From: argent@iastate.edu (The Great Grendel-Khan)
Newsgroups: rec.arts.erotica,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Subject: Conversation
Date: 14 Nov 1995 05:49:11 GMT
Organization: rec.arts.erotica immoderation
Message-ID: <489akn$gs@netaxs.com>

Archive-name: conversation



If you'd like to read this story, or others like it by me, on the Web,

point your browser at:  http://www.public.iastate.edu/~argent/



Please send all comments to argent@iastate.edu  I will try to answer all

personally.



               Conversation





		jane says

		she's never been in love

		no,

		she don't know what it is

		only knows if someone wants her

		i want them if they want me

		i only know they want me

			--Jane's Addiction "Jane Says"





	She never said no.

	Martin stared at the dead woman in his bed.  She looked

so peaceful, with her blue and green eyes closed, her mouth

relaxed--Martin couldn't help but think what that mouth was

capable of--in a comfortable looking position, almost as if she

slept, but she hadn't breathed in twenty minutes and there was

blood everywhere.  She never said no.

	She had laughed when he'd asked how much--and he

wasn't sure why he'd asked, as he hadn't really thought she

was a prostitute--and she scoffed at the idea of a condom.  She

never said no.

	Martin tested her, pushing for limits that did not exist,

doing everything he'd ever wanted to try with a woman, but

had lacked the courage.  She never said no.  What an epitaph.

	She never said no.





	I'm sure you're a nice guy, I really am.  I'm sorry for

everything, but I had to know.  Don't blame yourself.





	Martin signaled for the waiter as the beautiful stranger

joined him at his table.

	"Excuse me.  Have we--"

	"Do you love me?" she asked in a low husky voice--the

voice of a blues singer or a talented phone sex operator.

	"What?" he asked bewildered. "I don't even--"

	"Know me?  I didn't ask if you knew me.  I asked if you

loved me.  Do you love me?  Do you want to?"

	With a professional manner the waiter arrived.  Confused,

Martin ordered for the woman also, unsure as what else to do.

	"Very well, sir.  And I'll bring a bowl for your bones."

	Bones?  Martin didn't remember having ordered anything

with bones, but decided to ignore it.  The restaurant was an

average restaurant, with average food, drinks, and clientele.

Tonight it was filled about halfway with somewhat loud people.

Most blended into the woodwork, like Martin.

	Try as he might, Martin couldn't remember the place's

name.

	"I asked you a question," the woman said.

	"Yes, yes you did.  Is this a joke?" Martin was again

struck with how beautiful she was.  Such a pale creature, and

definitely overdressed.  She had on a semitransparent, powder

blue, slip/dress-thing that hung loosely on her skinny frame.

Martin tried to ignore the darker color of her nipples--he

couldn't--she wore no bra.  Her hair was bleached to a strange

white color and her eyes looked bruised, both being

symmetrically decorated blue and green.  Martin once read an

article by some feminist writer, that claimed that women only

wore make-up because men wanted them to look freshly

beaten.  Martin never gave this argument much credit before--

assuming that women wore make-up to make themselves look

better--but this woman...even her mouth had a raw look to it,

like she'd just been back-handed, this being the only cause of

her lip color, and not expertly applied lipstick, and either her

complexion was immaculate, or she did as good a job at hiding

her facial flaws.  And her body, delicious from head to toe.

Black and white photos of some sixties model kept dancing in

his mind.  What the hell was her name?  Twiggy or something

like that.  Would they name a model Twiggy?  Whatever.  She

looked like Twiggy grown into a woman...the waif grown-up.

	"No joke.  I think you're special.  I can tell," she said.

	"You don't even--"

	"Know you?  Are you going to say that again and again?  I

know you.  I know you better than you think.  What's your

name?"

	"Martin."

	"There.  I know your name.  Your name's Martin.  What

more do I need to know?  I like you, Martin.  I like Martin."

	Despite himself, Martin actually smiled.  Somehow, he

knew, this was still nothing more than an elaborate joke--

perhaps there was a camera somewhere and he was going to

end up on a ridiculous TV show, but things like that only

happened on TV, or perhaps she had a boyfriend somewhere

and was trying to make him jealous, or even a pimp.  Trying to

be casual, Martin started searching the restaurant.  He saw

nothing out of the ordinary.

	The woman sneezed.

	Her thin dress fell further from her right shoulder, and

Martin had a clear view of her right breast.  He thought he

should avert his eyes, but was unable to.  He knew that he

would masturbate tonight with images of this woman dancing

in his mind, he wanted as many of the details as possible

committed to memory.

	"You're staring at my breast aren't you?" the woman

asked but she did nothing to obscure his view.

	Martin was saved from replying by the waiter placing a

large platter of fried chicken in front of him.  It wasn't what he

ordered, but it smelled good and he didn't want to have to send

it back.  Martin hated sending anything back.

	"I forgot your bone bowl, I'll be right back," this was the

waiter's exit line.

	"I love chicken," the woman said, "I'm glad you ordered

chicken."

	"I didn't order it."

