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Message-ID: <33505asstr$1005937803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: jordan shelbourne <j_shelbourne@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} RP: Unwrap Party (MF) {Shelbourne}
Date: Fri, 16 Nov 2001 14:10:03 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

I realized while working on "Haunted" that it's
been nine years since I posted my first story.
That seemed like reason enough for a repost.

So here it is. It was my first sex story and I'm
still fond of it.

=====

		     UNWRAP PARTY

Copyright 1992 Jordan Shelbourne

		   1: DANCING DIRTY

The wrap party had been going for hours, and Ben sat
apart from it.  He had made a vow this year not to get
involved with anyone -- not to have a "show romance" --
and he had kept it; this made him feel both proud and
obscurely sad.  So after the speeches had been made,
the gag gifts had been presented (Ben got a gold star
with a Groucho nose and glasses drawn on it), and most
of the cast and crew had split up into smaller groups,
Ben headed for the spare bedroom in the basement where
the coats were stored:  Another year done.

Before he reached the stairs, someone touched his
shoulder; it was Sarah.  She was drinking a beer.  _She
hates beer,_ he thought.  Ben looked around for Richard
and didn't see him.  Sarah's face was flushed and the
roots of her blonde hair were dark with sweat.  "Come
on, Ben.  We're doing the Purity Test."

Ben flicked her a tired smile.  "Wish I could," he
said, "but you know, you do the Purity Test, next thing
you know you're talking dirty.  Pretty soon everyone's
feeling good and excited, then someone kisses someone
else, and an orgy of mad sexual abandon follows." Ben
shrugged.  "Well, that could lead to dancing, and I'm a
strict Baptist...."

A potato chip bag flew past him.  Sarah asked, "What
was your score?"

"I'm not telling."

There were some boos and a flurry of commentary:

"Fifty, Ben?"

"Remember, he's eaten a lab dissection."

"He's dated Pidge -- there's ten points."

"I bet a hundred.  He just talks a good game."

"All technicalities count, you have to be still-born to
get a hundred.  But Sarah's hoping to break ninety."

Lois, who had worked props, said, "I got ninety-six."
It might have been a boast.

Ben shook his head.  "Infants.  I'm dealing with a
bunch of infants."

"Isn't that worth points?" someone asked.  General
laughter.  Most of them turned away to the skinny
redhead who was reading the questions.

"Aw," Sarah said to Ben.  "I was looking forward to
hearing you talk dirty." Her voice was brittle and too
bright: she was drunk, far drunker than Ben had ever
seen her, and Richard was nowhere in sight.  Ben
touched her arm.  "You okay?"

"I'm fine," she said.

He shrugged.  He could hardly force her to talk about
her problems.  Probably it was just exhaustion and
alcohol; this had been a rough run, and everyone was
coasting on the dregs of their adrenaline.  He gave her
a quick hug, and she whispered in his ear, "I got
eighty-three.  Now you tell."

He whispered back, "Sarah, darling," and swatted her
blue-jeaned bottom.  "I'm not telling."

With a small shriek, Sarah pulled away.  "That's not
fair!  Tell me what you got!"

"No," he said, and started to pick his way down the
stairs, over the clots of boots and shoes.  With every
step, melted snow squished from the carpet and soaked
his socks.  He kept an eye out for his boots but didn't
see them; probably at the bottom of the pile in the
garage.

Sarah started after him, and then stopped.  _Richard_
was down there.  Then she thought, _Fuck Richard!_

The music blaring from the dance room was not by a band
Ben had heard of, and that made him feel old, too.

Was it that they were so young or was he really old?
He was only twenty-five, but he sometimes felt like a
hundred to Sarah's nineteen.  More accurately, he
felt..._parental_...to the rest of the cast and crew.
He was not in the current of their lives.

_It is a mistake,_ he thought, _to get involved with
campus productions after you leave campus._

The basement was dim; Ben stood there and let his eyes
adjust.  The doorway to the dance room exhaled hot
humid air, ripe with sweat and pancake makeup.  All the
oxygen had been leached from the air and every breath
was hot and empty.  Ben pushed his way through the
crowd on the dance floor to the coat room.  By some
miracle, he found his coat immediately and headed back
across the dance floor.

A new song, a slow one, had started.  He stopped short
of bumping into a couple who were swallowing each
other's tongue.  They broke apart as he shouted,
"Excuse me," and he saw it was Richard and -- what was
her name, cookie-cutter beauty who'd had the ingenue
role -- Crista?  Richard and Crista nodded as if they'd
heard his apology.  Richard looked at someone over
Ben's shoulder, looked at Ben again, and then almost
pointedly returned to giving Crista her tonsillectomy.

Ben glanced behind him to see whom Richard had looked
at, and Sarah was there.  She looked pale and sweaty,
like someone had punched her, and Ben was afraid she
was going to throw up.  He felt he ought to say
something, anything, but he didn't.  He stood there,
feeling like an oaf.

Other dancers, aware of the situation, moved away,
leaving Sarah and Ben in a small clearing on the dance
floor.  Then Sarah leaned forward and yelled in his
ear.  "Dance with me." Ben felt stupid and clumsy; he
looked at the coat in his hand like he'd never seen it
before.  _I promised myself I wasn't going to get
involved._ He mouthed the word "Baptist."

Sarah manufactured her best come-hither smile and began
to dance for him.  She closed her eyes and swayed to
the music slowly, with her arms crossed tightly as if
she was holding him, or wanted to hold him.  One
wine-coloured bra strap slid from under her tank top
and down her left shoulder, in stark contrast to her
pale skin.  Sarah shrugged up that shoulder and pulled
her arm through the loose strap.  She easily freed her
arm from the other strap.  Ben thought he saw her
breasts sway just a bit more-- Sarah crossed her arms
again and the loose bra straps hung limply, limning the
rings of perspiration on her tank top.

