Path: not-for-mail
From: Incest Man <familyincestfamilyincest@yahoo.com>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.hetero,alt.sex.stories.d
Subject: "The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane" Part 12A
Date: Sat, 17 Dec 2005 11:03:19 -0800
Organization: http://groups.google.com
Lines: 430
Message-ID: <1134846199.534977.223360@f14g2000cwb.googlegroups.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: 213.184.235.124
Mime-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1"
X-Trace: posting.google.com 1134846204 1373 127.0.0.1 (17 Dec 2005 19:03:24 GMT)
X-Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 17 Dec 2005 19:03:24 +0000 (UTC)
User-Agent: G2/0.2
X-HTTP-UserAgent: Mozilla/5.0 (Windows; U; Windows NT 5.1; ru-RU; rv:1.7.12) Gecko/20050919 Firefox/1.0.7,gzip(gfe),gzip(gfe)
Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com
Injection-Info: f14g2000cwb.googlegroups.com; posting-host=213.184.235.124; posting-account=iMbkYAwAAABEzvBc57qWV1UoWr6vHxuA
===================
http://www.incesttabooo.com/marthaj.html
The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane
Part 12A
Some events are like dreams. Their cause, their meaning, their
place in one's history remain forever unexplained. They occur once
in time; in memory, they are recurring, timeless, with vague borders
and an always jumbled, inexact sequence. All one can say is that
they occurred, and defiant memory recalls only the pieces, but never
their source or their reason.
In the yellow-white sun Martha and Ronnie slipped into their
swimsuits and I pulled on my shorts and we strolled through a small
forest to a nearby village We drank iced tea with lime and munched
sandwiches. Ronnie and Martha chatted and debated while I gawked
and watched the parade of Fire Islanders drifting from the city and
lounging about the pier. The teenagers passed by, the freaks in
their outlandish costumes and body markings passed by, the New
Jersey families and the Manhattan executives and the yacht owners
and the working girls and average guys passed by. In my mind, while
the rest of the world passed around us, I had the sense that the
three of us -- hair-bleached me, sunny-faced Martha, dark-eyed
Ronnie -- were somehow insular, absolute. Looking back on the whole
day, we seemed to be moving in a different direction from everyone
else, at a different pace.
After a long lunch we strolled across a wide, open plain of sand
dune and low brush, and then through yet another secluded wood, and
then to yet another village, speaking among ourselves while no one
spoke to us, no one interrupted our conversation or our thoughts.
Martha and Ronnie gabbed away, I gaped away, and the rest of the
world left us to our business. We watched the beginning of the
sunset in the early evening, boarding the ferry just as the sun
painted the world red and sank into a black sea, and the stars came
out, and during the ferry ride we watched the day end. The stars
came out. The boat docked and we piled into a taxi that barely made
it in time to the train station, and then we were on a train going
in the opposite direction from everyone else, headed for Manhattan.
Two hours later we decided to walk home from Penn Station, the three
of us joined as Martha grabbed my hand and pulled me between her and
Ronnie and then Ronnie took my hand as well and all three of us
strolled, and looked in the same windows together, and commented on
the same sights together, and were all tired together from the trip,
and all three of us climbed to Martha's place. We made berry tea
and sat on the floor in front of the sofa and talked and drank tea
and ate cheese and crackers. It was Ronnie who suggested the lights
were too bright, so she turned off all but the small table lamp, and
all three of us continued as before. Then it was Martha who lit the
first cigarette and Ronnie followed, and then I, and Martha told me
to open the window a little wider and I placed the small Hunter fan
on the sill. Ronnie was too uncomfortable with her swimsuit under
her clothes so she removed her jeans and shirt and Martha followed
suit, and I got down to my cutoffs, and Martha said, exhaling a
stream of smoke into the room, that we were all getting to be smoke
fiends. Ronnie talked about Michigan and bad parents and Martha
rose and lit two candles, one on each side of the room, and turned
off the table lamp. "Nice, Martha!" Ronnie cooed, as the candle
glow draped an almost palpable cocoon of dim, lazily flickering
light around us. Martha sat in the middle of the circle we made
around the small towel on the floor where we placed the tea and the
cheese, and the girls rested on their sides in their swimsuits.
Ronnie told Martha, "You haven't burned candles in a long time."
