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Subject: {SJR}"The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane 11D"( bf mF mF+ )[42/52]
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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 11D:
Each day in New York introduced me to a different and fascinating
experienced that I had not imagined in Memphis. Wednesday was no
exception. The Long Island Railroad was a world of its own. We rose at
five-thirty and Martha and Ronnie and I had a quick, greasy breakfast in
Pennsylvania Station before boarding a commuter train bound for eastern
Long Island. We shuttled through Jamaica Station just as the westbound
rush hour mounted; for miles and miles as we headed east toward Bay
Shore, we were passed by one after another packed, speeding rush hour
trains headed for Manhattan. I was flabbergasted at finding it true, as
I had heard rumored, that people on the rush hour trains really were so
packed together that their shoulders and backs, and in some cases their
faces, were pressed against the glass doors of the commuter cars.
Martha and Ronnie, in bluejeans and printed shirts, sat smoking and
reading as westbound trains roared and clanged past our window.
"God," Ronnie said, shaking her head as yet another crowded train
blasted by, "I could never *DO* that! I'd die first! If I knew I had
to go through that when I got up in the morning, the first thing I'd do
is put my head in the oven."
By eight-thirty we arrived at the oceanside town of Bay Shore and
took a taxi to the ferries that waited to shuttle small crowds of people
to various landings on Fire Island. Martha and Ronnie carried shopping
bags. I toted the aluminum deck chairs we rented at a clam shop near the
ferry. Soon we boarded a boat and found seats on the upper level, the
deck's stark white benches gleaming under the brilliant sun.
Martha put on her sunglasses. Ronnie sat next to her, combing back
her fluffy black hair that fluttered in the brisk ocean breeze.
"Don't look now," Ronnie said to Martha as she primped herself, "but
you're getting the eye again, Martha."
"Right," Martha said, unaffected, her chin in her hand as she sat
bored and waiting for the trip to get underway. "One of them's giving
you the eye, too."
"Which one? The fat sweaty guy in the big sombrero with the ammuni-
tion belts strapped around his chest?"
I smirked at Ronnie, wagging my head. I lounged against the bench,
inhaling sea air for the first time in my life. "Ronnie, it's true. Two
guys right behind you are mesmerized by your beauty."
"It's not mesmerized, kiddo, it's heatstroke," she said, stuffing her
comb into the shopping bag at her feet.
"No. Really. The whole deck's giving you the eye."
She leaned toward me and wrinkled her face and squeezed my jaw,
pushing my cheeks together. "Aw, you're sweet. Keep talkin' to me,
baby. mmm-MM!"
With several growls and a cloud of steam, the ferry got underway. The
boat cruised slowly down a half-mile, narrow inlet. Soon I saw the
channel open into a wide, endless expanse of sea. Sea gulls were every-
where, following in the roiling wake as the boat opened its engines and
sped into the wind. It was exhilarating. I couldn't resist standing up
and leaning on the railing to survey it all, my hair billowing in a blast
of sea air. The sky was a clear wash of cerulean blue. It seemed the
whole world opened up around us. I beamed at Martha.
"Isn't it beautiful?" she asked, squinting up at me, her eyes hidden
behind the dark sunglasses. "I told you you'd love it."
"I do," I said. "This is marvelous. This is really great."
The ride to the island lasted twenty minutes. I spent the whole time
marveling at the screeching gulls that accompanied us. More birds greet-
ed us at the village pier. Sea gulls and swallows swooped and glided
everywhere. The port lay at the foot of a small village only three or
four city blocks wide, dotted with wooden homes painted in bright
pastels. The crowd of beachgoers alighted onto the wooden pier with
their bags and umbrellas and chairs and headed down a wooden path that
led slightly upward toward the horizon a few hundred yards away.
"The beach is straight ahead," Ronnie said. "Keep going. You can't
miss it. When you start sinking, you're there."
