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From: Incest Man <familyincest@graffiti.net>
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Subject: "The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane" Part 6A
Date: Sat, 17 Dec 2005 02:26:28 -0800
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http://www.incesttabooo.com/marthaj.html
The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane
Part 6A
Neither my parents nor Martha Jane's mother were home that week.
She slept with me for the first time. When I woke, earlier than
usual, the morning sun was just above the rooftops of the buildings
beyond mine. Dazzling shafts of sunlight rushed into the room.
Water was running in the bathroom.
I knocked on the bathroom door and Martha Jane invited me in to take
a bath with her.
I told her I'd love to, walked into the bathroom and stood in front
of the sink, looking at myself in the mirror.
She noticed me and said, "Do you spend every morning looking at
yourself in the bathroom mirror?"
"I don't look any different," I said, observing the same old me in
the mirror.
"Oh," she smirked, soaping her legs. "But how do you FEEL?"
I took in a deep breath, my shoulders back and my chest out,
extended my arms far out at each side, and intoned as loudly as I
could in my best, loudest, deepest, Texaco Opera Theater baritone,
"Steeee-vennnnnn!". I beat my chest several times and grunted like
a gorilla. Then going back to my operatic bellow, I sang from the
famous aria from Barber of Seville: "Lala Lalala Lalala Lalala
Lala...Figaro! Figaro! Figaro Figaro Feeee-gaa-ro!"
She said, "My, my! Were you, uh, referring to last night?"
I grinned.
"Veerry flattering." She stood and moved to one end of the tub to
make room. "C'mon, let's wash the sleep off you."
I climbed in and she handed me the soap, but before I got started
she held me close to her bubbly-slick nakedness and hugged me.
"You were asleep when I woke up," she said. "You're a wonderful
lover." She kissed my forehead. After I soaped down she took the
bar of soap from me and lathered her hands, then reached down to
wash my cock.
She winked. "Remember this?"
"Mm-hm."
"I never thought of using soap on you when we started all this. Of
course, you're a lot bigger now."
She rinsed me and stepped out of the tub to dry off. She had chores
to do that day, she said, but we had time for breakfast and a little
talk. I saw a small blue bag in the corner of the room and asked,
"That's all you bought over here with you?" She told me the blue
bag was filled with enough spermacide and powders to lower the
Indian birth rate. She blushed and said, "You put an awful lot of
cum in me." After I fell asleep the night before, she had douched
twice, and twice again before I came into the bath.
"Douched?" I asked.
"It's a long story, hon. Later." She blushed again.
Then I remembered reading about it. "Oh. You mean, 'cause we
didn't use a rubber?"
She sighed impatiently. "Yes."
"I don't mind using one."
"No!" she said firmly, spreading jars of makeup on the edge of the
sink. "And you just forget that those ugly things exist."
I asked, "Doesn't all that stuff make you sore or dry inside?"
"We can always apply some...lotion," she said, blushing again. I
was amused at her modesty. After a night of raw passion, she
blushed and avoided my eyes continually. She got into her bra,
panties, and slip right away-- -a far cry from the way we started
out a few years before. As I dried off I watched, fascinated and
charmed at the sight of her putting on makeup.
"What are you staring at?"
I answered, "Watching you doing woman things."
She laughed mildly, dabbing at her face with powder. "I'm glad you
find it so enjoyable. We women think it's just a pain in the neck."
"I like watching."
"How can you get such a thrill out of watching a female cover up
what she really looks like so she can throw the wool over everyone's
eyes?"
"I like watching women do woman things."
"I see."
I paused. "I like watching you do woman things. It's not just
watching. It's watching you."
"Speedy. You're a dear. You really are."
"I'll fix breakfast," I said, hanging up my towel.
"You've added cooking to your many talents?"
"Sure," I said. "I've been hanging out in a restaurant for years."
"Well...I'll try anything once. Hope we live."
