Message-ID: <6558eli$9712191530@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year97/6558.txt>
From: losgud <lushgod@hotnomail.com>
Subject: <*>NEW STORY--Destiny Manifested
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Reply-To: see@iglou.com, end@iglou.com, note@iglou.com
X-Nntp-Posting-User: [unauthenticated]
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-ID: <349A0BEF.2429@hotnomail.com>


=========================
The following is total fiction.  Any resemblance etc. is a product of your 
imagination.  This work is meant as ADULT entertainment.  If the laws 
where you sit say you're too young to read this, go away and turn 
yourself in to the thought police.  Even thinking about sex is dirty and 
nasty and will warp your mind forever.  Go watch a movie or play a 
game that ends with a body count in the high four figures.  Death and 
destruction are good clean fun.

©1997 losgud.  Personal use just fine.  Archiving okay.  Absolutely NO 
for-profit use permitted.  Reposting without notice is frowned upon.  
Tampering with the text (rewriting) is illegal.  Copyright violations will 
fall under the jurisdiction of my principality, where the punishment is 
to discourage repeat offenders.  We cut your fucking hands off!
=========================
M/F  Inc  Cons  Rom  Hum
NOTE:  Very lengthy return to the fold.  If you don't appreciate the 
long narrative, better not bother reading.


DESTINY MANIFESTED


Late afternoon Friday is supposed to be the apex of the week.  Sure, 
sure, nothing like a Saturday night to be hot hot hot, fun fun fun, wild 
wild wild.  Saturday night is the week's orgasm, but isn't the ecstasy of 
sex all in the build-up, the anticipatory thrill?  What's best about 
Christmas, sitting around in the glut of torn wrappings next to a dying 
tree, or the visions of the night before, the glamorous pine growing 
from the mound of brightly clad packages?  Everyone thanks god for 
the arrival of Friday.  It's an expression, the expression has turned to 
cliché, the cliché's become an acronym; hell, the acronym has been 
appropriated and trademarked by a national franchise of good-time 
restaurants.

I slogged home from work in a sour mood.  I had a huge headache.  It 
felt cold enough to snow, but the frigid drizzle just laughed at the 
notion of wind chill factor.  I'd spent another ugly day prostituting my 
graphic talents to sell local second-rate products to my fellow denizens 
of a third-rate city.  And I was going home to my apartment that--need 
I say more--was wall-to-wall with not particularly plush _beige_ 
carpeting.  A beige charmed with stains not of my own doing, predating 
my tenancy.

As well, my dance card for the weekend had been erased clean.  My 
girlfriend had called me at work right after lunch to announce she 
couldn't see me at all this weekend.

"Okay," I'd sucked in my breath, "though perhaps I deserve an 
explanation of why not."

"Because!  I have to wash my hair."  I could just see her give that 
cute pageboy a shake like she had a headful of tresses.

I'd sat there stunned, surrounded by silence, curious as to why I 
happened to be holding a plastic bone to the side of my head.  "Oh?  
What?  They haven't invented blow dryers yet?"

"HUH!!  _Blow jobs!_  That's all you ever talk about!  Blow jobs, that's 
all you ever _think_ about!"

I knew enough to duck away from the slamming of her receiver.

Well, sure, I thought about blow jobs fairly often.  But I'd mentioned 
them only twice in her presence.  The first time was soon after we'd 
become a couple, just as a hint that it might be sort of nice.  She'd 
been aghast.  "What?!  How can you even think about asking me to put 
_my_ mouth down _there_??!!!"  About a month ago--a year and a half 
later--I'd brought it up again in the context of, well, _because you 
always insist that I put_ my _mouth down there on_ you.

The best thing to come out of the day was that by the time I got home 
I'd finally realized that my relationship sucked.  That made me a little 
chipper.  I took her number off my speed dialer, knowing I'd never 
remember it on my own.  I could scarcely wait for her to either never 
call either, or to call . . . and then I'd . . . I'd, well, I'd say . . .
well, I'd say something!

The phone rang and I jumped.  Luckily I held my tongue when I 
answered.  "Hello?"

"Hi Samuel!"

"Huh?"

"It's me, Miriam, you dummy."

"Yea?"

"As in, Miriam, your everlovin' sister."

"Oh, I know.  I'm sorry Mir.  I'm just not Mr. Zest right now.  It's been 
an ugly day, and I'm fitting right in."

"Really?  Gorgeous day here, and--ahem!--need I say more?"

"God!  Who died and crowned you Queen Ego?  You been baking your 
brains out on the beach again?"

"When in California, do as the Californians do.  So what's up?  Just 
thought I'd call.  What's wrong?  Life beating up on you?"

"Life's beating off on me.  Geez, you really want to hear the tirade?"

"No, but that's never stopped you before.  I'll jump you to the punch.  
Let's see, rustle rustle--I've got it written down here somewhere--okay, 
yea, that's right:  your life sucks, your city sucks, your weather sucks, 
your job sucks, your apartment sucks, the beige carpeting in your 
apartment _really_ sucks.  That about covers it.  Anything in your life 
that doesn't suck?"

"Well, yea, my girlfriend."

"Well, that's a plus I suppose."

"No, what I mean is . . . "

"_Samuel!_  For shame!  You're not still dating _that_ bitch, are you?  
Ms. Make-me-come-all-over-your-face-and-then-you-can-go-home-now?"

"Geez, Miriam!  Is you memory that good or do you really take notes?  
Or did we have this exact conversation last week?"

Her end erupted in laughter.  The sound cheered my heart.  "Oh baby, 
I'm not laughing _at_ you . . . "

"Why not?  I would!"

The gales blew again.  "Oh you funny funny boy, you really missed 
your calling."

"Well, you know me.  Every time opportunity calls I'm in the shower 
with a headful of shampoo--_ring-ring_, oh fuck you, call back later."

"Oh stop it! stop it!  Seriously, are you at least getting some good 
painting done?"

"What do you think?  Very little."

"Liar!  Not at all."

"Yea, months and months adding up to years.  No time, no energy, no 
money, no inspiration, no space, no supplies."

"You bastard!  You are squandering your talents."

"Okay, already!  You rest your case.  And I don't want to talk about it.  
Leave it alone, or I'll hang up.  I'm serious, Miriam.  It's barely a 
manageable sorrow as it is.  Okay?"

"I'm sorry Sammy.  Okay?  Forgive?  I'll quit prodding.  Oh yea, what I 
was calling about.  So what are you doing for Christmas."

"The usual.  Pretend the oven's a fireplace and hang up a dirty sock.  
In the morning hang around and count my lumps of coal.  Organize my 
switches in ascending order according to length, though this year I was 
thinking of doing something extra special, maybe subdividing them with 
regards to width.  What do you think?"

"I think you should come out here and spend Christmas with me.  After 
all, we're all the family we have."

"Oh, I don't know.  I mean, thanks for the invite."

"Please, Sammy, oh please?  It'd mean so much to me."

"Well, I mean I probably couldn't get any extra time off work or 
anything."

"That's okay, a short visit would be better than none.  It's Manifest 
Destiny.  Everything sucks there, so go West, young man.  Will you at 
least think about it?  It'd be so great to get to see you again."

"Sure, Mir.  Let me get back to you on it, okay?"

"Wonderful!  I do miss you so much, you know that, don't you?"

"Flipside of the same coin, hon."

"Oh damn!  Shut up!  _Not you Sam!_  Listen, I'm sorry but I have to 
run.  Asshole producers pounding on the door.  Let me know as soon as 
possible, alright?  God, already I'm getting so excited."

"Okey-dokey, Mir, talk to you later."

Well, at least the weekend was somewhat salvaged.  Talking to Miriam 
always brightened my life for a couple of days.  She really was the 
closest thing I had to a best friend.  Which spoke sad volumes 
considering she lived several thousands miles away, and we hadn't seen 
each other in years.  Not only was she one of the few people I'd ever 
known who made any sense to me, she was about the only person who 
could make any sense of me.

Dad had been cast from the old work-hard/play-hard diehard mold.  A 
steak-and-martinis-at-lunch kind of guy.  A massive-coronary-at-fifty 
sort of man.  Mom got over the loss and had five fun years as the 
merry widow before she turned into one of those people who makes the 
fatal error of proceeding through the intersection on the green light.  
The usual story of some cops deciding to bust a carload of teenagers 
driving seven miles over the limit.  The kids decided to outrun the law.  
The cops thought it'd be cool to engage in a high-speed chase down a 
major artery of a crowded urban zone.  Of the three vehicles, one of 
the officers survived the crash, but only very briefly.

It was only when settling the estate that Miriam and I discovered how 
truly clever our parents had been.  Dad had apparently been up to his 
neck in debts when he died.  And Mom had performed an incredible 
juggling act for five years.

