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Subject: {ASSM} ME AND MARTHA JANE '99 (m/FF,teen) MJANE14.TXT
Date: Wed, 9 Feb 2000 01:10:05 -0500
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**** WARNING **** WARNING **** WARNING ****
THIS DOCUMENT IS A SEXUALLY GRAPHIC STORY ABOUT AN INTENSE SEXUAL,
EMOTIONAL AND INTELLECTUAL RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN A TEENAGE GIRL AND
A YOUNG BOY AND THE COURSE OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP OVER A PERIOD OF
10 YEARS. IT IS A DRAMATIZATION ABOUT REAL PEOPLE AND THEIR CON-
FLICT WITH SOCIAL EXPECTATIONS. IF THIS SUBJECTS OFFENDS YOU OR IF
SEXUAL LANGUAGE UPSETS YOU, OR IF YOU DON'T WANT THIS MATERIAL SEEN
BY UNDER-18 OR OTHERWISE UNQUALIFIED PERSONS, DELETE THIS DOCUMENT.
THIS DOCUMENT IS COPYRIGHTED 1994, 1999 BY SJR. SO--HEY, YOU CAN
COPY IT BUT YOU CAN'T CHANGE IT OR SELL IT UNLESS I SAY SO.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
THE ADVENTURES OF ME AND MARTHA JANE
by S.J.R.
PART 14A:
Any predictions, premonitions or expectations I might have had
about New York were quickly and unexpectedly undone and/or displaced
at every turn. Life in Memphis, like its population, was fairly
uniform and predictable. Not so in New York.
Martha turned out to be a pretty decent companion during the
week, despite an occasionally cranky outburst. If Ronnie was in the
throes of her period, she showed little sign of it; she was as even-
tempered as ever at our two lunch dates during the week. And if I
had thought she might have some squeamishness about sex or might
allow her relatively narrow, sometimes unpleasant experiences to
hold her back from anything, I was wrong.
At lunch Tuesday she announced, "Listen, I've contacted some
people who'd like you to pose for them. What do you think?"
I said, "Well, but what about Martha?"
"Oh, she'll say it's okay."
"She didn't say that yet. She wasn't so hot for it last time."
"Okay, if I get her hot for it, how do you feel about it?"
I chewed my hot 'n sour pork and said, "If it's okay with Martha,
it's okay with me."
"Great. Great, Steven. And you'll get to meet some people, some
really interesting, creative people. So different from those stodgy
bureaucrats Martha deals with." She wiped her lips with her napkin
and said, "Okay. So you need some practice posing, now, these are
professionals and serious students and they get impatient when you
just fool around. So listen, tomorrow's Wednesday and I usually get
half the day off on Wednesdays. How about another lesson?"
I shrugged, holding my palms up. "Think I'll last?"
"Sure you will. Why wouldn't you?"
I shrugged again. A shrug was getting to be my standard answer
for just about everything. I was getting tired of my own lame,
boyish mannerisms.
"Come on, now, you were okay last time."
I said, "Well, I guess I do need the practice. Especially at
just standing still, period."
"Come on, you need to learn a few more techniques, and you
should get used to it so you won't be so restless. Can you meet at
my place tomorrow after lunch? Around one?"
"You got it."
Then she gave me the oversized, accordian-fold paper envelope
she's been carrying. She said, "Here. Martha says this is part of
your ongoing education. She asked me to give you these. But If you
ever get around to reading all this, don't forget to give it back."
It was a collection of several issues of The Village Voice, a
newspaper I'd heard about but had never seen.
Starting the previous Sunday, Martha handed me a pile of reading
matter that she was certain I'd find in Memphis only if I were digging
underground for it. It was one of her first major "reading assign-
ments" for me in New York. More would follow. The package included
clippings and copies of articles from newspapers, magazines, privately
published journals: the absurdist theater movement and the Chamber
Theater movement, and some scripts of one-act plays; pro's and con's
about behaviorism; a paper on the basic tenets of Jungian psychology;
lengthy reports from the New York Times Magazine on the civil rights
movement; articles about Southern authors, Southern sexual and
religious mores; current trends in educational careers.
And now I had a stash of Village Voice articles about what was
coming to be known in the 1950's as the "impending sexual revolution".
The articles covered everything from studies in adolescent sexuality
to the new indoor sport of wipe swapping in Connecticut.
This was heady material for a teenager. But starting Sunday
afternoon when Martha presented it to me, I tore into it as though it
were manna from heaven. Much of it was incomprehensible at first,
but I began to slowly digest the ideas and images over the ensuing
weeks. I spent hours with the stuff all day Sunday, and most of
Monday and Tuesday evening while Martha buried herself in paper work.
Wednesday morning, I handled all my chores and struggled through
Fiore. Then I tackled more of my "assignments" and ventured into the
Village Voice material. Although it was dry, technical stuff, it
threw more sexual images into my head at once than I'd seen in years
of warnings from the pulpits or in my family's issues of the Catholic
Digest.
My adrenaline was flowing by the time I knocked on Ronnie's door
at one in the afternoon. She came to the door in her jeans and an old
print shirt and said, "Right on time again."
I said, "Five minutes late."
"Oh, who cares?"
She said as were getting ready, "You should see the drawings I did
in my dark book the other night. I couldn't believe it, I stayed up
half the night drawing you. I even had to start a whole book, just
for you."
I said, "A new one? How many of those books do you have?"
"Lots. You'll have to see the others some time. But not now. I
want you settled down while we work."
But as we worked, the buildup in my groin over the previous four
days became evident now and then. I didn't get a raging hard-on, but
I did get somewhat obvious as the session progressed. As time went on
she noticed, and she gave me a little smile while she worked and said,
"All right, now. Let's control ourselves. You have to learn to
control it, especially with my friend Mirabel. She's very attractive
and sexy, so you have to keep your mind clear."
"Yeah, but I wasn't in bed with Mirabel last Saturday."
She blushed, erasing a couple of lines, and said, "So that's what
you're thinking about."
I said, "Well, it...occurred to me while I was watching you. I
think it's very sexy to watch you work, you're so professional.
She said, "Oh, Steven, please. That goes right to my head."
"I don't think this would be a problem with Mirabel. I've never
had a, uh, experience with her. So I don't think I'd be thinking
about it."
"Not with Mirabel. Now, a little bit of a reaction, she can
accept that. She's no idiot. But don't let yourself get all worked
up around her, because she would definitely object. Got me?"
"Gotcha."
I settled down for a while, but she set me in a pose again that
had me looking right at her, and things got slightly out of hand
again. Ronnie saw, but didn't say anything. She kept working. After
a while she put me in another pose and saw that I was half hard, so
she went into the bathroom and came back with a damp washrag that she
lay over me, saying, "There. Out of sight, out of mind. That goes
for both of us. And remember, it's still my period."
She returned to her work. The cold cloth helped. After a couple
of minutes of intense involvement in her work, she asked, "So how's it
goin'?"
"Better," I said.
She drew some quick, sweeping lines, and then she began to work on
them, glancing quickly at me and then at the drawing several times,
and while she worked she asked, "Mind if I ask you something?"
I sighed. "Uh-oh."
"What does 'uh-oh' mean?"
"When somebody asks if you mind if they ask you something, it
means you'll mind."
She grinned. "Oh, you're--" and she suppressed a laugh and said,
"Well, you're right. It's personal. So you don't have to answer."
I said, "I thought so."
"Well, she said, shifting closer to the drawing and starting
again, "Don't you masturbate?"
I didn't say anything.
She said, "Because one of the models, who wasn't going steady at
the time, said that's what he sometimes did to solve the problem. So,
you might consider that."
I said, "People up here are very frank about their sexuality,
aren't they?"
"Oh, some of them. Not all, by any means. I didn't use to be.
Not usually. I was always scared to death. Except with Martha.
Martha's the only one I could ever talk to. She's the only one who's
ever seen my dark books. And you." She worked for a moment, and she
said, "Well, if masturbation doesn't do it for you, wouldn't Martha
help?"
I blushed. I didn't want the conversation to lead to the sexual
history of me and Martha. I said, "I don't know."
"Sure she would."
I shrugged.
She used an eraser that looked like a small ball of rubber and
said, "I would." She rubbed the drawing and glanced at me from the
corners of her eyes and grinned. "I know it sounds outrageous. I
would never have considered anything remotely like that, before all
this happened." She squinted, looking at a line on her drawing and
nursing it with the edge of her hand, and said absently, "But it did
happen. And I was very surprised. Well...no. No, I guess I wasn't.
Martha, maybe, but not so much for me, not that much." She examined
her work and leaned back, tilting her head from one side to another,
and muttered, "Mmm, I don't know if I like this one so much. I must
be getting tired." She looked at me. "How about it, time for a
break?"
I glanced down at the cold, baby-blue washrag. I was fairly hard
under it. I said suggestively, "Now that we've had that intimate con-
versation, I think I do need a break."
She smiled and wiped her hands with a small cloth. "I guess my
talking didn't help much, did it?"
I shook my head no.
She glanced at the washcloth on me. "Well, you did pretty well
anyway." She got to her feet and stretched with a little groan.
"Well, I'll try one more effort, just a quickie to finish off the
afternoon. You just rest up a minute. Stand up and stretch if you
want. I'll be back."
She went into the bathroom and I heard water running. I stood up
and stretched, my dong sticking out, and I put the cloth on it again
and lay down, sitting halfway up against the arm of the sofa, my legs
extended along its length.
Ronnie called over the sound of running water, "Want some tea or
something? Water? Soda?"
"No, thanks."
The water stopped. I heard her rustling around in there with a
towel, and then she was clinking bottles and stuff together, mumbling,
"Oh, where is it? I know it's here." Then she was quiet for a moment
and she called in, "You never answered me."
"About what?"
"Masturbating."
I thought: Why the hell doesn't she just leave that alone? I
thought her openness about her sexual curiosity could be exciting at
times, but here I was trying to get my dick down to an acceptable
level. I called back, "Very seldom. I don't particularly care for
it. It's too lonely."
She muttered from the bathroom as she rummaged, "Well, you're
right about that. It can be very lonely sometimes. But sometimes it
helps. It helps me. Sometimes."
I said, "Talking about it while I'm posing doesn't help."
She said, "I know, and thinking about it while I'm drawing you
doesn't help me, either." She came out of the bathroom and into my
view, holding a hand towel and a small, opaque white, glass makeup
jar, and a box of kleenex. She had a business-like expression on her
face, all seriousness, and she said as she walked across the floor to
me, "My fault. But the damage is done. So I guess I better do
something about it." She stood looking down at me, her hands full of
the stuff from the bathroom. "But only if you won't think it's gross
if I do this. So...is this okay with you?"
I smirked, "Did you think I'd give you an argument?"
She knelt on the floor beside the sofa and put the glass jar on
the floor, saying, "You could have. You might have been tired, or
maybe too shy." She unscrewed the cap of the small jar. "I couldn't
find my Coppertone. But a guy once told me he masturbated with cold
cream. You ever do it that way?"
I shook my head no.
"Well, let me know if it feels too messy. Maybe we can try it
another way." She settled onto her heels on the floor and started
unbuttoning her blouse. Looking at me she said casually, with a taunt
in her eyes, "Now, don't expect this on the job. This is just between
us."
I sighed and rolled my eyes, and looked down at my cock. My
erection raised the washcloth about two inches off me. I said, "Oh,
my. He's definitely out of control now."
She said, expressionless, watching me, "Oh. This will definitely
solve the problem. I shouldn't have mentioned any of this in the
first place, but..." She slipped the shirt off her shoulders and
reached behind to unsnap her bra. "...if you relieve yourself before
you go on an assignment, or have Martha or me do it, there won't be
any problem." She removed the bra, her sweet pears bare and looking
very touchable but a little swollen. She looked down while she dipped
her fingers in the jar on the floor, and I was taken back by her mat-
ter of fact behavior. I found it so bizarrely erotic that my cock
stood up even higher.
Ronnie straightened up and moved closer to the sofa on her knees,
leaning toward me a little, and she lifted the washrag from my cock.
Then she looked at my cock while she used one hand to lift me straight
up and the other hand to wipe the cream on my shaft.
I caught my breath with a sudden hiss, and she asked, "Cold?"
"I'll simmer down."
She gripped me with the moistened hand. "Let's hold him a minute
and warm him up. I guess that's why they call this stuff cold cream."
I closed my eyes for a moment, enjoying a brief current of
pleasure that flowed through my length, and I opened my eyes again.
She was looking at my cock, her expression disarmingly calm.
She said, "I felt him swell a little. Does that feel good, just
holding him like this?"
I winked at her. "Sure."
"You know, I wasn't kidding when I said the other night that I'd
never done this. Now that I did it once, I wonder why I never did."
"It is surprising."
She watched my face. She squeezed up slowly, and then again.
"That way?"
I whispered, "Yeah. Just like you did last time."
She watched my cock and started milking me with a slow rhythm, and
I let my shoulders rest against the arm of the sofa and folded my arms
behind my head. The odor of cold cream filled the room. The stuff
squished faintly as her hand moved up and down. I thought about Karen
in Memphis and remembered her clumsy hand job. Karen had affection,
but no technique; Ronnie had a dripping sensuality in her eyes and
voice, and she used a gentle coaxing on the upstroke that made me feel
as if my balls were heating up a huge load just for her hand.
She asked impassively, "When's the last time you came?"
"Saturday. With you and Martha."
She said, "Mm. No wonder. Well, he'll be okay soon. Squeezing
too tight?"
"No, it's good. Uh, just...slow down a little."
Her hand started down and then squeezed up, slower. "Okay?"
"Slower."
She slowed even more, her hand making a muted, greasy noise as it
rose and gently squeezed.
I sighed, "Yeah."
She said, "I always thought guys would like it faster, the closer
they got to cumming."
I gave a little grunt of pleasure, and gulped. "It depends, I
guess. Slower makes me cum harder, then a little faster when it
gets there feels really good."
"Oooh. Well, then..." She fell into a deliberate, unbroken pace,
about one second downward and two upward, slowing as her grip enclosed
the tip, and I felt that the pace and grip were perfect, just perfect.
She asked, "Better?"
I gulped. It was getting difficult to breath. I whispered, "Just
right."
"Good."
We watched her hand milk me. My breath was getting short and the
pleasure intense, yet I was amazed that she seemed unflustered as her
hand patiently worked my erection.
She said, "Now, remember, this doesn't happen on the job. Don't
even think about it happening. Okay?"
I gulped again. "I wouldn't dare."
"After this, there shouldn't be any problem."
I didn't say anything. My eight-plus inches stood stiff, straight
up in her milking hand, and her other hand cupped my balls. My cock
gave one of those early-warning throbs, and I made a tiny grunt.
She asked, "Getting close?"
"Put your fingers underneath, on that muscle. Then you can tell."
"Yeah, forgot about that." With her other hand she searched for
the bulge of nerve and muscle under my sack, and found it.
I said, getting very close, "Mm, yeah."
"That make it feel better?"
"Mm-hm." My mouth started to fall open. My eyes closed halfway.
She kept the same pressure and speed, but suddenly she combined
the milking with a deliberate corkscrew twist of her hand upward, the
twist tightening as it caressed my glans. And the nerves in my dick
and nuts went crazy.
I gasped, delirious, "Oh! Oh Ronnie!"
"Is that better?"
"Oh!"
She whispered, her soft grip squeezing up, "You get so big." A
throb coursed vertically. I held my breath. My eyes closed, my head
arched back. Her hand milked and corkscrewed and my cock gave her
hand a stronger warning throb and my hips rose. Barely able to move
my gaping mouth, I gasped, "Faster! A little!" She milked faster,
not quite doubling her speed, and I gasped "Yes!" The tubes tightened
under my dick and I knew I was done for, and I couldn't believe Ronnie
was so shameless, and then there was that wonderful, twisting hand,
and then down to my toes that awesome stiffening...
The orgasm rose in a rapid surge and the pulsing cycle began
within Ronnie's long, twisting fingers. Cum bubbled from my slit,
drooling downward, and I felt Ronnie quickly lean closer. My slit
hurled the first small spurt and it landed on my tummy, and Ronnie
drew a quick breath inward with a "ssss!" and whispered "Yeah." Then
I panted wildly in the mad rush of fast, rocketing squirts. Ronnie
gave a sharp gasp, and another, and breathed louder and faster,
finally sounding excited, and she milked the big, thick ones out of me
and her other fingers pressed under my balls, and then with terrific
pressure a wrenching blast shot out, and another. Then both of us
sighed, pleased, as the wave's crest dissipated. I gasped, "Slower!"
She slowed as my ejaculations weakened, and her strokes made the cum
and cream gurgle wetly. I felt something drip on my hip and I opened
my eyes to see her leaning over me, finishing me off, her soft tits
dangling over my midsection, cum slurping off her nipples onto me.
She milked slowly, contentedly watching my slit surrender the last
puny lunges of thick broth over her curled fingers. I sighed outward,
loudly.
She gave me a slow tug upward, holding and tightening at the tip,
and cum bled over the glans, and she tugged up again, more firmly, and
she watched the pale dregs tumble down her fingers into the pool in my
curls. When she started another tug I felt the ache begin, so I
gasped, "No, just hold! Unh! Hold still."
She looked up at me, her grip still. "Got it all?"
I nodded and sighed and relaxed, "And some I didn't know I had!"
She breathed a quiet laugh. "It was that good?"
"Oh, it was. Very good."
"Well, I had two teachers, you and Martha." She held me loosely
by her fingertips, watching my slowing throbs. "I didn't realize how
complicated a guy's orgasm was until I saw it. It's fascinating. I'll
have to draw it. I'll have to start a new book for that." She tucked
in her chin to glance down at her bosom. "Look at all that. You're a
very healthy young man."
She gave me some kleenex and then grabbed the small towel near the
jar on the floor and cleaned herself and then wiped me dry. I was
relieved, but shaky with the sheer, outrageous eroticism of the
moment, and she seemed, at last, a little embarrassed as she donned
her bra and hooked it in back. "I told you," she said, "this is so
different from anything I ever thought I'd do with anybody."
I blushed, feeling my face get Titian red. "I'm not really used
to it, myself." I gathered the used kleenex and looked at her. "I
thought you never did this before."
She said, putting her shirt on and starting to button it, "Not
this, not until you." She smiled at me, rather cozily, even shyly.
"Did you like it?"
I continued to blush, even blushing about blushing as I settled
against the back of the sofa. "Yeah. I did."
Then she blushed, herself, looking down as she buttoned. She said
quietly, "I did, too."
