Sandman’s Bolero: In four measures
(but all the gushy stuff’s in the fourth)
By Sandman
(Copyright 1998 by Sandman)
Content Warning: This story contains a very long, very hot sex scene
between a self-
aggrandizing male writer and a self-depreciating female writer,
somehow this all
combines into something that is illegal in a lot of places and isn’t
really fit for young,
impressionable minds (go watch MTV, it’s apparently a lot more wholesome).
Subject: What REALLY (but not really) happens when two erotica writers
meet in the flesh?
Subject Matter: (M/F) (Sickeningly Romantic)
Rating: (X) Not suitable for minors. May be illegal in some areas.
Author: SandMan
Copyright ( c ) 1998 sandman@bitsmart.com
Archive: ftp://asstr.ml.org/pub/Authors/sandman/index.html
Distribution Rights: May be distributed freely WITHOUT MODIFICATION
on
USENET, USENET II, not-for-profit web sites, not-for-profit ftp
sites, and news archival
services which offer free public access to archived articles. Janey
can do anything she
darn well wants to with it (hopefully this includes many printouts
crumpled in
passionately clenched fists) but all other rights are specifically
reserved by the
author.
Credits: Poetry by Samuel Coleridge who said it all better than I
ever could, two hundred
years before this humble, would-be writer could really begin to
understand the true
passion of the words.
Dedication: To Janey who inspired me to be better than I am. To Linda
who captured my
heart but lets my spirit soar free. Two better women never graced
the face of this earth.
Creation Date: 3/30/98
Distribution Date: 3/31/98
Author’s Note: Authors find inspiration in the strangest of places.
This time though
inspiration found me in a wonderfully tall, depreciatingly demure
woman named Janey
who is FAR more sexy than she lets on even in her wildly erotic
stories ;-) Janey inspires me to verse, even if not my own. With one lone
exception (duly noted) any verse you see in this story is from Coleridge’s
"Kubla Khan". Janey also inspires me to do a very poor imitation of her
writing style but for some reason I felt that maybe I had an invitation
to enter her world.
Shameless sucking up to reviewers: Celeste if you’re reading this
maybe it will please
you to know that I once thoroughly embarrassed a student teacher
when, in front of a
bunch of horny high-school students, I began to explain in graphic
detail the erotic
qualities of allusion and symbolism in Coleridge’s "Kubla Khan"
(which remarkably
slipped through the rather strict southern Baptist school board
censors! Obviously strict
southern Baptist school board censors wouldn’t know erotic allusion
and symbolism if "A mighty fountain momentarily was forced" up their "romantic
chasms". :-). To this VERY day, I still count as one of my greatest sexual
exploits the blush which graced that young student-teacher’s cheeks and
regret our regular English teacher so masterfully stepped in and diverted
me. I got an A+ on the report however and I noted that, unlike my peer’s
reports, my report had been graded by our regular teacher. There’s probably
a bit of allusion, symbolism, and metaphor in that last sentence (maybe
throw in a parable for the whole ball of wax) but it’s probably something
only an astute student of literature would be able to discern (or someone
who wasn’t blind and had an IQ above that of a grapefruit – my apologies
to those of you who didn’t get it – inside joke.) ;-)
Disclaimer: Janey’s world is remarkably similar to our own, but this
is a work of
FICTION folks. It’s a far, far better place than our own world for
sure but it’s only a
"might have been" in the fabric of time and space. DO NOT TRY THIS
AT HOME!
There are laws against this sort of thing – geez!
==============================================
Sandman’s Bolero: In four measures
(but all the gushy stuff’s in the fourth)
By Sandman
==========
Introduction.
==========
In my real life I have three all consuming passions; sex, computers
and writing in that
order. The fact that writing erotic stories tends to combine all
of these passions is a rather nice bonus. Reviewing erotic stories for
the Celestial Reviews also manages to combine all those qualities. So generally
I’m a pretty happy-go-lucky-fellow indulging in an orgy of, well, indulgences.
Just when things started getting a bit routine, Malinov and DG announced
a spring orgy
for writers and Jane Urquhart included me in one of the hottest
stories I’d ever read!
Celeste in her review stated that I probably wouldn’t rate that
story as highly as "Janey’s January" but she was just a little off. Any
story which costars ME has a definite appeal! Naturally I became more than
a little interested in this rather wonderful mystery woman.
Finding out a bit about Janey involved my passion for computers.
