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Subject: {SJR}"The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane 7C"( bf mF mF+ )[24/52]
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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 7C:
We reached the top of the stairs. She stood in the middle of the
living room, looked about, and turned to me. "I'm so tired of this," she
sighed. Suddenly she squinted and then frowned hard; her eyes closed and
squeezed small pearly tears that tumbled quickly down her cheeks. "I'm
so tired of this," she wept, and covered her face quickly with her hands.
I went to her and held her lightly but closely. For a minute she
shook and cried as I silently stroked her hair. Soon she calmed down.
"I'm so silly," she moaned, sniffling loudly.
"You're dead tired," I said. Firmly, I held her away from me and
looked into her reddened, wet, tired, absolutely beautiful face. "You
get right over to that sofa and relax. I'll get the other stuff."
"Oh, independent me, look at how well I'm holding up. I'm sorry, I
guess all this just...hit me all at once."
"Go to that sofa, or I'll carry you over there and nail you to it."
"Oh, all right..." She whimpered like a defeated little girl and
brushed the wet hair from her face and went to the sofa. I moved to the
door, and by the time I turned around to look at her she had fallen onto
her back on the sofa, her head against an armrest and one foot dangling
onto the floor. She sniffled again.
I stood by the door and shook a warning finger at her. "Now, don't
you move until I'm finished."
Three quick trips up and down the stairs, and I finished the job. I
set the last box onto the floor and saw that she seemed asleep with her
head nestled on a cushion against the armrest. Grabbing some paper
towels from one of the boxes, I went to her and knelt on the floor beside
her, and reached up to wipe her forehead.
Her eyes opened and she smiled wearily. "Oh, look at ME! I feel as
if I need a nurse. No, don't--" she took the towel from my hands, folded
it, and gently wiped the sweat from my face. She whispered sweetly,
"Thank you, hon. You've done enough for me already. I'm sorry I
organized this so badly."
"You did fine," I said. "We moved two carloads in a little over an
hour."
"Stop being so nice to me. You've always been too nice to me. I
wonder why you didn't just blow your stack and start yelling when I was
having a stroke in the car coming over here."
"You were tired."
"You're too nice, hon. I wasn't just tired, I was overworked and
disorganized. And just plain mad. This must be the fifth time I've
moved my stuff in a year. I can't depend on anybody, everything I do
goes wrong, I rush into things before I know what I'm doing, I worked
myself to death for god knows what, I took on too many classes this
semester...I'm a mess."
"Just another lady genius working her way through college."
"Stop. Be a Clark Gable and slap me around a little and bring me to
my senses."
"I could never do that."
She blew her nose. "No, I guess you couldn't. I'd probably slap you
back, anyway."
"You probably would. And you're bigger than me."
"Not anymore."
"Well...you're older."
She wiped her nose. "Yeah, but you're catching up." She crumpled
the towel and pitched it on the floor and took the fresh towel that I had
in my hand. "What a big grown-up girl *I* am, right? I can't believe I
broke into tears just because I fell on my rear end."
"Stop apologizing for being worn out."
"Listen...how the heck are we gonna get you home?"
"I don't wanna go home."
"I'll call a cab."
"That costs too much."
"I can afford it. Anyway, I owe you something for all this."
"No! I'll take the bus."
"But you won't get home until after ten."
I shrugged. "I wanna stay here for a while."
"And do what? You've already done enough."
"It's nice here. I like it, it's a great apartment. Right now, I
just want -- " I stopped.
"You want?"
I didn't answer. I suddenly became aware of how, over the past few
months or perhaps over the past few years, I'd become so indirect and
timorous. I was thinking about that and about how to reply to her, when
she laughed bashfully and blew her nose again.
"Hon, we can't...uh...I'm so embarrassed to admit this, I have never
admitted this to you, but...well, we can't."
"Can't what?"
"You know. It's...I'm having my period. It started today." She
suddenly hid her face with the napkin. "Oh, god, after all we've done
together, why am I so embarrassed? Oh, I'm so messed up."
I said to her flatly, "That's not what I was thinking about."
"What? What do you mean, then?"
"I wasn't thinking about that, that's not what I wanted."
"Oh. I'm sorry." She laughed and rolled her eyes. "Oh, WELL! We
know where Martha Jane's mind is, don't we? Oh, brother! I'm sorry,
hon. What did you want, then?"
I hesitated, only briefly, wondering why I waited and why I could
not be direct with this young woman. I started to say, "Well..." and
rose on my knees so that I looked down at her, and stuttered, "Well, I
just wanted--". I stopped, looked deeply into her questioning face,
and then put my arms around her and placed my head on her chest, just
below her breasts, and hugged her.
She asked, surprised, "This is what you wanted?"
I nodded against her.
I felt her fingers at my temple, stroking my hair. "That's all you
wanted?"
I nodded. "Just for a while."
