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Subject: {SJR}JDR"The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane 13B"( bf mF mF+ )[47/52]
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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 13B:
We dropped by Martha's place, changed clothes and then spent the rest
of the afternoon on the Staten Island Ferry. Martha showed me what she
called the "expected tourist attractions" -- the Statue of Liberty, Wall
Street, City Hall. As dusk approached we walked uptown toward Greenwich
Village, where she took me to a hairdresser for a very expensive hair-
cut. Gradually, Martha cheered up. Gradually, I became more sullen. We
strolled through New York University and stopped in a couple of book
emporiums on Broadway.
"Wanna get anything?" Martha asked as I fingered a volume in a pile
of books on a table at the Strand Bookstore.
I gave a rueful little laugh and pointed at one of the books. "An
out of print copy of 'Gregory the Great'," I said. "Brother Martin back
home would give his eye teeth for this."
"Why don't you buy it and take it back home for him?"
"I'd want it for myself. Brother Martin loaned me that book from the
school library as a special project. He said he didn't want to waste my
time in basic English, so he gave me extra credit for writing a report on
this book. It's great. Whoever thought a biography of the first great
Pope of the Church could be so good? Wouldn't it be great if I could--?"
I stopped and sighed.
"If you could what, hon?"
"If...if I could absorb all this. Just stay here and go through
every one of these things. There are books and ideas here that go back
hundreds of years." I shook my head. "I'd never be able to do it all."
"Nobody can do it all, Steven."
"But I want to."
"Nobody can, hon."
"The problem is, I wouldn't even be able to get started. Why start
with one, when there are thousands, tens of thousands, even hundreds of
thousands, of books in here? I wouldn't finish Chapter One before I'd
have to get on a plane back to Memphis."
She smirked. "So that's what you've been thinking about. I thought
so."
I sighed again, and shoved my hands into my pockets. "Yeah."
"Come on," she said, "Let's go find dinner."
We had dinner at a small place in Greenwich Village and then took the
bus home. I lounged on the sofa. Martha plopped into the fluffy old
easy chair beside her small fireplace.
"What'll we do tonight? It's not even eight o'clock and I didn't
make plans for tonight because I wanted you to have one night to call the
shots. You know your way around the city a little now, so I thought you'd
like to set it up yourself for a change."
"You plan real good, Miss Martha."
"That's not an answer. Just tell me what you want to do."
I yawned. "Oh, I dunno."
"Steven...I've been leading you around town for a week now. In fact,
I've been leading you around all your life. I didn't bring you to New
York to lead you on a leash. I brought you here to open you up. I
brought you here to show you that the whole world isn't Memphis and you
don't always get punished for saying and doing what you want."
I smiled gratefully, and shrugged.
"Oh, c'mon. Talk to me."
"What do you want me to say?"
She sighed impatiently. "It's not what I want you to say, it's what
YOU want to say. It's what you want to do."
"I don't know what I want to do."
"You wanna just sit here and mope about going back to Memphis?
You're not in Memphis yet, Steven. You're still in Manhattan. With me.
You're here. Now. Stop going over the past and stop worrying about the
future. You see what that sort of thing did to me this afternoon at
work. I said what I had to say about it, and then I moved on."
"Okay, well...First of all, I'm a little tired."
"Right, I'll buy that. Sounds reasonable. I am too, actually."
I paused. She waited.
"Steven" she said quietly. "Talk to me. Wanna just talk? A nice,
restful Thursday evening, talking my head off would be very nice. I've
got you to do a lot of things, but I still can't get you to talk. I
haven't forgotten who you are, Steven. I know you're still young and
unsure. I know that New York is intimidating, and it was for me when I
came here. But you still have feelings and ideas. I wish I could figure
them all out on my own, but I can't."
I thought for a moment.
"Well?" she said.
I sat up straight. "Come one, let's take a shower."
She laughed. "That's what you want to do, take a shower?"
I walked to her and took her hand and gave a little tug. "Come on," I
said.
We showered together. "How exciting," Martha said sarcastically as
she soaped her hands.
"This is a prelude to what's next," I said mysteriously, swabbing my
shoulders and arms.
"Hon, everything's a prelude to what's next, and this gives me a
pretty good idea what it will probably be. But do you have to shower to
talk?"
"You'll see," I said.
At the end of our shower I asked her to re-soap her hands and make
the suds thick and slippery. "Now," I said, holding my cock, "Get me
hard. Come on. Get me really hard."
She smiled at me quizzically as she worked on my cock. "Steven...
what are you up to? This is a heck of way to start a conversation."
"You'll see. Come on, do it."
When I was fully erect I asked Martha, "Are you wet?"
She said, "Of course I am, what do you think?"
"Okay," I said, and I rinsed the soap away quickly and then in one
smooth motion I picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.