	"Yes you did.  Eight pieces.  I heard you.  And look,

there's eight pieces here.  One, two, three, four, five..."

	"All right, whatever.  Do you like white meat or dark?"

	"...six, seven, and eight.  Yep, eight, just like you ordered."





	Bet you're expecting to read about how no one loved me

and I was abused as a child and all that crap, right?  Well

you're wrong, I have no excuse, which, I suppose, only makes it

worse.





	"Do you live around here?" Martin and the woman said

simultaneously.

	"Yes," Martin and the woman said simultaneously.

	Both laughed.

	"Where," this time it was only Martin.

	"St. Michael's Hospital."

	"Why?"

	In answer the woman made a circular gesture around her

ear.  A gesture Martin hadn't seen since high school.  Crazy?

Yeah, this was crazy all right.  Here he was, eating chicken he

hadn't ordered, with a woman he found more beautiful than

any other that had ever talked to him, in a restaurant he

couldn't remember the name of.

	"How's your chicken?" she asked.

	"Great."

	The waiter had failed to return with anything to contain

the bones, so they were amassing at the center or the table,

both were contributing.  The woman only ate the small pieces,

wings, and legs, but she nibbled them hungrily, drawing away

even the smallest morsel of chicken flesh.  Martin was

fascinated.

	"It's the weekend."

	"What's that?" asked Martin, "I knew it was the weekend.

Why are you telling me the obvious?"

	"That's why I'm out, it's the weekend.  I get out on

weekends.  They let us have passes if we're good.  I've been

very good, except for today.  Today I'm supposed to be at my

mother's house, but I didn't want to go there again.  I hate it

there.  You don't mind, do you?  I came to see you, except I

didn't know it was you I came to see.  You just happened to be

here, but you're special, I can tell.  I like Martin."

	"Goodness, you sure can talk when you want to, huh?  I

sure wish the waiter would bring us that bowl.  This pile of

bones is growing unacceptable."

	The woman laughed at this and her other strap escaped

her shoulder.  Only the slight swell of her breasts kept the

garment on.  As much as Martin wanted it to fall, he reached

across the table and helped the woman out.

	"Thank you.  You're so nice.  See, I told you that you were

special.  I like Martin.  Do you think I'm attractive, Martin?

Am I beautiful to you?"

	"Yes."

	"Have you ever been with a woman like me before?"





	You see, there was no other way.





	He held out the last piece of chicken in offering to the

woman.  Her mouth was slick with animal grease, but she

didn't seem to care.

	"Do you smoke?" she asked.  Martin shook his head.

"Good, I hate smokers.  I don't think I could do it if you were a

smoker."

	"What?"

	"Sleep with you tonight.  I can sleep with you, can't I?

Oh, please say yes.  Please."

	She took a bite of food and smiled at him while she

chewed.  She was obviously enjoying herself.  Great big joke,

have fun with Martin, ha ha!  He wanted nothing to do with it.

	"Why don't you leave?" he asked.

	"I have no where to go?  I don't know.  Do you want me

to?"

	Martin did not answer, looking away instead.  He'd never

noticed the amount of foreign students before.  He and the

woman were the only Caucasians.

	"You know, I've never told a man no before.  Not once.

I've even slept with lesbians.  I used to have a boyfriend that

got off on sharing me with his friends.  I would go from man to

man, giving them head while they watched football or a porno

movie.  Sometimes I'd even do things for them while their

girlfriends sat and stared stupidly.  Did I shock you, Martin?

	"My mother worries about me.  She thinks I'll catch AIDS

or something worse.  What could be worse than AIDS?  You see

though, I don't care.  Not like my life's so special anyway.  I

can't have babies, Martin.  I've had sex so many times, but I've

never got pregnant.  No abortions.  I wouldn't have an abortion.

They're immoral.  Say something."

	She ate some more chicken.

	"Do you believe me, Martin?  I'll have sex with you right

now if you don't.  We can go into the bathroom.  Or pick a guy,

point him out and I'll go sleep with him.  I hate the drugs,

Martin.  I hate the hospital.  My mother tells me I'm just

looking for love--that I'm waiting for that special someone.

Such crap.  I've probably already slept with the 'special'

someone.  He left in the morning, I'm sure.  Every man's the

same.  I've never told a man no, but you know what, none have

ever turned me down either.  Not once.  Do you think it's

because I'm beautiful, Martin?  Martin?"

	Martin wanted her to just leave, he wanted her to stay,

he was disgusted by everything she was saying, he wanted to

have sex with her, he was sure she was lying about everything.

Martin was still confused.

	She reached under the table and placed her hand in his

crotch.  She massaged his member through the cloth of his

pants.  Martin was hard, but had been for some time.  He

allowed her caresses, only stopping her when he was close to

orgasm.  He looked around, but no one was watching.

	"Your baklava.  Enjoy," said the waiter as he set the

pastries in front of them.

	"Thank you," said Martin to the retreating waiter, "It's

exactly what I wanted."

	"I'd hope so, since you ordered it," said his unexpected

date for the evening.





	I had to know.  Is it every man?

	I had to know.





