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,,,She makes love just like a woman, yes she does, and she aches just like a woman, but she breaks just like a little girl... Just Like A Woman  (Robert Zimmerman)

	Things were a little uneven after that.  Marjorie remembered that something had passed between us, but the amount of alcohol she had consumed had apparently blotted out most of it, and she wasn't quite sure what it was, and wasn't sure how to suss it out; and I wasn't sure how to act around her.  Rose was laying subtle pressures on me every other day, passing little hints that she figured would push me into approaching Marjorie, to start a physical relationship.
	There came a Wednesday evening in December, a couple of weeks before Christmas, that Rose apparently couldn't take it anymore.  As we sat in the early evening gloom of the clubhouse, playing Yahtzee and chowing on pretzels, she reached across the coffee table and, taking my chin in her delicate little hand to ensure my full attention, said "Jack, are you gonna ask my mom out?"  She was so direct and open, and so intent and insistent on her little "project", that I simply folded like a house of cards and said, "All right, love, you win.  I'll call her tomorrow to ask her out this weekend."
	"Can't let you wait until tomorrow, babe," she pouted, "don't want you to get cold feet.  Ask her NOW!"  And her expression shifted to such a perfect blend of petulence and pleading that all hope of resistance was destroyed.
	"Okay, okay, you win," I sighed.  "I'll ask her tonight."  Rose bounced to her feet, any thought for the game swept away by my agreement.
	"Let's go then, Jack, let's go ask her NOW!" she demanded pulling at my hand until I stood and followed her to the door.  As we shrugged into our coats and slipped on our shoes, Rose turned to me. "What are you going to say?  I mean, what are you going to ask her?"
	"God, I don't know," I muttered, "I've never really asked anyone on a date before.  I... I... um..."  Rose looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, "Just go with the classic, ask her if she wants to go to dinner and a movie!"
	As I opened the door for her, I gave her arm a little squeeze to punctuate my next comment, "Jeez, Rose, it isn't that easy!  I can't just blurt it out like that!  All of a sudden, I'm so nervous!  It takes a hell of a lot more courage than you know to ask a woman to go out with you.  It's a scary thing."
	"Well then pretend it's me.  You wouldn't have any trouble asking me, would you?"
	"That's different, sweetheart.  We know each other so well, and you're my best friend in the world."
	"Oh shut up and just do it, Jack!  I know you can!"  
	At the door of the apartment, I put a hand on Rose's shoulder to stop her before she could enter.  "Wait a minute, Rose, I am NOT going to take her out in that truck, and it would be unforgivably lame for me to ask to borrow her own car to take her out."
	"Oh come on, Jack, it was no big deal for you to use the car when mom was out of town, this isn't all that much different."  She put her arms around me and squeezed tight.  "And you're almost like family anyway, so it's all cool," and the impish smile that filled half her face told me that she knew I was going to give her whatever she wanted.
	Without waiting for further response from me, she flung open the door and breezed into the apartment, leaving me stuttering along in her wake.
	"Hey mom," she sang out, "I'm home!"  When she heard Rose, Marjorie came out of the bathroom, hair wrapped in a towel and a bathrobe that she hadn't bothered to completely close draped loosely around her curves.  When she saw me, she blushed briefly and quickly closed the robe, and I blushed harder and turned away a few seconds too late.  Seemingly oblivious to this exchange, Rose turned on her heel and fixed me with an expression of 'Do the right thing, I'm counting on you!'
	"Um, hi, um, Marj," I stumbled, "um, sorry to catch you offguard like this.  Um...", a lightning bolt from Rose's eyes letting me know that I had better not drop the ball; even if I had caught Marjorie completely naked and slathering herself with baby oil, Rose would have expected me to stick to plan, "if you're not busy Saturday night, would you, um... would you like to... ah, get something to eat with me?"  Another imperious flash from Rose's baby browns, "and, ah, maybe catch a movie?"
