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From: apuleius@poboxes.com (Apuleius of Madaura)
Subject: Kael's Diary Part 1, by Kael Goodman (mf MF cons/rom)
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Reposter's note:
This substantial (248K) story dates from 1994-6, and, as far as I can tell, has
never been reposted since then. The fact that one can discover hidden gems
such as this proves the worth of "digging through the archives". However, no
site preserves this story complete, and several sections are only preserved
on commercial, banner-supported sites (with all indications of authorship
removed). These sections are also badly formatted, and I have corrected the
spacing; this explains the differing appearance as the story proceeds. With
the help of the author, who kindly sent two missing sections, I have been able
to compile the complete text together in one place (here posted in two parts).
The story itself is incomplete, halting at Part 1 of August 1994, but the
individual chapters themselves can stand on their own. At the request of the
author, the copyright and disclaimer appear at the start of each chapter.
The author forbids the use of his work in any commercial venue (electronic or
otherwise) without further permission. He may be contacted at the address
listed below.
- Apuleius.
---------------------------------------------------------
"Kael's Diary" is copyright 1994 Millennium Productions and is reprinted
here by permission.
Author: Kael Goodman (at745@cleveland.freenet.edu)
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Title: Kael's Diary: September, 1983
<Author's Note: this is one chapter in my on-going sexual self
examination. Theoretically each part should stand on its own and their
chronological order is irrelevant.
"Kael's Diary" is a work of fiction and the people and situations
described herein and from the imagination of its author. Any similarity
to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.>
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Kael's Diary: September, 1983 "Save a Prayer" part one
Do you remember the first time you ever listened through a pair
of feather-weight earphones? Walkman phones? I do. It was two years
earlier, for sure, but I had only just gotten my own pair for my
birthday two months previous and that fresh sensation of having Simon
LeBon actually in the center of my head, singing -- it gave reality a
sense of heightened importance. The music, so rich and over-produced
back then, it seemed to reach from horizon to horizon.
It didn't hurt to be standing on a pier in Maine, overlooking a
large body of dark, peaceful water on a bright warm day in September,
either.
My hair hung heavily over my eyes and ears. I wore a light,
long sleeved dress shirt, yellow, lapels a bit too wide for the fashion,
but I was ingnorant of this. If it was good enough for my brother Max
when he was fifteen, then it was okay by me.
The fact that Max was fifteen in 1976 didn't make any
difference, I didn't know any better.
Corduroy slacks (burgundy) a wide striped tie and a pair of Keds
All-Stars and a pair of sunglasses completed the ensemble. The whole
Goodman clan was gathered here at this odd time of year to see one of my
cousins get married.
I and my family had been here, in Promise, Maine, earlier in the
summer, almost two months before. Late July. Boy, had a lot of things
happened since then. I was feeling strangly taller, and as though I
were viewing the same familiar sights of my youth through a completely
new set of eyes.
Compulsive masturbation. Late July, muggy and damp, two
parents, one brother and a few of his friends, and a pair of foreign
exchange students, all crammed into one rented bungalow. Any time they
all jumped into the Volvo to go somewhere I would hide or just tell them
I wasn't interested. I was being such a little prick the whole vacation
they didn't put up much of an argument.
Once I was sure they were gone, I would slip upstairs to my room
and strip down to my underwear, bought for a thirteen year old and worn
holey. I'd lie on my front and twiddle with my penis, gripping it
firmly with my fingers and briskly padding the tender underside with my
thumb. I'd think of my girlfriend, Glenda, waiting for me at home --
she'd let me play with her breasts before I'd left, and even suck on
them. They were so soft and not very small at all -- not as large as
Becky's, my very first girlfriend's breasts, but her's were an exception
in any young man's book. Becky's boobs were so big, and her skin was so
fair, her nipples were so wide and light pink you couldn't really make
out where they stopped and the rest of her gigundous breasts began.
But Glenda had long dark hair and dark, camel-like eyes. All my
friends thought she was annoying as hell, but wow, did she know how to
kiss.
We had both taken Jesus into our hearts as our personal savior
last winter and were both kinda scared at the things we let ourselves do
with each other -- I pushed too hard sometimes, she was never very
comfortable letting me touch her pussy, but neither was I.
Jesus. Any thought of the Messiah during masturbation made me
cold with guilt and fear, but I was too far along to stop and certain
desires override fear anyway.
Mom had constructed a make-shift sun shower out behind the
cabin. It consisted of a long hose coiled up on the tar roof of the
fishing shed with a shower nozzle at one end. The other end went into
the shed to a sink, and if you stoppered up the nozzle and let the whole
hose fill with water and let it just stay in the hose for an hour or so,
there would be about three minutes of a steady trickle of hot water,
forced out by cold water from the tap behind it. It was either that or
a sponge bath out of the sink, and I was getting pretty concerned about
some blackheads and tiny pimples developing on my chest and shoulders.
Getting everything you wanted scrubbed in that three minutes could be
quite an adventure, and particularly difficult when you were trying to
wash your privates with your bathing suit on.
That afternoon though, I looked around, each and every way, and
felt a strange thrill run through my entire being. I was behind the
house, everyone was in town, and I could hear anyone in the near
distance. The way to other cabins was blocked by trees and a ramshackle
garage. Before I could question it, I dropped my bathing suit to the
grass and stood completely naked in the mid-summer sun. I grappled
awkwardly with the hose and let it run all over me, splashing the sun
heated water onto my smooth, hairless, adolescent chest and wet my
longish greasy hair. Soap gathered in the nest of my pubic hair until I
pushed it down over my soft, spongy, shriveled up penis. I kept
glancing around nervously, the warm air, the sun on my behind and
testicles and my exposed hips, it was so alien and I feared so much of
getting caught.
My penis began to stiffen a little at the thought.
Then the cold water came and I made an all too brisk job of
finishing.
***
Still masturbating, I thought over my daring afternoon scrub.
Barbara. Damn, I had loved her so much and she never felt that way
about me. She had long dark hair and beautiful dark eyes. I had had a
crush on her for three years, but we still just remained friends,
although I wanted so much to be dating her.
In my mind I stood outside, exposed and scared. Barbara walks
around the corner, wearing that one piece bathing suit she always wears
to the pool. She's seen me! She calls out in surprise and ridicule, I
blush all over and reach down to hide myself. She just smiles and
begins to pull down the straps of her suit (I begin to instinctively
bounce my pelvis into the squeaky mattress) and my idea of what she
looks like naked materializes in my head -- dark, bud-like nipples (I've
seen them through her gym shirt) her tiny waist and broad, mature hips,
a wispy puff of black pubic hair (it still frightened me) she walks over
to hug me and kiss me under the trickling hose --
-- when someone else shows up! All of the other kids who stay
here at the cove during the summer! They heard us and have stepped
around the corner of the house! Everyone can see my penis, stiff in
front of me, exposed and standing like some comical toy soldier -- oh,
to be caught so aroused, it was mortifying --
-- and my hand jerks back and forth against my red and swollen
cock, the other hand spontaneously massaging my thigh, as I feel the
great tingle flash from deep within my balls, and great gooey spurts of
cum shoot through its tender tube and splat against the inside of my
underpants. My mouth is stuffed firmly into a pillow and I huff and
chuff silently, withholding all external signs of pleasure from my face
and head, just rocking up and back and panting, whimpering softly. My
cheeks are flush, my left arm hand throbs. pulses in time with my heart.
I roll over and stare up into the log-beamed ceiling.
If no one comes back in ten minutes, I do it again.
--
Kael's Diary: September, 1983 "Save a Prayer" part two
September. Two weeks after labor day, the end of my MTV summer. We
got our MTV back in May and I spent every waking moment with my eyes
glued to the set. Coming here made for major withdrawl.
Scuffling along the gravel road that winds through that sleepy seaside
resort, which should at this point in the year have already been asleep
if it weren't for this wedding and the special arrangements made by my
uncle. It was nice and warm, but the slightest edge on the wind made it
impossible to deny that summer was fading.
What a long summer. Actually, it seemed to go by so fast, but it had
been packed with activity -- strange for my life. Summer usually
dragged on, there was nothing to do in my pathetic, suburban hometown
and while a trip to Promise broke up the monotony, it too was a place
where the main excitement was in watching the sailboats out in the cove
or perhaps dropping a handline over the edge of the pier to see if you
could catch a small fish.
But this particular summer, when "Thriller" was the number one album
for GEEZ it seemed like forever and I'll be damned if Ronald Reagan
wasn't making me proud to be an American, not a small feat considering
my first Presidential memory had to do with Nixon resigning. I got my
first job this summer, washing dishes at this greasy spoon back home,
and there were some other firsts as well.
I had flown back from Maine, during the first few days of August.
Everyone else drove, but there was no room for me in the car. Well,
there could have been, but all the other kids (late teens, early
twenties, Max was the oldest at twenty-one) wanted to sightsee New
England on their way back and knew I would be a major asshole. So I
flew home and spent a few days in the house, just me and Dad.
Except of course that Dad worked for a living. Glenda and I spent two
solid days, six hour sessions, lying on my bed, kissing and licking each
other -- only one of us would be naked at one time, she had fears. We
both knew it was wrong, her more than me, my worst fear was of getting
caught but eternal damnation also lurked behind every thought.
She had a great neck. A nice long, pale white neck and great
shoulders, they had great form, not doughy or anything, she had a nice,
trim, hard little fourteen year-old bod. I had just turned fifteen.
Back in Promise. My parent's never understood why I would want to
celebrate a birthday back at home with my friends. Glenda would be
fifteen in September.
That first morning I was back in town she came over just before noon
and she was wearing shorts and this terry cloth shirt that just rode on
top of her boobs and was held up with this thick, soft string that ran
around her neck. I don't know when she first got it, but it was
stunning to me, how she could wear it -- she had been so shy when we
first started going together back in February, and letting me play with
her breasts was a major hurdle. And now she was taking a certain
noticeable pride in wearing, well, this terry cloth top for example,
because she knew how I loved to see her shoulders, but it also gave
everyone this breathtaking view of her adolescent, emerging cleavage. I
didn't really care why, but it took a little getting used to.
Small talk was minimal. We scurried up to my room and just started
grappling at each other, I loved kissing her, she had such tabby, pouty
lips, a little soft, blonde mustache forming there and we would mash our
faces together and play silly tug of war games with our tongues, lots of
chewing and panting and gnawing on earlobes and ramming of tongues into
ears and we'd stop to stare at each other in the midst of our wild,
animal passion, huge adoring brown eyes framed by her cascading,
luxurious (shame on me) dark brown hair, looking past the shock of long
blonde hair that fell into my face, into mine, a stupid little grin on
my spotty little face.
I tugged at that powder blue, terry cloth shirt. She got this strange,
slightly questioning, kinda acuusatory look on her face, but she let me
do it. Just kinda squinting at me, letting me do all the work, I pulled
the shirt up, working it slowly, deliberately so, when she put her arms
across her chest, stopping me.
"You're sure you want to do this now?" she asked.
"If not now, when?" I asked. It was good enough for the President.
"You're sure?" She was just baiting me.
"I must see your breasts," I said. "And besides, I love you."
"Humph," she said, and grabbed the bottom of her shirt herself, and
pulled it off, up and over her head, like they do in the movies. She
set it carefully aside. She sat looking defiant and a little bored, her
naked chest no longer a concern for her. "Okay?" she said. "So what?"
I grabbed her and pulled her to me and she let out a surprised laugh.
"You're really sexy, you know that?" I said.
"Yeah?" she said.
"Yeah," I said.
"Yeah?" she said.
"Yeah," I said.
And I took my shirt off so I could feel her skin against mine.
"Ew," she said, "what's that?"
"Huh?" I said, looking down at my scrawny little self. "Oh, zits, I
guess, small ones, that's kind of embarrassing, yeah, I don't know, I've
been washing a lot, though." I peered up from under my hair. "Still
love me?"
"Oh, of course."
***
Glenda drew a hand slowly across my naked, hairless belly. My head,
propped on a pillow, staring up into her chocolate drop eyes. A finger
traced an imaginary line down my left thigh and then another up my
right. My penis, glowing red, stiff and neglected sat out exposed just
below my belly button, gooey stuff dripping from its tip.
