking at her. I wondered if she realized
she had called me Steven.
She rose to her feet with a groan, stretched her back and raised her
arms toward the ceiling, then moved slowly and grudgingly toward the
door. "Okay, cowboy. Let's get the last of it."
On the drive back to her old place she told me she was concerned
about how I would get home. "Listen, I have some money. I'll get you a
taxi. It shouldn't be more than ten dollars or so from here. I hate to
ask Miss Evelyn to give you a ride, she's such a put-upon princess!"
"I can take the bus," I said, unworried.
"Bus! Your mother will have a fit by the time you get home. Oh,
it's my fault, we shouldn't have stopped for coffee, we should have come
straight here."
"Coffee was only ten minutes, that wouldn't have saved much time."
"But it's already *DARK* now!"
"Hey, take it easy, we'll be finished soon and it'll be all right.
Anyway, I'm having fun."
"Yeah, fun!" she pouted. "This is all my fault, trying to do it in
one quick flash like this. God knows I've done it often enough to know
better by now!"
"Martha Jane, it's okay."
"It's not okay!" she came back angrily, keeping her eyes on the
road. "I'll end up getting you in trouble, and it's my fault!"
I didn't reply, as I could see that continuing the conversation would
only get her more riled. We had arrived at her old place again. She
scurried ahead of me out of the car and into the lobby elevator. As I
joined her she smacked the button for floor #3 and waited impatiently
while the machine lurched upward.
"We have to hurry," she muttered nervously.
"It won't take long," I offered. But she just said again, "We have
to hurry."
We did indeed hurry, even though I assured her that it was only a
little after five and that we would likely be finished in less than half
an hour. I talked her into lifting two boxes into my arms at once,
though she protested frantically until she saw that the boxes I picked
out were lighter than the others. We piled everything into the hallway
near the elevator, then shoved everything into the elevator and then into
the building lobby, and carried it all out to the car.
On the way to the new place for the last time, she lit a cigarette
and puffed on it deeply and ran a stop sign. "Sorry," she muttered as we
careened down the street. Then she let out a nervous laugh and slapped
the steering wheel. "God, hon, I hope I'm not having a nervous break-
down!" She looked at me and at the road and then broke into a giggle.
"Huh? You think I am?"
I muttered, "Wait until we get there, so you can park the car first
and let me out."
"Okay," she laughed. "I'll wait. Then I'll let go." She looked at
me and blushed, and then giggled again. "I've already gone spastic."
It didn't take long to unload the remaining goods. I again managed
to carry two boxes at a time, while she made several trips with her
clothes. We were on our way up the stairs with the next-to-last load
when someone drove up with Martha Jane's sister Evelyn in the car. Evelyn
thanked the driver, a girlfriend of hers who traded quick hello's with
Martha Jane and me and who drove off when she saw that all was under way.
Evelyn followed us up the steps and into the new living room. She
was dressed in a neat and expensive-looking brown business suit that
seemed to somehow avoid getting a single wrinkle after a full day at the
office. Evelyn herself looked perfectly groomed and unaffected by any
aspect of life that I could determine.
"Well," she sniffed, looking around the place. "It's certainly
homely. Where in the world did they get this rug?"
Martha Jane huffed as she dropped some clothes on the big chair.
"Evelyn, the place only runs $45 a month. What's wrong with the carpet,
anyway?"
"It's a little...thin, honey," Evelyn answered absently. She went
into the kitchen to look it over. "I guess it's enough for one person,
but two would be impossible in here."
Martha Jane rolled her eyes at that and waved at me. "C'mon," she
said, "one more armful and it's over."
"Wait," Evelyn said, strolling to the door. "If you have my keys, I
have to meet some important people for dinner and I'll be late if I hang
around here. I see you're just about finished anyway."
"Yes," Martha Jane agreed, her hands on her hips and her temper
flaring a little, "Yes, we are just about finished. I wouldn't want you
to be late. Your keys are in the Pontiac."
Evelyn stopped at the door. "Speedy, is that you? I didn't recog-
nize you, you're getting so grown-up. Have you been helping Jane move?"
I nodded. "Yeah, but she did most of the work."
"I'll bet," Evelyn laughed in her dry, mildly scornful, successful-
lady way. "Jane, I'll come get you Sunday. We're having lunch with our
Mom's boyfriend and future husband."
Martha Jane's mouth fell open. "Husband? Future husband?"
Evelyn smiled broadly. "Yes. It's going to be announced. But don't
say anything yet. All right? Please? He thinks it'll be a surprise--as
if we hadn't already guessed for more than a year."
Martha Jane stared into space, flabbergasted. "So she's going to
marry him. She's...going...to...marry...him."
"Why not?" Evelyn said merrily, tilting her head with her purposely
sexy little smile. "But don't say anything. Till after. Nice meeting
you again, Speedy."
Evelyn walked out the door, careful not to snag her high heels on the
old plank woodwork, and Martha Jane went to the door and yelled out,
"Well, thanks for the car today, sister. I hope we didn't damage any-
thing."
"It's all right, Jane," Evelyn called back, careful not to muss her
immaculate shoes as she walked to her car. She looked inside briefly
and, satisfied that the last of the load had been placed on the ground
outside the car, she smiled and waved before backing up and driving away.
I followed Martha Jane down the steps for the last two boxes and the
last plastic bag of clothing, which sat in a mild cloud of dust left
behind by Evelyn's Pontiac.
"Well!" Martha Jane said. "So mama's gonna marry that guy."
I said, "They've been dating forever, haven't they? Didn't you tell
me about him a long time ago?"
"Well, he's nice, and fairly wealthy, but....Oh, forget it. Let's
get this stuff upstairs. I'm so tired. I'm really just running out of
gas at this point."
I stood and waited while she lifted two boxes into my arms and then I
turned to go up the steps. But then I heard Martha Jane yelp behind me,
followed by a loud thump. She had picked up a heavy bag that pushed her
backward and onto the ground under its weight.
"You all right?" I asked, and she answered with a dull, "Yeah. Sure."
"Don't pick that up, I'll come back and get it."
"No, I'll get it."
"Martha Jane..." I began impatiently. I stooped to lower the boxes
to the ground, then rushed to her and grabbed the plastic-wrapped
clothing. "You're getting tired, now, don't carry this. I can get it."
Her face seemed blank and her eyes glazed, her brow sweaty and
smeared with a lock of auburn hair. I asked, "Did you hurt yourself?"
She mumbled, her voice slurry. "Take me up the stairs."
"What?"
"Walk me up the stairs, please."
I held her by one shoulder and we started toward the stairway. "Are
you all right?"
"Oh, I'm just...tired and feel a little silly after falling down like
that. I should have been more careful." Holding my arm with one hand
and the handrail with the other, she started up the stairs with me.
"Easy, lady."
"I'm all right! Just bumped the hell out of my butt, that's all."
"That's okay."
"It's not okay, I should have taken more time for this...and Evelyn
didn't even offer you a ride."
"She had that important dinner to get to."
"Her and her damn important dinners," Martha Jane muttered.
====================================
THE ADVENTURES OF ME AND MARTHA JANE
by S.J.R.
============
PART 7B
-30-
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