"Steven," she complained, "We're still wet from the shower."
"I don't care," I said, and tumbled her onto the bed.
She looked at me wonderingly as I turned out the bedroom light and
then stretched her out on her back and opened her legs and lay on her
and looked down to aim my cock and then slowly and deeply and yearning-
ly entered her, sighing as I enjoyed the sweet long slide inward. Her
eyes widened and she whispered, "Oh, my. Steven. I have to thank Fiore
for more than just my nineteen inch waist. Mmm."
I slid in and out a few times. I muttered a little breathlessly,
watching her hips adjust to my length, "I love your nineteen inch waist.
I love getting big and hard and going into you." When I felt thoroughly
lubricated and comfortable I slid all the way in and held myself there
and embraced her closely, one arm around her waist and the other around
her neck, and hugged her and nestled my face against her neck. I lay
motionless, my cock deep and snug and hard and wet inside her.
"Now," I said, "we can talk."
She laughed quietly, snaking her arms around me. "And I thought you
said you weren't a good conversationalist." She kissed my cheek. "This
is a very sexy way to have a talk."
I kissed her neck. "Listen. I don't know how to tell you what I'm
thinking because I'm not thinking right now. I'm feeling. I'm feeling
how good it is to have you holding me and to just be inside you. I'm
feeling how good it is to walk in Central Park with you and go to a deli
and eat matso ball soup. I'm feeling how good it is to feel good with
you. I don't like to spend a lot of time talking about how I feel. I
have to do something about it. I have to put my feelings to work. I
don't want to spend a lot of time analyzing them and talking about them,
I want to do something about them. I don't want to just look at books
and look at movies and read plays. I want to do them. I want to make
them real, I want to make them into something I can touch and see and
hear and taste. I don't want to just look at you or think about you, I
want to hold you and lick you and fuck you. You are my feelings. When I
put my fingers around your waist I'm feeling I'm your waist, and when I
touch your skin it's because your skin is my feelings. And when I fuck,
what you feel when I'm inside you is what I'm feeling. I was a little
scared with Ronnie last night, and with you, because what you and Ronnie
were feeling was what I was feeling. When Ronnie was sad, I was sad.
When Ronnie was afraid that I wouldn't let her have her full pleasure, I
felt it too. I didn't want to just be friends with her, I wanted to give
her pleasure, I wanted to feel with her when she felt that release, that
comfort, that closeness. And when I saw you wanting the same pleasure I
wanted the same pleasure for you and I wanted to feel it with you. I
wanted it to be so good I'd never forget it, and I wanted to make it so
good for you, you'd never forget it, either. I wanted it because I felt
you wanting it. I want it because that's the way you make me feel. When
you were upset this afternoon I didn't just see it, I felt it. When
you're happy I don't just see it, I feel it. When you're almost cumming
and not there yet, I feel it, too."
I hugged her. "I don't want to just think about going back home, I
want to go back home and do something. I don't want to look at New York
and think about New York, I want to do New York. I don't want to think
about being here, I want to be here. I don't want it later, I want it
now. It won't do me any good later. I need it now. I needed everything
yesterday and I want to do everything now. I don't want to think. I
don't like thinking. I want to feel it and do it." I licked her ear.
"I love your ear. I love your neck." I kissed her neck. "I love your
nipples and your navel and your legs and your feet and your cunt. When I
go inside you I don't put a dick in you, I put all of me in you. I put
my body and my thoughts and my feelings, my past and my present and my
future in you. When I cum the only thing I think and the only thing I
feel and the only thing in the whole world for me is cumming, and there
isn't anything else. And I don't want there to be anything else."
I stopped to pull my arm from under her neck and stroke her hair.
"Baby," she whispered. Inside her, she hugged me.
We talked for an hour. I did most of the talking, hugging her and
stroking her hair and kissing her neck, and she did most of the listen-
ing. Now and then when I softened inside her she would lift my face and
watch me talking to her and squeeze me inside until I was hard again.
After a while I stopped talking and we fucked for a few minutes, slowly
and lovingly, and it was one of the few times that I fucked Martha while
not watching her; I fucked gently and deeply, nestling into her neck and
listening to her breathe. When the pleasure mounted beyond anything more
than an affectionate, friendly probing, I would stop. She would ask a
question or make a comment and I would start talking again. Mostly, she
listened and watched me and let me know with small contractions inside
her what she was feeling. I talked about the things I yearned to do, the
person I yearned to be. She asked me to describe that person, and I
expended so much time and so many words trying to explain it that she
asked me to give her a name, someone I knew who mirrored what I thought I
wanted to be. I mentioned Gregory Peck. She laughed out loud and said,
"But, hon, don't you see? You're describing someone else, not yourself."
