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--------------------------------------------------------
Copyright (c) 2000 by H. Jekyll. Permission is freely 
granted to post on any site that does not charge for 
entrance, as long as proper attribution is given. 
--------------------------------------------------------

Intimacy
by H. Jekyll (h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com)

***

On a cruise, romance blooms. (FF, MF, mast, oral, voy)

***

Author's Note: Please send comments, inquiries, 
requests, and criticisms to: h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com. I 
do enjoy corresponding with like-minded people. I am 
especially indebted to Maggie McGee for criticism and 
editing. She is responsible for what "charge" the story 
contains.

***

I slipped onto deck and saw two women from our tour 
group kissing. They had found a niche formed by some 
superstructure and a lifeboat, where they thought they 
would be hidden, where they thought they could see 
anyone who approached. I slid to a shadowed area and 
watched them kiss.

They were roommates, but more, always together. Any time 
one was there, the other was close. Of course there had 
been friendly speculation that they were gay, but they 
were circumspect and the speculation was just to pass 
time on the tour. If they had been older no one would 
have thought about it at all.

Or maybe they would. The couple made a lovely contrast. 
One was an administrator from my school, fair, with 
blown-dry, gray-blond hair. No, not fair, but pale. 
Creamy, English pale. And funny. She had an unlimited 
supply of jokes, could spout Simpson's lines, and once, 
when we had over-sampled the local beer in Shanghai, she 
had managed to count to five in one belch. 

I would laugh at her jokes and try to one-up her, but I 
also liked to look at her. Her friend was dark, with 
dark brown eyes and dark curly hair. She was quieter and 
more serious. Perhaps she had a darker soul? She 
listened more than she participated. Both were athletic 
and trim, one trait they shared.

Now they were kissing and everything was different. I 
watched them brush their lips on each other's, their 
mouths open only slightly. The pale lover put both her 
hands on the brunette's cheeks, caressed her cheeks with 
the backs of fingers, moved her mouth over cheeks, eyes, 
back down to mouth. She combed fingers through that 
curly hair.

I was creeping, slowly, quietly, to see better, but they 
had become lost in each other, so had grown oblivious to 
the possibility of discovery. There were murmurs and I 
heard one say, "Yes, please." I couldn't hear their 
breathing but I heard rustlings as they moved. I was 
that close.

I hadn't been aroused in, how long? Days? Weeks? That 
dry spell was over. The dark lover moved her hand in a 
lazy s-shape all the way down the other's front, ending 
between her legs. I heard her unsnap and unzip slacks, 
and she must have pushed her fingers deep inside 
panties. She ignored a soft protest: "No, not here." Her 
companion didn't mean it, not really. She leaned back 
against a rail and pushed her hips out. I caressed my 
penis, the full length of it.

I was surprised at first that they were taking this 
chance, but the moon was full and the terraces marched 
up the incredibly steep slopes of the gorge, almost from 
the water all the way to the stars. Everything white -- 
railings, life preservers, deck chairs, walls -- had a 
faint iridescence, as though illuminated in black light, 
and there was enough light in their hideaway to show 
their faces. It was enough to illuminate the pale 
lover's teeth, to make them unnaturally white. It was 
enough to show her cupping both her hands over the 
other's breasts, even as she tilted her head back.

When I left the bar I had been captured by that 
otherworldly light, so different from the light on our 
little group in that vinyl-clad room watching karaoke 
sets on the TV. If I had not been quiet, because the 
spirit of the night demanded it, they would have seen 
me. They must have been captured the same way: the night 
had called them out. There were only the three of us in 
the world, our little world. 

They moved their mouths over each other's and then moved 
their breasts against each other's in circular motions, 
but the darker woman kept her fingers buried. She moved 
her hand in and out, smoothly, over and over. My penis 
swelled enough to push against my slacks. I rubbed the 
head; it throbbed. The blonde made a sound in her throat 
and the other bent to nip the tip of her breast.

They were suddenly aware of me and jerked apart, trying 
almost comically to appear nonchalant, the way Lucy 
would if Ricky had caught her giving Fred Mertz a blow 
job. One was fooling with the snap of her slacks, 
though, and both looked stricken. My fair lady seemed 
about to cry. I could see the liquid in her eyes in the 
moonlight.

"I...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude."

It always helps to sound a little hesitant in these 
situations, to let people know you aren't being 
predatory. Though of course I had been. I backed away, 
turned, and went inside, to my cabin and my wife. They 
hadn't said anything, or moved after they'd pulled 
apart. They could have been statues.