We strolled down the wooden walkway, Martha and Ronnie chatting ani-
matedly. I was oblivious to what they said. As I did when first walking
along the streets of Manhattan, I gaped at everything in sight. Wood
frame houses lined the path, set back in small yards of short, thin
cherry and holly and dogwood trees. Each house had its garden of wild-
flowers or cultivated plants, each front porch the home of rubber balls
and rubber rafts and beach blankets hung out to dry. It was serene,
painterly, mirage-like.
We reached the top of a hill, which I found was a dune of soft tan
sand. Before us lay the blue ocean, waves creeping lazily to the shore.
"Let's get our jeans off and look like beach people," Martha said.
I thought: Uh-oh, this is where we get nekkid. But Martha and Ronnie
stripped down only to their swimsuits, Martha's a bright yellow one-piece
and Ronnie's a one-piece, dark indigo with a pink slash across one hip.
I stripped to my shorts. We gathered our bags and walked in the sand to
the water, then followed the waterline down the beach.
"Our place is just a mile or so down," Martha said. "Steven, walk
out here by the water. Walking in soft sand will wear you out."
Dark sandpipers hopped and flitted around us. Small waves swooshed
in loudly and then hissed away, gurgling as they coiled back from shore.
We walked toward a blazing sun. The beach was sparsely populated, as
Martha said it would be, with several long, empty stretches. Martha and
Ronnie talked as they walked, their feet sinking slightly into the wet,
packed sand. Walking behind them, I couldn't hear their conversation
over the sound of the waves and the simmering ocean. I had never seen
Martha in a swimsuit. I had seen her either dressed or nude. She walked
gracefully, poised and smooth, almost as if she had trained herself to do
so. Ronnie was more flippant, kicking up little spoons of sand behind
her. Whereas Martha had a toned, firm, ballerina's body, Ronnie was
sinuous, her limbs longer and softer. She had a slim, compact torso and
delicate shoulders. She was the same five and a half feet as Martha, but
Ronnie looked taller with long, slender limbs and hands, a sparse but
tight tush, her long legs less muscular but smooth and gently tapering
into lean calves and ankles. As they walked and talked, Martha hugged
her shopping bag to her chest; Ronnie carried hers in one hand at her
side, her other arm poised carelessly in the air while she flipped her
hand loosely as she talked. I was too spellbound to do anything more
than watch and listen to the Atlantic.
After a while Ronnie turned to me, pointing ahead. "There it is!" she
yelled.
"Come on!" Martha yelled after her. "It's open! Come on!"
I caught up with them. Ahead, a few older couples and a younger one
sat on beach towels, separated by wide stretches of beige sand. Some on
their sides, some on their backs, some on their tummies. All nude.
Martha and Ronnie found a spot, spread the towels, and slipped off
their shoulder straps.
"Oh, it's so NICE out here today!" Ronnie squealed as she peeled her
swimsuit downward. "Oh, Martha, it's heaven! We picked a perfect day!"
I'm certain my eyes tripled in size as Ronnie's soft, jiggling,
dark-nippled breasts came quickly into view. A couple of her ribs stuck
out. Her tummy was flat; Martha's was so tight it seemed sucked it. Both
women were the same size, but slim Ronnie looked alluringly long-
legged. Martha's mound stood out prominently under her auburn bush;
Ronnie's tummy sloped gently to a smallish black whorl, simple and feath-
ery, and her pelvis curled inward immediately beneath it, showing only a
hint of a slit. Now I had seen three nudes in my life: Martha, and a
brief and incomplete glimpse of Karen, and now Ronnie. I found Ronnie
surprisingly pleasing to look at; she seemed almost teen-like and looked
younger naked than she did dressed.
Nude, they sat on their beach towels, knees bent, and fished for
their bottles of Coppertone.
I stood fiddling with my shirt, shuffling around nervously and
kicking off my shoes.
"Come on!" Ronnie called to me. I picked up my shoes and walked to
them, and dropped the chairs on the ground. I started to unfold them,
but Martha said, "Put the lotion on first, Steven! Hurry! You can get
sunburned out here before you know it!"