	Marjorie was as off-guard and unsure as I was.  I could see she had witnessed the little looks Rose was giving me, and I felt sure she knew exactly what was going on.  She took a few seconds to assess the situation, before slowly nodding and even more slowly smiling, "Sure, I'd like that.  I'd like that a lot, Brent."  And her smile kept growing until it was radiating it's own warmth across the empty space between us and lighting up my chest.  I thought briefly of cursing fate, or kismet, or whatever in the hell it is that evaluates and watches our lives, for forcing me to endure so much loneliness, then 'making up' for it by giving me too much happiness to handle.  "So then," my voice suddenly coming much freer and steadier, "I'll stop by about, what, say, 6?"  Marjorie nodded vigorously, "Yeah, 6 is fine," she gushed with her mouth, while her eyes added, 'and so are you!'  Wowzers.  I was so euphoric that I completely forgot to say anything about the car.  Rose assured me later that she would handle that little detail.  So confident, so competent, so capable.  How could I NOT be in love with her?
	As I was leaving, Rose followed me out into the hall.  She took my hand and kissed the palm, then pressed herself into my embrace.  "Thank you, Jack, I knew you could do it!"  I had no words, so I just hugged her all the tighter.
	Saturday afternoon found Rose assembling my attire for the date.  Not that she didn't trust me, she explained, but she felt like she should be running this little show.  I didn't mind, it was much more enjoyable for me anyway, to just sit back and let someone else make all the decisions.  Before I put my shirt on, Rose applied a generous amount of Old Spice to my face, neck and chest, rubbing it in, her tender little digits making circling motions around my nipples that made me melt.  A most curious sensation, to be dressed by my thirteen year old lover, her confident and capable fingers buttoning my shirt, fastening and zipping my pants with a gentle squeeze to what lay beneath the zipper, helping me into my jacket... she was my daughter, my mother, my sister, my friend, my lover, my wife... so many conflicting feelings and sensations... and when at the end she was done and stood back to admire her handiwork, she liked what she saw so much that she wrapped her loving arms around me, and then all the other women she had been were gone, and there was only my lover, wild and mournful over the imminent change in our relationship.
	By then, it was ten minutes to six.  We walked slowly over to the apartment, not quite daring to hold hands, but with our little fingers wrapped together in the space between us.  It felt like Rose was still trying to learn to let go of the part of me that her mother might soon have.
	When we walked into the apartment, I felt my jaw come unhinged and literally fall open at the sight of Marjorie.  Her eyelids were tinged with this gentle blue and purple sparkly stuff, her lips gleaming red, and she bore an almost invisible streak of maroon on her cheeks.  Her long hair curled gently around her shoulders; the white shirt she wore had a brilliant swatch of colors across the front, with a neckline so low that with the top button unbuttoned, I was sure I was seeing more than half of her breasts.  A simple, single chain of silver glittered around her neck, matched by a bracelet on her left wrist.  Her tight tan skirt came halfway down her thighs, and when she walked over to me, I could see it riding up fairly high to allow her legs to move.  Her feet were just barely covered by strappy little sandals with one inch heels.  She moved toward me with a slinky sidestep, and when she stood in front of me, she reached up to gently push my jaw back up into a closed position, then reached forward to give a quick hug.  I inhaled deeply; the sweet smell of her Navy was intoxicating.
	"My, don't you look nice tonight," Marjorie murmured as she stood back and eyed me warmly.
	"Marjorie," I rasped like an idiot, and had to clear my throat a couple of times to continue, "Marj... you're dazzling, you're too beautiful for words.  You are... a... vision of delight..."  For the first time ever, I heard Marjorie giggle, actually giggle like a schoolgirl, and her cheeks burned with a furious ochre that suddenly made her twice as beautiful.  I actually started to hypverventilate just a little from the sudden overwhelming collision of sensation, emotion and desire that pierced my chest and points lower.
