Message-ID: <22509asstr$948989401@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
X-Original-Message-ID: <20000127.002925.3927.2.tonytony3@juno.com>
From: anthony anthony <tonytony3@juno.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Tonytony3's One Night (mf)
Date: Thu, 27 Jan 2000 11:10:01 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2000/22509>
X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, IceAltar, kelly
Tonytony3's One Night (mf)
Stay tuned, asstr has set up a web site for tonytony3
stories. I'll post details when I stock it with stories.
This is a revision of an earlier story. Enjoy!
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
It started with the best of intentions. "You're a nurse, you
know about this stuff. I don't."
"So take the course," Barbara said. "I'll be content to stay
home with a book or the TV while you're out learning
something about emergency care."
It was only six two hour sessions at the high school, and the
Red Cross instructor assured us we'd be real assets to the
community with our "First Responder" certifications. We'd
have enough tools to maybe keep someone alive at an
accident until the EMT's arrived.
There were twelve of us, eight were women. Most of the class,
like me, seemed to be in their 30's.
I sat next to one of the women. She might have been a few
years younger than me. "What an odd looking woman," I
thought. Her face was, well, homely. Blond hair, cut to above
her shoulders - that was nice enough. Her skirt covered her
legs to below the knee, but her calves and ankles were
shapely.
I turned fully to her: "Hi, I'm Andy."
She extended her hand towards mine. "And I'm Rachel."
Something wonderful happened. She smiled, and the
homely face transformed into something soft, and lovely,
completely feminine. I was left breathless!
"Good to meet you," I replied automatically, almost tongue
tied, amazed at the change a smile brought to her face. "I
hope the course is as good as they promised," was as
intelligent a comment I could make. I'm usually fairly glib
and sophisticated, and was stopped from staring or making a
fool of myself because the instructor took her place at the
head of the class, and the lecture/lab work began.
I was haunted, distracted, infatuated, obsessed, by Rachel's
face changing so much with her smile. The class moved
through its agenda, and I had little recollection of the lecture's
content.
The few side glances I made toward Rachel didn't unwrap the
mystery for me - but more than once, those glances found her
looking, not quite covertly, at me.
As we left class, Rachel made a point of walking out with me.
"Andy, I've never been good at games. Sometimes it's
embarrassing, but it's the way I am."
"Uh, what do you mean?"
"Is it common for women to feel a strong attraction to you, or
is what I've experienced tonight a special case?"
"Uh, no, that doesn't happen to me, at all, but I think
something unusual happened to me tonight. . ."
"Thanks for telling me that. Good night, see you next week."
And she was gone!
Later that night, Barbara asked about the course. I answered
as best I could, only to have her state accurately "You couldn't
have been paying a lot of attention. I'm thinking I'll be
wanting somebody other than you around if something
happens to me."
I assured her the course and my attention would get better. "It
will be worthwhile," I claimed.
I was greeted by Rachel's smile at the start of the next class -
and she made sure there was an empty chair next to her. "I
hoped you'd be at class today," she whispered as I sat down. I
had to ask her: "What you asked last week - can I ask you,
too? Do men all gather around you?"
That smile came again. "Oh no, look at me." I did. "Men
don't chase women like me, that just doesn't happen to me.
Not ever. Of course, I'm not looking to be chased, either."
Class interrupted the conversation. We learned something -
probably about how to assure an airway was clear - I don't
remember, exactly.
"Maybe you'd like to get a cup of coffee with me after class?"
I suggested at break.
"No, I can't, tonight. I'm sorry, but my husband expects me to
come right home."
I was disappointed, very disappointed. I wanted to know this
woman better, but maybe that want, that need, wasn't
reciprocated. That was probably a good thing. Those thoughts
flashed through my mind just as she continued: "But maybe
after the next week's class? Would that be OK?"
You bet it was all right.
Barbara knew I kept irregular and sometimes long hours at
work. The day the next class was scheduled I called home at
4:30. "Honey, I'm in the middle of something important. I'm
going get something at the deli, then go straight to the first
responder class, and then back here for a couple of hours. I'll
be home pretty late, don't wait up." Barbara had to be at the
hospital at 7 AM, we often went to bed at different times, it
happened often. "Well, maybe I'll run back out too," she said.