"Please," I said.
She kneeled to my right, facing me, her shorts still on, her pert n'
perky breasts on display for this little horn-dog to enjoy, pale and
perfect, and she raised her finger up to her lips and slowly sucked on
it, like she learned on cable or something, one slim digit probing her
own mouth, her puffy teenage lips, drawing on it to its end before she
laid it gently on my burning prick, rubbing it around, inflaming me even
more, that stunning tickle in my dick becoming more and more harsh and
delicious.
Her pants would stay on until I put mine on. She wouldn't suck on me
or kiss my penis not matter how much I begged her. And we rubbed and
teased each other all day until just before my father came home.
The next day we did it again.
--
"Kael's Diary" is copyright 1994 Millennium Productions and is reprinted
here by permission.
Author: Kael Goodman (at745@cleveland.freenet.edu)
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Title: Kael's Diary: June, 1984
<Author's Note: this is one chapter in my on-going sexual self
examination. Theoretically each part should stand on its own and their
chronological order is irrelevant.
"Kael's Diary" is a work of fiction and the people and situations
described herein and from the imagination of its author. Any similarity
to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.>
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Kael's Diary: June, 1984
"Let's Hear It For The Boy"
I was fifteen, going on sixteen. Reagan was gearing up to win reelection,
MTV was still considered a novelty and the second installment of the
Indiana Jones movies had only just come out the previous weekend.
I was only just beginning to develop any form of self-esteem -- I had
recently changed my hair style from that long, stringy mop that used to
conveniently hang in front of my eyes to that popular, short and neatly
parted style all us young republicans were into those days. I had even
risked all forms of abuse by tinting it a shocking blonde, the very first
of my forays into alternative hair color. It's normal shade is a dirty kind
of blonde, so one might think it wasn't such a radical alteration, but in
that closed suburban community, in that high school, well, you would fare
well never changing the kind of shoes you normally wore. God, were they
cruel.
Sophomore year was at an end. The deathly Cleveland winter was long past
and summer was on its way. Soon we would all be hanging out at the lake or
the swimming pool, enjoying the poppy sounds of Cyndi Lauper, Huey Lewis
and the News, and of course, the hottest single out was the theme to
"Ghostbusters". I started getting used to standing straight up, all six
feet, taking a little pride in myself -- I was a teenager of the eighties,
I was young, I was healthy, I was even going to Spain that summer for some
of that "studying abroad" people talk about.
And, of course, I was in love.
Did she know it? Sure she did. At least, I thought she did. I did walk over
to her house on her birthday to give her a long stemmed rose. I did (and I
still don't believe this one) slip an anonymous (but not too anonymous)
note into her locker telling her how cool I thought she was. And she must
have loved the attention. But I wasn't for her. Just a little too geeky.
Today we were part of a car wash for Youth League, this ridiculous high
school Christian association we both loved going to every single Tuesday
night to share our love for Jesus Christ. Well, that's why she was there.
Michelle. A freshman, just about to turn fifteen, strong Nordic features,
she had a round face, silky white (with a bright, rugged blush in the
cheeks when horsing around or embarrassed) with longish, bright blonde
(real) hair, and full, red, bubble gum lips. And though I had always
considered myself above ogling anyone, it was difficult not to notice (as I
did for the first time that day) how abnormally large her boobs were. Water
gets all over during a good old fashioned car wash and her T-shirt was
adhering itself to her in the most appealing way.
I don't know what was up this particular day, I must have been acting far
too nonchalant for it not to have been ridiculously obvious that I was in
so much fear of saying something stupid that I chose to rather say nothing
at all.
"Hey, Kael!" she said as I rode up on my ten speed. God, she said Hey! like
I was a friend or something. "I didn't know you wanted to waste your
Saturday doing this thing." She walked towards me with her hands behind her
back.
"Oh yeah," I said, dismounting (the bike -- this isn't your father's porn),
"I've always really liked...washing...cars."
"Ah," she said, and swiftly whipped a juicy, soapy sponge at my face. I
ducked rather awkwardly, and fell backwards in an attempt to retrieve her
soggy missile. Already I had gotten very excited at the idea of some kind
of playful water fight with her, to, you know, show her I was cool and all,
but by the time I turned back she had already become reengaged in what was
already a massive garden hose, mop bucket, wet rag bonanza which I had
apparently just ridden into the outskirts of.
Michelle didn't care about me. I was just another target.
***
That night I found myself in the same old position. Sitting in a movie
theater. We were watching "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom" and it
wasn't as good as the original. I attended with my good old freshman buddy
Don, and two completely unattractive girls named Margo and Fran. Okay, that
wasn't fair, only Margo was unattractive, and luckily she was hitting on
Don. Margo was just a bit too pudgy, her hair was frizzy and she had moles
in the most unappetizing of places. Fran, while no prize winner, was at
least quite intelligent and I had a great time talking with her.
There was still absolutely NO excuse for bringing them all back to my
house.
True, my folks were out of town for a week. I had always been such a model
son, never drinking (or getting caught), never taking drugs (or getting
caught), never staying out late without permission (this is true), they
felt I could be trusted. And so pudgy Don and his pudgy date Margo, and
Fran and I ended up on the scratchy shag carpeting of the family room,
frantically kissing, rolling around, wrestling, and basically letting all
of our hormones do the talking.
But if Don was going to start prizing Margo out of her parachute pants, I
didn't want to be there. I scrabbled across the family room to the kitchen,
skidded across the linoleum and collapsed in the living room on the other
side of the house.
Fran was close behind.
Fran's hair was that kind I still hate, unless the woman (or man) knows how
to wear it well. One word -- bangs. I hate them. Hair cut straight across
just above the eyebrows, it's just so Frankenstein. And then it just fell
straight down either side of her flat face. Her face though, now that was
nice. High cheeks, a small but well defined chin, lots of exciting angles
to her face and little exciting freckles and lots of them. No real lips to
speak of, but I was dealing.
"Hello, Kael," she said. She brought her face up to mine and began to
nuzzle at my neck. Her thin lips pursed and kissed just under my chin. She
let her fingers play about my chest and she drew a small line down to my
navel.
"Hiya, Fran," I said, and with trembling fingers I began undoing the
buttons on her short sleeved, plaid patterned, cotton shirt. She kept
kissing me as I freed all of the little buttons. Underneath she was wearing
an adorable, soft cotton bra. I was amused at why someone with no chest to
speak of wore one, but why be insulting?
My lips (I am now very proud of my lips -- they are quite sensual, women
love them, they are neither too thin nor are they too large and slobbery. I
can pout -- if I want to) found one of the shallow ravines of her neck and
I began drawing up toward her ear with my tongue, while also deftly undoing
the latch waiting in the front of her bra. The one hand I wasn't using to
support myself touched her chest just above where her rib cage started. I
was surprised. Her flesh wasn't like any I had ever touched. It was so
soft, it was like tightlypulled cloth.
"Oh, I have waited a long time for this," she whispered.
"Yeah?" I asked. My hand slid up and I carefully drew my thumb across her
left nipple.
"Yeah," she said. "I always knew the two of us would get together like
this." She laid a hand across my thigh and began massaging my leg.
"Oh yeah?" I said. I was honestly, overboardedly infatuated with another
girl. Fran didn't need to know this.
"Yeah," she said, and flipped around suddenly, turning to face me, crouched
as though ready to pounce.
Amazing. If you asked anyone about Fran, the first words might be nerd,
brain, geek. She wrote for the school paper, she was an intellectual, she
had no fashion sense or she didn't care.
Here she sat, her hands on the floor, her knees just behind, the street
lights of that hot June evening came through the windows throwing sexy
shadows and light onto her body, that awful shirt just dangling from either
naked shoulder, her pointed face glaring at me with excitement and hunger,
her neck taught, her chest heaving, two small pale nipples erect and
waiting.
"Let's go upstairs," she said.
I turned and ran, and Fran followed close behind.
***
Whump, she tossed me, flat on my back, onto my parents queen size bed. I
squirmed slightly, wriggling back over the polyester bed cover towards the
headboard to sit up a little. Fran stood at the foot of the bed. It was
real dark, no light in the room, only the stray beams of a suburban
streetlight catching her skinny shoulders and arms as she removed the
dangling, nasty shirt and flung her bitsy bra wherever. She dropped her
face, peering at me in the gloom from under those bangs and began crawling
up on top of me.
She reached for my T-shirt and began to peel it off. I put out a hand to
stop her.
"What?" Fran asked.
"Oh, uh," I said, "I just, uh, leave my shirt on, okay?"
"Hmn," she said, looking down at herself, kneeling over me. I put out my
hands, playing with the soft, soft, almost cotton-like flesh of her arms
and leaned up a bit to touch my tongue to one of her nipples, the left one.
It was soft and salty and she pressed her hands to either side of my head.
I suckled for a few moments before she tried lifting my face up to hers to
give me another one of those...this is way difficult.
Her kisses were so wrong. She didn't know how to press her lips together or
anything, she just didn't have the knack. And I was too immature to take
control of the situation. She knew what she wanted, she wanted me, on my
back, naked and hers and very, very badly. I wanted to fool around, sure,
but it was all getting so confused. I'd never fucked anyone, let alone
engaged in advanced sexual maneuvers with anyone I hadn't been dating for a
few weeks first.
I ducked and kissed her neck instead. She loved that and let me know it.
Her fingers touched the drawstring of my shorts and began fiddling with the
knot. Seconds was all it took, she had successfully loosened them and was
pulling the shorts and my comically precummed underwear, down around my
hips and right on off my legs. My terribly swollen (and also confused)
penis snapped back as the undersized underwear it had been constrained in
and stuck to pulled free leaving it to bob and pulse, its gummy tip resting
against the bottom of my T-shirt.
Fran carelessly tossed my pants aside, gave me a smirk and leaned over my
groin.
"What have we here?" she said.
What have we here? Well, that was a cheesy thing to say.
I peered awkwardly down at the top of her head. She was gently kissing (or
at least pressing her lips against) my penis and using the tip of her
tongue to lick all remnants of precum away. She took long strokes at it,
licking and kissing, and I began to ache horribly. A pain that began deep
within my balls and spread out to the tip of my dick and it just made me
want to curl up and just be left alone for a while, except for that fact
that every time she hammered her tongue against my fleshy underside it all
went away, and the fraction of a second she detached, it slammed back with
even more venomous force.
I wanted to come, very badly, all over her face, only I didn't even know
it. I had never orgasmed in anyone's presence before, I was horrified to
try it.
She threw her head back and looked up at me.
"Please take your shirt off, Kael," Fran said.
Please understand I had a scary case of acne that only affected my chest
and back and virtually (but not completely) avoided my face. I was
understandably sensitive about this, but it was dark, and maybe she
wouldn't notice. I lifted my shirt up over my head and off and flicked it
into a far corner. I was now naked on my parents' bed on hot summers'
evening.
"Should I take my pants off?" Fran asked. What she meant was, 'would you
take my pants off?' and I knew it, so I sat up, reach forward, and undid
her jeans. They came down and off rather simply and there we lay, side by
side, naked and alone, the bedroom window open, letting a light, sticky
breeze flow over our light, sticky bodies.
She placed a hand to the side of my face, and leaned in to kiss me.
"Please, Fran," I said, "Don't."
"What?"
"Look, just don't, uh, don't kiss me. I know it sounds horrible, but, uh,
I'm not like really dating you and," her face began falling fast, "I mean,
I really like you and I like being here," OH, was that a lie, "but I just
find it difficult kissing someone I'm not in love with."
What? What was wrong with me? I just opened my mouth and a turd came out. I
blame it on guilt-ridden Christian upbringing, fear of ridicule, just being
a dork, I dunno. I could have shown her how to kiss, maybe we could have
made love right there, my first time with a girl who truly adored
me...maybe I should just face facts and realize I didn't really like her
that much, our situation was a matter of circumstance and if I weren't so
pathetically horny and fucked up over Michelle I would never have taken
advantage of this parents out of town thing to get someone, ANYONE to pay
attention to me.
"You're kidding," she said.
"I feel very awkward."
"You're being an asshole.
