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From: r_rivers@cryogen.com (Rivers)
Subject: REPOST {Rivers} Summer Story: Part 3  (M/F Sex, Asians, Seasonal Affective Disorder)
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I am re posting parts 2 and 3 after receiving the rather nasty
surprise that my newsreader was garbling all posts of more than about
4k words.  Hopefully the problem has been solved: my apologies to
anyone who bothered to read three quarters of the way through only to
have the text disintegrate.  Please let me know if there is still a
problem.

This story contains graphic descriptions of sex.  It is intended for
adults only.  

This is more or less a sequel to another story I wrote: Her Name Was
Yuki.  There is not much overlap between the two, and reading of the
previous story should not be necessary for the appreciation of this
one.  As a warning, some readers, perhaps many, may find the ratio of
sex to plot unfavorable.  The story will be posted as written with the
intention of making each part, while a piece of a larger whole,
interesting enough to stand on its own.  As always, the author
welcomes any constructive criticism.

The other parts to this story can be found on the Asian Sex Stories
Archive
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Asian_Sex_Stories/www/Stories/newer/Rivers/summerstory/summerstorypt1.html

Some other of my stories are on that site as well.


Summer Story
By Richard Rivers

Part 3



After their evening together at the symphony, Carla spent a lot of
time over the next several weeks thinking about Kozue, eventually
deciding that although the nature of her problem remained a mystery,
its solution was a simple matter.  Kozue needed to get laid: there was
nothing more to it than that.  The way she looked at the handsome
musician made it obvious.  Carla could recognize loneliness, and
certainly horniness, when she saw it.  She congratulated herself for
reaching the conclusion. 

Jerry surprised her by coming up with a plan, which she agreed to
readily.  Kozue had become such a fixation Carla thought she would go
crazy if she didn't do something about it.  But as the day drew
nearer, she began to have second thoughts.  It was essentially a
harmless idea, which made her realize her objection was more to Jerry
than his plan.  They were spending a lot of time together; Carla
hadn't been clubbing since they met.  Even though she felt comfortable
around him, almost too comfortable, she felt hemmed in by him, as if
she was surrendering her freedom to him piece by piece.  Too many
times she found herself consenting to his wishes, mostly small
inconsequential things, and then resenting him for it afterwards.

**

Entering the club, the sheer volume of the music made Kozue
momentarily dizzy.  The bass and drums throbbed in the pit of her
stomach.  Carla put a hand on her shoulder and scanned the
smoke-filled room.  To Kozue, everything seemed a jumble - so much
noise, so much frantic activity.  People were milling about in a
tightly packed crowd near the bar, while close to the band, under a
shifting kaleidoscopic swirl of colored lights, she could see another
crowded knot of people dancing.  Even in the midst of all that, she
became aware of someone's eyes on her and she briefly made eye contact
with a man standing close by making an obvious show of looking them up
and down.  Kozue turned away, feeling self-conscious.

"Follow me," Carla said as she led them, edging her way with practiced
ease through the crush of people.  Brushing against all manner of
strangers, it was all Kozue could do to keep up as Carla lead her to
the empty table she had improbably spotted from across the crowded
room.  When they pulled up chairs Carla scooted close enough to be
able to shout in Kozue's ear, the only way to be heard over the din.  

"Wait here," she ordered.  "I'm going for drinks."  

Kozue watched as Carla repeated the agile ballet of threading her way
through the crowd.  At first she felt ill at ease to be sitting alone
in the midst of such a mob, but after a few moments she began to
relax; the darkness of the place, the anonymity amongst so many people
was strangely liberating, even exhilarating.  She didn't know what the
music was but the beat was infectious; the utter force of its volume
was enough to have her tapping her foot and moving her body to its
rhythm.  When Carla came back, smiling and holding two bottles of
beer, Kozue eagerly drank almost half of hers right away.  Normally
she was a slow drinker with a low tolerance for alcohol, but her
adrenaline was up; she was nervous and her mouth felt dry.