I lay in bed that night, listening to my wife coughing 
occasionally in the dark, but mostly playing the kiss 
over and over while moving my hand quietly, tickling the 
shaft of my penis, using my thumb to rub my fluid in a 
circular motion around the underside of the head. I saw 
the movement of the brunette's hand, heard, "Yes, 
please." Were they worried about my catching them? I 
rubbed my slippery penis. I was very still and worked 
hard to control my breathing and not shake the bed. I 
saw a face, so wan under the moon, and then I stopped. 
Her look had been woebegone. Lost. Her eyes had been 
swimming in tears.

After a bit I entered a fantasy in which her eyes were 
half closed and swollen with desire. I did something to 
her to bring her to ecstasy. She whimpered, "Yes, 
please." Then I came.

***

They weren't at breakfast the next morning.

I thought to go to their cabin, to look in on them, but 
decided it would just compound their embarrassment, and 
anyway I didn't know what I'd say. That I was sorry I'd 
seen them kiss and caress each other? They were, both of 
them, successful in their careers, and they must be 
tough-minded. They would live it down. But I couldn't 
keep my mind on anything else. I wanted to see them and 
didn't want to. I asked casually if anyone had seen them 
that morning.

Around midmorning she sought me out in the bar, my pale 
administrator. She certainly was not creamy now, but 
washed out, almost pasty. She was trying to look 
nonchalant again, and again not doing a very good job of 
it. Her eyes were bloodshot. I think she hadn't slept. 
She always wore a little bright red lipstick, but not 
this morning.

I was schmoozing with some other tour members. She stood 
beside and slightly behind me, sipping a diet coke, 
pretending to listen to people's stories, waiting for a 
time when attention was elsewhere. From time to time I 
turned to her to smile and nod in a friendly fashion, 
really wanting to talk with her, but she wouldn't look 
me in the face. Then she seemed to screw up her courage 
and bent to whisper to me, asking if I would come 
outside with her.

We went out the back exit together, not talking or 
looking much at each other, and climbed to the open 
observation area over the bar, away from everyone. The 
sun was brilliant, so that we had to shield our eyes. 
The wind blew with the passage of the ship along the 
river.

She didn't know how to begin. After a false start, she 
said, "Look, I can guess what you think you saw last 
night, and maybe what you thought was happening."

Then she stopped. She didn't know what to say or even 
what to admit. She had to think I would out her, ruin 
her career, and destroy her social life. Frankly, I 
don't think I could have accomplished all that, and 
maybe she should have realized it. But how would I take 
it if someone had discovered my dark side?

I waited for her to go on but she was frozen, even her 
mouth. The wind blew her hair into her face and when she 
pushed it back I could see she was again almost crying. 
She was facing the sun and the light made her look odd, 
ghostly, like she might disappear at any moment. I 
decided that I would have to step in.

"I didn't see anything last night. I was in the bar all 
evening. I saw nothing anyone will ever know. Please 
now. Don't go expecting the worst."

"But what, I mean, what, well what must you have thought 
of us?"

She wasn't hearing me. Her chin was quivering. I'd never 
seen that in an adult. She had been cheerful and 
confident and outgoing. Now she was terrified, trying 
not to cry, swallowing hard, and she looked so 
vulnerable that I fell in love with her right then.

I liked her and would have liked to fuck her, but I 
didn't want to love her. Nonetheless, it happened. I 
could almost stand outside of myself and watch the 
transformation, and amidst everything else that was 
happening at the same moment I made out a mocking 
comment from some odd corner of my mind: In love with a 
lesbian? Why not just shoot yourself?

"What I thought?"

It was time to take a chance. Carpe diem.

"What I thought was that you were beautiful. The two of 
you were, but especially you. I didn't think anything 
bad of you."

The ship's horn sounded. It was a deep blast, almost 
overwhelming when you stood too close. It vibrated 
through bodies and drowned out everything. But it gave 
me time to think. Then:

"Maybe for a moment, just for a moment, I felt some... 
jealousy, or regret. Because I could imagine how your 
mouths felt. I could imagine sharing your breath. And I 
knew you weren't for me."

Oh hell! End this nonsense.

"I wouldn't ever expose you. Please believe me. I'll go 
tell your roomie. You don't have to worry."

Then she did start crying. She had been holding 
everything in all night and had believed whatever the 
absolute worst was. Her face crumpled. She was standing 
there helplessly, not even trying to hide it, while I 
looked around to see if anyone would stumble onto *this* 
scene.