She straightened her clothing and returned to her work, finally,
and said as she began drawing again, "I think we solved that problem."
I said, "I think so, too."
I watched her working for a moment, her face calm. I asked myself
how she could remain so composed through it all. Then I remembered
Martha telling me Ronnie's experience in the street in her early days
in the city.
After she had settled into her drawing for a few minutes she
mumbled, "I'm embarrassed. Really. I never felt like doing that
before. And I've seen a lot of models that were very nice to look
at." She worked for a minute, but I could see that she was holding
back something. Then she glanced at me and suddenly broke into a
giggle, and she put a hand over her face and said, "God, Steven.
Really! I've never done that! Never." She laughed behind her hand
as she continued drawing with the other.
I kidded her, draping part of one of the big drop cloths over my
midsection, "That's what they all say."
"Never," she said, trying to hold back the laugh and getting back
to her drawing. She sighed, settling down, and she said as she
worked, still grinning, "I'm so embarrassed. I can't believe I let
myself seduce you like that."
I was more than embarrassed. I was somewhat shaken. After the
session, I went upstairs and there was Martha, just arrived from work
and changing into house clothes. While I was fixing up a quick dinner
I dropped everything I tried to handle. As we ate, Martha asked a
couple of questions about the session with Ronnie, and of course there
was a great deal that I left unmentioned.
When we turned in for bed, Martha apologized for ignoring me
during her "time of the month" and asked if I wanted to cum in her
mouth. I figured if I said no, having not had sexual contact with her
for four days, a discussion would ensue. So I let her suck me, trying
hard to get it up fast and appear really horny, but she just slowed me
down and told me not to work so hard. Martha's expert hands and mouth
brought me off after a deliciously slow treatment that had me gasping
and groaning to the ceiling.
She went to sleep. I stayed awake. I kept thinking: There, now,
I have an extraordinary and probably illegal relationship with Martha,
an indescribable and illegal relationship with Martha and Ronnie, and
now an unrevealed, illegal relationship with Ronnie, and now I had
lied to Martha -- or, at best, I hadn't told her the whole truth. And
now I was worried that sooner or later, in the normal course of events,
Ronnie would simply tell her of it. And how was I supposed to handle
that?
Things grew more unpredictable when Ronnie gradually revealed her
interest in the details of sexuality, an interest that even surpassed
Martha's. Ronnie talked about it at lunch and at our Friday dinner as
if she had just discovered a magical new drawing technique. And it
was sometimes enough to cause Martha embarrassment, especially in the
diner Friday as we ate together.
At one point Martha stopped eating for a moment and said, "Ronnie,
can't you stop talking about this? I don't want everybody in this
place to know my internal physical and emotional sensations when
Steven ejaculates."
I glanced around warily. The crowded diner ignored us.
Ronnie said, "Oh, Martha. You prude."
Martha insisted, keeping her voice down, "No, Ron. I happen to
enjoy it immensely. But if *you* don't mind, I'd rather keep it
private."
Ronnie looked at me. "Steven, is this conversation embarrassing
you?"
I answered politely, "Under the circumstances, yes."
"All right," Ronnie said, chewing her food and swallowing, and
folding her arms in front of her and then thinking hard and rolling
her eyes, she said pristinely, "So how do you guys think Eisenhower
ought to handle Cuba?"
Martha said, "Stop making fun."
"Okay," Ronnie said, "How about Steven posing for a couple of
friends of mine?"
"Oh, Ronnie, the last thing I want is to call Steven's mom in
Memphis and tell her that her son was mugged, raped or beaten or some-
thing by some pervert I never heard of."
"These are people I've known for a long time, Martha. I don't
hang around with perverts. That's an insulting generalization about
creative types."
"Hm. How about George?"
"George, in my mind, is as dead as cheese."
"How about Melissa?"
"Melissa's not a pervert, she's a lesbian. What would *she* be
doing to Steven? If you ask me, she's a pretty safe bet."
"Isn't she on heroin?"
"Oh, so what? Steven knows better than to try that."
"How about those characters that lounge around her place?"
"Okay, okay. Not Melissa. No drugs, no strange habits, then. So
how about Clara?"
"Clara? Who's Clara?"
"Oh, you met her. Watercolors? She did that Mott Street
exhibit. Remember, all the Little Italy studies for the New Yorker?"
"Well..."
"Come on, she's too prominent to risk fooling around."
"That doesn't mean anything."
"Martha, come on."
Martha turned to me. "Steven, are you sure you want to spend your
vacation actually working? Working?"
I shrugged. "I want the money."
"For what? I thought you had plenty with you."
I said, "I had no idea that cameras and books and great clothes
were so available in this town. I mean, it's everywhere and it's
driving me crazy."
Ronnie said, "You should have seen him drooling in Willoughby's
camera store."
Martha looked at me, frowning, and then she looked at Ronnie with
a scathing, warning look, and said with her mouth set hard, "Ronnie,
if you get Steven in trouble, I swear to god..."
Ronnie's mouth fell open, and she protested, "Martha! I love
Steven. I might be crazy, but I'm not stupid. Really. Only pro-
fessionals and students I know personally."
Martha fumed for a second, and then sighed. "Don't you dare get
him hurt. Or upset by any weirdo."
"Come on, what is it with you? I love this guy. And I told you,
I have marital plans for Steven. You think I want anything to happen
to my best prospect?"
Martha threw her an impatient frown, and then glanced at me with
the same look. I shrugged and said, "She's after my chicken salad."
Martha laughed, trying not to, and said, "Well, this town is cer-
tainly brightening your personality, Steven. But you really don't
know the life of this town that well. I really, really don't want
anything to happen. I'm the responsible party around here, you know.
You might have some respect for that."
They settled the matter, Martha grudgingly approving, and Ronnie
gave me a secret grin and a wink while Martha returned to her meal.
PART 14B:
During that same week, more complications ensued. As usual in New
York, it was best to expect the unexpected, while expecting the ex-
pected to involve unexpected hassles.
On Monday I got a little financial relief when Fiore announced
that I was in good enough shape to get transferred to a less expen-
sive class, out of the more costly, personalized sessions. The change
lowered the overall price of Fiore's training to one-half the former
cost -- a good move for me because I was beginning to see the bottom
of my formerly bottomless pit of New York spending money.
As it happened, there were a couple of young people in the class
with whom I had picked up a passing, hello-in-the-hallway relation-
ship. There were twenty-six young people in the class, all teens,
most of them in various stages of training for athletics or dance.
Among them was an astonishingly lovely young woman, brown-haired, with
dark brown eyes, who always wore solid black exercise outfits based on
ballerina tights and little dancing skirts or black shorts. We never
spoke. She was beautiful, graceful, soft spoken and good humored,
always friendly, always working hard at the movements, with a teen
girl's body that was fit and perfect in every way.
We never spoke. I occasionally saw her in street clothes leaving
the building and she seemed dressed expensively. She usually carried
a small leather equipment bag that definitely wasn't found in Macy's
bargain basement. She looked Hispanic, but on the few occasions when
I could overhear her she spoke with a well bred American accent with
no discernible regional color. Her voice was soft and musical, a
little on the breathy side, and she had a precise, gracious way of
speaking.
Now and then I would glance at her; she was hard to miss, with her
big brown almond eyes, fluttery lashes, a cheerful, rounded face, and
skin that looked so perfect it seemed unreal. On a few occasions she
seemed to notice me, but only in a passing, accidental way. Even when
she began to see me daily in our class for an hour, I never caught her
looking back for more than a brief, random second. And I never made
an effort to strike up a conversation; I had seen enough wealthy New
Yorkers, young and old, to know that her pedigree was beyond my means.
On Saturday night, I was in Martha's getting dressed in my best
for a semi-formal cocktail party that Martha was attending, with me
and Ronnie as guests. It was being held by some United Nations bigwig
by the name of Carreras, at his posh home in the East 80's. The
people I'd previously met who worked with Martha at Columbia would be
there, and some heavy duty government and education types, along with
many students and graduate students who were part of a United
Nations project.
Martha came into the bedroom and straightened my tie. As we
looked ourselves over in the mirror I told her, "You know, those ritzy
people can spot me a mile away."
Martha said, "Of course they can. You look terrific."
"No."
"Yes."
"I look like a fifteen year old hayseed from Memphis."
"Turn around, let me look at you. Is that the suit you had
altered by Ronnie's tailor? They did beautiful work."
"C'mon, I don't have any business going to this shindig. The
announcement said you could bring one guest, and you're bringing two."
"Oh, they don't care. We're so far down in the hierarchy of this
project, we could all stay home and no one would notice. Here, how do
I look? Here, along here. Is it okay?"
"It's okay."
"Oh, you didn't even look. Here, in back. How do I look?"
I looked at her in the mirror. I stood behind her and smelled the
sweet powder and the hair spray and the lipstick, and she had her hair
smoothed back and bowed in back, and her pale white, full skirted
dress had no neck and no sleeves and showed just enough bosom, and she
looked the way I always wanted my dream lover to look.
I said, "You look like Grace Kelly."
"She's taller than I am, she has a different hair color, and she's
much prettier."
"Well, you look like Grace Kelly. And I look like Francis, the
Talking Mule."
"You look very good." She hastily dug for her earrings in the
little jewel box beside the mirror. "You don't realize how different
you look since you arrived here. You carry yourself better, you
handle yourself better, you've learned to dress like a New Yorker.
Thank goodness you don't act like them." She frowned at herself in
the mirror as she worked with an earring. "Oh, these never fit when
you're in a hurry. Never. I hope Ronnie shows up soon, we're already
late." She picked up the second earring and glanced at me. "Hon,
stop pacing. You're making me nervous."
"Well, I don't know how to talk to these people."
"Of course you don't, you never met them. You start with hello,
and then you learn how to think on your feet." She winked at me in
the mirror. "Don't worry, stick close to me or Ronnie."
Someone knocked on Martha's front door.
Martha winced with the earring in her ear. "Ouch. Oh, speak of
the devil. I left the door locked. Let her in, can you?"
I strode to the front door, feeling too high off the ground in the
new dress shoes I wore. I opened the door and was presented with one
of the most alluring women I'd ever seen. It was Ronnie, leaning on
the wall with an impatient frown on her face. I moved aside to let
her enter, and stepped back to look at her. Actually, I stared at her
like an imbecile. She saw me and stopped in the middle of the room
and looked down at herself.
She asked, "What's the matter? Did I forget something?"
She was radiant, in the way a softly glowing pearl radiates on a
black background. She wore a long, sleeveless, low necked black dress
that was as slinky as her slinky body, perfectly matching her combed,
wavy black hair, black stone earrings, and dark blue eyes.
I closed the door and said, from the bottom of my heart, "You're
beautiful. You're absolutely gorgeous."
She sighed, "I like you, Steven, but don't push it." She looked
me over. "And you look perfect. Really. Boy, have you come a long
way." She smiled and walked to me and gave me a kiss on my neck, and
said, "Not that you had that far to go." She briefly hugged my face
to hers. She smelled and felt so good, I didn't want to go anywhere
but to bed. She kidded me, "Thanks for the compliment, though. I
love a guy who knows when to lie well." She started for the bedroom.
"Is Martha in here?"
I followed her into the bedroom. "You look like a million, and
you know it."
Ronnie stood next Martha, who was still fighting with her earring
in the mirror, and said, "Martha, I'm down to my last pair of hose.
If these tear, I'm done for."
Martha indicated a lower drawer in the dresser. "Oh, get a pair
of mine, out of there. Put 'em in your purse."
Ronnie said "Lemme help you with that earring first."
I stood in the doorway looking at both of them, two lovely,
svelte, very glamorous women, with whom I had partaken of both love
and lust. The strange thing about seeing the two of them together,
looking so pretty, was that I couldn't believe it. I just couldn't
believe it. I said to Ronnie, "I told Martha she looked like Grace
Kelly. She won't believe me."
Ronnie looked at Martha in the mirror and said, "Yeah, I can see
something of Grace Kelly here. With Lee Remmick's eyes."
Martha said, "Stop it."
I said, "Ronnie reminds me of Phyliss Thaxter. With black hair."
Ronnie frowned and said, "Who's Phyliss Thaxter?"
"Van Johnson's wife in 'Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo'."
Ronnie said, "I'll have to take your word for that. You remind me
of something between a young Montgomery Clift and a young James Dean."
I said, "No. Can't be. I was hoping for Gary Cooper."
"Oh, not him. He always looks half asleep." Ronnie glanced at me
while she helped Martha with the earring. "Martha, don't look now,
but there's this really nice looking young guy standing in the door,
giving us the eye."
Martha smirked. "Great. Let's bring him along." Martha looked
around Ronnie's arm, grinning. "Hey, wanna go with us?"
I leaned against the door frame. "You two better get used to me,
because I'm not letting you out of my sight. I don't have the
slightest idea why I'm going, where I'm going, or what I'll do when I
get there."
Ronnie said, "That's okay, just stick with us. You'll be fine.
Here, Martha, you're fixed. Now , let's have a look at me, and see if
any straps are showing."
Martha walked around the room, gathering her purse and scarf.
I said, "But, I don't know want to say. What do I say to these
people?"
Martha said, "You do what they do. Say hello and introduce your-
self."
I said, "Then what?"
Martha said, "Then do what they do. Ask questions."
I said, "Well, what if they ask *me* questions?"
Ronnie said, "Do what they do. Lie."
Martha and Ronnie stood together, primping in the mirror. "Okay,
now," Martha said, "one last flight check, here. Steven, while we're
there, don't stray too far. You're meeting your next date at this
party tonight."
"My next what?"
"Your next date. Mister Carreras' godchild, and some of her
friends. She's seventeen, she's very bright, and she's just your
type."
I stared her. I didn't say anything.
Martha said, pinning a broach on her collar, "Did you hear what I
said?"
I said, annoyed, "Are you fixing me up again?"
Martha said, "Yes."
I sighed, heavily, making sure she heard it.
Martha said, "And it so happens she already knows you. Sort of.
Her name is Anita."
Ronnie straightened up and stared at Martha. "Anita? Is that the
same Anita I met? From last spring?"
Martha nodded.
Ronnie turned to me, "Hey, Steven, congratulations. You've hit
the big time. Aneeeeeta. The Cisco Kid's daughter."
Martha said, "She's not the Cisco Kid's daughter, she's the great-
granddaughter of some former Mexican diplomat or something. She's
Carreras' godchild."
I sighed again, and shuffled and turned around and wanted to stamp
my feet and scream. "Oh, for godssake..."
Ronnie came over to me and patted me on the shoulder. "Hold on,
there. pal, let's don't look a gift horse in the mouth. She may eat
tacos instead of meat balls, but she is very, very attractive."
Martha said, "Mainly, she's a lot like Steven. And very bright."
I said, "She'll know I'm a fraud right away."
Martha stepped from the mirror and grabbed her purse off the bed
and said, firmly, "She'll know you're sharp, and bright, and consider-
ate." She walked past me out of the room.
I followed, grimacing, "Oh, come on," and Ronnie took me by the
arm and whispered, "Shh. Wait til you see her."
We walked onto the street and headed for the east 80's, only a few
blocks away. I was ticked off. Martha and Ronnie knew it, and
ignored me as they strolled along. I started feeling ignored. Then
they started walking faster, and I fell behind. It was a better view,
anyway; they both had gorgeous rear ends. But after a while, Ronnie
turned and waited for me to catch up.
She said, "Come on, I'll fill you in on Anita."
I said, "I don't wanna know."
Ronnie said, holding my arm and walking, "Martha's so right, you
can be so stubborn."
I said petulantly, "So what's so good about this Anita?"
Martha told me that Anita was born in Mexico but moved to Cali-
fornia when she was a baby. She was educated, partly in France,
partly in the States, partly in Mexico, and Martha arranged for some
of her tutoring for over a year. She was seventeen, just graduated
from high school, interested in dance, film, and all the arts. Her
dad died in an auto accident in Mexico when she was three. Her Mom
inherited wealth, but Mom had little t do with Anita, because Anita
refused to attend Catholic Church. Anita moved to live with her
godparents in New York five years earlier.
Martha pulled me into position between her and Ronnie and said, in
her exacting manner, "Now, listen. She's very rebellious. But she is
also -- are you listening to me? -- she is also considerate, and she
knows *not* to bite the hands that feed her. Which means, hon, she
has learned how to behave in the environment in which she must live
until she's free to be on her own. So you take a good look at someone
who's in a position very similar to yours."
Ronnie said, "Just wait. Anita will eat you alive."
I said skeptically, "That remains to be seen."
"It's just a figure of speech, honey."
Martha frowned at me. "You're not wearing your glasses."
I winced and sighed.
Martha said, "Steven?"
"All right." I reluctantly withdrew my glasses case out of my
jacket pocket and put my glasses on, my face set in a hard scowl.
Martha said, "That's better," and I caught Ronnie giving me a smirk,
and Ronnie said, "Believe me, they look good on you."
Then Martha said, "I haven't even told him about Jessica."
Ronnie said, "Martha, not Jessica. Give him a break."
I griped, "Oh, no, not another one!"
The Carreras family lived within a three story luxury building in
the East 80's off Fifth Avenue. As soon as we entered the place and
checked in with the doorman, and followed the porter into and up in
the elevator, I knew we were in a neighborhood that required a pretty
good chunk of pocket money for the rent. Marble walls in the hall-
ways. Cathedral doors at entrances. Not exactly a flophouse. But
neither Martha nor Ronnie seemed uncomfortable. I simply followed
their lead and hoped for the best.
One of the first people I spotted when we walked into the main
lobby and started down the hall to the reception room was the actor,
Henry Fonda. He was holding a glass and stood with one hand in his
pocket, talking to some guy who looked rich and suntanned. I asked
Martha, "Is that who I think it is?"
Martha looked, and smiled at me. "Of course. Wanna say hello?"
"No."
"Oh, come on. He's just someone else who contributes to the
project, just like everyone here. He's very big in theater."
"All I know are his movies."
"He does theater, too. He was in 'Mister Roberts' on Broadway,
remember?"
I gulped. "Are you sure I belong here?"
"They're just people, hon. Some are snobs, some are not. Just
like every other part of New York, there are people here from all over
the world and every walk of life."
I walked with the two women into the reception area, which was
pretty much a huge, fancy living room furnished with an open bar and a
lot of silk covered sofas. I asked Martha, "This is their house?"
Martha said, "No, these are the conference rooms and ballrooms.
Their residences are across the hall."
Ronnie murmured, "Wish my living room had a dTcor like this. I
think the bar in the corner is an especially nice touch."