I was pretty noisy about it, but I managed to get the eggs
sunny-side up and the toast looking just right in two plates on the
small kitchen table. Out in the back yard I found a wild daisy and
placed it in a small glass of water on the table. She entered the
kitchen in her slip. "Wow," she said, "Look at this, picture
perfect! You're being so nice to me. It looks beautiful. Is it
edible?"
We ate and talked.
She told me about her schedule for the week. Just listening to what
she had planned was exhausting. "I'm a work fiend," she confessed.
"I feel guilty if I don't work myself to death every day." She told
me about her classes, the kinds of projects she was doing, the
problems she encountered with teaching in special education. I told
her, "But you like it," and she nodded. "Yes," she said, chewing
off a corner from a piece of toast, "not because I'm so dedicated,
but because I'm so neurotic. I'm terrified of ever being poor like
this again." I asked her more about what she did, about the people
she met at school, about what college was like.
"The first thing you should know," she warned with a strong edge of
sarcasm, "is that every professor at Memphis State is a Communists.
And anyone who shows up expecting to actually learn anything is a
pathetic egghead. All the girls are virgins, regardless of how many
football players they've slept with." She went on with this litany
of definitions, exaggerating each item and apparently having a good
time doing so; but after a while I realized that she was actually
defining herself as a hardworking, dedicated outsider.
She stopped at one point and looked at me hesitantly. "Speedy,
would you...would you like to spend an afternoon with me and go to
Memphis State? It's the holidays, but they're open-- -at least the
library is. That probably doesn't sound very exciting, but-- -"
I breathed in amazement. "Really?"
"Do you want to?"
"That would be the best adventure I've had since Uncle Johnny let me
spend two hours in the Bump 'em Cars at the fairgrounds."
"Yes, well, it does get a little like the Bump 'Em at exam time,
but...don't get all worked up, now, it's not the biggest thrill I
could think of for somebody as adventurous as you are."
"But," I said earnestly, "it's what you do."
She stared at me, taken aback.
I went on enthusiastically, "It's your...it's your world, like mine
is in the movies and the plays. And yours is college and learning
to be a teacher. Of course I want to see it."
She blinked and cleared her throat, propping her elbows on the table
and folding her hands. "Speedy, do you know how many boys your age
and older-- -much older-- -just want to spend an afternoon with me
so they can get inside my pants?"
"Get inside your pants? Hm, that's a funny expression, I never
heard that one before. You mean...to fuck?"
"I mean that's all they want to do."
"Don't they ever do anything else?"
"A lot of them, Speedy, no. Do you know what a tragedy it is in my
life just to have an argument with some boy because I have work to
do and I don't have time, just no time right away, right then, right
now, to go out with them? They think I'll hop into bed with them to
express my undying my gratitude for their taking me to a football
game and watching them scream and guzzle beer and make fools of
themselves."
"So," I said, tenuously, "...so do you do it?"
"Of course not. And then I don't hear from them for two weeks, or a
month. Until they get horny again, and all of a sudden they develop
this deep interest in what I'm doing with my life and my time."
I grimaced. "What shitheads."
"That's a very...apt description, hon."
"Apt?" I echoed.
"Yes, it means-- -"
"Don't tell me. I wanna look it up."
"I'll tell you what," she said, reaching across the table and taking
my hand, "You go with me, say, Thursday afternoon, and I'll show you
lots of things you can look up. Would you like that?"
"Sure."
We cleaned up a little, as I had left some record albums lying
about, and Martha Jane made phone calls while she polished her
shoes. Still in her slip, she went into the bedroom and started
making the bed. When I went in there to help her we were almost
finished when she asked me to sit on the bed and started undoing my
jeans. I told her I thought she had to get dressed for her
interviews, but she said we still had a little time and she could
stay in her slip for now. "I've always been curious about
something," she said, taking out my cock. "We still have some time
before I go. I want to show you something about your body." Of
course, I didn't object. With my legs hanging over the bed and
Martha Jane kneeling before me, she licked and sucked me until I was
hard and then she started fisting me quickly, her hands gliding
smoothly up and down my shaft. Again I was startled to feel all the
things that happened in my groin as I approached orgasm. She could
tell I was close when I began throbbing erratically. As I neared
cumming she took one of my hands and put it into my crotch under my
balls. "Feel here, underneath," she said. "Keep your hand there.