" "I'm sorry," I said, "Here, just lie back, let me pay attention to you
for a while."
"Hmn," she said, and laid back against the slippery bedcover. Her head
rested against the pillows, her hands fell to either side of her slim hips
and she slowly slid her legs apart. I hadn't noticed before how strong a
scent was beginning to come from her -- I was laughing ignorant of how
aroused women can become, I was at that stage of development where it never
dawned on me that girls could actually be more horny than boys could. They
don't have penises, so they can't get erections, so there's no obvious
physical evidence of arousal...unless you happen you have a vagina sitting
right in front of you on your parents' bed, wide open and waiting.
I stared for a moment, and then laid a tentative hand over the tuft of hair
above her sex, and drew my finger down and through the hot, moist folds of
skin. She shuddered slightly and let out a moan that was a little more than
what that unskilled action should have provoked. My middle finger, back and
forth now, I never, shit was Fran, there was just so MUCH liquid there. She
was dripping with the stuff.
"Inside me, Kael, yes, inside me," she breathed.
I shoved my finger up and into her.
"Yes!" she cried, "Yes, Kael!"
I looked up at her face. Her eyes were closed and her head rocked
backwards, arching her chest in the most appealing way, if only --
"Go exploring, Kael," she hummed, "explore, Kael, Just like Indiana Jones!"
Oh, this was just wrong. I don't think I'd ever, nor would I ever, hear
anyone say anything so lame during intimate relations in my life.
"Explore," she uttered, humping my hand, "Explore, like Indiana Jones!"
"Please," I thought, "don't speak." But I'd already told her not to kiss
me, now I was going to demand she not speak? What was I doing there. What
was she doing there?
I finger fucked her for a few minutes. I'd had enough. I'd made a terrible
mistake and needed to get out. My left hand was wet and smelly, I withdrew
my finger and lay down next to her.
"I'm sleepy," I said.
"Wanna take a shower?" she asked. "Play some water sports?"
"Really, Frannie," I said, "I'm not feeling very well now." This was true.
I had a case of blue balls so criminal I just wanted to curl up and die.
"No, Kael," she almost cried, "you can't. Don't do this."
"I'm serious, Fran, I hurt." I pathetically crawled off the bed and started
collecting my clothes. She sat up in bed and stared at me as I crept
around, her whole, pale, shimmering body staring at me with greater
intensity than her eyes could alone. Her young, teenage, lithe and naked
body, a physical incrimination of what I was walking away from, sitting
there, not saying anything.
I put my T-shirt on first.
"Fine," she said, finally, defiantly, not letting me know she was terribly
hurt. "Where shall we sleep?"
"Oh, I, uhh," terrible cramp, "I was gonna go downstairs and see how Don
and Margo are getting on."
"Better than we are, I'm sure," she said.
I slithered out of the room and downstairs. Don and Margo were nowhere to
be found, but the den door was closed. I drew my own conclusions (which
were right) and flopped onto the couch. The discomfort in my crotch had
grown to governmental proportions and I stayed there in a ball for an hour
without getting to sleep. Don and Margo never emerged from the den, and
Fran never came downstairs.
What I thought as I tried to lose consciousness, apart from OH GOD WILL
THIS PAIN AND/OR EMBARRASSMENT EVER STOP was, why couldn't it have been
Michelle? I could have asked her out at the car wash, right? And then she
would have come back here, oh sure, that would have happened, my life
sucks.
My erection had subsided and a I put one hand into my shorts and twitted
around with my little, sticky penis. Blue balls. If only I jacked off or
something this pain would go away, but I didn't know that yet. If I had
only jacked off...or let her satisfy me. And then satisfied her. What was
I, saving myself? Afraid of Hell? Afraid the other kids would find out I'd
been messing around with dorky Fran? That was probably closest to the
truth. I promised myself I would never, ever, ever get into a situation
like this ever, ever again.
At least, not without coming first.
--
"Kael's Diary" is copyright 1994 Millennium Productions and is reprinted
here by permission.
Author: Kael Goodman (at745@cleveland.freenet.edu)
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Title: Kael's Diary: February, 1987
<Author's Note: this is one chapter in my on-going sexual self
examination. Theoretically each part should stand on its own and their
chronological order is irrelevant.
"Kael's Diary" is a work of fiction and the people and situations
described herein and from the imagination of its author. Any similarity
to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.>
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Kael's Diary: February, 1987 "She's Crafty"
I was in a bad way, and it wasn't just how I was dressed.
As evenings went for me during the first, bleak months of 1987
(those that followed that last, bleak month of 1986) this one was pretty
good. Everyone in the freshman acting class, or everyone who mattered,
was sitting around MacShaney's Pub, which was the sole domain of the
University of Ohio School of Theatre, or at least it seemed so to us.
There was a very good possibility that if I walked in MacShaney's I
would find someone I knew, and with any luck someone I was on speaking
terms with.
The seriously cool people never went near the place of course,
the juniors and seniors and those uppity grad students, but we weren't
seriously cool, we were freshmen. The most important part of
MacShaney's, apart from the dim lighting and the guy who came in on
Fridays who actually played the piano, besides the rough-cut, worn
smooth wooden beams and the interesting, strange and sometimes downright
frightening photographs of Clemson that dated back to the turn of the
century (two men standing with a cow, a bunch of nurses gathered around
an old man in a wheelchair in front of the insane asylum, that bridge
under which they say someone was found strangled last Halloween, you
know, the year before we arrived) the real reason was because they
served minors.
I was there, with my hair cut short on top but running in
twisting, greasy curls down my neck in that unpleasant white trash
style, a U of O bandanna tied on my head (a do-rag, a Frisbee helmet) a
T-shirt with a flannel shirt over it, and a pair of jeans I had just the
day before splashed bleach on to give them that splotchy look that was
so necessary at the time.
We'd pushed several tables together and it was like a big Viking
meeting hall with all of us drinking and yelling and laughing along this
long brown, heavy wooden table. Wilson was there. We were becoming
really good friends. And Satch, with his long gray trench coat and
those crystal ice-blue eyes, he still weirded me out a little, but boy
could he make me laugh. He was so strange and beautiful. His hair was
darkest brown except for this little swoosh of blond he'd put in at the
part. GOD he was cool. Alexis sat across from me and she, at long
last, I was finding quite interesting.
Alex was a striking girl with this vibrantly red, blood red
hair, it stood on her head, curly and stunning, it fell about her face
and shoulders and framed her orange face. She had beautiful eyes with
the longest, blackest (mascara) eyelashes, a broad Polish nose and a shy
little smile. When she let loose and laughed or really started showing
off she reminded me a lot of Lucille Ball, and it wasn't just the hair,
she could make the funniest faces or play real stupid as a gag.
There was only thing that pissed me off about her. When people
talked about sex, she would say, with a certain amount of pride that she
was a virgin and that she wasn't ashamed of it. It just kind of made me
mad, I had lost mine a few months earlier and it was a wonderful and
perfect -- I resented the idea that I should be ashamed of that or
something.
And Martin was there and Sarah and just everybody, except, of
course, for Barbara. Barbara, the love of my life. Barbara, the
cigarette fiend, the soccer player, the woman I fell in love with at age
twelve and who had recently taught me how to fuck. The only woman I had
ever fucked. And still, now, almost three months after we broke up,
after we had started school here together and I had spent the most
wretched and painful time of my life -- adjusting to college life,
taking way too many courses, missing all of my friends and working so
desperately to save the most important relationship in my life -- still,
she was the only woman I thought of or desired. Yes, I was looking
around, I was on the rebound and struggling to not seem to pathetic, but
if Barbara had said the word, just given me a call, and I would have
forgiven everything.
"Isn't our improv class exciting?" Alex said, smiling with huge
teeth, "have you heard what the final exam is like?"
"Yes, and who cares?" Satch said, slowly and mysteriously, the
way he liked to, "has anyone given a thought to putting on an hour of
club improv?"
"Oh you mean funny stuff," I said, setting down my drink. A
Sloe Gin Fizz. I'd just discovered it. It was really sweet and sticky.
"I used to do some of that in high school. I started my own troupe."
"Really, Kael?" Alex asked, visibly impressed.
"We were awful," I said, "Comically unfunny."
"That's great," Satch said, meaning it wasn't, "Teacher says if
we want to we can get around all the usual bureaucratic nonsense of
getting a space and signing up for time by staging an improv show as
though it were an additional project, like an extra credit project for
class."
"Brilliant!" I said.
Alex touched my hand and spoke lowly to me to draw my attention
away from the conversation Satch continued with Martin, Wilson and
Sarah.
"You know, Kael," she said, "I wish I were as active in theater
as you were in high school. I was just in the regular shows -- you seem
to know so much already about doing outside projects. And there's so
much we could do here at college, I just don't know if I can handle it
all!"
"Oh," I said, raising my eyebrows. Where did that come from?
What do I say? "Well, uh, thanks, I guess. You know Alex...can I tell
you something?"
"Of course."
"I really think you're the most talented girl in our class." It
might not have been saying much, but at least it was true.
"Well, thank you Kael."
"I'm serious -- hey, you know what one of my other projects is?"
"No, what?"
"I'm a dee jay."
"No way!"
"Yes," I said, "I do a little show on the campus radio station,
Saturdays from twelve till two. Me and a friend host it."
Alex cocked her head slightly and gave me a curious smile.
"You're pretty smart, Kael."
"Oh," I said, "how's that?"
"Well, everyone in our class is up in arms about how we're not
allowed to do any shows until we're sophomores, and you went out and
found a way to perform every week, on the radio!"
"I never thought of it like that," I said. "Hey, you wanna do
me a big favor?"
"Anything."
"Well, my co-host went home for the weekend, I was wondering if
you wouldn't want to sit in for her."
Alex sat back and gave me a big, open mouthed, you are
incredible smile. "Oh, Kael! Really?"
"Hey, it's no big deal, it'll be fun."
"I'll be so nervous!"
"Well, I don't want to cheapen it but nobody listens to the
campus station, do you?"
"Well, no," she said.
"So it's really no big deal -- look, I'll meet you at the
cafeteria tomorrow morning at ten, and we can walk from there."
"It's a date," she said.
"Hi, Kael," came a familiar stuffed up voice from over my
shoulder. I turned in my heavy wooden chair to see Barbara? No, just
her hair -- a short, black, boyish haircut on anyone's face made me see
Barbara first. It was Carolyn. Her hair was dyed that color, she liked
to wear army boots and funky cats-eye glasses, she was progressive as
they say, she listened to all of those moody sounding Euro-groups I just
couldn't get into.
"What a coincidence," I said, "Alex, this is Carolyn, she's the
programming director for WUOR."
"A pleasure to meet you," Alex said sweetly.
"Hi," Carolyn said, "is this seat taken?" and she gestured to
the empty one to my right.
"No," I said, "please, sit down."
Carolyn looked odd tonight. Oh, it was because she was wearing
a nice shirt, a button down shirt and a skinny tie. Her face was a bit
mottled, like stucco -- she had a lot of acne scarring, but she was so
mysterious it was attractive. A tomboy, and I had learned a long time
ago that girls who dress like boys love to mess around more than girls
who don't.
"Carolyn's a senior," I informed Alex.
"What are you majoring in?" Alex asked her.
"Well, it was Inco but I switched over to the Communications
department so I should be here for a fifth or maybe a sixth year." She
pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her big ugly bag.
"Same old story, I guess," I said. I don't know anyone who
graduated in four years.
"Hmn," Alex said, "what do you call someone who is taking a
fifth year?"
"A fifth year student," Carolyn said a little brusquely. "Kael;
have you given any thought to those promotional tapes you said you were
interested in making for the station?"
"Oh," I said, "uhm, yes, a little bit."
"I'd like to assist you," Carolyn said, lighting up her
cigarette, "seeing as it's your first time."
"Well, sure," I said, "thanks."
"Not at all," she said, "besides, I think you're cute."
"Kael," Alex said, derailing the train of thought Carolyn's
unexpected observation put me on, "ten o'clock is real early and it's
very late now, would you mind walking me home?"