Sarah leaned her head back and with her arms still
crossed brought her hands down: sliding them along the
sides of her neck, her shoulders, cupping them over her
breasts, and finally tracing her fingertips down her
sides to her waist.  She lifted her head and looked at
Ben, drawing her hands across her hips, coyly hiding
the crotch of her faded jeans, and stood there for a
moment, still swaying her hips.  A drop of sweat ran
from her hairline, down her cheek and her neck, and
finally rolled between her breasts.  Sarah kept her
gaze on him and opened her hands.  She lifted her arms
to welcome him to her.

Sarah didn't look at Richard, didn't look at him at
all, just kept staring at Ben.  _Please, Ben, please,_
she thought, _I came down here for you.  Come to me.
Don't reject me._

_I don't want to get involved,_ Ben told himself.  _I
don't want to be used._ Her arms were out to him.  _But
she's my friend.  She's hurting._

He held his coat out at shoulder height and dropped it
-- the grand gesture.  Someone threw his coat to the
side of the dance floor; Ben scarcely noticed.  He
moved towards her, keeping his movements simple because
he didn't want to spoil her moment by looking stupid.

He placed his palms against her hips and matched
rhythms with her (a moment of stumbling) and then held
her tightly, feeling the geography of her under her
clothes, all hot damp with sweat: shelf of hip, warm
curve of belly under his thumbs while his palms found
her ribs.  He barely brushed his fingertips across her
breasts.  Beneath the music, he was aware of people
murmuring.  The ribbed fabric of her tank top made his
hands tingle; her nipples stiffened under his touch.

Ben slid his hands along her sides and behind her,
pulling her against him, feeling her breasts warm and
firm against his chest.  She dropped her hands to his
ass so she could pull his hips in tight.  His right
thigh fitted nicely between her legs; Ben was short for
a man and she was tall for a woman: they were the same
height.  He slid one hand down her back, scraping his
thumbnail along the cloth, until his thumb was hooked
comfortably in the waist of her jeans.  He twined the
fingers of the other hand into her short damp hair.  He
smelled her, musky and warm, and when he pulled back to
look at her he saw her eyes were half-closed, and he
saw another sweat droplet glide down to the scoop of
her tank top.  Ben stooped slightly and caught it on
the tip of his tongue, then retraced its path as far as
her earlobe.

Sarah shivered.  Beneath her half-closed lids she
glanced at Richard and caught him watching.  Richard
did his best to look nonchalant as he nestled himself
back into Crista's arms and tucked her head against his
neck.  Sarah moved her hips into Ben's, trying to
discover if he was hard or not.  There was a satisfying
lump there, but sometimes Richard had seemed hard when
he was only wearing tight bikini undershorts.  She
nipped one of Ben's earlobes and then traced the
outline of his ear with her tongue.

Ben wasn't really hard yet -- he was thinking too much
-- but the feel of her tongue in his ear made him
very..._aware_...of his cock.  He massaged her neck
with one hand and ran the fingertips of his other hand
back and forth from the nape of her neck to the top of
her jeans.  The up-and-down motion pulled the thick
center seam tight against her vulva and then let go.
Her panties stuck every time her jeans pulled away and
she felt the pricking heaviness in her groin.  She
couldn't remember ever feeling this wet.  _It's the
beer,_ she thought.  _I ought to drink more often._

Ben rubbed his cheek against the side of her face,
moving to kiss her ear.  She savoured the feeling of
his stubble and decided she liked it.  Richard never
had stubble, Richard couldn't grow a beard.  Ben traced
his tongue along the rim of her ear and then breathed
gently on it.  The hot-cold sensation made her shiver
again.

She leaned back just a bit so her weight was on his
thigh and rocked her groin against the muscles of his
leg.  He moved his hips with her, his buttocks
hardening and relaxing under her hands, and with every
gentle thrust her nipples just grazed his chest.  She
tilted her head so she could see his crotch (growing)
and she looked up at Ben through her bangs.  She slowly
ran her tongue around her open mouth and Ben felt a
rush of passion.  Once again he realized that the
sexiest thing in the world is a partner who wants you.

Her leg brushed against his hardening cock as she
rocked, and he was going to have to adjust its position
soon or it would be uncomfortable.  For now, he pulled
her head forward and they kissed for the first time.
Ben made no attempt to enter her mouth with his tongue;
this was her show, and it had to happen at her speed.
Her eyes were closed, so he closed his too.

Her lips were full and soft (Ben thought absurdly of
pillows) and salty.  He knew not to make his mouth
hard, and she pulled his lower lip into her mouth and
scraped the sensitive inside with her teeth.  Her
tongue followed along, exploring, when he relaxed his
jaw.  She was surprised at how insistently his tongue
met hers and she opened her mouth wide to let him in.

Ben tasted beer and something sweet in her mouth as he
explored.  It felt very intimate, more intimate than
the dance.  He stroked her buttocks and lower back, and
each time he came to her waist the motion of his hand
pulled more of her tank top from her jeans.  When her
top came free, he slipped his hand under and rubbed her
warm damp skin, running his hand along the course of
her spine.  He stopped whenever he reached the strap of
her bra.

Ben's hand felt nice on Sarah's back and she made a
little contented sound into his mouth.  She moved her
hands up -- he had a nice tush, she decided -- to his
head and spread her fingers in his hair.  There was a
draft of cooler air across her belly as the rest of her
tank top pulled free from her jeans.  Her bra was
digging into the flesh of her back, so she twisted away
from Ben and tugged at it through the armhole of her
top.

She was suddenly aware of their audience, of Richard
standing there, watching.  She looked at Ben, whose
hard-on was nicely, gratifyingly outlined down his leg,
and she looked at Richard, who was tight-faced with his
arm around beautiful Crista.  She thought, _I hope
you're sorry._ Richard moved his hand slightly to cup
Crista's breast.