Ronnie smirked and kidded, "Get undressed. Come on, it's so perfect
out. Here, use up my lotion first." She handed me her bottle of Copper-
tone. I looked at it, and looked down at my clothed body. The moment of
truth had arrived. Courageously, I removed my shirt and then unzipped
and removed my shorts, looking around casually and trying to pretend That
Ronnie and Martha weren't there. There I was: naked. Not nude -- naked.
I knelt into the sand, facing toward the water with the others, the
better not to let either of them notice I was half erect. I squirted
lotion on my arms and chest, gasping as the cool stuff hit my skin. I
rubbed it in, adding more to my legs and face.
Martha reclined, saying, "Come on, Steven, finish up and get comfy.
You're never gonna get a tan like this in Memphis."
Ronnie asked, "They don't have water in Memphis?"
"Of course not, Ronnie, it's five hundred miles inland from the Gulf."
"Jeez, I couldn't live in a place that didn't have an ocean. I'd
dry up and die. Steven, sweetheart, can you do our backs? I promise to
do yours."
"Sure," I said, kneeling down and holding the bottle firmly so they
wouldn't see my hands shaking. I thanked my stars that both of them
turned their backs to me: perhaps my organ would have time to settle
down. I rubbed lotion onto Martha, whose sleek back I knew only too
well. And then onto Ronnie, whose unfamiliar, softer skin had a comfort-
ably warm and melty feel to it. "Mmmm," she moaned as I rubbed, which
didn't do much to calm me down. "Steven, what a nice touch. Martha,
does he give you back rubs?"
"No," Martha said. "Women who ask for free back rubs are a pain."
"God, I haven't had a back rub since my last time at Fiore's.
Martha, you don't know what you're missing here."
"Ronnie, he just did my back."
"Wasn't it wonderful?"
"Steven always had a nice touch."
"Oh, Martha, why didn't you *tell* me earlier?"
"Oh, Ron, shut up. Steven, finish her back. She's just teasing
you."
"Steven, I'm not. You're a miracle man. Really. Oh, I was so
tense. I'm always so tense in the city. It's so nice to come out here
and relax, isn't it?"
"It's nice," I said, rubbing quickly to get it over with.
"Okay," Ronnie said. "Now you. Come on, sit."
I lay down on the blanket beside her, quickly aligning myself face
down. "Go ahead," I told her. "I like it better this way." I also
appreciated the fact that my half-hard was completely hidden in that
position.
"Whatever," she said. "Here, I'll spread it on my hands first, so
you don't get a heart attack from a cold splash. There. Therrrre we go,
nice and gooey, huh? Wonder what they put in this junk to make it so
icky? Mmm, Martha, look at this guy's figure. Can you believe this?"
"Believe what?" Martha said, shuffling and making herself more
comfortable as she gazed skyward.
"Look at this body! Steven, where did you get a body like this?
Martha, look at him. Did you know Steven looked like this?"
"I know, Ronnie, Steven's very lucky. He has perfect proportions.
Broad shoulders, slim hips. Hey, I'll unfold the chairs. Our towels are
already full of sand. Ronnie, stop gushing over him! Poor Steven is so
shy. He's from Memphis, y'know, he's not used to this."
"Oh...Steven, am I bothering you? Gee, Martha, it's only suntan
lotion...God, I'd die for a tush like this."
It may have been only tanning lotion, but it was on Ronnie's long,
slithery, not very strong, slender fingers, her hands much wider and her
fingers much longer than Martha's. I even found myself wishing that
Ronnie were more vigorous; her hands had a sensuous, lingering quality
that was not quite like Martha's more direct touch. Blessedly, she was
soon finished and rose to help Martha with the chairs.
"Ah," Martha said, settling into the plastic straps of the lounge
chair. "MUCH better!"
"Steven," Ronnie said above me as she sat in another chair, "you
don't want a chair?"
"No," I murmured from the ground as I rested face down, hiding my
hard-on. "I like it just like this for a while."
"Whatever," Ronnie said.
