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From: Incest Man <familyincest@graffiti.net>
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Subject: "The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane" Part 13B
Date: Sun, 18 Dec 2005 02:03:34 -0800
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===================
http://www.incesttabooo.com/marthaj.html
The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane
Part 13B
We dropped by Martha's place, changed clothes and then spent the
rest of the afternoon on the Staten Island Ferry. Martha showed me
what she called the "expected tourist attractions" -- the Statue of
Liberty, Wall Street, City Hall. As dusk approached we walked
uptown toward Greenwich Village, where she took me to a hairdresser
for a very expensive haircut. Gradually, Martha cheered up.
Gradually, I became more sullen. We strolled through New York
University and stopped in a couple of book emporiums on Broadway.
"Wanna get anything?" Martha asked as I fingered a volume in a pile
of books on a table at the Strand Bookstore.
I gave a rueful little laugh and pointed at one of the books. "An
out of print copy of 'Gregory the Great'," I said. "Brother Martin
back home would give his eye teeth for this."
"Why don't you buy it and take it back home for him?"
"I'd want it for myself. Brother Martin loaned me that book from
the school library as a special project. He said he didn't want to
waste my time in basic English, so he gave me extra credit for
writing a report on this book. It's great. Whoever thought a
biography of the first great Pope of the Church could be so good?
Wouldn't it be great if I could-- -?" I stopped and sighed.
"If you could what, hon?"
"If...if I could absorb all this. Just stay here and go through
every one of these things. There are books and ideas here that go
back hundreds of years." I shook my head. "I'd never be able to do
it all."
"Nobody can do it all, Steven."
"But I want to."
"Nobody can, hon."
"The problem is, I wouldn't even be able to get started. Why start
with one, when there are thousands, tens of thousand, even hundreds
of thousands, of books in here? I wouldn't finish Chapter One
before I'd have to get on a plane back to Memphis."
She smirked. "So that's what you've been thinking about. I thought
so."
I sighed again, and shoved my hands into my pockets. "Yeah."
"Come on," she said, "Let's go find dinner."
We had dinner at a small place in Greenwich Village and then took
the bus home. I lounged on the sofa. Martha plopped into the
fluffy old easy chair beside her small fireplace.
"What'll we do tonight? It's not even eight o'clock and I didn't
make plans for tonight because I wanted you to have one night to
call the shots. You know your way around the city a little now, so
I thought you'd like to set it up yourself for a change."
"You plan real good, Miss Martha."
"That's not an answer. Just tell me what you want to do."
I yawned. "Oh, I dunno."
"Steven...I've been leading you around town for a week now. In
fact, I've been leading you around all your life. I didn't bring
you to New York to lead you on a leash. I brought you here to open
you up. I brought you here to show you that the whole world isn't
Memphis and you don't always get punished for saying and doing what
you want."
I smiled gratefully, and shrugged.
"Oh, c'mon. Talk to me."
"What do you want me to say?"
She sighed impatiently. "It's not what I want you to say, it's what
YOU want to say. It's what you want to do."
"I don't know what I want to do."
"You wanna just sit here and mope about going back to Memphis?
You're not in Memphis yet, Steven. You're still in Manhattan. With
me. You're here. Now. Stop going over the past and stop worrying
about the future. You see what that sort of thing did to me this
afternoon at work. I said what I had to say about it, and then I
moved on."
"Okay, well...First of all, I'm a little tired."
"Right, I'll buy that. Sounds reasonable. I am too, actually."
I paused. She waited.
"Steven" she said quietly. "Talk to me. Wanna just talk? A nice,
restful Thursday evening, talking my head off would be very nice.
I've got you to do a lot of things, but I still can't get you to
talk. I haven't forgotten who you are, Steven. I know you're still
young and unsure. I know that New York is intimidating, and it was
for me when I came here. But you still have feelings and ideas. I
wish I could figure them all out on my own, but I can't."
I thought for a moment.
"Well?" she said.
I sat up straight. "Come one, let's take a shower."
She laughed. "That's what you want to do, take a shower?"
I walked to her and took her hand and gave a little tug. "Come on,"
I said.
We showered together. "How exciting," Martha said sarcastically as
she soaped her hands.
"This is a prelude to what's next," I said mysteriously, swabbing my
shoulders and arms.
"Hon, everything's a prelude to what's next, and this gives me a
pretty good idea what it will probably be. But do you have to
shower to talk?"
"You'll see," I said.
At the end of our shower I asked her to re-soap her hands and make
the suds thick and slippery. "Now," I said, holding my cock, "Get
me hard. Come on. Get me really hard."
She smiled at me quizzically as she worked on my cock. "Steven...
what are you up to? This is a heck of way to start a conversation."
"You'll see. Come on, do it."
When I was fully erect I asked Martha, "Are you wet?"