Biting her lower lip, Sarah reached up under the front
of her tank top and unfastened her bra.  The only
resistance as she pulled it free was from the straps as
they ran through the armholes.  The lace scraped her
hard sensitive nipples and she felt her breasts sag
against her ribs, supported only by the tight top.  She
threw her bra away and turned back to Ben, ready to
dance some more.

Ben watched her as she moved.  She had been focused on
him and he had liked the feeling, liked her attention
and liked feeling special.  Then her gaze suddenly
moved from him to Richard and it was as if he had been
shuttered out, used, made into a guy watching the
stripper.  He got angry because he had been so turned
on, and when she turned back to him he pulled her
close, smoothing his hands along her back until his
fingers were curled around her shoulders and her tank
top was bunched under her breasts.  She could feel the
buttons of his shirt sharp against her belly, and the
sudden ferocity of his kisses was frightening.  The
bulge of his cock ground against her and there was a
dizzying moment when she thought she might pass out.
Ben squeezed her tight and then let her go.

Smiling, he hooked his index fingers in the front
pockets of her jeans and started walking backwards,
with the music.  She didn't know what to do but follow
him.  He seemed suddenly _dangerous._

Ben, dangerous?  But he wasn't; that was why she had
picked _him,_ right?  And he had to stop soon, he was
about to back into the bathroom door, and there was
someone in there.

He stopped when his foot hit the wall beside the door.
He kicked the door with his heel, and the occupant said
something unintelligible.  Ben leaned against the wall
and pulled Sarah so she fell against him, pressing her
body into his.  He nibbled her neck, licking his way
slowly from the hollow of her collarbone up to her ear.
His arms were behind her back again, reaching around so
he could stroke the sides of her breasts,
feather-lightly.

Her knees felt weak and her thighs trembled, either
because of Ben or because she was suddenly sure the
entire room could see her breasts.  Ben licked her ear
and whispered, "Just you and me.  Nobody else.  Nobody
watching."

The bathroom door opened and the guy coming out said,
"What's your hurry?  _--Oh._" He stepped out of the way
and Ben pulled her into the bathroom.  Ben shut the
door and Sarah heard cheering and applause from the
dance floor.

		2: A LICK AND A PROMISE

Ben let Sarah go and sat on the toilet, looking at her.
She saw herself in the mirror and was astonished: she
looked positively lewd.  Her face was flushed, her
breasts wobbled as she turned to look at herself and
her nipples were clearly defined.  "Oh, God," she said.
"Ben, they're going to think we're, well, doing it in
here."

He splashed some water on his face and said tiredly,
"Let them think whatever they want.  If you want, fake
an orgasm, a good loud one.  That should do Richard
some good."

She remembered her intentions in time to leer at him.
"Why should I fake one?"

"Oh, God." Ben ran a wet hand through his dark hair and
left some of it standing up.  "Sarah, this is your
chance to save face without _doing_ anything.  You can
have revenge on Richard, and still be innocent." _Can't
you recognize a noble gesture when you see one?_

"Don't be a poop," she said.  "I don't _want_ to be
innocent."

"I guess not," he said.  "I guess not." He took her
face in both hands and gently kissed each closed eye,
the tip of her nose, and the corners of her mouth.
Hungrily she opened her mouth and he covered it with
his.  She reached behind him and tugged his shirt from
his jeans.  His shirt was too tight for her to reach
through and touch the bare skin of his chest so she
leaned back to unbutton his shirt.  After each button,
she kissed his newly revealed skin.  There was a
diamond of dark hair in the centre of his chest; she
opened her mouth and teased it with her tongue.  When
his brown nipples were bare, she alternated sucking
each one, her fingers fumbling at the rest of the
buttons while she felt his hard nipple against her
tongue.  She pulled his shirt off his shoulders as she
ran her tongue from his right nipple down to his
shallow navel.

He pulled off his shirt.  She was kneeling in front of
him, running her tongue around his navel while her
right hand stroked his ass and her left hand rested
almost shyly over his cock.  The heat from her hand
soaked through his pants and made his cock feel heavy
and hot.  He pulled up her top and watched as her back
was exposed: pinched waist broadening to her shoulders,
lovely curve of vertebrae down the center.  As her top
bound under her armpits she lifted her arms and
reluctantly pulled away from him to let it come off.
He pulled her to a standing position and leaned her
against the wall.

Ben started kissing her ear again, feeling her bare
breasts against his chest and she sagged against the
cool wall.  The hair around his nipples tickled her
slightly, and she sighed.  Ben moved down her neck,
keeping his chest against her and enjoying the slightly
sticky feeling of their bodies rubbing together.  "I
want you," he whispered.

"Yes," she said and rested her hands on his shoulders.
He let her push him further down, down to her breasts.
Her nipples were thick and blunt, and two or three long
blonde hairs glittered around each pale, pale pink
areola.  He lifted one breast with his hand, feeling
the soft heat of it, and stroked his thumb across her
nipple.  He licked it once quickly, then rubbed it
again with his thumb while he licked around the other
nipple.  He blew on each nipple and took one gently
between his teeth; she shuddered as he scraped his
teeth along the puckered surface, pulling her breast
away from her body.  He let go and her breast jiggled
once.

"Wubbeda," he said.

Sarah opened her eyes and looked down at him.  "What?"

"That's the sound of jostling breasts.  Wubbeda.  A
lover told me once."

"Were hers big?"

"Yes." He added, "But not very sensitive.  Do you like
this?"

"Oh, yes." She felt the stickiness between her legs
every time she shifted her legs, every time she took a
deep breath.  She felt like she could take anything
inside her, and there was a twitchiness, a movement,
building in her hips, but she also felt a lassitude.
So long as Ben wanted to kiss her and touch her
breasts, she was willing to stand there.