Martha said, "No, not since our all-nighter. When was it? Three
months ago?"
"Yeah, right after gorgeous George," Ronnie lamented. "How did I
ever end up with him? Steven, you'd love this guy. Testosterone
city. Talk about nuclear overkill."
Martha gave a muffled laugh as she spread cheese on a cracker. "You
keep dating the same guy over and over, Ronnie. Only the names
change."
"They're all alike anyway, aren't they? I mean, the whole idea is
to get sex, right?"
"No," Martha said.
"Sure it is. Steven, you're a guy, right? You know other guys,
right? It's biology, isn't it? Getting sex is the whole idea."
I shook my head. "The whole idea is to give pleasure."
Martha smiled at me and nodded.
Ronnie said, "Okay, honey, so you're different."
Martha said, "Steven's very different."
Ronnie leaned toward Martha and said, "And, Martha, my god, his back
rub was something else. Steven, you oughtta start a business. I
never felt such warm hands. Are your hands always that warm?"
Martha grinned, lying face-down, her eyes secretly teasing me. "He
has very warm hands. Very intuitive."
"Lemme see," Ronnie said, reaching for my left hand. "Gimme your
hand. Martha, I can't believe this, feel how warm this guy is! You
have fever, sweetheart? C'mere. God, his arms are warm, too. Must
be that hot Italian blood."
Martha said, "Steven isn't hot-blooded, Ronnie, he's warmhearted."
I blushed and pulled my hand away, grabbing another cracker.
"Aww," Ronnie said, "look at him blush. Aww, look."
Martha said, "Ronnie, leave him alone. You already embarrassed him
once today."
"Really? Steven, were you that embarrassed? Aww, I'm sorry. I
thought it was pretty funny, myself."
Martha said, "Ronnie, there's a difference between hot-blooded and
warmhearted. They don't necessarily go together."
"Ain't that the truth!" Ronnie said. "I've had some very
hot-blooded, co-o-old-hearted dates."
"You deserve better, Ron," Martha said.
"Steven," Ronnie said, taking a puff and tilting a finger toward me,
"I like your attitude. Martha, why can't I find somebody with an
attitude like his?"
"Because," Martha said, sighing, "you grew up with a lot of
aggressive people who didn't like you and you're still trying to --
"
"I know, I know," Ronnie said, ruffled. "Martha, I told you not to
tell me that again or I'd wash your mouth out with soap."
Martha pestered her with a small, sly smile.
Ronnie said petulantly, crushing out her cigarette in the ashtray on
the floor at her side, "Why can't I find somebody nice? Everybody I
know has the same problem. I always end up with heavyweights who
just ..get some kinda kick out of tormenting people."
Martha said, mildly reproving, "Maybe you don't pay that much
attention to people who are good to you. It's easy to take them for
granted."
"I pay attention to you, don't I? And your nice to me."
"Maybe you have a problem accepting niceness in men, not in women."
"Steven's nice, isn't he? I like Steven. And you have trouble
finding nice people, too, Martha. You're so picky."
"I was spoiled early," Martha said. "My first lover was...very,
very good to me."
I bristled at Martha's words, turning my eyes to the ceiling. She
smiled at me furtively.
"Steven," Ronnie began, reaching for a cracker, "I bet you don't
have any problem finding somebody who's nice to you."
"Doesn't happen often," I said.
"Really? But you're so interesting and sensitive." She beamed at
me playfully. "Great with a bottle of Coppertone." She narrowed
her eyes skeptically. "I can't believe you have a problem finding
someone."
"Only happened once, so far," I said.
Ronnie didn't say anything right away. She frowned, pondering, and
absently spread cheese on a cracker. "What's it like," she asked
softly, "to be with someone who's really good to you?"
"Wonderful," I said.
"No, Steven, I mean -- seriously -- what's it like? How does it
happen? How do you make it happen?"
Martha interjected, "You don't 'make' it happen, Ronnie. It just
happens. And not that often."
I said, "You can't make somebody be good to you if they don't want
to. I've been raised by people who weren't very nice to me. Not
nice in the way one needs, I mean. Relatives bought me things. My
parents gave me a place to live. But I wouldn't say they were nice
to me. And it's not something you 'do' to somebody else; it's
mutual, it's not something you do, it's something that's done."