She wanted me to tell her what my plans were, precisely, when I
returned home. I told her I'd keep working. She asked why I was so
willing to sacrifice the things I really wanted by wearing myself out
with a paper route. I told her I wanted a car, I wanted freedom to move
around, I wanted the clothes, friends, and independence others had. She
said having what others have wasn't as important as being myself; I
should be in the theatre, and I had better opportunities for a future in
college if I spent more time in activities at Christian Brothers. I told
her I didn't want to be in high school, I wanted to be in any other
place. She was amused and somewhat awed by my willingness to risk every-
thing I had for everything I didn't have. She said I should work with
what was available. She told me I was trying too hard to be every- one
but myself.
"I'd like to be," I said earnestly, "like you." And she laughed and
said, "Like me?" and then she frowned and stroked my hair and said,
"Steven, I don't want you to be like me. I want you to be you. And I
don't want you to work yourself to death the way I did. Oh, sure, you
have to work hard, but I gave up everything to get through Memphis State
in three years instead of four, and kept weekend jobs on top of it. And
you know what it got me? It got me worn out. Not quite twenty-four
years old yet, and I'm all worn out and frustrated with work. It got me
used to not taking my time and made me want everything and want it to be
perfect. Take my word for it, you have to stop and look around and
realize that the whole world isn't going to pay attention to you just
because you're working yourself to death."
"But you got out of Mmephis," I said.
"Yes, and you'll get out, too. But it was part luck and part hard
work and part nerve. I could just as well have been picked by another
school, but it happened the way it did. The same way we just happened.
And some things, Steven, don't happen. You can't make things happen, you
can only make yourself available. Don't count on things happening that
you can't control. Don't you remember what you said to Ronnie, you can't
make someone be good to you if they don't want to? Oh, you seem so
passive and easygoing on the outside -- but you're very aggressive,
aren't you?"
We got out of bed for a few minutes and had a snack. Then we
embraced in bed again and Martha sucked me to an erection and I went into
her and we hugged and lay still for a while. She asked me about Karen. I
told her as much as I could remember about the incident, though I hesi-
tated to go into it with any great detail. Martha said that disappoint-
ment was the norm when it came to intimacy. "Not everyone's a perfect
partner," she said, "and some are lousy. It all depends on who you're
with. Remember what I said about being able to fly on your own, Steven.
You don't always have someone around to show you the way or to validate
yourself. That's why you have to be you and have what you have, not be
someone else and have what someone else has. God, I wish you'd believe
in yourself. I wish your folks would give you just a little break, a
little recognition. But they won't, Steven, not any more than Mr.
Buchanan or Evelyn would give it to me."
The pleasure of being inside her soon asserted itself. I began
talking less and moving more frequently in her for a few minutes before
we started talking again. Soon I lifted on my arms and fucked steadily.
She whispered, "Don't keep stopping, Steven, it's feeling good."
"Did I talk your head off?"
"You sure did. Now I want you to fuck my brains out."
I watched her as I moved and she put her arms around my neck and
looked down at me pumping in her.
"Hon, it's nice." She looked up at me and saw the pleasure in my
face. SHe smiled softly and churned her hips under me, and I felt her
inner muscles writhing and sucking. When I moaned she smiled happily and
whispered, "Know what I want you to be? I want you to be you. I want
you to be fifteen and strong and full of cum. I loved watching you with
Ronnie, watching both of you discover each other and please each other.
I don't want you to get old and mean and moody, Steven, I want you to
always be new and pure. And you're so very sensual, and so intense, and
you really know how to give pleasure. I want you to be yourself and
enjoy me, and not worry about what was, or what might be. Stay young for
me. I feel so young when you fuck me like this. It was so good, the
very first time."
"Martha, you're...gonna make me cum."
"But I want you to. I want you to cum when you feel like it. Come
on, just cum. Don't cum because I do, cum just because you want to."
She began tightening on me, smiling into my eyes, and I stopped and
fought for breath and she asked, "What's the matter?", and I moaned, "It
feels so good!"
She grinned. "It's supposed to, Steven!" She began moving her hips
gently under me, up and down, sliding her cunt on my shaft. The suction
she created was overpowering.
"Come on," she taunted. "Come on, I want you to be selfish for a
change. There's nothing wrong with it."
My head snapped back and I groaned again.
She kept up the rhythm and began seriously milking me as she moved.
"Come on," she whispered. "Come on."
"Oh!"
"I'm not your mother, hon. You won't lose me if you don't always
please me first, don't you know that? Right now, I want you to please
yourself first. Let me just give to you, and I won't ask for anything,
and you don't have to give anything back. You're allowed to do that, you
know. I'll let you because I know you'd do the same for me."
I gasped and closed my eyes and raised high on my arms and began
pumping into her. She ceased her undulations and held her pelvis against
me and closed tightly on my cock.
"Yes," she whispered, "Oh, yes, hon. Take it. Take what you want."