Miriam took her half and paid off some student loans and then financed 
a move to the coast.  She swore she would never come back, and she 
never did.  She quickly worked her way up into some sort of position 
that involved scripts and television and making tons of money.

I rented a separate studio and did nothing but paint for two years.  It 
was a great time, but I never made a dime, and then I had to move all 
my work and supplies into my dinky apartment and go out and scare up 
this dumb job of mine.  I made a fair stab at keeping up the good work 
for awhile, but gradually the tubes of paint and I became one of a 
kind--crumpled and dried up and worthless.

I made a sandwich for dinner, ate it, and then made a decision.  Me, 
making a decision, that was always a rather frightening combination.  I 
went and checked the calendar, confirming that Christmas fell on a 
Thursday.  Then I called around until I found a travel agency still 
open.  Luck was with me.  I was able to book a seat flying out when 
most of the rest of the world would be either bright-eyed or sleepy-
eyed, surrounded by storms of shredded bits of bright paper.  A 
Sunday flight back midday.  I wasn't sure what I'd do about Friday.  It 
wasn't a holiday for me.  The business of cheating customers rarely 
takes a day off.  I thought I had a vacation day still available.  If the 
boss didn't like that, well, I could always call in sick long distance.  
And if they fired me over that, I would hardly experience a reduction in 
income if I took on a stint waiting tables.

After she'd fled, Miriam and I had by unspoken agreement given up the 
sad pretense of gift-giving.  But really, I did want to take her 
something if I was going out there.  I sat paralyzed for half an hour 
thinking of what stupid piece of shit I could possibly go out and buy 
her.  As if my small funds could possibly buy her something meaningful.  
I knew what she might possibly appreciate.  There was another half 
hour spent flipping through old canvases.  As if I could wrap one in 
brown paper, attach a handle, and call it my carry-on briefcase.

I hit the fridge for a beer.  Then I flipped through a packet of 
snapshots of herself she'd recently sent.  I hardly needed to know what 
she looked like.  The second beer sent me rustling through the 
mausoleum of my old supplies.  Some good paper, crayons, a stub of 6B 
pencil, a few tubes of gouache still alive.  A sturdy board to work on.  
I turned on my tinny little stereo, and started out with some obscure 
Hank Williams.  The old magic started working immediately.  Several 
hours later I finished up to black-box bootleg Joy Division demos.  A 
wild fucking marvelous portrait of Miriam.

The phone rang.  It was my alleged girlfriend.  Apparently her plans 
had panned out.  She was wondering if I would like to come over.

I was feeling fairly cocky from fermented-grain.  "I thought your hair 
was wet or something."

"It is," she cooed, "but I'm not talking about the top-of-my-head kind."

"Oh _yea_?" I feigned excitement.  "Then why don't you just bend down 
and lick your own goddamn pussy for a change."

_Click_.  Hey, it was _my_ click!


The intervening period before my departure rushed by in the usual dull 
blur of my accustomed drudgery.  _My god_, I thought, _my life_, I 
thought.  For the first time I had a glimpse of how weeks like this 
could suddenly become decades like this.  I was still in the beer-and-
burger-for-lunch stage; I'd have to get cracking if I was going to one-
up dear old Dad.  If my life was going to amount to nothing but a 
bunch more of this, then for damn sure I wanted to drop dead _before_ 
I hit fifty.

I left a message on Miriam's machine telling her my itinerary.  She left 
a message on mine saying she'd have me fetched from the airport.  I 
left a message on hers:  _don't be silly, I'll be able to find my way to 
your house._  She left a message:  _don't be silly, no you won't._  

Right as I was about to call and leave her another message I happened 
to glance at the clock.  Whoa, shit, I had about two minutes to race up 
the block to catch the bus downtown, where I would transfer for the 
bus out to the airport.

I began to get a little nervous on the plane when I found a to-scale 
drawing of Miriam's airport at the back of the in-flight magazine.  It 
appeared to be bigger than my whole city.  I knew I had enough cash 
in my wallet to take a taxi to any point in my city, but I'd heard about 
those big city cabs.  They'd drive you around for twenty-five years, 
and then you'd have to take out a second mortgage to pay off the fare.  
Shit, I lived in a dinky rental!  We were talking _pounds_ of flesh.  I 
decided I'd be much better off taking the bus.

But the thing was, once I'd gotten off the plane, I couldn't find the 
bus.  I began to ask people if they could direct me to the bus.  There 
seemed to be a high incidence of deaf people in the terminal.  Some 
people just gazed at me with pity.  Some just laughed and walked away.  
Several people responded, "Bus?  What's a bus?"  

It turned out there were tons of buses, buses twice the size of any bus 
I'd ever seen.  But they all went directly to various hotels, or car 
rental lots, or in a circuit between the various terminals.  It transpired 
that there was in fact a sort of city bus that went on an express route 
to something called the City Centre Station.  It cost more than a taxi in 
my town, and it let you off at this place, if I was reading my map 
correctly, about 200 miles from Miriam's house.

I sat down on a bench feeling defeated, and about ten times as stupid 
as I normally allow.  I'd meant to bring Miriam's phone number with me, 
but I'd forgotten.  My ears rang with the laughing comment she'd once 
made about how being the directory assistance operator in her city was 
the easiest job there was.  There was only one residential number open 
to the public, and it rang in the empty house of a man long dead.  The 
punchline being that the family maintained the listing as a sort of 
memorial.

I decided to become familiar with my bench.  I could see out the window 
how the sky was darkening into night.  My bench my bed.  I was so 
frazzled from my travels that I began to hallucinate.  I kept hearing 
someone calling my name.  It became a regular chant that was certain to 
haunt my dreams.  Then I looked up and saw the voice belonged to a 
particular man.  He was dressed like the skipper of a ship, except all in 
black.  The weirdest thing was that he was carrying a large placard in 
front of him.  Instead of announcing the imminent end of the world, it 
bore my name.

"Hey," I asked, "are you trying to find me?"

"Yes!" he gave a long sigh, his shoulders sagging, "at last."

He quickly hustled me outside and into the back of this incredibly long 
car.  "Hot damn!" I cried as he moved to shut the door, "is this a limo 
or something?"  The man shook his head and shut the door.

It was a confusing ride.  I felt like I was at a party.  I was obviously 
sitting in a livingroom.  There was a t.v. and a bar and other things I 
couldn't quite figure out.  But no matter how hard I looked I couldn't 
locate the host or any other guests.  I fell asleep for awhile, and then 
the ride was over.  The man opened the door and I got out.  Before I 
could ask him any more questions he was back in the car and driving 
away.

There I was, standing in front of a large house.  All the lights were on 
and there was lots of noise within.  I went up the walk and rang the 
bell.  The door was opened by some man who looked at me as though I 
was pond scum.  Chagrined, I asked, "Does Miriam live here?"

He rolled his eyes, then called over his shoulder, "Miriam!  Something 
for you that just crawled in from the sticks!"

And then there she was, sweeping down a long hallway, trailing some 
curious looks as she pushed my name loudly in front of her.  
"_Samuel!!!_  I thought you'd never get here!  _So-o-o_ wonderful to 
see you.  Have a decent flight? did the driver find you okay? are you 
hungry? do you need something to drink? oh here, come on, let's take 
your bag up to your room, let you get refreshed and tell me all about 
it!"

Miriam had always had a vivacious streak, but my memories were of a 
dull waif compared to this bubbling creature.  It was the differing 
between a gentle simmer and a roiling boil.  Maybe it was the climate.  
Or maybe, implausible as it seemed, she was that excited to see me.

She fairly dragged me up a staircase to the second story, leaving the 
din down below.  She made up for the lowered volume by continuing her 
incessant patter.  So many words, tumbling out so fast, I couldn't 
understand anything she was saying.

"Whoa, calm down girl!  Are you excited to see me or something?"

"_Yes!!!_" she glimmered, "Why, does it show?"  Then she gave a demure 
half-turn.  "And, well, to be frank, a trifle nervous as well."

"Nervous?"

"Of course," she said, adding quietly, "It's been a long time, you know."

"You're right," I assented, "I guess I'm a bit nervous, too.  But I've 
had the travails of travel to keep my mind from it.  Gosh I'm glad to be 
here!  You look absolutely stunning.  Can't say it looks like life out 
here doesn't agree with you."

"Now, that silly dance done with, c'mere ya big lug and gimme a hug!"

Miriam pressed herself tightly against me.  She had never been one for 
perfumes, and that hadn't changed.  My olfactory receptors were flooded 
with the clean fresh scent of her, with just a slight flowery overlay of 
shampoo.  She nuzzled against my neck, her breath shallow and hot.  I 
started worrying about how I could feel her breasts firmly against my 
chest, but then I decided I shouldn't be the one to have to worry about 
that.  I did quickly remind my body just who it was that I was holding 
in my arms.