"Mutual," Ronnie mused slowly, as if tasting the word. "Mutual.
No, I never had that." She looked down at the cracker in her hand
and murmured, a bitter edge to her voice, "That's something I sure
as hell didn't have much experience with in Michigan. Or New York,
either."
There was brief silence in the little room. Martha rose on her arms
and then stood up quickly. "Are we finished with this cheese and
stuff?"
"Yeah, I'm stuffed," Ronnie said, popping one more cracker into her
mouth. "Come on, get it away from me. I'll never leave it alone
while it's right in front of me."
Martha gathered the leftovers. "Come on, Steven, help me get this
into the kitchen."
In the kitchen as she re-wrapped the cheese and I helped her put
things away, she whispered, "Steven, I have to get her off this
subject. Don't even let her get started." She glanced at me. "Do
you like her?"
"Sure," I said.
"I mean...as a real friend. Do you like her?"
I whispered reassuringly, "I feel comfortable with her, if that's
what you mean. Not like people I know in Memphis."
When we finished, Martha stopped me with a hand on my arm and
whispered, "Wait." In the center of the kitchen she paused and
reached up to pull the string that turned off the kitchen light. In
the near-dark, lighted only by a spill of candlelight from the
living room, she waited, unsmiling, with a contemplative frown.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
Her eyes examined mine briefly, and she glanced toward the living
room, and she said, "Nothing. C'mon."
We returned to the living room and formed the same circle as before.
Ronnie lit another cigarette, looking somber as she sat with her
back against the foot of the sofa.
Martha pulled bobby pins from her hair. "Wasn't it nice on the
beach today?" she said. "Steven's never seen the ocean before.
And never a nude beach. There's nothing like that where we came
from, except in nowhere places in Arkansas."
Ronnie said she couldn't live without the freedom to lie naked in
the sun now and then. The winters, she said, were too long in New
York and the summers too short. Martha said that the first time she
and Ronnie discovered the nude area they were both squeamish about
undressing, making silly jokes and giggling the first time they did
it. Ronnie asked if I had been embarrassed and I blushed and said
no, and Martha quipped that I had "a lot" to be embarrassed about
and Ronnie laughed, mildly shocked, and asked "Martha, how do you
know that about Steven?" and Martha smiled enigmatically and said,
"I know," and Ronnie looked at her and then at me, and sniggered and
said Martha was assuming a lot from the way things must have been
with me years before, and we sat quietly for a while, gazing at the
candles. Martha said, "Candlelight is so nice, isn't it?" and I
gave a brief soliloquy on candlelight as natural, and that for
centuries mankind saw something spiritual in candlelight and even
after electricity was invented, fire was still used in ceremony and
pageantry. Ronnie thought about it and said she saw something very
spiritual in candlelight, too, and it struck her as having a quietly
erotic quality. Martha got up and went into the bedroom and Ronnie
asked her why she was frittering around and Martha returned in a
bathrobe and fished a bottle of Coppertone from one of the bags and
said she was going to put on a thin coat of lotion to keep her from
peeling. "We got so much sun today," she said, slipping the robe
from her shoulders and sitting bare-breasted as she rubbed lotion
onto her face and neck, and Ronnie thought it was a good idea.
