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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o  	The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of  o
o  stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the  o
o  world.  Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups).   There is no  o
o  particular  order  other than offering them to you in  alpha-  o
o  betical directories.                                           o
o  	I don’t believe in categorizing things. "I don’t want to  o
o  be typed therefore I don’t type things myself."  I think it’s  o
o  a lot more fun to browse around and find  'little'  surprises  o
o  that you might not have even thought of looking for.           o
o   	Lest we forget!!!   This story was produced as adult en-  o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors.   Kristen         o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Conversation (MF, oral, anal, gothic)
by The Great Grendel-Kahn (argent@iastate.edu)
(c) 1995

***

She never said no.

Martin stared at the dead woman in his bed. She looked so peaceful, with
her blue and green eyes closed, her mouth relaxed--Martin couldn't help but
think what that mouth was capable of--in a comfortable looking position,
almost as if she slept, but she hadn't breathed in twenty minutes and there
was blood everywhere. She never said no.

She had laughed when he'd asked how much--and he wasn't sure why he'd
asked, as he hadn't really thought she was a prostitute--and she scoffed at
the idea of a condom. She never said no.

Martin tested her, pushing for limits that did not exist, doing everything
he'd ever wanted to try with a woman, but had lacked the courage. She never
said no. What an epitaph.
She never said no.

I'm sure you're a nice guy, I really am. I'm sorry for everything, but I
had to know. Don't blame yourself.

Martin signaled for the waiter as the beautiful stranger joined him at his
table.
"Excuse me. Have we--"
"Do you love me?" she asked in a low husky voice--the voice of a blues
singer or a talented phone sex operator.
"What?" he asked bewildered. "I don't even--"
"Know me? I didn't ask if you knew me. I asked if you loved me. Do you love
me? Do you want to?"
With a professional manner the waiter arrived. Confused, Martin ordered for
the woman also, unsure as what else to do.
"Very well, sir. And I'll bring a bowl for your bones."
Bones? Martin didn't remember having ordered anything with bones, but
decided to ignore it. The restaurant was an average restaurant, with
average food, drinks, and clientele. Tonight it was filled about halfway
with somewhat loud people. Most blended into the woodwork, like Martin.
Try as he might, Martin couldn't remember the place's name.
"I asked you a question," the woman said.
"Yes, yes you did. Is this a joke?" Martin was again struck with how
beautiful she was. Such a pale creature, and definitely overdressed. She
had on a semitransparent, powder blue, slip/dress-thing that hung loosely
on her skinny frame. Martin tried to ignore the darker color of her
nipples--he couldn't--she wore no bra. Her hair was bleached to a strange
white color and her eyes looked bruised, both being symmetrically decorated
blue and green. Martin once read an article by some feminist writer, that
claimed that women only wore make-up because men wanted them to look
freshly beaten. Martin never gave this argument much credit before--
assuming that women wore make-up to make themselves look better--but this
woman...even her mouth had a raw look to it, like she'd just been
back-handed, this being the only cause of her lip color, and not expertly
applied lipstick, and either her complexion was immaculate, or she did as
good a job at hiding her facial flaws. And her body, delicious from head to
toe. Black and white photos of some sixties model kept dancing in his mind.
What the hell was her name? Twiggy or something like that. Would they name
a model Twiggy? Whatever. She looked like Twiggy grown into a woman...the
waif grown-up.
"No joke. I think you're special. I can tell," she said.
"You don't even--"
"Know you? Are you going to say that again and again? I know you. I know
you better than you think. What's your name?"
"Martin."
"There. I know your name. Your name's Martin. What more do I need to know?
I like you, Martin. I like Martin."
Despite himself, Martin actually smiled. Somehow, he knew, this was still
nothing more than an elaborate joke-- perhaps there was a camera somewhere
and he was going to end up on a ridiculous TV show, but things like that
only happened on TV, or perhaps she had a boyfriend somewhere and was
trying to make him jealous, or even a pimp. Trying to be casual, Martin
started searching the restaurant. He saw nothing out of the ordinary.
The woman sneezed.
Her thin dress fell further from her right shoulder, and Martin had a clear
view of her right breast. He thought he should avert his eyes, but was
unable to. He knew that he would masturbate tonight with images of this
woman dancing in his mind, he wanted as many of the details as possible
committed to memory.
"You're staring at my breast aren't you?" the woman asked but she did
nothing to obscure his view.
Martin was saved from replying by the waiter placing a large platter of
fried chicken in front of him. It wasn't what he ordered, but it smelled
good and he didn't want to have to send it back. Martin hated sending
anything back.
"I forgot your bone bowl, I'll be right back," this was the waiter's exit
line.
"I love chicken," the woman said, "I'm glad you ordered chicken."
"I didn't order it."
"Yes you did. Eight pieces. I heard you. And look, there's eight pieces
here. One, two, three, four, five..."
"All right, whatever. Do you like white meat or dark?"
"...six, seven, and eight. Yep, eight, just like you ordered."