Few people know
either computers or the Net as well as I do and even fewer people
realize how little
anonymity they actually have from someone like me (or the CIA --
but I’m less
threatening). I found Janey without any problems at all. The only
problem would be
getting to know her the way I really wanted to know her without
seeming like some
sicko stalker.
=======================
Chapter 1: Testing my mettle
=======================
When I finally met Janey she was almost exactly the way I pictured
her. That in itself is
fairly remarkable considering that I’m usually very far from the
mark when it comes to
guessing how Net personalities look in real life. Janey, in her
stories, always puts herself down as too tall, too flat-chested, too-old
(33 is old?), too middle-class-average woman. Somehow though I always read
that as a strikingly tall, well proportioned, just-the-right-age, wonderfully
normal woman. Oh how right I was.
Sitting behind her desk looking harried and just a little bit annoyed (as anyone who’s had a hard day at the office with the prospect of a harder night at home would look), Janey probably would not impress most people as a sexual creature at that particular moment. But then Janey had not included most people in her island fantasy either. Just as I had seen through her depreciating prose, I saw through the effect of a harried workday. Janey was a striking woman in every respect.
I can’t describe the rush I felt as I opened the door and gazed at
her for the first time. I
expected to be disappointed. I expected to have to rapidly re-appraise
my mental picture
of my fantasy woman. If anything she was even prettier than I had
imagined. She was
studying some papers on her desk and biting into a pencil, oblivious
to my presence. I
didn’t even realize I had stopped dead in my tracks, captivated
by her, unable to tear my
eyes from the woman I had come so far and gone through such trouble
to meet. I could
have stood there until the end of time.
Janey looked up, finally noticing me and smiled (SMILED! The whole
grungy academic
cubical suddenly was filled with the ambiance of a warm spring day!
"And there were
gardens bright with sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense-bearing
tree; And
here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of
greenery.") Yes it was
a professional smile, a polite smile, the kind one makes but doesn’t
mean a dozen times
an hour, but when she smiled she was radiant beyond belief.
Janey looked down at her notes a moment then looked back up. For
just a second she
stared at me with an odd expression on her face, probably because
I had a dopey
expression on mine -- I guess Janey didn’t get the "thunderstruck,
love-at-first-sight" look every day. Shaking off the oddity, Janey asked,
"Mr. Sands, won’t you have a seat
please?" Her voice was sweeter than honey, a thousand rapturous
bells in perfect
harmony.
Still in a daze I moved forward. One foot forward. Down. OK, now
the other foot.
Something which had always been so routine, so automatic now took
every last shred of
will. I was like a kid on a first date all over again trying desperately
to control everything I did so as not to look the fool. The effect was
off course predictable, I looked very much the village idiot (pity him,
he knoweth not what he do for the only thing more foolish than a woman
in love be a man). Judging from Janey’s expression I must have been doing
a fairly good impression of Frankenstein (the monster -- the mad scientist
impression wouldn’t begin until I started talking). I finally managed the
three paces and sat awkwardly in the chair.
"First visit to a vocational guidance counselor?" Janey asked, sounding and looking a bit amused.
"Uh-huh," I replied. Wow! That was almost a coherent word!
"Well relax a little. I’m not going to stick any needles in you!"
Janey said soothingly
though with an amused smile that said I was a bit of an oddity in
her middle-class
academically sheltered life. Being sensible for a change I remained
silent and she
continued, "You’re a bit older than what we normally get. Usually
by the time
someone’s thirty they’ve already found their vocation."
I had actually, and was rather successful at it but then I thought
meeting Janey this way
would be better than say knocking on her door and saying, "Hi Janey,
I’m Sandman
wanna fuck?" I mean that might work in a story but in real life
she’d be calling the cops.
In real life I wouldn’t blame her!
"I’m a late bloomer," I replied. Oh! That was almost good!
She smiled politely and returned to her notes. "Well your test scores
are really rather
good. I think we can skip right past ditch digger and move straight
to garbage collector."
In real life I’m an over-paid, under-worked, systems analyst/programmer/network
administrator. I have to admit that Janey masterfully extracted
me from my daze. It’s one thing to love a woman from afar, quite another
to have one’s lively-hood threatened;
after all, one’s lively-hood allowed one to love a woman from afar
with the chance of
loving her anear!
I wear my feelings on my face it appears and Janey laughed lightheartedly.