Carla was telling her about the club, the band, and some of the guys
she had met there.  She had to shout over the din to be heard and
Kozue only caught about a third of what she was saying.  When they had
finished their beers Carla left to fetch another round while Kozue,
feeling much more at ease, ventured to look at the people around her.
The crowd was not as young as she had expected.  Most of them appeared
to be of the thirty-something set.  A lot of the men still had their
ties on from the office. These are all single guys out to meet women
Kozue realized: no wives or girlfriends to go home to.  The ratio of
men to women had to be at least five to one, and the number of females
who were alone or unattended was almost zero.  The overt, barely
contained sexuality of the place was suddenly oppressive.  Kozue's
gaze crossed and darted away from numerous pairs of male eyes, bright
with alcohol, or hope, or something she didn't even want to guess at.
Single men seemed to be everywhere, craning their necks, or in groups,
posturing for each other, always with an eye over the shoulders of
their companions, searching out the women in the place.  

Suddenly some of the stories Carla had told made more sense to Kozue.
She had a renewed admiration for the way her friend had survived these
shark-infested waters.  It occurred to Kozue that, if she wanted, even
she could probably leave with one of the men here without much effort
on her part.  Shivering, she recalled the hungry, glittering eyes of
the man in the doorway.   How many other pairs of eyes had flitted
across her, or lingered over her when she wasn't watching; what
thoughts had passed through those minds?   With a dread-tinged,
fluttery excitement, Kozue began to see the place as filled with
predators, and herself as their prey.  She squeezed her knees
together.  Even if she had wanted to surrender to one of them, she
knew she would never be capable of it - she was too nervous, too
afraid.  She lacked Carla's savvy, her ability to discern the bad ones
from the good.

Carla returned with more beer.  The second one tasted stronger than
the first and Kozue forced herself to put it down; her head felt light
and airy.  Soon after, when Carla was in the middle of a story about
someone she had met, a pair of male hands appeared on her shoulders.
She whirled around to face their owner.  Kozue heard her shriek
"Jerry!" before leaping to her feet, and out of earshot.  She gestured
excitedly, yelling into his ear over the band while Kozue watched.  He
was handsome, just as Carla described him: tall, with dark hair,
framing a broad, open face.  He looked as if he had just come from the
office, his tie still on and his jacket thrown over one shoulder.
Beside him was another man, dressed the same way.  His hair was a
sandy blonde color and he was a few inches taller than Jerry, although
more slightly built.  Everything about his features suggested
verticality, his long thin body, and his narrow, serious looking face.
Kozue met his eyes and he gave her a faint, weary looking smile before
shrugging and turning to watch Jerry and Carla in animated
conversation.

While the two men pulled up chairs Carla leaned over to Kozue:  "Jerry
just happened by with a friend of his from the office.  Isn't that a
coincidence?"

Kozue nodded, although she sensed right away that Carla's surprise was
staged.  She shook hands with Jerry when introduced and then with his
friend, Steven.  The two men worked together in the same law firm a
few blocks away.  They had sauntered over to unwind after a very long
day at the office.  Carla filled Kozue in while Steven was up at the
bar fetching drinks.  Jerry seemed oblivious to what was going on at
the table.  With eyes closed, he was nodding his head, bobbing his
entire torso with the beat of the music.  As soon as Steven came back
with drinks for everyone the band stopped playing and some recorded
music came on, much less loud, allowing them to talk.

Jerry began telling about the case they were working on at their law
firm.  He monopolized the conversation, only turning to Steven a few
times for confirmation of one point or another.  Kozue could see why
he became a lawyer.  He had a way of engaging an audience and holding
their attention, throwing in little witty asides along the way.
Steven, by contrast, was mostly silent, looking alternately sheepish
or distracted.  Kozue thought he seemed tired.  The few things he said
revealed a dry sense of humor, and he delivered his words through a
wan smile.  Glancing over at Carla, Kozue noticed her becoming
agitated.  She was drumming her fingers on the tabletop while Jerry
spoke, turning her head this way and that, as if looking for another
table to go and sit at.  Kozue could see some of the problems Carla
had with Jerry, but she felt sympathetic towards him; he was only
trying to break the ice with his long-winded story.  

