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Subject: {SJR}"The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane 4A"( bf mF mF+ )[10/52]
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The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults. If you are
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This particular series is by Santo J. Romeo. That might even be his
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followed suit. It is more a tragic story of coming of age than simply a
sex story, and individual segments might not contain any sex. The entire
story, however, is a hot one.
========
**** WARNING **** WARNING **** WARNING ****
THIS DOCUMENT IS A SEXUALLY GRAPHIC STORY ABOUT AN INTENSE SEXUAL,
EMOTIONAL AND INTELLECTUAL RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN A TEENAGE GIRL AND
A YOUNG BOY AND THE COURSE OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP OVER A PERIOD OF
10 YEARS. IT IS A DRAMATIZATION ABOUT REAL PEOPLE AND THEIR CON-
FLICT WITH SOCIAL EXPECTATIONS. IF THIS SUBJECTS OFFENDS YOU OR IF
SEXUAL LANGUAGE UPSETS YOU, OR IF YOU DON'T WANT THIS MATERIAL SEEN
BY UNDER-18 OR OTHERWISE UNQUALIFIED PERSONS, DELETE THIS DOCUMENT.
THIS DOCUMENT IS COPYRIGHTED 1994, 1996 BY SJR. SO--HEY, YOU CAN
COPY IT BUT YOU CAN'T CHANGE IT OR SELL IT UNLESS I SAY SO.
====================================
THE ADVENTURES OF ME AND MARTHA JANE
by S.J.R.
sjr <73233.1411@CompuServe.COM>
============
PART 4A:
I had a bad cold. It was just before Thanksgiving. Wearing
a heavy brown flannel robe, I sat up against the headboard as
Martha Jane settled near me on the bed and sat Indian-stlye. In
her hand she had a bottle of green cough syrup, a bottle of cod
liver oil, and a bottle of ear drops.
"Okay, hon, time for dessert."
"That's not dessert," I complained.
"This is dessert for sick folks." She shimmied her hips into
the mattress to get comfy. "Now, let's see, what does this
say...?" She examined the label on the cough medicine. "One
tablespoon. Okay!" With a giddy smile she fished for the spoon
in the paraphernalia she had gathered in a large dish towel spread
on the bed. She held up the spoon. "One tablespoon!" she an-
nounced. Seeming to enjoy every minute of it, she unscrewed the
cough medicine, held the spoon up as she poured the dark green
gunk, and carefully brought the spoon toward my face. "Oookay...
a-a-all for you, hon. C'mon. Yumyum. Yumyum."
"Yumyum Yuch!" I pouted.
"Come on now, you don't want to stay up coughing all night
like you did last night, do you?"
I frowned at the spoon.
"C'mon. It tastes good."
"I already had some of it and I know it doesn't taste good.
It's terrible, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth for hours."
"Well, Speedy, it doesn't taste good because it's medicine.
Medicine isn't supposed to taste good."
"Why don't they make it in the first place so it *does* taste
good?"
"'Cause if it tasted good in the first place, you'd drink it all
the time. You'd live on it, and then it would make you sick."
"If it's medicine, why would it make me sick?"
"Listen, stop bein' so logical. Here. Yumyum. C'mon."
I opened my mouth and she tilted the spoon into it. I swallowed
and grimmaced.
"There, I knew you'd like it."
"Yech."
"Now where's the cod liver oil..."
"Yecch!" I growled, as disgustingly as I possibly could,
stretching my mouth into a horrific grimace that went from ear to
ear. I held the pose as if frozen into it.
"Oh, stop. It can't taste that bad. Here..." She care-
fully squeezed an eyedropper of amber oil into a spoon, and then
squeezed the juice from half an orange into it. As she did this
I sat rigidly against the headboard as if long petrified, my face
still frozen in the same gruesome pose.
"Speedy, stop making that ugly face. Now, here...here's
your cod liver oil. Come on, stop makin' that face and swallow
this."
I looked her straight in the eye, with the same face.
"Speedy, that is the ugliest thing I ever saw. Stop, so we can
get this over with."
I let my face relax, sighed heavily, and opened my mouth. The
orange juice didn't do much to hide the bitter, fishy taste that
clung to the inside of my mouth. "Yah!"