"Just a little
joke Mr. Sands. It’s a bit cruel but it tends to get the client’s
attention."
"Well at least you didn’t say attorney or politician!" I quipped. That’s the old boy again --back in the real world!
"Well you do score high in community involvement and writing skills,
so neither is out of
the question. Your analytical and organizational skills are very
high though. You’d make
excellent management material either as a business major or in the
computer sciences."
Damn! Beautiful, intelligent, creative, attractive, seductive, exotic,
AND dead solid
perfect at her job. "It doesn’t say anything about maybe becoming
a writer?"
Janey looked up at me with a considering expression. I DEFINITELY
liked that. Let her
consider me all she wanted as long as she considered me as a person
rather than a lab
experiment! "Normally for the arts we recommend a day job until
you get your big break. Do you write?"
"Frequently." I answered, leaning forward. That’s it boy! Smile! Turn on the old charm!
"Have you published anything?" She asked, still in that considering tone.
Ohhh, good question! Oh yes! I’ve published TONS in ASS. Surprise!
I’m Sandman!
That would be about two seconds before she called the cops. "Nothing
professionally. A
few things in high school and a few local magazines. Just fun stuff.
Are you by any
chance a writer?"
"Why do you ask?" Janey replied.
OOPS, stepping outside the profesional/client relationship, which
was exactly what I
wanted. I already knew my vocation and one of them was Janey. "Something
in your tone maybe. I tend to notice things like that. Helps in the writing."
I winked warmly. At least I think I winked warmly, these days there’s a
fine line between lewd and warm. Janey didn’t seem to mind though -- she
smiled and this time it wasn’t polite, it was genuine.
"I dabble," she replied noncommittally. Dabble! That was Janey for
you, in my opinion
maybe the best writer on the whole bloody group (and therefore the
whole world) and she dabbles! Well she was doing a masterful job of dabbling
with my heartstrings whether she knew it or not!
"So this is your day job?" I asked, trying to tear down the walls between us.
Janey laughed. "My job-job. With a husband and kids I honestly don’t know where I find the time to write!"
"But you make the time," I said confidently. Oh yes, this was very
solid ground here.
"Writing is who you are. It drives you, consumes you, makes you
human." Oh boy,
DOCTOR Frankenstein just had to make a cameo. I probably had a crazed,
burning look in my eyes as well. The kind of look one couldn’t help but
see and think "Weirdo!
Crackpot! Fanatic!" If I started foaming at the mouth it would probably
be a really nice
touch!
Janey considered me another moment. This time I was uncomfortable
under that gaze.
Being passionate about something (or someone) can be a good quality,
but it can also
land you in the loony bin (or the pervert stalker wing of your local
county jail). Funny
how life’s just filled to the brim with politically correct razor
fine lines like that.
"You seem to know me pretty well," Janey said cautiously.
An opening! "I know myself," I replied. "It’s the way I am about my writing, I assume it’s how others are about theirs."
"I’d say you assumed rightly. It certainly beats doing laundry." A slight, demure smile lit her face.
"You know, I’d love to discuss our writing in a less formal setting.
Maybe over dinner?
You could bring some of your writing – you strike me as a very interesting
person, I’d
love to read a sample."
Janey blushed (BLUSHED! Forget Coleridge even he couldn’t capture
this moment!
"Untamed beauty knoweth no bounds when graced by an unbidden blush."
If someone
hasn’t said that already then damnit someone should’ve!). Her gaze
fell to her hands, one of which was twirling her wedding ring – heads I
decline, tails I accept. Oh God let it be tails!
"I don’t know if it would be …," she cast about for a word, " proper."
Her eyes never left the wedding ring. This was for my benefit, my chance
to know beyond a shadow of a
doubt that she was already spoken for (lucky bastard).
The ring twirled. I could smell Janey’s perfume wafting across the
tiny room carried on
cool breezes from the open window. Janey looked up and considered
me again. My reply
was strictly friendly but every nuance of my body shouted that I
considered her an
interesting and very (oh God how very) desirable woman. "What could
be more proper
than a shared evening between two stuffy writers?" I asked.
I knew it was an inside joke, SHE knew it was an inside joke. I was
daring her to be
adventurous and take a step on the wild side and she was enjoying
every second as she
flirted with the idea. That much I knew. A writer puts just a little
bit of themselves in
every story. I knew Janey well enough to know this.