When Carla finally wrested the conversation from him, she began
telling Jerry and Steven about Kozue - how she was from Japan, a
psychologist, and a single parent.  Kozue felt embarrassed to be the
object of what suddenly struck her as a sales pitch.  When she managed
a glance in Steven's direction, she could see his obvious discomfort
with what was going on, and she wondered if Carla and Jerry dragged
him into this unwillingly.  Mercifully, the band began to play again
and all conversation had to cease.

Once the music started up again Carla was barely containable.  She
bounced around in her chair until, halfway through the first song, she
was on her feet tugging at Jerry and begging for him to dance with
her.  Jerry protested against leaving their friends alone - Kozue saw
him gesture to her and Steven before giving in and waving goodbye with
a sheepish grin on his face as Carla led him off.

The next moments were awkward.  Both Kozue and Steven sipped at their
drinks, glancing about the room trying to find the perfect neutral
spot to park their eyes.  Finally, Steven moved into the chair beside
her and asked if she cared to dance.  

Kozue politely declined the offer.  She couldn't recall the last time
she danced, although she remembered enjoying it when she was younger.
Her husband refused to take her, and slowly her passion for it had
died.

"Oh come on," Steven persisted.  "It will be better than us sitting
here staring at the walls, or trying to shout over this noise."  He
waved his hand towards the stage.  "I was in conferences all day.  My
voice is about shot."

"I'd be embarrassed," Kozue answered.  "I haven't done anything like
this in years.  I don't want to make a fool out of you, the way I
dance..."

Steven was on his feet.  "You don't have to be concerned with that,"
he said, leaning over her.   "I've got to be the world's worst dancer
myself.  But nobody cares.  No one is even going to notice you out
there except me, and I won't tell anybody."  

He was offering her his hand.  Kozue felt on the spot; she didn't want
to increase her level of resistance to the point where she would be
fighting him off.  It seemed easier to just go along.  She stood up
and they made their way towards the dance floor.

When they found a suitable gap in the crowd Kozue found herself
beginning to panic: there were so many people around and she had no
idea what to do.  Steven began to dance and Kozue watched him, trying
to imitate his movements.  Right away it was obvious that he had given
her an honest assessment of his skill as a dancer.  His movements were
stiff and jerky, his body undulating as if caught in a viscous liquid
from which he was trying to escape.  Nevertheless, he seemed to be
enjoying himself and Kozue could not help smiling.  She quickly
abandoned all attempts to emulate him and, reaching far back into her
memory, tried to recall what dancing was supposed to be like.  It
became obvious that Steven was also right about the people around
them; nobody took any special notice of them and Kozue's panic began
to subside.  She again felt that strange, liberating sensation of
being free and alone in the midst of a crowd.

Kozue was relieved to discover that dancing seemed to have lost much
of its erotic force for her.  Now it was almost like aerobics.  She
looked at Steven dancing a few feet in front of her; he seemed lost in
his own world, as did most of the dancers around them.  It was
difficult to tell which pairs of bodies belonged together.  There were
a few couples groping each other, but for the most part people could
have been out on the floor by themselves. 

They caught sight of Carla and Jerry dancing frenetically.  Carla
waved and said something into Jerry's ear making the two of them
laugh.  For an instant Kozue felt self-conscious again, knowing the
three of them had set up the whole situation behind her back.  Then
the crowd obscured them and she tried to put it out of her mind; she
had to admit she was having a good time, however it came to happen.
Abruptly, the song ended and another much slower one began.

"Uh oh, ballad," Steven said, sounding somewhat embarrassed.  "I
suppose we should sit this one out."

Out of the corner of her eye, Kozue caught sight of Carla and Jerry
heading back to the table.  For a brief instant anger flickered in
her.  She didn't want to go back and have to endure their smug
sidelong glances, their little jokes at her expense.  She wanted to
defy Carla in some way, confound her expectations, turn the table on
her.

"I used to like slow dancing," she said to Steven, touching his arm.
"You might have to remind me of a few things..." 

