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Subject: {MikeHunt}JDR"High Rise B"(MF voy)[2/2]
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JOHN DARK REPOST
The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults. If you are
below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic
erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now. The story
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that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author
make any guarantee. You should be aware that the story might raise other
matters that you find distasteful. You read at your own risk.
The enjoyment of these reposts can be increased by reading the "Coming
Attractions," which includes the titles to be reposted in the next week.
These stories have not been written by the person posting them. Many of
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=====================
I swear there are two of me. The shrinks will tell you that "multiple
personalities" are rare, but they're wrong. I think everybody has them.
Like I'll be driving down the highway, and suddenly I'm five miles further
than I thought. Who was doing the driving for those five miles? It must
have been the other me, because it wasn't me.
Or some mornings I'll be in the shower, and I'll wonder if I've shampooed
yet. And while I'm shampooing I'll remember that I've already shampooed.
Except it wasn't me, it must have been the other me.
This is a story that was written by the other me. It's, well, different.
But hell, if Sears can have a softer side, I guess I can too. It's still
just for adults. No matter what side I write from, it just comes out that
way. Maybe me and me aren't so different after all.
=====================
High Rise
by MIKE HUNT
MrM1KE@aol.com
Section B:
On Friday night I connected with her and we chatted on the computer for
a while.
Hi Rise: So I did what you said. I'm going out boating with him tomorrow.
SCOOTER: GREAT! Where are you going to be so I can float by and intrude.
Hi Rise: lol
Hi Rise: Anyway, it's been nearly 6 months since I've even been with a
guy. I hope I know what to do.
SCOOTER: What do you mean, know what to do?
Hi Rise: I dunno. Conversation. You know, on a boat there's nothing but
me and him.
SCOOTER: You'll be fine.
Hi Rise: I suppose. Suppose other things happen?
SCOOTER: Such as...
Hi Rise: He makes a pass.
SCOOTER: CALL ME IMMEDIATELY FOR INSTRUCTIONS!!!
Hi Rise: ROFL
SCOOTER: I'm sure you'll be able to handle it. Do you want him to???
Hi Rise: No. Maybe yes. Probably no.
SCOOTER: Good female response.
Hi Rise: Well, it's been over SIX years since I've had a *date*. Nothing
since the breakup, and 6 years of relationship before that. I'm a
little rusty.
SCOOTER: Don't sweat it. Nature provides.
Hi Rise: Yeah, I'd just hate to get into something I don't want to get into.
SCOOTER: But you said "maybe yes..."
Hi Rise: Well, that's just how I feel.
SCOOTER: Ah, now I understand perfectly!
Hi Rise: You're no help at all.
SCOOTER: Sorry. Just have to laugh at the situation a little. Didn't mean
to be a jerk.
Hi Rise: OK. I'm allowed to be confused.
SCOOTER: I know.
On Saturday morning I went to the lobby of her building. You might think
that a new building would be kept up better, but the intercom buttons were
filthy. At least they functioned. The corner of the carpet was frayed, and
I noted a couple of places where the paint was peeling near the mailboxes.
I buzzed the buzzer for her apartment and she chirped "Be right down."
Through the fuzzy speaker it sounded more like "Bx Rylle Tmmn." I knew what
she meant.
The elevator doors opened with a "whoosh" and a "thunk." She was as casually
dressed as ever, but now the clothes were neat and new, softly colored,
freshly laundered. Her face was painted with just a trace of make-up. She
smiled and I melted.
I grabbed my beach bag, she picked up her little tote and we went outside
and hailed a cab. It was a couple of bucks to the landing area, and we
chatted, perhaps a little self-conciously in the back seat as we sped down
Lakeshore Drive.
The people in the boathouse were great; they had my reservation right there
and the credit card went through without a blip. The guy asked if I had any
boating experience and I told him "yes." I didn't have a lot, but it was
enough to get by. The last thing I wanted was a lesson about then.
We climbed into the speedboat and I started the engine as we pushed off.
The boat responded well; it was just a little cruiser with seats for maybe
four people and a tiny area below deck. There was a small canopy over the
driver's and passenger's chairs up top. Down three steps it had a galley
the size of a paint bucket and two folding cots which were chained up on
the sides of the cabin.
She went down to put the sandwiches and wine in the cooler.
"First crisis," she called. "The wine bottle doesn't fit in the fridge."
"Is there any ice?" I called back. I'd picked a "white."
"Yeah," she said. "OK, I'll take out some ice and, uh, where's the, never
mind, I found one, put it in a bucket. The food fits fine."
"See? Crisis solved." I called out. "Watch yourself. A couple of big waves
coming..."
"Thanks," she replied from her hidden perch down below.