"So," I murmured, "what's going on downstairs?  I realize it's not my 
surprise party, except as a party that has me a little surprised."

"Oh that," she sighed in exasperation.  "Apparently sometime last 
summer I opened my big mouth and told all my friends, _Hey, let's have 
the annual Christmas Night bash at my place!_  It slipped my mind until 
last week when all these people started calling up asking what time it 
started.  I tried to beg off, but they wouldn't let me!"

Miriam stood back, then leaned in again kissing me fully on the lips.  I 
didn't recall her being such a demonstrative person.  Maybe it was a 
geographical thing.

"So, _sorry_.  Wish it could have been just the two of us tonight.  But 
it won't be so bad.  I'll introduce you around.  Never know, you might 
meet someone _interesting_.  There's a bevy of smart beautiful women 
downstairs."

Miriam's look was pinched and withdrawn, well at odds with the jolliness 
of her final remark.  I concluded that this was pretty natural.  A little 
luckiness in the love department would sort of cramp my visit.

"Well, you know watery old me.  I always seek my own level.  So I 
guess it'll be another lonely night for me.  Unless you've a particularly 
dumb and ugly special someone tucked away somewhere."

That made her smile.  She jabbed me in the chest.  "Oh, you!  Didn't 
Santa finally bring you some self-confidence?  Or a mirror?  Anyway.  
Listen, why don't you grab a quick shower if you want--fully stocked 
private bath," she pointed with her head, "get a change of clothes, have 
a little snooze, whatever, and then I'll see you back downstairs in a 
little bit, okay?"

"Sounds like a plan," I chirped.

Miriam grabbed my hand in hers and squeezed it tight, her thumb 
rubbing my palm.  Then she leaned up and gave me a quick kiss, again 
on the lips, "Alright then."  She breezed out of the room with a wave 
and then she was gone.

I did lay down for about twenty minutes, long enough for a nap.  But I 
was too wired to sleep.  So I switched tactics and went for the quick 
shower and clean clothes.  The shower was actually exceedingly long.  I 
kept waiting for the hot water to run out, but it never did.  I didn't 
want to bother rummaging through my luggage.  My clothes I figured 
were clean enough.

It was nearly an hour before I made it back downstairs.  I couldn't 
locate Miriam immediately, and then my search kept getting delayed.  
Everyone seemed to know exactly who I was.  Women kept rushing up 
all excited, casting me soulful looks while touching my arms.  The men 
forced my right hand into these crushingly competitive shakes while 
leering nearly bitterly at me.  The bizarre thing was that they all used 
the same phrase.  Apparently I was Miriam's "old friend from back 
east."  I wasn't up for the explanations a contradiction would require.

Finally I found Miriam in the kitchen.  I cornered her and whispered 
furiously, "Just who is this person?  What's this _old friend from back 
east_ shit anyway!"  I instantly regretted the force of my attack.

She looked at me nearly cringing.  "I'm sorry, it's just, well . . . Look 
Samuel, you know, when I moved out here I was creating a new life for 
myself.  I started from scratch.  I made my history a big blank.  I'm an 
orphan, you know?  I, like, grew up in foster homes.  I have no family.  
I mean, that's the fiction.  I didn't mean to hurt you.  You know you're 
the dearest person in my life.  I love you madly!  You want to see the 
proof?  Over there on that counter, there's this month's phone bill."

"That's not it.  I'm just saying, why didn't you give me a little notice 
or something.  This is your life, make it the way you want it.  That's 
fine with me.  But clue me in on the script changes, okay?  I think it's 
_Enter: the brother._  Suddenly instead I'm the long-lost _friend_.  And 
I walk through those rooms and a couple those guys in there are giving 
me looks like _Oh yea? So_ friend_, how many times you poked her since 
you arrived?  Haw haw, haw haw!_"

"Oh, don't mind them.  They're just jealous," she quipped.

"Of what?!!" I shot back incredulously.  If I thought my ears were 
malfunctioning, it was nothing compared to my eyes.  Miriam was in a 
deep blush.

"Well," she whined, "I'm sorry, but I thought you'd get mad at me if I 
said something about it in advance."

"Mad?  Oh Miriam, when have I ever been mad at you?"

She fell into a contemplative silence, then answered.  "When I pried off 
all the wheels from your favorite race car when you were about ten."

I was so surprised all I could do was snort.

"But you had no right to be mad," she continued, "because I only did 
that because you melted my Barbie's feet into big black clumps."

"Why you unappreciative bitch you!  That was corrective surgery.  I 
was trying to make it so she could stand up without leaning against 
something.  Oh well, story of my life.  Me and all my best intentions."

This was fun!  But then Miriam's big grin collapsed into a much more 
thoughtful repose.  "Weren't you mad at me when I left?"

I was taken aback.  "Mad?  Oh, _Miriam_.  Sure, there was some anger 
in it all.  A couple spoonfuls in a great big steaming cauldron of 
disparate emotions.  That was a bad time for the both of us.  I certainly 
understood why you had to leave.  I felt as if I was standing on a 
stack of rugs--every time I stood up the next one was yanked out and 
back on my ass I went.  Losing you too was like having my heart cut 
out, but you know, by that point is was a pulpy mangled mess anyway."

"Oh Sammy, stop!  You're breaking my heart!" she sniffled, turning 
away.

"_Oh no_," I cried, "that's the opposite of what I want!  Stop indeed, 
yes.  I truly don't want to talk about all that.  Sorry, I didn't mean to 
get into it."  I went over to her and put my hands on her shoulders 
and gave her a little shake.  "Hey, come on, okay?  Alright?"  I gave 
her a playful little swat on the behind.  "What are you trying to do?  
Get the reputation as the worst hostess in the state?  You have a party 
out there to attend to.  _Time to circulate!_"

Miriam turned with a weak smile.  "Right you are.  Okay.  Thanks.  And 
sorry."  She gave my shirt a little tug, then stroked the back of my 
hand, lightly gripping my fingers to tow me along towards the door.   

"Besides," I added without thinking, "much longer and those guys will 
be staring even more.  _What?  Had her again in the kitchen?_"

She whipped around and threw me a cool level gaze.  "Let them!"

Hours and hours straggled by.  I rarely caught but much more than 
glimpses of Miriam.  I started to get peeved that she was having this 
largish party that had nothing to do with me on one of the three nights 
of my visit, but then I'd catch myself, remembering that I had come on 
pretty short notice.  But then I would remember that that circumstance 
was actually the result of her invitation.  So I'd start getting irritated 
again, then calm myself considering that the party had been already 
planned when I'd decided to visit, though actually . . . between a few 
drinks and the time change and the fatigue of traveling, my thought 
processes were growing terribly confused.

The party wasn't completely segregated by the sexes, but there was a 
definite element of that.  I started out settling in the den with the 
guys, mostly because it was the most comfortable room.  A bunch of 
plush low-slung couches and chairs.  But all the guys were sitting 
around in that wide-kneed posture as though advertising that they had 
such huge packages mounted between their legs their thighs hadn't 
touched since the day they slid down the birth canal.  And there didn't 
seem to be any real conversation going on.  They took turns grasping 
their inner thighs and honking, "Haw haw, haw haw."  Anytime a woman 
made the mistake of entering the room, she was greeted with silence.  
You could smell the flush of testosterone.  She would leave, the silence 
would linger, then one of the more clever among them would clamp hand 
to leg, "Yea, pussy!  Haw haw, haw haw."  I lasted about ten minutes in 
that room.  I strayed out of sight but within earshot.  There was a 
remark--either I was a wussy, or going for more pussy--and then the 
room erupted in a chorus of haw-haws.

I spent an hour mingling between the livingroom and diningroom, where 
sensible members of all persuasions were gathered.  But eventually I 
confessed to myself that I was too tired to attempt intelligent 
conversation with smart people about subjects of which I was 
uninterested and uninformed.  Everyone in the house seemed to make 
their livelihood from television, or movies, or made-for-t.v.-movies.  I 
didn't even own a set, and the few times I'd gone to the movies in 
recent years, it was to see a film made on the other side of the planet 
from Hollywood.

I broke for the screened-in patio figuring I would be mostly alone out 
there.  It was silent when I stepped through the doorway.  Nearly a 
dozen women were seated and staring at me.  I could smell the rise of a 
different hormone.  I knew if I turned tail someone would quickly 
interject, "Yea, cock!  Hee hee, hee hee."  So I sat down instead.

What was truly weird was to realize that I wasn't perceived as any sort 
of gross male threat, because of course after that interlude in the 
kitchen Miriam would have been sure to have milked every last drop 
from my balls.  Though that was strictly conjecture, and no one could 
know that for sure.  