"I don’t think I could make it tonight," Janey said. "Maybe tomorrow?"
Tails I accept,
you win, maybe I win too.
"I hear the Four Seasons has a most excellent restaurant, would you like to meet me there or should I pick you up?" I asked. I’d already managed to pick her up, but the hard part most definitely was not over yet!
"I’ll meet you there. At the bar. Say around seven?"
"Don’t forget your writing," I reminded her.
She gave me a quirky smile. "Don’t forget yours."
I rose from my chair, amazingly managing to keep my balance! She
rose as well and
despite herself let out a little gasp. Even separated by the desk
Janey could see how tall I was. In her stories she belittled (no pun intended
of course!) her size, but I stood a good five inches taller than her. Short
and average sized women always made me feel
uncomfortable, like I was robbing the cradle or something. Where
Janey considered
herself too tall, I found her breathtakingly perfect.
Recovering herself admirably she offered me her hand – a nice professional
handshake to close a not-so-professional meeting. I accepted and then did
something completely out of left field and bent over, raising her hand
to my lips for a light, promising kiss. No
ring on this hand. None at all. I think I got it down perfect, not
too long, not too short,
just perfect. Then I glanced up into her profoundly fascinating
eyes and smiled. With a
single, simple smile I tried to tell her without words just how
happy, how complete she
had made me feel.
Sometimes I know exactly when to quit and with Janey gazing after
me I beat a hasty
retreat, wondering how I would possibly survive the doubts and uncertainties
which
would consume me until we met again.
=======================
Chapter 2: Dinner for two.
=======================
The next twenty-seven hours was the oddest mixture of dread, anticipation,
fear, and
exhilaration. I was like a kid on Christmas eve, a kid who knew
Santa would be bringing
the most wonderful toy that had ever been made. But I was also a
kid who had to perform a most intricate dance for Santa and one false step,
one missed queue and not only would Santa not give me the toy but there
would never be another Christmas again. That pretty much sums up twenty-seven
hours (twenty-seven years… twenty-seven lifetimes…twenty-seven eternities…)
of heaven and hell each existing in the same exact moment in time.
I waited at the bar for another eternity slowly nursing the Perriers
the bartender kept
bringing me with a slight scowl which seemed to say a real man would
be drinking
something more expensive and mind altering. What can I say, save
for a very fine wine
on occasion I simply do not imbibe. I think I manage to make a fool
of myself quite
well without the necessity of consuming large quantities of alcohol
thank you very much.
Janey was fashionably (agonizingly, soul-searchingly) late, but Janey
was also dressed to the nines (and tens and elevens and twelves!)! At the
risk of sounding like a cartoon
character, my jaw was on the bar as this absolute vision of perfection,
elegance, and
grace stepped into the smoky bar like a goddess descending from
on-high.
Her eyes flitted nervously about the crowded bar as she sought me out, then our eyes met. I smiled, she smiled, all was right with the world. I floated out of my chair and walked on air over to greet her. Taking both of her hands in mine (funny I didn’t feel a wedding ring!) I took a step back and took her in, drank her in, let her fill me. Under the intensity of my gaze she blushed (Oh Janey don’t ever stop doing that, your blush makes all things possible and all things desirable).
"You are staggeringly beautiful," I said admiringly.
The blush deepened and spread to her neck and shoulders. She raised
her eyes and met
my gaze, "You exaggerate."
"To you I will speak only the truth, always," I replied. OK, OK!
I’m a romantic – shoot
me.
"Well you’re not doing a very good job!" She protested.
"You want me to stop?"
"Oh, definitely not!"
"Good! Because I intend to compliment you and flatter you shamelessly
all evening."
Amazing how bold I had become. Fortunately twenty-seven hours had
allowed me to
remember what set seven years of a frustrated teen-aged sex-drive
apart from the last
decade of reasonable success with the women I pursued. I had never
pursued a married
woman before, but I didn’t really think that saying "I Do" made
anyone less human.
She rolled her eyes and grinned. "Then how am I to believe anything you possibly say?"
"You’ll believe everything because it is the truth." I replied, then
shifted the subject.
"Would you like to have a drink at the bar or shall we retire to
our table?"
She glanced at the crowded, smoky, noisy bar behind us and very sensibly
replied, "A
table would be very nice."