"Some of the OR staff are going to have another one of their
parties, Maybe I'll go to that. Whoever comes home last has
to be quiet, and not wake the other one up, OK?"
That was fine with me. She couldn't know I didn't want to
face her that evening - she's too perceptive.
"I'll see you in the morning, if you can get up with me," is
how she ended the conversation.
Early during the next class - I think the subject was CPR -
Rachel suggested we meet at the Holiday Inn's lounge after
class for our coffee. "I'd like that, a lot," I told her.
"Me too," she said. She didn't stop there. "Would you like to
leave class early?"
The curiosity, the attraction, was mutual! She left the
building at the start of coffee break, and I left after talking a
few minutes with other classmates. The irony of leaving at
coffee break to 'have coffee' wasn't lost on either of us. I saw
her car leave the parking lot as I left the building - no, we
didn't leave together, that would have been too obvious - and
hoped she was really going to our rendezvous.
I didn't see her car in the hotel parking lot. "Oh oh," I
worried, "Maybe she didn't come."
The lounge was dark. "Maybe," I thought, "she had second
thoughts about this and went home, instead. That would have
been smart."
There was a motion, a hand waving, from the back of the
lounge. She WAS here! Rachel was sitting on the bench seat
at a secluded booth. and greeted me with her smile. "We
shouldn't be here, we shouldn't be doing this," wasn't the
greeting I wanted. I knew she was right, though. "I'm glad we
are, though," she continued, making the world all right again.
"I want to spend some time with you, and we can't do that
during class," I reinforced her own words.
"I know -- me, too."
I hesitated only a second, then slid onto the upholstered bench
seat beside her, choosing proximity instead of facing her
across the table.
The server took my order, and left.
"You look lovely," I told her, watching in wonder as her
smile again beautified her face.
Her hand found mine on the table top - such a warm touch. . .
"I thought I'd like holding your hand," she said. I liked it too.
I didn't understand what was happening to me, what there
was about this woman that attracted me so strongly.
We sipped our drinks.
"Andy, this feels dangerous."
She was feeling it, too!
"I know, it is dangerous, but I don't want to leave," I said,
agreeing with her.
"I'm not planning to leave right now, either," she agreed,
turning toward me.
It was so natural to bend a little toward her, toward her raised
lips.
It was, by most standards, a modest kiss, a meeting of lips, a
touching of tongues.
"I was afraid of that. . " Rachel said, as we recovered our
breath. Maybe it wasn't so modest after all, at least it had a
raging effect on me. On the both of us.
I reached for my martini, sipped it.
"That was uncommonly nice," I told her.
"Both the kiss and the martini, yes, I agree with you," she
said.
She turned more fully toward me again.
"Another, OK, please?"
Our hands, joined on the table, moved to the seat between us,
as our lips touched again, and her hand moved to the top of
my thigh, a gentle touch, matching the gentle touch of, and
yet communicating the passion of, those lips, that kiss.
My physiology had already been reacting to being with her -
her touch, her hand, there, intensified everything.
"Very dangerous. . ." she said, and I nodded agreement, but
her hand was moving softly on my thigh.
Our gaze met again, over our glasses, and we escaped into
our cocktails.
"Andy, we shouldn't be here. We might be recognized."
"You're right, Rachel, but I don't want to leave you now. . ."
"Neither do I. I think I knew I'd be meeting you like this
when I first saw you in class. . .it's just like something in
those romance novels I used to read when I was a kid. . ."
"Do you mean like where two people meet and are swept off
their feet? " I asked, and she smiled, nodding her agreement.
"It's never complicated in the novels, is it?" she asked,
recognizing we had real lives, real histories.
"No, never like this," I concurred.
We shared another kiss, this one longer, harder. Her hand
gripped at my thigh, was within an inch of gripping more
than just thigh.
"Oh my," she said, leaning away from me, sitting back,
reaching for her drink. "Oh, oh, my. That was so nice, so
good.