"That's a good boy, that's two outta three. Now let's get this
off the bed so you can lie down and I can fix those ears." She
placed the dish towel of goods on the side table and sat up on her
knees on the bed, holding the bottle of ear drops. "Lie down on
your side. C'mon, you've had earaches before, you know what to do.
At least your ears can't taste this."
"They can too," I insisted.
"Lie down the other way first, hon, facing away from me. That's
right. Now, here..." She bent over me and placed the tip of the
filled eyedropper into the opening of my ear. The sudden contact of
the cold glass tip made me jerk and quiver involuntarily.
"Oh!" She jumped and pulled her hand away. "Oh, Speedy, did I
hurt your ear?"
I shook my head no. "It itches!"
"Oh my god, don't do that! You almost gave me a heart attack.
I thought I hurt you!"
I coiled up into a ball and feigned a low, pitiful groan, then
another.
"Oh, behave. You're not funny. Be still."
I relaxed on my side and then cringed as the cold thin fluid
filled my ear with a small roaring noise. "It itches. Eeew, it's
so itchy."
"It'll settle in and be okay," she said, stuffing a piece of
wadded cotton in my ear. "Now turn over so I can do the other one
...Turn over."
I lay still.
"Speedy, turn over so I can do the other one."
I sat up and pretended I was in a breathless daze. "What?
Did you say somethin'? I can't hear. Where am I?"
Holding the ear medicine in one hand and the eyedropper in the
other, she started to laugh, resisted it, and closed her eyes
patiently. "Speedy, please...you'll make me laugh and spill this
stuff all over the bed. Now...please...stop."
I groaned, "Okay," and laboriously rose to turn over on my
other side. Already weak, I feigned an even greater weakness,
moving slowly and spasmodically, writhing at every turn as if in
pain. "Oh...Uh...Mr. Holmes...uh..call Dr. Watson right away...
it's the deadly, poisoned ear drops...cgh, cgh."
"Speedy, if you make me spill this..." She started to laugh
again, and held it back with clenched teeth. "Stop, or I'm gonna
spank your butt 'till it falls off on the floor."
On my side facing her, I lay still.
On her knees, she shuffled closer to me. "Honestly, I never
in my life saw anybody go through such agony...Now here, this is
the last one."
Once more, the cool fluid rushed into me and greasily leaked
over my eardrum. I shivered again with the same itch in my ear as
before, and Martha Jane sealed my ear with cotton. Then she sat back
and sighed, drooping.
"I am exhausted from this! You're worse than a room full of
sick puppies."
I smiled seraphically.
"Don't you smile at me like that, you little devil." She
leaned closer to me and half-whispered, scowling. "Hon, you have
to get well. We can't fuck while you're sick like this, you're
too weak. So there."
She rose from the bed and brought the bottles and table-cloth
into the kitchen. While I heard her running water and cleaning I
made myself comfortable in the bed, lay on my side, and pulled the
covers up to my neck. I shivered as the 'flu coarsed through me,
but soon the blanket warmed me and I relaxed.
Martha Jane turned off the lights, except for one small lamp in
the living room. Then she came into the bedroom and turned out the
ceiling lamp using the switch on the wall by the door, and reached
under the bedside lamp to turn off the last light in the room. We
were dimly lit by the glow from the small living room lamp.
Martha Jane hiked up the legs of her jeans to make herself more
comfortable in bed, and quietly lay down beside me. She put her
palm on my head briefly. "You still have a little fever," she
whispered. She fiddled with the blankets and straightened my
pillow. She felt me tremble. "You still have chills, hon?"
Lying on my side, I nodded slowly.
"Well, don't you worry, they'll go away soon." She stretched
and pulled blankets about, soothing out the twists and tangles
that were made while we struggled earlier with the medications.
"You just stay nice and warm and...take your medicine the way
you're supposed to, and...before you know it...you'll be well and
gettin' right back into trouble, good as new." She rested on her
elbow beside me. "You ready to go to sleep?"
I nodded. At that moment another chill went through me. I
clasped my arms closer to fight it off.
"Want me to keep you warm?" she asked.
I nodded.