	The woman, in his bed, could it be real?  Her long legs

comfortably laying over his own, his seed drying on the insides

of her thighs, and the musty smell of sex.  She told him, hadn't

she?  She said she'd sleep with anyone, that she'd never said

no.  Then why was it such a surprise?

	For a quick moment Martin worried that perhaps she'd

lied about being sterile,--she had said she was hadn't she?--

and for a moment he worried that he'd catch something evil,

something science didn't know how to cure with oral

medication or a series of painless shots, but he quickly decided

that he didn't care.  It wasn't a matter of being fatalistic, but

rather of being so content that he was willing to accept

anything life sent him, even death.

	"Did you enjoy my body?  Was I as good as I look?  Do

you want me again?  A lot of men tell me they love me after

they have me.  Do you love me?  I even had a woman propose

marriage to me.  She said she'd do anything I ever asked, that

she would take care of my every need, she only asked that I

call her my wife and that I make love to her often.  I told her

no, not because I was repulsed by the idea, but because I didn't

think I deserved someone to love.  Am I sick, Martin?  Do I

disgust you?  Do I ask too many questions, Martin?  Why won't

you answer?"

	"Because I don't know what to say.  I've never met

anyone like you."

	The woman rose from the bed and walked slowly to the

bathroom.  Martin could tell that she was putting on a small

show for him, because she moved her hips from side to side in

an exaggerated way, like she was trying to be sexy, even

though she had no need.

	She did not shut the door and the sound of a stream of

urine hitting toilet water could be heard from the bedroom.

Oddly, this incited Martin, but made him feel guilty also.  He

moved the sheet from his body and waited, spread-eagle, until

the woman came back.

	"You know, I don't even know your name," he said to her

as she reentered the room.

	"Do you need to?"

	"I suppose not."

	She crossed the room and got into bed with him.  Martin's

erection stood full and still glistened slightly from their earlier

sex-play.  Martin could never remember having gotten hard

again so quickly.  His lover for the evening took his penis into

her mouth and began to suck, her white hair falling about her

like a halo.  Martin wanted to see her face, to watch his penis

slide in and out of her mouth, but thought that maybe she'd

become offended if he swept the hair away from her face.

	He couldn't see what she was doing, but he could tell she

knew her trade.  Martin felt the pleasure climb, but he wasn't

ready to end it yet.  He wanted to remember what it was like

to be in this woman's mouth.  He wanted to memorize every

sensation in exact detail, so that he could bring it to mind

instantly.

	"Stop," he said.

	She did not listen, but continued her ministrations,

sucking his cock in slow movements.  Yes, she'd done this many

times before.  Her tongue did confusing things that Martin was

unsure of, but they felt good and he knew it wasn't long.

	"Stop.  You said you'd do anything I want, now stop."

	"Why?" she asked.

	It wasn't because Martin was afraid of defiling this

woman, or that he wanted to keep her from having to taste his

seed.  It was exactly the opposite.  Martin wanted to take this

woman in the most vile way he could.

	"Please, can you...can I...will you....  Please, just roll

over.  You said you'd never say no."

	The woman laughed and did as Martin asked.  She smiled

knowingly as he applied lotion to his already swollen and wet

cock.  Martin attacked her, forcing her down on the bed and

penetrated her.  The hairs of her anus grabbed at the flesh of

his penis like little teeth, nipping playfully.  Martin thrust

violently inside her, but was over-come with guilt at taking

this woman in this manner.

	He was afraid he'd be unable to achieve orgasm, but then

she began to masturbate herself, while Martin fucked her ass.

He reached around and grabbed a breast in each hand,

squeezing the whole breast, then sliding up and pinching just a

nipple.

	The noises that both made were adding to their pleasure,

until the woman reached orgasm moments before Martin.  She

did not collapse exhausted though, but rather reached back and

pulled her ass-cheeks apart so that Martin could invade her

more deeply.

	Martin came.

	"I'm sorry.  God, I'm sorry," Martin said, "Thank you."

	"For what?  I told you I'd do anything.  You'd be

surprised at how many men want that.  Most will even beg,

thing is though, no one ever begs with me.  You weren't the

first, Martin."

	"Shut up.  I said I was sorry."

	A look of pity came across the woman's eyes, which

enraged Martin.  How dare she feel sorry for him!  How dare

someone as screwed up as her, stand in judgment on him.

	"Go to sleep, okay?"

	"Okay, Martin, but you know, if you want me during the

night, I'm here.  You can take me however you like.  You have

my permission."

	Martin woke several times throughout the night,

wondering if she'd be there in the morning.  He half expected

her to be gone each time.  Once, he woke and was unsure as to

whether or not she was sleeping, her breathing was slow and

even.  He reached out and took the nipple of her right breast and

pinched cruelly.  She had little reaction, only wincing in pain

slightly.

	Martin rolled over and went back to sleep.  In the

morning the woman was dead.  She never said no.





	...goodbye.





Christopher '95



-- 

rec.arts.erotica, a moderated Usenet newsgroup for erotic fiction and verse

submissions: <erotica@sub-rosa.com> * admin: <erotica-request@sub-rosa.com>