I led her out of the bar and could feel her drift away from me as
we neared the ground-
floor restaurant. In very good humor I pulled her back, she looked
at me curiously as we
entered the elevator. Like most modern hotels the Four Seasons had
several restaurants with varying degrees of quality. Generally, the rule
of thumb is, the closer to the ground the cheaper and more common the food.
I had refined tastes in wine, food, and women.
"This table wouldn’t happen to be in a private room would it?" Janey
asked with just a
note of anxiety. She really didn’t know me from your average psycho
on the street – a
perfectly sensible question.
"A table in The Garden on the top floor." I smiled back at her.
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I hear that’s terribly exclusive! How did you arrange a table on such short notice?"
"They had a last minute cancellation when I inquired," I replied.
Funny how even at the
most exclusive restaurants someone always cancels at the last moment
if you slip the
matre de a few pieces of paper with some old philosopher’s picture
on it -- very
intellectual those restaurant types.
Pasqual’s face brightened when the elevator deposited us in the Garden
waiting room.
"Mr. Sands, how very pleasant to see you again! And just look at
this ravishing creature
you bring us! You said she would be beautiful, but, missure, that
is like saying a rose in
beautiful." Amazing what you can get away with having a French accent
and a pencil
thin mustache. Janey liked it, though.
The French are also quite good at whisking and Pasqual whisked us
to a small, dark,
secluded table set in front of a large picture window which overlooked
the glowing city
far below us.
Janey leaned over and said in a low, admonishing voice, "I don’t
know what to say! I
certainly never expected anything like this! I’m not dressed for
it, I certainly don’t move
in these circles! What the hell are all these forks and spoons for?"
The expression on her face was asking, "what have you got me into?" The
LOOK on her face was saying, "I am SO excited."
"Pasqual is the official dress code enforcer. He liked you just fine.
Now me, I just kinda
pick a fork and spoon at random and stick withem." I gave her my
patent-pending, award winning "ain’t I just the cutest little devil" grin.
Just as she was starting to relax and go with the flow her eyes narrowed
suspiciously
again, "How can someone who’s still looking for a vocation afford
a place like this?"
I shrugged. "Someone still looking for a vocation is probably independently
wealthy."
Don’t look at me like that, it was probably the truth even if it
DIDN’T apply to me. I
mean she didn’t exactly ask me how I could afford a place like this.
"A man of means hmm?" She asked, giving me another one of those delightful
considering looks. I especially loved the way her right eyebrow
arches when she does
that. Not too much, not to little – just perfect.
"I guess you could say that." I smiled back at her, a self-assured smile. I’m not Bill Gates or anything, but I’m comfortably comfortable even if I do have to make my own means–whatever that means.
The waiter brought us our menus and after a minute or so of glancing
over the selections
Janey peeked over her menu and confessed, "I can’t READ any of this!
For all I know I
may be ordering a copyright message!"
I grinned wickedly. "Do you trust me?"
"Would I be here if I didn’t?" She answered conspiratorially.
I raised my hand slightly and our waiter appeared instantly at our
table -- for those on a
power trip nothing beats an exclusive restaurant. I ordered a very,
very fine white wine,
salad, baked fish with those little baby potatoes and green bean
sides. There
wasn’t exactly a menu item with that particular combination, but
a good restaurant could
improvise – this was a good restaurant. In my restaurant French
I also casually mentioned that they not be too concerned about rushing
the order. The waiter frowned at that (turnover was after all where the
money was) but like Pasqual he was an aficionado of old philosophers and
he smiled as I returned themenus.
"You didn’t order snails or anything did you?" Janey asked after he had left.
I smiled warmly. "Just a couple of light seafood plates." I assured her.
Janey considered that a moment then reached down and pulled a few
papers out of her
purse.
"Your writing?" I asked.
"Well it IS why we’re SUPPOSED to be here." She reminded me.
I accepted the papers. When I began to read however she cleared her
throat. "Ahm, this
isn’t one sided or anything. I got the impression this was an I’ll
show you mine if you
show me yours affair." Ohhh! Stunning double-entendre.
"I promise I’ll let you read mine after dinner." I replied. "I’d much rather read your story without having to worry about how you’re feeling about mine." It was the truth. It wasn’t the only reason of course but it was the truth.
She considered that as the waiter poured our wine – he would lurk
in the shadows the rest of the evening never allowing our glasses to get
dangerously low. He was a most
excellent waiter, unobtrusive and invisible.