"You sweet." She stroked my hair for another moment and then said,
"Wait a minute, hon, lemme get my shoes off." I lifted and she reached
down to pull off her loafers and said, "You too, hon." I removed my
tennis shoes as she stretched lengthwise on the sofa and reclined along
and against the backrest. She held her arms up to me. "Come here and
let's cuddle," she said.
I lay half on top of her, and she curled up closer to me and held me
with my face in her neck as stroked my back and my hair.
She said after a while, "I think I'll like this place. It's so nice
looking out the windows at the trees. It's the first comfortable dump
I've seen since I started school."
"I like the breeze in the leaves," I said.
"Yes."
We talked, not moving, then rested silent for a while. Then we
talked.
I did not tell her much about myself. I was uncertain about what was
happening to me or who I had become. She talked about her mother and how
her mom's health had gradually improved after being courted and spoiled
for years by her boyfriend, Mr. Buchanan. He owned an office supply
house and did well financially and had a beautiful home in East Memphis.
Martha Jane said she didn't like the man very much. He was nice, very
generous with his time and money and his displays of affection. And
patient; he had now spent some years waiting for Martha Jane's mom to get
over her fears of disappointment and her feelings of inadequacy about her
ill health. But Mr. Buchanan was old-fashioned, very "Memphis" and
close-minded about women. He adored her mom, but the only virtues he
could see in any female were subservience and physical beauty. He gently
but constantly urged her successful sister Evelyn to quit her job and
find a husband. He had respect for, but meager agreement with, Martha
Jane's independence or her liberal politics. He felt that a woman's
place was in the home rearing babies and baking turkeys. He had helped
Martha Jane in small ways financially with her schooling, but he wanted
to marry her mom and he wanted Martha Jane and Evelyn to live in his home
and not in their own apartments; he wanted them to stay in his home until
they were cured of their career ambitions and could get themselves
married and "raise a family in the proper way."
"There is no way for me to talk to him," Martha Jane said, still
stroking my hair. "He agrees in word, and then disagrees in action by
not supporting anything I do or believe. And if he tells me one more
time how pretty I am, I think I might get very angry and do or say some-
thing stupid that I'll regret and that he probably doesn't deserve. He's
been very good to my mother--and my mother, unfortunately, agrees with
him. I wouldn't want to mess it up for her."
We fell silent for several minutes. We listened to the wind filter
listlessly through the trees.
She said, "You haven't talked much."
I shook my head no.
"Is there anything you want to tell me?"
Again, I shook my head no.
"Hon, that light over there on the table is in my eyes. Can you turn
it off?"
I rose and turned off the only lamp in the room. I stood there until
our eyes became accustomed to the dim moonlight and the faint glow from
the light in the kitchen.
From the sofa, she looked up at me with two small points of light in
her dark eyes. "I'm sorry I'm having my period."
I shrugged. "I wasn't even thinking about it. I just wanted to
spend an afternoon doing whatever it is you usually do."
She grinned. "Really?"
"Really."
"Come here and lie down."
I went to the sofa expecting to lay with her as before, but she stood
up and motioned for me to lie where she had been. "Go ahead, hon."
I lay down lengthwise and face up, my head against the end armrest.
She knelt on the floor beside me with her head onto my chest. "It was
getting a little cramped the other way."
"I'm sorry, you should have said something."
"No, no. It was nice." She lifted her head and looked at me. Her
voice took on that strange, mesmerizing, throaty quality that meant she
had something particularly intimate to say. "I never told you when I was
having my period. That's the first time I've admitted that to you. Or
to anyone. I don't know why it's so embarrassing. Every other female I
know just gabs and bitches about it every time it comes around."
"That's okay."
"Are you embarrassed when I mention it?"
"Of course not."
"It's getting late."
"Yeah. Phooey."
She lifted her head off my lap and reached up to gently part the
folds covering the zipper of my jeans. She neatly held the cloth folds
open with one hand, and with two fingers of the other hand she lifted the
zipper latch. "You'll have to be starting for home soon."
"Yeah," I whispered, my voice getting wobbly and thick. I swallowed.
"Yeah, I guess so."
Fiddling with the zipper tag, she continued: "That time a few months
ago, when we had a whole week together and your folks were on their
honeymoon...I had my period for three days. They don't usually last very
long. But that's why I disappeared." She slowly pulled the zipper
down. With two fingers she found and parted the slit in my underwear.
"I was afraid to let you see me in that condition..."
She used the same two fingers to feel the contours of my rapidly
expanding organ and to give it a squeeze. She deftly took hold of my
tip, sending a thought-destroying tickle through my cock and into my
spine, and pulled my flesh free of the clothing. My cock stood straight
up, twitched, and hardened more. I could feel every blood cell in my
body turn on a dime and begin a journey to and through my loins.