He stood and they kissed again for some length of time.
His cock bumped against her, and Sarah started to move
her hips again, trying to get his hard cock to press
against her just right.  She thumped against the wall,
and Ben placed his hands on her hips and knelt before
her, his stubbled cheek rubbing against her as he slid
his mouth to her waist.  When his beard brushed her
breasts she felt an urgency, as demanding as a sudden
itch.

Ben fit himself at the juncture of her thighs and
rubbed his face against her crotch.  His broad forehead
pressed her zipper into her slit and she jumped as
though she'd been given a shock.  She ran her hands
over his head frantically, trying to touch all of him.
He mouthed her, scraping his teeth along the denim and
each time the thick seam was pressed against her clit
she shuddered.

"I don't want to wait any more," she said.

"Me neither," he said.  He stopped for a moment to be
extra steady as he cinched in her jeans so he could
unfasten the button.  The zipper fell down as he peeled
back the flaps of her jeans and he could smell her,
sweet, musky, hot.  Her panties were silky and through
the lace at the top he could see auburn curls.  He
licked the panel of panties and she moaned.

He skinned her jeans and panties down to her ankles and
licked her once, tentatively.  Her pubic hair was
tangled in a peak just above her clit, and he stopped
for a moment.  She spread her knees so he could get in
more easily.

"Hair on my tongue," he explained, and tried to scrape
the hair onto his teeth where he could pluck it off
with his fingers.

Sarah laughed, watching him.

Finally Ben got the hair and presented it to her; she
accepted it and as he knelt before her again he said,
"I'm swallowing the next one."

He used his fingers to separate her lips and then ran
his tongue along the length of her, marvelling how her
taste changed from point to point: sharper, almost
acidic, near her vagina; thicker and muskier near her
clitoris.

He explored her with his tongue, using broad slow
strokes: plump outer lips and long inner lips; large
hooded clitoris -- she moaned as he moved his tongue
across it -- and the tight entrances to anus and
vagina.

He cupped his hands around her buttocks and pulled her
closer to him, so his tongue could just reach her
asshole.  He teased it with the tip of his tongue and
she stiffened.

Sarah straightened and closed her legs slightly.  "How
can you do that?  It's dirty."

"But did you like it?"

There was saliva between her buttocks; she could feel
it.  But it wasn't as gross as she had assumed.  It
felt...neat.  "Yes."

"Then it's okay.  But for hygiene's sake, we'll do it
on the sink." He picked her up by her waist and hoisted
her onto the edge of the bathroom vanity, beside the
sink.  Once he got on his knees, her pussy was at the
right height for him to lick.

Once again he licked it all over, carefully.  He drew
her inner lips into his mouth and sucked on them,
flicking his tongue over them.  Sarah put her hands on
his head to steady herself.

Ben started to play with her clit, teasing it with the
tip of his tongue.  She gasped suddenly and tightened
her grip on him.  He reached up awkwardly and pulled
her legs over his shoulders.  She rocked backwards and
leaned against the mirror.

He alternated sucking and tickling her clit with his
tongue, occasionally licking the length of her damp
pussy.

Sarah could feel her insides melting, a huge warm pool
inside her that threatened to overflow.  She didn't
know what to do about it: _I'm going to come,_ she
thought; _how do I come?_ She tensed her muscles, then
relaxed them, but there was still that vibrating energy
throughout her muscles, waiting to be released.  _I
want to come.  I want to come so bad--_

She seemed to have plateaued.  Ben pulled back for a
moment (another hair on his tongue; he tried to swallow
it) and fitted his hand under his head, between her
pussy and the counter.  This time he avoided her
clitoris, licking circles around it while his
fingernail traced a line from her anus to her vagina.
He lashed her vaginal lips with his tongue while his
index finger teased her anus; her hands bunched into
fists on his shoulders.  He rubbed the entrance to her
vagina, playing with the fringe of tissue.  Then he
slipped his finger in, slowly.  She was very tight.

It didn't hurt; that was the first thing she noticed.
It didn't hurt with Ben.  Then she noticed how _warm_
and molten it felt.  He caressed her clit with his
thumb and her hips and thighs spasmed once, but that
wasn't enough; she was still _full_ of this warmth and
it _wasn't going anywhere!_ Ben started to move his
finger slowly in and out of her.

She closed her eyes to concentrate on the sensations.
His thumb brushed her clit as his finger was buried,
and other fingers touched her asshole.  He touched
something inside her, she didn't know what, and he bent
and nibbled on the insides of her thighs.  It still
wasn't quite enough and she didn't know what she should
ask for: Faster?  Slower?  More fingers?  More
stimulation?  --but she already felt so sensitive she
could scream!

She had to come somehow.  She said, "I want you inside
me," and she pulled him to a standing position.

His jeans had a button fly, and she almost screamed in
frustration as she tried to get it open.  He said,
"Just a second," and pulled his hand from her to open
it with the ease of practice.  Sarah couldn't see his
cock; it had escaped the elastic of his underpants and
was down his pant leg.  Now that his cock was about to
be freed, Ben suddenly seemed shy.

"Birth control?" he asked.

"Pill," she said.  "Richard and I--"

He interrupted.  "Do you want a condom?"

She swallowed and shook her head.  "I trust you."

"Trust you too."

"Okay," she said, and she was suddenly nervous.  What
if Richard had been right?  What if she couldn't come?

Someone pounded on the door.  "Come on out of there!"

Ben shouted hoarsely, "Use the upstairs bathroom!"

"Can't.  Lois is being sick in there, and there's a
bunch of people who're about to burst out here."

They looked at each other.  Sarah snickered first and
then both of them were laughing.  They did up their own
jeans; she pulled on her top and Ben pulled on his
shirt but didn't bother to button it.

"My place or yours?" Ben asked her.

"My place is closer."

The people waiting to use the bathroom did not applaud;
almost everyone else did.  Sarah heard someone say,
"Write that down as question five hundred and one."