She almost regretted her decision when they began.  Steven was clumsy
and rigid; Kozue ended up taking charge, trying to get him to move
more gracefully.  His awkwardness made her feel more in sympathy with
him.  She assumed Carla and Jerry really had dragged him into the
scheme reluctantly.  He didn't strike her as a suave, on the make type
man.  She wondered if he was a good lawyer.

As they danced to the slow music she could feel him relax.  The
muscles under her hands softened, and where his large palm was laid
against the small of her back she could feel the warmth from his body
begin spread into her.  Steven towered over her - the top of her head
barely came up to his chin.  It was strange how the physical memory
was so immediate, but Kozue clearly remembered being held by someone
in just the same way, someone so much taller...  She had put the
incident out of her mind, banished it, but dancing in Steven's arms
brought it back with an immediacy that overwhelmed her.

She remembered the heat, although she could not say for sure what time
of year it was.  He was a graduate student, the teacher of one of her
courses.  Intelligent, witty and handsome, he had all of the right
attributes to set a serious-minded, studious, college-aged girl's
heart racing.  She flirted with him in her shy, self-effacing manner
because he reminded her of her first lover, the American.  It had been
four years, but already she looked back on the encounter with wistful
nostalgia.  Of course, now that she had moved to America, so many men
reminded her of him - all of them so tall, so handsome and exotic.
She had met very few foreign men in Japan.  After her American lover,
she had found herself drawn to them, preoccupied with them.  Of course
in America, they were everywhere, and she was the foreigner.

There was a party at the home of one of her psychology professors.
Kozue's memory of the event was spotty.  She could recall walking
through the elegant house, admiring the books, the artworks, drinking
two glasses of champagne before she realized it was alcoholic.
Feeling light-headed, she made her way out onto the veranda where a
group of students had gathered and were talking boisterously.  He
noticed her arrive and moved to sit beside her on a low step.  They
talked together for a long time as the evening grew darker.  Someone
passed them a joint and, not knowing what it was, Kozue inhaled from
it.  Someone was telling a funny story, something about the professor
seeing a woman for analysis who arrived at every session having
removed her underwear in the waiting room.  People were rolling over
with laughter at the image of the uptight academic, face to face with
the bare crotch of one of his patients.

Kozue began to feel something between an itch and an extreme
ticklishness, as if she might jump out of her skin.  The humid air
seemed to crawl across her body like so many warm, wet fingers.  Not
sure what to do, she excused herself and found the bathroom where she
splashed cold water on her face and neck.  Then, hardly aware she was
doing it, she slipped her dress over her head and stood before the
mirror wearing only her underwear.  She looked at her slender body,
her boyish, small breasts, thinking she was no match for the robust
American girls.  She would never be as beautiful, never as comfortable
around men as they were.  Suddenly her appearance seemed foreign,
outlandish even.  She wanted to be someone else, anyone, as long as
she could fit in.  She let the dress slide back over her body and
then, almost as an afterthought, she slipped her panties off and stuck
them in a drawer.  Closing the door behind her, she wondered if the
professor would find them the next day when he went to look for his
razor.  She smiled wryly.

Returning to the party wearing only her thin summer dress over bare
skin made everything different.  Kozue felt reckless and uninhibited
as she wandered through the house, pausing to exchange a few words
here and there, always acutely aware of her naked body separated from
the outside world by the sheerest fabric.  After drinking another
glass of champagne, she set out in search of him, eventually finding
him still on the veranda.  A band had begun to play inside the house
and the slow, sultry music was drifting outside.  It coiled about her
like a living thing, infecting her with the desire to move to its
rhythms. 

She was in his arms without knowing how it had happened; they were
dancing, extremely close together. 
Her skin was so sensitive; she could feel every contour of his body
where he pressed against her.  A muscle in his thigh contracted and
released as he gently rocked back and forth.  When he slid his hand
down her back Kozue could feel it passing over each of her vertebrae
one after another, leaving a tingling trail in its wake.  Pausing at
the small of her back, his hands went lower, to where her body became
softer.  She knew the exact instant he discovered her little secret:
the subtle shift in posture betrayed his surprise.  His fingers
explored the area where the tiny ridge of her panties' elastic band
should have been, passing up and down several times before making a
quick, feather-light swoop across her behind.  Kozue was pleased to
know she had done something he would never have expected from her.  He
pushed more closely against her and she became aware of his erection
pressing into her hip.