"Oh," I said and looked at my watch. It was a cheap digital
number my grandfather had given me for my eighteenth birthday. It read
1:15 AM "Yikes, it is late, sure I'd --"
"Hey you live on the South Quad, right?" Carolyn asked, blowing
out a long stream of smoke.
"Uhm, yeah," I said.
"Then you can walk me home, too."
***
The three of us trudged across campus through snow and ice and
bitter cold. South Quad was located the furthest from town of all the
dormitory clusters and took about twenty minutes to get to. I huddled
my army jacket close to my body. I was used to dressing warmly at home,
but not for extended periods outdoors and I was always forgetting how
cold it got at night. Alex had a long, beautiful black coat, she always
dressed so snazzy before she went out, even for just a drink. Carolyn
wore a long tweed trench coat, probably bought at a second hand store.
We approached the first row of residence halls, the freshman row. Alex
lived in the one next to mine.
"Well," Alex said, "this is where I get off."
"Heh," chuckled Carolyn.
"See you tomorrow," I said, "for breakfast."
"I can't wait," she said, walking over and giving me a big hug,
"this is so exciting!" and then she kissed me on the mouth. It was the
first time she'd ever done that. As we parted I gave her a big smile.
"Yeah," I said, "it is exciting. I'll see you tomorrow." And
with that she walked off to her dorm.
Carolyn's place was further back, near the river. I stopped as
we approached.
"Here you are," I said.
"Oh," she said, turning to face me, "would you like to come up?"
"Uh," I said. I hadn't thought of it, and it struck me as kind
of a strange thing to offer. I knew what it probably meant, but just
couldn't believe it, that had never happened to me, and it didn't make
sense to be happening now, I mean we barely knew each other. "Sure."
She smiled at me from the corner of her mouth, a slight squint
in her eyes. Strange mouth, her lips were rather fat and protruded a
bit from her face. She swung open the great metal doors to the first
floor of this college building and we rode the elevator to her place on
the fourth floor.
***
A single. A small room, cramped and small. A bed, a desk,
built in drawers that overflowed with clothes, the space in front of the
huge mirror the university provided was positively cluttered with
make-up, appliances, personal items -- it was built just like mine, it
was on the same quad after all, but this was a single. It was half the
size of the room I and my stoner roommate, Rod shared, maybe even
smaller. It was the most disorganized and messy room I'd ever seen a
woman maintain. And she was a senior, I guess she was twenty-one then,
and living on campus. I hoped I wasn't still living on campus when I
was her age.
The English progressive band "The Smiths" stood on one wall,
leering at me, chastising me that meat was murder. Another huge poster,
this one of their lead singer was pasted to the opposite wall, by the
door, he was posing severely, his shirt off, he had a hand to his head
and was pursing his lips at me. There were other posters, too, lots of
them, mostly pertaining to music or social functions which featured
music.
The only chair in the room, the one at her desk, was heaped with
dirty clothes and so the two of us were squatting on her bed, talking
about things, smoking cigarettes (which still made me woozy) and it was
getting very late.
"I knew your brother, Max," Carolyn told me. She lit up her
fourth cigarette. I hastily stubbed out my second into the University
of Ohio ashtray sitting on the bed between us.
"Oh yeah?" I asked.
"Yeah," she said, "I used to do schlep work over at the tee vee
station and I hung out with him a couple times. He's real cute."
"He is?" I asked. I wasn't being disrespectful or anything, I'd
grown increasingly close to my brother since he graduated from U of O
almost two years earlier, but my image of him was pretty much like my
image of me, just another guy, skinny and geeky, not the type women
notice and bother to say 'he's cute' about.
"You don't have to act so surprised, Kael," she said, "you're
pretty cute, too."
I couldn't believe this. I had only been working with Carolyn
at the station for a little over a quarter now and we had never done
much talking together, a little perhaps, but where was all of this
coming from? It was all so sudden, it seemed obvious where it was going
but I had never even kissed a girl I hadn't known already for a few
months. And now this, and I couldn't help but feel a little more than
insecure and a little less than aroused. The smoke, the speed, the heat
-- it was the dead of winter and the university made sure all of its
charges weren't being left in the cold. The air temperature was
hovering around seventy degrees and I was still a little drunk. My
armpits were damp and my forehead was slick and greasy.
"You think so?" was all I could say.
"Yeah," she said, and smiled warmly. "I've thought you were
pretty cute for a wile now."
"Hmn," I said, "I've been thinking the same thing about you."
Well, this was true. I had. She was short with a boyish black haircut,
like Barbara. But her hair wasn't really black, that was dye, and her
natural pale skin didn't compliment it, and under the fluorescent light
provided by the school, her flesh was even worse -- it wasn't smooth and
velvety like Barbara's, it was scarred and pockmarked and her lips were
puffy and red and looking not a little chapped, standing out brightly
against her sallow face. Her eyes were narrow and dull, not round and
bright like Barbara's. She wasn't what I wanted. No one was, but
Barbara.
"Really?" she asked.
"Yeah."
Hello, uncomfortable silence.
"It's late," I observed.
"Would you like to spend the night?" she asked.
Help.
"Would that be okay?" I asked. I knew she had a boyfriend, or
at least I thought she did.
"You don't mind, do you Kael?" she asked.
Someone tell me what to do.
"Uh, do you have anything I could sleep in?"
She got up and found a pair of cut-off sweats for me, and
excused herself to the communal bathroom to put on her nightgown. I
took off my pants, my shoes, my watch, and slipped into the shorts she
had provided, which were a little too snug and revealing, and so I just
slid into her bed before she came back.
In she came, wearing this incongruous floor length baby girl
nightgown. It had a bow. At first I was shocked by the way it looked
on this hard-core art-type I had come to be acquainted with, but the way
she almost blushed as she saw me look her over, the way it fell about
her shoulders and down her sides, the way I could see now how large and
pendulous her boobs were...
I got an erection. Bam.
This is what I was here for. This is why I was here. This is
why she invited me, and I had to face it, I had not had sex since
November. Since long before Barbara and I had broken up. And I had
never had sex with anyone else.
Carolyn hit the light and got into bed next to me. The lights
from the catwalks outside shone through the one window in her room and
cast a golden glow on the two of us, faint though, no single light cast
its beam directly into her window. I was propped up on a collection of
pillows at the head of her bed. She snuggled into me and looked up into
my face, her eyes round and wet now, reflecting up at me.
"Could I kiss you?" I asked. I was miserable. She nodded
slightly and I touched my mouth to hers. Her kiss was dry and lifeless
and I struck my tongue into her, licking at hers, and she shoved her
tongue into me and we mashed awkwardly, two people trying too soon to
adapt to each other's rhythms. I held her to me and she grunted
appreciatively, sniffling a little bit, I guess she had a cold and
couldn't breathe properly. We kissed little kisses then, each one
ending with an embarrassing "smack" from her, my lips are thin and full,
hers were wide and fat, they didn't fit, they were just so wrong --
Barbara and I kissed perfectly.
I fumbled at the fabric of her nightgown, fiddled with her
large, misshapen breasts. This had to stop, I wasn't enjoying this, I
didn't love this woman, I didn't even know her well enough to know if I
liked her, foreplay and fondling had no joy in it, I just needed to
fuck. I wanted to feel my penis inside of someone, to feel it sliding
inside of something warm and smooth and comfortable, to take away the
pain, if only for just a little while. To forget.
"Can we do it?" I heard myself whisper into her ear.
"You want to?" she asked. I couldn't tell if it was because she
knew what was going on in my head or if she was just making coy bed
talk. I helped myself away and looked her in her face, her not-Barbara
face.
"Yeah," I said with a little smile, "I want to."
"Okay," she said, smiling, and pulled her nightgown out from
under me. I pulled off my shirt, displaying my chest, covered with
large acne boils and sticky bandages holding together the ones which
were open festering sores. My acne was at its worst -- the pressure of
school had caused a eruption and my fallout with Barbara busted me wide
open. I leaned on one hand and worked off her sweatpants and exposed my
swollen and bobbing penis.
She lay back against the mattress, I could see her naked body
below me, all white and glowing in the dim lamplight. She was skinny
but her hips were broad and her pussy was an unshaven raggedy bush of
dark and twisted hair. Not neatly trimmed like Barbara's. Her breasts
were huge, so much so that they were flat against her, spilling out
across her chest and over the sides. I put my mouth to the left one and
kissed her wide, almost invisible nipple. It too was dry and chapped.
Sucking on it seemed like a joke.
I looked up at her. "Would you put me in?" I asked. She
reached down between us and took hold of my dick, pressing it against
the opening of her vagina as I slid forward. I held myself up on my
arms as I pressed on in, her snatch was hot and wet and huge, I passed
through easily, and in a moment fell against her and hugged her close, I
was longing for comfort and this was it, I pumped myself into her hard
and fast, my chest, my Band-Aids mashed into her breasts, my butt
bucking up and back into her groin, my face was stuffed into the pillows
and I groaned and whimpered, the stinging sensations in my dick rising
swift and increasing relentlessly and she squeezed my ass and I felt the
surge burning, swelling up in my balls, in the base of my penis and I
cried and I whimpered and I came, shooting a pathetic dribble of white
stuff into Carolyn.
A minute and a half, tops.
I frumbled myself up and off of her, breathing unevenly. Her
face hid not a drop of disappointment.
"Hmn," she said, sitting up, "impressive."
I lowered my head in shame as she got back into her nightgown
and excused herself back to the bathroom, presumably to wipe off my
little present. I skulked about and located my sleeping outfit and had
them on by the time she returned.
"Do you still want to sleep over?" she asked. It's amazing the
two different connotations 'spend the night' and 'sleep over' have.
"Yes," I said, because I assumed things were bad enough without
my running away like an animal with his limp dick between his legs. She
got back in bed, we said good night, and she fell asleep.
***
I looked at her bedside LED clock. 4:15. I had been lying
awake in Carolyn's bed for over an hour and a half. The heat wouldn't
let me sleep. My emotional distress wouldn't let me sleep. And the one
time I had drifted into a light semi-conscious state, she began smacking
her big fat lips, a kissing noise, accompanied by the word 'muh'. She
did it often, she did it loud. She smooched the air. I gazed
exhaustedly at the poster of Morrisey. I began to feel he was making
kissy faces at me alone, and now I could hear him.
"Muh, muh."
My first one night stand, and it was wretched. This was much
worse than anything, even worse than the time I had led Fran on, leaving
her panting and unsatisfied on my parents' bed. At least then I had
stopped before I had fucked her. At least then I wished I was with a
girl I had a crush on but had never actually been with -- a longing for
something I didn't know of or understand, not like this. Not humiliated
by a woman three years older than me, wishing stupidly for a little
satisfaction like that I had known in the arms and between the legs of a
woman I loved, who loved me.
"Muh, muh, muh."
4:16
***
"Carolyn."
"Mm?"
"Carolyn, I'm going to go, okay?"
"Mm-hm."
"I'll see you at the next station meeting."
Pause.
"Muh, muh."
I crawled over her snoozing and noisy body and pulled my clothes
back on, my pants and different layers of jackets and squinted to make
out the legend on the clock. 5:23. Out of that building and not
looking back, pulling my coat to me to keep out the bitter wind as I
crossed the quad to Freshman Row.
In my room I found my roommate in his bed, his mighty,
dope-induced snoring not nearly as disturbing as Carolyn's disgusting
sleepy time smacks which had tormented me for the past what seemed like
million years. I shed my clothes, peeled my underwear from my still
moist and sticky penis, the guilty reminder of night spent in the tenth
circle of hell, the one meant for premature ejaculators.
I flew like a wraith in the early unfamiliar, unknown and
unusual morning silence of a boys dormitory into the showers to wash
myself clean, to expurgate the stink of disappointed pussy from my
crotch, to wipe the sweat from my brow, to open the puckering sores on
my chest, clean and disinfect the accumulated puss and blood that flowed
like tears from the open wounds before dressing them again, dry and
shivering with a patchwork of fresh bandages in the safety of my own
room.
And then I slept.
***
"Good morning, you're listening to WUOR, Clemson's only
alternative. That was Crowded House with "Don't Dream It's Over".