Under Janey’s considering gaze I read her story. It wasn’t an erotic
story, after all she
really didn’t know me, but it was a very good story – if you ask
her nicely she might even share it with you.
=======================
Chapter 3: Just Deserts.
=======================
Even by my excruciatingly paranoid high standards, dinner was a smashing
success. We
talked about her story for at least an hour and at the end I’m not
so sure we both weren’t reading things into the story just for the sake
of continuing the conversation. The food, wine, and service were exceptional
though Janey did cast a despairing glance at the rather small portions
on the artistic gold-leafed plates. I didn’t, a well-trimmed hoagie was
just a call to room service away.
"Dinner’s over," Janey said reminding me of my promise.
"Nothing is more honest than one’s writing." I said cryptically as
I pulled a few pages
from my coat pocket and handed them to her. She glanced at the pages,
leaning forward
like a cat pouncing on its prey.
Just seconds into the story she looked up sharply, her eyes wide;
her hands trembled
slightly, causing the paper to bristle; the look on her face was
completely, completely
unreadable.
I took a sip of wine. At times like this even tea-toddlers needed a good stiff drink! "I had to meet you," I said simply, apologetically. "If it were just your stories… But it was more than that; the e-mail, our fictional trip. When I started making cameos in your months I just had to meet you."
Her mouth was moving but no words came out. NOT a good sign. "I didn’t
come to
whisk you off to bed!" OK now I was a blatant liar, I wanted that
very badly but it wasn’t
the ONLY reason I had traveled across the country to be at this
table with this woman. I
gave her a quirky smile. I’m harmless! Really! See? I’m just one
step away from being
the local village idiot!
"You DIDN’T come to whisk me off to bed?" Janey asked and was I ever confused by her tone – angry, pouty but mostly angry which was at the exact same time extraordinarily exciting and extraordinarily disturbing.
"Well I toyed with the idea," I said defensively. "But this isn’t exactly a story!"
"No, it’s not a story, it’s a fairy tale romance! Even if you weren’t the same Sandman I’ve let myself fantasize about these last few weeks you’re a handsome man, you’ve made me feel like Cinderella at the Prince’s ball and I was all worked up for a really great evening --something that would have Beth drooling for months on end and I, and I," she started to giggle, "and IIII can’t believe I just said all that."
I had to smile, Janey embarrassed was another side of her that I
found extraordinarily
attractive! "And I finally meet you, face to face. I always pictured
you much better than
you wrote yourself and even that pales to your reality. You tell
everyone you’re a Yugo
but you’re really a Porsche. More than looks though you’re EXACTLY
the Janey I know, warm, creative, intelligent, funny, witty… " Yes, folks,
in a former life I was a thesaurus editor.
Janey interrupted me. "I hate to be forward and all, but as they
said on dot dee lets blow
this pop stand."
"Wasn’t that blow this joint?" I asked with a twinkle in my eye.
(Here comes Santa
Clause here comes Santa Clause right down Santa Clause lane …:-)
:- ):-) :-) :-)
"Let’s just blow," Janey said sounding exasperated but electric with anticipation.
=======================
Chapter 4: "By woman wailing"
=======================
Janey paused at the door to my suite. "Room 607. That sounds familiar,"
she noted with
an enigmatic smile.
"The devil’s always in the details," I replied cryptically.
"He must have a very nice suite prepared for you." Janey quipped as she stepped inside.
"I don’t doubt it at all." I stepped up behind her and removed her
wrap, kissing the base
of her neck softly as I did.
Her wrap safely hanging on a convenient hook I stepped into her waiting
arms. As I
peered down into her endless, inviting eyes I took one brief moment
to glory in how
lucky I was to be here at this time, at this place, with this Woman.
Janey smelled like
fresh cut flowers in full bloom, her "non-existent tits" were pressing
into my chest
and as I tasted her lips in a brief, hesitant kiss she tasted of
sweet wine.
I pulled back and smiled. "You are so much more than I ever dared dream or hope for."
"You’re going to make me horribly self-conscious if you keep saying
things like that,"
she scolded but her eyes danced.
I turned my head to glance at my laptop sitting on the desk. "JOBE,"
I commanded,
"PLAY RAVEL BOLERO REPEAT." Modern technology is so wonderful even
technogeeks like me can appear suave and sophisticated – the soft
discordant notes of
Ravel’s perfectly erotic masterpiece began to waft through the room.