I wound up engrossed in a conversation with the woman seated next to 
me.  I kept forgetting her name from one minute to the next, but she 
was somehow involved in casting.  My end involved just a clever quip 
every so often--which the entire room managed to hear, and appreciate.  
Pretty soon I was the star in about a million movies, replacing every 
hunk from Humphrey Bogart to Brad Pitt.  My parts grew evermore 
salacious.  "Remember that scene when he throws her down on the bed? 
. . . I _know_ you'd have been just _perfect_!"  Her hands were like 
butterflies,  briefly landing all over me and then fluttering away.  She'd 
slipped off her shoes, the better to rub her stockinged feet along my 
calves for emphases.  We were playing with each other, not that if the 
room had been empty, with a bed across the way, we wouldn't have 
quickly hopped to it.  In the abstract, anyway.  She was pretty and 
smart and tipsy enough to think she was horny.  I didn't really ever do 
things like that.  I wasn't going to abandon or impinge on my sister's 
hospitality, simply because that wasn't in my character.

Another advantage of being out on the patio was that I saw Miriam more 
often.  She never stayed long, though, just darting in and out.  One of 
the other women tried to engage her, "Miriam, hon, what's up?  You 
seem a little out-of-sorts tonight."

"That's because I am," she'd replied tersely.  Period.  No maneuvering 
room for explications.

Eventually I excused myself to go use the bathroom.  My bladder was 
my motive.  But the one off the hall was in use, so I climbed the stairs 
to the second story.  The guest room I was occupying had its own 
facilities.  The first thing I saw after I peed and washed hands was 
that great big bed with my baggage set aside it.  I could not resist.  I 
collapsed for a very late nap, well aware that the night might pass into 
a brand new day before I awoke.

Something eventually startled me.  My eyes opened and I lay there very 
still.  I took me about five minutes to realize that the quality of the 
light coming in the door from the hall had shifted from when I fell 
asleep.  It was, I finally decided, being somehow blocked.  I rolled over 
and saw someone standing in the doorway.  Someone who had been 
standing in the doorway for at least those five minutes.  Little wonder 
I'd felt so unnerved.

I was dreading just about every possibility I could imagine when the 
figure spoke.  "You awake now, Sam?"

"Miriam?"

"Yes?  Who did you think it was?"

"I didn't know.  And I was afraid to ask."

She chuckled softly.  "Oh, don't worry.  Everyone downstairs knows 
that my upstairs is always off-limits, even in the pursuit of pleasure."

"Mir, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," she replied, walking in the room to come sit on the edge of the 
bed.

"Just who are all those people?  Most of them you don't seem to much 
care for.  You don't really call them friends, do you?"

"Oh, they're friends.  Friends by association.  Friendly associates.  
Maybe not really friends.  Not most of them.  Not in the sense of 
sharing secrets and intimate moments.  We share ideas and projects.  
The business and social lives are completely contiguous around here.  
One overlays the other.  You share work on a script, you share laughs 
at the cuts, you share dinner, you invite each other over for drinks.  
You schmooze.  That's how things work."  

"_What?!!_  You mean I've been trapped all night at someone else's office 
Christmas party?!"

"You seemed to be enjoying Jasmine's company," she replied gently.  
"She's still down there.  Wandering around lost asking after you.  You 
should go home with her, if you want to.  Or feel free to invite her to 
stay overnight."

"No wonder I couldn't remember her name.  Jasmine.  Well, Ms. Tea is an 
intriguing person, and lovely in her own right, but, well, that's really 
never been my style.  I'm," I shrugged, "I've never been interested in 
sex with strangers.  I'm sure she'd be a world of fun in bed but, 
really, send her my fond regrets.  I don't want to sleep with someone 
unless I know I'll get to keep on sleeping with them, and sleeping with 
them, and sleeping with them."

Miriam turned and muttered a word under her breath.  Then she 
commanded aloud, "Come back down, sleepy head.  You've had your 
beauty rest.  I have a fleet of taxis on the way.  I promise Jasmine will 
be the first to go."

"Okay," I drew up on an elbow.

I'd heard the quiet word.  It was _good_.

It took me ten minutes to rouse myself fully enough to make it 
downstairs.  Though I dreaded it, I was fully prepared to pitch in on 
the clean up.  I was a firm believer in getting most of the mess out of 
the way before morning.  What looked like the remains of a party at 
night tended to resemble an eerie scene of slaughter in the daylight.

I was surprised by Miriam's efficiency.  Most of the waste was already 
cleared from many of the rooms, and I could hear the dishwasher 
chugging away.  This was the workings of an impolite hostess.  The 
crowd had thinned considerably, but not to the point where the 
remaining few would be considering themselves the lone survivors of the 
party's last gasp.  Chatting about the party in the past tense, finishing 
up the last drinks, helping the hostess clean up. Miriam's message was 
as unmistakable as when the staff in a restaurant start putting all the 
rest of the chairs up on the tables.  She was the bartender turning on 
the unkind overhead lights.

I saw her go into the den, then heard one of the guys actually form a 
couple of sentences.  "Hey Miriam, great party, haw haw.  But where've 
you been keeping yourself?  Haven't seen you all night, haw haw."

The answer was obvious.  He'd spent the evening there in the locker 
room, and she hadn't set foot in there since about seven o'clock.  
Instead she gave a curt lie in reply, "I got tired.  I had to go upstairs 
and lie down for awhile."

"Oh yea, you should have told me.  I would have been delighted to tuck 
you in."

Such an opening was so obvious, even he seemed bored by his reply.  I 
was clearly in the room, removing bottles from an endtable.  I was doing 
the trick of sticking my fingers firmly down the necks, transporting ten 
bottles at once, while acquiring hands that transformed me into a scary 
alien being.

"But I hardly required the assistance, now, did I?"

I knew I was looking a bit bed-rumpled myself, and judging by the 
looks the last of the guys were giving me, it was noticeably so.

When I came back for my next load, a different guy was asking her, 
"What?  You kicking us out now, Miriam?"

"You got it.  I'm feeling pretty _tired_ again."

The guy-eyes were again upon me.  _Whoa, her_ friend _must be some 
sort of fucking Superman, haw haw!_ 

I was getting pretty tired myself.  I decided to do duty out on the 
patio instead.  Three of the old crowd were still out there.  One 
brightened when she saw me, but in the way of an overcast day when 
the clouds shift to a slightly lighter layering.

"Hello Samuel!  Hee hee."

I barely waved.

"Where's Jasmine?" she asked weakly.

I shrugged.  "I don't know.  Gone home I guess."

She pretended to perk up at the news.  "Oh really?"  I could see that 
she was trying out a number of clever lines, but it was too much of a 
struggle, they were all strings of jumbled words.  She settled instead 
on shooting me what she obviously thought was the sexiest look in her 
repertoire.  In other circumstances, it probably was a notably effective 
pose.  But numbed by alcohol--there was a forest of glasses on the 
coffee table in front of her--it came out more like a cross between a 
smirk and a notice of impending sickness.

I turned my back and began clearing glasses from another table.  "Not 
too rush you all, but I thought I'd give you fair warning.  The 
carnivores are about to be let loose from the den.  They're hungry and 
they're licking their chops.  So if you want a head-start, now's your 
last chance."

There was silence, then one of the women picked up on my meaning.  
"Oh shit, girls, let's get the hell out of here! hee hee."

Somebody tweaked my ass on the way out.  I didn't bother turning to 
see who.

I was greatly pleased and relieved to discover that their departure left 
the house empty.  The interesting, and not altogether surprising, turn 
of events was that the patio girls and the den boys wound up exiting at 
the same time.  Outside, amid the clamor of slamming doors, the _haw-
haws_ and _hee-hees_ were undeniably interacting.   

Miriam remarked, "I should have turned both lots of them loose upstairs 
from the beginning."

I rolled my eyes.  "But then, right about now, we'd be burning all the 
bedding."

She laughed heartily.

"Or worse," I continued, "getting a jump on preparing the breakfast 
spread.  Can you imagine waking up in the morning and having to see 
all them?"

"God, Sam, stop it!  You're going to give me nightmares."

I just stood there grinning.

"Ah," she reached over and pinched my cheek, "that big goofy grin.  
Forever your trademark, smart-ass!  Listen, I'm going to change out of 
these party clothes.  Care to meet me in the livingroom in a few minutes 
for a nightcap?"

"Sounds great!"

I waited for Miriam to climb the stairs, then I snuck up to my room.  I 
got the painting out of my suitcase.  I'd matted it and framed it, 
wrapped it in holiday tissue, then tied it between two pieces of stiff 
cardboard.  While up there I decided to change into my sleepwear--an 
oversized lavender t-shirt and a pair of blue and purple paisley boxer 
shorts.