Before that we heard "I Wish I Had a Date" by Fishbone and started the
whole set off with the Beastie Boys and "She's Crafty". You're
listening to 'Saturday Afternoon with Kael and Cheryl' but it's not
today, is it?"
"No, not today."
"That's right, because this morning I have my good friend Alex
sitting in with me."
"Hello Clemson."
"And you know, forgive me for saying this, but I don't miss
Cheryl at all right now."
"Oh that's sweet," she said, and knowing her she meant it.
Alex and I were seated side by side in front of the operations
board in the small studio that was WUOR. We had our headsets on, a mic
in front of each of us, and had been bantering like this, spinning
records and gadding happily over the air for about an hour, half the
length of the show. My nerves were shattered over breakfast and I tried
desperately not to let her know it. Alex was too excited about being on
the radio to notice, just my luck, and now I was beginning to settle in,
calm down -- I was whipped, a little hung over and only three hours of
sleep to recuperate, but Alex was such a doll and we were having such a
good time, I felt the horrid memories of the night before beginning to
subside.
"Hey Alex."
"Yeah Kael?"
"I'm taking a big risk by asking this over the air."
"Oh."
"Yeah, but it's something I gotta do."
"I understand."
"Alex?"
"Yeah, Kael?"
"You know next Saturday is St. Valentine's Day."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, and I wanted to ask you, in front of all of Clemson, if
you'd be my valentine."
"Oh Kael, I'd love to be."
"We'll be right back."
And with that I started a PSA about how to escape from your dorm
room in case of fire. I swiveled my chair towards the stacks and
rummaged about for another album to play.
"Kael?"
"Yeah, Alex?"
"Did you mean what you said just then?"
I turned around in my seat to look at her. Such an innocent
face, all bright green eyes and freckled. She was so kind and
endearing.
"Yeah," I said, smiling shyly, "did you?"
"Sure," she said, "I'm flattered."
With that the door opened and in walked Carolyn in her hulking
overcoat and with a thick wool scarf wrapped around her neck, obscuring
her chin.
"Hiya Kael," she said, setting down an armful of station mail
and new releases. "How are you this morning?" Her tone was empty, cold
and businesslike.
"Morning, Carolyn," I said, trying hard to stare at the albums
in my hand, "I'm fine, how are you."
"Fine," she said, brushing past me and placing certain pieces of
mail into certain cubbyholes. "Hey, can you meet with me a half hour
before the station meeting tomorrow to go over those promotional ideas?"
"Sure," I said, "that would be fine." I set a new record on
turntable one.
"Cool," Carolyn said, and turned to head out the door. She
stopped right next to me, and set something frighteningly familiar on
the console.
"And here," she said, "last night you forgot your watch."
--
"Kael's Diary" is copyright 1994 Millennium Productions and is reprinted
here by permission.
Author: Kael Goodman (at745@cleveland.freenet.edu)
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Title: Kael's Diary: June, 1989
<Author's Note: this is one chapter in my on-going sexual self
examination. Theoretically each part should stand on its own and their
chronological order is irrelevant.
"Kael's Diary" is a work of fiction and the people and situations
described herein and from the imagination of its author. Any similarity
to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.>
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Kael's Diary: June, 1989 "One of the Millions" part one
It was the strangest apartment.
It was located on High Street in downtown Clemson, Ohio,
home of the University of Ohio, and had been converted out of an
old warehouse. Each apartment in the place was designed
differently. This one opened into a cramped kitchen/lobby area
whose walls did not come together at right angles, but the ceiling
went up about twenty feet. There was a skeletal staircase which
went up to the three separate, tiny bedrooms, none of which had
doors. My two roommates and I had survived an entire school
year together in that tiny place, and none of us would be friends
ever again.
My bedroom was at the far end of the tiny, balcony-like
corridor which overlooked the kitchen below. By the time you
walked around to it, oddly placed steps up and the intermittently
arranged pipework just below the ceiling made a six foot tall guy
like me need to hunch over. I couldn't stand up straight in my own
bedroom.
The room was tiny, tiny, tiny. A desk (which came with the
place and I never sat at) at the far wall seemed to reach half-way to
the ceiling. It's real job was to block out the horrendous amount of
sunlight which would blaze through the industrial size window
which began one inch below the ceiling and ended at the floor.
This same window continued at the top of the ceiling of the "dining
room" (ha ha) right below my room. Having already spent the
previous summer in this place, the summer of 1988, a summer of
extreme heat and drought in the midwest, and with another one
approaching, you would think I would have, somewhere along the
line, put up a sheet or something to keep out the light and give
myself a little privacy. But the window overlooked a parking lot, I
wasn't particularly modest and, hell, you know, the desk did a
pretty good job.
This night, though, the only light coming through that
window was a stream of broken beams cast by the industrial lights
of the parking lot. The light cast unusuals on me, on my
naked chest, and on Vera.
Vera. Vera was thin. Her face was thin. Her nose was
very thin. Her arms were thin. We lay facing each other in bed. It
was possibly three or four in the morning. I kept slipping in and out
of sleep, as I always do when I'm in bed with someone new. But
every time I opened my eyes, hers were already open. Her
forearms were together, her ha, Vera her freshman. The
way we got together is an interesting story in itself. On an ordinary
weekend night (possibly Thursday -- the weekends start earlier at
school) I was in the basement at MacShaney's, where all the
theater students hang out, and Kristie invited me to sit down and
join her.
Kristie was a groovy young woman, also a freshman, she
wore blocky glasses and had a huge toothy smile. Her hair was
bobbed mushroom style, as was the fashion and had a thing for
mustard colored sweaters. I was just getting over my "studious"
phase where I wore nothing but ties, vests, slacks and penny
loafers. Summer was pressing on and I returned to my old
standard of T-shirts and shorts.
"Kael," Kristie said, "this is Vera."
"Hello, Vera," I said, shaking hands with her. She was
dressed very sharply, like she had a meeting to get to or
something. White turtleneck, plaid jacket, BIG shoulder pads, a
skirt, sensible shoes. Her black, black hair was shaved in back
and what was on top swept up and down over her forehead in a
big wave.
"Hello, Kael," she said. "You look very familiar."
"Oh, well, have you seen and shows at the school of
theater, I'm in most of them."
"Ah," she said, visibly unimpressed, "no. Maybe we've just
met before."
"Uh-huh," I said, turning my attention to Kristie, "and how
have you been?"
The conversation turned from bad to worse as I started in
on a few members of the faculty and my fellow students, grousing
about one thing and another -- basically it was the end of a bad
day and I was unloading on my new friend Kristie. Vera, however,
got the distinct impression that I was a complete boner and not
very interesting or amusing.
"...and Thad was being a major weenie at strike yesterday,
he just kept pissing and moaning about one damn thing after
another," I was saying.
"Hmn," Vera said, "don't get much of that around here."
"What?" I asked. "Oh, ha. Yeah, nice, well excuse me, I've
had a rotten week."
"So glad you could share."
I looked to Kristie, who just smiled and shrugged.
"I like your friend," I said.
"Wish I could say the same," Vera said, raising her glass of
beer to her lips.
"You don't know my friend," I snapped, and turned back to
Kristie. "I'm sorry, Kristie. I should go."
"I understand," Kristie said, "Catch you later."
"It was a pleasure," Vera said, smiling sharply and offering
her hand. I shook it, smiling just as bright.
"Maybe someday we can start over," I said. "You know, for
the children."
"Uh-huh."
The very next night I was again in MacShaney's. Bones
and Rudy were playing out, and just my luck Rudy was at the bar,
taking a break from his usual singing cum screaming bullshit and it
was just Bones, who was a very decent guitar player and a modest
singer. I was alone at my table, close to where Bones sat on a
stool, playing an impassioned rendition of "All Along the
Watchtower", which I had especially requested.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was Vera.
"Hi," she said brightly, shaking hands with me, "have we
met? My name is Vera, and you are..?"
"Uh, Kael?"
"Yes, I think we're both friends with Kristie," she took a seat,
"anyway, it's very nice meeting you like this."
"You, too," I said, smiling in spite of myself, "you seem like a
very nice person."
"I am," she said, proudly, "and I think you are, too. What's
that you're drinking?"
And so it went. For some strange reason Vera gave me a
second chance. Maybe I really had amused her or something,
maybe she thought I was cute, I dunno. Kristie, who was also
there, joined us and we three had a pleasant little chat over the
barroom din.
"Well," Vera said after a half hour or so, "it's late, I wanted
to turn in."
"Yeah," Kristie said, "I want to go, too." And with that
Kristie stood up to leave. Vera just sat there and looked at me intently.
"Well," I said, "It was very nice meeting you for the first time
like this, we must do it again."
"Yes," she said, "I think we will." She continued to sit there
and stare at me as Kristie watched us both with interest.
"And you live..?" I asked.
"Thompson Hall."
"Can I walk you both home?"
Vera abruptly stood up and said, "Why yes, that would be
nice."
And I walked them both back through the balmy late-spring
streets of Clemson, past puking frat boys, burrito stands and lots
and lots of bricks. We came at last to their dorm.
"So," I said, "here you are."
"Yes," Vera said, turning her back to the large building and,
again, looking unwavering at me.
"Ookay," Kristie said, "good night, Kael." And with that she
left Vera and I alone.
"May I ask a presumptuous question?" I asked.
"Of course."
"Did you come looking for me tonight?"
"Come looking for you?" she said, innocently, "I only just
met you."
"You know what I mean."
"Yes, I did, and no, I was on a date."
"You were what?" I asked.
"Thad, you know, Thad who you were bad mouthing last
night?"
"Yeah?"
"We just saw a movie and he brought me to MacShaney's
afterwards."
"What!" I gasped. "I saw him there -- you ditched Thad at
MacShaney's?"
"We ditched Thad at MacShaney's, yes."
"Oh, but that's not right!" I almost laughed. "He's going to
think I did it on purpose!"
"Probably," she said.
"Well," I said, "I should be going, you look tired."
"I am," she said. "Thanks for walking me home."
"No biggie."
She stood there, not moving.
"We should get together," I said. "Again."
"Yes," she said, "we should."
She stood there, not moving.
"Can I take you to dinner?" I asked. "Tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow, sure," she said. "Six?"
"Great," I said.
"Great," she said, "see you in the lobby, here, tomorrow, at
six. Goodnight." And with that she suddenly spun around, and
walked into her dorm.
Stunned, I turned slowly to walk away, looking back only
once. "Shit," I said under my breath. "I've been pegged."
But she didn't trust me. Good for her, I guess. It was very
difficult convincing her to spend the night. I laid on top of her on
my bed, in my apartment, kissing little, sharp kisses. Lips touched,
and touched again, small tongue flicker, but mostly lips, hers on
top, mine on top. She had the darkest eyes, and they were so
close to mine, her long, skinny pale arms wrapped around my
neck. Her jacket was on top of the "sun desk" and her thin cotton
turtleneck had no sleeves.
I began pulling at the base of her shirt.
"Oh, Kael," she said, putting a hand on mine, "I don't know."
I looked at her with a little grin and kissed her again.
"I'm very shy," she said.
"Ha!" I said. "Oh please, you are not."
"I don't know."
"It will be," I kissed her pointy nose, "nice."
"Okay," she said, sitting up a little. I sat back. "But I'll
warn you."
"Huh."
"I'm scarred."
"You mean, like, emotionally..?"
"My body."
I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything, I just sat
and smiled. I leaned forward and we kissed again.
"I think you're very beautiful," I said. "You're a very
attractive woman."
She pulled her shirt from out of the waistband of her shorts.
"This might change your mind."
"Impossible."
She pulled up her shirt and drew it over her head. The
light was very dim, the lights from the parking lot making her milky
white skin glow in the dark brighter than her white turtleneck had.
Her waist was narrow, her rib cage, too, she had no breasts to
speak of, her nipples small and round, dark little circles in a
background of snow white.
I couldn't see any scarring to speak of. I leaned forward,
looking alternately at her face and at her chest. I kissed her face
and kissed her neck, and kissed her shoulder. She rolled her
head back and let me kiss right under her chin, and then I began to
see.
A v-shaped portion of her body, beginning an inch or so
below her left nipple, and forming a triangle to the middle of her
neck and over the her left shoulder and down, was a tortured span
of flesh. It wasn't so horrible as she thought it was. Just a
different texture, just not smooth. It wasn't even a different shade.