"Such a nice shape, " she whispered to herself, and softly curled her
fingers around me. "The skin is so soft, but underneath it's so hard...
so warm in my hand." She tightened her grip at my base slightly and slid
her long fingers slowly up and then enclosed my tip. A bead of pre-cum
greeted her fingers. She smiled and breathed, "Mmm. Yes."
I swallowed again, hearing my loud gulp echo through the room. I
said, "I hadn't expected this."
"That's what makes it so exciting," she said, almost to herself. She
looked at me. "I know you weren't in the mood, but...do you mind?"
I smiled and had to take a deep breath to get enough air into me to
be able to answer her. "You don't expect me to make a big fuss about
protecting my virtue, do you?"
She looked back at my cock and studied it, as if contemplating where
to start and how to go about it. "You have such a nice dick," she said
sweetly, and the next thing I knew she opened her mouth wide and leaned
down to me and, her hand near my root holding me straight up, she lowered
and slowly, wetly, fully took all of me into her mouth, shoved her tongue
against the underside, and lightly sucked me all the way to the tip, back
down, and up again. I think I heard someone gasp and I'm pretty sure it
was me, since Martha Jane's mouth was occupied at the time. My own voice
sounded far away. She lifted her mouth from me and wet her lips and
scrunched down to make herself more comfortable, and repeated the move in
the same way, once, twice, three times, sweetly and softly sucking. By
the fourth suck I knew every ridge and curve and hollow in her tongue. My
eyes closed and I floated somewhere else in the room and her mouth
floated with me; I heard only the soft sound of Martha Jane breathing
through her nose and the sound of my own irregular gasps and sighs and
the wind in the leaves outside. Slowly, she repeated the long lascivious
suck, her lips and mouth and tongue relaxing their grip as she moved
downward, then renewing their molten hug as she sucked upward. And
again. And again. My balls tightened.
I gasped, "I don't...think I'll last very long."
And as soon as I spoke the hot, itchy pleasure of a strong and
remarkably easy cum obliterated all except her mouth; her rough little
tongue began making tortuous circles around my immersed tip as her mouth
pulled a long hot squirt from me. Undaunted, she continued without pause
and another hot eruption bathed her tongue and bounced off it toward her
throat. She swallowed loudly, but she didn't pause or waver. Her
sucking strokes were shallow now, her lips tightening on me and her
tongue circling lazily, and then I felt three warm cumshots leave me in
quick succession and she swallowed them as if they were one. Continuing
to siphon and swallow me, she worked her maddening tongue until my
pleasure-choked body jerked slightly, once, and rose again into her, and
her tongue drew one more wildly eager spurt that bounced against the roof
of her mouth and which she gulped with affectionate greed and a happily
surprised little "Hmmm!". The rest flowed from me in swiftly weakening
trickles until her lips and tongue could find no more. With a final gulp
and a contented sigh she removed her mouth and closed her fist on my
cock, giving it that last long tug that she liked to give when I was fin-
ished, draining the last thick drop of me onto her extended tongue and
drinking it down. Then she gently and briefly fisted me while I shrank.
She grinned and giggled childishly. "I couldn't help myself. Was it
good?"
Still breathless, I told her it was.
She watched my wet cock wither as she calmed it with her strokes.
She licked her lips, blushing and smiling when she saw me watching her.
She chuckled, still stroking. "Look at me, licking my lips like a
German shepherd! You do taste good, y'know, creamy and hot and...just
slightly salty...but the part I like best," she went on, her voice
dropping to a sensuous murmur as she watched her hand stroking me, "is
how wicked I feel when you squirt on my tongue."
It was only then that I realized how iron-rigid my body had been, and
only then that I noticed I had not been breathing during the entire
orgasm. I was still breathless. My body relaxed with a sudden sag. I
took a long deep breath.
Then her incredibly soft, smooth cheek touched mine and she kissed me
on the neck.
She whispered, "I love the way you cum." Uncontrollably I held
her to me as tightly as I could and buried by face in her hair, and she
hugged back with a playful groan.
I wanted to cry: it was not so much the mind-boggling pleasure she
had given me as it was the lovingly erotic nature and ways of her. But I
found I somehow could not tell her so. I didn't know why.
I refused to waste her money on a taxi. I took the bus home, luckily
meeting every transfer just in time. The lack of passengers at stops
along the way speeded the trip. It was still later than usual when I
arrived home a little after nine-thirty, but there was no argument about
the late hour. When I arrived I found the tv was not on, as it usually
was. At first it appeared no one was in the house; I knew that my step-
dad would be working late at the grocery store and that my sister was
staying at her godmother's, but it seemed my mom was gone as well.
It was not until I walked into the hallway leading to the bedrooms
that I found my mother curled up on her bed and vomiting small amounts of
blood ...
====================================
THE ADVENTURES OF ME AND MARTHA JANE
by S.J.R.
============
PART 7C
-30-
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