	She fished in her handbag for a second before producing the car keys and slipping them into my pants pocket (!) with a friendly little pat to make them jingle (!!!) and a sultry smile only inches from my face.  Taking my arm in hers, Marjorie turned to Rose and said, "Ready sweetheart?"  Rose looked a little stricken as she chewed her lower lip and nodded.  Marjorie continued, "Okay, get your bag, honey, let's get this show on the road."  At my look of bewilderment, Rose cocked her head at me and said, "Oh, I forgot to tell you, I'm sleeping over at Brittany's tonight, so you guys are gonna have to drop me off on the way."  I felt my jaw start to slide open for a second time before catching myself and closing it.  The... MINX... had made sure there would be nothing to inhibit me, nothing in my way, when Marjorie and I got back to the apartment; nothing to provide an excuse for not bedding her.  Again I say to you, HOW could I NOT be in love with her?
	Dropping her off at Brittany's brought a startling new sensation; the anxiety of a parent delivering a child to a first-ever experience where the parent isn't around to supervise.  I knew that Rose must have been to a sleepover before, but not since I had known her, and the uneasy feeling it caused in my gut must have been similar to what a father feels.  A decidedly unpleasant feeling.  As we watched from the driveway, Rose knocked on the door.  When Brittany opened it, she stepped out onto the porch to wave to us.  Score one for Brittany; that little courtesy made me feel a little more charitable toward her.  Even dressed down, Brittany looked like a firecracker, and I could easily see why she would have no trouble getting all the men she wanted.
	As we headed to Vincenzo's Steakhouse, Marjorie and I sat in tense silence.  Well, maybe not tense, but there was definitely some kind of tension between us.  The thousand-and-one unspoken questions, expectations, hopes, fears, anxieties, hungers, needs, swarmed over us and between us; it was torture, for me at least, to have all these raw expectations.  Neither of us sure how to make that first puncture in the bubble that separated us.  I coughed nervously once or twice, and a minute later Marjorie followed suit.  We looked at each other, and she gave me a little smirk, which brought an involuntary smile from me, which caused her smirk to grow bolder, which increased my smile, until we were both laughing uproariously, as over some monumental jest we had made together.  We still hadn't said anything to each other, but the tension was completely released, evaporated, vanished.  Just as she had so many times in front of the TV in her apartment, Marjorie's hand came to rest on my knee.  It was a feeling of such intense familiarity, and brought such a rush of relief, that I was completely unaware until sometime after I did it, that I had put my hand on Marjorie's knee in response.  I should have been nervous; instead, it was comforting.  It was an unspoken acknowledgement between us of how the night was going to end.  We both knew it, now we had admitted it to each other, and that admission made everything smooth and right, replacing the tingling uncertainty with an edgy anticipation that sent tremors through my crotch.  It was the difference between being buffeted by turbulence at 20,000 feet and a long steady glide on a certain path to an easy landing.  I would have sworn even our hearts were beating in unison.
	Vincenzo's was strangely quiet for a Saturday night.  We didn't have to wait to be seated, we were immediately shown to a cozy little table in the corner furthest from the kitchen, hidden in a fern- and candle-choked alcove that isolated it from the rest of the patrons.  As we perused the menu, Marjorie reached over to touch my arm, and I couldn't stop myself from looking straight down the front of her shirt.  As it turned out, she only wanted to tell me that she wanted us to go Dutch on the bill.  Again, I saw the hand of Rose at work, trying to grease the skids; I was sure she had prepped Marjorie on my lack of disposable income, trying to ease as much of the burden on me as she could, to remove any distraction from the task at hand.  Marjorie ordered a petite sirloin, while mine was a chicken carbonara.  While we waited for the food, we shared a bottle of Sangria; after the first sip, Marjorie smiled at me over the rim of the glass and said, "Tonight, I spend with you."  It was a comfort to know what she really meant by that, to not have to guess if there was any deeper meaning, but that didn't make me any less anxious over the prospect.