"Is that a burn?" I asked. She nodded quickly.
I looked up to her face. "You're still beautiful." I reached
down and pulled my T-shirt up and off. "See?" I said. My chest
was a mass of rubbery bumps and lumps, the scarring from
adolescent acne gone horribly awry. "I'm in Braille."
She peered at my chest and touched my scars gently.
"That's nothing," she said.
I drew my hand across her chest. "That's nothing. It
depends on whose opinion you're asking. Now lie down."
She slid back and I moved over her, and rested my lips
gently on her left nipple, licking and sucking. She sighed
appreciably, letting me lick and kiss every little bit of her
frontside.
I nuzzled her navel and drew my tongue in a straight line up her
belly to where the skin began to turn from pale and clear to pale
and damaged, and beyond. I was aroused at the texture on my
tongue, and on my face, kissing, tasting, enjoying her rumpled
epidermis.
We did not have sex that night, she said she wasn't ready
and I secretly wondered if Vera and I would ever be. I didn't think
so.
--
Kael's Diary: June, 1989 "One of the Millions" part two
"Kael?"
The sun was already blazing through the window, the
temperature already starting to rise, very, very fast.
"Kael, are you awake."
My skin was sticky from sleep sweat and the heat coming
from outside. I barely opened my eyes, wasn't even close to
surfacing consciousness. I could just understand it was Vera next
to me, dressed.
"Kael, I have to go."
"Whutimizzit?"
"It's almost nine," she said, "I have a final in three hours I
still need to study for."
"Okay." I rolled over.
"Kael," she said, "would you like to have breakfast? At that
Mexican place or something?"
I had already fallen asleep again.
"Call me when you wake up?"
"Mm-hm."
"Kael?"
***
I was twenty, going on twenty-one. We were just beginning
to enjoy the effects of having a spineless twerp like Bush in the
White House and the gargantuan and ridiculous pre-promotion for
the first Batman movie had swept the nation.
I was, at this last week of my junior year only just beginning
to settle into my fresh outlook on life. The previous fall I suffered
a near nervous breakdown and finally decided suicide wasn't just an
option, but the only sensible option. My whole life I had allowed
forces beyond my control to steer me into whatever situation
seemed like the one I was supposed to follow. Having completely
lost my faith in God, my friends, or the government, and sensing
that life on Earth without Kael Goodman would in the long and the
short of it be more or less like life with him, I realized I needed
to start making reasons for myself to keep plodding away at
existence.
I quit smoking, dropped about twenty-five pounds, grew my
hair VERY long, and started becoming "Kael, the boy every girl
loves", or "the boy who loves every girl", that was more like it.
One woman I had loved, and then almost punched in the
face at the depth of my fall 1988 doldrums, was Alex. We had
dated all through sophomore year (I was the first man she had
ever had sex with) but I was far too immature to sustain the
relationship, opting rather to flit about and kiss any girl who said
"yes" if I asked them to. I'd like to think I broke Alex's heart.
We didn't talk all winter, and we only just started settling
into what I presumed to be the nature of our relationship for the
rest of eternity, the ex-boyfriend/girlfriend who become just good
friends thing. That would be okay. The idea of making enemies
with someone so unconcerned and endearing as Alex would have
definitely said something about me.
***
I woke up a few hours later. The temperature inside had
risen to about seventy-five degrees and I felt deathly and gross.
My body was slick with sweat and my hair was pasted onto my
head.
Summer in Clemson, Ohio. I would be spending it here
again, working on the summer theater program, listening to De La
Soul's first album, the latest release by XTC ("Oranges and
Lemons") and Peter Gabriel's soundtrack from "The Last
Temptation of Christ" which had just come out.
I slid out of bed and harrumphed into the shower. My two
roommates were all through with finals and long gone, thank god,
and so I could traipse around the place more or less at ease.
Mine, all mine, for a few more days. I had already signed a lease
on a single apartment around to corner, a cramped basement pad,
just perfect for one single guy, and where I planned to spend the
rest of my college education, alone, at peace, and with the
occasional (well, no doubt more than occasional) nocturnal visitor.
Where to go, what to do? I had already taken my last final,
closed the last show, the next week was just playtime until the
summer session began. I stepped out onto High Street, combed
and cleaned, around noon, it was a bright shine, shiny bright day.
Where to go, what to do.
I walked up the street, saying "hi" to the people I knew, who
were plentiful. Taking a left up Mentor Street I came to a huge
early-twentieth century house, huge for student-rental shack-type
houses, anyway. It was two-stories, symmetrical, and even had a
front porch that wrapped around the front and went half the
distance to the rear of the house. That porch, and the rest of the
building was divided in two, however, and two separate sets of
tenants lived on either side. I knew all of them. One side for the
boys, one side for the girls. All eight of them were theater
students.
Some of them had been dating when the lease was signed, but
now none of them were. We (the entire rest of the theater
department) has christened it "Theatre Hell" way back in
September. I wasn't the only one who had had a rough year.
"Hallo?" I said, calling through the open wooden door. The
front room of the right half, the girls' half of the building,
formerly a memorial to the likes of James Dean, Jimmy Stewart and Charles
Chaplin, was strewn with boxes and paper and trash. Two had
already moved out.
"Just a minute," a voice called from around an odd angled
corner. A moment later Betts stepped out from the bathroom in a
white, terry-cloth robe and toweling what was now her very, very
short blonde hair. "Oh, hi Kael."
"Hey Betts," I said, stepping further into the front room. "My
god, your hair. It's gone!"
"Yeah," she said, wincing a little and pulling down a strand
and having it end before she expected it to. "It's a new thing."
"I love it," I said. "I can't tell you, it just brings out your
face."
"Thanks," she said. She walked back towards the kitchen.
A swing like my back porch. "Want some tea?"
"Hmn? Oh, love some. You'll be here all summer?"
"All summer, I'm moving into Sally's old place." She
banged about with a kettle in the sink and I heard water running.
"Hey, that's across the street from my new place."
"Yeah, I guess we're going to be seeing a lot of each
other."
I paused for what I felt was the proper amount of time to
insinuate something and said, "Yeah." And with that Alex bounded
down the stairs.
"I thought that was you, Kael, hi honey."
She could have knocked me over with a breath. Her hair,
which had been long and curly even since I met her three years
before, and now it was a short cut reaching just below her chin,
and straight and encircled her round, freckled face like a shocking
red oval picture frame. She bounced over and gave me a big hug.
I breathed in deeply. With Alex I could never tell whether I was
going to receive the freshest intake of bathroom oils and powders
or a good whiff of natural body odor, and either one was always a
turn on. When we parted she leaned in and gave me a little kiss
which lasted just a moment longer than either of us had expected.
"Uh-huh," she said, her face just inches from mine, her
long, wide nose moving in to touch mine.
"Your tea's ready," Betts said, walking in from the kitchen.
"Oh, thanks," I said, disengaging myself from Alex and
receiving the steaming mug Betts was offering me. I turned back to
face my old girlfriend. "So what, did you two go out together on
this short hair thing or what?"
"Oh," she said, grabbing a large handful of her fluorescent
red hair, "no, well, maybe she inspired me. Whaddaya think?"
"It's incredible," I sputtered, "it just takes some getting used
to."
I put a hand out and ran my fingers through her hair. Alex's
hair was so red, red, red, red, redder than any redhead I've ever
known, and I've known a lot of redheads. And thick. Thick red
hair. And now short and straight. Way twenties.
"Wanna come into my room and watch me pack?" Alex asked.
"Yes," I said, "that's what I wanted to do today."
***
I lay on Alex's bed on my back. My head was propped
slightly by a pillow. She crouched next to me, kneeling on the
floor, her prominent chin resting on her folded, freckled forearms.
"Wanna know a secret?" Alex asked, poking me in the belly
with one free finger.
"Yes."
"Betts told me she was looking forward to seeing a lot of
you this summer."
"What!" I couldn't believe it. That was just great! Now I
knew it was going to be a good summer. "Oh, you're kidding."
"It's true."
"Well, I'm going to have to ask her over for dinner at my
new swinging bachelor's pad."
"Yeah?"
"Yes," I said, "in fact, I'll ask her before I leave this
building."
"Yeah," she said, "probably the last time you see in the
inside of Theater Hell."
"You knew we called it that?"
"Oh come on, Kael, everybody knew."
"Hmn."
"I'll miss it," she said.
"I'll miss you," I said, taking her hand in mine. Alex's skin.
Definite, distinctive texture, like soft leather. It was like that
all over her body. Rough? No, soft but very textured. Soft leather.
And firm.
"Aw," she said, smiling brightly. Big thick eyelashes,
normally sporting mascara, now light orange, almost colorless, big,
thin smile, soft lips. She loved it when people said stuff like that.
"Really?"
"It's been a shitty year, Alex," I said.
"Huh," she chuffed, "don't I know it."
"Well," I said, "this is nice. I feel we've overcome some
tremendous obstacle. And that we're, stronger now, because of it."
"Hmn." She peered down along my outstretched body.
"Kael!" she said, looking up at me sharply. "Do you have an
erection?"
"Alex, sweetheart, I have had a woodie since late last night
that I have not been able to get rid of."
"Oh my," she said, rather mock taken aback.
"Alex."
"Kael."
"Are you my friend?"
"I like to think that I am."
"Would you do anything for me?"
She paused. Rather matter of factly she asked, "Kael, do
you want me to give you a blow job."
"Alex, I want you to give me THE blow job," I said, "like no
blow job I have ever received."
"You're serious."
"Toot me."
"Well," she said, sitting up on the floor, "you're just going to
have to take your pants off first."
I undid the drawstring to my shorts, lifted up my hips, and
drew my shorts and underpants right off. My penis, quite swollen
and stiff wobbled against my belly.
"Oh, Kael," she said, "that's big."
"Eh," I said, non-committally.
Alex crawled up onto the bed, and straddled my legs,
facing me. With a knowing smile she laid her delicate fingers on
my dick, pointed it up towards her face, and lowered her mouth
onto it. My entire penis disappeared under her nose.
"Holy fuck," I gasped, as Alex's tongue hammered against
the spongy underside of my cock. The muscles in the back of her
mouth and throat clenched against the dome of my dick and
pushed it out and away as her lips closed tightly around every
slippery inch of my loose penis-flesh. In and out she took me like
some tasty dicksicle.
"Wait, wait, wait," I poofed. She let my spit-soaked penis
relax for a moment. I took a breath and said, "well, I can see
you've learned a few things in the last year."
"I had a great teacher," she said, and moved up onto top of
me.
"Ouch," I said, "you mean I wasn't?"
"Oh, you taught me the basics."
"I taught you how to love."
"Ha!" she said, rolling off and next to me. "You did not
teach me that." I scooted onto my side so we faced each other, her
back against the wall next to the bed. We kissed. We kissed
again.
"Wanna do it?" I asked.
"Kael!" she smiled. "Is that what you came over here for?"
"That's why I go anywhere."
"Hmn."
"You're going today, right?"
"Tonight."
"It's been a long year," I said, "for us, I mean. It might be a
nice way of saying 'see you next fall.'"
She sat up and moved to get off the bed. "Wait here," she
said.
"What?"
"And take your shirt off."
Alex walked out of the room. Hmn. I took my T-shirt off and
plopped it next to the bed. I rolled onto my back. Christ, it was so
hot outside, and it was only June. The window on the far wall was
wide open and a warm breeze blew through the room and over my
naked body.
One moment, then Alex stepped in, slowly, looking out from
the side of her recently cut hair, peering at me. She smiled with a
little anticipation, my gaze dropping down to her wildly freckled
shoulders, great spots of orange on a light, light pink background.
A dazzling pattern of speckled skin, the orange dots becoming
smaller and smaller, giving way to just that imperceptible shade of
pink as her chest began to swell into those two large breasts, all
pink, no freckles, her shoulders back her breasts stood straight out,
two deep pink nipples hard and excited. Down, a well-defined
tummy, neither skinny nor chubby, her waist came in and her hips
went out, her belly-button beginning a trail of wispy red hair which
traveled down her belly to a stunning shock of red. That tuft of red
hair, standing straight up like some fright wig. I could smell her
from here, no perfume today, moving day, she smelled bad and it
just made me harder.