She moved closer to me and put one arm around my head to
slightly lift and cradle me onto her bosom. "There we are," she
said, and as soon as I was settled against her she unbuttoned her
shirt and pulled it open loosely. Then she pulled her bra up,
baring her breasts, and wiggled down so that her left nipple
grazed my cheek. I reached up and kissed the brownish pink bud.
"There...," she whispered. "Sleep, hon."
The shivers made a brief pass through me as I fell asleep
against her softness.
...A week or so later I was standing in Martha Jane's kitchen
as her mother, a thin lady who looked much older than my own and
who resembled her darker brunette daughter more than her fair,
auburn-haired Martha Jane, carefully handed me a large tablespoon
filled with dark green syrup. Her mother always spoke slowly and
with a slight rasp, having never completely overcome the lung
problems that she developed from the long and severe illness fol-
lowing her husband's death in the war.
"There," she told me, "now go in the bedroom and give that to
Martha Jane. And be certain she takes every drop of it."
"Yes, ma'am," I said. Holding the filled tablespoon face-high
before me, I walked carefully through their living room and into
Martha Jane's bedroom. She sat up in bed, a pink wool blanket up
to her waist, the place littered with used kleenex and her school-
books. Her eyes and nose were swollen and red. In one hand she
held a thoroughly used tissue.
I grinned maniacally at the door and chanted, "Yumyum."
She winced. "Don't yumyum me, you--Is it already time for
that awful stuff again?"
"Yumyum."
She called into the kitchen, "Mother, I thought I already took
this stuff!"
"It's three times a day, Martha Jane," her mother called back.
"Oh my," she moaned. I had climbed onto the bed and, on my
knees, moved cloer to her with one hand holding the spoon and the
other cupped guardedly beneath it.
"You were right," she said, sniffing. "That stuff really does
taste awful. And you can taste it for a week!"
"Yumyum," I said, moving the spoon closer.
"Oh," she whimpered, wincing again. "Do I have to?"
I nodded. "It hurts me more than it hurts you."
"Right," she muttered, eyeing the spoon with mild terror.
"Oh...all right." She opened her mouth and I dipped the spoon
inside. Mugging and wincing, she took it all, swallowed, and
slithered her tongue around thickly. "Oh, that is so disgusting!
This is supposed to be the atomic age. Can't modern science do
better than this?"
Her mother came into the room and retrieved the spoon. She
stood beside the bed shaking her head.
"Look at this," her mother said, indicating Martha Jane's
books and papers all over the bed. "Look, she won't even stop
when she's sick as a dog. I don't know what to do with her,
Speedy. She was awake half the night studying, and if she wasn't
studying she was coughing *and* studying."
"I have to graduate," she muttered petulantly. "On time!"
"But, Martha Jane, you can't learn very well if you don't
sleep. You need rest, dear."
"Yes, mother, I know. I know, and you're right." She sighed
and played nervously with the kleenex, which she brought back to
her nose, and blew into it. "I hate people staring at me when I'm
sick. I'm so ugly."
"Alright, I'll go back in the kitchen. Speedy, you visit a
while and try to talk some sense into her."
Her mother left and I started to settle on the edge of the bed,
but Martha Jane said, "Don't get too close," holding up a hand. She
sneezed suddenly, and held out her palm, indicating the box of klee-
ex near my knees. I gave it to her and she plucked a new tissue.
"I hate this."
"I'm sorry," I said, and sat on the bed anyway. I leaned
forward to kiss her.
"No," she whispered. "You'll get this same cold again." She
held the kleenex to her nose and sniffled. "Well, alright, a little
one. Right here--" she indicated her forehead. As she held the
kleenex over her nose I leaned forward and gave her a noisy kiss.
"Thank you, Speedy. I'm sorry, hon, you're really sweet. Don't pay
any attention to me. I'm sick!"
"Is this gonna keep you from school?" I asked.
"No, no, it'll just slow me down. I'll have to work like the
devil to keep up. I already worked myself to death, getting in
school a year ahead of my age to begin with. I hope it doesn't hurt
my grades." She settled against the pillow behind her and gazed out
the window. "I have to make those grades. I have to get out of
here. I have to get out of the "Lauderdale Courts U.S. Government
Housing Project"."