She said, "Of course I am, what do you think?"
"Okay," I said, and I rinsed the soap away quickly and then in one
smooth motion I picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.
"Steven," she complained, "We're still wet from the shower."
"I don't care," I said, and tumbled her onto the bed.
She looked at me wonderingly as I turned out the bedroom light and
then stretched her out on her back and opened her legs and lay on
her and looked down to aim my cock and then slowly and deeply and
yearningly entered her, sighing as I enjoyed the sweet long slide
inward. Her eyes widened and she whispered, "Oh, my. Steven. I
have to thank Fiore for more than just my nineteen inch waist.
Mmm."
I slid in and out a few times. I muttered a little breathlessly,
watching her hips adjust to my length, "I love your nineteen inch
waist. I love getting big and hard and going into you." When I
felt thoroughly lubricated and comfortable I slid all the way in and
held myself there and embraced her closely, one arm around her waist
and the other around her neck, and hugged her and nestled my face
against her neck. I lay motionless, my cock deep and snug and hard
and wet inside her.
"Now," I said, "we can talk."
She laughed quietly, snaking her arms around me. "And I thought you
said you weren't a good conversationalist." She kissed my cheek.
"This is a very sexy way to have a talk."
I kissed her neck. "Listen. I don't know how to tell you what I'm
thinking because I'm not thinking right now. I'm feeling. I'm
feeling how good it is to have you holding me and to just be inside
you. I'm feeling how good it is to walk in Central Park with you
and go to a deli and eat matzo ball soup. I'm feeling how good it
is to feel good with you. I don't like to spend a lot of time
talking about how I feel. I have to do something about it. I have
to put my feelings to work. I don't want to spend a lot of time
analyzing them and talking about them, I want to do something about
them. I don't want to just look at books and look at movies and
read plays. I want to do them. I want to make them real, I want to
make them into something I can touch and see and hear and taste. I
don't want to just look at you or think about you, I want to hold
you and lick you and fuck you. You are my feelings. When I put my
fingers around your waist I'm feeling I'm your waist, and when I
touch your skin it's because your skin is my feelings. And when I
fuck, what you feel when I'm inside you is what I'm feeling. I was
a little scared with Ronnie last night, and with you, because what
you and Ronnie were feeling was what I was feeling. When Ronnie was
sad, I was sad. When Ronnie was afraid that I wouldn't let her have
her full pleasure, I felt it too. I didn't want to just be friends
with her, I wanted to give her pleasure, I wanted to feel with her
when she felt that release, that comfort, that closeness. And when
I saw you wanting the same pleasure I wanted the same pleasure for
you and I wanted to feel it with you. I wanted it to be so good I'd
never forget it, and I wanted to make it so good for you, you'd
never forget it, either. I wanted it because I felt you wanting it.
I want it because that's the way you make me feel. When you were
upset this afternoon I didn't just see it, I felt it. When you're
happy I don't just see it, I feel it. When you're almost cumming
and not there yet, I feel it, too."
I hugged her. "I don't want to just think about going back home, I
want to go back home and do something. I don't want to look at New
York and think about New York, I want to do New York. I don't want
to think about being here, I want to be here. I don't want it
later, I want it now. It won't do me any good later. I need it
now. I needed everything yesterday and I want to do everything now.
I don't want to think. I don't like thinking. I want to feel it
and do it." I licked her ear. "I love your ear. I love your
neck." I kissed her neck. "I love your nipples and your navel and
your legs and your feet and your cunt. When I go inside you I don't
put a dick in you, I put all of me in you. I put my body and my
thoughts and my feelings, my past and my present and my future in
you. When I cum the only thing I think and the only thing I feel
and the only thing in the whole world for me is cumming, and there
isn't anything else. And I don't want there to be anything else."
I stopped to pull my arm from under her neck and stroke her hair.
"Baby," she whispered. Inside her, she hugged me.
We talked for an hour. I did most of the talking, hugging her and
stroking her hair and kissing her neck, and she did most of the
listening. Now and then when I softened inside her she would lift
my face and watch me talking to her and squeeze me inside until I
was hard again. After a while I stopped talking and we fucked for a
few minutes, slowly and lovingly, and it was one of the few times
that I fucked Martha while not watching her; I fucked gently and
deeply, nestling into her neck and listening to her breathe. When
the pleasure mounted beyond anything more than an affectionate,
friendly probing, I would stop. She would ask a question or make a
comment and I would start talking again. Mostly, she listened and
watched me and let me know with small contractions inside her what
she was feeling. I talked about the things I yearned to do, the
person I yearned to be. She asked me to describe that person, and I
expended so much time and so many words trying to explain it that
she asked me to give her a name, someone I knew who mirrored what I
thought I wanted to be. I mentioned Gregory Peck. She laughed out
loud and said, "But, hon, don't you see? You're describing someone
else, not yourself."