Bet you're expecting to read about how no one loved me and I was abused as
a child and all that crap, right? Well you're wrong, I have no excuse,
which, I suppose, only makes it worse.

"Do you live around here?" Martin and the woman said simultaneously.
"Yes," Martin and the woman said simultaneously.
Both laughed.
"Where," this time it was only Martin.
"St. Michael's Hospital."
"Why?"
In answer the woman made a circular gesture around her ear. A gesture
Martin hadn't seen since high school. Crazy? Yeah, this was crazy all
right. Here he was, eating chicken he hadn't ordered, with a woman he found
more beautiful than any other that had ever talked to him, in a restaurant
he couldn't remember the name of.
"How's your chicken?" she asked.
"Great."
The waiter had failed to return with anything to contain the bones, so they
were amassing at the center or the table, both were contributing. The woman
only ate the small pieces, wings, and legs, but she nibbled them hungrily,
drawing away even the smallest morsel of chicken flesh. Martin was
fascinated.
"It's the weekend."
"What's that?" asked Martin, "I knew it was the weekend. Why are you
telling me the obvious?"
"That's why I'm out, it's the weekend. I get out on weekends. They let us
have passes if we're good. I've been very good, except for today. Today I'm
supposed to be at my mother's house, but I didn't want to go there again. I
hate it there. You don't mind, do you? I came to see you, except I didn't
know it was you I came to see. You just happened to be here, but you're
special, I can tell. I like Martin."
"Goodness, you sure can talk when you want to, huh? I sure wish the waiter
would bring us that bowl. This pile of bones is growing unacceptable."
The woman laughed at this and her other strap escaped her shoulder. Only
the slight swell of her breasts kept the garment on. As much as Martin
wanted it to fall, he reached across the table and helped the woman out.
"Thank you. You're so nice. See, I told you that you were special. I like
Martin. Do you think I'm attractive, Martin? Am I beautiful to you?"
"Yes."
"Have you ever been with a woman like me before?"

You see, there was no other way.

He held out the last piece of chicken in offering to the woman. Her mouth
was slick with animal grease, but she didn't seem to care.
"Do you smoke?" she asked. Martin shook his head. "Good, I hate smokers. I
don't think I could do it if you were a smoker."
"What?"
"Sleep with you tonight. I can sleep with you, can't I? Oh, please say yes.
Please."
She took a bite of food and smiled at him while she chewed. She was
obviously enjoying herself. Great big joke, have fun with Martin, ha ha! He
wanted nothing to do with it.
"Why don't you leave?" he asked.
"I have no where to go? I don't know. Do you want me to?"
Martin did not answer, looking away instead. He'd never noticed the amount
of foreign students before. He and the woman were the only Caucasians.
"You know, I've never told a man no before. Not once. I've even slept with
lesbians. I used to have a boyfriend that got off on sharing me with his
friends. I would go from man to man, giving them head while they watched
football or a porno movie. Sometimes I'd even do things for them while
their girlfriends sat and stared stupidly. Did I shock you, Martin?
"My mother worries about me. She thinks I'll catch AIDS or something worse.
What could be worse than AIDS? You see though, I don't care. Not like my
life's so special anyway. I can't have babies, Martin. I've had sex so many
times, but I've never got pregnant. No abortions. I wouldn't have an
abortion. They're immoral. Say something."
She ate some more chicken.
"Do you believe me, Martin? I'll have sex with you right now if you don't.
We can go into the bathroom. Or pick a guy, point him out and I'll go sleep
with him. I hate the drugs, Martin. I hate the hospital. My mother tells me
I'm just looking for love--that I'm waiting for that special someone. Such
crap. I've probably already slept with the 'special' someone. He left in
the morning, I'm sure. Every man's the same. I've never told a man no, but
you know what, none have ever turned me down either. Not once. Do you think
it's because I'm beautiful, Martin? Martin?"
Martin wanted her to just leave, he wanted her to stay, he was disgusted by
everything she was saying, he wanted to have sex with her, he was sure she
was lying about everything. Martin was still confused.
She reached under the table and placed her hand in his crotch. She massaged
his member through the cloth of his pants. Martin was hard, but had been
for some time. He allowed her caresses, only stopping her when he was close
to orgasm. He looked around, but no one was watching.
"Your baklava. Enjoy," said the waiter as he set the pastries in front of
them.
"Thank you," said Martin to the retreating waiter, "It's exactly what I
wanted."
"I'd hope so, since you ordered it," said his unexpected date for the
evening.