I began to stroke deeply and strongly in her, my pelvis seeking her
deeply on the instroke, relishing the tickle of her cervix as it nipped
and grabbed my tip.
"I'm other girls," she whispered hotly. "I'm everyone you ever
wanted. I'm all those others and now I'm saying yes. I'm Josephine
Louise. I'm Karen. I'm Ronnie. I'm not saying no. And I like it,
Steven. I like it and I want it."
I burrowed more deeply into her than I had ever gone before. And I
was bigger and harder and more seeking than ever. I fucked deliberately
and deeply, and soon the grip of her inner warmth changed and became less
rhythmic and less purposeful and became more erratic. She became slicker
and hotter, and I saw her eyes close, and her smile vanished and she
squinted and frowned in surprise and concentration.
"God," she breathed suddenly, "you're so big."
And I whispered "Fuck" and shifted on my arms and raised on my toes
and my toes dug into the bed and then I had the balance and the leverage
that I wanted and I started stroking, smoothly and strongly, as deep as I
could go and as far back as I could go. I became a fucking machine and
all I wanted to do was fuck. I was near cumming, but I wouldn't let it
happen yet. I clung to the hot, primal itch that I felt on the edge of
letting go and I wanted to stay there. I forgot about how close Martha
might or might not be to cumming; I just wanted to fuck and keep on
fucking as long as I could. Her sighs and whispers were indeed those of
Josephine Louise and Ronnie and everyone else I'd lusted after; her
seductive crooning had implanted them clearly in my mind. I forgot about
Martha's body as my universe focused exclusively onto her cunt, on her
pelvic muscles straining and quivering against mine, her clinging inner
woman, and she wasn't Martha, she was the primeval cunt my leering,
slurping beast wanted to fuck, and my beast demanded the delicious,
licking pleasure, and vaguely I heard her amazed gasp, "God, you're
hard! You're so hard!" and then I heard her hoarse moan, and I felt her
cumming and her hot, slithery, woman-cunt spasmed with it and my cock
felt it and rejoiced and grew and plunged and I wanted to keep fucking,
keep fucking like this forever. I felt her relax a little and I fucked
and pushed and my bursting shaft sought more, more pleasure, more
lusciousness, and soon she stiffened again and I heard her gasp "Steven!"
and I wanted more and got bigger and harder and she jerked and relaxed
and then came again, and then I grunted and felt my face smiling as my
cock leapt upward against the roof of Martha's curling, writhing nether-
mouth, and my tip pulsed and the slit grinned against her womb and the
cum poured out and then gushed out and then exploded out and somewhere in
my gut my happy beast grinned and said Yeah, yeah, and my tip twitched
and the hot cum gushed and then I heard Martha scream a high, muffled
scream, and my victorious cock slowed so that I could ruthlessly prolong
and enjoy and own and remember the long moment and she screamed again and
the satisfaction and the sweet release washed around my dick and through
me, and then the blinding, tickling peak hit me and I ceased to exist for
a long, liquid instant, and my cock throbbed, pleased, bloated with
pleasure, purged, slick with her juiciness and my cum, and Martha lurched
under me and ended her cum with a whimper and my whole body sighed and
slowed and relaxed, my balls aching with a pleasant emptiness, and I
opened my eyes and saw her face flushed, her eyes squinting, shut, and
her mouth gasping for air, and then I realized that her nails had dug
into my neck and it felt good, it felt exhilarating to see her completely
worn out, trembling, limp, clutching me as if afraid, and I gave a long
sigh of pleasure and embraced her again, and cuddled her and gave her
mouth a long, firm kiss, and when it was over she gasped loudly and her
head fell against me, and I pulled my cock out of her and watched it
glisten and drip with us and I pushed in again and enjoyed entering her
once more, and did it again and marvelled at how good it was. And then
she curled into a tight ball and she was whimpering, mewing, crying like
a little girl, her knees pulled up against me, and she nestled into me
and broke into a long fit of quiet but wrenching cries. I stroked her
back softly and held her, one hand cradling the back of her neck and
pressing her tear-wet face into me, and she cried for a little while and
then she began to relax, sniffling noisily at first. And then she seemed
to rest but was still curled up and holding onto me and the odor of semen
and warm milk was strong in the room. The curtain rustled against the
window frame.
She whimpered, "That was so good!"
I nodded against her head.
And she breathed nervously, "Steven, that was so good it scared me."
And in her voice I did indeed hear the childish relief one feels when a
terror has passed, and she softend against me and seemed tiny. Soon she
fell asleep. I lay awake for a long time, listening to the breeze from
the window. I remembered dimly hearing Martha scream. I drifted toward
sleep, feeling somehow changed. I didn't know why I felt that way.
====================================
THE ADVENTURES OF ME AND MARTHA JANE
by S.J.R.
PART 13B:
-30-
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