	When the food came, Marjorie cut a portion of her steak and put it on my plate, and I did the same for her with my chicken.  The food was delicious, the music and lighting were perfect, and we shared an easy conversation as we finished the bottle of Sangria, although I honestly can't remember a single thing we said to each other.  When we were done eating and the bill arrived, Marjorie teased a 20 from her handbag and pressed it into my hand, and as we stood at the register while I paid for the meal, she wrapped her arm around mine and stood very close, her brilliant red lips vaguely curved in a mysterious smile that made me giddy.  As we walked out to the car, our arms naturally slipped around each other's waists.  I walked her around to the passenger side and held the door open for her, and she thanked me with her smile.
	We pulled into the parking lot of the theater and cruised slowly past the posters advertising the current movies.  Each one looked less interesting than the one before, and we found ourselves agreeing that none of them appealed enough to make the effort.  Marjorie suggested stopping at Larry's Liquor Lodge on Parkway, to get a bottle of something while we mulled our choices; so we did.  As small as Larry's store was, his selection was nothing short of amazing.  No matter what type of liquor I could think of, Larry had it.  I suspected that was probably the reason Marjorie picked this place.  She had selected a bottle of 90 proof rum and a two liter of Coke; when she sashayed up to the counter to pay, Larry couldn't take his eyes off her.  "Holy Gawd Mawj, you look hawtter than hayull," he wheezed as he bagged up the bottles, and with a couple of comically lewd winks, "mus' be a pretty hawt date!"  Marjorie smacked his shoulder (pretty hard, I thought) and hissed "Shut up, Larry!  Jeezis, you're such an old goat!"
	Back in the car, Marjorie pursed her lips and blew air through them.  "No glasses," she mused, "guess we'll have to head back to the apartment for a bit.  Long enough to knock back a drink or two, anyway, while we decide what to do." I drove us back to the complex, parked, and followed her back to her place.  Inside, we kicked our shoes off at the door, and I slipped off my jacket and tossed it on a chair.  She got down a couple of glasses while I cracked an ice cube tray, and in less time than it takes to tell, we were sitting side by side on the couch, sipping our drinks and sizing each other up.  I could see that Marjorie wanted to say something to me, but she was struggling with it; her eyes were darting from side to side as if she were sizing up the best route through a gauntlet.  I took a deep pull on my drink to get my courage up, then reached out to massage her shoulder, mildly amazed at my audacity.  "Hey, Marj, it's okay," I whispered, "just relax.  Nothing to be tense about.  Just breathe.  It's just us, just sitting here."  All alone.  Nobody else in the whole wide world.  Probably both going to be drunker than hell very shortly.
	I continued to gently caress her shoulder, reaching up to brush her neck with my fingers, and she closed her eyes and made a little "ooooo" with her lips.  With eyes still closed, she started, "Brent..."  My heart did a somersault at that, but I just kept smoothly rubbing her shoulder and neck.  "Brent," she started again, "you know how I feel about your relationship with Rose."  Completely of it's own accord, my hand stopped rubbing.  As if she hadn't noticed, she went on, "You saved us, Brent.  You saved Rose, you rescued her for me.  You reached down into Hell and pulled her up.  And you pulled me up with her.  You saved us both.  You... you saved her... from me..."  An absurd sting of gratitude for her perception of me burned my eyes, and I slowly started to stroke the side of her neck again.  She glanced at her drink, took a long pull on it, then suddenly drained the glass.  She laid her head back and closed her eyes again, lost in the sensation of my massage.  After a couple of shuddering breaths, she pressed on, so softly that I had to lean in closer and closer to hear her.  "I thought I wanted to get drunk, tonight, with you, because... because... get drunk with you, because I wanted to... wanted us to..."  I had an overwhelming rush of feeling, a sweet urge toward her that I couldn't resist.  I took her glass and put it with mine on the coffee table, and leaned forward to kiss her gently on the throat.  