We thumped across the wake of a larger boat as I headed out into Lake
Michigan. It took her a few minutes to get everything stashed, and she
came back up. She'd changed into a bathing suit and a sort of skirt. She
sat in the passenger's seat.
"Ever drive one of these?" I asked.
"No," she said. "It looks easy, though."
"It is," I replied. "When we're clear of this traffic you take over."
"Sure," she said. "An adventure in boating, coming right up."
"Just aim for water," I counseled. "And if you see a buoy, let me know. Some
you have to stay inside, and some you have to stay outside. I'll navigate."
We motored about for an hour. Talking. Laughing. Getting the random burst
of spray. Drinking the occasional glass of wine. She was happy, even
vivacious. She was obviously having a good time. So was I. After an hour
I offered to take her in, but she would have none of it. It was a
half-hearted offer anyway. I'd paid for the boat until 6:00. I intended
to use every minute.
I drove for a while. She captained for a while. We ate sandwiches. We
drank some more wine. At about 2:00, with the Chicago sun at its hottest,
she said "You're burning. You should put on some block."
I replied "I already did, but it's not strong enough, apparently."
"I have some SPF 50," she said. "I'll get it." She disappeared down below
and returned with a brown plastic tube. She tossed it to me.
"Thanks," I said. I squeezed out a gob and rubbed it between my palms.
The white lotion squeezed out between my fingers and I began transferring
it to my legs, sliding my hands up and down, slathering the protective
stuff all over. I repeated the exercise on my neck, shoulders, and arms.
"Want me to do your back?" she asked.
"Sure," I said.
She squeezed some of the lotion onto her hands and I turned away from
her. The ointment was cool, and I jumped as her hand made contact with
my skin. "Easy there," she said softly. "This won't hurt a bit."
"I've heard that before," I joked.
Her hands journeyed north and south, east and west, covering my back,
neck, and shoulders. It was delightful. She reloaded as she continued the
therapy. When she was done her hands were still full of the goop, and as
she reached for a towel, I said, "Wait a second." I turned to face
her and took her hands in mine and held them, interlocking fingers and
rubbing palms. I looked at her. She looked away.
When I had transferred as much of the lotion to my own hands as possible,
I told her to turn around. She did.
I began spreading the moist cream across her back, massaging it in between
her shoulder blades. I reloaded. She didn't protest. My hands slid up to
her shoulders, then down her sides, then down the middle of her back to
the bottom of the low-cut back of her bathing suit.
"Want some more?" I teased. It was obvious that I had finished everywhere
she couldn't reach.
"I'll handle it," she smiled. I longed to caress her legs and arms but
it wasn't going to happen. I stood and watched as she applied the lotion to
herself. I spread a little goober of white that sat on the side of her
forehead as she worked on her face. She grinned again.
We spent the next few hours talking, laughing, snacking, drinking, just
sitting silently as the boat moved gracefully between the swells of the
water of Lake Michigan. It was uneventful, and it was bliss.
I never pushed. It didn't seem right. And while I thought she might
collapse into my arms, I didn't want to seem too eager, and anyway, I was
enjoying our time together just as it was. We docked at a little past 6:00.
I paid the late penalty. We cabbed back to our respective buildings, and
as we split apart she gave me a little kiss on the cheek and said "Thanks."
It was enough.
I didn't see her on-line that night. I didn't even try. But on Sunday
I found her, and we chatted.
SCOOTER: So?
Hi Rise: So what?
SCOOTER: SO?????
Hi Rise: I went boating with him. It was great. He's nice.
SCOOTER: SOOO?????
Hi Rise: So nothing. I had a good time. I still feel like a hermit, but
at least I got out a little.
SCOOTER. Good. It's good for you.
Hi Rise: Yes, I think so. I had a very nice afternoon on the boat.
SCOOTER: And...
Hi Rise: No "and". Just a very nice time.
SCOOTER: He didn't jump you?
Hi Rise: No. I almost did him tho. <<blushing>>
SCOOTER: Really? Do tell...
Hi Rise: Well there was a point where I was putting some lotion on his
back...
SCOOTER: Aha! The hermit has hormones!
Hi Rise: Yes, well I managed to control myself, thank you.
SCOOTER: Too bad.
Hi Rise: Why do YOU think it's too bad?
SCOOTER: Ah, well, maybe you need the exercise?
Hi Rise: lol
Hi Rise: Anyway, nothing happened. And I think that's good. I think I
should take it slow.
SCOOTER: Aw go on, jump his bones.
Hi Rise: Thanks for the advice. Men. You're all alike.
SCOOTER: Guilty as charged.