Ronnie told me, "You better put some extra on, too, Steven, so you
won't peel. You're not used to the kind of sun you get on Fire
Island." She slipped the straps of her swimsuit off her shoulders
and rubbed oil on her arms and shoulders, and Martha said it was
silly to sit around in their swimsuits after laying nude together on
the beach all day, and Ronnie said it was rather strange that we
looked at each other all day with no clothes on and here we were,
the three of us, sitting almost like Puritans in our swimsuits,
showing most of our bodies anyway, after spending half the day nude
in broad daylight. Martha joked about how civilization had made us
so uncivilized when it came to our bodies, and Ronnie agreed. "How
did the cave men react to that?" she asked, lighting another
cigarette and lighting a second one and giving it to me, "I mean, we
weren't always covered with hair." And Martha told her it came from
the Bible. "Original sin," she said, "Remember how ashamed Adam and
Eve were when they figured out they were nekkid?" And Ronnie
laughed and wondered how long it must have taken Adam and Eve to
figure it out, and Martha said, "It is silly, isn't it?." Martha
giggled and noticed she was already half nude anyway, with her robe
around her waist, and I wondered aloud if a candlelight bath
wouldn't be as soothing as a sun bath, and Ronnie said, "Hey, wanna
take a candlelight bath? What the hell, it's so stupid to feel
ashamed, isn't it? Steven already saw me with nothing on," and
Martha said, "It's our attitudes, Ronnie, it's our training," and
then Martha lay on her tummy and slipped the robe off and asked me
to put lotion on her back, and Ronnie watched me rub oil on Martha
and asked Martha, "Don't his hands feel great? I told you this
afternoon you were missing something," and while I rubbed lotion on
Martha, Ronnie went into the bathroom and came out without her
swimsuit on and a towel held to her front. She put the towel on the
floor and lay beside me and Martha face-down on the towel and asked
me to do her when I was finished with Martha. When I shifted over
to work on Ronnie's back, Martha looked at me and asked if I were
embarrassed, and I said no, and she asked, "Why do you still have
your shorts on?" and I balked for a minute, wondering if I could
conceal a recurrence of the hard ons I had earlier, and Ronnie said,
"See? See how we've been conditioned? I wonder if men are more
embarrassed about it than women?" And Martha said she thought that
might be true, because the popular conception was that women's
bodies were pretty and displayable and men's weren't, and Ronnie
said she remembered reading women were ten times more
exhibitionistic than men. "I mean," Ronnie said, "look at the
magazine rack, the pinups and most of the ads are pictures of women,
not pictures of men," and I watched as Ronnie and Martha, lying on
their tummies and facing each other, with me between them, grinned
and winked at each other, so I stood up and said, "All right, you
two, you made your point," and they giggled and I removed my jeans
and underwear, and Martha smirked when she saw that I was a little
firm, and Ronnie saw too and turned her head the other way, resting
it on the floor and saying, "All right, I won't look. Just don't
leave my back alone." I knelt down and wet my hands with lotion and
spread it lightly on Ronnie's back, and she moaned and said, "Oh, I
thought it was the sun that was so warm, but it was Steven's hands!"
And Martha said, "I know Stephen's hands," and she looked up at me
warmly and asked, "We're not being too demanding, are we, hon?
Ronnie and I are so used to each other and we've been on the nude
beach dozens of times, when it wasn't closed," and I smiled and said
it was okay, and Martha rose onto her elbows and watched me rubbing
Ronnie, and Ronnie said, "Well, you two shouldn't be exactly
strangers to each other," and when Martha didn't say anything,
Ronnie tensed and asked, "Martha, did I say the wrong thing again?",
and Martha said quietly, "No, hon, it was okay." And Ronnie
murmured out of the side of her mouth with her lips against the
floor, "Leave it to Ronnie to open her big mouth," and Martha said
again, "It's okay," looking up at me to see if I had reacted to
Ronnie. I smiled at her and shook my head to tell Martha I didn't
mind.
Time passed and the candles lowered. Ronnie moaned a couple of
times as I rubbed, and I moved down to cover her legs and then moved
up to put lotion on her tush, and she smiled and said "hmmm," and I
finished rubbing that part of her quickly, feeling blood rush to my
groin, and Martha smiled at me and wiggled her feet and said, "Me,
too, Stephen, you didn't do all of me," and I said, "Well, I
wouldn't want your tush to peel," and Ronnie giggled at that, and I
rubbed lotion on the back of Martha's legs and then massaged lotion
lingeringly onto her tush, and she smiled, pleased, and Ronnie
turned her head to watch Martha and Martha glanced at Ronnie and
grinned sheepishly at Ronnie and Ronnie chuckled and said, "See? I
told you he had great hands," and Martha said slowly, "Yes, Ronnie,
I know about Steven's hands," and Ronnie blushed and crooked an
elbow and leaned her head on her raised hand, her small soft breasts
leaning toward the floor as she moved slightly onto her side. She
watched Martha as I rubbed her, and then looked up at me, and then
back at Martha, who closed her eyes and smiled as I finished, and
then Martha rose on her elbows and said, "Okay, Steven, your turn.
Lie down."