I had to know. Is it every man?
I had to know.

The woman, in his bed, could it be real? Her long legs comfortably laying
over his own, his seed drying on the insides of her thighs, and the musty
smell of sex. She told him, hadn't she? She said she'd sleep with anyone,
that she'd never said no. Then why was it such a surprise?
For a quick moment Martin worried that perhaps she'd lied about being
sterile,--she had said she was hadn't she?-- and for a moment he worried
that he'd catch something evil, something science didn't know how to cure
with oral medication or a series of painless shots, but he quickly decided
that he didn't care. It wasn't a matter of being fatalistic, but rather of
being so content that he was willing to accept anything life sent him, even
death.
"Did you enjoy my body? Was I as good as I look? Do you want me again? A
lot of men tell me they love me after they have me. Do you love me? I even
had a woman propose marriage to me. She said she'd do anything I ever
asked, that she would take care of my every need, she only asked that I
call her my wife and that I make love to her often. I told her no, not
because I was repulsed by the idea, but because I didn't think I deserved
someone to love. Am I sick, Martin? Do I disgust you? Do I ask too many
questions, Martin? Why won't you answer?"
"Because I don't know what to say. I've never met anyone like you."
The woman rose from the bed and walked slowly to the bathroom. Martin could
tell that she was putting on a small show for him, because she moved her
hips from side to side in an exaggerated way, like she was trying to be
sexy, even though she had no need.
She did not shut the door and the sound of a stream of urine hitting toilet
water could be heard from the bedroom. Oddly, this incited Martin, but made
him feel guilty also. He moved the sheet from his body and waited,
spread-eagle, until the woman came back.
"You know, I don't even know your name," he said to her as she reentered
the room.
"Do you need to?"
"I suppose not."
She crossed the room and got into bed with him. Martin's erection stood
full and still glistened slightly from their earlier sex-play. Martin could
never remember having gotten hard again so quickly. His lover for the
evening took his penis into her mouth and began to suck, her white hair
falling about her like a halo. Martin wanted to see her face, to watch his
penis slide in and out of her mouth, but thought that maybe she'd become
offended if he swept the hair away from her face.
He couldn't see what she was doing, but he could tell she knew her trade.
Martin felt the pleasure climb, but he wasn't ready to end it yet. He
wanted to remember what it was like to be in this woman's mouth. He wanted
to memorize every sensation in exact detail, so that he could bring it to
mind instantly.
"Stop," he said.
She did not listen, but continued her ministrations, sucking his cock in
slow movements. Yes, she'd done this many times before. Her tongue did
confusing things that Martin was unsure of, but they felt good and he knew
it wasn't long.
"Stop. You said you'd do anything I want, now stop."
"Why?" she asked.
It wasn't because Martin was afraid of defiling this woman, or that he
wanted to keep her from having to taste his seed. It was exactly the
opposite. Martin wanted to take this woman in the most vile way he could.
"Please, can you...can I...will you.... Please, just roll over. You said
you'd never say no."
The woman laughed and did as Martin asked. She smiled knowingly as he
applied lotion to his already swollen and wet cock. Martin attacked her,
forcing her down on the bed and penetrated her. The hairs of her anus
grabbed at the flesh of his penis like little teeth, nipping playfully.
Martin thrust violently inside her, but was over-come with guilt at taking
this woman in this manner.
He was afraid he'd be unable to achieve orgasm, but then she began to
masturbate herself, while Martin fucked her ass. He reached around and
grabbed a breast in each hand, squeezing the whole breast, then sliding up
and pinching just a nipple.
The noises that both made were adding to their pleasure, until the woman
reached orgasm moments before Martin. She did not collapse exhausted
though, but rather reached back and pulled her ass-cheeks apart so that
Martin could invade her more deeply.
Martin came.
"I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry," Martin said, "Thank you."
"For what? I told you I'd do anything. You'd be surprised at how many men
want that. Most will even beg, thing is though, no one ever begs with me.
You weren't the first, Martin."
"Shut up. I said I was sorry."
A look of pity came across the woman's eyes, which enraged Martin. How dare
she feel sorry for him! How dare someone as screwed up as her, stand in
judgment on him.
"Go to sleep, okay?"
"Okay, Martin, but you know, if you want me during the night, I'm here. You
can take me however you like. You have my permission."
Martin woke several times throughout the night, wondering if she'd be there
in the morning. He half expected her to be gone each time. Once, he woke
and was unsure as to whether or not she was sleeping, her breathing was
slow and even. He reached out and took the nipple of her right breast and
pinched cruelly. She had little reaction, only wincing in pain slightly.
Martin rolled over and went back to sleep. In the morning the woman was
dead. She never said no.

...goodbye.

Christopher '95