I saw her the next weekend. The 'Taste Of Chicago' was starting, and I
invited her to join me to sample the hundreds of ethnic food booths that
had become a Midwest star-spangled attraction. There was a jazz concert
that night in Grant Park. She said didn't like jazz but agreed to go anyway.
We walked through the crowds, occasionally buying a pita or a pirogi and
sampling each others' purchases. Twice we were bumped by a rollerblader
and I pulled her to me. Once she grabbed my hand to lead me to a booth
that featured ribs. She held onto the hand as we waited in line.
It was another blisteringly hot day, but began to cool a little toward
the late afternoon. Most of the people around were skimpily dressed. I
scarcely noticed. And we sated our appetites, then wandered into the park
and picked a spot. Who'd thought to bring a blanket? But the ground still
had a heavy grass cover and we sat down to claim our space. After 20 minutes
of waiting the music began.
Now there's jazz and there's jazz. This was what you call "jazz lite".
Soft. Melodic. Tonal. We sat together, our arms occasionally touching as
we swayed to the music. And a half hour later we were holding hands. And
a half hour after that she was sitting in front of me between my outstretched
legs, my arms wrapped around her midsection. Her hair brushed against my
cheek. She turned, and we kissed.
It was just a little kiss, with more promise than passion, and a calm
washed over both of us as the melodies soared overhead. I hugged her. We
kissed again. During the next few songs I held her, and occasionally
whispered a comment or joke in her ear. We kissed lightly a couple more
times. A few songs later the band finished its set, and there was
a short intermission.
"Want to go?" I asked, perhaps too eagerly.
"No, I'm having a wonderful time," she said.
"Me too," I answered. We sat together and talked as we watched the crew
rearrange the stage for the next band. My hands got itchy, and occasionally
wandered. She playfully slapped them away.
The next band started, and it was very avante-garde. After one song she
said "OK, I'm ready to go."
We stood up and dusted ourselves and left. As we walked hand-in-hand to
the edge of the park, I invited her up to my apartment. I wondered what
would happen.
It happened.
She didn't spend the night; she chose to go home. I kissed her at the
door. I thought about it for several minutes before I went to my desk.
I wasn't sure if I should.
I signed on and waited. Twenty minutes later she signed on.
SCOOTER: Why hello!
Hi Rise: Hello.
SCOOTER: My aren't we talkative!
Hi Rise: Just recovering.
SCOOTER: Why? What happened?
Hi Rise: I had a *date*.
SCOOTER: AND???? You know I want the details.
Hi Rise: Yes I know.
SCOOTER: Think of me as your therapist. lol
Hi Rise: Well, I like him. And we went to Taste, had a wonderful time,
and then to the free concert.
SCOOTER: Yes?
Hi Rise: Then back to his place...
SCOOTER: Omigod. Every last detail, please.
Hi Rise: We kissed a couple of times at the concert. When we got back
to his apartment we started making out.
SCOOTER: Good start.
Hi Rise: Then we were really making out. He's a decent kisser.
SCOOTER: That's important.
Hi Rise: The next thing I knew, he was unbuttoning my blouse...
SCOOTER: now typing one handed. hope you don't mind.
Hi Rise: Cut that OUT!
SCOOTER: just kidding
Hi Rise: Then why no capital letters anymore?
SCOOTER: oops
Hi Rise: so he unbuttons my blouse and I'm loving it
Hi Rise: and we're kissing like crazy and I suddenly realize I'm so horny
I might burst
Hi Rise: and so I'm kissing him back and holding him
Hi Rise: HELLO?
SCOOTER: sorry. just enjoying the scene.
Hi Rise: and then he's holding my breasts and his hands are sliding
everywhere and then I'm pulling off his shirf
Hi Rise: shirf=shirt
SCOOTER: i know
Hi Rise: and then I'm helping him take off his pants
SCOOTER: this is getting VERY good. notice the capital letters, please
Hi Rise: lol
Hi Rise: and the next thing I know I'm lying down and I've taken off all
my clothes and I'm waiting for him to enter me...
SCOOTER: and he does
Hi Rise: and does he ever! I haven't been with a man for six months you
know...
SCOOTER: hey, i offered
Hi Rise: lol anyway he slides into me slowly and he's caressing my face
and he's nibbling at my neck and then he starts licking my ear.
That makes me CRAZY!
SCOOTER: <--- taking notes for future reference
Hi Rise: lol. anyway, we made wonderful love and I actually came with
him in me and it was GREAT.
SCOOTER: sounds like it. Sorry I wasn't there. ;)
Hi Rise: maybe next time ha ha
The following weekend we got together. We both played hermit. Naked hermit.