She giggled a little, standing there by the doorway.
"Oh, Alex," I said, "sometimes I forget how beautiful you
are." Alex smiled broadly and bit her lip. She strode over and
flopped on top of me.
"Oof," I said.
"Oof you," she said, pressing her lips hard against mine,
ramming her tongue innocently between my teeth. I'll never know
how anyone could innocently ram anything, but she could. I slid
my hands over her hips, worked one over a thigh, bucked and
rolled swiftly, bringing her up on top of me, both broad, orange
spangled legs straddling mine, her bright red vagina resting just
where my balls become my penis.
"Whoop!" she said. It looked really funny, like my dick was
actually hers, only upside down. "We never did it with me on top."
"We tried, remember? You couldn't get the hang of it."
"I couldn't?"
"Trust me."
She slipped her right hand down between her legs, lifted
her hips slightly, and tucked my penis neatly into her. Her cunt,
warm, wet, smelly as hell, she lowered herself slowly, very, very,
way, fucking slowly onto me. I let out an equally slow breath. Alex
fixed me with those huge eyes, those long translucent lashes, and
grinned wickedly. Her knees, bent under her, each hand placed
firmly on the bed on either side of my head, she rocked her pelvis
up and back, up and back, slowly, red vagina lips, sliding up and
down me, catching at the odd moment, gripping suddenly and
releasing. The muscles of my back tightened, my feet digging into
the mattress, I lifted my butt, rolling my hips, I couldn't help it,
my penis had never been THIS hard -- I always got a little softer
whenever I went in, my cock got even harder, the feelings
intensified, my penis HURT with sensation, my hands gripped her
hips just below her sloping waist and I began forcing her to pick up
speed, my penis was soaked, thrusting up and in, and out almost
to the point of exiting and then slamming back in, thudding against
the back of her snatch, we were rocking now, oh yeah, and I
couldn't stop if the house caught fire.
"Oh, Kael," she breathed, "I want you on top."
"You sure?" I choked. "This isn't good?"
"Oh, this is great," she laughed and sobbed. "But please."
She leaned over and kissed me. I pulled out, ducked under her as
she rolled onto her back, freckled legs lying wide open, her bright
red vagina, moist and pungent, her own fluids already out and
coating that crimson mound of hair. I kneeled between her legs
and brought my mouth down over one of her breasts, biting and
sucking while firmly kneading the other.
"Oh," she sighed, "forget that Kael, just fuck me."
Whoomp, my cock like some great, comic horn, I slished my
penis in her fragrant gates. Wham, I began pronging her like I had
never done for anyone ever before. Anyone. Ever. I was truly
astonished at my own dick. It was stiff and painful and glorious,
and it did't feel as though I would ever be soft again, or that I
would even come for that matter. Who cared? Who'd want this to
end? I was so in love at that moment. Propped up over Alex's
beautiful face. I bent in and awkwardly kissed her, chewed on her
little ears, she panted and gasped as I swung myself into to her,
again, again.
"Huhnn," I said, "hey, huh, Alex?"
Her eyes rolled up into her head, her head rolled back into
the pillow. Her mouth fell open. "Mmm, yeah, Kael?"
"I love you, Alex."
"Mmm, I love you, too, Kael."
"No," I said, laughing, "you don't get it. Hm, hmn, hm. I am
so in love with you right now."
I lowered my body a bit and grabbed onto her shoulders. I
kissed her cheek and buried my head in her neck. Wham, wham,
wham.
She groaned even louder. "I know what you mean," she
guffed, "and I mean it, too. Now shut, huh, up, I'm just about to
come all over you."
I laughed out loud, leaned back up on my arms and kept
fucking. I could see every tooth in her mouth, her head was so far
back and her chin almost touched her chest -- and she exploded.
She yelled and shuddered and bucked for a solid minute or more,
and I didn't let up.
"Stop, stop!" she yelled. "You must stop!"
So I did. I stopped. I withdrew. I lay beside her and kissed
her face and pulled her body to me.
"Oh my god, Kael, that was wonderful."
"Yeah," I said, kissing her eyelids.
"I'm sorry, you didn't get to finish."
"Funny," I said, "that's okay."
"Really?"
"Yeah, I don't need to. I just wanted to make you happy."
Wow, but doesn't that sound like bullshit. But it was true,
and she could tell, and she smiled and rubbed herself against me.
Odd. I had spent the last few days hanging out with Vera, a
woman I kind of liked but who wouldn't have sex with me. I was
dying to spurt into something other than Kleenex, but I just
couldn't. All I wanted to do was watch Alex go ballistic with
ecstasy, and, of course, to love me. I think that was it. I just
needed every god damn woman in the world to fucking adore me
that spring. And I was well on my way.
I put on my clothes, and Alex put on hers. She told me
about the big end-of-the-year party that was going on in the other
side, the "boys" side of the house that night and that I had better
show up. I promised I would. Letting myself out I passed Betts in
the front room.
"Be seeing you, Kael," she said.
"Yeah, hey Betts," I said, "all summer, right?"
"Uh-huh," she said, "I'm designing costumes for the show."
"You said. I'm designing props, You wanna get together
for dinner sometime?"
"Yeah," she said, showing me those huge teeth, "we should
sometime."
"Monday too soon?"
"Ha, no, Monday's great."
"Great," I said. "See you tonight. At the party."
"See ya then," she said.
And with that I stepped out into the blinding afternoon. A
party. Tonight. And nothing to do until then. Where to go, what to
do, who to see next?
--
Kael's Diary: June, 1989 "One of the Millions" part three
Successfully, I emerged on the other end of a long, oppressively
hot Clemson day. Since that point in the afternoon when I had
left Alex, sticky and satisfied, I spent most of my time darting
in and out of ridiculously air-conditioned establishments. Later
in the summer of 1989 the median temperature was around sixty,
but this day in June suggested it was going to be as unbearable a
season as the summer of 1988 had been, that summer of record
temps and horrible drought.
I recalled that past summer, before Quintel had moved in and it
was just me and Nancy in that strange, strange, Escher painting
of an apartment. Both Nancy and I had signed up for the same film
criticism class (summer session is not a time for physics
courses, thank you) and we would drag ourselves out of our beds
at eight, the thermometer already pushing eighty, the friendly
sun already painting my room and most of the rest of the place,
and venture bravely into the early morning heat haze. And every
day we would breathe a sigh of relief to dip into the cool
surroundings of the film arts building. Into our chairs we would
slide, all ready to enjoy "La Strada" or whatever classic in
cozy, chilly surroundings. And every day, about twenty minutes
into the flick, our skin, only a half hour previously slick and
gross now goose pimply and shivering. We never learned. We
earned, deserved pneumonia.
But this day, the sun had gone down, and it was nice, nice,
seventy degrees nice, and I was headed for Theatre Hell; Boys
Side, for there was a party going on, and I would be, oh, a fool
to miss it.
If Theatre Hell; Girls Side was a testament to the stereotypical
whims of college females; cleanliness, potpourri and shrines to
dead or nearly dead film stars in their prime, then Boys Side was
just as predicable, and even moreso.
It was dank. It was moodily lit. It was woody. You stepped in the
front door, and even in broad daylight, you could only see a few
feet in front of you, in the front hall, the banister ran up to
nowhere, walls ran up into total darkness, it felt cramped and
claustrophobic, except the corners and where the floor met the
wall seemed to go on forever.
And once you reached the end of the hall and stumbled upon the
sitting room -- pretension met utter slovenliness. Large,
overstuffed chairs and couches, stuffed to the point of
splitting, and some already had, a pipe in an ashtray, decanters
of brandy and cognac (some actually half full) sitting up or
falling over, half read, dog eared books and magazines, posters
for George Romero films, and absolutely everything, everywhere
one looked, was a uniform shade of brown.
I passed safely through all of this, I knew my way around, I was
a regular.
"Hello! Hi! Tomorrow? I guess I'll see you next fall.
Congratulations! Tell her I said hi. Damn you look good. Yeah, it
is dark in here. What the hell is he doing? Great. Excuse me, I
need to get to the fridge."
I shook hands with everyone I knew, who was everyone, and the
place was stuffed. Semi-tasteful classical music played and I
shuffled my way to the kitchen and over to the refrigerator. In
went a six of cheap beer, out came a sparkling wine cooler, that
seemed like a fair trade.
Half past ten, the horizon had cleared the sun almost forty-five
minutes earlier. No lights came through the cracked window panes,
not even from the neighboring houses. The crowd was thick in that
tiny little place; practically everyone who was left before
finals were over had been invited, and they weren't many, but
they were all there. They were all friends and close
acquaintances, and those I didn't like weren't important enough
to leave the room over.
I took a seat in one nasty Naugahyde chair (brown).
"What's up, Kael?" someone asked.
"Oh, nothing," I said. "When are you taking off?"
"Tomorrow."
"Me too," someone else said.
"Hey, where's Vera?" someone else asked. I looked over and saw
Thad coming into view. Oh, oh, Thaddeus. One year older than me,
and a year behind in studies, he'd transferred in from somewhere.
The first time I met him I loathed him. The first time I saw him
was on stage, he was in one of the first one acts of the fall
season and I had to admit he was funny. It was him and Laura in
this piece, I can't remember what it was, some wedding slash
comedy slash horror thing. We were in a make-up class (I mean, a
class in the instruction of how to apply make-up for theatrical
purposes, not, as you may have thought, a make-up class for
something missed or failed) and we learned early on that we were
each ridiculously fond of ourselves and prone to wit and insults.
He proved an easier target of course, standing a few inches
shorter than me (and a lot of people, for that matter) had a
premature bald spot on top of his head, and, of course, just
wasn't as clever as I was. Am.
"Oh, God, Thad," I said, rising to meet him. "Give me a hug you
great, black bastard." He strode over, laughing, and threw the
arm not bearing a bag of presumable alcoholables around my neck.
"Kael, you beautiful prick," he chuckled.
"I had no idea," I said, as we parted. "She came up to me, if I
had known..."
"Oh, forget it," he said. "We weren't getting on very well,
anyway. Have her."
"I don't think she's one for being had, Thaddeus." I waggled my
bottle at him. "Shame on you and your little sexist mouth."
"Bless you and your little sexy mouth," he said, and backed
towards the kitchen. I smooched his way, and he smooched back. I
sat back down.
Sitting on the floor, holding a beer, in front of the couch next
to my naugathrone, was Marge. She was one of Kristie and Vera's
quiet friends. She had also been the costume designer for a play
I had written and directed that quarter. Her head was a mop of
dirty orange hair and she had a round face with tiny little eyes
and liked to wear huge round glasses. Would comparing her to
Thelma from Scooby Doo be an insult? I don't mean it to be. Her
posture was always a little droopy, and she had a thing for army
fatigues.
Tonight however, there she sat. Someone I had never even really
talked to before. Tonight, she was wearing a black halter top,
black stretchy-kind of sweat pants, and some leather slip-on
shoes.
"Hello, Marge," I said.
"Hiya, Kael," she said. I was given the impression the beer in
her hand wasn't the first on that had been there that evening.
"How have you been?"
"Great, Kael," she said, smiling up at me.
"Making all gone with your finals?"
"All gone."
"Then you," I said, "deserve a horribly indulgent back rub."
"Oh, yes I do," she said, and scooted over between my feet on the
floor.
My long, thin, lithe, white fingers came to life on Marge's neck
and shoulders, working loose any last tensions of her freshman
year at the University of Ohio. A small knot of flesh, a bundle
of nerves, I would use the very tips of my fingers, working
several of them in rhythm like I was writing on the world's
smallest typewriter, and that knot, that bundle would gradually
disappear, and Marge's little gasps or grumbles of pain would
drift into sighs and coos of relief. And then I'd do it again
somewhere else.
Marge. Her eyes closed, her jaw slack. What went on inside that
head? So quiet, such a cipher. We didn't speak much, as I rubbed
and kneaded I was talking mostly to other people, the musical
tastes of the tenants of the house (albums by Tangerine Dream)
gave way to the auditory desires of the rest of us (Bob Mould's
new solo album "Workbook") and we all drank and reminisced and my
hands were getting kind of tired, I had already taken care of
most of Marge's back and was ready to take a break --
-- when the lights went out.