She remembered walking with him, off the veranda, through the garden
and into a dark wooded area beyond.  Still hyper aware, she heard a
small animal scurry for cover at their approach; a gentle murmuring
off to her left betrayed the presence of another couple hidden nearby.

When they stopped walking, he kissed her deeply, and she could feel
every contour of his lips and tongue. His breath had a green, smoky
flavor, like burnt grass.  Kozue closed her eyes and surrendered
herself to the firm grip of his embrace, letting his hands rove over
her body.  When he touched her breasts, she felt as if each tiny ridge
on the palm of his hand was softly grating across her flesh, sending
her into ecstasy.  She felt him bunching her dress up at the small of
her back; the hem of it tickled as it traveled upward over her thighs
and the night air coming in between her legs made her bare skin
tingle.  With one hand holding up the dress, he explored her body with
the other, letting his blunt fingertips rake across the smooth flesh
of her behind, down the back of her thighs, then between her legs.
With one finger, he deftly stroked her with a feathery light motion
that sent bright shocks of the most intense pleasure throughout her
body.

Kozue had never felt so vibrantly sexual.  She was hungry for his body
in a way that was wanton and uncontrollable.  She knelt before him and
undid his pants, freeing his heavy penis.  She explored it with her
hands, still hyper aware of everything, feeling the details of every
ridge and curve that passed beneath her fingertips.  The skin was
silky smooth and warm to the touch.  It was stretched over the head as
tight as a drum; the underside felt softer, but there she could touch
the delicate, most sensitive spot, making him gasp.  The soft skin of
his balls drew up tight as her fingers traced over them; she could
feel every detail of their shape, the way they hung heavily in the
delicate grasp of her fingertips.

She began stroking him, softy, rhythmically, with a cupped hand and he
guided her, showing her just how much pressure to apply, urging her to
go faster.  Kozue's hand moved like a blur over his rigid, silky skin.
His hands were in her hair, stroking it, then on the back of her head,
her neck, pushing her mouth down onto him.  Kozue softened her lips
and felt the thick burning tip of his penis force its way into her
mouth.

The hot shaft of flesh had a life of its own, seeking release in the
back of her mouth.  Kozue struggled to contain him as he pushed
himself deeper inside her, rocking his hips back and forth,
withdrawing his blunt organ, only to drive it farther in on the next
stroke.  She was a little afraid - she felt like gagging - but she was
incredibly excited, and she wanted to please him.  With one hand, she
reached between his trembling thighs and let her fingertips find the
back of his balls and gave them a light tickling scratch.  By the way
he groaned and increased the force with which he was driving himself
into her, Kozue knew he was enjoying what she was doing.  

She could feel the fingers on the back of her neck grow stiff, like
claws.  His motions grew jerky and his penis seemed to swell even
larger, impossibly thick inside her mouth.  Kozue was straining to
contain him when, without warning, he withdrew and she felt the warm
splash of his orgasm strike her face, stinging her eyes.  He guided
her hand to the base of his shaft and she felt him throb as he
drenched her with three or four more heavy spurts.  His come was warm
and ticklish on her face.  It was running down her cheeks, into her
mouth, dripping off her chin, and still there seemed to be more of it.
He was guiding her hand, directing her to squeeze him harder and more
come was oozing out over her fingers, running down her wrist.

Kozue had no explanation for what happened next.  She was never sure
how or why her mood changed so violently.  It probably had something
to do with how hypersensitive to everything she was.  She still felt
aroused, expectant, even though he was spent.  She lowered herself to
the soft ground, out of breath.  He was saying something to her,
something that offended her deeply.  It was almost as if she didn't
truly hear the words at first.  Perhaps she wanted to deny what she
was hearing, but he went on.  She couldn't recall exactly what he said
- something about her being his submissive 'oriental doll': he'd had
his eye on her all along, just because she was Japanese.  The flash of
anger blotted out her memory of his exact words, but the pain, the
humiliation she felt were easy to remember.  She didn't want to be
anyone's 'doll'; she wanted to be a person, like everybody else.  In
an instant, she realized how superficial the nature of his attraction
had been and she felt so ashamed of what she had let happen.  She
could only recall bits and pieces of what came next; leaving him,
running through the darkened woods, wiping her hands and face, the
salt of her tears mixed with his now hateful, sticky come.  