"I knew it would be.. .
"I hope the rest of the evening is, too."
I excused myself after we ordered still another drink.
In a few minutes I slipped back on the bench beside her.
She looked at me, a smile played uncertainly at her lips.
"Did you. . .?" she left the question unfinished.
"Oh God," I said, looking at this woman who could read my
mind, " please don't think let me be making the wrong
assumptions, but yes, I did."
"Good," she whispered.
I reached for her hand, and she felt the card key in my palm,
and accepted it in hers.
"I wanted you to do that," she said, unnecessarily, because
neither of us played games very well.
She was as caught up in this as I was. I tried to make it
easier. "There's a stairway just past the rest rooms. It can't be
seen from the lobby. I checked, the firedoors are open, It's
room 207. "
"All right. All right, I'll go there. With you. I want to."
As simple as that, two people, infatuated with each other,
agreed to violate promises they made, vows they made.
"I'll go first," I told her. I went to our waiter, ordered a bottle
of Asti for the room "Right now, or don't bother," I made sure
he knew there was to be no delay, and signed off on the
check.
I waited in the stairwell, wondering if she'd come, or do the
sensible thing and go home, when the door opened.
We went, hand in hand, up the stairs, and onto the second
floor. 207, a two room suite, was just a few steps from the
stairway, we had as much security as I could have hoped for.
She used her key card, the green LEDs flashed, and I pulled
at the handle. She went through the door I held open, and
turned, just inside, to wait for me. The door didn't have a
chance to click shut behind us before we were in each other's
arms.
That kiss, hard, passionate, full of promise, with bodies
pressed together, would not have been confused with the lip
brushings we did in the lounge.
"I hardly know you, but I know you ordered something from
room service, we should wait. . ."
"The wine should be here right away," I confirmed her
instincts.
"I'll wait in the bedroom, I don't want anyone to see me
here," she told me, as she went down the hall past the
bathroom, just as room service knocked on the door.
"I'll be able to open it," I assured the waiter, tipped him, and
closed the door behind him.
Rachel returned while I worked at the cork, until it launched
itself into the towel I had over it.
We lifted glasses together.
"We're acting like we do this often, but I never have, before,"
she said as we sipped the wine.
"It's new to me, too," I confirmed. "Do you understand what's
happening?"
"No, only that I want to be here. Look at the time" - it had
been only 45 minutes since we left the school - "we're already
in a hotel room, and our class is still meeting. When must you
be home?" she asked.
"Not for hours. You?"
"My husband's away tonight. Not any particular time. Just,
later than right now."
I sat on the sofa, my goblet on the coffee table in front of me.
Rachel looked at me there, understanding, as I did, there was
no urgency. One hour, or four, it didn't matter.
She came to me, bent over, and placed her glass next to mine.
She started to sit next to me, but changed her mind, and sat
on my lap instead, making it so natural for her arms to go
around my neck, making the kiss a natural extension of her
position, on my lap, with her legs crossed at the ankles.
The embrace, the kiss, was full of passion, of promise. I loved
the expression on her face, that mobile face, as she pulled
away from the kiss, that face looking so remarkably lovely. . .
"If we could figure out how to capture this attraction, . . ." she
started to say, but I pulled at her, and our lips interrupted the
words, but confirmed the reality.
My hand moved from her waist, down, over her hip.
"I like the feeling of that," she told me, as I let it drift lower,
over her outer thigh.
"I tried to imagine what your touch would be like," she said,
as my hand went lower on her skirt, down, over her knee.
My hand found her calf, sheathed in nylon.
"It's as exciting as I hoped," she said, when she felt it there,
on her leg.
I pulled that hand over, across her calf, to the inside of her
other one.
"Yes, just liked I hoped," she repeated, leaning toward me for
another kiss.
My hand, with it seemed no instruction from me, began
tracing up her leg now, on the inner calf, and the inner knee.
She moved a little in my lap during the kiss, uncrossing her
ankles, and separating her legs just a little.
My hand was on her inner thigh, moving upward, no longer
automatically, but under my strict and exacting command.