In a minute you'll feel your muscles jump." Sure enough, I could
feel swelling and movement down there. Then she pulled down the
straps of her slip and shoved the front of her bra below her
breasts, and brought her bosom closer to my cock. As she fisted me
she whispered, "I've always wondered what this feels like...c'mon,
hon...c'mon..."
Soon I felt those secret muscles moving under my fingers, and I
gasped frantically, "I'll get it on you!" but she grinned and said
"It's okay, I can change...c'mon..."
As my eyelids drooped I lost focus, and though my resources were
limited because of the night before, I started cumming. Encouraging
me, she whispered, "C'mon...c'mon," and then "Oh!" as I gave her a
tight little squirt on her left breast. She slowed and tightened
her pumping and I squirted again in the same place and she was
delighted. The rest streamed out thinly over her hand and made
squishing noises while she finished me off.
I lay back on the bed, breathless. She stood and leaned over me,
giggling. A drop of me ran down the swell of her breast and sneaked
under the nipple. "Was that good?" she asked. "You getting used
to cumming now?". I told her it was good, but it was still a little
scary. She said, "Speedy, I can't imagine you being afraid of
anything like that."
"No," I said, "not that kind of scary. It's just...it's different.
It takes over, and it all happens at once."
"That's the way it's supposed to feel, hon." She walked to the
bedside table, got a Kleenex, and wiped off her breast. "But don't
worry. You'll get accustomed to letting yourself go. I love
watching you cum. I never thought I'd enjoy it so much, but you get
so hard and it's so intense for you. I like that about you." She
wadded up the Kleenex and bent down to kiss me on the nose. "That's
one of a lot of things I like about you."
She did not see me again until Thursday, three days later. Where
she was for three days I didn't know. She called at least once a
day, and on Wednesday morning she came clomping with her high heels
and purse and Sunday best to see that I had not transformed the
apartment into a Frankensteinean horror. Each night just as I
climbed into bed she would phone from next door and ask how I was.
The phone rang Tuesday night around 9:30, and I picked up.
"Hello," I began. "This is the Louvre. Wanna buy some French post
cards?"
"Speedy, what if this had been someone else on the line?"
"I would say 'wrong number' and hang up."
"Did your mom and dad call today?"
"Yes."
"So how are they doing?"
"Sounded like she was having a good time."
"Just 'she'? What about your new daddy, didn't he have anything to
say for himself?"
"He never talks to me."
"Now, that's mean. Maybe you just never talk to him."
"I don't think he knows how to use a telephone yet."
"Speedy, you must learn to like him. He's your daddy now."
"It feels funny talking to you on the phone and you're right next
door. Are you gonna sleep over here?"
"...I can't, hon."
"Why, what's wrong?"
"I just...can't. I know it's silly, but I can't. I'll have to tell
you all about it."
"Okay."
"You all tucked in bed?"
"Yep."
"Well, you go to sleep. And don't be afraid to call me if anything
goes wrong, okay?"
"All right."
"G'night, cowboy."
"G'night, Miss Scarlett."
In later years, spending a vacation alone for most of the time would
not have been my first choice. But that week my mind seemed
particularly alive and sensitive. Waking, walking about town,
entering a movie and walking back out, and then strolling home, I
followed the path of the rising, passing, and setting sun as I had
never done before. In the late afternoon I made a sandwich, packing
it and a wedge of cheese into my G.I. Joe mess kit, and defied the
world by hiking all the way to the edge of Exchange Street, at the
very zenith of the hill at the avenue's end, and sat on a bluff
overlooking the river. Battle-hardened youth that I was after this
grueling six-block walk uphill, I ate from the kit and swigged
heartily from my canteen filled with Nehi Grape Soda, and watched
the sun go down on the flat, distant shore of Arkansas. The sky
changed colors minute by minute, so gradually that it was always a
surprise when I surveyed the horizon again to see how the silent
panorama had repainted itself. Before dark it turned magenta, then
intense purple, and finally black. As the sky dimmed, distant
lights not seen in the sunlight became visible one by one. I
wondered what might be out there. I wondered what it might be like
not having to return home but to keep on going, straight, past those
lights and onto new lights, new rivers, new bridges and towns.