Martha said, "You would. If you had all this, you'd never get any
work done."
Ronnie said, "If I had all this, I wouldn't have to."
I was introduced to Mr. Carreras, who seemed like a gracious sort,
a kind of older Anthony Quinn with a black goatee, and his wife,
looking well fed and Spanish, and to a couple of the people I'd met at
the coffee shop near Columbia. They were all friendly enough, and as
the evening wore on I began to feel more at ease. I even worked up
the guts to shake hands with Henry Fonda, who basically ignored me but
at least was nice about it. Now and then I somehow ended up alone,
standing around looking for Ronnie or Martha. And every time this
happened, some smooth guy would approach me, introduce himself, ask me
where I attended school and how I liked New York, ask me a couple of
questions, and then say that they noticed me arriving with either
Martha or Ronnie try to wheedle their telephone numbers or other
information out of me. I soon learned to feign total ignorance about
both women, save that they gave me a ride to the party.
After this happened a couple of times I spotted Ronnie across the
room, standing by herself with her cocktail glass at her lips. I
walked to her and she gave me a little smile and indicated her glass.
"Ice water," she said. "No bubbles for Ronnie. Ronnie doesn't want
to be seen lying on her face in a place like this."
I said quietly, "You look beautiful."
She blushed. "Come on."
"You do."
"Really?"
"Yes."
She held her glass to her lips to demurely take a small sip and
said, "Thanks," and then she arched her brows and winked and muttered
from one side of her mouth, "Wanna fuck?"
I laughed, looking around, and she shifted her eyes around and
said furtively, "I hope nobody heard me say that." She sipped her
water and asked, "So how's it going? You holding up?"
I shook my head no. "I'm not gonna touch that question."
She suppressed a laugh and asked, "You met Anita yet?"
"No."
"Well, she just arrived. Over there by the door."
"I won't look."
She smiled and said, "Come on, let's get Martha to introduce you."
"Oh..."
She grabbed my arm. "Come on."
Martha and Ronnie stood at my side as both moral and physical sup-
port while Martha introduced me to Anita. I nearly fell over myself.
She was the lovely girl I'd seen in my class at Fiore's. And she
recognized me right away.
She said, "Oh, I thought I'd seen you before. Isn't that strange,
when Martha described you to me and told me you worked out at Fiore's,
I was sure I'd seen you."
I smiled at her feebly, trying desperately to find something to
say, and I was captivated by her rich, red lips and charming smile and
big brown eyes, and her easy, unpretentious manner, and I suddenly
realized I was still shaking her warm, soft hand.
She said, "It just goes to show you, we've seen each other every
day for weeks, but we never quite met. Of course," she said, laugh-
ing, "I have no idea what that means."
I said, "Well, we should have just said hello and got it over
with."
"Yes," she said sweetly, "we should have."
"So, uh...how do you like that class?"
"Oh, it's great! I'm getting so good at it, I can almost stand up
on my own when it's over."
Someone tapped Anita on the shoulder and she said, "Excuse me,"
and she turned to him, a smile on her face as she listened, and beside
me I felt Martha and Ronnie start to move away, and I turned a little
and frowned at Ronnie, and waved my hand, begging her to stay, but
they both backed away, frowning back at me. Then I was there alone
with this perfect, absolutely beautiful teenager who stood there like
a Spanish princess in her simple but expensive full skirted, light
blue dress and smiled with radiant confidence at a young guy who was
whispering in her ear, and she said, "Oh, good. Thank you for letting
me know."
And then there I was. And Anita. She was slightly shorter than
me. Her long, wavy, dark brown hair hung over her shoulders and
halfway to her waist. She held a cocktail glass filled with the same
pink, non-alcoholic punch I was holding in my trembling hands.
She said to me graciously, "I'm so sorry. I asked Ralph to let me
know if someone had arrived."
I smiled and said, "Oh, that's all right. No harm done." Which I
thought, considering my state of mind, was a fairly brilliant state-
ment.
She beamed at me, seeming genuinely glad to meet me, and I
thought: What style, what confidence, how absolutely charming, how do
people learn to do that? Are they just born that way? Why had I not
been born that way?
She said, a soft laugh in her voice, "Martha told me you were from
Memphis. But I won't embarrass you with the questions you usually get
about Elvis Presley."
I shrugged, and despite the fact that I felt as if my face were
paralyzed and the flesh was slipping off, I heard my mouth saying non-
chalantly, "Oh, that's too bad. I've memorized all the answers to
those questions. Now I don't have anything to talk about."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that."
I said, "I'll come up with something."
She paused, sipping from her glass, her eyes still on me, and we
both paused together, looking at our glasses, and suddenly she said,
"Introductions are so clumsy, aren't they? Do they ever get easier?"
I felt so relieved when she said that, my dick started to get
hard. I smiled gently at her. "You're not doing bad at all."
She said, looking around, "Neither are you." She looked at me,
her eyes easy, almost intimate. "Well, I feel I already know you,
seeing you every day. That's what's so silly about it, you see
someone you know so well, but you suddenly realize you've never said a
word to one another." Her eyes glanced over and past my shoulders. She
said, sounding relieved, "There. Martha's gone now. I can act my
age."
I said, "You weren't acting your age with Martha around?"
"Well, you know, she always wants you act older, somehow. But
she's sweet. I really love Martha. I don't see her enough these
days." She sipped again, and I knew her eyes were looking at me,
testing, asking.
I sighed uneasily and said, "Well. This is my first time here.
It's nice."
She said, "I live here. Want me to show you around?"
"Sure."
She smiled and tilted her pretty head. "Come on. Let's walk
around and bother people we don't know."
"Sure. We can pester them with introductions."
She giggled, her eyes brightening, and she said eagerly, her
lovely red mouth laughing, "Yes! That's a great idea!" And I was in
love with her.
Anita actually spent a couple of hours with me, showing me every
nook and cranny of the ballroom and dining area and explaining how the
rooms were used for official and social functions and talking about
all the famous who had visited there and some of the dramatic events
that had occurred in those palatial rooms. I was mightily impressed,
and she could see I was.
We were standing alone, in the entrance hallways looking at a
portrait on the wall of some general or other, and she stood beside me
and said, "I'm afraid all this must make me seem intimidating."
I said, feeling much easier with her by that time, "I guess I
would feel that way, if I didn't know you."
"That's what I mean," she said, a little glumly, her eyes looking
up at the general. "That's probably why people sometimes don't just
say hello to me. Maybe it's the way I look."
"Well...you do stand out."
"Oh, I don't mind standing out. But there are many people I'd
just like to say hello to." She sighed, and asked, not looking at me,
"Did you feel that way about me when you first saw me?"
I thought for a minute, and decided I might as well play it on the
level. Something about her made me want to do that. I answered,
"Yes."
She smiled. "See what I mean?"
During the course of the evening she brought me to the other side
of the floor lobby into the residence of her godparents, where the
rooms were smaller, though still exquisitely furnished. We went
through their two libraries, one of which was set up as a music room
with a splendid and very high-tech audio setup. Some of her friends
were there playing record albums, and she introduced me to them. A
strapping, tall teenage blonde guy gave me a hefty, friendly handshake
and we got into a conversation that moved to the music system.
I mentioned, "I see they have a nice JBL setup here."
His face brightened and he said, "You know about this?"
"Sure. I'd love to have this at home."
"Oh, you and me both, man. These JBL's are great. Ever build any
of your own stuff?"
"I have a Heathkit at home. Not much."
"Yeah, but all their stuff's classy, isn't it? And I really like
building it myself."
I said, "You know, they're coming out with stereo. Now you'll
need two of everything."
I sat with him, listening to a few record tracks, talking about
the sound of the speakers and how they appeared to have certain sonic
characteristics. The guy's name was Ken. He listened to me for a
while and said, "Man, you really have a good ear. You know, I did
notice that little tremor on the flutes and clarinets, I wondered
where that was coming from."
"Crossover," I said. "Not easy for some crossovers to handle
harmonics if the crossover region is in that range. But it sounds
like the designer made a good compromise. That's what any loudspeaker
is, anyway, a collection of compromises."
"Yeah, they are."
We both turned around to find Anita sitting on a small chair near
us, looking confused. She smiled and said, "I'm glad you two know
what you're talking about."
When Anita and I returned to the crowded main hall we were
strolling and talking. And casually holding hands. I have no memory
of how that happened, or who reached out first, but it seems we both
reached out at the same time. Her fingers hung loosely from mine, and
she looked down smiling and I looked down talking, and when I looked
up I saw Martha eyeing us. Anita and I had made a date to meet on
Tuesday afternoon to browse some Greenwich Village spots, and she
wanted me to attend a party with some of her friends on Saturday.
As Anita and I were talking to Martha, Anita happened to mention
that her theatre group was holding a contest of solo readings at her
home within two weeks or so. Just as she mentioned it, Anita's eyes
widened suddenly. She said to me, "Oh, I just remembered! Martha
told me you're in theater!"
I looked at Martha accusingly and muttered, "Well, yes. I guess
Martha must have mentioned that."
Anita said, "That's wonderful. Would you like to do a reading?
Just a short piece, you know, from a play or some poetry or something.
Come on, you can be a contestant and meet everyone in the club.
That'll give you plenty to talk about."
I said, "Well, I'm not really prepared. I didn't bring any
scripts with me or anything."
Anita said, "Would you like to use our library? We have so much
material in there, or someone in the drama club can get you anything
you need." She sidled close to me, squeezing my arm, and making an
anxious face and laughing, saying to Martha, "Oh, please, don't let
Steven get away. We'd love to see a new face at these things." Then
she straightened up and said, earnestly, "Well, frankly, to get away
from the same old faces each month, we're desperate!"
I said, still glancing at Martha, "Well..." I looked at Anita,
who was holding my arm, smiling and pleading playfully, and she said
sweetly, "Steven. Please? I know you'd be wonderful. Martha told me
so much about your theater work. Come on. We'd love to see some-
thing." Then she sighed at Martha, "Oh, don't let him be too shy."
Martha laughed and said, "Anita, never fear. Steven has grease-
paint in his blood and he'll be--" a quick little glance at me "glad
to do something. He really wants to, I can tell."
I shrugged. "Sure."
Anita said, "Oh, good. The whole group will be looking forward to
it. Thank you, Steven. It'll be so refreshing."
Anita soon took her leave, and it was time for Martha and Ronnie
and me to get home. After Anita left, I stood there looking at
Martha, my gaze growing more irritated.
I said, "She says it'll be refreshing. Refreshing. For who?"
"You'll come up with something and you'll be a major hit. And
it's just a recreational drama club, it's not life and death."
I said again, "Yes. It'll be refreshing."
Martha looked right into my eyes and said, "She had you right in
the palm of her hand. Figuratively and literally."
I blushed. Martha was right.
Sunday, none of us could find a movie worth seeing. Martha and
Ronnie and I had a cheap meal at a Greek diner. At dinner, Ronnie
told me she was envious. "You spend two hours with her and you get
three dates? I was there for four hours and only got one."
I muttered, "All three dates were her idea, not mine."
Ronnie said, "Sure beats asking on your own, and getting 'no'
three times in a row." She grinned at me. I told you she'd eat you
alive. You just watch your step. She's very independent."
Martha looked up from her dinner. "Ronnie, you didn't tell me you
got a date out of that party."
"Unlike you, Martha, I couldn't afford to turn guys down all
night."
"Who was it? That Bolivian?"
"God, no. Who wants to go out with somebody who gets rich off
forced peasant labor? There's already enough cruelty in my life."
"So who was it?"
"The guy from NYU."
"Oh, Ronnie. No."
"He's very nice!"
"Well, he's a little conventional."
"You can only give it a try and find out."
Ronnie left to go to the restroom, and Martha drank her tea quiet-
ly for a moment before asking me casually, "Steven, it's not that
late. I was thinking, maybe Ronnie could come up for a while
tonight."
"Okay," I said, not thinking too much about it.
"But if you're tired..."
"No. No, it's fine. I was gonna ask her about posing."
She said, "Oh," and she didn't say any more, and I wondered what
she was thinking about. I asked "Why?"
She said, "Just thinking," and she sipped her tea.
We left the diner at eight and strolled home, with me between
them. It was a slow, ambling journey with a couple of pauses at
storefront windows. And it seemed like our slow stroll home from Penn
Station several days before, seemingly aimless and yet with a single
thought on all three minds, a kind of trusting assumption, and little
did I know how it would all be repeated. We made our tired way up the
stairway in their building and as Ronnie searched for her keys to open
her door, Martha turned to her and said, "Ronnie? It's not very late.
Want to come up? The three of us?" And Ronnie said, "I thought you
were tired," and Martha said, "Just a little. It's not that late."
Ronnie looked up the stairs at Martha and said, "You sure?"
Martha said, "It's the end of the week," and Ronnie said, putting her
keys back into her purse, "Yeah. It is, isn't it?" And Martha said
to me, "How about you, Steven?" I said, "Fine with me. Maybe Ronnie
can give me a few pointers on handling poor little rich girls like
Anita." As Ronnie followed us upstairs to Martha's she told me, "You
hardly need pointers from me. Three dates, for godssake." Martha
said, shoving her key into the door, "Come on, you two. Stop
plotting."
We moved around the apartment lazily, feeling the Monday morning
drudgery already threaten as Ronnie pitched her purse onto the sofa
and said, "Monday tomorrow. Another day, another fifty cents."
Martha undid the belt of her dress and headed for the bathroom, seem-
ing deep in thought about something and mumbling, "Just a second, I'll
be back." I turned on the fan on the living room window sill and then
walked into the bedroom and checked that the second little fan was on
the bedroom window sill and running. Then I walked into the kitchen
and turned up the big window fan from low to high. Ronnie had flopped
onto the sofa. She said, "Thanks. It was a little hot in here."
Ronnie lit a cigarette and she and I chatted on the sofa for only
a moment before Martha came out of the bathroom and stood in the hall
between the bathroom and the bedroom, unbuttoning the neck of her
dress. Unsmiling, she looked across the living room at us and said
quietly, "Ronnie?"
Sitting on the sofa, Ronnie turned toward her. "Yeah?"
Martha just looked at her, unbuttoning the next button on her
dress, and she seemed unsure and reserved for a moment. She asked
Ronnie, "In there, or...?"
Ronnie said, "Oh," and she took a last quick drag from her
cigarette and crushed it in the ashtray on the coffee table. "No.
Bedroom's better."
I glanced at Ronnie and then at Martha, and Martha's eyes stayed
on mine from across the room, and her hand went down to the next
button on her dress. She said quietly, "Steven?". When I frowned,
questioning, Martha tilted her head slightly, indicating the bedroom.
Then I knew what was happening. I rose to my feet.
Ronnie finished crushing the cigarette and grabbed her purse and
said, "Come on, Steven," and Martha went into the bedroom, and Ronnie
and I followed.
We were silent in the bedroom. Martha stood before her dressing
table, removing her dress. Ronnie walked to the small chair by the
bedroom window and put her purse on the chair and looked down at
herself and wordlessly started undoing the buttons of her blouse.
I stood by the bed near Martha, and I saw Martha looking at my re-
flection in her dressing mirror and she gave my reflection a slight,
secretive smile, almost a blush. She whispered, "Come on, hon. Get
undressed."
It was eerie; no one said anything for a moment, and the two women
seemed oddly solemn, our silence a kind of mutual acceptance of
impending intimacy. But more than a prelude to sex, the silence
seemed to close off the room from the outside world, while the
wordless undressing was like opening secret doors within the room
itself. Blood rushed to my head, and as I started unbuttoning my
shirt I felt a giddiness that made my hands tremble.
Martha got down to her slip and asked Ronnie, "Want a candle in
here?"
Ronnie turned to her and said, "Sure. That'll be nice." She
removed her blouse as Martha went into the living room. I glanced at
Ronnie as I removed my own shirt, and she looked at me as she reached
behind her back to unzip her skirt, and she had the same secretive
smile as Martha, her eyelids lowered covertly. Then she looked down
to take her skirt off and we continued to undress. The living room
light went off and Martha returned with a big new candle and set it on
her dressing table, and Ronnie removed her slip and I removed my
slacks. Martha lit the candle and turned off the bedroom lamp and
removed her slip and her bra. Ronnie shed her own bra and dropped it
onto the little chair with her other clothes, and she whispered
"'Scuze me a minute" and headed for the bathroom.
Martha stood near me and rolled her panties down and saw me
watching her while I rolled down my jocks. She glanced at my hard-
ening cock. She walked over to me in the candlelight and ran a finger
along my shaft. I rolled one of her nipples in my fingers and she put
her fingers around my cock and held it, and with her other hand she
held my balls, and I slid my palm down her tummy and let my finger
stroke along the corner where her thigh joined her hip, and then I
cupped her pussy. She leaned against me and reached around and held
my butt and I did the same to her, our faces resting on the other's
shoulders, and we stroked each other's backs and behinds and legs and
I kissed her shoulder.
She kissed and chewed my earlobe and breathed against my ear,
"Hon...I feel very wicked again."
I swallowed nervously, my mouth feeling full of thick goo.
Martha said against me, "You're tense."
My eyes moved uneasily around the dim room. None of it seemed
real. We were not on the planet Earth. I murmured, "Just a little
surprised."
"I thought you'd be used to us by now. Ronnie wanted to. We
talked about it today. She likes this. I like it." She gave a
small, hushed laugh. "But it's still a little scary."
All I could say was to whisper, "Yeah."
"I kept thinking about it. And at the last minute, out on the
on the stairs...I just said yes to it. I wanted it again."
I kissed her shoulder. "So do I."
She said, "When we were walking home together, I watched you. You
looked as if you already knew it would happen, the three of us. You
didn't look worried at all. I thought I was the only one who was
hesitating."
I kissed her ear, pretending to be totally calm and grown-up.
"It's okay."
She whispered, "Keep touching me."
My cock was hard against her thigh.
In a minute Ronnie came out of the bathroom naked and dropped her
panties to the floor as she walked over to me and Martha, whispering,
"You two started without me?"
Martha said, "You can join."
Ronnie stood beside us and gave me a kiss on the shoulder and then
she touched Martha's shoulder, and she put her lips on the tight skin
of the edge of Martha's shoulder that glowed with the light from the
candle, and she kissed softly. Martha turned her face toward Ronnie
and they traded their secret smile. I was so surprised by Ronnie's
gesture that I didn't breath for a moment. The image sent a throb
through my dick and precum slipped out against Martha's leg. Martha
looked down at my cock and held it and squeezed, and a new, clear bead
appeared at my tip.