She carefully guided Ben through the crowd so they
walked past Richard and Crista.  Richard put his arm
out, blocking Ben's way.  This close, he had to smell
Sarah on Ben.

A frown passed over Richard's face like a cloud before
the sun.  Then: "Ben, buddy," he said, "I think a
mistake was made here." He unpinned the gold star from
Ben's shirt.  "I think this is who deserves the _real_
best actor award." He carefully pinned it to Sarah's
top.  "I figure she could've aced the scene in _When
Harry Met Sally..._"

Sarah looked at him, her jaw trembling with tension.
Her eyes glittered with unwept tears.

"Let me give you some advice," Richard said, laying an
arm across Ben's shoulders.  "Wool condoms.  Otherwise
it's frostbite city."

Sarah said, "Richard, you're such a _dick!_" and ran
upstairs.

Ben thought, _I've always wanted to say that._
"Richard, Richard, Richard," he said, and he lifted
Richard's arm from his shoulders as though it were a
roadkill.  Richard looked at him, waiting.  "Or, more
accurately, Dick, Dick, Dick."

"You asshole."

"I'm not the one who looks big, pink and wrinkled from
here." Ben smiled lightly at Crista.  "You haven't
slept together yet, have you?"

"That's none of your business," Crista said.

"I didn't think so.  Let me tell you what's going to
happen." Ben didn't shout, but he pitched his voice to
carry.  "He's going to be impotent.  He'll say it's the
booze, but it's not.  He's just scared; you're too
good-looking.  So it'll be a nervous fumbling that
first time, and a quick ejaculation or none at all, and
then he's going to look at you with big doe eyes and
he's going to tell you he loves you.  Maybe there'll be
a little catch in his voice." Ben gave a breathy little
sigh; he heard someone snigger.  "And, Crista, it'll
seem cute.  Touching, even.  But he doesn't love you,
and he doesn't get any better."

"You're not very funny," Crista told him.

"No," Ben said.  "Neither is he." Then he went out to
join Sarah.

	       3: COLD AND WARM COMFORTS

Sarah was sitting outside, on the steps, huddled in the
depths of her quilted parka.  _I should have slapped
him.  I should have hit him.  Why didn't I?  Did I
think I deserved that?  Do I think he's right?_

"How are you feeling?" Ben asked her.

"Shitty," she said.  He smiled sadly and offered her
his hand.  She took it and pulled herself upright.
They began to walk.  Streetlights glittered off the
snow.  "What did you say to Richard?" Ben told her.
"Oh my God!" she said.  "That's _exactly_ what happened
the first time we slept together." She laughed.  "You
even got the little sigh right.  How did you know?"

Ben said, "He knows a lot of reasons to hurt people,
but the only reason he knows for being nice to them is
to be in love."

Sarah looked at him.  "I don't understand."

"It's training.  It's socialization.  Hurting people is
okay, so you learn how to do that.  Being nice to
people isn't okay unless you're in love, so you learn
to be in love."

"Ben, you don't believe that."

"I don't know.  I believe in hypocrisy.  I believe some
people can't admit that they're just horny, they've got
to dress it up with love."

"Maybe."

Ben shrugged.  "Maybe not.  I was guessing.  I do a lot
of guessing.  Might just be self-deluding bullshit on
my part, too."

She said carefully, "I think he thought he loved me."

"Did you love him?"

"I don't know." She squeezed Ben's arm.  "At least he
won't be able to do that to Crista, he'll be too
self-conscious."

"You're taking this awfully well."

"Am I?" she asked him.  "I don't know.  I never got
dumped before."

"I've been dumped.  Trust me; you're taking this well."

They walked in silence until they came to Sarah's door.
She turned to face him.

"Do you want to come in?"

"Do you still want me to?"

"Oh, for God's sake," she said, and she kissed him.
Her lips were cool, though her cheeks were still
flushed by the beer.  They kissed tentatively at first,
as though the entire scene on the dance floor had been
the show, and this was the first rehearsal.

Suddenly Sarah didn't want to wait any longer; she'd
been so close before, and she was still hungry for the
feel of him against her bare skin.  She quickly slid
her tongue into his mouth.  His tongue felt hot.  The
nylon shells of their coats squeaked and rustled as
they pressed against each other.

Ben said, "I have to take all your clothes off now, or
I will die."

She tilted her head away so he couldn't kiss her on the
mouth.  He kissed from the base of her ear to the
hollow of her neck, running his tongue along the
portion of her collar bone that he could reach.

"Le petit mort?" she asked, giggling.  Sarah quickly
unzipped his coat and cupped her hand over his crotch
in a gesture of promise.  He had adjusted his cock
sometime so it was pointing up now, not down his leg.

"No, sweetheart," he replied in his best Bogart.  "The
big sleep."

She giggled and stepped away from him to look through
her knapsack for her keyring.  Ben carefully made sure
he wasn't blocking the light and unfastened her parka
while she searched.  The hallway was very cool, and she
was sweaty.  Her nipples hardened again.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm too young to die," he said simply.  He slipped his
hands into her coat and under her top, stroking his
fingers along the swell of her breasts.

The keys jingled in her hand.  "I can't--" she began
and then he leaned down and tongued her ear again.
"You're in the way.  I can't get at the door."

"Oh," he said.  "I'll move." He knelt in front of her
so the keyhole was beside his head.  She sucked in a
cool breath and held it as he peeled up her top to
expose her breasts.  He kissed and licked her belly,
but he couldn't quite reach her breasts.  While his
tongue explored her navel, he unfastened her jeans.

She had to lean past him to fit the key in the lock,
and that brought her breasts near his mouth.  He licked
the left nipple, then the right.  He opened his mouth
and sucked in as much of her left breast as he could,
sucking hard.  Her nipple felt like it was going to
explode, and she had to support herself on the
doorknob.

"Ben, _please--_"

"Don't mind me," he said.  With both hands, he tugged
her jeans down to her knees and she squealed.