Though I wanted her to get well, the thought that she might soon
leave the project was disturbing. Fortunately for her, the Christ-
mas break would soon be underway and she would not miss many of her
classes. And I knew she still had the winter and spring to go be-
fore graduating. But by this time it was something she mentioned
with more frequency than I found comfortable.
Falteringly I tried to think of the questions that would give me
more information about what might happen in the near future. "Would
you move out as soon as you graduate high school?" I asked.
"Oh no, hon, I still have college to go. You can't get a decent
job with just high school, at least a girl can't. Not in good ole
Memphis, Tennessee. My poor sister got her diploma and she hardly
earns peanuts. She was hoping she'd make more, and she wanted to
rent a place for all of us. But she can barely support herself, and
she gives mother money to keep us goin'." She sighed again longingly
and shook her head. "Why can't she marry some filthy rich man who
shows up here in that driveway with sacks of money...? Oh, well,
Evelyn wouldn't do that. She wouldn't marry just for money."
"Would you?" I asked, half smiling, half not.
"No," she said directly and firmly. She blew her nose.
"But I wouldn't complain if some was included."
I had no idea what to do about her completing high school, going
to college, and leaving. But I knew she was unhappy where she was.
Heedless of the fact that the forces of time and economic necessity
and all the rest of it were far beyond my control, I was determined
during the following weeks to please her so well that she might have
second thoughts about never seeing me again. Within a few days she
recovered from her cold and used the Christmas break to work
feverishly on catching up with her studies. Trying to make myself
indispensable, I checked with her daily during the holidays to see
if she needed anything. If she needed note paper I volunteered and
ran to the drug store to get it. I trailed along with her to the
library and looked up several of her books.
The weekend after Christmas, Mom had a date and Martha Jane sat
with me, but I spent the entire night waiting on her, fixing dinner
and washing the dishes, bathing and cleaning up while she studied.
I even prepared the bed myself so that by nine o'clock she came into
the bedroom to check on me and found everything in place.
"Well!" she said, sliding into bed and hovering over me with
a warm smile. "You didn't even need me here tonight, did you?
You did everything all by yourself."
"You were busy," I said.
"Yes, I was. And so were you. And I'm glad you let me study,
hon, I needed it. And don't think I didn't notice. Now, is there
anything I can do for you?"
I didn't answer. But I could see a sultry look in her eyes.
More than likely, in the pause that followed while we searched
each other's eyes, she saw something similar in my own.
She whispered softly, "I'm all sweaty. I have to clean up
a little. You wait right here and don't go anywhere."
She rose, went into the bathroom, and closed the door. I
heard the bath water running for about five minutes, and later
she opened the door, turned out the bathroom light, and came into
the room wearing her wrinkly old bathrobe that she had worn for
years. The apartment was, like all the others, not very warm in
winter. Her robe didn't fit that well any more, seeming a little
short, more like a short sarong than an ankle-length garment. And
it was too tight around the shoulders, so that even when she held
it closed in front the lapels ventured outward, revealing the soft
glimmering swell of her breasts.
She had just started to slide into bed when I got up and
scooted down, off the foot of the bed and onto the floor. "Wait
a moment, madam," I said, rather elegantly and formally. "The,
uh, services of this establishment go beyond cooking dinner and
making beds."
"Oh, really?" she asked innocently, batting her eyelashes.
"It includes turning out the lights," I said, walking around
the bed and shutting off the bedside lamp. In the dark I con-
tinued, "And many other services to insure that you rest peace-
fully during your stay with us." I removed my underwear.
She asked primly, "And do the services include the manager
of the establishment making himself nekkid?"
I answered, "Yes, madam. They also include the management
making the guest nekkid, too."
"Oh my," she whispered. "I'm shocked. And pleased."
I reached for her hand with mine, and pulled slightly so
that she rose from the bed and stood before me. I noted that we
were just about the same height now. She was only slightly
taller. In a single motion, but gently, I pulled off her robe
and dropped it to the floor. It was, I think, the first time I
had undressed her myself. I whispered, "All madam has to do now
is lie down."
"And then what happens?" she whispered back.
"Management...manages."