She wanted me to tell her what my plans were, precisely, when I
returned home. I told her I'd keep working. She asked why I was so
willing to sacrifice the things I really wanted by wearing myself
out with a paper route. I told her I wanted a car, I wanted freedom
to move around, I wanted the clothes, friends, and independence
others had. She said having what others have wasn't as important as
being myself; I should be in the theatre, and I had better
opportunities for a future in college if I spent more time in
activities at Christian Brothers. I told her I didn't want to be in
high school, I wanted to be in any other place. She was amused and
somewhat awed by my willingness to risk everything I had for
everything I didn't have. She said I should work with what was
available. She told me I was trying too hard to be everyone but
myself.
"I'd like to be," I said earnestly, "like you." And she laughed and
said, "Like me?" and then she frowned and stroked my hair and said,
"Steven, I don't want you to be like me. I want you to be you. And
I don't want you to work yourself to death the way I did. Oh, sure,
you have to work hard, but I gave up everything to get through
Memphis State in three years instead of four, and kept weekend jobs
on top of it. And you know what it got me? It got me worn out.
Not quite twenty-four years old yet, and I'm all worn out and
frustrated with work. It got me used to not taking my time and made
me want everything and want it to be perfect. Take my word for it,
you have to stop and look around and realize that the whole world
isn't going to pay attention to you just because you're working
yourself to death."
"But you got out of Memphis," I said.
"Yes, and you'll get out, too. But it was part luck and part hard
work and part nerve. I could just as well have been picked by
another school, but it happened the way it did. The same way we
just happened. And some things, Steven, don't happen. You can't
make things happen, you can only make yourself available. Don't
count on things happening that you can't control. Don't you
remember what you said to Ronnie, you can't make someone be good to
you if they don't want to? Oh, you seem so passive and easygoing on
the outside -- but you're very aggressive, aren't you?"
We got out of bed for a few minutes and had a snack. Then we
embraced in bed again and Martha sucked me to an erection and I went
into her and we hugged and lay still for a while. She asked me
about Karen. I told her as much as I could remember about the
incident, though I hesitated to go into it with any great detail.
Martha said that disappointment was the norm when it came to
intimacy. "Not everyone's a perfect partner," she said, "and some
are lousy. It all depends on who you're with. Remember what I said
about being able to fly on your own, Steven. You don't always have
someone around to show you the way or to validate yourself. That's
why you have to be you and have what you have, not be someone else
and have what someone else has. God, I wish you'd believe in
yourself. I wish your folks would give you just a little break, a
little recognition. But they won't, Steven, not any more than Mr.
Buchanan or Evelyn would give it to me."
The pleasure of being inside her soon asserted itself. I began
talking less and moving more frequently in her for a few minutes
before we started talking again. Soon I lifted on my arms and
fucked steadily.
She whispered, "Don't keep stopping, Steven, it's feeling good."
"Did I talk your head off?"
"You sure did. Now I want you to fuck my brains out."
I watched her as I moved and she put her arms around my neck and
looked down at me pumping in her.
"Hon, it's nice." She looked up at me and saw the pleasure in my
face. She smiled softly and churned her hips under me, and I felt
her inner muscles writhing and sucking. When I moaned she smiled
happily and whispered, "Know what I want you to be? I want you to
be you. I want you to be fifteen and strong and full of cum. I
loved watching you with Ronnie, watching both of you discover each
other and please each other. I don't want you to get old and mean
and moody, Steven, I want you to always be new and pure. And you're
so very sensual, and so intense, and you really know how to give
pleasure. I want you to be yourself and enjoy me, and not worry
about what was or what might be. Stay young for me. I feel so
young when you fuck me like this. It was so good, the very first
time."
"Martha, you're...gonna make me cum."
"But I want you to. I want you to cum when you feel like it. Come
on, just cum. Don't cum because I do, cum just because you want
to."
She began tightening on me, smiling into my eyes, and I stopped and
fought for breath and she asked, "What's the matter?", and I moaned,
"It feels so good!"
She grinned. "It's supposed to, Steven!" She began moving her hips
gently under me, up and down, sliding her cunt on my shaft. The
suction she created was overpowering.
"Come on," she taunted. "Come on, I want you to be selfish for a
change. There's nothing wrong with it."
My head snapped back and I groaned again.
She kept up the rhythm and began seriously milking me as she moved.
"Come on," she whispered. "Come on."
"Oh!"
"I'm not your mother, hon. You won't lose me if you don't always
please me first, don't you know that? Right now, I want you to
please yourself first. Let me just give to you, and I won't ask for
anything, and you don't have to give anything back. You're allowed
to do that, you know. I'll let you because I know you'd do the same
for me."
I gasped and closed my eyes and raised high on my arms and began
pumping into her. She ceased her undulations and held her pelvis
against me and closed tightly on my cock.