I took one of her hands and whispered, "It's okay. It's 
okay. Really. Here."

I pulled her close, pulled her to me. She put her face 
between my left shoulder and my chest. Ah damn, damn it, 
no! Don't do this to me! I was completely aroused again, 
and I hated myself. I put my left arm around her waist. 
I stroked her hair a very light stroke with my right 
hand. I kissed her hair. She smelled wonderful. This 
would be my one time to feel her body against mine. 
"There, there," I said.

***

At lunch they sat at our table. They looked tired and 
drawn and said they'd been a little sick. Everyone 
understood. Who hadn't been? As time passed, though, 
they entered the conversations, grew jollier, sampled 
the dishes off the lazy Susan, told tales. My wife ate a 
little and returned to our cabin and the jokes and 
comments continued.

To his darling: If I love you, what business is it of 
yours? The line I was thinking is an old one, from 
Goethe. The couple was sitting directly across from me, 
acting as though nothing had transpired, and I was 
trying to do the same. More, in fact. I had to hide what 
I knew of them, which wouldn't be difficult. The hard 
part was hiding my feelings from them. So, I was helping 
them play a role for the audience at the table at the 
same time that I was playing a role for the two of them. 
It was hard work.

We were joking about administrators and about using The 
Force only for good. When the couple got up to leave, my 
ghostly darling stopped behind me, put her hands on my 
shoulders, and announced that henceforth as a department 
chair I should be called "Grand Pooh-Bah."

I said "Make that Grand Pooh Bear," but my attention was 
focused on her hands and I found it hard to be witty.

Her hands were soft and warm, the way you'd expect. 
There was nothing out of the ordinary about them except 
that they were perfect. I didn't want to feel like a 
moonstruck teenager, but there she was standing almost 
against me, resting those hands as lightly as ectoplasm 
on my shoulders while she joked with someone, and I was 
filled with that fantasy about being the one guy who is 
man enough to turn her straight. She bent and kissed the 
top of my head theatrically. I patted one of her hands.

Then she put her mouth next to my ear and said, "Can you 
come up to our cabin when you finish here?"

No, I don't remember the rest of the meal. Would you?

***

I'm adult enough to know what fantasies are and aren't. 
They aren't to be taken for the genuine article, for 
guidance on how to act when she confesses her love and 
slips off her robe, revealing a perfect body. Because 
that isn't going to happen. My fantasies wouldn't stay 
banished, though. They were worlds better than what was 
going to happen. Most likely she wanted to apologize for 
crying up on deck earlier. In the worst case they would 
formally thank me for keeping their secret, reinforcing 
what I already knew, that I was forever an outsider to 
them.

But she was alone, and serious, and wanted to talk.

It was as awkward as it could be. "I... wanted to thank 
you for being so kind to me today."

I had a retort about rescuing damsels, yadda, yadda, but 
it wouldn't come out, so I said something about being 
happy to be able to help. It grew quiet awfully fast. 
The cabins had lovely, dark paneling, and she moved her 
hand back and forth over some wainscoting, going with 
the grain. A boat went past the window traveling 
upstream, and still nothing was said.

Finally, in hardly more than a whisper:

"Did you mean what you said this morning? I mean about 
us? About me?"

Cyrano de Bergerac could craft the magic answer that 
would clarify everything and win her, but that wasn't 
me. So after another moment I just said:

"Yes. Everything." Then, "I'm not usually so bold."

Again, silence. We couldn't have been more than three 
feet apart in that tiny stateroom. This wasn't right. I 
shouldn't have said anything. I shouldn't have come. I 
should make my excuses and leave, so I could be 
miserable alone. I almost did, when she spoke:

"No one ever said anything like that to me before. It 
won't leave my mind. It was the most beautiful thing 
anyone ever told me."

Then she stepped forward and kissed me very lightly on 
the lips.

My hand went to her cheek and I stepped backward, 
bumping the desk behind me. Something was squeezing my 
chest. I didn't know what to think. It was hard to talk, 
without any air. Finally I managed:

"I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry. I know it can't 
be. I shouldn't have said anything like that when you 
were so upset." The thought came unbidden: so lovely.

She was suddenly relaxed and happy. She put her right 
hand up on my left cheek.

"Don't be so certain it can't be, you silly head. A lot 
of us have been with men before, and some of us *like* 
men."

"Silly head"? What was she leading up to? Her "us" was 
my "them," and that was what made this impossible.