What got me back home was not a strong desire to be there but to be
in bed when Martha Jane called. The phone rang at exactly 9:30 and
I picked up.
"Why, Martha Jane, you sound so clear on this wonderful invention,
Mr. Bell's telephone, just as if you were right next door!"
"Silly. Were you a good boy today?"
"No."
"That's the spirit. Did your mother call?"
"Yes, they're fine. She called around supper time."
"They'll be back Friday, then. And next week you'll move out of the
Lauderdale Courts forever. Won't that be great?"
"I guess."
"You don't sound so happy about it."
"Well..."
"Oh, you will be when you get there. And you'll have that wonderful
room all to yourself instead of keeping your things in cardboard
boxes in that closet."
"Well...maybe."
"Oh, c'mon, you'll love it."
"I'll have different neighbors, though."
"...I'll have to talk to you about that...We'll have a nice talk all
about that tomorrow. You still want to go with me to Memphis
State?"
"I'm ready now."
"I'm over here with textbooks up to my nose, so I'll be up a while.
But I'll still be up bright and early, so you better get your beauty
sleep. You all tucked in bed?"
"I sure am, Miss Scarlett."
"You didn't leave a stinky sink full of dirty dishes, did you?"
"No'm, Miss Scarlett."
"...Are you mad at me for not being over there?"
"No'm, Miss Scarlett."
"Well...Okay. I'll be there at ten in the morning."
"Yes'm, Miss Scarlett."
"You be all ready to go."
"Yes,'m, Miss Scarlett."
"Stop it. G'night."
Late in the night I was standing in the middle of the universe and I
had the sensation of getting larger and smaller at the same time,
while the universe shrank and expanded at the same time, and the
part of me that shrank was not getting small fast enough for the
universe that was shrinking, and the part of me that was expanding
was not expanding fast enough, and the part of the universe that was
shrinking kept pulling my expanding self back into the part that was
shrinking, and yet nothing was changing at all in any direction. As
I tried to comprehend this a low-pitched hum grew louder, louder,
and soon it was a deafening buzz that threatened to crush even my
thought.
I woke up, literally poised to jump through the ceiling. I was
gasping and sweating. I was not in bed, but standing in the pitch
black hallway between the bedroom and living room. Apparently I had
leapt from the bed in a single broad jump, as I vaguely remember
being in the air just before I jerked to a halt.
In the kitchen I made a glass of ice water and brought it to the
living room, where I sat in front of the Philco and turned it on.
The pearlescent eye of the green tuning tube glowed and stared at
me. I picked up static. Trying to relax, I listened. After a
minute I heard a voice in there. I could not hear the words.
Concentrating on it took my mind off the nightmare and the eerie
panic that crept into me when I remembered it.
This was a dream I'd had before, perhaps a year earlier. I never
told anyone about it; I didn't know how to describe it. Back in
bed, I removed my underwear and moved to the bed to be naked under
the moonlight. Lying on by back, I spread my legs and looked at my
growing, lean, surprisingly strong-looking young body. I tried to
remember what cumming felt like. It was unimaginable while it was
happening, and so it was when I tried to recall it. A small machine
whirred inside my chest, urging me to do something; like the voice
in the static, my brain could not understand what the machine was
saying. I gazed past the moonlight and out into the city. Out
there, awake, all the things I wanted to do were waiting.
A cricket chirped. I heard the sugary spring Southern night air
glide past the window and felt me and the yard and the tree and
Martha Jane next door and our little patch of earth turning slowly
together in the universe. As fell asleep again I imagined I could
feel the morning approaching us.
Continued...
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