She started out fully clothed, of course, but about every 10 minutes I'd
grab her and kiss her and try to take off another piece of clothing. Sure,
she protested. But 10 minutes later she was kissing me and pulling off
my T-shirt or whatever was next on my list.
We were in the bedroom, looking out the window at her garden when I put
my hands under her shirt and began dragging my fingernails across her back.
She stood still, but the ripple of her muscles gave her away. I slipped
my hands under her arms and felt the swell of her breast against my
fingertips.
I flicked my fingers back and forth, tickling the hanging flesh, caressing
it as though I was a blind man trying to identify a mysterious object with
just my fingertips. I got more adventurous. She flexed her arms and I gained
a measure of freedom. My hands moved up, and I slid my palms against the
soft globes, and as my thumbs felt the hardening tips she turned her head
and I kissed her deeply. I knew she couldn't stay twisted that way for long,
but she didn't seem to mind. I grasped her breasts fully and felt the erotic
thrill that happens when a guy is invited to invade that sacred territory.
She pushed back into me, now letting her hand brush lightly against my
swelling manhood through my shorts. We continued to kiss.
Finally she turned to me and motioned me to the bed. I obliged immediately,
and as we went horizontal I brought my hand to her face and pulled her
toward me yet again. We kissed for an hour, or maybe it just seemed so,
but suddenly I realized that she had lowered my zipper and was snaking
her hand around inside my pants searching for my hardness. She found it,
and grasped it firmly. My hands weren't idle, either. Our petting turned
to passion, and our passion to sex, and soon I was perched over her, knowing
the delicious moment when I would enter her was near.
Her hand guided me as I pushed forward. Her legs spread, and she wiggled
me back and forth across her divide to help wet the head of my erection
and to start the plow in the furrow. She got what she wanted, and then
I was sinking into her. Slowly. Ever so slowly. I kissed her with open
eyes as I entered her. Her eyes were shut tight; I hoped her every nerve
was shrieking to her brain, "He's in. He's in."
I was, and we continued our kiss, our caress, and our sexual joining.
We got hot. We got sweaty. We got soaked, and we got fucked. What began
as tender lovemaking ended with a violent passion for both of us, and I
was jamming myself into her tightly as she wrapped her legs around me and
pulled me down as she came. I had been ready for a while, and had barely
managed to pull myself back when she exploded. Her orgasm was satisfying
enough and erotic enough to make me lose control, and very shortly I came
inside her. We lay together for an hour before we drifted off to sleep.
The next morning she awoke first and figured out where the coffee pot and
coffee were, and had things going before I even sat up in bed. I found her
and pulled her back to the bedroom, and we made wonderful love again in the
dim morning light.
We got together often after that, of course. And as July turned to August
and then September we began spending most evenings and weekends together;
we even took a few days to drive to Galena and stay at a quaint little
bed and breakfast.
Alas it was not to be. It wasn't the fight when she signed onto AOL at
my place and discovered the screen name "SCOOTER" on the computer, although
that one was pretty ugly. And it wasn't the one when I found out she was
having lunch "often" with a male co-worker.
It was just one of those things. It was actually fairly mutual, and by the
end of October we'd pretty much gone our separate ways. She wasn't a hermit
anymore. I'd bumped up the seniority list and was working more regular hours.
I still saw her at the window. She still saw me. I still stared down her
blouse. She still smiled.
I still can't garden.
* * * *
MIKE HUNT enjoys corresponding with people on-line and by e-mail. Usually
he doesn't use a fake screen name, though. Except for the fake one that's
his "real" fake screen name. Hmmmm. If you'd like to correspond with
his real fake name, write to MrM1KE@aol.com. Remember that M1KE is spelled
with a "one" (1) not an "eye" (I). You can also use the Bannerboy1@aol.com
address, which I guess is a fake fake name. I sometimes use that one to send
helpful advice to MrM1KE. He'll figure it out one of these days, probably.
I send the stories via e-mail if you want. Just ask, and tell me you're
over 18. Or you can get them at my website, along with a bunch of other
useless stuff. The URL is <http://members.aol.com/mrm1ke>. Actually it's
not all useless. I've put up another lovely story I liked. It's by Michael
K. Smith and it's called "Charly the Yard Guy" and it appeals to the me
in me who wrote this story. It's quite a beautiful tale. You should read it.
This story is Copyright 1997 by M1KE HUNT. It's fine to distribute it
freely on bulletin boards or whatever. Emphasis on the "free". Please don't
just repost it in the newsgroups; I can do that myself.
That's about it for this story from me. There'll be another story soon.
It'll also be from me, but probably from the other me. I just never know,
and neither does me.
Or you.
=====================
High Rise
by MIKE HUNT
MrM1KE@aol.com
-30-
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