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From: Incest Man <familyincest@graffiti.net>
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Subject: story: "The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane" (bf mF mF+) Part 12A
Date: Sun, 13 Aug 2006 00:14:15 -0700
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http://www.incesttabooo.com/mathaj.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...
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