Martha pulled on me slowly, and my eyes closed and I stood there
and let the slow pulling motion make me longer and harder. My balls
were already starting to tighten. Then Ronnie moved around and stood
behind me, her nipples against my back, and her hands slipped around
my waist and her nails played along my tummy while Martha pulled on my
dick. The room was loud with our breathing. Then Ronnie's wet lips
were on the back of my neck, and then Martha's lips were on the side
of my neck, and it was all a little too much at once for me. More
precum oozed from me and I moaned, and the two women gave quiet,
whispered laughs. Ronnie asked, "You okay?" I gulped and said, "With
the two of you, I'm not gonna last very long." And Martha said
against my ear, "Well, it's been a while. Do you think if you cum
now, you could last longer with us? Or do you want to wait?" I said,
my head and lungs feeling too full, my brain floating in space, "Now
is probably a good idea."
Martha looked away from me, at the bed, and back at me. She said,
"Sit on the side of the bed for a minute." The two women let go of
me, but Martha kept her hand on my shoulder as I backed up to the edge
of the bed and she said, "Right here. Just sit here and relax. Is
that okay?" I said "Yeah" and I sat on the edge of the bed, my feet
on the floor, and I felt nervous, wary, unsure of what they wanted and
feeling as if I were going into surgery and was being led around with
no will of own, shaky with growing desire. I heard Ronnie whisper,
one of many whispers that would fill the night, "Let me see how you do
it, Martha."
Martha reached down and spread my knees. She knelt between them
on the floor and began kissing my tummy. Ronnie sat on her legs
beside me on the bed and kissed my shoulder and my head seemed full of
candlelighted fog. Martha's soft lips moved down my tummy to my pubic
curls and then straight to my tip, nipping wetly, gently, slowly, and
I sighed, and Ronnie whispered in my ear, "I'll just watch. I want to
see Martha do it," and I said, "I like the way you do it, too."
Ronnie smiled and said, "Then that's the way I'll do it. Next time."
Then I felt Martha's mouth going down on me, down, down, and I sighed
again. And I thought: This is crazy, this isn't happening, it can't
be happening again. Adrenaline rushing through me had my whole body
feeling fluttery. It was sex, raw sex again, and I was frightened and
thrilled, and I knew by the way Martha sucked me that it was the same
for her and for me, it was strange and good and soft and lewd.
Ronnie looked down and watched Martha start sucking me, slowly,
slowly, and Ronnie said, "I see. You always like it slow."
I sighed "Ahhh," letting the air out slowly and said, "Yeah. Most
of the time."
Ronnie settled against me and watched Martha suck up and down a
few times, and then Martha nipped at my tip again and let her lips
suck just the end and Ronnie licked my ear and ran her fingernails
back and forth across my tummy and my cock urged upward and Martha's
mouth went down, and down. Martha sighed through her nose with my
whole cock in my mouth and paused there and ran her tongue around the
corona, and I breathed a soft ahh and then she started sucking again,
and Ronnie's lips sucked my neck and I moaned. Ronnie sucked for a
long moment, and then she whispered at my ear again and I could hear
the smile in her voice as she whispered, "Like that?" I breathed a
muted, quick "Yes" and I closed my eyes and helplessly I felt the room
begin to disappear under a sea of lusciously sinful pleasure. I was
losing my mind with Ronnie's nails on my tummy and Martha's mouth
doing an agonizingly slow up and down slide on my cock, which was soon
throbbing strongly against the roof of her mouth, and my voice quaked
as I gasped, "Oh, I'm...I'm close," and Ronnie whispered, "Already?"
and I nodded yes. And then Martha lifted her mouth and she whispered,
"Ronnie, give me your hand." Then I felt Martha placing a couple of
fingers of Ronnie's hand loosely around my dick near the root at my
groin, and Martha whispered, "Feel him cum." Ronnie whispered,
"Martha. Where do you learn all this?" and Martha said, "From
Steven." Then Martha licked my tip, and my dick lurched against her
tongue, and then Martha put her mouth down, down, and started sucking
again. I listened to Martha suck and I listened to Ronnie breath near
my ear while she watched and waited with the root of my cock held
between her thumb and index finger, and I couldn't believe how won-
derfully nasty the three of us were. Within a few sucks I was
trembling and moaning "Uh" and "Uh" and damn if Martha didn't just
keep it slow, and I knew damn well she knew she was driving me crazy.
Then my dick throbbed in Martha's mouth and against Ronnie's fingers,
and it throbbed again, reaching for that cum, and Ronnie's breathing
changed, getting louder. My head jerked back and I leaned back on my
shaky arms, unable to speak, and Ronnie looked down at Martha sucking
me and she whispered, "So many ways to do this." I held my breath and
Martha's mouth went up and down, and then I couldn't stand it any
more. I let a meager whimper out of me and then in a long, seamless
moment of forbidden lust and joy the squirts began and cum squirted
quickly inside Martha's mouth and I felt the squirts coursing past
Ronnie's fingers and she breathed a soft "Mm, yeah," and my knees
twitched and cum leaked from Martha's lips and she lifted her mouth a
little and swallowed and moved back down and my cock lurched strongly
inside her mouth again, and then I had no will and no existence except
for the squirt and squirt and gush and Martha swallowing, and Ronnie
hissed a soft, dirty "Yeah" and I thought my brain and my chest would
explode. As the orgasm faded I sighed toward the ceiling, "Oh,
good!" and Ronnie softly chuckled.
While Martha's mouth finished me off, I panted and panted and
panted, and Ronnie said, "That was fast. You must have needed it."
All I could do was lean back on my arms and pant and gulp. Ronnie
grinned down at Martha and said, "I hope we didn't finish him for
good."
Martha's mouth stopped moving on me, and she held my tip in her
mouth and used her hand to squeeze up firmly, and I felt her tongue
scrape the last drop from my tip, and she sucked and swallowed. Then
her mouth let me go. Martha swallowed hard again and took in a breath
and said, a little surprised, "That was a lot. Ronnie, get me a
kleenex over there."
Ronnie stretched across the bed and grabbed the kleenex box off
the night table and handed it to Martha, saying, "I'm not surprised.
My fingers could feel him. Martha, you've got to let me in on more of
your tricks. Feeling him cum like that was very erotic. Really. If
I could learn to please a guy that way I'd never be alone again as
long as I live."
The two women sat on the bed and talked while I rested. While I
lay like a corpse trying to recover, they lit cigarettes and discussed
ways of increasing sexual pleasure for guys and gals, getting very
technical about physical and emotional responses. Ronnie noticed I
wasn't smoking and asked me if I wanted to, but I said, "If I'm gonna
get involved in all the things you two are talking about, I'd better
lay off cigarettes for a while." They laughed, and while I rested
they talked about erotic technique, and how the three of us being
together was so kinky that they felt compelled somehow to make it as
pleasurable for each other as possible. Ronnie seemed amazed and she
said, "Isn't that weird? Things I was embarrassed to do with just
one partner, I'm not afraid of with the three of us." The talk and
the sight of these two desirable women soon had me aroused again, and
while they were talking they started fooling around with me, with
Martha showing Ronnie how to use her hands and mouth to get me going
without causing discomfort after my orgasm. Things got a little silly
when Ronnie started trying to talk dirty like Martha, especially when
Ronnie tried that very, very slow sucking on me and stopped to ask me,
"Did that make your thing feel good?" Martha and I got tickled and
laughed about Ronnie using the word "thing" again. Ronnie said,
"Well, I'm not sure what to call it," and we assured her that the best
way to excite someone with words was not to just copy someone else or
hold back modestly but to use the words and terms that simply seemed
appropriate for the mood and feeling of the moment, words that were
exciting for both partners. Ronnie said, "Yeah, I guess 'thing' isn't
really something that jumps out at you from the dirty word diction-
ary."
Martha told her, "I can't believe you've spent years drawing your
fantasies but never did anything about them." The talk became more
subdued and serious as Ronnie and Martha talked about some of their
fantasies.
Ronnie asked me, "Steven, you haven't said anything. Don't you
have fantasies?" Martha said, "He never seems to talk about them. I
keep asking, but he keeps them to himself." Ronnie said, "Well,
that's just the way he is. Men seem to be very afraid of the dark in
themselves, they just keep it inside until they explode."
My answer to them was that what we're doing right now never
occurred to me. "After the last time and this time, I don't have much
fantasy left."
Ronnie said, "Oh, there's plenty left. I'm learning so much from
you two, I have to start a new fantasy book all over again." She lit
another cigarette and asked Martha, "Well, if he hardly ever tells you
about his own fantasies, what does he do when you tell him about
yours?"
Martha looked at me and then blushed and said, "Now that you
mention it, I don't think I've told him much about mine, either.
Maybe, maybe just one that I remember."
Ronnie winked at Martha. "Ah-ha. See? One of you has to open up
first." Neither Martha nor I said anything, so after a pause Ronnie
said to Martha, "Who's gonna be first?"
Martha blushed, looking at me, and said slowly, "Well..."
I said, "Oh, you don't have to tell me."
Martha said hesitantly, "Well, no I...Before Steven came to New
York I used to fantasize about watching him have sex with a virgin and
giving her an orgasm. Her first orgasm. I used to fantasize about
that."
Ronnie said, "Well, that one came true with me."
Martha asked, surprised, "With you? You weren't a virgin."
Ronnie said, "Well, I wasn't a virgin, but I never had an orgasm
during intercourse. I only came when I masturbated. Then Steven
surprises the hell out of me with two in a row." She took a puff on
her cigarette and winked at me and said to me, "Someday you're gonna
tell me where you learned all that delicious stuff."
I didn't say anything.
Martha asked diffidently, "Well, Ronnie, have you...ever had, you
know, fantasies about other women?"
Ronnie said, "You know, I think many women have that fantasy. I
read that, often, what those fantasies often say is that the women
wish they had a male lover who would have sex with them the way the
women really want, instead of being treated like a hockey puck."
Martha said, "Really? You read that?"
Ronnie said, "Yeah. Kinsey, or some place like that."
Martha said, "Oh. Kinsey. I don't trust that. I think Kinsey
should check his own research to see how many of his subjects are just
lying."
Ronnie said, "Well, I've thought about it. It's not one of my
priorities. Right now my priority is...I guess, just being able to
let myself have an orgasm during intercourse. I mean, I keep thinking
it won't happen and I get scared and lose it." She gave me a
suggestive smile.
I blushed and said, "We might be able to do something about that
one."
Ronnie said, "I was so surprised when I came with Steven. You
know, Martha, I didn't notice Steven at first. I mean sexually. When
I first saw you, Steven, I said to myself 'Now, there's a nice looking
guy with a gentle smile and nice eyes.' I had no idea anything like
this would ever happen."
Martha asked, "When did you start thinking about it?"
Ronnie looked at me, thinking, and said, "I don't know."
I smiled at her. "At the nude beach?"
Ronnie said, "Not really. I mean, I noticed that you had this
very nice, young body that's obviously partly genetic and partly hard
work. But I've seen good bodies before, plenty of times. George had
a fabulous body, not that he knew what to do with it." She looked at
me, pondering. "I don't really know...it must have been on the train,
coming back from the beach."
I said, "On the train? I don't remember anything happening on the
train."
Ronnie said, "No, it wasn't just one thing, it was...Martha told
me a lot about you, and she said she often wondered what you'd be like
having sex with someone else, and...I just got to looking at you, and
I wondered the same thing, and I realized that you were different from
other guys. And what made you different was that you didn't seem to
have any meanness in you. None at all."
Martha said, "Yes. I remember you saying that."
Ronnie leaned back against the bed's headboard and asked me,
"When did you first get the idea?"
I said, "I didn't. It just happened."
Ronnie said, "No, I mean, when did you first think of me as a
sexual, uh, possibility? At your age, I guess you see lots of possi-
bilities. But did you think about it when you met me?"
I said, "No."
"But when? Really, I'm so curious about what goes on in a guy's
head."
I thought for minute, and I said, "When we had lunch."
Ronnie's eyes widened, and she smiled. "Really? At lunch? Oh,
that's so funny. At lunch. I don't believe that silly myth about how
eating food is erotic, it never got me thinking about anything like
that. You mean, the sight of a woman eating makes you think about
sex?"
I shook my head no and said, "It was your eyes."
Ronnie said quietly, looking at her cigarette. "Oh, I see. My
eyes. I see. That's...very significant."
I said, "Really?"
She pondered a moment, and said, "To me, it means you saw me as an
emotional, thinking person, as well as a physical person."
"I see."
"Very nice," Ronnie said, and she looked at Martha. "Martha, I'm
not gonna ask you when you saw Steven as a possibility, because you
mentioned him on and off for over a year before he showed up here."
Martha said, lying face up beside me with her eyes closed and a
sly smile on her face, "I thought about Steven for a long time."
Ronnie said, "Well, you know you inspected each other back in
Memphis."
"Yes," Martha said, not going further with it.
Ronnie mashed her cigarette in the ash tray. Martha was lying on
my right and Ronnie sat up beside me on my left. When her cigarette
was out she laid her palm on my chest. She said, "Well, you made one
of my fantasies come true. More than once. But how about you, now?
Have I been clever enough to fulfill any of yours?"
"You keep doing the actual fantasy before I can think them up."
She laughed and said, "Really? I must be getting very creative."
I said, "Yes, you are. Very."
She was quiet for a moment as her hand touched me, and after a
moment she looked at her hand on my chest and then she lifted her hand
and used a single fingernail to draw a slow line around one of my
nipples, and I shivered a little, and she laughed and said, "I'm
sorry. Didn't mean to tickle."
"No, it felt good."
"Oh," she said, running her nail over my nipple again.
"I like that."
Ronnie whispered, "Yeah?" and I nodded. She let her fingernail
caress slowly, and I closed my eyes and enjoyed it.
After a moment I felt Martha sit up on my other side, and Martha
whispered, "Mm, he does like that, Ronnie. I never tried that with
him very much until I saw you do it."
Ronnie said, "I never tried it, either. I never took the time."
The next thing I knew, Martha lying beside me lifted a hand and
ran her fingernails along the top of my thigh. Then she sat up beside
me and ran her nails along the inside of my leg. She leaned down and
whispered, "Feeling rested now?"
I nodded yes.
Then Ronnie settled onto her side beside me, one of her legs
crossing over mine, and she ran her nails along my neck and down my
chest, and she chuckled and said, "Look at you, you're so passive and
cuddly," and for the next few moments both women silently cruised my
entire body with their fingernails, leaving my cock untouched -- which
was not necessary, because it soon began to stiffen on its own. I
used my right hand to caress Martha's tush and my other to squeeze one
of Ronnie's nipples and Ronnie whispered, "Mmm, I like that. I like
that tight squeeze, just on my nipple." Then as they worked I felt
Martha's lips kiss my nipple, and then they moved up to my shoulder,
and then my neck, and then my cheek, and for a second Martha put her
lips on mine. Then she lifted her head, and then Ronnie's lips were
on my cheek, and then closer to my mouth, and then Ronnie put her lips
on mine. Then it was Martha's lips on mine, gently sliding back and
forth, and then Ronnie's lips did the same thing, and it felt so damn
good it was maddening. When Ronnie lifted her lips I kept my eyes
closed and I whispered, my own voice sleepy and dreamy, "That feels
good," and Ronnie said, "You liked it?" I said, "It feels like some-
thing very sweet and affectionate, like just tempting, not demanding.
Making promises. Like saying I'm promising that it's going to be
pleasure, just pleasure, that I don't expect anything except to give
each other pleasure."
Ronnie whispered, "Yes. Pleasure. I'm learning so much about
just taking the time, taking the pleasure. It's so nice this way."
Then Martha's face was close to mine, and she whispered, gently,
"You say such nice things when you open up to us. That's one of my
fantasies, pleasing you so much that you just let go without so much
complicated persuasion." Then her fingernails left my leg and she
gently wrapped her fingers around my dick, and I arched my hips.
Martha said, "I like you getting hard and whispering and letting go."
I found myself saying, nervously, "It's not easy," and Martha said, "I
know, hon. But you're doing it." Ronnie said, "I know how he feels.
I know. I hardly ever opened up, I keep it all in drawings," and
Martha said to her, "But you can open up now. With us." And Ronnie
said, "Yes. It just takes time. But it's so nice this way. Better
than I thought something like this would be. The three of us so
quiet. Our hands on each other. Kind hands. And the little kisses.
And the whispers. And touching." And Martha whispered, my cock
swelling within her fingers, "And fucking." And Ronnie whispered,
"Yes. And fucking," and the way Ronnie said the word was always
strangely exciting, in a way that was indefinably different from the
way Martha said the word. When Martha talked dirty it seemed to
ignite an emotional flood that went directly to my cock and balls.
But when Ronnie said it, the word seemed to strike a nerve at the base
of my spine that coursed upward, and the result was more cerebral than
physical or emotional, affecting me in an entirely different way. As
Ronnie's fingernails trailed over my tummy she whispered, "The fucking
part is nice. So nice. I do like the way you fuck," and she sounded
as if she was using the word over and over on purpose, listening to it
roll off her lips.
That was it for me. I'd had enough of this passive chit-chat.
Ronnie's softly spoken obscenity had a subtle, compelling power that
made me suddenly rise up and roll onto her, embracing her, and I began
to kiss her nipples. These two women had me so electrified that I
wondered if I'd seriously hurt myself with all the screwing I wanted
to do.
This time around, I prepared Ronnie very, very thoroughly before
she put the rubber on me and let me inside her. She was already
gasping and sweating when I started the slow fuck, and she watched my
eyes, her own eyes quickly looking hot and pleading. She was still
slower to cum than Martha, and she lost the climax a couple of times
along the way; but thanks to the rubber, I resisted the urge to
finish, and I resisted the urge to rip the damn thing off and screw
her properly. Martha lay beside us and kissed Ronnie's shoulder and I
saw Martha sneak a kiss onto the rise of one of Ronnie's tits. But
then Ronnie's climax finally started and I bent down and gave Ronnie a
love bite on her neck. She gasped and whimpered, "Oh! Ah! Ah! AH!"
and then she stayed frozen in her release while I sucked her neck.
While she came, her internal muscles were so active that I could
almost imagine the real shape and feel of her through that damn
rubber. After she finished cumming I held her, biting and sucking her
nipples until her breathing settled. She looked lovely under me; the
sight of her lithe, delicate nudity spread before me was still a turn-
on, so I tried fucking her with the rubber on. I tried until I was
breathless but I refused to come in the damn thing, I just couldn't
accept cumming that way, not even with Martha stroking my balls and
butt, and I finally stopped pumping. And Ronnie held my face in her
hands and said, "Steven? That was it?" And I said, "It's not you.