She transferred out of his class after that and avoided him, refusing
to return his notes and calls for the rest of the term.  The incident
was a turning point, the closing of a door in her life.  Her
infatuation with 'foreigners' was over.  Afterwards, she kept more to
herself and socialized with a smaller group of friends.  The next year
she became more involved with the Japanese students' association on
campus, an insular group, where she eventually met an engineering
student from Japan - the man she eventually married.

Kozue gave a start.  Steven was squeezing her arm.  The music had
stopped.  "Do you want to sit down or keep dancing?" he asked. 

"Let's sit down," she said.

**

"Look at them dancing!"  Carla leaned over towards Jerry.  "Aren't
they cute?"  She let her arm drape across his shoulders; she was
feeling pretty drunk, but not too concerned about it.  "I just knew
your plan would work," she said.

Jerry shrugged and gave her arm a little squeeze.  "Why don't I get us
more drinks?" he suggested, trying to lift Carla's arm off.

"No, forget it," she held onto him.  "I have a better idea."  She was
on her feet.  "Take me outside for a breath of fresh air; it's so hot
and stuffy in here," she said, pulling at the front of her blouse.

Jerry protested until Carla's persistence wore him down.  When they
were standing out on the street an elevated train clattered by
overhead.  "Great idea, Carla," he said, looking nervously up and down
the deserted street.  "What are we going to do now, stand here and
wait to be mugged?"

Carla was hugging him from the side.  "Don't be such a worry wart."
She laughed.  "Worry wart," she said again, enjoying the sound of it.

"Come on, let's go back in," he said.  "They might be looking for us
already." 

"No way," Carla snapped.  "Not the way they were dancing.  They were
into each other; they'll be at it for a while.  We should leave them
alone Jerry."  She poked his arm with her thumb.  "Where did you
park?" she asked.

Jerry's car was on a dimly lit side street, almost an alley.  "Open
the door," Carla ordered when they were standing beside it.  "I want
to sit down."

"Carla, I thought you wanted air," Jerry said, exasperated.  "Sitting
in the car is the last thing you should be doing."

In a moment, he found himself with his keys out, opening the passenger
door.  "Not the front," Carla said.  Nobody sits in the front: too
uncomfortable."

Jerry eyed her suspiciously.  "Carla, you said you just wanted to sit
and talk," he said. "No funny business," he warned as he slipped in
after her.

Carla sat with her hands folded primly on her lap; she took a deep
breath.  "So...what do you think of my friend?" she finally asked.

"I don't know," Jerry shrugged.  "She seems nice; I hardly got to talk
to her though."

"But do you think she's good looking?" Carla asked.

"Sure, I guess so." Jerry sounded uncomfortable.

"You can be honest with me, Jer," Carla reached over and stroked the
back of his neck.  "I can take it.  Tell me if you think she's cute."

"Well...sure...she's cute Carla," Jerry said.  "Whatever you say."

Carla stopped rubbing his neck. "It's not what I say, Jerry; I want to
know what you think.  I saw you checking her out, out of the corner of
your eye, when you though I wasn't watching," she said and tugged on
some of the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Ouch!  OK, you caught me!  She's good looking Carla.  What else do
you want me to say?"

"Tell me..." Carla's voice was suddenly pitched several degrees lower,
a sultry tone that made goosebumps break out on Jerry's skin.  "Would
you fuck her?"

"What?!" 

"You heard me..." Carla was leaning closer. The air in the car seemed
to have gotten very still all of a sudden.  "Would you fuck her?"

"What kind of question is that Carla?"  Jerry protested.

"Come on now," she cooed.  "You're a lawyer' you're supposed to be
able to handle difficult questions Jerry."  Her left hand was rubbing
the front of his chest.  "Just pretend you're on the stand,
counselor."