She made a little strangled noise and put her hand on my hair, and suddenly I was drowning in her, sucked under by the smell of her perfume and the willing way she tilted her head back to give me better access to her.  "Don't, uh... don't, Bren... don't, uh, uh... stop, Brent, don't do that... we have to, uh...have to get drun...OOOoooohhhhh" she murmured, while the steady pressure of her hand on the back of my head was moving me gently down her chest, to the valley between her breasts.  Very slowly and deliberately, I unbuttoned her shirt and pulled it back, and she helped me by shrugging out of it.  She was still trying to tell me to stop as she unfastened her bra and slid it off.  Her nipples were already tight and hard.  At the first flick of my tongue around her areola, her back arched and she made a savage growl in the back of her throat.  The heavenly feel of her nipple under my tongue sent a warm shock through my thighs, and she was pulling my head down further into her flesh.  "Ohhhhh, my goddddd... Bren... Jac... Jack..." she breathed, and I knew we couldn't hold back.  I quickly stood and scooped her up; she seemed to have no weight, like she was almost floating in my arms.  As I carried her into the bedroom, her tongue was drawing little patterns on my neck; she kissed, then sucked on my ear, and I started to feel dizzy.  I was afraid I might drop her, so I set her on her feet next to the bed, where she unbuttoned my shirt, kissing her way down my chest as she did so.  She didn't stop with the shirt; when she got to my pants, she unfastened and slipped them down my legs, then knelt in front of me to help me step out of them, followed by the socks.  As she was kneeling before me, my half-mast erection roared to a full, raging stiffness that pushed unmercifully against my underwear.  She pulled those off too, then leaned into me to take my cock in her hand and my balls in her mouth.  Looking down at this beautiful woman, this mother of my Goddess, kneeling before me, servicing me with a ferocious hunger, I got a strange twinge in my chest to match the one that was building behind my balls.  She was making me weak in the knees; I sat on the bed, then pulled her up by the shoulders to get her to stand.  With an assist from her, I unzipped and slid her short skirt off.  It was hard to see; the only light in the room was the spillover from the living room lamp, but I could see the crotch of her panties was wet, and the smell confirmed it.  I slid her underwear off, then pulled her down onto the bed and had her lay back while my tongue travelled every inch of her body.  When I got to her thighs, the smell of her musk pushed all rational thought out of my head, and my tongue started trying to work it's way completely inside her.  Marjorie had shaved her pussy, the skin was baby smooth, and the feeling of that flesh beneath my tongue was ecstatic.  Marjorie was moaning and panting, her legs spread as wide as she could get them, her hands flung back over her head, gripping the headboard to hold herself in place while my mouth and nose made their way deeper and deeper into the glistening folds of her bare flesh.  I was working my way slowly up her valley, and when my tongue found her clitoris, her back arched and her hips were bucking wildly beneath me, so that it was all I could do to keep my tongue buried in her heat.  I backed off from the clitoris for a few seconds, and suddenly she was spraying me in the mouth with her juice, literally shooting a gush of fluid that splashed over my shocked tongue.  After I caught what I could, I moved back up to her clitoris, trying to bury it in my tongue, pouring every last ounce of myself into stroking and exciting and loving that tiny area, until it became the entire universe to me.  Her thighs had wrapped themselves around my head, squeezing and pulling me down, squeezing, squeezing, until I thought I might pass out from the pressure, and still I kept a steady rhythm of my tongue on that little miracle of flesh that was rocking her.  Although my ears were completely blocked by her legs, I could still hear her wails and moans; or rather, I felt them as a vibration through her thighs.  My lungs were beginning to protest the lack of air, but I couldn't stop, couldn't pull my nose and mouth out of her hot, wet temple.  Suddenly, she grabbed my hair and pulled my head up from her crotch.  "Inside me," was all she could say, "inside me now, get inside me now, god, please please please get inside me now..."  I scrambled up until we were face to face.  