"I can't wait."
She moved into the bed, going near the other side to give me
room, and I followed. I stayed on my knees, watching for a
moment as she lay flat on her back, stretching to get comfortable.
Her hands were behind her head, her slim body stretched out in
the moonlight. She spread her thighs slightly, just enough to
show me in the dark that she had begun to moisten and open. I
hovered over her, surprised at how, more and more, I should be so
deeply affected by the sight of her. Then I settled on my elbows
close to her.
She started to put one arm around me, but I whispered, "No.
Don't move."
She lay silently and waited. I began to softly, slowly, and
wetly kiss her, starting with her nose, her face, her neck. "You
don't have to do anything," I whispered. It took me about fif-
teen minutes to move my lips from her neck to her toes, and up
her thighs again. By then she was trembling and sighing. When-
ever she tried to help, I would tell her to lie still. One time
she asked me, "Don't you want me to do anything for you?" I ans-
wered simply, "You are." From that point on she gave herself to
my mouth and hands.
Finally I lay betwen her thighs, my mouth nipping at the
sensitive skin along the tendons and muscles there. She gave a
series of small gasps as she felt my lips licking toward her cunt.
Watching her from below, I shortened each lick as I moved upward,
closer. I have no idea how these techniques ever got into my young
head. I simply learned from her responses. I could see the tension
in her tightened fists as I neared her center. I knew that when she
held her breath she would be completely ready for the touch of my
mouth directly on her. Soon this happened. She lay tense and
unbreathing, her thighs and tummy stiffened expectantly. I removed
my lips from her completely for only a second or two, then lowered
my tongue to nestle directly and lightly on her clit. She exhaled
and whimpered, and her hips swiveled once. I removed my lips again
for another brief pause, then curled my mouth into her slit, took
her clit in my lips, and gently sucked. Surprising even me, she
whimpered helplessly, and started cumming immediately. This was
sooner than I had planned, but I was not one to interrupt. Still
sucking, I arched my tongue rhythmically and slowly along her nub.
She stiffened, and her hips rose slightly off the bed. Her head
rolled languidly to one side. She uttered a strange sound that I
can describe only as the sound of a beautiful young woman cumming
deep and hard, and I could feel her tummy and taut thighs quiver
around me through most of it. Soon her hips fell back to the bed
and she let out a long, breathy "Oh! God!". I continued my gentle
suck, waiting for the subtle sensations that told me her hot clit
had stopped swelling, and soon her thighs jerked once and I knew
she was returning to earth.
I unmouthed her as she regained her breath and I licked her cunt
petals lightly, smelling the cum and the remains of the bathroom
soap on her, nipping at her thighs again, and rose to lie fully on
top of her. For a moment I kissed her neck and her nipples. Then,
rising on my elbows, I aimed my cock by sight and slowly and fully
entered her.
"Oh hon," she gushed, though she still could hardly breathe.
"God, that feels so good!" I didn't move. I could feel her clasp
me inside, once for several seconds, then two or three contractions
around my shaft that waned in strength.
I rose on my elbows. Slowly, the new young animal in me rising
gradually and fully until I found myself unexpectedly breathing
through clenched teeth, I looked down at where we were so delicious-
ly joined, and wordlessly and with a deliberate and unchanging
rhythm, I fucked her until she came again. I said nothing until she
gave a final quake and went entirely rigid, and as she lay suspended
and frozen in pleasure I moved my lips near her face and breathed
"Cum...cum..." again and again, waivering only when I felt that odd
tickle in my cock sliding inside her, and the soft writhing of
fledgling tubes in my lower gut that I could not resist told me with
a startling jolt of pleasure that a drop of me was oozing into her.
By the time she relaxed we were both overcome. Neither of us
could move. Eyes closed, she lay stroking the back of my neck.
Finally she whispered. "You are such a wonderful fuck." To which I
could only mutter into her bosom, "I had help."
With her cheek resting on my head I felt her face form a wide
smile. Without seeing her, I could envision her teeth gleeming in
the dark.
"Flatterer," she purred, sounding sinfully pleased.
====================================
THE ADVENTURES OF ME AND MARTHA JANE
by S.J.R.
PART 4A:
-30-
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