"This isn't fair; there's nothing I can say to that..." He tried to
brush her hand off his chest.  "I thought we were just going to talk
Carla," he said.  

Both her hands were on his thighs now, and she laid her head on his
chest.  "Hey, I'm part Italian," she said.  "We talk with our hands
sometimes.  But you're dodging the question counselor.  I might have
to hold you in contempt," she mocked.

"What was the question?" he asked weakly.  Carla was stroking up and
down the insides of his thighs.  

"Non responsive!"  She leaned over and gently nipped him on the ear
while finding the softness of his balls through his pants.  "I'm going
to have to hold you in contempt after all."

"OK, OK, I'll answer," he gasped, feeling powerless to stop his
growing erection.  "But you have to promise not to hold it against
me." He looked Carla in the eye.

"Of course not," she said, still fondling his balls.  "Now tell me: do
you think Kozue is sexy?  Would you fuck her?"

Jerry eyed her.  "I hope this is a rhetorical question Carla." 

Carla smartly yanked down his zipper.  "I have enough of your lawyerly
stall tactics" she hissed, fumbling at his fly.

"Stop it Carla!"  Jerry grabbed her wrist.  "I'll answer.  OK, I admit
it: in an ideal world, I mean if I hadn't met you, I probably
would...you know...do it; or at least I'd want to.  She's cute; what
else can I say?"

"Do what, counselor?"  Carla had found the shaft of his hard cock,
straining against his underwear.  "We have to get your exact words
into the record, so that you can't deny it later."

"Why are you doing this?" Jerry relaxed his grip on Carla's wrist.

"Just say it and I'll stop."  She had the head of his cock lightly
pinched between her thumb and forefinger through his underpants.

"Oh...god..." he moaned.  "Yes, I'd fuck her Carla, if it would make
you happy."

"You think she's cute?"  She found the opening to his fly and freed
his hot, engorged cock, felt it burning in her hand.

"Mm hmm; yes!  I thought you were going to stop," he protested,
without much conviction.

"Do you really want me to, now?" she asked, letting her cool
fingertips play up and down the upright and throbbing shaft of his
cock.

"No..no..." he moaned.  "I mean yes!"  His head had fallen against the
back of the seat, only to spring upright again when he realized what
he had said.  "What if someone comes along, and..."

"The only person who's coming is you," Carla cut him off, giving him a
light squeeze.  "Besides, you can't go anywhere like this."  She
tugged on him.  "Now just lie back and endure your sentence," she
said, pushing him back with her free hand.  "Think about Kozue, if you
want...fucking that cute little body of hers.  Mmm, that makes you
hard; I can feel it."

"Carla!"  

"Shh..."

Jerry's cock felt hot and thick in her hand, and when Carla squeezed
it, it felt alive, like chained animal surging at its restraints.  She
placed her thumb over the opening and let her fingers delicately play
along the soft underside.  He swelled under her fingers until she
finally released her thumb and slid her hand all the way to the base
of his cock where she began milking him with the firm even strokes she
knew her preferred.

Jerry was easily aroused, however Carla knew it would take patience on
her part to make him come.  His cock needed long, steady and sustained
attention before it would give up its load.  She let her hand move on
its own while her mind wandered back towards the club, imagining what
Kozue and Steven were up to at that moment.  She conjured up the image
of them dancing, close together.  Steven's hand was on her ass; Carla
could almost feel the firm flesh herself.  Kozue had a cute ass, flat,
with just a hint of roundness to it.  She imagined them somewhere
else, kissing deeply; Steven had his hands on her waist, his tongue
was in her mouth.  Carla thought about Kozue's dainty, feminine tongue
entwined with Steven's.  Now Kozue was holding a cock in her hands,
thick and obscenely purple against her white skin; it looked so fat
between her slender fingers.  The cock was pushing between her
breasts, its dark head rhythmically appearing and disappearing between
them.  Kozue's lips were slightly parted while the swollen head of it
blindly butted against her cheek in search of her mouth's soft
opening.  She had a shy, wide eyed expression on her face as her lips
encircled the tip; she opened wider and slid her mouth lower along the
thick shaft.  Carla imagined her cute, rounded little nose bumping
into the flat of his stomach as she took all of him.  The cock was
thrusting in and out of her, making gentle fucking motions against her
face.  Frozen in time, a thick jet of come, twisted like a thrown
rope, hung suspended before Kozue's surprised expression.  A
pencil-thin, elongated splatter of it lay across the bridge of her
nose, over her tightly closed eyes.  A pool of it lay between her
breasts, a stream of it just beginning to run off her side.  A messy
spurt of it had landed in her hair, where it stuck like a cobweb, a
white tracery on black.  