"Ben, we're _in  the  hall!_" At least her parka meant
that no one would see anything....

"Okay," he said, and he leaned back against the door.
"Take your time.  I'll just look at you."

She felt the heat rise in her face.  He said softly,
"God, you're gorgeous." He put his hand over hers and
turned the doorknob.  The door swung inward and,
hobbled by her jeans, she fell against him.  He held
her tight against him, the cold zipper of his parka
scratching at her breasts and hips, and he kissed her
again.  His cock was an insistent lump in his jeans,
pressing against her groin.

Ben rubbed his hands over her cool nylon parka, feeling
her under it, feeling her against him.  Her tongue slid
over his.  He caught her face between his hands and
kissed her rapidly and hard on her mouth, her cheeks,
her chin, her throat.

"Why are we standing here?" she asked him.

He slipped one arm under her legs and scooped her up.
Cool air washed her skin as Ben carried her into her
apartment.  Sarah was worried he might drop her, she
was scared she didn't want him enough, but she was also
very excited.  She caught the door with her hand and
swung it shut as they left the hallway.

She started to relax; it didn't seem he was going to
drop her, and she started to trace her finger along the
rim of his ear.  "Down the hall," she told him.
"Second door."

He bent over set her on the bed with a small grunt of
effort.  While his arms were still pinned under her,
she grabbed his coat and pulled him down onto her.  The
bed thumped and the old springs whined.  Ben started to
say something but she silenced him with huge devouring
kisses.

Ben moved so he was entirely on the bed, partly on her,
partly beside her.  She sat up suddenly, pushing him
down on his back, and shucked off her coat before
straddling his hips and leaning her hands on his
shoulders.  She rocked her pelvis against the length of
his cock.  His shirt was open, he'd never buttoned it
up again, and when she looked down she could see the
tip of his cock peeking from his waistband.

Now that she'd got a peek at it, it didn't seem so
_premeditated_ to undress him.

Light came through the window from a streetlight, and
Ben watched her in chiaroscuro.  Her bangs hid her face
now as she looked down at where their hips met.  With
each rock of her hips, her breasts seemed to swell and
recede beneath her bunched top, swaying into and out of
the light.  She lifted her head in urgent pleasure,
eyes closed and lower lip caught in her teeth, and when
he saw her face, Ben's heart caught in his throat.

He couldn't say he loved her, not after his pompous
little speech about Richard; he didn't even know if he
did.  Instead, he murmured, "You're beautiful."

Sarah opened her eyes and looked down.  His face was
hidden in shadow, and if she wanted, she could pretend
he was Richard.  She discovered she didn't want to.

Ben reached up and stroked her stomach and her breasts.
He pinched and squeezed her nipples with the same
rhythm she was using.  She closed her eyes and lifted
her head again.  He pulled off her top, maneuvering it
over her head and down her arms.  She didn't lift her
hands, so he went back to fondling her breasts.

Her panties were soaked.  Sarah thought she was ready,
she _had_ to be ready.  If she let him enter her now,
an orgasm was practically guaranteed.  She tried to
ease herself back to undo his jeans and found that she
was tangled in her jeans.  She rolled onto her back and
found she couldn't slip her jeans over her boots.  She
kicked her legs in frustration, suddenly feeling
unsexy, unglamorous: an almost-naked girl doing the
frog kick in her underpants to the sprung-spring whine
of the old boxspring.  And as simply as that, the edge
of orgasm was gone.  It was enough to cry.

Ben chuckled but she looked at him with such hurt that
he knew she'd shifted from fever to frustration.
"Shhh," he whispered, and sat up, laying her legs
across his lap.  He could untie her boots with one hand
while he untied his with the other.  It was only a
minute before he had dropped all four boots heavily on
the floor and skinned off her socks.  He pulled her
jeans off her legs and  left them, inside out, on the
floor.

Sarah's legs were shaking, so he stroked them gently
with his hands, then kneaded the jumping muscles.  She
gave two convulsive sobs and he lay down beside her,
holding her and stroking her head.

Hot tears began to leak from her eyes and because the
frustration was too big for words, she wailed, hoarse
and inarticulate as a donkey brays, and the awfulness
of that sound made her cry more.  Ben held her close,
cradling her against his chest.  She wrapped her arms
clumsily about him like clubs, too tired and angry for
fingers and hands, pulling him close to her.

"That's it, honey," he said, over and over.  "Cry it
out.  Cry it out."

They lay like that for some time, and finally her arms
softened and her hands pressed against him as the
shuddering sobs slowed.  She leaned away from him and
said, slowly and sloppily, "I need a Kleenex."

"I'll get one," he said.  He looked around.  "As soon
as you tell me where they are."

"The dresser," she told him, and snuffled.

After she took a half-dozen tissues, he made a
sour-funny face and made a big show of wiping his chest
clean as he lay next to her.  She laughed once, more
like a bark, and said, "Ben, I'm sorry."

"What for?"

She waved her arm around.  "This."  Then she blew her
nose.  "And this."

"Enhh," he said, and shrugged, and waited.

"You deserve an explanation," she said carefully.  "He
said-- He said--" With a sudden hitching of breath, the
tears started to flow again and she rolled forward into
Ben's embrace.

"Slow, baby, slow.  Richard-the-dick said?"

"He stopped wanting to-- wanting to-- He said"--she
swallowed a large lump-- "I was frigid.  And he said I
wasn't sexy.  I couldn't turn him on.  I wanted to
prove I wasn't-- wasn't--"

"Frigid?"

She nodded, her cheek rubbing against him, hairs on his
chest brushing her eyelids.

"Honey, you're about as frigid as, I don't know, a
propane torch.  Frigid means sexually unresponsive, and
you are definitely responsive." He sat up.  "Did you
enjoy what we did in the bathroom?"