Martha and Ronnie rested for a while. I lay with my eyes closed,
feeling free and clean with my back and buttocks and heels in the baking
sun, the breeze rippling over my flesh. The new sensations were pleas-
antly calming. My erection soon dwindled as the sound of rustling ocean
waves began lulling me into drowsiness. After a while Ronnie and Martha
began chatting about a restaurant they had tried and about a sale coming
up at one of the big department stores and about the clothes at Sach's
being grossly overpriced, and I closed my eyes and relaxed. Before I
knew it, I dozed.
"Hey," Martha said, stroking my back.
I blinked awake. Martha was kneeling over me. My eyes moved. The
pair of feet standing near my head belonged to Ronnie.
"Turn over," Martha said, "You'll get baked on one side."
"Oh," I said. I directed my mind to my penis to make certain all was
safe. It was.
Martha chuckled, "Ronnie, Steven isn't used to a real beach. It's a
good thing we're with him or he'd get fried."
I turned over and looked up. Ronnie grinned at me from above, her
hands on her hips, her slit plainly visible below her tummy, which rose
upward to her sloping breasts. They were a little smaller than Martha's,
not as rounded, with small brownish aureoles and darker nipples.
Ronnie said they were getting up their courage to try a dip in the
surf. I rose and watched them walk toward the waves, Martha's round
globes glistening in the sun and Ronnie's softer, flatter tush bouncing
lightly. Martha dipped a foot into the water and jumped back, squeaking
and laughing.
"Hey, it can't be that cold," Ronnie said, then screeched and jumped
when she tried it.
The water looked inviting. I was anxious to feel what swimming in an
ocean was like. I rose and walked to the water, where the two girls
giggled and squeaked and hesitated about venturing more than ankle-deep
into the water.
"Steven, it's cold!" Martha warned me.
The water chilled my toes, but it was bearable. I walked slowly,
water licking at my ankles and then at my calves. I told Martha and
Ronnie to step out gradually and pause to let their skin adjust to the
water before proceeding. All three of us tried it, and soon we were
waist deep in the water. I splashed my chest and face, discovering that
sea water really did taste salty. I squinted up, into the sun. It was
pleasant, new, comforting, exactly what a genteel character I once saw in
E.M.Forester would have called "an excellent adventure." The sloshing
waves pulled feebly at my hips, nudging me to and fro slightly. I rev-
elled in the simple, calm excitement of everything around me. But
always, there was that little tug from within, tempering every pleasure:
Memphis was still ahead, somewhere. Damn, I thought, why wouldn't it go
away?
I felt a hand touch my back, and stiff nipples against me. Under
the water, blood warmed my cock.
I turned. Martha smiled at me. "It's nice, huh?"
I looked back at the sea. "It's wonderful. I don't want to leave.
Can I build a shack back there on the island?"
"Sure," she said, laughing. "For about fifty thousand dollars."
Far ahead of us, a motor boat crossed our path on its way toward the
city. It roared past merrily, stirring up a wake behind it.
"Jeez," I heard Ronnie say, "I've never been out this far." She
appeared to my right and walked out just ahead of us. Martha strode to
her, nodding lightly in the water.
"It's not so bad once you get into it," Martha said.
I watched the two of them bob as water crept toward their shoulders.
Martha slid into the water, floating, and turned onto her back, her feet
kicking and pushing her toward shore. I took another step forward,
feeling the water rise to my chest. I was enjoying the unique sensation
of unseen currents snaking around my waist and chest when I looked up and
saw the choppy results of the boat's wake arcing toward us.
I yelled at the others to move back. Martha squinted at me, ques-
tioning, and I pointed to the approaching waves. She cautioned Ronnie to
pull back to shore, but Ronnie grinned and stood where she was. "Come 'n
get me!" she yelled playfully ahead of her, but a few seconds later the
height of the spreading wave, which would have been slightly above our
shoulders, became apparent. She moved backward, laughing, chanting,
"Here it comes, here it comes!", and even though I tried to move aside,
she changed direction unexpectedly and backed directly into me, the
furrow of her buttocks directly against my cock, her soft, warm, wet
flesh seeming to cling to my shaft and generating a sudden and electric
jolt in my groin. She jerked violently, rising out of the water and
turning around to face me, her mouth an 'O' of shock. "Steven! God, I
thought someone was sneaking up on me, I didn't know who you WERE!"