Our lips parted, and she stared into my eyes, her pupils
dilating, as I reached higher, finding no resistance, only
increasing warmth.
Higher it went, finding more warmth, and finally, a sense of
moisture.
"So nice," she said in response to my touch, putting her head
on my shoulder, surrendering herself to that sensation.
My fingers touched her through the pantie hose, I wanted to
touch her directly.
"Wait," she whispered, knowing without my asking, and got
off my lap. She sat beside me, and pulled her shoes off, then
stood, reaching under her skirt to her hips, working, and I
watched as her hands pushed the band of nylon down, out
from the skirt, over her calves, and then how she extracted
one foot, then the other, from the garment.
"There, that's better" she whispered in the same voice, and sat
on my lap again.
Her eyes met mine again, and she leaned to me again, and she
whispered, just before our lips met, "Do that again," and our
lips were meeting again, as my fingers again traced their way
up her inner thigh, to that soft hair, and she moaned a little
into my mouth as she moved again, her legs parting a little
more, as the side of my forefinger found moisture as well as
warmth.
"More exciting than I imagined," she muttered through the
kiss.
My fingertips were just inside her lips, finding wetness,
willingness, and little spasms, all in reaction to my touch, or
anticipation of my touch, or anticipation of my penis.
There are passionate kisses and touches, and some that
transcend passion. This was the transcending kind, of implied
promises, of intimacies, of passion.
There was no hurry, just the pleasure of the kiss, the
excitement of the anticipation.
A minute later, or was it an hour, our lips parted.
"Nicer than I hoped," this lovely creature on my lap said.
"Yes," I whispered, "better," my fingers still enjoying their
exploration, feeling something new, receiving and causing
new sensations.
My reward for touching her, for a finger surrounding itself
with warmth and moisture, was to watch that wonderful face
reflect pleasure, to see her breathe through her mouth, to see
a sheen of perspiration, to feel her moving on my lap,
responding to my touch as no woman had ever done before, to
see those eyes close, to feel a quivering, perhaps an orgasm. .
.
then a calming, and a question. "It's time for us to go to the
bedroom, isn't it?" she asked.
"Maybe past time," I agreed.
"Oh, you didn't, I mean, you weren't too excited, were you, I
didn't want that to happen, I didn't think. . ."
I took her hand, and guided it to my groin.
"Oh, good, you're still, I mean, you're. . ."
"Yes, I am, I could have, but I don't want to come like this, I
want to be. . ." and she interrupted me, "yes, I want that to
happen when you're in me. . ."
We walked to the bedroom.
"Please," she said, "your shoes, and. . ."
I sat on the bed to pull off shoes and socks, and stood, dealing
with tie and cuffs and shirt while she pulled the cover and
blanket from the bed.
"I want to see you, show me," she pleaded, and I worked to
comply.
I pushed trousers and shorts down, bent over to free one leg,
then the other, and stood again, facing her.
Erect.
Ready.
"Oh, good, that's what I wanted to see, it's beautiful. . ."
"Now you," I said.
"Yes, now me."
She pulled at her blouse, freeing it, and shed it.
Her skirt fell, too, leaving her in a half slip and bra.
"Would you. . .?" I stepped to her, and she turned - ". . .It
hooks in the back. . ."
In a second her bra was unfastened, hanging loosely from her
back by the straps.
She turned to me, her breasts still contained in the cups, and
extended her arms in front of herself and downward, , making
it so easy for me to reach to her shoulders, and slide the straps
down her arms, and watch as first one cup, then the other, let
go and moved away, down too, over one hand, then the other,
and her bra finally dropping to the floor.
"I like having you look at me like that," she said, as I looked
at her breasts, her nipples, exposed, available.
I sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled her toward me. She
came willingly, stepping close, her arms behind her back,
shoulders back, on display, close enough so her half-slip
brushed against my penis, close enough to make it easy to
lean the last few inches toward her.
"They're very sensitive," she said, as my lips met her
cleavage, and I tasted her there.
"Very sensitive," she repeated, as she felt my mouth cover one
breast, then the other, my teeth gently worrying first this
nipple, then that one, my arms around her, holding her to me,
"so sensitive, so nice, so exciting, so. . ." while she held my
head between her hands, holding me to her, pushing her
breast to me.