After a few minutes waiting in the livingroom dressed like that I started 
feeling chilly.  There was a small supply of wood contained in a wrought 
iron holder that was likely mostly ornamental, but I went ahead and 
messed with the damper, found some matches, and soon had a 
wonderfully warming blaze going in the fireplace.

When Miriam reentered the room, her face took on a glow from within.  
"Well how nice!"  She held a pair of wine glasses in one hand, 
upturned, stems between her fingers.  Her other hand displayed a 
freshly uncorked bottle.  "Here comes the good stuff," she smiled.

I wasn't much of a wine drinker, but I recognized the label.  
Boujeaulais Nouveau.  I was crazy about that stuff.  It was like beef.  I 
didn't eat much steak anymore, mostly because I'd been spoiled by a 
few run-ins with some particularly delicious filet mignon.  I'd read that 
this year's crop was the best in decades.  Good news travels fast as an 
understatement.  Naturally I hadn't found a store that wasn't sold-out.

"Mir, where did you get this?"

"Oh," she gave a smug little wriggle, "I have my sources!"

We made a nest of floor pillows in front of the hearth and settled on in.  
I idly fingered the hem of her robe, then fell into my tailor imitation, 
"_Nice_ fabric."

She smiled, "Isn't it though?  I live in it, when modesty isn't a 
concern."

It was a beautifully printed kimono, though it wasn't really a kimono 
because it barely fell to mid-thigh.  But otherwise it was patterned as 
such, and the reason I'd reached out for the hem was that the material 
was so obviously silk.  Fine silk.  Silk so fine it screamed out _Touch 
me, feel how smooth and soft I am!_  A matching remark about her skin 
screamed at me.  I brushed it aside, a little shaken.  The cut of the 
garment wasn't particularly risqué, but I could see her point.  Not 
exactly what you'd wear around when you had a bunch of louts in your 
den.  I firmly reestablished the line that divided me from men like them.

"So," I ventured, "you throw a party and invite a bunch of people, but 
none of them do you consider friends.  What gives?"

"Hey, don't worry about me.  You're the loner.  Sure I have friends.  
Many friends, in fact.  Maybe not any real bosom-buddies, but some 
pretty close friends.  A fair number of the people tonight.  I may do 
business with them, but we hang out as well.  Bear in mind that you 
began and ended the party in the extreme rooms.  The boars and the 
sows.  Even them, they just suffer from the cumulative effect.  Take 
Jasmine--as you were, admit it, more than half-tempted to do--she's 
really a neat person.  But she has a desperate edge to her.  Give her a 
few too many and she does that lovely swan dive over the edge.  Not to 
deny you the powers of your charms, but . . . "

"I know, I know," I interjected, "she was just toying with me.  That's 
no secret."

"No . . . she was testing the waters with you.  It would have been a 
rare departure from her usual form, but she might have taken you home 
if, you know, she thought you were available.  She's not one to slut 
around though.  Why do you think all the other women out there were 
getting so excited watching you two?"

I didn't want to even hazard a guess.

"Sure, she lives alone.  But she has a very steady boyfriend.  They've 
been an item for about five years.  Tony was tied to a big project and 
couldn't make it to the party.  Jasmine was envied her freedom tonight.  
Why do you think that all the den boys and patio girls left together?"

The light clicked on.  "No way!"

Miriam chuckled softly.  "Welcome to the Golden State, my naive 
midwestern brother.  The whole beach mentality is all pervasive out 
here--even for people who never go near the water.  The land of golden 
opportunity.  Why settle for a tan, when by all rights of the myth you 
should be able to get the perfect tan?"

I took a long thoughtful sip.  "And you?"

"Well," she took a deep breath, "That whole veneer of shallowness is 
sort of appealing.  It's like shiny latex paint.  I've tried to turn myself 
wooden out here, but I can't.  I remain made of an oily sheened metal.  
I put on a pretty coat, but within a week it peels right off."

"But a special somebody?  I mean, there're how many tens of millions of 
people in the metro area?  Surely they're not all living in Facile City."

"Oh, I've met guys.  Quite a lot of charming dates.  I've had a pair of 
comfortable romances.  But, no one special.  I'm . . . I'm sort of at a 
disadvantage in that department."  She looked at me long and steady, 
considering something.  "Um.  Oh.  Well.  You see, Sammy, I met my 
heart's desire a long time ago, in a different life.  I've tried over the 
years to forget and move beyond that, but I really haven't been 
successful.  In fact, my regrets just increase with time."

"What?  Who?  Some guy back home?  Or at college?  Anyone I know?"

"No," she gave a wan little smile.  "I, um, the introductions were never 
made.  He was an extremely shy boy who never had a clue.  And I 
never managed . . . I could never bring myself . . . I just didn't know 
how to make my interest known.  I dropped little hints here and there, 
but . . . he remained oblivious.  I guess I should have been bolder.  
That's the nature of hindsight.  The tragedy and the beauty."

She seemed to want to drop the subject, so I let it lay.  I set my glass 
on the flagging of the fireplace's surround--a spill of red wine on the 
white carpet would have made me want to smash the glass and sink the 
stem into my chest.  "Hold on a sec," I told her, "I have a surprise for 
you."  I got on my hands and knees and crawled to the sofa.  Still on 
my knees, rump raised high, I sank to my chest to search beneath the 
sofa.  

Miriam giggled.  "Nice buns, Samuel, but that's hardly a surprise."  She 
reached over and gave me a spank.

A jolt went through me, and I banged my head on the sofa.  "Stop that, 
you!"  Finally my fingers found the flat package.

"For me?" she looked genuinely pleased.

"For you, you undeserving hussy."

The pleasure on her face at receiving the present was nothing compared 
to that after she'd finished unwrapping it.

"Why Samuel!  It's gorgeous, it's . . . me!"

"You gorgeous egotist you!" I teased.

"_I didn't mean it like that!_  I'm . . . I'm so touched.  No one has ever 
given me anything this wonderful in all my life.  But," her head bent at 
a questioning angle, "I thought, you know, you said, you weren't able to 
work anymore."

"The night you called, Mir, just the thought of getting to see you again.  
I don't ever remember feeling so positively inspired."  I reached out 
and stroked a finger down her cheek, wiping away the tracings of a 
tear.  "My inspiration."

Her lips were quivering, but the ends were well upturned.

She sniffled, then in a chirpy tone declared, "Wait, I have something for 
you."  Miriam rolled a little in getting up, stopping to stretch.  The 
display unnerved me, or rather my response, for which I was ashamed.  
My cock stirred at the sight of her rising.  I'd always found Miriam to 
be extremely lovely, even when we were little kids.  In later years, 
after the hormones had kicked in, I'd managed successfully to shunt 
aside all but the basic attraction.  I was extremely glad that she had to 
leave the room to get whatever it was she was getting.  I had to shy 
away from watching the sway of her robe as she went through the 
doorway.

She returned with a wrapped box, sat back down among the pillows, 
then thrust it into my lap.   

"I didn't know if I'd be able to work up the nerve to give you this."

My expression, I knew, was a rather perplexed one.

"You'll see what I mean when you open it."

So open it I did.  The box beneath the wrapping was the size of a 
Sunday newspaper folded in half.  Inside were endless sheets of tissue.  
Eventually I uncovered a small scrap of sheer material, lifting it out by 
a pair of thin straps.  It was lavender in color, matching my shirt, with 
strategic trimmings of slight black lace.  Underneath was a tiny pair of 
triangles of the same, joined like an hourglass.   

"Well," I hesitated, "it's certainly my favorite color."

"I know!"

"Ummm, I suppose I've maybe mentioned that I have the usual minor 
lingerie fetish, but as far as I know it hasn't developed into a passion 
for cross-dressing."

"Silly!  It's for your pleasure, not for you to wear.  It's for you to take 
off, not for you to put on."

"Well, I suppose I'll be able to put them to good use, someday."

"Why do you say that?" she asked.

"Oh yea, I forgot to mention:  I'm a carefree bachelor again."  I quickly 
related the last conversation I'd had with my girlfriend.  Miriam's smile 
grew broader and broader.  It did make for a funny story, and I was 
certainly well-rid of that monster, but taking pleasure in the collapse of 
my love-life didn't seem entirely appropriate.

"Then all for the better," she murmured to herself.

"What?"

"I thought you'd like to see how it looks fresh from the box first."

"Am I missing something here?"

"Not anymore, I hope."  With that she untied the sash and her robe fell 
open.  Even before she shrugged it off her shoulders I could see that 
she was wearing an outfit identical to the one in the box.  Identical 
except for the one critical difference:  on her the fabric was filled.

Apart from the slight stir of the fire, there was nothing but silence in 
the room.

"Sammy," she said in a tiny soft voice, keeping her gaze down, "that 
boy I was talking about?  The one who ruined me for all others?  The 
one who never really knew I was alive?  You know who he is, don't 
you?"