As the first wave hit us, her eyes shot open and the force shoved her
into me, her forehead bumping my chin. I grabbed her shoulders to hold
her up. She squealed, the cold water rushing over our shoulders, and my
cock grew at the feel of her slim, delicate shoulders and her nipples
brushing my chest. She shrieked again, "God, that's cold!", and moved
away, and then shrieked again as the next wave pushed her into me again,
this time pushing both of us backward, and her slim thighs embraced my
left leg, leaving clearly in my brain an impression of the exact size,
shape, and texture of her cunt on my upper thigh. She shrieked again,
wiggling free, and wiped her face and waved her arms in the water.
"Oh, I'm sorry! Damn, I didn't expect that! Did I bump you in the
face?"
"It's okay," I said, holding up my hands. "It's okay, don't worry."
I laughed, my cock suddenly the size of a corncob.
"Are you okay? I didn't hurt you?"
"No, no," I insisted. "No problem."
"Gee, that wave was COLD! Lemme outta here, I gotta warm up!"
She struggled back to shore as quickly as she could, but I lagged
behind. I stopped when the water fell to my navel. Dimly through the
dark swirling sea water, I could see my organ at top mast. I would have
to wait in that spot until things calmed down.
"Come on!" Martha called from the shore, "it's too chilly to stay in
there! Come on, Steven, let's get some lunch and walk around."
I held up a finger to suggest one minute. The waves stirred up by
the boat were receding, the water level threatening to bare me below my
navel, so I moved backward.
"Aw, c'mon," Ronnie said, "I'm getting hungry anyway."
I grinned sheepishly, bobbing in the water and flexing my arms at my
sides to keep from being pulled shoreward.
"Steven," Martha called, "Come on out, what's the matter?"
I raised my finger again. Two nude nymphs jumping and cavorting be-
fore me did little to stem the tide, as it were. I remained as hard as
ever. Martha alone would have been enough, but the feel of Ronnie's
soft, fleshy cunt on my thigh was still too fresh in my mind. I waited,
the water suddenly receding so swiftly that I dropped to my knees, grin-
ning and wobbling in the choppy water.
"What's the matter?" Martha yelled, impatient.
I grinned back. I held my finger high again.
Ronnie stood with her hands on her hips, smirking sarcastically.
"Martha..." She indicated me with her thumb over her shoulder. "I think
Steven's stuck out there with a big kielbasa."
Martha squinted. "A what?" Then she covered her mouth and her eyes
shot open. She twirled on her toes once, laughing. "Oh, Steven! Oh,
you poor thing! Oh..hahahaha!"
Ronnie called out dryly, "Sorry, Steven."
I grinned back foolishly.
Ronnie wagged her head, shrugged, and gave me an apologetic palms-up.
Martha yelled, "Do you want your shorts? I can throw them out there."
I shook my head no. Their humor and Ronnie's frank acceptance of my
condition created an intimacy between me and the two girls that enlarged
and enhanced my erection. I turned from them and strode further into the
sea, my wobbling cock out of sight of the beach and just above the water,
and I leapt into the air, feeling pleased, sexy, daring, vigorous. I
stood on my toes, stretched my arms, arched my cock, and howled at the
sea and the sky. No Mom to flinch in disgust, no aunt to screech in
alarm, no nun to pummel me with guilt. I had no idea what the others
thought I was doing, but I was enjoying my hard-on and the day and the
sun and I closed my eyes and saw the image of Martha, naked and laughing
on the sand, and remembered how incredibly good Ronnie felt against me,
without wanting to do anything about it except enjoy it.
Continued...
====================================
THE ADVENTURES OF ME AND MARTHA JANE
by S.J.R.
============
PART 11D
-30-
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