I lay face-down between them, grateful for the chance to hide my
rising penis. I closed my eyes and folded my arms on the floor and
rested my face on my forearms, hearing Martha slither lotion on her
hand. She spread her palms on my back and rubbed languorously, then
more softly. She said to Ronnie, "Steven likes the soft touch, at
first," and she massaged me gently for a moment and then I heard her
say to Ronnie, "Here, you do him," and then I heard Ronnie wet her
hands and then felt her long-fingered, hot hands making feathery
trails up and down my back and across the back of my neck and my
cock got harder, and then her hands left and reappeared as trailing
fingers down my thighs, and the young dark-brown hair on my legs and
arms bristled and I heard Ronnie give a little squeal and a chuckle
and she said, "Mm, he likes that," and Martha said, "yes, he does,"
and after lightly rubbing my legs for a minute she gripped me on my
lower calves and ran her hands firmly up my legs to the tops of my
thighs, saying "It brings the blood from the legs to the heart.
Fiore taught me that." I moaned approvingly into my forearms and
then Ronnie's hand left and I heard her lathering her hands again
and her fingers spread them over my buttocks lightly and she gently
rubbed lotion on me there, giving my globes a little squeeze before
trailing her fingers across the skin, whispering, "I'd die for a
tush like this," and Martha said "He's so cute back there," and
Ronnie murmured, "Very cute. I'm so envious," and then her fingers
made long, slow, feathery trails over my buttocks and then across
the back of my thighs and back up to my buttocks, skimming gently
along the crack and then ever so sneakily grazing the hair on my
balls, and I jerked and gave a little yelp, and Ronnie whispered
laughingly, "Sorry, sweetheart. That was an accident. Really," and
as Ronnie re-capped the lotion bottle she told Martha, "I'm not used
to testicles, y'know. They're so mysterious and amazing, and I
never saw them from this angle," and they both tittered about that.
With my face against my arms I nodded okay, and then Martha leaned
on me from behind, one nipple against my back, and she stroked the
back of my neck and whispered to both of us, "Touch is so
reassuring, isn't it? It can be so comforting," and Ronnie
whispered, "Yes. They say that of all the senses, the sense of
touch brings the most pleasure," and Martha said, "I love touching.
It doesn't matter where. Steven's a toucher, too. Does that feel
nice, Steven?" and I nodded yes, my cock pressing pleasantly into
the floor. Martha said, "Ronnie, Steven and I still hold hands in
the movies, like old friends," and Ronnie said, "Really? That's so
sweet, you two are so sweet with each other," and Martha whispered,
"It's nice to just sit and hold hands." I cleared my throat and
lifted my head slightly to murmur, "Holding Martha's hand is a
different kind of touching. She 's a great hand holder." Martha
gave a low, pleased little laugh and said, "You like holding hands
with me that much?" and I nodded yes and then I felt Martha lower
her head and her hair grazed my shoulder and her lips touched my
back. She skimmed her lips across my back, barely touching, and she
said to Ronnie, "Lips are nice, too. They're more exciting than
just touching, but they're also soothing when you do it right.
Steven likes it this way," and she gave my back a little kiss with
the inside of her lips and said, "Such nice skin. Everyone in his
family has touchable skin. Try it, Ronnie," and Ronnie said, "Me?"
and Martha said, "Yes, go ahead," and Ronnie leaned close to my head
and said, "Is it okay, Steven?" and I nodded yes, and braced myself
during a long pause and heard Martha whisper, "Go ahead, he won't
jump on you," and a few seconds later Ronnie's lips were on my back,
gliding wetly, and my cock lurched under me and Ronnie said, "Hmm,
yeah. Nice. He smells good, too. God, I'm so used to men who
smell like sweat and beer," and Martha said, "Steven hates beer,"
and I cleared my throat and said, "I can't stand beer," and Ronnie
said, "Good for you, sweetheart," and Ronnie bent down and held her
arm near my face and asked "Do I smell like anything?" and I
sniffed her arm and said "Like Coppertone," and she said "Is that
all?" and I sniffed again and said, "Hm, it's like...Well, I don't
know what it's like, but it's nice, it's kinda sweet," and Ronnie
laughed and said "We look like a bunch of Eskimos in their igloo,
sniffing each other." We laughed at that and then Martha joked "We
oughtta be using whale oil instead of Coppertone," and then Martha
leaned close to my ear and said, "Roll over, Steven."
Continued...
Wanna more sex stories? >
http://www.incesttabooo.com/marthaj.html