Miriam looked up, her eyes locking on mine.  "He's an old friend from 
back east."

"Oh no!" I muttered.

"Oh?" she shrank, "no?"

"Oh no, I mean, I didn't mean that sort of _oh no_.  I mean, ohhh, I 
don't know what I mean."

"I didn't think that's what you meant," her confidence resurged.  She 
gave a lilt to her head, that sweet smile of hers reemerging.  "At least, 
it doesn't look that way to me!"

And I doubt it did, to judge by the physical evidence.

Miriam crawled lazily towards me with a saucy smile on her face.  She 
let a hand come to a languid rest on the tent of my crotch.  "Unlike 
some girls, I _like_ to suck."  She gave a theatrical lick to her lips.  
She leaned forward for those lips to plant a quick kiss on mine.  "In 
fact," her other hand moving up to the waistband, "I like it a lot!"  
Before I could blush I was bared.  "O-oh," she huffed, "even in my best 
dreams I never expected anything _this_ lovely."

Her fingertips traced tiny swirls up the insides of my thighs.  "So 
soft," she crooned.  It was as if she was pressing controls I never 
knew I had.  My legs spread automatically.  Miriam wrapped her hands 
around me with the lightest of touch, one leaving to swipe her hair out 
of the way as she lowered her head.  She pursed her lips and started 
suckling at the glans, the mouth of a hungry baby at a nipple.

I groaned like a dying dinosaur.

Miriam stopped long enough to let her hands attend to a small black 
ribbon below her breasts.  Untying the tiny bow caused the top to float 
away like gossamer in the mildest breeze.  She showed herself to me 
proudly.

"Miriam," I managed to gasp, "you are absolutely beautiful."

The compliment caused her to sink down and show her appreciation with 
a vigor I'd never experienced.  Her breasts were small, perfect palmfuls.  
I reached my arms between hers and cupped them.  The nipples didn't 
need the attention, already well erect, but that didn't dissuade me.

I had a marvelous woman between my legs sucking my cock while I 
fondled her breasts.  I kept thinking, _but she's your sister!_  But the 
only response I could muster to that was that she was sending me into 
unknown heights of pleasure.  There was nothing I wanted more than to 
reply in kind.

I grabbed at her, trying to swing her hips my way, but Miriam 
squirmed away.  "Uh uh, baby," she cautioned me, "this one's all for 
you."

Instead of my cock being a machine, and her job to make it work, she 
was a musician, my member her instrument, and what she was doing was 
perfecting her art.  She wasn't playing a pop song, she was performing 
a symphony.  I'd experienced some exquisite examples of a pair of verse 
and chorus leading to the bridge for the final verse and chorus.  
Miriam, however, was showing me whole movements.  Her tongue on my 
cock was in constant variations on the melody, her lips gripping the 
counterpoint.  Half a dozen times I thought we'd reached the climax, 
only to have her back away with a wicked smile.

Eventually she leaned up, rubbing my slick wand across her breasts.  A 
hand of dancing fingers probed and stroked from my asshole up to my 
scrotum, while the other kept a firm grip on my shaft.  "Ready Sammy?  
Ready to fill my mouth with buckets of come?"

She dove back down and I died screaming.

Buckets?  I was a supertanker come to dock in a deep-water port, off-
loading my cargo of sweet precious crude.  

Miriam sucked me dry, then licked me clean, only then crawling up into 
my arms.  It was ages before I could move, much less speak.  All the 
while she kept her gaze on me, just looking with eyes big and bright.  
Eventually she started slowly rotating her hips against my thigh.  I let 
my hands slip down to her ass, squeezing the flesh under the thin skin 
of fabric.

"Why," I wondered aloud, "are you still wearing these panties?"

"Don't ask me," she gave a slight thrust, "ask my lover."

My mouth melted against her body, starting with her lips, then moving 
slowly ever downward, nibbling around her ear then down her neck, 
licking across her collarbone, stopping to feast at her breasts.  I was 
so eager to proceed, but I managed to restrain myself so that by the 
time I'd rolled us over and arrived between her thighs I felt truly and 
justly rewarded.

The crotch of her panties had dampened to a much darker purple.  
Suddenly I had a new favorite color!  My fingers rubbed her all over 
within the confines of the panties, like a child meticulously coloring 
inside the lines.  Then I grabbed around both legs with one arm while 
my other hand reached for a pillow and nudged it under her ass.  

The air was so full of the scent of her arousal I wouldn't have been 
able to stop myself even if I'd wanted to.  I slipped my thumbs under 
the bands at her hips, then jerked my arms, snapping the skeins of 
fabric.  The frontal triangle lowered, and the full flush of her sex was 
revealed.  Her inner lips were puffy and exposed, glistening with her 
juices.

"Oh Miriam!" I declared.

"_Say it!_" she panted.

"Your cunt drives me crazy," I growled, proving my words by gripping 
her hips and lowering my face between her legs.  I wanted to wind her 
as wild as she had me, but within minutes of my attentions her thighs 
crushed my head and she plunged into ecstasy.  I loved every taste I 
had of her, but Miriam was too wound to be drawn out.  I was able to 
stay right where I was, drinking from the source, slipping my tongue in 
her hole to draw out more.  There was always more.  I didn't have to 
come close to her clit for her to groan over the edge again.  But when 
I did move up, grasping it lightly between my lips, stroking it with the 
tip of my tongue, giving it a gentle sucking tug, Miriam exploded with a 
force I'd never seen in another woman.  

>From my vantage I watched the rippling landscape of her flesh, her 
abdomen heaving and churning, the way her breasts swayed in response 
to her twisting motions, her head whipping from side to side while her 
hands clawed at the pillows.  To help create such pleasure in someone 
else was the greatest pleasure I could ever experience.  My reward was 
an overflow of more nectar than I could possibly consume.  Not that I 
wasn't willing to take all the time it took to try.

I whimpered my disappointment when Miriam reached down to draw me 
up.  But I quickly got over it.  Her tongue licked along my lips, 
spiraling out to larger circles around my mouth.  She gazed up at me 
with wonder.  Then she used her tongue for words.  "Samuel, I've 
never formulated my desires as a request.  I've never begged a man to 
share my bed.  I've never come out and asked someone to sleep with 
me."  She watched me intently.  "Will you?" 

"Will I what?  _Say it!_" I panted.

"Will you crawl between the covers with me so we can make love?  Will 
you screw my brains out . . . all night long?  Will you hold me so tight?  
Will you be there beside me in the morning when I wake up?"  She 
reached down and started stroking me.  I was surprised to feel her find 
something worth the pressure, at least so soon.  "Please?  I need you 
pumping deep inside my pussy.  Please?  I need to fall asleep to dreams 
of you, with you by my side.  Please?  Please oh please will you give 
me tonight?"

As if I had any intention of retiring to the guest room!

"You know, you're asking a lot of me Miriam," I joked, but then I made 
sure she saw me turn dead serious.  "But for you, anything.  For you 
and me, _anything_ at all."

Miriam squirmed out from under me, cocking a brow as she got to her 
feet.  She reached down for my hands to get me going.  Once we were 
both standing she wrapped her arms around me and began a deep, deep 
kiss.  She pulled away to shower me with a look of longing before 
giving her head a quick little jerk towards heaven.  "Then let's go.  
_Now!_" she grinned.

"Lead the way," I cooed.

"Follow me," she purred back.

Walking up the stairs behind her I could scarcely resist the impulse to 
just tackle her right there.  I contented myself reaching up between 
her legs, running the blade of my hand up into her wetness, the soft 
swishing of her thighs on either side with each step.  Miriam tossed a 
glance of delight over her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," I explained, "I just can't help myself."

She stopped the ascent long enough to give her ass a playful waggle.  
"Don't be sorry.  Mmmm, another minute and you'll be able to help 
yourself all you want!"

As we entered her bedroom she slapped the wall and the lights glared, 
softening as she adjusted the dimmer.  Miriam turned and placed a hand 
on my chest, the other over my eyes.  "Wait here," she commanded, 
"and keep your eyes closed until I say open."

I could hear her moving about the room, the small screech of something 
wooden being drawn open, the rustling sounds as she fumbled in a 
cabinet or drawer.  Then she was padding all around the room, the dull 
clanks of metal or glass objects being set down.  There was a fast 
rasping sound, and then the stench of burnt sulfur.  She walked 
around some more and then I could feel the heat of her very close to 
me.  A faint click, and through my eyelids I could see that the overhead 
bulbs had been extinguished, though some soft lighting remained.

"Don't you dare move," she intoned, "but you can open now.  Open now, 
but stay where you are."