Carla could not stop the flood of sexual images of Kozue.  She became
so wrapped up in them that Jerry was coming before she realized what
was happening.  His struggles to pull down his pants and hoist his
shirttails at the same time brought her back.  She held onto his cock
tightly as he came messily over her clenched fingers, onto his shirt,
and soaking through the crotch of his pants.  He gave one last heave
of his body and let out a groan.  After a few moments he struggled
upright in the seat.  Carla was lifting her hand, a long sticky string
of come trailing from her fingers.

"Uh oh," Jerry said, surveying the mess he had just made.

**

Kozue lost track of time dancing with Steven until the band took
another break.  She had no idea how long they had been out on the
floor.  They were both out of breath as they walked back towards the
table.  Kozue regretted the evening was coming to a close.  Steven was
pleasant to be with, in a non-threatening sort of way.  The music and
dancing were more fun than she could remember having in such a long
time.  As they searched for their table, she could feel the magic of
the night slipping away and the burdens of her everyday life
returning.  She was already thinking about what she had to do
tomorrow.

They spent a long time searching for Carla and Jerry before realizing
they had left.  Steven told Kozue to wait by the bar while he looked
for the car outside.  She looked at her watch; it was two in the
morning.  All around her people were frantically trying to pair up
with whoever was left rather than go home alone.  The place was
closing down and she suddenly felt nervous and vulnerable standing
there; she hoped no one would approach her.  At last Steven returned
with a perplexed look on his face.

"They left," he said, throwing up his hands.  "I can't believe it."

The image of a smirking Carla was all Kozue could think of.  She could
just imagine her slinking off.  This had to have been her plan all
along, to leave them alone together at the end of the evening, in the
hopes that...  She felt manipulated and betrayed.

"Both our rides seem to have vanished," Steven said innocently; "maybe
we could split a cab or something..." He didn't finish the sentence,
seeing the change in Kozue's expression.

 "So this is what you all cooked up?" she asked with cool anger in her
voice.  "The three of you worked out every detail didn't you?  Except
that no one bothered to ask me."  She whirled away from him.

It took Steven a moment to fathom what she was saying.  "Kozue...no!
It wasn't that way at all."  

She didn't acknowledge him.  "I admit my being here, that was a setup
- Jerry's idea," he said.  "But they were supposed to stay.  I mean
it..."

Kozue, too angry to speak any more, made for the door, with Steven
trotting to catch up.

"Don't go walking around out there alone," he said.  "At least let me
hail you a cab."

Sitting alone in the cab, Kozue squeezed back tears as she looked at
the apartment blocks along the parkway gliding silently past.  Their
dark facades were checked with a few windows still lit.  How many of
those people went to bed angry or alone, she wondered?  How many had
made love, or were making love that very moment, unaware of her eyes
skimming across those dark, impenetrable surfaces.  What utter despair
to be lonely, she thought, living in the midst of such a great city,
where people were literally piled one on top of another.  She
regretted becoming so angry with Steven: it hadn't been his fault.  He
wasn't that sort of person.  Even Carla - she had meant well.  Kozue
couldn't stay angry with her for long either.  The problem was
herself: she had to find some way to escape the ghosts of her past or
forever be doomed to wander among the shadows of those memories.  She
slumped against the door.  She was so tired; she wondered if she would
ever have the will to do it.  The taxi left the parkway and continued
through the sleeping city.


 
Fin 
Part 3
1/99

Richard Rivers


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