Then, those hands that were holding me to her began pushing
me away. "I'm ready now, are you?" she asked, unnecessarily.
"Your slip. . ."
"I know," she said, her hands moving to her hips, finger tips
moving under the waistband, pushing.
"Slowly," I pleaded.
"I know, I want this to last, too," she said, her hands moving
downward, the waistband arching up over her belly while her
hips were uncovering.
Then, moving lower, exposing the start of a bikini cut, and
another fraction of an inch of pubic hair.
I looked up for a second to see her studying my face.
"Do you really want to look at my face now, or watch what
I'm doing for you?"
"I don't want to embarrass you," I told her, and she smiled as
she said "this is beyond embarrassment, I'm undressing so we
can share sex, you're looking at me is nothing compared to
what we're planning to do."
I was distracted by more movement, and although conscious
of her watching my reaction, dropped my focus to her pelvis,
I couldn't stop looking at her as she uncovered her pubic
mound.
"Yes, see me, don't look at my face, I know I'm not pretty,
look at me there. . ."
"Oh, but you are," I told her, but watched her push her slip
down.
Finally, the slip was at her knees, and she lifted one leg, then
the other, from it, and stood in front of me again, as nude as I
was.
"Touch me there again," she moved closer, making it easy for
me to do that, putting her hands on my shoulders, supporting
herself that way.
My hand glided from inner thigh upward, and she moved so
her feet were a foot apart, he pelvis tilted toward me.
I have never felt a woman as ready, as wet, as warm, as
Rachel.
"Please, will you take me now?" she asked, moving in an arc
around me, moving onto the bed, moving to its center, as I
turned with her, now rolling on her, so that she was under
me.
She moved more, her legs parting, beside my hips, her hands
reaching between us, finding my erection, finding me almost
too excited.
"Not fast, please," she whispered, feeling my hand over hers,
as I squeezed myself, remembering that technique for
preventing an early ejaculation.
My penis's head felt her hand, and mine, then a soft brush of
hair, and increasing warmth, some moisture, then penetration
into the most erotic vagina I had ever known.
Rachel's face, how could I have ever thought it was homely,
was beautiful as I moved in her, as she moved with me, in
that ancient erotic choreography, pelvises meeting, parting,
and meeting again.
Her hands touched my face, sometimes they were on my hips,
helping me move, sometimes supporting my scrotum, milking
my penis, everywhere, exciting me, exciting her.
She gasped - "oh, an orgasm," she said.
A few moments later: "and another. . ."
Her eyes opened, watching me above her.
"Now you. You come, come in me."
Her hands were on her pelvis, my cock in her, held there by
her thumbs and forefingers, milking me, stroking me, as I
moved deep in her.
"Oh, I feel you getting bigger, getting warmer, do it, let it go,
give it to me," she said, and I did, gaining a first orgasm, and
providing her, I thought, with a last one. I was so conscious of
each throb, of each pulse, as I emptied into her, trying to fill
her, feeling that most intimate contact, seeing her face as she
knew, as she could feel, what was happening to me, in her.
"More," she pleaded, as my movements became slower, as the
last few drops left me, entering her.
"I want it all," she said, as I finished, exhausted, empty.
We were in each other's arms, side by side, her upper leg still
over my hip, my penis, still large, but softening, slowly
withdrawing from her.
"I wanted to know someone like you, to feel someone like
you, at least once in my life," she said.
"You mean, a simple 'passing in the night'?"
"Once upon a time It might have been more than that," she
said, "but I'm married, and you are, and even doing this once
might have been once too often."
"A fling?" I asked.
"Much more than that, for me but you don't want to leave
your life for me, do you? I don't think I could leave mine, for
you."
She was right, of course.
"Andy, don't be upset with me, but I won't meet you like this
again."
"I know, Rachel. It's not real life, is it?"
"It was real, don't think that, but the other is, too, and that's
where I belong."
She was right again, that other life is where I belonged, too.
