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Message-ID: <30622asstr$991735804@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: MyFrThAl@aol.com (Mark Aster)
Reply-To: MyFrThAl@aol.com
Subject: {ASSM} <Dulcinea> On the First Date (MF, rom, cons) by Mark Aster
Date: Tue,  5 Jun 2001 06:10:04 -0400
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On the First Date
by Mark Aster (MyFrThAl@aol.com)
for the 2001 Dulcinea Festival

Her hips circled and her torso writhed in time to her
moans.  He could feel her muscles moving with the two
fingers he held motionless deep in her sex; he could
see her muscles moving behind the smooth luscious curve
of her belly as he stroked her clitoris with his thumb.
She was trying to say something, trying to form words
through the building orgasm.  Trying to say...

"Chocolate or vanilla?"

"Umm, uh, sorry?"

She was standing halfway across the room, looking at
him quizzically, the strip of bare skin that had 
launched his fantasy still peeking out between her
blouse and her skirt.  "I said: chocolate or vanilla?
I lured you up here with ice cream, remember?  Sometime
in a previous life?"

"Oh yeah, yeah, sorry!  Chocolate would be great."

"Mmmm," she purred, and instead of going off into the
kitchen she stepped quickly up to him and kissed him
on the cheek.  He breathed in the smell of her, saw
himself taking her face in his hands, crushing her 
mouth under his, pressing himself against her warm and
willing body, between her yearning thighs...

"You," she said, having stepped away from him to stand,
one hand on a hip, her head to one side, "are either 
the shyest guy I've ever met, or you just don't like 
me."

"I like you!" he said, too loudly, "I really like you!
A lot!"

Her smile broadened.  "Good!"  And she went into the
kitchen.  He was still trying to decide whether to 
follow her and help (but would it be insulting to 
suggest that she couldn't get two dishes of ice cream 
by herself?  Or would it be sexist to just sit and wait 
for her to serve him?  Or?), when she came back with 
two bowls of dark chocolate bliss.

Sitting in the armchair opposite her, he managed to
relax a little.  They talked about the weather, a
movie they'd both seen, and then about classic Asian
films, something it turned out they both had a passion
for.  Without noticing, he got up from his chair and
sat next to her on the couch, talking intensely.

Then somehow he was talking about himself, telling her
about his childhood, about being lonely, about moving 
to a new city.  And they got a little quieter, and he
found himself just looking at her, and thinking how
absolutely beautiful she was.  She touched his face and
smiled, and her mouth was very close.

He kissed her softly and she responded.  He kissed her
more firmly, and her lips opened.  Her tongue running
gently over his teeth ignited something in him, and 
they were kissing hot and hungry, their hands stroking 
each other's clothes, her legs opening and his body 
pressed against hers.  She was on her back on the couch 
with her skirt up around her hips and his hands on the 
warm softnesses of her chest when he stopped suddenly.  
This was, he realized, actually happening.  In real 
life.

Her eyes, which had been half-closed in dreamy lust,
opened, and she smiled into his face.  "Don't stop,
Tiger," she breathed, "I love it."  She rocked her
hips, pushing her pelvis against him, and he collapsed
back into her arms, his mouth hungry again on hers.

Then she was rolling him off of her, onto his back on
the deep carpet, kissing his face and unbuttoning his
shirt.  He tried to undo her blouse at the same time,
and their arms got tangled.  They laughed (he marveled
again at the loveliness of her face) and sat up, and
helped each other out of their tops, and he stroked and
cupped and kissed her small perfect breasts.  She 
moaned and pushed him down again, and undid his pants.

My God, he thought, My God thank you.

 From somewhere ("I was a Girl Scout," she told him 
later, "always prepared") she took a small silver 
packet, tore it open, and slid the condom down over his 
erection with warm caressing fingers.  He pulled her 
onto him and slipped her panties down toward her 
ankles.  His hands moved greedily over the 
indescribable softness of her skin.

"You're so cute," she whispered into his ear, and she
opened her legs, and took his penis in her hand and
guided it inside herself.  "Ohhh," she breathed, "ohh
that's nice."

And it was nice, it was very nice.  He had to struggle
not to lose himself entirely in the niceness, to keep
his eyes open, to keep his hands live and moving on her
back and her bottom.  She kissed him deeply on the 
mouth.  "Don't worry," she whispered, moaned, her head 
now by his shoulder and her hips moving, "don't worry 
if you ahhhh if you come first.  I have a really long 
fuse.  It feels oooooh feels really good."

He didn't want to come first.  He tried not to think of
sexy things, tried not to think of how her breasts felt
pressed against his chest, not to think of the neat and
fine-furred mouth of her vagina sliding up and down 
around his penis (his aching staff, his pulsing rod), 
not to think of the ecstatic sound of her breath by his 
cheek, not to think of her thighs and legs and the 
creamy swell of her bottom under his palms, his flesh 
inside her body, her self moaning and gasping on top of 
him.

Filled with not thinking of these things, he came all
too soon, thrusting wildly up into her and groaning
desperately into her ear as waves of pleasure coursed
through his traitorous body, and his arms crushed her
against him.  With an enormous sigh, he lay back with 
his eyes closed, unable or unwilling to move, his penis
limp and sliding out of the hot center of her.

She pulled the condom gently off of him, tossed it into
a wastebasket, and planted a small kiss on his wet and
gleaming glans.  He opened his eyes and got up on one
elbow.  She was rapturously lovely, smiling into his 
face, her body flushed.  But, he thought, unsated.

"Do you know," he asked, touching her bare shoulder, 
"what I was thinking about, when you asked me what 
flavor ice cream I wanted, and I didn't hear you?"

"What," she said, gasping a little as his hand moved
lower, stroking her stiff pink nipples on its way down,
"were you thinking about?"

His fingers ran gently down over the smooth luscious
curve of her belly.

"I'll show you," he said.


On the First Date
by Mark Aster
The End
 

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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