"My, you’re full of surprises," Janey said with the most wicked smile
as she ground her
hips into mine.
"All pleasant, I hope," I quipped, but didn’t wait for a reply as
her luscious, inviting lips
beckoned me.
Her lips parted and we partook of each other’s tastes, textures. When she began to sway oh-ever-so pleasingly, so sensuously to the music, I gently tugged at her zipper. Her breath caught as the zipper traveled down to the small of her back. She broke away from the rapturous kiss as her dress fell to the floor around her feet and looked up at me, a probing look, a pleading look, a perfect look.
"The only thing fictional about your stories is the description of
yourself," I told her,
overwhelmed by the goddess standing before me.
Janey’s no super-model able to instill lust in men at first sight, but Janey is ever so much more than he sum of all her parts. Her nose may be merely a pretty nose, her cheekbones may be ordinary cheekbones, her eyes may be fascinating but not exotic, her lips appealing but not remarkable but take all of these almost but not quite ordinary parts, roll them all up with Janey’s remarkable personality and what she considers a bunch of disjointed ordinary parts becomes to the eye of the beholder a face that would indeed launch a whole Greek armada.
As she undressed and retired to the bed I let my eyes drink in that beauty, idly discarding my own cloths as I indulged my voyeuristic urges.
Janey was blushing furiously as I joined her. Ordinarily, a woman
like Janey would
become a canvas to me, her pleasure becoming my pleasure in a long,
lingering
exploration of the senses but Janey’s pleasures I knew chapter and
verse. Lazy
explorations were not for people such as ourselves stealing moments
between reality.
Her legs parted invitingly, pleadingly as I moved over her, her back
arched to greet me,
her eyes beckoned me, her breath anticipated me.
"But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! "
She engulfed me, wrapped herself around me and for one brief, perfect
timeless second I
existed within her, complete, whole. Her hands caressed my back
as she inhaled deeply.
To the undeniable tides of Ravel’s Bolero we began to move.
"A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!"
Janey bit her lower lip and whimpered between fast breathing pants
as I moved within
her, over her, for her, for me. Her hands roamed freely across my
back, clenching my
taught buttocks in her hot palms, letting her fingers trace the
back of my legs. In the
distance Bolero began its final crescendo.
"The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves."
Janey’s legs entwined mine, rubbing against mine as her low, passionate,
oh so
breathtakingly erotic moans touched the edges of my consciousness.
Suddenly, her whole body trembled and her fingernails dug ever-so lightly
into my flesh and I let go the last shreds of my self-control and moved
with her in passionate pleasure.
"And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething.
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,"
***
"Wow," Janey said between a very satisfied and pleased giggle. You know, "wow" always struck me as exactly the most perfect thing a woman could possibly say to a man after exhilarating sex. Wow is an emotion, it’s the only word/emotion that can fill a sentence all by itself. It is both simple and profound and coming from Janey it was a validation of everything we had just shared.
"Wow." I replied. OK when the earth moves (and oh, did it move in fast thick pants!) I’m not exactly the most creative guy -- we all have our faults -- deal with it.
"Now what?" She asked as I poured us a glass of bubbly.
Janey could really ask the most amazingly profound questions but
I was having far too
good a time to answer with anything other than, "Now we have a nice
glass of bubbly, I
tell you how beautiful, sexy, erotic, and inspiring you are and
before you know it we’ll
both be ready to make a REAL night of it."
Janey’s eyes lit up eagerly as she exclaimed, "You mean that was just an appetizer?!!"
My eyes twinkled as I nodded. "And around midnight or so, room service
will arrive. I
took the liberty of ordering a few omelets with those raisins you
seem to like so well."
Janey sighed and kissed me.
=======================
Afterward
=======================
It all seems like some dream now, unreal in its perfection. Now a
continent apart I
sometimes have to e-mail Janey asking her if it really happened.
Sometimes she simply
answers yes, sometimes she writes vividly descriptive prose that
somehow makes our
brief time together come alive all over again.
"Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise."
-- Sandman
This has been a test of the romantic broadcasting system, this was
only a test. If this had
been an actual romance Janey and I would have lived happily ever
after. We now return
you to "My Mommy, My Lover," already in progress.
-----THE END-----
Copyright 1998 by Sandman. All rights reserved. Used by permission.
Note from JU: I regret to tell you that Sandman, who later changed
his name to BitBard, has retired from the scene, and left no forwarding
address. He is much missed.