It was time to part. We dressed, comfortable with each other,
comfortable knowing we each had too much to lose to engage
in an affair, comfortable with the love we shared with each
other, with the passion we shared, and with its ending this
way.
"I'll walk you to your car, I didn't see it outside."
"I parked it in the garage beside the hotel, I didn't want
anyone to see it here."
"I understand," I said, "I wouldn't want anyone to know,
either."
"Andy, this thing, I want it to be just a one time thing, for us.
I love my husband, and my marriage."
I looked at her as we walked to her car. "I know you're right.
We could make our lives very complicated with this, and
that's not something I want to do."
"Andy, I decided I'm dropping out of the first aid class. I
decided that while we were still in the lounge. I hope you
understand."
Oh, I understood, and I agreed. I wanted to stay married to
my wife, I didn't want an affair.
By now we were beside her car. "I'll remember you and
tonight all of my life, Andy, thank you for understanding."
"And I'll remember you," I affirmed.
Our lips brushed, I watched her get into her car, and closed
the door for her. The engine started, her window powered
down.
"Good-bye, Andy, good-bye, lover."
The car pulled away, and out.
She was gone - such a short time, such a huge void, a huge
ache.
Were those tears on my cheeks?
I started walking down the ramp, to get to the outside parking
lot and my own car. I wanted to get to my office for a while,
to let the emotions subside, and regain an equilibrium before
going home.
Around the turn, just another row of cars, then I'd be outside.
I know I was distracted. My head was in a different place, but
something made me turn, to look again at an image that I
nearly ignored.
I stopped, and walked toward the car parked in the corner.
Barbara's car!
What? She went to a private party this evening. Why was her
car here?
A car pool? What?
I ran down the ramp to my car, and drove back into the
garage, parking beside a van, hidden.
An hour later I saw two shadows move to her car. The
shadows merged for a long time, and separated again. The
interior light came on, and I saw Barbara at the car door,
tucking her blouse into her skirt, then sliding onto the seat
car. The light started its dimming cycle, but not so soon that I
didn't see her window lower, and the outside shadow bend
down, to meet her as the light finally extinguished, leaving
only the dim garage lighting.
A moment later her headlights came on, and she drove down
the ramp. The shadow, now more defined, walked to a car a
few spaces away, his remote flashing the lights and unlocking
it. He pulled out, and I followed, behind a Mercedes with an
MD plate I recognized. Chief of Surgery. A man I knew well,
he and his wife, a man I thought I knew to be in a happy
marriage - like I was?
Like I was?
Like Barbara was?
Like Rachel?
A fling?
Oh, God.
I drove home, getting there before Barbara.
I was in the shower when she pushed open the bathroom
door.
"I just drove to your office on the way home to see if you were
still there. I guess you just got home, too. I'll take a shower in
the guest bathroom, and I'll meet you in bed, lover."
A few minutes later she was there with me, wrapped in her
pajamas.
"Did you get done whatever was pressuring you at the office?
Was it worth the extra hours?" she asked.
"I won't know for a while. I guess I learned some things I
didn't know, though. How was your night out with the girls?"
"Oh, it was fun, pretty much the same stuff as I did with them
a couple of other times, some drinking, a lot of talking, but
you know, I'd rather spend the time with you. I didn't like
going to Marie's apartment at night, I think I'll miss their
next party."
"Yeah, and no more late nights for me, either. Sometimes it
seems so important, but you know, it's not."
"I agree, it's not worth the hassle," she said, rolling over so
her back was toward me, then moving closer, cuddling
against me, nesting like spoons do, holding my hands against
her breasts, my hands that were on other breasts just a short
time ago, on her breasts that were held by other hands, a short
time ago.
"You feel good, you should hold me like that more often."
"You're right, I should, and I will."
She wiggled closer, her buttocks hard against my pelvis. "I
don't want to start anything now," she muttered, "It's just that
sometimes I miss you being close."
"Not any more, I'll start being closer."
"Good," she said, now still against me. "Goodnight,
husband."
"Goodnight, wife."
Goodnight, readers. I hope you enjoyed the story. Share it
with your lover.
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations. |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+