She sat up and faced him.  His shadow cut her in half:
he could see one arm, one shoulder, one breast, one
eye.  She ducked her head so the light wasn't in her
eyes.  "Yes," she said shyly.

"Then you're _not_ frigid.  I doubt you're even
non-orgasmic.  Sarah, listen to me: you're sexy.  I
look at you, especially like this, and ductless glands
go to work.  Erectile tissues erect.  Hormones moan."

She giggled.

"Didn't you feel all those guys watching while you
danced?  They sure weren't looking at _me._"

She placed a forefinger on his lips.  "Stop talking and
kiss me."

		 4: A GOOD TIME COMING

Ben kissed Sarah tentatively, as if she were a thing of
china and spun sugar.

Sarah rested her hands gently on his shoulders as they
kissed, making this kiss long and slow and exploratory.
Their tongues tasted each other.

Ben kissed away the salty tracks of her tears.  Sarah
closed her eyes as she ran her hands over his chest,
his nipples, up to his throat, and down to his belly.
She traced her fingertip around his navel.

He flinched slightly--it tickled--and murmured, "Find
any lint?"

Sarah said, "Don't talk." She pressed up with her hands
until he got the idea and sat up.  On her knees, she
kissed his throat and licked the ridge and hollow of
one collarbone.  She took tiny nips along his shoulder,
licked the rim of his armpit.  Ben had showered after
the curtain call, and she could smell fresh Old Spice
and sweet musky sweat.

He brought her left hand to his mouth.  He scraped his
teeth along the palm, and then sucked each finger in
turn, swirling his tongue along the length and
caressing the soft webs of flesh between her fingers.

She wasn't distracted.  She took a moment to lick and
suck the tender skin along the inside of his elbow, and
then moved back to his chest.  His nipples didn't get
hard this time, and there was a faint flutter of panic
deep in her belly, but the panic was swallowed by the
warmth and wetness.

He let go of her hand and leaned back onto his elbows.
She licked his chest, feeling the hairs against her
tongue and lips.  She ran the tip of her tongue around
his navel, dipped it in.  Sarah was pleased to see the
head of his cock poking from his jeans.  She kissed it
quickly; his pre-come tasted mildly astringent.  Then
she pressed her open mouth against his stomach and
blew, making a rude fart sound.

"_That's_ for talking about lint," she said.  He
laughed.  "Do you want me to suck your cock?"

"I'd love it, but later," he said.  "You have me so hot
I'm going to come soon, and I'd rather do it inside
you."

"I'd like that," Sarah said.  Ben lifted his hips so
she could slide off his jeans and undershorts.

She wasn't satisfied with the light from the window and
wanted to turn on the lamp so she could look at him
naked and look at his cock, hard with wanting her, but
she didn't feel right asking him.  Instead of turning
the light on, she took his cock in her hands.  It was a
nice size, a comfortable size.  She bent over and took
the head in her mouth, stroking it with her tongue and
sucking gently on it; warm saliva pooled in her mouth.
She swirled her tongue around the head and swallowed.

Her tongue and jaw squeezed his cock delightfully.  Ben
let one hand fall on her head and twined his fingers in
her hair.  He wished he could see her face.

"Fuck me," he moaned.

She sucked a little harder.

"Do you want me to beg, Sarah?"

She dropped his cock from her mouth.  "Yes, Ben.  Beg
me to fuck you." She swung her leg over him and
straddled him.  "Beg me."

A line from _Pygmalion_ blew into his head, and he
said, "I'm willing to fuck you.  I'm wanting to fuck
you.  I'm waiting to fuck you."

She rocked her groin against his cock.  He thrust his
hips up against her, jostling her breasts.  _Wubbeda_,
she thought.

"Sarah..." His voice was tortured now.  "Were those
panties expensive?"

"Richard gave them to me," she said.

"Unnh," he said, as he tried to bring the head of his
cock into contact with her.  She didn't let him.  He
grabbed her panties by one leg and said, "Can I buy you
new ones?"

"Yes," she said.

He tried to tear the panties apart, but the legs were
too strong to rip, so he pulled the crotch out; each
thread of lace made a tiny popping sound as it parted.
She made a small cry as he pulled out two or three
pubic hairs.

"Sorry."

"I'm okay," she told him.

"Then fuck me."

She slid herself along the length of his erection,
letting it part her lips and wetting it with her
juices.  He was very hard.

_Not like Richard,_ she thought, and then vowed not to
think of Richard again.

She leaned forward, supporting herself on one hand, and
lifted him so he was aimed at the entrance of her
vagina.  _Cunt,_ she thought.  _His cock in my cunt._

"Talk dirty to me," she said.  She pressed back
slightly so the head just started to penetrate.

"Fuck me, Sarah," he said.  "Fuck me hard.  Cover my
cock with your cunt.  Let me fill your pussy."

She leaned back and a third of his cock slid in.  She
felt tight and stretched and hungry.

Ben moaned.  "Good.  Oh, good.  Do that again."

Sarah rocked again, and this time got two-thirds of his
cock in her.  She thought it was more difficult because
he was bigger than Richard, but not that much bigger
unless it was tension, but she was so wet....

Ben said, "You feel so fucking good.  I want to shove
my prick in up to my nuts." This time when Sarah
rocked, he pushed as well, and she could feel his balls
under her as she knelt over him.

There was a slight twinge of pain, but there was also a
warm full feeling.  "Go slow," she said.

"You're in control," he told her.  She nodded, her
lower lip caught between her fine white teeth.  She was
concentrating, sombre as a tightrope walker, searching
carefully for the rhythm she could ride to orgasm.

Ben realized that her rhythm wasn't his, though; he
wasn't in danger of coming, and could stay hard for as
long as she needed him.  That pleased him.

She began to ride him, with long strokes that almost
took him out of her (he fell out, twice; she put him
back in without fevered urgency) and enjoyed each
stroke, the length of him and the final bump at the
bottom that sent sparks through her.