The room was flickering in the low yellow light of a dozen candles set 
all through out.  Miriam stood by the bed watching my reaction.  Then 
she put herself on display as she slowly bent and twisted, turning down 
the sheets.  She was clearly enjoying putting on the show, and a glance 
back showed that I was clearly enjoying it as well.  My cock jutted out 
turgid and throbbing.  I peeled off my shirt and tossed it playfully at 
her head.  She batted it away.

She slid onto the bed, adjusting her head on a pillow, drawing her 
knees up and opening her legs.  Her hands moved to caress her 
breasts, though one soon slid down, down, endlessly down, across her 
downy thatch and beyond.  A pair of fingers dipped momentarily into 
her snatch, gaining the glistening moisture.  As she started playing 
with herself, her legs spread even wider.

At last she spoke again.  "Sammy?  Skip the preliminaries.  Just come 
here and fuck me.  Now!  Please?"

That was word enough for me.  I swayed towards the bed completely 
under her spell, clambering upon it then proceeding at a crawl into the 
hug of her outstretched legs, the deity between my thighs finally going 
home to the shrine between hers.

With just the slightest guidance of her hand I pushed between her 
petals and sank inside her, in an excruciatingly slow penetration that 
took the breath right out of both of us.

"Oh my god," Miriam whispered.

"Tell me about it," I answered.

Once we were fully joined, we didn't move a muscle, simply savoring the 
sensation, staring at each other in amazement.

"Whoa, this is going to be good," she declared.

"Mmm, good, better, best!"

"Kiss me," she begged.

"Kiss me back," I replied, obliging.

Our lips met, tender and gentle at first, but the urgency of our 
passions soon drove us to a level of near desperation.  As my tongue 
slipped in and out of her mouth, I began to mimic it with slow thrusts 
of my hips.  Miriam caught on to what I was doing, rocking her pelvis 
and constricting her cunt in imitation of her swirling tongue and 
sucking lips.

She broke away to slither her tongue around my ear, stopping that to 
give a series of little gasps.  

"_Oh-h-h_, I feel so-o-o-o full.  You make me feel so full.  Oh, oh, 
_ohhhh!_  Feel so complete.  _Uu-unngh_, oh-h-h!  Mmmm, my cunt 
craves your cock.  Now that she's found you, she never wants to let 
you go."  She contracted her vaginal muscles and held me in place.

"Miriam," I murmured, "I'm not going anywhere soon.  Unless you keep 
squeezing me like that."

"Like that?" she giggled.  "Does that feel good?  Do you like that?"

I took the risk and increased my pace, throwing her off guard, then 
slammed into her as deeply as I could go, holding it there while 
nudging her with my pubic bone.  She had a sharp intake of breath, 
involuntary, and her eyelids fluttered.

"O-o-o-ohhhhh," she groaned, "do that again!"

I did, but quickly jerked out, only to slam back in again, this time 
riding up hard against her clit.  Miriam crashed without a word of 
warning.  Torrid currents tore through her body.  She held on to my 
shoulders, sputtering and gasping, her nails digging into my flesh.  
What were a few drops of blood in exchange for witnessing this?

"_No fair!_" she gasped in complaint, "sneak attack!  I wasn't expecting 
that.  I wasn't ready for that.  You're not supposed to know me _that_ 
well, not yet."

Miriam's fingers drifted down my side.  I thought she was going down 
to latch on to my ass, but instead her hands stopped right below my 
ribs.  She slung her legs around my waist, locking me in a hold.  I 
guessed a second too late what she was doing.  Her fingers turned into 
feathers, tickling instruments of torture.  

She knew me too well!

"No, no! _stop it_, oh, no no, Miriam, _please!_ stop it, no! stop, stop, 
please! _god no_, please, Miriam . . . "

She didn't stop until she'd rolled me helplessly onto my back and 
remounted, her hands pinioning my arms to the side of my head.  It was 
hardly a bad position to be in.  Every upstroke brought her breasts 
right up in front of my face, but she soon saw the advantage in this 
for her, heightening the torture, brushing her breasts across my cheeks 
and lips but never letting them linger.

I knew from experience that this was a precarious position.  The pacing 
had to exactly perfect, otherwise I would explode before I knew it.  If I 
could just reach a certain point, get beyond this inexplicable point, then 
I could go on like this for a good long time.  But with no control, and 
excited as I was, I knew there would be no finding that point.  I 
groaned with the sad realization.

"Don't worry," she soothed, "I'm not going to make you burst quite 
yet."  Miriam sat back down on me fully, her hands leaving my arms to 
do a spider dance across my chest, her fingers rubbing and pinching 
my nipples.  My hands went up to hers, mirroring her motions.  She 
smiled, "Took you to the very edge, didn't I?  Was it nice?  Hope you 
don't mind visiting there again.  And again!"

With that Miriam raised up and, without dislodging me, did a slow turn 
completely around, swinging her legs over me, until she came again to 
rest with my cock sunk all the way inside her.  Briefly back at the 
edge I signed the guestbook again, then recovered.

How many wonderful angles of her could I possibly hope to see?  The 
full firm ripeness of her ass was right before me.  The sensuous slink 
of her back leading up to the trailings of hair spilling from her head.  
And there, in my most direct line of vision, the puffy lips of her pussy 
were wet and split, sucking my cock in and out.  The small golden star 
of her anus was exposed, twinkling at me.  I couldn't resist.  I dipped a 
finger into the drippings from her cunt, then started toying with her 
secret opening.

Miriam moaned and moved back against the slight pressure, warning me, 
"If you stick that finger in my ass, I'm going to come all over your 
cock."

I did, and she did, collapsing so that my cock was bent down at a 
nearly painful angle.  I used her withering limpness to slip out of her 
and out from under her, until I was on my knees directly behind her.  
Once she realized where I was she plumped her butt up in the air.  "Do 
me like this," she groaned.

While her asshole was tempting, I wanted more of the same.  I couldn't 
get enough of her cunt.  I slid in deeper than ever, to her guttural 
appreciation.  I grabbed her hips and pounded away, slowing to wrap 
an arm around her waist, freeing a hand to play with her tits.  There 
hardly seemed to be any friction at all, not because she wasn't nice and 
tight, but because she was so sloppy wet.  All that moisture because of 
me made my heart melt.  I wanted her to come again, and she did, my 
balls slapping against her ass like a metronome of sex.

Eventually she pulled away, rolling to a complete collapse on her back.  
Her legs were spread wide because her muscles were too tired to defy 
gravity.

"That was wonderful," she panted, "but I want to end things like this.  
I want to wrap myself all around you.  I want to watch you when you 
come.  Bet you didn't know I had such a horny pussy."  Her eyebrows 
flickered up and down.  "Bet I didn't know it either.  Oh boy, but boy 
do you make me come, boy."

We joined once again, two halves making a whole.  "Fill me up, Sammy," 
she commanded, "give me what I want.  Give it to me, give it to me, 
give it to me," she chanted.  It was a cry I couldn't deny.  Miriam was 
humping against me ferociously, her cunt tugging at my cock.  She was 
soaring into the frenzy again, and when she reached around and jiggled 
my balls I went with her willingly, lovingly, my swollen aching just 
exploding as our eyes turned to stars.  Red giants billowing into 
supernovas.

I remembered vaguely separating only to curl up side by side, turning 
into spiders, our mouths spinning soft webs as we slung our 
innumerable limbs around each other, wrapping ourselves into a sweeter 
sleep then I'd ever imagined.

When at last I awoke, it was to a state of thorough confusion.  My bed 
was different.  It'd somehow grown overnight.  My pillows had mated 
and produced a pair of offspring, already in the full plump of 
adulthood.  How had the window opposite the foot of the bed turned 
into a mirror?

What was that smell in the sheets?  Well, I knew what the smell was, but 
how did it get there?  My sheets never smelled that sweet.  Come to 
think of it, my sheets were never brightly patterned, so soft, so thickly 
woven.

Then the answer came to me.  They weren't my sheets.  This wasn't my 
bed, my room . . . I slipped down the rock slide of memory into full 
cognition.  The only incongruity was that in these sheets and bed and 
room not my own I was alone.      

I couldn't find my shirt anywhere in the tangle of bedding.  My shorts, 
I remembered, had been shed and left downstairs, like the skin of an 
old life.  I put on a short silk robe I found draped over the back of a 
chair, different from the one that had also been left in the livingroom.

I went downstairs and found Miriam waltzing around the kitchen, 
immersed in the early stages of the preparation of an elaborate 
breakfast.  I watched her lovingly from the doorway as she went 
through the various cabinets, reaching high for ingredients, bending 
low then squatting down to search out the exact cookware she wanted.  
She was wearing a familiar lavender t-shirt that, at rest, hung to upper 
thigh.  It looked better on her than it did on me.  Underneath was 
nothing but sweet mother nature.

Miriam turned and spied me, instantly giving me a sour look that made 
my blood freeze.