She paused, then became serious: "And I like you so 
much."

She came to me again and we started kissing. I had a 
hand where her waist flared out to her hip, and one in 
her hair. She kept caressing my cheeks while we kissed. 
Her tongue flicked between my lips and I captured it and 
sucked on it. I still didn't believe it.

Things are complicated when you're an adult. There was 
something I had to know. "What about your roommate? Will 
she barge in on us, or do we have a limited time, or 
what?"

She giggled. I wouldn't have expected that. It just 
burbled up out of her. Her eyes were half closed, but 
she smiled and said: "She doesn't mind. She and I, we're 
not like that. We're not lovers or anything. We're just 
friends who like to get together sometimes to travel and 
play. And the fact is, she thinks you're cute."

We kissed some more, and I stroked her neck with my 
finger tips. I was still shy about touching her body, 
but growing bolder. "So," she finished, "we have all 
afternoon if we want it."

"Maybe we could all play grown up games together?"

She used a Mae West voice: "Not today, big boy. I'm all 
you get."

***

There are only so many ways to sex your partner, only so 
many things that you can do, and you enjoy doing them 
over and over. It isn't any different if you love 
someone. It is in one respect, sure. The experience has 
a different quality if you've fallen. Still, there isn't 
anything you can do in love that you can't do just for 
passion. So shall I tell you what we did? Do you want to 
hear it again?

How often have you unbuttoned a blouse and pulled it 
open, or had yours opened? She wore a white blouse, a 
white bra, white on white on her white skin. I undid her 
pants so I could take the blouse off completely. She 
reached behind her back to unfasten the bra, and I 
pulled it off. She looked at me the whole time she did 
it. Do women know how erotic the unfastening is?

The first look at our partner's body is exquisite, 
always different than we expected. She was like other 
women, her own version. She held her hands to her thighs 
and presented her chest to me, and it was obvious she 
didn't need the bra. Her small breasts wouldn't sag; 
they went with her body. The flesh of her breasts was 
more creamy even than her face, and had beauty marks. It 
added to her ghostly aspect, but her nipples were long 
and pink. I suddenly thought of that limerick about the 
man who made love to a beautiful ghost. But she was 
solid, a body of flesh to fuck and love.

I did what lovers do, what you have done. I licked and 
sucked on her nipples, first one side and then the 
other, while she kissed my head and ran her hands down 
my back. When I looked up, she had gone red and blotchy 
from the tops of those breasts, up her neck, all the way 
to her chin. No ghostliness there! Her eyes *were* 
swollen and half closed, exactly as in my fantasy.

My penis ached from being confined to my jeans. I didn't 
want to take it out too soon, in case it might ruin 
things. When had she last seen a penis? You say you 
never worry about that? I hadn't with any other lover, 
either.

I pulled her slacks down and helped her get them off. 
She wasn't shy. It was as though she was used to someone 
undressing her.

Her panties were pale blue, setting off her belly and 
hips. I knelt and kissed her belly, which was smooth and 
firm, and rolled her panties down. Her sparse pubic hair 
was like corn silk, but on her it looked almost dark. I 
would get down there soon enough. She had an 
appendicitis scar, fainter even than her skin.

She kept stroking my hair. Was she like this with all 
her lovers? Was I? Every lover is aroused by different 
things. I gave her a hickey just below her navel, 
leaving a red mark on her belly, and she gasped and then 
held my head tightly to her while I did it. I stayed 
there for a moment, feeling her belly move in and out as 
she breathed.

"Oh, you're bad man."

She used a breathy, Marilyn Monroe voice. She was still 
holding my head to her. I pulled back to see her face.

"I'm usually more evil than this. Am I being too soft on 
you?" I would be softer if she wanted.

"How evil are you?" Still in the Marilyn voice.

Then she shifted the topic and offered me much more than 
I expected. "Do you want to do bad things to me?"

During the last sentence there had been a catch in her 
voice, and a little extra breathlessness. She couldn't 
know what I liked; no one here did. I looked up at her 
and her expression was anxious and excited. Have you 
seen that look? I stood.

"I want to do *every* bad thing to you. Everything you'd 
like."

After I said that she looked in my eyes for a long 
moment, then wrapped her arms around my neck and put her 
head to my chest. She held me very tightly.

In her own voice she said, "I'd like you to do things to 
me. But I'm a little afraid. I'm really not very 
experienced -- oh don't be so surprised. And I'm just 
finding out things about you."

She held her head against my chest the whole time she 
talked.