"Awwwwww," came the collective sigh of mock pity from practically
every corner of the house. There shortly followed a series of
whoops and giggles.
"Ah, SHIT!" I heard Jack call from the kitchen. Jack was one of
the fellahs who lived there, so it was his right to yell that. He
and some others began scurrying in and out of the sitting room,
looking for, finding, and then lighting and placing various
candles.
I, discovering some strange, newfound enthusiasm for my task,
continued to massage Marge's back. I had decided to concentrate
on the lower part, the "small" as they say of her back. My hands,
next to each other, facing out, down between my calves, plunging
those mighty fingertips into the flesh just above her behind,
where the muscles get seriously tense. I pulled up her shirt a
little and laid my naked fingers against her bare back, down
there. As I continued to work my hands, the motion became less
and less of a sincere attempt to loosen aching muscles and
relieve tension, and more and more of a soothing rub meant to
make the receiver feel...well, it's only to feel good, isn't it?
The room was virtually light free. A few candles burned in
various places, casting an odd, active glow on anything close to
them, but not too much light on anything further away. All
attempts to locate the problem or rectify the situation seemed to
reach a standstill. The lights were out, who cared?
Sparse conversation, people moving in and out of darkened
doorways, no music just the soft, late-night sounds of a deserted
college town street wafting through the opened, shattered window.
I can't recall what anyone said. I don't really remember anyone
speaking to me. I certainly can't think of anything I said to
Marge, or she to me, all I know is we sat there in that crowded,
balmy, cave-like room, and I put my hands all over her back, she
leaned forwards for me, sat back as I worked up her neck,
balancing her head, scritching through her scalp, her head came
to rest, bent backward, into my lap, and I smoothed out her face,
pulling back her hair, working out the greasy flesh of her (for
the first time, to me) revealed forehead, and drew my thumbs
across her eyebrows and across her cheeks, and then down her
lips, carefully touching and stretching every square inch of her
face, the line of her little chin, and then, bringing her slowly,
so slowly, over minutes of time, she was sitting again, she was
getting quite used to my touch, and trusting me more and more,
(people were seated on a couch close by, but neither of us had
said anything to them in almost fifteen minutes, and Alex had
already been through and gone, I must have said hello, and Thad,
like we give a shit, right kids?) and her head lolled forward
again and my fingers dwelt on her shoulders pressing in and
relaxing her even further (did I stop to drink some more? I must
have) and down my hands went working free the unexplored muscles
of her chest and both hands pressed onward, sliding both palms
over her breasts and squeezed them lightly and cupped my hands
around them and let my fingers lift them up, and index finger and
thumb now gently discovering each small nipple beneath the black
cotton cloth and there I played for a moment, just casually
feeling up Marge in that room full of friends, in the dark.
An hour gone past, the lights were still out, and word had come
through that it was in fact a fuse in the house and not the whole
street that was out. No one, however, could be bothered to fix
it.
My hands came to rest on Marge's shoulders. I leaned my face
close to her ear, and could see her eyes were closed.
"Marge?" I whispered.
"Mm-hm," she said, in that marginally conscious manner.
"I didn't lose you did I?"
"Nope," she said, "Thank you, I am just very, very, very
relaxed."
"That was all right, then?"
"Yes," she smiled, "thank you very much."
"Marge," I said, "it's kinda late, you wanna go?"
"Yes," she said, craning to look up at me with those little eyes.
"You'll walk me to my dorm?"
"I was going to ask if you didn't want to watch Christmas
specials back at my place."
"Oh, yes," she said, "I'd like that."
Twelve-thirty in the A.M. Deep within the demented apartment, the
architect's house of pain, was this "room". It had four walls, oh
sure, but they didn't come together at right angles. One of them
was so short it was practically triangular. And small. The 19
inch television sat on a wee table against one wall and Marge and
I sat on a horrid green couch against the opposite wall. My feet
rested on the tee vee table. Marge sat to my side, my arm around
her, she leaned against me.
We were glowing blue. "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas" played out
on the set before us. While "wanna come back to my place to watch
Christmas specials" may be one of the more ridiculous pick-up
lines of all time, I am nothing if not honest.
"...it was Cindy-Lou Who who was no more than two..." I slipped
my hand into her sweat pants. I was surprised. I lifted up the
waistband slightly. I could see a tuft of dirty orange hair.
"You don't wear underwear?" I asked.
"No," she said matter-of-factly. It was kind of a stupid
question, my hand in her pants and all. I turned my face to hers.
"Are you going to want to spend the night?" I asked her.
She looked up at me rather sleepily and gave me a big, thin
smile. "I'd like that," she said.
"Good," I said. I leaned in and brushed my lips against hers. She
gave me a little kiss and I kissed her back.
"You kind of like me, don't you?" I asked.
Yes, it was as stupid as the question about her underwear.
Darker still now. No candles, no blue tee vee glow, just the
scattered beams cast from parking lot lights, broken up or
blocked out completely by a conveniently placed desk.
The accumulated heat of the day clung to every inch of that tiny
little room. Condensation, warping the Robert Smith poster,
dripping from the plaster bust of Elvis, the walls were slick and
the mattress never completely dried from the night before. The
whole nook smelled like Kael.
Gray white skin in that darkness, head resting comfortably on a
thin cotton pillow, shoulders back against the bed, soft curve of
breasts, their orange nipples wide and soft and flaccid (oh yes,
they always have to be "erect", don't they) one single stripe of
sweat slowly sliding down her slender belly, curving in and down,
her arms at her sides, her hands reaching up, and her fingers
coming to rest on either side of my head, my tongue out and
pointed, tasting the doughy skin between her legs, salty and
moist, I used my fingers to open her a bit more, and using my
thumb to rub against that swollen knot (a simile; unlike with the
muscles of the back, massaging this knot relaxes no one) and she
moaned and gasped and her legs, propped up on either side of me
swayed back and forth.
"Hmmmmmm..."
My head bobbed up and down in an amusing fashion, I, propped up
on my knees, my butt sticking way up in the air, one free hand
gripped my erect penis which bobbled freely between my legs, and
using my thumb and index finger I briskly pinched at its
underside.
She breathed softly, sudden, occasional gasps, it was slow love
folks, no one was going anywhere, except perhaps to sleep. We
were each very drunk. At least I know I was pretty drunk, and I
thought that she was. She never said. She had never said much
anyway.
Little girl, only eighteen, moody and sullen, so many secrets,
and how had she gotten here? What was she doing in my bed? How
did I arrive at this place, here, jaws open, tongue out, slapping
it and flicking it against her most private part. Always hiding
under a mop of hair, always dressed in baggy, concealing clothes.
Had I ever considered she had breasts, let alone those displayed
there on my bed? Did I ever give a second glance at the shape of
her hips? And there they were, rising suddenly and then resting,
her small behind settling into the dunes on that floppy mattress.
Why was she here? Simple. Because I had asked her to be.
I rose up, standing on my knees (my head only a foot or so from
the ceiling) and pushed my hair back out of my face. My face,
glistening with sweat, my penis, turgid before me, its head so
purple and shiny, precum slooshying from its tiny mouth and
beginning to run down its length. Marge lowered and closed her
legs slightly and I slithered beside her.
"You're wildly attractive, Marge," I said.
Her eyes, barely slits now, widened considerably. "You think so?"
she said.
"Yes," I said, smiling, all teeth and glowing gray eyes, "I will
admit you make it hard to notice."
"I do?"
"Well, I would be the last person to encourage a woman to show
off her body," I said, "and that's the last thing you ever do.
'Nuff said."
"True." She smiled at me.
"But I can see all of you now. And you are very beautiful. And I
am overwhelmed."
She beamed.
"And I'm not just saying that to get you in bed with me."
She laughed. I kissed her little pug nose and kissed her mouth.
We kissed a while.
"I think we should do it," I whispered. "Do you think we should
do it?"
She nodded. I leaned over the edge of the mattress and ran my
hand through the narrow space in the skeletal spring set between
the mattress and the floor in order to locate a box of rubbers.
I used to be really, really good at putting on condoms. I took my
position, kneeling again between her legs, peeled open the
package, pulled out the party favor, and rolled it into place.
Marge spread herself wide (but not too wide, I noted -- for a
moment I feared virgin) and I placed my hands along her thighs,
sliding down and placing my thumbs at the base of her vagina,
sliding them up its length to test how wet she was (she was) and
leaned over her. My hips adjusted, using my fingers I nudged my
penishead against her and began to slide it in. I held myself up
with one arm, my face hovered against hers, and she looked at me
with awe and surprise. We kissed again, as I continued into her,
coming to rest, my butt between her thighs, deep brown, curly
hair nestling among dirty orange, the hairs becoming entangled
and entwined, until I backed up and out, and then down and in
again.
Slow.
I leaned on my elbows, I grabbed Marge's head in my hands and we
kissed kindly and timidly. My behind arched up and down, her hips
shifted slightly, sweat began to cascade down my back towards my
shoulders.
I worked her and kissed her. An entire day's worth of courted and
suppressed orgasm began to build within me, I rocked a little
harder and Marge's closed her eyes.
My rhythm began to build and she just lay there, moaning so
quietly, gasping for occasional surprise breaths. I began
pounding my hips into hers, my bloated and splitting dick, its
blood pulsing in my head, I gripped her shoulders tightly and
held on as long as I could, the pain was horrific, and still she
lay there, not giving any indication of pleasure, arrival, her
world was far from mine.
I shuddered. I slammed. Those eeny, clenched muscles inside my
penis, tormented and tender finally gave way and sploot after
sploot of molten me hammered into a wall of sheer latex. Marge
rocked her head back and made no sound. I grunted and hunh-hunhed
and squeezed my hands into her shoulders, a tight vise-like grip.
My legs went see-saw and my feet were fists.
And then it was over. I gasped for breath and lifted myself off
of Marge, reaching for a Kleenex to remove our protection, throw
it in the wicker waste basket. I lay back next to her, and put my
arms around her.
"Hmn," I said, already drifting away.
"Hmn," she said.
"Was that okay," I asked.
"Mm-hm," she said. "That was okay."
"Wanna go to sleep now?" I asked.
"Yes," she said.
So we did.
"Kael?"
Another morning in Clemson, Ohio. Another day. The sun was all
over my room, stuck to every wall.
"Kael, wake up."
I was in an early morning stupor, the previous day's activities,
not yet enough sack time, the heat...I could go on. Vera? Marge
kneeled next to me. She was dressed.
"Kael, I have to go."
"Whutimizzit?"
"It's almost eight-thirty," she said, "I have to pack. I'm
leaving tomorrow. Will you call me when you get up?"
"Okay." I rolled over.
"Kael," she said, "would you like to have breakfast? At my dorm
or something?"
I had already fallen asleep again.
"Call me when you wake up, okay?"
"Mm-hm."
"Kael?"
I did not call. I meant to call, I did not call. That day I ran
into Vera who chastised me for not having called the day before
or telling her about the party. I wasn't in the mood.
"You, Kael Goodman, are the single most conceited person I have
ever met," she said.
I stared at her blankly. "So?" I said.
She threw up her hands in disgust and walked out of my life.
When I finally remembered that Marge had told me she was leaving
the next day, I called, but there was no answer. I called again
the day she was supposed to leave, and there was again no answer.
I called the next day, and when there was still no answer I went
round to her dorm room and saw the check-out slip on her door.
I felt sorry I had missed her, ever though I had done it so
effectively.
The following fall I learned she hadn't liked the University of
Ohio very much, and transferred to a school on the coast. I also
learned from mutual acquaintances that before she even came to
school she had once attempted suicide.
Casual badgering of her friends on campus for some reason never
led to my actually procuring a phone number or an address where I
could reach her. I kept asking and they kept saying they would
give it to me, but it just never happened.
I've heard she's doing well, but I've never seen or spoken to her
since.
--
Contact the author, Kael Goodman, at:
at745@cleveland.freenet.edu
End Part 1 of 2.
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