"Yes," she whispered, "Oh, yes, hon. Take it. Take what you want."
I began to stroke deeply and strongly in her, my pelvis seeking her
deep on the in stroke, relishing the tickle of her cervix as it
nipped and grabbed my tip.
"I'm other girls," she whispered hotly. "I'm everyone you ever
wanted. I'm all those others and now I'm saying yes. I'm Josephine
Louise and I'm Karen and I'm Ronnie and I'm not saying no. And I
like it, Steven. I like it and I want it."
I burrowed more deeply into her than I had ever gone before. And I
was bigger and harder and more seeking than ever. I fucked
deliberately and deeply, and soon the grip of her inner warmth
changed and became less rhythmic and less purposeful and became more
erratic. She became slicker and hotter, and I saw her eyes close,
and her smile vanished and she squinted and frowned in surprise and
concentration.
"God," she breathed suddenly, "you're so big."
And I whispered "Fuck" and shifted on my arms and raised on my toes
and my toes dug into the bed and then I had the balance and the
leverage that I wanted and I started stroking, smoothly and
strongly, as deep as I could go and as far back as I could go. I
became a fucking machine and all I wanted to do was fuck. I was
near cumming, but I wouldn't let it happen yet. I clung to the hot,
primal itch that I felt on the edge of letting go and I wanted to
stay there. I forgot about how close Martha might or might not be
to cumming; I just wanted to fuck and keep on fucking as long as I
could. Her sighs and whispers were indeed those of Josephine Louise
and Ronnie and everyone else I'd lusted after; her seductive
crooning had implanted them clearly in my mind. I forgot about
Martha's body as my universe focused exclusively onto her cunt, on
her pelvic muscles straining and quivering against mine, her
clinging inner woman, and she wasn't Martha, she was the primeval
cunt my leering, slurping beast wanted to fuck, and my beast
demanded the delicious, licking pleasure, and vaguely I heard her
amazed gasp, "God, you're hard! You're so hard!" and then I heard
her hoarse moan, and I felt her cumming and her hot, slithery, woman
cunt spasmed with it and my cock felt it and rejoiced and grew and
plunged and I wanted to keep fucking, keep fucking like this
forever. I felt her relax a little and I fucked and pushed and my
bursting shaft sought more, more pleasure, more lusciousness, and
soon she stiffened again and I heard her gasp "Steven!" and I
wanted more and got bigger and harder and she jerked and relaxed and
then came again, and then I grunted and felt my face smiling as my
cock leapt upward against the roof of Martha's curling, writhing
nethermouth, and my tip pulsed and the slit grinned against her womb
and the cum poured out and then gushed out and then exploded out and
somewhere in my gut my happy beast grinned and said Yeah, yeah, and
my tip twitched and the hot cum gushed and then I heard Martha
scream a high, muffled scream, and my victorious cock slowed so that
I could ruthlessly prolong and enjoy and own and remember the long
moment and she screamed again and the satisfaction and the sweet
release washed around my dick and through me, and then the blinding,
tickling peak hit me and I ceased to exist for a long, liquid
instant, and my cock throbbed, pleased, bloated with pleasure,
purged, slick with her juiciness and my cum, and Martha lurched
under me and ended her cum with a whimper and my whole body sighed
and slowed and relaxed, my balls aching with a pleasant emptiness,
and I opened my eyes and saw her face flushed, her eyes squinting,
shut, and her mouth gasping for air, and then I realized that her
nails had dug into my neck and it felt good, it felt exhilarating to
see her completely worn out, trembling, limp, clutching me as if
afraid, and I gave a long sigh of pleasure and embraced her again,
and cuddled her and gave her mouth a long, firm kiss, and when it
was over she gasped loudly and her head fell against me, and I
pulled my cock out of her and watched it glisten and drip with us
and I pushed in again and enjoyed entering her once more, and did it
again and marveled at how good it was. And then she curled into a
tight ball and she was whimpering, mewing, crying like a little
girl, her knees pulled up against me, and she nestled into me and
broke into a long fit of quiet but wrenching cries. I stroked her
back softly and held her, one hand cradling the back of her neck and
pressing her tear-wet face into me, and she cried for a little while
and then she began to relax, sniffling noisily at first. And then
she seemed to rest but was still curled up and holding onto me and
the odor of semen and warm milk was strong in the room. The curtain
rustled against the window frame.
She whimpered, "That was so good!"
I nodded against her head.
And she breathed nervously, "Steven, that was so good it scared me."
And in her voice I did indeed hear the childish relief one feels
when a terror has passed, and she softened against me and seemed
tiny. Soon she fell asleep. I lay awake for a long time, listening
to the breeze from the window. I remembered dimly hearing Martha
scream. I drifted toward sleep, feeling somehow changed. I didn't
know why I felt that way.
Continued...
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