"Oh Samuel!" she pouted, "I wanted to surprise you with breakfast-in-
bed."

"I'm sorry.  I woke up, and I, uh, I _missed_ you.  I wanted to find 
you."

"So you had a nice sleep?  Well," her frown swept up into a smile as 
she canted a hip, "what are you going to do now that you've found 
me?"

"Oh," I said, moving into the room and taking a seat, "just sit here and 
continue enjoying watching you make breakfast."

"You can help if you'd like.  Hmmm?  Show me exactly how you like it," 
she teased.

"Okay.  I think you forgot something crucial in that upper cabinet.  
And then, really, you better bend back down because I think you got 
the wrong pan there."

Miriam looked ravishing in her contrasts as she gazed upon me, 
managing an incredibly saucy look while her face was in full blush.  
She ran through a quick study of bending motions, flung her hair back 
then turned and advanced, sauntering slowly towards me, hips swaying, 
her eyes locked on mine.  When her knees touched mine she stopped 
just long enough to widen the gap between her legs before continuing 
the final few small steps.  Though she reached down to loosen the front 
of my robe, there was hardly any reason for her to have done so.  By 
the time she reached me the bulb of my cock had swollen into full 
flower and pushed into clear sight, straining to gain the sun.

Her hands went to my shoulders as she lowered herself down.  I slipped 
my hands under her shirt to her hips to help steady her descent.  I 
was amazed that she was every bit as aroused as I was.  Not only was 
she dripping wet but the head of my cock felt how her inner lips were 
distended in the full flush of anticipation and invitation.  We didn't 
need our hands to help guide us together.  With just the slightest 
nestling motion I slipped inside her.  Miriam settled all the way down 
onto my lap groaning, "Oh Sammy, Sammy, _Sam!_"

I could see small ripples shudder up her abdomen as her eyes rolled 
uncontrolled.  Her mouth twisted into a grimace then returned to a wide 
smile.  Her hands brushed the robe from my shoulders, then dropped to 
lift the shirt up over her head.  My hands traveled up her sides to cup 
her breasts.  I was visibly surprised when her hands floated down to 
remove them.

"Samuel, my tits are yours to play with, but right now I want your 
hands right here."  Her hands moved mine down to her hips, then 
behind, planting them firmly on the cheeks of her ass.  "Squeeze me!" 
she moaned.  I did just that, grinding her against me while her own 
hands cupped and crushed her lovely little breasts.

With eyes all a-sparkle our tongues danced across the distance, enticing 
our lips together.  The kiss we came to share was searing, scorching, 
our tongues like flames licking up from twin pits of fire.  The heat 
poured from her core.  Miriam's mouth felt like a vent from the very 
bowels of the earth.

I let my side of the kiss grow loose and sloppy, slipping from her lips 
across her cheeks, down to growly little nibbles along her neck, across 
her shoulders.  Ducking my head still further I licked down the swell of 
a breast, across the webbing of her fingers.  Her hand slipped to 
support herself, holding her breast up even more in a direct offering.  
I seized the nipple in my mouth, holding it, giving it gentle but firm 
nips with my lips while my obedient hands kneaded and _squeezed_, 
rocking her crotch hard against mine.  I could feel the button of her 
clit rubbing against my pubic bone.  Her breath began coming in gaps.  
I suckled all the harder, grasping her rougher and pressing her even 
more firmly against me.  Miriam began coming in gasps.  Panting, 
whining, screaming, she succumbed to the tremors and collapsed against 
me, her moisture flooding my lap, the rich aroma of a massively satisfied 
cunt spilling out of her and filling the room.

Once she'd recovered Miriam leaned back, obviously marveling at the 
fullness still inside her.  "God Samuel, how can you resist?" she 
shivered.

I heaved a great sigh, then trilled, "_It isn't easy!_"

"Tell me about it," came her throaty rejoinder.  "It's _very_ hard, so-o-
o fucking _hard_."

She put her hands on my waist, pinning me to the chair as she began 
slowly sliding her slippery snatch up and down my cock.  I was 
throbbing, but at this pace I could last a little while longer.

"I have another present for you," she purred, looking me straight in 
the eye.  

I couldn't begin to imagine any greater gift than what she'd already 
given me, what she was giving me yet again.  Talk about the gift that 
keeps on giving!

"The reason you got to catch me making breakfast was that after I woke 
up I had to do something else first.  Make a couple quick phone calls.  
You're flying home in one of those skinny planes.  You're in the window 
seat, 18A, right?  Bet you didn't know the aisle seat next to you was 
going to be empty.  But not any more!  Mmm, a night flight, never know 
what might happen under that little blanket."

My astonishment was getting in the way of my comprehension.  My face 
has always been an easy read.

"I'm coming home with you Sammy.  I have a small one-way rental truck 
lined up.  I was told I'd get four days to make the drive back out here, 
but I told them to bill me for a full week.  Why do things in a hurried 
rush?--it's always so much more pleasant when you take it nice and 
slow.  There's a dot-to-dot of hotel reservations leading from your life 
to my life, from your old life to your new life, from your life to _our_ 
life.  So what do you say Sam?  _Hmm?_"

I was scarcely capable of saying anything.  Grunts and gasps, sure, but 
vocal noises that might render actual words?!!  The enormity of what 
she was suggesting aside, there was the consideration of the enormity 
of me inside her.

Miriam rose up a few inches, removing her bottom from my lap but 
keeping a good portion of my cock well gripped inside her cunt.  Nearly 
indiscernible motions up and down while her vaginal muscles milked me, 
stroking and coaxing.

"Anything I can do to help you decide?" she teased.  "Tell me what I 
can do to persuade you."

"Absolutely nothing you aren't already doing," I managed to stammer.

"You like this?" she smiled.  "Like this as much as I do?  Just think.  
No job.  I make scads of money, so you can just get back to your real 
work.  The sun room on the second floor would make a wonderful 
studio.  Just think.  No sleet, no snow, no cold.  Just think.  Living in 
a real city.  Just think.  A roomy house, not a cramped apartment.  
Hardwood floors.  Just think.  A girlfriend who _loves_ to suck.  And 
fuck.  Ready to do anything you could possibly want, whenever you 
want it.  Hmm?"

There was a quaver in her voice, and her eyes were glistening.  I 
wasn't sure if this was an emotional response, or if the physical process 
was building again.  Then Miriam sank back down all the way, and I 
could feel the quivering radiating from her cunt all throughout her 
body.  Moisture was weeping from all portions of her.  It was of course 
an effect of combinations.  She was entering the throes of a sum far 
greater than the parts. 

Miriam leaned forward, resting her forehead on mine, nuzzling my nose 
with hers.  "My sweet, sweet Sammy.  I _know_ you and I _adore_ you.  
Pretty boy with brains, and a big prick too!  Just what I want in my 
life.  We seem to be an exact match, a perfect fit, don't you think?  No 
one would ever know you were my brother.  They'd think you were just 
my lover.  And brother what a lover you are!  So, what do you think?  
Hmm?  What do you say?  Hmm?  What do you want?  Hmm?"

I was at the point where any sane soul would have agreed that the 
earth was flat, not round, and that everything revolved around our 
planet.  But I spoke from the truth as I could see it.  The only 
curvature was directly in front of me, and there was no doubt in my 
mind that the center of the universe was two bodies sharing a chair.  
Sharing a chair and everything else.  Our personal world would be all 
that mattered.

"You, Miriam, you.  You, yes you, yes, yes, _yesssss!_"

That was all the answer she needed, sealing my mouth with hers, our 
arms wrapping our bodies tightly together as our sexes exploded in 
unison, making us both believers in the theory of the Big Bang as a 
daily occurrence.  Our screams shattered the glassware in the cabinets.

Yes indeed, yes, yes, yesssssssssss!

We sat there subsiding, a contrast in genders.  Miriam was all sparkly-
eyed while I was in a stunned, droopy-lidded state.  She leaned back 
and shot me a wicked look, then gave me a big bump with her pelvis.  
"So, how soon do you think you'll be ready for that breakfast-in-bed I 
had planned for you?"

"Well," I drawled, "depends on what's on the menu."  

"I was thinking of a big juicy link of sausage and a hot split buttered 
biscuit.  How does that sound to you?"

"Why don't you start rattling your pots and pans again and we'll see."

There was an incredible stirring in my loins.  I was amazed that my 
appetite was so quickly rekindled.  Feeling the fullness refilling her, 
Miriam seemed just as surprised, and equally enthused.  She swiveled 
her hips, whispering, "_Clang-bang, bang-clang!_"

=========================
Like? Yes? No? Comments welcome. losgud@hotmail.com
=========================
I am archived at DejaNews under "Author" name:  
LUSHGOD@HOTNOMAIL.COM
 
  



-- 
+--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+
| story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |
| Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/><http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>