It's rubbers." She said, "But I want us both to enjoy it," and I
said, "It's okay, it's okay. I'll get the hang of these things sooner
or later."
But I could cum inside Martha. I entered Martha without the
rubber, and she held my face in her hands while I fucked her, and she
watched my eyes and whispered, "Make it last, now. Make it good," and
we began our whispers as we usually did, and Martha said "Your dick
feels so good," and I said, "My dick likes it, too," and she said, "No
rubber now, hon. You can cum. You can cum all you want," and I said,
"I want you to cum, too," and she said, "Don't worry. We have time.
Time to suck and fuck," and she whispered again, "Suck and fuck. Suck
and fuck," and she smiled as if she knew her talk was making me cum.
Ronnie's hands went under my butt and she pressed under my scrotum and
kissed my legs and my gluts and I closed my eyes and let it cum, and
Martha felt so damn good inside that I thought my balls were going to
merge under the pressure. While I came, Martha crooned, "Mm, spurt,
honey. You know I like feeling it. Mmm," and I came all I could,
feeling thoroughly emptied, and weak and fluttery with lust.
While we rested, Martha and Ronnie smoked and Ronnie said,
"Martha, I can't believe the way you and Steven talk. I mean, Steven
and I talked one time while he made me cum, and it drove me crazy.
But we didn't talk like that."
Martha and I told Ronnie that it was all a matter of individual
preference, and that most couples didn't talk at all. I said, "Two
people find their own language. You might be with someone else and
the two of you would develop a language all your own."
And that's when Ronnie told Martha about the hand job she gave me
during our session Wednesday, and Martha was captivated by the story,
to my surprise.
Ronnie said, "But while I did it to him, we didn't talk at all."
I said, "Yes, we did. Remember?"
She thought about it and said, "Well, yes, we did, and we did the
other night, too. But not like you and Martha. When Martha talks to
you, my god, you get so heated up! She even heats *me* up! And I
didn't say much at all while I was doing it to you Wednesday because I
was trying to keep myself from jumping on top of you. If it hadn't
been the wrong time of the month, I probably would have."
I told her, "Maybe the way we talked or didn't talk is just, you
know, our language together. Sometimes you might be in the mood no
talking at all."
Martha said, "Ronnie, doing it is as much a thing of the mind as
anything, and every time you do it the mood's different. And Steven's
right, at times you might not make a sound, period."
Ronnie thought about it again and shook her head and said, "God,
there's just so many ways."
Martha said, "You're the one with hundreds of pictures in your
dark books. And let's face it, hon, you've been around more than I
have -- at least, you've been more willing to make the effort than
I've been. You really ought to have plenty of ideas of your own by
now."
Ronnie said, "But when it actually happens, it's different from
the fantasy."
Martha said, "Yes. I know. That's what's so nice. Sometimes
looking for the fantasy puts you in touch with something even better."
I told Ronnie, "Remember the first time you came with me inside
you? You just said whatever you wanted to say, and it was totally
different. It really had me going."
Ronnie said, "I don't even remember what I said."
I said, "I do. Most of it."
Ronnie laughed and said, "Jesus, I don't even remember saying
anything."
Martha said it was getting late, so she wanted me to just use my
mouth to make her cum. I said, "I can get it up again, sure you don't
want me to try?" Martha said, "No, hon, it's late and I'd have to
clean up and everything. And all this talk has put me in such a
passive, lazy mood. I just want to be lazy."
This time, Martha rested her head on Ronnie's knees while Ronnie
sat up and stroked Martha's hair and shoulders. Martha came almost
immediately the first time around. Then Ronnie sat looking down at
us, enthralled while I licked Martha through a second climax.
As Martha swooned and gasped and was recovering for the second
time, Ronnie grinned at me and said, "Steven, how in the world do you
do that?" I said, "I like it," and Martha moaned, "God, I do too!"
Ronnie asked, "Your mouth doesn't get tired?" and I said, "Eventual-
ly." She gave me a wicked smile and said, "Next time, honey." Then
Martha, still panting, her head back and her eyes closed, caressed my
hair and whispered, "Steven. Again." I said, "You sure? I thought
it was getting late." And Martha said, "I don't care." So I licked
her again, slowly, torturously, hoping I could help her build one big
enough to satisfy her for the night. And after a surprisingly short
time, as she moved into her third orgasm with her head pressing hard
backward against Ronnie's knees, I raised my eyes past her cunt and
saw Ronnie smiling down at her from above, smiling while she watched
Martha's final struggle, and Ronnie's hands drifted down both of
Martha's breasts and to her nipples. Martha's head jerked to one
side and she gave a small, weak scream as her climax began. Ronnie
smiled down at Martha and squeezed Martha's nipples and watched her
cum.
As I fell asleep that night I thought about Martha and Ronnie and
Anita, and I almost masturbated. I began to wonder how much of this I
could stand. I suspected that there might be something to the jokes
about how doing it too much could make you go blind, or crazy, or both!
PART 14C:
Anita didn't always attend Fiore's class, so I was pleased when I
saw her there Monday morning and I walked up to her and said hello,
and she returned it, and we joked around for a moment as if we had
known each other for months.
I told her, "See, you're not intimidating at all."
She said, "Of course I'm not. I never was. That was all in your
mind."
During the workout I caught her looking at me during a particular-
ly tricky exercise that the class was going through, and we saw each
other having a tough time and trying to look graceful during the
movement. It made us both break up and start laughing, which stopped
the whole class. The instructor joked with us, telling us he'd have
to place Anita and me on opposite sides of the room if we kept it up.
After the class I wagged my finger at her as we passed in the hall,
kidding her, "Now, you behave yourself," and she gave me a charming
laugh.
All of which was making me so horny I could barely stand it. As
I lunched with Ronnie Tuesday, with Anita's date with me only a
couple of hours away, I found myself having to keep myself steady.
The work-outs and vitamins, the physical blooming, Ronnie's gentle
face and cute figure, the vision of beautiful Anita ahead of me, the
echoes in my head of Martha's sounds as she came and came...
I found myself muttering to Ronnie as we ate, "I gotta stop takin'
those vitamins."
Ronnie asked, "Why? What's the matter?"
"Nothin'," I said, cutting my meat and taking a bite. The world
seemed to be moving faster and faster. I said quickly, "Who's
Jessica?"
Ronnie looked up at me. "Oh, she's some student Martha knows."
"So what's the big thing about Jessica?"
"Martha wants you two to meet."
"When?"
Ronnie put a hand on my arm. "Hey. Hey, slow down."
I looked up at her, and I kept chewing away. She was smiling at
me, baffled. "Hey, what's got into you?"
I said, going back to my meal, "I dunno."
She joked, "Wasn't Sunday enough? I should have hung around a
while."
"When's my first posing job?"
"Soon. Probably tomorrow. I'll let you know. Why?"
"I want a camera."
"Okay, so you'll work and get yourself one. Hey, slow down. I
don't like it when guys eat too fast. They end up making those stupid
burping sounds."
I burped, completely by accident, and we stared at each other and
then both of us started laughing.
Ronnie said, sighing painfully as she settle down, "Steven, that
is *not* attractive!"
I arrived early at Anita's requested meeting place on Christopher
Street in the west Village. I removed my eyeglasses, still too
insecure about wearing them, and I wondered if Anita would notice they
were missing. And then when I met Anita in the Village and as we
toured several art houses, I had to keep saying to myself: Okay, pal,
settle down. Steady, now. Steady. Exercise a little mature self
control. Take a cue from this lovely, poised, mannered young woman,
and just settle down. And don't start getting any big ideas.
She was not a giggly, self-absorbed, scatterbrained kid. She was
seventeen but was years beyond her peers in bearing. My admiration
for her conflicted with my own anxious feelings. Anita was a well
bred young lady from a prominent family and was a friend of Martha's,
and many of Anita's friends knew that Martha had introduced us. One
stupid move on my part, and Martha would be slandered along with me.
So I was in a perfect position to be blown away when Anita and I
were sitting at an outdoor table in front of a restaurant on West 8th
Street, and we were talking jokingly about our experiences with
Martha, and Anita laughed about something and then asked me, "And did
she ever start asking you about your sex life?"
I lowered my eyes toward my bowl of ice cream on our table and
said, "Oh, sure. All the time."
Anita said unabashedly, "I was so startled when did that. But
she's so uninhibited, I found myself spilling everything. She did
that to you, too?"
"Uh, yeah. Couple of times."
"Well," she said, dipping into her ice cream, "Did you blush as
much then as you're doing now?"
I blushed. "Yeah. How about you?"
Anita grinned her demure, charming grin, "I considered disap-
pearing into the floor."
So I took a big chance and saw that she didn't seem threatened by
the subject, and I swished the ice cream in my mouth and thought and
considered and weighed and calculated, and I asked casually, "So when
she asked about it, what did you tell her?"
With her mouth full of ice cream she tightened up and held back an
embarrassed laugh, and while she wiped her lips with her napkin she
gave me a naughty frown, and after she swallowed she said, kidding me,
"Now, no fair. No fair, Steven." She wiped her lips again and held
back another laugh and said, "And that's what I told her, too. I
said," and she raised her voice in a mock whine, "But that's not fair!
First she sets me up to be totally honest, you see, she makes a big
production out of it, and then she asked me that. And I just sat with
my mouth open and said, 'No fair!'. But she's so sweet. She really
is. And I'm glad she taught me to open up and develop a more
objective view."
Anita dug into her ice cream again, and she looked at me for a
moment and asked, "Do you think she's pretty?"
"Of course. Very pretty."
"She's beautiful. All the boys fall in love with her. It's like
lightning, all it takes is one look."
"It's her eyes," I said.
"Yes. You're right, yes it is. Oh, I wish I had such eyes."
"Nothing wrong with your eyes."
"But hers are so..."
"Electric."
"Yes. You've noticed them, too. Did you fall in love with her?"
I answered immediately, "I sure did."
"You're kidding. You admit it?"
"Sure."
"Seriously."
"Sure."
"So what did you do about it?"
I shrugged. "I wrote her a poem."
"A poem."
"Yes."
"A poem? You gave it to her?"
"Sure."
Anita's eyes were wide and her mouth was open. "Well, what did
she do?"
I shrugged. "She cried."
"She...cried?"
"Yes. You know, a little tear, right here. Just a little one.
Then she said thank you and we went to a movie."
Anita stared at me, leaning against the back of her chair.
I finished, "And that's all there was to it."
She said slowly, amused, incredulous, "Is this a true story?"
"Cross my heart."
She leaned forward, still not recovering, and said, checking me
out, "And then you...went to the movies."
"Yeah." I continued attacking my delicious ice cream.
Anita propped her elbows on the table and her eyes wandered while
she thought about something, and she sipped her coffee and said,
looking down at her cup, softly, "So you're the type who writes poems."
That sounded a little ominous. I thought: Congratulations, idiot,
you just blew her away. She hates guys who write poems.
She murmured into her coffee cup. "Well...that's so nice. A poem
that made her cry."
"Not ponderous, anxious stuff, you understand. Just a quickie,
you know, like a greeting card verse. You know, there was just one,
small little drop. And then thank you very much that's nice, and off
we went to the movies."
"But," she said, still looking into her cup, "That's so..." She
picked up her napkin and folded it absently and said, "She didn't tell
me that about you."
"Really? What did she tell you about me?"
She grinned sneakily. "What did she tell you about *me*?"
"I asked first."
She didn't answer. She gave me an impish smile and leaned forward
on her elbows toward me and said, "She said you had nice brown eyes."
I looked at her, smiling impishly myself. "She did?"
"Yes. You do have nice brown eyes."
"So do you." I put my elbows on the table and rested my chin on
my fists. "She told me you were independent, talented, sensitive,
friendly, diplomatic, and..." I added quickly, "honest, brave, humani-
tarian, outspoken, and beautiful."
She kept staring at me, the smile getting playful. "You're
flirting with me."
"So are you."
She waited, her eyes fixed on me, and then grinned. "You're
nice."
"So are you."
"I have to go."
"So do I."
But she didn't move, her eyes and mine playing with each other.
She said, "You're not really eighteen."
"Neither are you."
Her eyes were more intimate now, really looking at me and into me.
I was getting a rush of blood to my chest and groin.
She said, "You're very nice to look at."
"So are you."
She waited again, and our eyes looked at each other. She said,
"You talk with your --"
And we both finished together, " -- eyes."
That one was easy. I'd been through that before.
Still keeping her eyes on me, she sipped from her cup, put it
down, and looked at me and said, "You're a guy."
I said, "Unless my eyes deceive me, you're not." I dropped my
voice a little. "You're very much not."
She waited, and I could see by her eyes that she was thinking.
She said slowly, "You're going to go for a walk in the woods. All
right? This is a very important test."
"Okay."
"You're going to go for a walk in the woods. You approach the
woods, walking. What's the weather? What's the time of day?"
I thought, watching her. "It's morning. Early. It's spring.
The sun is bright but not hot. The sun just rose a little while ago."
"Mmm. Okay. As you walk through the woods, you see a cup.
Describe the cup."
"A cup?"
She said, softly, and I saw her soft, puffy lips form the words
slowly, "A cup. What's it look like? What do you do with it?"
"The cup is...a chalice. Silver. It has been neglected, so it's
tarnished. I pick it up. I'll carry it with me, take it with me, and
polish it, restore it. I'll make it like new."
She continued staring into my eyes, and as she waited her eyes
seemed to look deeper, a small, mysterious smile on her mouth. Then
she said, "I see." Then her smile became more knowing, "Well, I do
have to go." Our eyes kept playing with each other as she stood up
and hung her purse straps on her shoulder.
I asked, "Did I pass or fail?"
Her small smile became a slightly wider one. "You get extra
points. I think."
I grinned at her.
She said, "I'll see you Saturday."
"Okay."
She took a step or two back, still keeping her eyes on mine, and
she said, as if it were an afterthought, "Anyone ever tell you that
talking with your eyes is a sign of -- ?" She stopped, seeming
suddenly shy, and she was thinking, her lower lip slightly tucked
under, making her smile look a little more flirty. She didn't go on.
I said, "So are you."
She grinned. Her departing gesture was a clearly more sexual
look, a lowering of her eyelids as she smiled, and she said, almost in
a whisper, "See you later." She turned and walked away, toward the
6th Avenue subway. I watched her trim, slim-skirted body as it moved
for three blocks, all the way down the street.
When she finally disappeared I leaned my head back and closed my
eyes and sighed deeply and said to myself, "Holy shit!"
For most of the remainder of that day I was an idiot in a romantic
fog. It seemed to me, in my impossible situation, that anything was
possible. There was bound to be a fallout from the fantasies I began
to nurture after my date with Anita. For instance, I envisioned that
I had somehow found a way to stay in New York, never to return to
Memphis again. I'd begin as an independent model celebrated by a
large corps of famous artists who would hail me as their most inspira-
tional subject. I would move from posing to some sort of amorphous
celebrity, Nubile young girls and mature women would seek me out for
my body and my sophistication and my many other attributes. And
somehow, in this chaos of success and admiration, I'd be with both
Martha and Ronnie, and Anita always figured in. I couldn't have been
more narcissistic if I carried a mirror around and kissed it all day.
It was not just impossible, it was ludicrous. Ambition is one
thing, but these visions were based on multiple denials of the demands
of reality. There was bound to be a ruinous fallout from all my wild
conjuring. But at the time, I couldn't see it coming.
On the way to Martha's I picked up a card for Martha in a gift
shop, and one for Ronnie. It took an hour for me to find something
sweet but innocuous, thanking Martha for introducing me to Anita, and
thanking Ronnie for her effort in setting me up for posing jobs. All
of the I-love-you stuff seemed too daring for either woman, despite
the fact that some of them expressed my exact feelings about Martha.
"I love you" or anything approaching it was avoided, replaced by
endearing thank-you's and words of friendship. And I had to resist
the urge to buy a soppy card for Anita.
I stopped at a supermarket to get the stuff for a huge salad
concoction for Martha. On my way up the stairs I slipped Ronnie's
card under her door. By the time Martha came home I had the table set
with a huge salad, and Martha's card was placed next to her table
setting.
She came home dragging as usual, plopping her briefcase onto the
floor, removing her high heels, and speaking little as she unbuttoned
the jacket of her blue-gray business suit and then walked to the
dining table, perfunctorily browsing the group of envelopes that had
come in the mail. She saw the card on the dining table and asked,
"What's this?"
I said, "You're supposed to open it and see."
She did so, and she read it without expression, looking tired and
lifeless. She finished reading it with a little smile and walked to
me in the kitchen and gave me a peck on the cheek and said, "Thank
you, Steven. What's this for?"
"Just a card," I said. "For being Martha, for looking like Grace
Kelly, and for introducing me to Anita."
"Oh," she said. She gave me another peck. She said politely,
"Well. Thank you. That was very nice." Then she walked away,
stopping to pick up her shoes in the living room, and strode into the
bedroom to get out of her suit.
Oh well, I thought, it was better than having another woman break
into tears again.
She spoke little during dinner, asking me about my afternoon with
Anita. I didn't tell her I was falling madly in love, but Martha was
pleased to see that I managed to hold my own in conversation with new
people.
Martha spent a couple of hours at the table with her papers, and
she was soon huffing and puffing angrily over them. I walked over to
her and stood behind her chair and hugged her shoulders, bending down
to nuzzle my face against her soft hair. I whispered, "Hey. Don't
you know when you've had enough? Why don't you turn in early?"
She said, "Oh, I don't know. There's so much to do."
I said, "Getting some rest turned out to be a pretty good idea the
last few times. Remember?"
"Yes. I guess you're right."
She brought a few papers with her to bed, sitting up against the
headboard and working on them. I lay beside her while she worked. I
soon dozed off, lying with my back to Martha and thinking about Anita
and a myriad of other fantasies. I opened my eyes a little later and
saw that the bedroom lamp was still on and Martha was sound asleep,
her head against the headboard, her pencil and some papers having
fallen off her lap onto the bed.
I gathered her stuff and placed them on her night table, then
pulled her by her legs until she lay flat on the bed, and I went to
sleep.
In my sleep Anita was naked and looking up at me passionately, her
arms reaching around my neck. I didn't know what Anita looked like
undressed, but in the dream her body looked amazingly like Martha's.