"You're so _big,_" she moaned.

Ben, who knew he was thoroughly average, said nothing
and let his hands roam as much of her body as he could
reach.  For a moment he thought she felt like someone
else he had known, but that was unfair; she was Sarah,
and this was now, and it would never be exactly like
this again.

She paused near the top and played with the head of his
cock, pushing herself onto it and feeling the head
flare and fill her, then withdrawing again.  Warm
tingling heat filled her belly again.

She sank down onto him again and leaned forward,
grinding herself against him.  He responded, moving his
hips in a figure eight motion.  He cupped her breasts
in his hands, warming them, and kissed them.  He
stretched his head up and kissed her.  She kissed him
back and then changed rhythms again: short hard strokes
that hit hard against his pubic bone.  This was better:
sparks flew from her clit like fireflies in the night.

She kept it up as long as she could so the liquid heat
filled the pit of her belly but her muscles grew tired
before she came, and she whimpered.

"Let me do the work," he whispered.  He held onto one
of her legs and rolled her over, staying inside, and
took a moment adjusting his position (her bedspread was
slippery).  "Like this?" he asked.

She rested her hands at the base of his spine and
coaxed him to the right rhythm: faster, faster, filling
her with light and with heat.  Her head was thrown back
with her eyes open and unseeing, and she began to moan.
She felt herself on the edge, about to overflow but it
was _too sensitive_, and she was about to ask him to
slow down, stop, she couldn't do this -- and he reached
down and played with her clit, fondling it with his
hand, harder and faster than she would have dared --
and she came.

She didn't really have the words for it, but it
happened and she _knew_ that it happened and all sounds
stopped for her in the space between one heartbeat and
the next.  It washed over her in waves, rising like the
tide.  Her body clenched like a fist and then fell
slack.

Sarah suddenly felt...shy.  Shy and tremendously naked;
she grabbed a pillow and tented it over her head so no
light could get in.

Ben slowed down, easing his cock in and out of her
gently.  She peeked from under the pillow, a tired
smile on her face, and murmured, "Not like Richard at
all."

"I'm glad," he said.

She frowned as he buried himself again.  "Ben, I'm
sorry, but I'm too sensitive.  I can't take that any
more."

"That's okay," he said and he slowly withdrew.

She giggled at the popping sound his cock made coming
out.  "Can I do something for you?"

He didn't want to push her so he said, "Whatever you'd
like."

She tucked the pillow back under her head and said,
"I'd like to suck your cock."

"Mmmm," he said.  "I'd like that too." He straddled her
and shuffled on his knees until his erect cock hit her
on the cheek.  She turned her head and took him into
her mouth.  He tasted differently now, of her, but she
could still make out the taste of him.  She liked his
taste; she liked her taste; she liked the taste of them
together.

She cupped his ass with her hands and held him still,
with just the head of his cock in her mouth.  She
filled her mouth with saliva and soaked it for a
moment, flicking the tip of her tongue just under the
head.  Ben moaned and tried to move his hips.  She
circled his glans with her tongue and then took her
mouth off it.

"I'm still in control here," she said.

Ben looked down at her.  "For now," he said.  "For
now." He reached back and trailed his hand lightly from
her thighs to her breasts.  He pinched a nipple and she
responded by letting one of his balls fall into her
mouth and sucking on it.  He gasped and said, "You're
in charge."

She coaxed him over onto his back and sucked his cock
harder, bobbing her head up and down as she jacked her
hand along the length of his cock.  Her breasts swayed
with each movement and Ben reached out to stroke the
rounded curves of rump and waist.  Her mouth was hot
and liquid on his cock, and her hand was tight.  He
raised himself on his elbows to watch her, her cheeks
hollow and her eyes closed as she plunged him into her
mouth again and again.  Her technique was not perfect,
but her enthusiasm was unquestionable.  Ben would take
enthusiasm over heartless technique any time.

Distantly, he felt the tightening of his balls.  Sarah
felt him tense, felt the quality of his erection change
in her mouth, and squeezed her hand tighter on his
cock, trying to swallow him deeper.  Her hand was slick
and wet now and every stroke filled her with his smell.
She moved faster.

Ben's orgasm was sudden -- distant one moment and
_everywhere_ the next.  He threw his head back and
laughed with joy at the release it brought.

Sarah tried to swallow his come but got only some of
it.  The rest dripped from her mouth over her hand and
onto his belly.  Its aftertaste made her cough.

He was looking at her and smiling.  She made a face at
him.  "I think I got a hair on my tongue," Sarah said
before licking up more of his come.  Ben laughed some
more and fell onto his back.  He laid his hands on his
diaphragm and sighed.

She paused between licks.  "Tell me," she said.  "What
was your score on the Purity Test?" He didn't say
anything, so she added, "Remember I'm in control," and
she gently pinched his scrotum with her teeth.

"Thirty-nine," Ben said.

"Oh my God.  What haven't you done?"

"Lots.  I wasn't going to do any of this," he said.

"Umm?" she asked as she nuzzled his crotch.

"Get involved.  Get laid.  Especially with _you_, young
lady."

"Me?"

"Too young, I thought.  But God, I've had a hard-on for
you since we met."

"And you didn't _do_ anything about it?"

"You were more interested in Richard-the-dick."

She kissed his limp penis.  "This is the only dick I'm
interested in right now." It stirred, and she started
to fondle it.  "Look, you're not that old." She gave it
an affectionate squeeze.

He caressed a breast, running his fingertip along her
ribs.  "You're not that young."

She shivered.  "I'll match you, come for come."

"Oh, God," he said.  "I'm going to die."

She moved around to present her pussy to him again.
"With an attitude like that, how did you ever get
thirty-nine on the Purity Test?"

He inhaled deeply; he felt _good._  "Hey -- all
technicalities count."

[Other stories by me at http://www.compu-diva.com/IvoryGates/index.htm]

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