I moved my hands lightly all the way up her back from 
her flanks and felt her get goose bumps. I loosened her 
arms and held her back from me a few inches. I looked in 
her eyes; just below was her mouth, slightly open, 
inviting me. What would I like? What would *we* like? If 
I didn't talk right away I was going to start kissing 
her again. I pulled her arms behind her and held them at 
the small of her back. She leaned against me, head back, 
looking back in my eyes. Why wasn't I naked too? I took 
a deep breath.

"*Everything* about you surprises me." This made her 
smile.

"Let's just take this one step at a time, and find out 
all we can about each other. There's plenty of time to 
try whatever we want. Right now I'd like to explore your 
sweet body. So ... can I handle the merchandise?"

"Well, only because you're one of our favorite 
customers."

But she wanted to undress me first. She started with my 
shirt and followed the same basic order I had. Once my 
shirt was off she moved her hands over my chest, 
starting with my nipples. Her palms were on my nipples 
and her fingers were on the skin around them, caressing. 
She licked up my breastbone, then took my nipples in her 
lips and sucked at the same time that she fondled my 
upper-chest muscles, my ribs, my stomach. Her hands 
explored constantly. I held her face to my nipples; she 
was sucking almost too hard, but I didn't want to make 
her stop. I thought my prick would explode.

Once she had my jeans off she wouldn't stop looking at 
my underwear, and then she wouldn't stop looking at my 
penis. It curved up out of my graying hair. It bobbed a 
bit. It was dark, such a delicious contrast to her skin. 
It almost always is, no? And we love that. I went up to 
her and moved it back and forth across her stomach. It 
was hotter than her skin. She stared down at it.

I said, "Close your eyes."

Why do women get so excited by this? Why do I like it so 
when they do it? I started touching her as lightly as I 
could, running my fingers here and there, up her back, 
over her breasts, across her ass, along her throat. 
Light strokes always seem best. Her breathing grew 
shallower and she became flushed again.

"Spread your legs."

She did, swaying dangerously in the process. She kept 
her eyes closed. As lightly as before, I ran my fingers 
up the insides of her thighs, on both sides, then on up 
through her pussy lips and over her belly, ending at the 
hickey. The first feel of her pussy, when slippery fluid 
coats just the opening of her lips, is exquisite. She 
made her first tiny groaning sound.

I wanted to play with her ass -- I always do -- so I had 
her kneel down with her head and shoulders on one of the 
beds. Her eyes were still closed. She started to say 
something and I shushed her.

Her anus was like anyone else's, brown and puckered. I 
tongued it and she groaned again. She was curling and 
uncurling her toes. I tickled her ass, moved my fingers 
around and around her anus, then tickled her on that 
spot right between anus and vagina that is so sensitive 
to brush strokes. Have you ever done that? I pushed two 
fingers all the way into her vagina, but I stayed well 
away from her clitoris. I wanted to give her sweet 
torment for awhile. My fingers went right in.

I got up and rummaged through their toiletries to find 
some petroleum jelly. I lubed my right thumb, put it to 
her anus, and pushed in softly. Her eyes flew open.

"Wait, no, wait, just a minute." She had been caught by 
surprise.

"Do you want me to stop this?"

She paused, but only for an instant. Then, "No. I'm 
sorry. I just wasn't ready. I didn't mean to make you 
stop."

She was so willing for anything I wanted to do, one of 
those people who are stirred by having things done to 
them. I lubricated my thumb again and pushed it all the 
way into her rear. Her sphincter was tight around my 
thumb. It might have been virgin. I played with her 
pussy with the other hand, until her breathing deepened 
again, then I began fucking her ass with my thumb. It 
brought me currents of sexual pleasure. I hand-fucked 
her front and back, moving my hands slowly.

During this she was lying with her cheek on her hands, 
her eyes closed again, and I could study her face while 
I fucked her; she was marvelously expressive. She would 
close her lips tightly, and a vein would stand out on 
her forehead. Her eyes were not just closed, but 
squeezed shut, as though she was concentrating, and she 
kept tilting her head back. Then, she would open her 
lips in an 'O' and pant. Among her pants were little 
whimpers and groans, not loud at all, but loud enough 
for me. I played with her and watched her and listened 
to her for awhile.

I wasn't sure what to do next. I stood and pulled her 
up. I picked her up like you would carry a sleepy child, 
kissing her mouth and letting her feel how strong I am. 
She curled her body into my arms, her head on my 
shoulder, one arm around my neck and a hand barely 
resting on my chest, ready for whatever I wanted her do. 
I could smell her hair when I wasn't kissing her.