I woke up with a boner. Martha was asleep beside me, her face
turned toward me. I was breathing a little harder than usual. I
stood up and stretched and looked out the window, and then saw by the
clock on the bedside table that it was a little after three AM. I
stood by the bed and watched Martha for a moment. She was so very,
very beautiful in her pajama top, lying on her side with one leg
folded and the other extended, her auburn tuft looking delicate and
touchable. I considered waking her up and having sex, but she looked
so peaceful. Then I considered masturbating. But no. I wanted the
real thing. I decided I'd be better off trying to get back to sleep;
I had to keep up with my workouts, and I might have a long day with
the possibility of a posing job.
I slid back into bed carefully, but Martha stirred as I got
settled. I lay still. But after a few seconds she raised her head
and looked around sleepily, and then smiled at me, and edged closer
and put her arm around my waist and lay with her head near my
shoulder, and closed her eyes. I closed mine, and lay still. A
moment later, Martha stirred again, snuggling closer to me, her head
on my chest, one leg touching mine.
With her face against my chest she whispered, "Why are you awake?"
I said, "I wasn't, really. I was dozing off again. Why are you
awake?"
She yawned. "Got into bed too early, I guess."
I said, stroking her face, "In my opinion, you can never get into
bed too early."
She laughed with a little "Hmm," and she squeezed my hand against
her cheek. For a few minutes we were both still. I could not turn
off my brain. I kept seeing Anita lying under me, her face ecstatic
with pleasure, and I kept hearing Ronnie's soft words as she whispered
to me while her fingernails stroked my abdomen, and I kept feeling
Martha's beauteous warmth against me as she yawned and snuggled. Her
naked hip was against mine and her lovely legs were half-folded, her
knees on my leg, and damn if being with Anita all afternoon hadn't
made me horny as hell!
I slipped a hand under Martha's pajama top and she sleepily raised
an arm to let my hand reach one of her breasts. I toyed with her
nipple for a long while, and she seemed unresponsive except for the
hardening of her nipple. It was a little strange; I couldn't remember
having attempted to arouse Martha so obliquely. In fact, I was unable
to recall many incidents in which I suggested having sex with her,
just because I was horny, and never because I was horny for someone
else. And she was probably tired. And what had made me horny was
Anita, not Martha directly. Yet Martha, as she rested against me with
her nipples responding, made no move to stop me. And I began to
wonder what would happen if I fucked Martha, just fucked her for the
hell of fucking, whether or not she was tired, and what she would do.
I let my hand drift downward, and my fingers played in her soft
tuft. She let one leg open up and I slipped my finger down to her
pussy and gently tested her clit. She was slightly moist, but not
wet. I circled around her clit for a while, eventually getting her a
little wetter. And finally I said to myself: If you're going to get
your rocks off, then just do it and get it over with or you'll never
get to sleep.
I sat upright and she rolled lethargically onto her back and I
pushed her pajama top above her breasts. She lay lazily with her eyes
closed as I sucked her nipples, and her arms went around my head and
she hugged me against her. She was not heated up, but was not resist-
ing, and her drowsiness made it all seem a little perfunctory. I
wondered if she thought I was just playing affectionately before
falling asleep again. I moved to get atop her and she raised her
knees and spread her legs. Then I raised on my arms and tried
entering her, but she was not very wet and my tip seemed to lodge
itself in moist but unopening flesh. Eyes closed, she whispered,
"Wait, hon." She gave the fingers of one of her hands a wet lick and
then rubbed it between her legs, and then she wet her fingers again
and rubbed her pussy again, seeing it was driving me crazy. Then
she whispered with closed, sleepy eyes, "Okay."
I searched with my tip and found her, and after nudging in and out
of her moistened outer lips a couple of times, I slid into her. She
snuggled her face into my neck and put her arms around me and wrapped
her legs around my waist. I placed my hands under her hips and
started fucking. I wondered if I'd ever feel Anita's cervix nip at my
tip the way I could feel it deep inside Martha. And Anita wouldn't
have to use a condom and her pussy would feel as good Martha's did
now, wet and snug and smoothly walled and it would feel as good as
Martha's fucking, it would feel good like Martha, and I went deeper,
deeper and slower, and Anita's chocolate brown eyes and red smiling
mouth were already making me cum. I was surprised that I could move
so languorously inside her for such a short time yet get there within
less than a minute. But as the orgasm began there was only Martha,
naked and warm, filling the universe, sucking my cum into her center.
I forgot everything except Martha. I heard only my own arduous sighs
and near my ear her broken breath as she worked her wonderful pelvis
and pussy, milking me. It was so damn good and easy and loving with
her. My hips slowed and I savored my surprisingly easy, copious,
warm, thickly gushing release inside her and my only thought was god
damn she's so good, Martha, Ahh Martha, and then the peak faded. I
began my return to earth, feeling guilty for losing myself in visions
of Anita and not noticing whether or not Martha had cum. A few
moments later she moved from under me and headed for the bathroom.
While she was gone, I thought about what it would be like to rest
afterwards with Anita and not have to send her to a bathroom. Then I
heard water running and I felt like a fraud, a damn fraud for thinking
of someone else while Martha had to leave her bed after giving such
pleasure to me.
When she slid back into bed she whispered, "That was nice. And I
still have time to sleep." She snuggled next to me again, her head on
my shoulder. I hugged her to me and stroked her hair, giving her a
kiss on her forehead, and she snuggled closer in return.
Then I was shocked and mystified as I drifted into sleep. I began
thinking of Martha, Ronnie, and Anita, all three of them at once. And
I wondered, why had Martha set me up for all this? Why should I feel
such guilt, when she apparently expected me to do what I was doing?
To say the least, I was very, very fucked up.
PART 14D:
Ronnie set me up for my first modeling session on Wednesday after-
noon. I was going to be paid seventy-five bucks for an afternoon of
work with a photographer that Ronnie knew. That was a pretty hefty
sum in those days for a nonprofessional my age, although a pro would
have been paid more. The session went well and was similar to posing
for an artist, but with many more pose changes and a constant stream
of instructions from the photographer. He was a handsome, shipshape
man in his late thirties or early forties. There were many boring
lighting adjustments between shots, then his motorized cameras would
start rolling like crazy for several dozen frames.
I started with clothing, and the clothing got more scarce as the
session went on. A couple of assistants were around until the last
half hour of poses, when the photographer requested to be alone to
"concentrate on the personal stuff." Another half hour of posing nude
with only a minor lighting change followed.
It ended with the photographer turning off all the lights in the
place except a dim fill on the background. He approached me without
a word, and I anticipated another adjustment of the dim background
flood, which was the only light on. But the man stood right in front
of me and looked down at my cock, which was not aroused, and ran a
finger along my thigh toward my crotch. I recoiled, not from recog-
nition of what was happening, but because his touch ignited an instant
itch along my leg.
I reached down to scratch the itch, saying, "Oh. excuse me," but
his hand grabbed mine, gently, and held it. I thought he was adjust-
ing my pose. But when he didn't move I looked up. He was staring
intently into my face.
I asked, "Am I doing it wrong?"
Without stirring, he said, unsmiling, "Oh, no. You're right.
You're just right." He gave my eyes a steady stare and I felt his
palm sliding up my thigh again.
I stepped back and held up my hands, growing immediately shaky.
I said, "Hey, uh, I don't know what I did, but...I'm women only."
He smiled curiously, squinting, and eyed me with a tilt of his
head. "You're what?"
I could feel my breath mounting. I was scared as hell. Were
those other assistants in the next room? I took another step back,
holding my hands up again.
He took a step toward me and said, amused, "Did you say 'women
only'? Is that what you said?" He stopped a few inches away from me.
I nodded yes.
His smile faded, and he looked me up and down, and gazing at my
cock he said temptingly, "I could make it worth your while. Very much
worth it."
I said, gulping, "Uh, seventy-five for today will be just fine."
He gave me a scornful smile and a small chuckle and reached down
to pick up a lighting cable and said, walking casually away, "Get
dressed."
I picked up my clothes from the chair we used for posing and the
guy threw a switch to bring the lights back up. I put on my shirt and
pants in the room while he ignored me, and then I left the room, my
shirt unbuttoned and my shoes and socks off. I finished dressing in
the outer office while the secretary typed up a check and handed it to
me. I looked at it. $100 instead of seventy-five. That wouldn't be
enough to get me back in there again.
As I left I wondered if the check was good. I jogged to the bank
whose address was on the check. I got a single Ben Franklin bill
right away.
By the time I left the bank I was no longer shaky. Instead, I was
pissed at having felt so terrorized and powerless in that studio.
This being Wednesday, Ronnie would be working at home in the late
afternoon. At a phone booth I called Ronnie's apartment and told her
I was paid a hundred bucks. She said, "Hey, good work! You got a
bonus! I guess he'll ask you back."
I told her I wouldn't have time for another session before I left
town, and not to bother setting him up again. That's all I told her.
"So," she asked over the phone, "How'd you feel posing?"
"I'll get used to it."
"No, really. Were you on edge, comfy, or what?"
I lied, "Comfy." I wasn't going to let Ronnie's concern keep me
from getting more work. Maybe I could even start a side thing going
and extend my stay in New York -- if I could find a way to keep the
Memphis school system from starting the Fall semester on time!
Ronnie said, "Hey, call Martha at work. I just got off the phone
with her. Remember, we promised we'd call as soon as you finished.
Do you have her number?"
"Yeah." A guy passed me on the street, and he seemed to give me
the once-over. Or maybe he didn't. Then again, maybe he did.
I called Martha at work. She was miffed at my calling so late and
said she had stayed at the office after four because she was worried
that I hadn't called. I told her the story about cashing the check,
withholding all the other details, and I apologized.
She said crankily, "Get yourself home so we can have dinner. And,
Steven, please don't do this to me again. When I thought something
went wrong, I was at a complete loss. You had me scared to death."
I apologized again, profusely.
And for the rest of the week I behaved as well as I could. After
all, something had indeed gone wrong, proving that Martha was right
about my not knowing my way around New York. I was a real sweet kid
when she came home from work looking tired and flustered. I got the
bed ready for her, started making coffee and breakfast for her again
in the mornings, and pampered her every night to the point of getting
the bed ready and sweet talking her into getting more rest.
I couldn't blame Ronnie. As far as she knew the photographer was
on the up-and-up. When I had lunch with Ronnie on Thursday I still
made no mention of the photographer.
Ronnie said, "You know, since he paid you extra, he must have been
satisfied with you. Maybe we could wrangle a couple of prints from
him. That's really the way to set it up, with some photographs of
you."
I said quickly, "No, he said he was going out of town. I don't
have enough time left in New York to keep track of him."
Ronnie said, "Well, I guess you're right." She chewed her shrimp
salad and swallowed and said, "We having dinner with Martha tomorrow
night? As usual?"
"Yeah," I said. "The usual Friday night dinner, I guess."
She said, mischievously, "And extended dessert afterwards?"
I grinned and said, "Yeah. The usual Friday night dessert."
But it wasn't the "usual" Friday night.
It started out that way, with dinner at the same inexpensive joint
on 86th Street, and a lazy stroll home. We went to Ronnie's apartment
instead of Martha's, and I was surprised to see what her bedroom
looked like in its normal state, with that weird bed of hers pulled
out of the wall and properly set up.
While the three of us we were getting undressed in her darkened
bedroom I asked Ronnie, "Isn't it a pain in the neck to move all your
stuff around this room and set up the bed?"
Ronnie said, unhooking her bra, "I haven't had anybody pose for me
in a while. It doesn't happen that often."
I said, pulling off my jeans, "Next time I pose, why don't you
just let me move all that stuff for you?"
She smiled at me as she pulled her panties off. "Aw, that's
sweet. For that, you get a reward tonight."
I feigned a fearful grimace and kidded her, 'Uh-oh. A reward.
This one won't make me go blind, will it?"
"Well," she said, teasing, "like the joke goes, you might need new
glasses."
Martha stood naked in the bedroom doorway and looked around. She
said, "Ronnie, you want candles?"
Ronnie said, "Oh, Martha, yes. We need candles."
"Where are they?"
"Come on, I'll show you," Ronnie said, and as they disappeared
into the bathroom Ronnie said, "Anyway, I wanna talk to you again for
a minute."
Martha argued, "Again?"
Ronnie said, "I just want you to show me one more time."
Martha said, "Oh, Ronnie..."
I lay naked in Ronnie's bed, wondering what the two women were up
to. I could hear them talking in the bathroom but couldn't make out
the words, and in a moment they came into the bedroom and Martha had a
big green candle. Martha said, "Oh, this is one of those nice ones
that we can't find any more," and Ronnie said, "I know, I've looked
everywhere for them. We got them for Christmas, you know." Martha
set the candle on a small table beside the bed and said as she struck
a match and lit it, "These smell so good. Not like those overdone,
sugary things."
Ronnie turned out the light, leaving us in the warm glow of the
slow flame from the fat green candle beside the bed.
"That looks nice," Martha said, sitting up on her legs beside me
on the bed. "Like it, Steven?"
I said, "I like it near the bed like that. The flame glows in
your eyes."
"Yes," she said, looking at my eyes. "Yours too. That'll make it
very sensuous."
Ronnie reached under the bed and pulled out a drawing tablet and
said, getting into the bed with me and Martha, "I was working on these
this week. Steven inspired me. Steven, I hope they don't embarrass
you." Ronnie sat up on the side of the bed nearest the candle, her
legs folded under her, with me between the two of them, and she held
the big tablet on her lap and opened it.
Martha whispered, "Oh," and I saw a pencil drawing of a young man
that looked a lot like me. The figure reclined and was shown in a
side view, from the head to just below the hips. He was dressed in
what appeared to be shirt and jeans, though this was suggested rather
than drawn in great detail. It was a figure in profile, details
suggested by variations in shape and line. The young man's head was
thrown back a bit, chin up, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, and at
the belt line the jeans were undone and a slender feminine hand
reached into the picture from the left and enclosed the figure's long,
erect cock.
I blushed profusely, and Martha grinned at me. "I guess it was
too much to expect Steven not to blush."
"I know," Ronnie said, and she smiled at me, "He'll probably never
pose for me again."
I said, "I wouldn't say that." Not only was I embarrassed, but
the drawings were very arousing.
Ronnie turned the page, and Martha said, "That's a nice one, too."
The second picture was like the first, except that the figures
were more sillouhetted, and coming into view at the left side was a
young woman's head and neck, hovering over the erect penis as the
female fist seemed to be rubbing the tip of the male's erection. I
began to see a pattern of certain lines forming in the picture. A
loose end of the undone belt on the young man's jeans hung loosely in
the air, curled upward. It was matched by the curves of the upturned
face and nose, and the slight curl of the thumb of the woman's hand on
the cock; and echoed again in the curls of the woman's wavy, curly
hair and her slightly parted lips, and her eyelashes had another form
of the same curly lines.
Ronnie said jokingly, "Martha, Steven's wondering what the hell's
going on here, with these two nekkid broads and the dirty pictures."
Martha said, "Dirty pictures is a poor description, Ron. They're
done so well. Just because they happen to be very erotic."
I pointed at the curled end of the belt and said, "This," and I
pointed at the curled thumb and the eyelashes, and said, "And these."
Ronnie said, "Yes. Very observant."
Martha said, "What's he pointing to?"
"These shapes," Ronnie said, pointing to the same ones.
Martha said, "Yes, I noticed that, too."
Ronnie said, "No fair, Martha, Steven saw 'em first."
She turned the page. The third drawing was similar, except that
the woman's hand was farther down on the guy's dick and the girl's
silhouetted face was looking slightly down, the eyelashes more curled
and obvious now, and her eyes seemed to be watching the first, curling
spurt of cum that slurped from the cock's tip into the air. And I
noticed in the picture that most of the broadly curled lines were
more exaggerated and active.
In the fourth drawing, the woman's silhouette extended into
the picture, her head looking down. Her breasts and clearly delin-
eated nipples, which were larger than Ronnie's, hovering directly over
the penis as ejaculate zoomed upward, a long curl of fluid caught in
midair, and another on its way up. And again, every curled line in
the picture from the woman's wavy hair to the arching ejaculate was
more alive, The picture seemed to bristle with a frenzy of excited
curves.
Martha breathed. "Oh. Ronnie. This one's very powerful."
Ronnie said, "You think so?"
"Just right," Martha said.
The fifth picture had a similar activity, but now the woman's
nipples dripped a slurp of cum, and the woman's mouth seemed to be
opened more as the face looked down, as if the woman were saying "Ah"
as she watched a new, thick, very long curl of sperm splash upward
toward her breasts, and two smaller slurps dripped from the woman's
nipple. This series of drawings was seriously turning me on. I felt
an uncomfortable tightening in my crotch.
In the last picture the emotionalism of the curls and curves had
settled. The woman's hand still held the cock, but now only a single,
thin slurp hung suspended from the nipple, and the woman had lowered
her head to give the erect tip a light kiss, and the male's silhou-
etted, undetailed face seemed more at ease.
Ronnie said, "That's all. So far."
Martha said, "Ron, they're beautiful. Really. If only someone
would publish these."
Ronnie said, her voice distant and quiet as she gazed at her own
drawings, "Oh, there are people who would. But not the way they're
supposed to be published. Anyway...they're private right now. Be-
tween you and me. And him. Very private. Just for here and just for
tonight."
Martha said, "Let me see the one before it again."
Ronnie turned the page back, to the most emotionally charged of
the pictures, the one showing the height of the orgasm and the cum
spurting and dripping.
"Yes," Martha said, "that one." Martha looked at the picture for
a moment, her eyes seeming to reach out to it. I glanced at Ronnie
and saw her staring at her drawing, her eyes growing intense.
Martha asked, "Is that what it was like for you. When it actually
happened?"
Ronnie whispered, the hint of a smile on her lips, "Yes."
Martha said, "It's a very exciting picture."
Ronnie whispered, "I *was* excited. And Steven had his head
thrown back like that. I tried to capture all of it."
I said to Ronnie, my throat a little dry, "If I remember, you
didn't seem all that excited."
Ronnie said, her eyes on the picture, "Oh, I was," and she put her
hand on my knee and squeezed and said, "I was very excited." Then
Ronnie pointed to the squirting sperm and asked quietly, "What does
that feel like? When it spouts up like that?"
I started to laugh at that one, but I sighed, seeing that she was
serious and intent, and I answered lightly, "I really don't know how
to explain it."
Martha said to Ronnie, "You do ask tough questions, Ron."
Ronnie said, unfazed but acknowledging Martha and me with a fleet-
ing, apologetic little shrug, "Well, but...I mean, just this coming
out of you like that. Can you physically feel it?"
I rubbed my forehead, searching for words, and said, "I don't know
if there are words for that. It...well, I do feel it kind of boiling
up from under my testicles, that's where it starts, but--"
Ronnie murmured, "Testicles, I hate that word."
I went on, "Well, boiling up from down under, and then...I don't
really feel it going through me, but I do feel it in the slit, the
little slit in my tip, because the skin around the slit has nerves."
I shrugged. "That's the only way I can describe it, I guess."
Martha said to Ronnie, "This is my argument for the value of sex
education in schools."
Ronnie said, "Oh, they only talk about hormones and cells in sex
ed, they don't talk about orgasmic pleasure and emotions."
Martha said, "They would if I taught sex education."
Ronnie touched Martha's shoulder and said gently, "That, Martha,
is why they don't let you teach it." Martha nodded, conceding the
point, and Ronnie looked back at the drawing. She said absently, "I
know about the pulses, it's very exciting to feel that, but..."
Ronnie sighed resignedly and said, "Oh, I'm making this too complica-
ted, I guess."
Martha interrupted to help me out, telling Ronnie, "The guy feels
a lot of internal movement in his scrotum, that results from the
muscle action down there where ejaculate is collected, and it forces
the fluid out. It's very pleasurable. A lot like water going down
your throat when you're really thirsty, only it's in reverse." As
Martha spoke I recalled telling her the same thing, years ago, in the
Lauderdale Courts.
Ronnie glanced at her, "You learn this in sex ed class?"
Martha said, "A guy told me. He also told me guys don't really
care to talk about it, or they don't know how."
Ronnie sighed again. "Well, the sight of a strong male orgasm is
so...so much more stimulating than I thought it would be."
Martha asked Ronnie, "And what were your feelings? What did you
feel seeing this, and drawing it?"
Ronnie said, looking up and pondering. "Oh, I felt...when the cum
flew up and landed on me, you know, these heavy drops jumping up and
striking me, so softly but so, mm, so strong, it was...it was excit-
ing, but at the same time it was soothing, it was...comforting, and
very dark, very...primitive..." Ronnie smiled weakly. She closed the
book, saying, "I guess Steven's right. I don't think there are words
for it."
Martha said, prompting her, "There was a sense of power? Remem-
ber? You said the guy always seemed to be in control, and you wanted
to experience that yourself."
Ronnie admitted quietly, "Yes. There was that. There was so much
more, though. Steven gets so involved in his orgasm..." She sighed
and she rose to her knees on the mattress and said, "It was feeling,
all feeling. I don't have words. I just draw it." She gently
pitched the big paper tablet away from her, and it floated lightly
away and landed flat on the floor near the bed.
We relaxed on the bed, Martha telling Ronnie that the pictures
were wonderful, and Ronnie lay on her side facing me, her head resting
on a pillow and one arm crooked behind her head, and I lay on my side
facing Ronnie, propped up on one elbow, and Martha sat on her folded
legs on Ronnie's other side.
Ronnie looked up at me. She said calmly, "I read that during
orgasm there's a vibration in the sex organs. It's like a note on a
tuning fork that plays at a frequency of eight cycles per second.
And terror is a feeling very similar to it."
I murmured, "Yes. That's below the threshold of audibility.
Martha said, gazing at the candle near her side of the bed, "When
I have an orgasm, it's a series of events. There's a tension that
builds for a long time, and it's very pleasing, which is why I like to
hold onto it as long as I can. It increases the pleasure. And I feel
this great...this great need to be filled with something, this need to
open up and be filled with...with something. Then there's a...a soft-
ness, I guess. It's like a heavenly softness that caresses and fills
my whole body, and it builds inside me and it just seems to fill me."
Ronnie said quietly, "Yes. I feel something like that. It really
is difficult to describe, isn't it?"
Martha said quietly, looking at the candle, "Yes."
Ronnie looked up at me, her eyes finding mine. "What's it like
for you, Steven?"
I said, I don't know."
She smiled. "Come on. Try. Let me know what it's like for you,
so I can make it better."
I sighed deeply, thinking. I let my eyes glance around, Ronnie's
eyes being too distracting while she looked at me. I said, "Well,
there are so many external sensations. Too many, I can't get even get
into all that --"
Ronnie said softly, "No, not the externals, I can guess about
that. I mean, inside. Tell me."
I smiled and said, "Well, no, I'd have to sort all that out. We
could be here for days."
She said, "That's all right," and she reached out and laid her palm
on my thigh, which was near her hip. She said, "We'll listen."
I said, "That's a large order. I was thinking more in terms of
the overall sensation, the main feeling."
"All right," Ronnie said, her nails casually stroking my thigh and
her eyes watching me, her eyes increasingly attentive.
Martha prodded me, "Tell her, Steven. Try."
As I thought about it, Martha rose from her spot on Ronnie's other
side, and she walked around the end of the bed while I spoke, and she
got onto her knees just behind me on the mattress and touched my
shoulder and back while I said, "There's a pressure that builds, as
you say. And then I feel that vibration you talk about. It's funny,
the pleasure of that vibration is so strong and yet I can't...can't
say exactly where it happens. It's not exactly in my penis, it's...it
just seems to be spread all through the organs, not in any one place.
But that feeling leads to the release. And the release is...the best
part is the pouring out, the...the spurting."
"Yes," Ronnie said. Her finger kept stroking a little spot on my
thigh, and Martha leaned closer into my back, her nipples against me,
and Ronnie's eyes tracked mine as if her eyes were trying to feel what
my words were saying.
Martha said to Ronnie, "The spasm, Ronnie, the squirt, it's like
the cervix clamping. You know? Only shorter and faster."
"Right," Ronnie said, her eyes still watching me.
I went on, frowning with the difficulty of the thought, "But it's
the ejaculating, it's the..."
Ronnie winced, shaking her head and muttering ruefully, "God, the
words they thought up for this. Ejaculate. Scrotum. And they say
that words like squirt and balls are ugly. Can you believe it?" She
opened her eyes. "Sorry, baby, go ahead."
I said, "If I had the pleasure sensation, but the emptying was
missing, the spurting, then I guess the orgasm wouldn't feel complete.
Although that vibration really does feel good."
Martha said, her face on my shoulder, "So it's the emptying, the
release of pressure. Mmm. That explains a lot about the first time I
saw you cum. That's why it's so different when I would hold you back
from finishing."
I nodded yes, and Ronnie surprised me when she asked Martha, "You
gave Steven an orgasm before? In Memphis?"
Martha tensed a little, averting Ronnie's eyes, and said, "Well.
A while ago."
Ronnie smiled. "I thought so. And it must have been very excit-
ing, both of you so young and innocent."
Martha blushed, "Not very innocent. And it was a long time ago."
Ronnie said, "But it's still exciting." Her eyes lit up and she
gave a tight, girlish grin. "Steven, Martha showed you how to cum?
Way back then, she gave you an orgasm?" And Martha and I blushed,
Martha conceding, "Well, yes." And Ronnie opened her mouth wide in
amazed delight and gaped at us, and then her mouth closed into a soft
smile. "Oh, that's so exciting! And very dark. Oh, so very dark."
Ronnie looked at me again and said, her voice growing lazy and
sensual, "And so that's why you and Martha let the pressure keep
building...Stronger pressure, stronger release."
"Yes," I said. I saw Ronnie watching me, and she seemed almost
enraptured by the images in her own head, and she whispered, "So
that's why you and Martha like it so slow. Very clever."
I shrugged. "Well, that's as close as I can get to a description.
Give me a couple of months and a thesaurus, and I'll write you a nice,
long report."
Martha chuckled. "Mister Kinsey beat you to it."
I looked down at Ronnie, who didn't laugh with Martha, and who
still studied me with her eyes and stroked my thigh with her nails.
She said, as if she meditated on each word, "The guy feels complete
being emptied, and...and gals enjoy being filled."
"Yes, " I said. "Convenient little design, isn't it?"
"Very," Ronnie said. Her hand stroked higher on my thigh. I was
sitting with my legs under me, my knees against Ronnie's hip, and I
let my palm caress her thigh while her fingernails inched up my leg
toward my lap. And Martha's lips and nails on my back weren't making
my dick any smaller. It was sticking up and lying back, to just below
my navel.
Ronnie said, "I'm disappointed. I thought my pictures would have
you after me like gangbusters."
I nudged my lips forward, considering it. "That could still
happen."
She glanced at my cock and back at me and her smile widened a
little. She said, "I want you bigger. You're not there yet."
I said, "That could happen, too."
Ronnie's humid but calmly waiting eyes told me she meant it. Or
maybe it was our nearness to the candle, only a few feet away this
time instead of across the room. The steady flame of the candle
seemed to be reflected in her pupils.
Martha slid her nails around to my tummy and said, "Ronnie, I
think you set up your pictures just to get Steven revved up."
"Me?" Ronnie said innocently. Then she admitted to Martha, "Of
course I did. What do you think? My drawings always get me turned
up. I figured they'd have Steven in a dead heat by now."
I said "I'm heated, all right. But I like the pressure to build up.
Not always, but most of the time." I bent down and gave Ronnie's neck
a couple of light kisses.
She put her arms around my shoulders and said, "Mmm. I like
those," and then I started kissing downward toward her nipples. But
she lifted my head and placed her palms at each side of my face, and
she began to cover my face and neck with wet, warm little kisses and
tongue strokes. And they seemed hungry, those kisses, small but
hungry, and coaxing, and then she sucked a love-bite onto my shoulder,
and then she held my face in her hands again. She looked at me, her
face calm and half smiling as it almost always was, but there was
something hot in her eyes, something torrid and determined. She asked
in that curiously unruffled, steady voice of hers, the voice she used
while her eyes blazed with a different story, "It's my turn to do what
Martha did last time." I frowned, not knowing what she meant, and she
said, "Sit on the edge of the bed. It's my turn this time."
I got onto the edge of the bed, feet on the floor, and Ronnie
knelt between my knees, and Martha knelt beside me on the bed. Ronnie
held my cock with one hand, and with the other she cradled my balls.
She looked up at me and said, "Just a little work on the pressure,
okay?" I smiled down at her and she squeezed my dick, pulling up,
and she saw the bead of cum ooze out and she said, "Mmm. Already."
Martha leaned against me and stroked my arm and watched Ronnie put her
tongue on my tip and licked off the precum and swallowed it, and then
she put her mouth around my tip for second, and then Ronnie's head
went down very slowly.
Martha said, "Good, Ronnie. Good, do it slow."
Ronnie's head came up, and I closed my eyes, and then Ronnie's
mouth went down again, and her tongue caressed my underside as her
head pulled up and then let me go, and I opened my eyes and sighed
inward for a little air, and I saw Ronnie looking up at me. Her eyes
were getting smoky the way Martha's did sometimes, and I wondered if
all women had that same look, if their chemistry actually affected a
change in their eyes when they got hot.
Ronnie said in a hushed voice, her blue eyes lusty and shadowy,
"Now, don't cum. Don't cum in my mouth, okay? I'm gonna suck it and
get you really hard, and then I want you inside me. Is that okay?
Can we do it like that?"
I nodded yes, not finding much to argue with; and figuring that if
I had to use a condom with Ronnie, maybe getting me all fired up would
afford me a better chance at cumming inside the pesky thing. And so
it was just a matter of enjoying Ronnie's turn with her mouth at the
steering stick, as it were, while Martha's lips and fingernails did a
number on my body. And then I'd finally get inside Ronnie and cum.
Ronnie's mouth took its next trip down my cock my starting at my
tip and sliding her thin, petal-like inner lips around the corona and
around and around and around and around until my cock throbbed. Then
she parted her mouth slightly as it went down and down and down, and
the farther down she went the slower she moved, until my cock was
almost in there, almost, almost, and it began to twitch and in my head
I shouted Take it in your mouth and suck, and when I finally panted
brokenly, "Mm. Oh!", her mouth sucked, loosened, and sucked without
moving, and the technique actually soothed me in a crazy way, for at
least I didn't get more delirious. Then she paused, and then I gave a
deep sigh as Ronnie fell into slow, leisurely up and down suck, a
little slower than the sucking Martha usually did on me. It was a
unique sensation, the way she did it; for somehow her mouth seemed to
be saying, this won't make you climax, this just makes you feel good,
and I let my eyes open and I was getting my breath back while Martha
kissed my neck and ears and ran her nails over my chest and tummy, and
then Martha kissed downward and her lips found my nipple and sucked
it. I looked down at Ronnie, at her pretty face framed with wavy
black hair, her eyelids closed as her mouth nursed my erection into a
new, pleasant, lewdly itching hardness. I found the pleasure of the
feel of her mouth and motion making me grin devilishly, and a thought
flashed through my head that kept saying this lady really knows how I
like to be sucked, she really knows.
I whispered lazily, watching her, "It's good, Ronnie. Ahhh. It's
really good."
Martha watched and said, "Ronnie, it must be good, it's making him
talk."
Ronnie sucked up, way up, then licked my tip a few times, and I
could see that she had my cock wet and long and hard, its full eight
inches or so ready to go.
Martha whispered, "You get him big so fast. I'm gonna have to
start doing it the way you do, Ron."
Ronnie lifted her head for a moment and shook her head to the side
to dislodge stray curls from her forehead, and then she held her fist
loosely on my wet dick and slowly jacked me off, and she looked at my
cock as she fisted it easily, and she whispered, "Steven. You have no
idea how dark and dirty it feels, doing this. You're so big and so
hard...and Martha making you cum like that, when you were so young...
and you're still so young. It makes this feel so dirty." And I
almost came right there, and she must have felt me stiffen and heard
me moan, because she stopped and held me still, squeezing, and she
said "Sorry" as she paused and waited for several seconds. Then she
put her mouth on me and gave me a few more slow, sticky sucks, and
then she stopped and lifted her head to wipe her mouth and get her
breath. She had sucked me for one of the most memorable thirty
seconds of foreplay in my young life, and I was hard as hell when she
lifted her head again.
Martha said, "Ronnie, you're talking, too."
Ronnie blushed, sweeping hair from one side of her face, and said,
"I know. I couldn't help it." And I said, fighting for my breath,
"And you almost made me cum!" She let go of my cock and whispered,
"No. Not in my hand. Not in my mouth." She straightened up on her
knees and put her hands on my waist, and my waist felt her long
fingers and hot palms and then her lips sucked my left nipple and she
looked up at me and said, getting breathless, "Get up and let me get
on the bed." She rose to her feet, saying, "Come on, while you're
good and hard."
I stood up, my legs shaky, and Martha stood at the foot of the
bed. Ronnie lay down, long and trim and naked, and stretched out and
opened her legs. I stood looking down at her, feeling powerful and
feeling my dick jut into the air, seeing how big Ronnie's mouth had
made me. Candlelight washed over her, and she lay long and slim and
tanned and naked, her dark eyes and her dark patch waiting for me. I
sat on the bed and swung my knee over her legs and she opened her legs
to let me lie above her, and her body was warm and supple as I settled
onto her. She reached between us, so I raised on my arms to let her
find my dick, and beside me, to my left, I felt Martha settling onto
the bed. Ronnie watched my eyes as she raised her knees and pulled
her feet together, spreading her thighs wide. Her long fingers
tickled when she found my cock and brought it to her opening, and I
suddenly realized she wasn't putting a rubber on me.
I went taut, withdrawing a little, and I looked at her and said,
"Don't you want me to put on a ru-"
She shook her head no, her dark eyes looking hungry, and she
whispered, "No." And she gave my cock a pull with her hand, and she
whispered again, "No. Just go in." Her eyes watched as her hand
directed me, and she touched my tip to her wet slash and slowly
swished the tip up and down, wetting it, and my eyes closed for a
second with the vivid pleasure of her wetness and her lean, sticky
gash as she got me wet with her, and when I opened my eyes again she
was grinning, and her dark eyes seemed to grin as well, and she said,
"I don't think I ever felt a cock's tip touch me like that, with
nothing on it. It's...spongy. Soft." Then her grin faded into a
softer smile, her eyes searching for messages from mine, and she
lodged my tip just inside her outer lips and put her hands on my
shoulders and whispered, "Put it in."
I looked at her, not believing any of it, and her face seemed to
absorb my eyes and the candle a few inches from her was burning in
each of her eyes, and Martha's hand touched my back and I felt
Martha's nakedness settle next to me. My first image was of waking up
in Memphis one day and getting a letter that Ronnie was with child.
Martha was worry enough, but at least I was used to Martha.
Ronnie smiled. She coaxed, whispering, "It's okay. This is what
I want."
I moved my hips forward. My glans parted her oily opening and
gently nosed past the snug muscle just beyond. I slid a couple of
inches into her, and she whispered, "Yes." I pulled back, feeling the
wet of her clinging to me, and her eyes watched mine as I nudged back
inside again, getting wet, and she said, "Mm-hm. Yes." I moved in
and out again, getting wetter, feeling the drippy wet of her coat my
front two inches. Then I pushed beyond, and the snugness in her began
to give way, and I pushed gently ahead and she nudged her hips upward,
and she engulfed all of me and gripped me and her eyes melted and she
breathed a soft "Ahhhh," and I stayed deep in her and waited, dis-
covering, and she said in a lazy murmur, "Ah, god. Yeah."
I wasn't prepared for what I felt. Martha, when I entered her,
was a slick, smooth, firm, warmly gripping and massaging mommy. But
Ronnie was entirely new and different. I was not overly surprised by
her familiar, fleshy opening with its ticklish pubic hair; I had felt
something of that delicious aperture, and the friendly embrace of the
muscle just inside it, when I entered Ronnie deeply enough to go past
the upper bound of the condoms that kept me from her. But now, with
my shaft bare, Ronnie was conspicuously narrow and buttery, multi-
extured. Her flesh clung to my shaft so closely that I imagined her
lubrication soaking into my pores. And deep inside, near her cervix,
her cunt tapered to a small sucking mouth that worked directly on my
glans, stretching the slit.
She let her thighs fall completely apart. I was all the way in.
Slowly, I started screwing, screwing at the same slow paced she used
to suck me into hardness, and I gave a long, low sigh of pleasure.
She stared at me, her eyelids drooping, her lips parting in a
lazy, sensuous smile. She breathed, "Mmm. Steven. Wow. Good.
Good, nice and slow."
While we both learned the feel of cock and cunt together, Martha
slid upward, sitting on the bed near Ronnie's head, and she laid a
hand on Ronnie's shoulder. Martha smiled at her and asked, "Feel
different?"
Ronnie glanced at Martha and said, "Oh, yeah. Much better." Then
she looked back into my eyes and asked, "How is it?"