I told her, "You are even more beautiful right here."

I couldn't hold her very long, at least not easily. It 
felt a little silly, though I did enjoy it, so I thought 
of what to do next. After a few minutes I laid her on 
the bed, spread her legs, knelt between them, and began 
licking and sucking her sex.

Don't ask why I took so long to get to this. Maybe I was 
shy, thinking perhaps that I couldn't satisfy her, she 
who had been eaten by women. Maybe I'm an idiot.

I shouldn't have worried. She was a lover of the mouth, 
urging "yes, yes," in a hoarse whisper even before I had 
begun, cooing, tangling her fingers through my hair and 
pulling.

Though I know not all women like cunnilingus, I confess 
I've never sexed one who didn't. I once knew a woman who 
disapproved of it because it wasn't Biblical, but thank 
God she was never a lover of mine. I've had partners who 
asked me to do it, or who lit up in joy when I started, 
as though it were a rare gift. Can it be that most men 
won't pleasure their loves this way?

She lit up. She responded no matter what I did. She 
pushed herself toward me with her hips and tried to pull 
my head to her. I sucked her pussy lips into my mouth 
and nibbled on each of them. I got some of her corn silk 
in my mouth. Her clitoris was a tiny, pink nub that I 
licked very softly, using just the tip of my tongue, as 
lightly as I could, tasting her. She tried to get more 
sensation but I just kept touching her lightly, making 
her crazy.

I moved down and tasted inside her. Of course she wasn't 
sweet, like people say; yes her vagina was like a soft 
fruit of some kind, but tangy and musky. I pulled back 
and breathed on her sex, then went back to her clitoris, 
tonguing just at her scant hood. How high could I get 
her without her coming? She grunted at every lick.

Once she was very high I moved away from her, helped her 
kneel up on the bed, and put my erection to her mouth. 
What would she do?

She opened her mouth and licked the underside of the 
head and made a little face.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It's a little bit fishy tasting."

I laughed. "Well, I didn't know this was going to 
happen, so I didn't wash before coming here. I'll wash 
it now. It won't take a second."

"I *like* fish."

I laughed again. "Well, then lick it, and use your 
perfect mouth to pleasure me."

But she really didn't know how to do that. She had been 
truthful that she wasn't very experienced, at least with 
men, so I had to help her. It was almost enough just to 
feel her mouth and to know she liked doing it. I nearly 
came right then, and pulled out and squeezed behind the 
head of my penis to stop myself just in time.

She didn't know what I was doing and thought she was 
disappointing me. Dear God, no. I kissed her and told 
her she was wonderful. We knelt in front of each other 
for a moment and kissed each other's faces and I 
strummed my fingers up and down over her breast and she 
fondled my prick.

Then I laid her on her back again and licked and sucked 
her more strongly. I ran my whole tongue in long, smooth 
strokes over her sex. When she began to come she was 
moving her hips up and down, and twisting to the side. I 
crawled up between her legs. I found her opening, and I 
pushed all the way in while she came. I always savor 
that first stroke, when her flower isn't yet fully 
opened and my penis is pushing her walls outward. I 
fucked her until, in just a minute or two, I came, and I 
heard myself making crying sounds and I collapsed on her 
completely. She continued to come the whole time.

***

We were snuggling and drowsing. Even though we were 
leaking madly she wouldn't let us put our underwear back 
on, so we were damp and sticky. Touching her afterwards 
was affectionate and quiet, except when I found a tickle 
spot. She was fascinated with my spent penis. She kept 
stroking it and commenting on how soft it was. I asked 
her not to go on so much about that.

"I want to see you tonight."

"Oh, my big, strong man, I want that too. But I'm not 
sure that we can. There are other people to think of."

I didn't know if we had any future, but for the moment I 
was content to be called her *anything*. She liked me, 
liked being with me afterwards. I turned to her.

"I didn't mean for sex. At least not necessarily. I'm at 
an age when it might even be difficult." I had almost 
said 'hard.' It was twitching, though. She should quit 
stroking it.

"I just want to see you in that moonlight again. And 
your roommate is welcome. I think I'd like to see her 
there, too."

"Oh? You want to watch us kiss, so you can get turned on 
again?"

"No, I thought she and I could kiss, to get *you* turned 
on again."

"Well what about your wife?"

I used a Bogart voice: "Sweetheart, I'm all you get."

We snuggled some more.

END

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world 
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per 
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 71