I said earnestly, "Mm, it's nice," and I closed my eyes for a
moment, concentrating on all the new sensations as I moved in and out.
I glanced at Martha. She was smiling at me. I told her, "She feels
so different without those things on me."
Martha said, "I know. It's better for Ronnie, too." Martha
teased me, "What's she feel like?"
I started to chuckle, but didn't. "God, not now."
Ronnie looked down at my cock while she let me fuck her slowly.
And I let myself enjoy the wet and cling of her, feeling my cock
getting bigger, feeling it was going to be a very satisfying cum in
Ronnie, and I looked down and watched my cock going in and out of the
thin slit between her outstretched thighs, at the fragile outer lips
clinging and stretching as my cock slid outward, feeling their slick,
subtle grip on my shaft.
Martha bent close to me, her lips touching my neck and then my
ear, and she stroked my shoulder and asked me, "Hon? Do you like her
pussy? Do you like fucking Ronnie's pussy?"
I looked up, and Martha was grinning at me, that crazy grin she
wore when she watched Ronnie suck me off that first night, and I
couldn't help myself; I grinned back at her, our eyes meeting and
sharing in the debauchery of all three of us, and I said, "Yeah. Yeah
I like it." And I looked down at Ronnie and pulled back slightly,
pleased at the way her outer lips stretched and clung, especially
those soft, outer curls of thin flesh that followed my shaft like
slithery petals as I withdrew to my tip. I had a lusty grin on my
face that was so lewd it embarrassed me, and I murmured, "Yeah...it's
a nice pussy. " I enjoyed letting my tip toy with her slippery labia
for a moment, slipping the head of my cock shallowly in and out to
relish the play of her slushy opening around my glans. Then I slid
back in, gratified at the way her warm cunt clamped around me. I
stretched forward a little to go deeper, wanting that smallish depth
in her to nip at my tip.
I rose higher on my arms and started a steady fucking rhythm,
staying deep, savoring that sweet spot deep inside her, and Ronnie's
eyes narrowed pleasurably, and she murmured, "Like that. Yeah. Like
that." While I moved in her I looked down at the nubile, willowy
girlishness of her, at her upright nipples swollen into dark nubs, her
knees pulled aside, thighs spread, tendons stretched. Her eyes
smoldered and her small, moist lips smiled as she watched me, and then
Ronnie and I began our language, our own whispers and signals, as our
eyes and pleasures united us and sought their own expression, and I
got into really fucking her now, my breathing trying to keep up. It
got better with each stroke, and I saw her eyes recognize in mine that
it was already starting to get good for me, and she raised her
eyebrows at me. I said, "This is really good," and she said, "Yeah?",
and I nodded yes, and Ronnie teased, "Like fucking me better this
way?" and I nodded again, fucking her deeper, and I said, "It's a good
fuck," and she murmured as if spellbound, "Yeah. Good fuck. Deli-
cious fuck." She tightened her pussy on me and her eyes monitored
mine, hers seeming to concentrate on what my dick was doing inside her
and what her pussy was making me feel, and she seemed to know that I
could feel the first stirrings of my orgasm, and she watched my eyes
grow dim with the startlingly pleasurable effect of my bare cock in
her, as well as my excitement at Martha, beside me, caressing my
flexing back and hips.
Seldom did I feel such an overwhelming orgasm mount so quickly.
I wanted it to last. But I knew it wouldn't. Being inside Ronnie
just felt too damn good. She watched me and nudged her hips upward a
little with a faint "Ah, that's better," and I felt the change in her
channel as it accepted my length more easily.
Ronnie said, "You're getting bigger," and she said to Martha,
"Martha, he really goes deep. I feel him swelling."
Martha said, "You just feel it better without a rubber."
Ronnie said absently, her eyes on mine, "There you go again.
Condom, Martha. Condom. Mmm! Mm, Steven. Pulsing. God, so much
going on that I wasn't feeling before!"
My breathing got heavier and more uneven. "Maybe I should stop a
minute. I'm not gonna last."
Ronnie teased, "You gonna cum?"
But I kept fucking. I told her, "Feels too good to stop."
Martha's voice near my ear asked me, "Do you want to wait, hon?"
And I panted, "Yes." And then Ronnie's cunt gripped me and I
groaned "Mm!" and then I panted, "No!"
Martha chuckled, "Ron, you're driving him crazy."
Ronnie gazed intently into my eyes. "Steven. I want it."
I moaned, lunging deep and slow, wanting to fuck her longer but
wanting to cum, too, and Ronnie whispered, tempting, "C'mon. C'mon,
I want it."
And I panted, slowing down again, my hips backing up high and then
flexing down. "Soon. Ahhh! Soon."
Then I knew I couldn't stop it. That itch in my balls started.
My hips paused briefly with my dick deep in her at the end of each
stroke. Martha's hand caressed my butt. Beside me, she smiled
mischievously as she ran her finger down my crack, and I whimpered
with the sudden stimulation. I wanted to feel Ronnie longer, but
both women egging me on was much too much.
Then my arms and legs stiffened, and I gasped, and then Ronnie,
who had her arms around my neck, lifted her torso slightly to watch me
going in and out, her face looking down and her forehead near mine,
and Ronnie breathed, "God, how do you hold it so long?" I went in and
out and my arms shook a little and Ronnie looked down, watching, wait-
ing, and she gasped, "You're so big!" Then I couldn't stand it any
more. My arms couldn't hold me. I let my head drop and my face dug
into her shoulder with the sudden rush of pleasure, and Ronnie's arms
around my shoulders dug into the skin, and whispered excitedly, "Yeah,
baby! Mmm, yeah! Let it go. Come on, let it go!"
Then the orgasm streamed forward, my hips slowing into it arduous-
ly, Martha's hand slid under my butt pressed the muscles and I moaned
hard and I gasped, "Uhh, Yes!" and I gushed. "Uh!" And squirted,
hard. "Mmm!"
Then Ronnie tensed as the spurts came hard and fast and she kept
tightening her cunt and she whispered, astonished, "My god," and cum
leaked out of her and slickened her outer lips, and she pressed her
forehead tightly against mine and she crooned, encouraging and com-
forting, "Yeah, sweetheart. Yeeaah," and Martha massaged behind my
balls and I huffed and puffed, and as the last big one left me I
groaned loudly, "Ronnie!" Then it all slowed down. Ronnie kissed my
neck, and I slowed to tired, weaker strokes, letting let my dick
pause far inside her. A relieving shiver ran up my spine. Martha
nestled close to me and kissed my back lovingly, and Ronnie started
moving her hips under me, writhing, trying to hug every part of her
body into mine, and then as I slumped on her she relaxed, kissing my
cheek and rubbing the back of my neck.
Ronnie sighed, "Whew! You know how to get all you can out of it."
Martha said, "I think you contributed, Ronnie."
Ronnie said, "Oh, of course. I've never been so involved. Really!
So powerful."
Martha snuggled closer to me, kissing near my ear. "Steven? Are
you conscious?"
I moaned, exhausted, "Yes!"
They snickered together, and Ronnie said, "Oh, honey. You really
had a good one."
I moaned again, out of breath, "Yes!"
Ronnie hugged me and said, "Mmm. Just rest. I like cuddling like
this."
Martha asked her, "How was it?"
Ronnie swept a hand across her sweaty upper chest. "You have to
be kidding! I never felt anything like that in my life. I mean, it
was so *strange*, it's...really impossible to describe." She hugged
me again. "Steven? Pretty good, huh?"
I panted, nodded yes, too winded to talk.
Ronnie laughed and gave me another hug, groaning playfully,
"Mm-MM!" She relaxed her hold on me and pushed the hair out of her
face and exhaled a long "Wwwwhhhhh. God." She squeezed me tightly
with her cunt, and I felt her grin against my face. "Got any more in
there?"
I shook my head no.
Ronnie said, "Aw, c'mon."
Martha said, "He's drained, Ronnie. For now." Martha leaned down
to my ear. She whispered mischievously, "Was she good?"
I panted, "We'll work on it."
She breathed a small laugh and said, "Well, save some to work on
it with me, too."
"Yeah. Whew! Right."
Martha echoed, "Right. Ronnie, he's even starting to talk like
you."
Ronnie said, "Imitation's the sincerest form of flattery."
I lay on Ronnie with an increasingly unreal feeling. How much
more unreal could it get? Yet I also feared that if I coughed too
loud or breathed too hard I'd wake up and it would all be over.
Ronnie was getting her breath back and wiping moisture from her
forehead. "Martha, I didn't know you could feel it. I mean, I
could almost tell every time he spouted."
Martha scoffed, "Hon, we gals can't feel all that."
"Sure gals can. *I* did. It was like...it reminded me of those
little toys at Woolworth's, y'know, with the Mexican jumping bean
inside? It was like a soft little jumping bean would take a leap
every second or so. You mean you can't feel that when he cums with
you?"
Martha frowned. "Well, no, when he ejaculates it's...more like...
little waves of heat. But I can feel him pulse.
"Oh, but I can feel the cum, y'know?. I mean, yeah, I guess so,
little waves, like -- No, soft darts. Soft, warm, tiny darts. Right?
Not wet, not like cumming in my mouth, that's when I feel it clearly.
But when it's *in* me, it's..." She whispered, "Like soft darts way
up there."
Martha said, "Oh, Ron, you can't."
Ronnie said, "Well, it's--oh, Martha, don't be so precise and
difficult. I can't explain it, it was...Whew! What a sensation."
She let out a long breath and propped one arm under her head, and I
rolled off her a little. She turned her head toward me and her blue
eyes looked at me. "Steven, you have such intense orgasms, you seem
so lost in it." She laid a hand on my chest, which was still heaving
mightily. "How about it, Steve Reeves? Am I a good lay?"
I said, "No contest."
"Mm. For a while there, I was beginning to think getting laid
couldn't be nice."
Martha lowered her voice to a serious tone. "Ron...we need to
take a trip to the little girls' room."
Ronnie winced. "Oh, hell, I forgot about that."
Martha insisted, "Ron..."
"Yeah, okay. I guess so. Steven, Mama Martha knows all about
these things." She sat up and I rolled onto my back, and then Ronnie
rose to her knees. As soon as she was upright, her eyes widened and
she gave a sudden, "Uh-oh." She looked down, quickly cupping her
pelvis with one hand. "My god. Now, *there's* a new sensation. I
didn't think about that."
Martha got off the bed and yanked a kleenex from the box on the
table and handed it to her. "Here."
Ronnie held the kleenex between her legs and gave herself a quick
wipe, looking down. "Steven!"
I said weakly, "Sorry."
"No, no, honey, it's just--" She grinned at Martha-- "What a sudden
surprise!"
The two women scooted off the bed and skittered into the bathroom,
laughing and whispering, and shut the door. As I lay recovering, I
heard water running. The two women shuffled around and dropped
plastic things on the floor.
I heard Martha say, "Take it is easy, Ron."
"Well, what are you doing?"
"I'm just trying to help."
"I don't want you to!"
"Ron...what are you so testy about?"
"Martha...You *know* how stark reality scares the crap out of me!"
After a few minutes Martha came out of the bathroom alone and
stretched her sweet, naked, perfect body on top of mine and kissed my
chin and neck and eyes. "Hi."
"Hi," I said.
"That was incredibly wicked."
"Thank you."
She smiled at me, not speaking, and I smiled back tiredly. I sat
up, feeling nervous. I noticed my hand resting on my knee, and I
raised my hand an inch or so and saw it tremble a little. I gave
Martha an embarrassed laugh. "You know, I'm...I don't know if this
just feels too good or if I'm just a little weak and shaky."
Martha said quietly, "I know." She laid her hand on mine and
looked at it for a brief moment, deep in thought. She said, "I know
what you mean. It makes me a little shaky, too. When I cum, with the
three of us. Steven..." She stopped.
"Yes?"
She bit her lip and rubbed my hand. "Ronnie and I had talked
about this, about doing this, and we always wondered what it would be
like and what it would...well, reveal to us about ourselves. I mean,
we didn't talk about doing it with anyone specific, you know, it was a
kind of...a fantasy. It wasn't something that was supposed to really
happen, it was just..." Her gorgeous hazel eyes searched mine. "Is
it scary for you?"
I thought for a moment. I said, "Well...yes." But I added
quickly, "Well, not scary, just...well...a little bit, yes."
She prompted, "Kind of like...it's not real? Lost all control?"
I pondered that. I admitted, "Yeah."
"I know," she said. Then it was Martha that gave me the little
laugh, a single, small, nervous laugh, and she looked down and
blushed. "Me too. And Ronnie. Ronnie, too."
For a long moment we didn't say anything. Then Martha said,
"Maybe we've been in control too much, for too long. I think we both
have the same reasons for finding this to be a little scary. I hope
...Hon, I never thought I'd let myself go far, not...not so wickedly."
She rubbed my hand for a moment, and she whispered, "I could almost
feel the pleasure with you." She caressed my hand silently for a
moment, and then she asked, "But it was good? It was total and...
complete?"
"Well, it felt good...yes...not exactly complete."
"No?"
I looked at her. I said, "It couldn't be that complete. It was
Ronnie. It was good. But it wasn't you."
I think I saw her eyes start to darken. She turned away a little,
looking down and across my chest. She said, "I want you to be able to
enjoy it with someone else when you're...not with me...because..." She
took a deep, long breath, and lowered her voice. "I've seen what
repression does to people who have very, very strong, intelligent,
very sexual personalities. It makes them angry, dark, sick, violent
people. I can't change all that, I can't change everyone, I can't
change the system, but...this is our chance, for us, just for us. And
the way life is, we'll never have this chance again. Anyone would
cringe at the thought of this. But I just want to make sure that...
Well, I don't--" She stopped again and rubbed her forehead. "My
god, Steven. The world has a way of making us so feel so guilty about
everything, doesn't it?" She gave a tired sigh and she turned to
glance at the bathroom, where water was still running. She said under
her breath, "But we'll never, never have a chance for such pleasure
again. And I'd never be able to do this with anyone else. It's just
this strange combination. You and I. And her."
Then she turned to me, looking suddenly calm. She said, "You like
her a lot."
"She's very likeable."
"Yes, she is. She's very sweet." Martha's eyes grew sad, and she
looked away from me. "You have no idea how miserable she was. But
she would never let anyone know, except me." She glanced at the
bathroom again. "Take a lesson from her, hon. She's determined --
determined -- to be happy, and to give happiness. The night she left
George, something snapped in her, and she came to my apartment with
her clothes and her art, and she cried all night, and the next morning
she didn't talk all day, she only said one thing. One thing. She
said, 'Martha, I'll be goddamn if I ever live this way again.' Take a
good look at her sometime, hon. I do love her."
I said, "I do, too, I guess."
She sat up and sighed, raising her knees and resting her chin on
them, looking across the room silently, her eyes closed.
I said, "What's wrong?"
She shook her head no, saying nothing. She lifted her head and
then she turned toward me and held my shoulders and she smiled and
pulled me down on top of her and hugged me, and she whispered into my
ear, "Ronnie will be back in a minute and we can all talk and be
together. And you can rest. Rest. I want Ronnie to watch us."
Ronnie emerged from the bathroom, joking and philosophizing and
smoking one cigarette after another. They tried twice to get me up
again, but Ronnie had done one hell of a drainage job on me. I ended
up licking Ronnie to a strong orgasm before I was sufficiently turned
on to handle Martha. When I entered Martha she was surprisingly
passionate, even for her, throwing her head back with an ecstatic
smile and sighing, "Ah, fuck me, Steven. Fuck me!" The fuck with
Martha was long and drawn out, with Ronnie caressing her and me and
watching us in silent fascination. Martha was desperate for the
ultimate, wrenching climax. I was able to hold out and make her cum
twice. It seemed especially pleasurable for her, in her excited
state, and before Martha's second climax Ronnie helped raise her to a
fever pitch with an unending stream of erotic talk about dark
pleasure, whispered into Martha's ear. While Martha came I ground my
pelvis roughly into her, my dick firmly against her clit, and she
writhed her hips in a fit of one of the most animalistic orgasms I'd
seen her enjoy. It seemed she didn't want to rise out of the second
one. She held me so tightly, the only parts of me that could move
were my feet and my hips. At her peak her pelvis squirmed violently
against mine and she buried her mouth in my shoulder and made a long
series of low huffs and growls. They were some of the most electri-
fying sounds I'd ever heard from her, making the hair bristle on the
back of my neck.
As good as it was to please her, I knew I was approaching my
physical limit. Martha gave a long, ecstatic, moaned scream at the
end of her incredibly intense climax. As the peak subsided she
grasped my buttocks and pulled me to her, nearly sobbing with
pleasure. By then, I was both physically and emotionally bushed
and needed a break.
While Martha was shuddering and recovering, Ronnie stroked
Martha's neck and face. When I was able to raise my head from
Martha's hot neck I saw Ronnie's surprised look. Ronnie breathed,
"You two are wild." Then she laughed. "What am I talkin' about?
All three of us are wild." She gave Martha's forehead a kiss. She
said, smiling at her, "Hey, settle down. Want me to help you in
the bathroom?"
Martha panted, grinning happily, "I'll be fine -- If I can even
get in there!"
While Martha was in the bathroom, Ronnie and I rested against the
headboard. She smoked a cigarette and we talked a little, both of us
tired. Now and then Ronnie would glance at me but didn't speak.
Finally she said, "I don't know if you realize this about Martha,
but in some ways she 's very conservative. She's so afraid of the
darkness in her. But the two of you, you have a way of bringing it
out."
"Bringing it out?"
She exhaled. "The forbidden. The gentle beast. Pleasure that
burns through the flesh, into your soul."
I asked her, "And what about with you?"
She chuckled. "Steven...we're gonna love working on me."
After Ronnie and Martha, my back was too tired and my cock too
ravaged for any more screwing. I hadn't climaxed with Martha. So
when she returned from the bathroom she sucked me off. I was too
weary for a drawn out episode and she sensed it. She brought me to an
orgasm surprisingly fast, and just as I exploded she changed to angon-
izingly slow, noisy, slurping sucks that had me whimpering pitifully.
My balls surrendered their very last, with thin, hurling spurts while
Ronnie watched us and used her fingers to feel my scrotal muscles
desperately pumping, something that seemed to make Ronnie somewhat
gleefully crazy. And when I shot off in Martha's mouth I knew that
when it came to deep, loving, emotionally super-charged pleasure,
Martha knew how bring me there. She was always good. She was the
best. She was better than anyone could possibly, ever be.
Continued. . .
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