Marjorie put her arm around my neck and pulled my mouth to hers, her rum taste filling my senses as her breath rushed into me.  I had condoms in my pants, but the moment demanded we keep going, and I didn't have any more time to think about what we were doing, I just did it.  Guiding it with my thumb and first two fingers, I put the head of my cock right at her opening and teased it in.  Once the head was surrounded, I slid the rest of the way in so easily that it was almost like falling into her.  So sloppy, my god, so sloppy and wet and hot as I pushed and pushed myself into her, hearing the sloshing, slapping sounds we made against each other.  Her hands dug into my butt cheeks, tearing at them, pulling me into her, as if she meant to fit my whole body in there.  From a million miles up, I felt the rush coming on.  I didn't know how long it would take, but I felt how inevitable it was, and I knew it was going to happen; I knew I was going to shoot my load deep into her waiting temple.  Something in the way I was moving must have told her, because she began rocking her head back and forth, panting "Together, together, oh my god, we're gonna, we're gonna, we're gonna c-c-cum together...", and then it was happening; the feeling between my legs sent a shockwave through me, my vision was suddenly shot through with rainbow blooms and angry white spangles that grew until they blotted out everything else, and there I was, floating in that timeless space, the darkness that wasn't.  The Little Death, that Rose had introduced me to, where I heard and saw nothing, where every other sense that wasn't pure explosive pleasure ceased to exist for an infinity of seconds.
	When my hearing and sight faded so slowly back in, I became aware of Marjorie next to me, barely breathing, a single tear running slowly from each eye, sparkling in the faint light from beyond the bedroom door.  She gradually turned to look at me, and her eyes were reflections of wonder.  "Bren... Ja... Jack?  What... oh holy god.  Oh my god, oh my holy fucking god, what was that?  What did you do to me?  I... I... I thought I was dying!  I really thought I was fucking dying!" and as words failed her completely, I put her hand on my face so she could feel me nodding in the dark.  "Yes, I know," I said, "I felt it too.  It's called the Little Death.  I think.  I mean, I know there's a feeling called the Little Death, and I thought I knew what it was, but until I felt it myself, I never had any idea what it actually was or how it felt."
	"Does this happen to you every time you have sex?" she asked.  "Or is it only with certain people?"  Ohmygod.  I had just slipped and told her I had felt the Little Death before, and if she asked who I had experienced it with, what was I going to tell her?
	"No, not every time..." I started slowly, then stopped, because I didn't know how to continue.  I knew I owed her more of an explanation than that but...
	"Jack," she whispered, stroking my chest and reaching up to my neck with her loving touch.  Hearing her call me 'Jack' triggered a flood of emotions that were never meant to be felt together, confusing me to the center of my being.  "Jack, I thought I needed to get drunk to make love to you, and I wanted to, so bad.  Make love to you, that is.  But I think I needed to get drunk for something else too.  I don't know why, I just do.  Do you know what I might have needed to get drunk for, Jack?"  When she said that, something inside me tore loose and went speeding away on a gale of reckless abandon.  "No, I don't," I whispered, "but I know how to find out. Let's get drunk and find out, shall we?"  The uncertainty and potential in Marjorie's glance was all the answer I needed.  With a loving kiss to each of Marjorie's beautiful round breasts, I pushed up from the bed.  Wandering through the apartment in a light stupor, I collected our glasses, sloshed together a couple of rum and cokes that were very heavy on rum, and brought them back to the bedroom.  "Drink up," I said as I sat in front of her and handed her one of the glasses, and we each guzzled down about half of our drinks on the first draught.
	Wordlessly, Marjorie moved until she was sitting up, facing me, straddling me, and she was able to reach down between my legs and start stroking my shaft.  When I was hard again, her movements let me know she wanted me inside her.  She finished off her drink and put down the glass, then took my drink from me and drained what was left, proving her intention to get drunk.  She maneuvered until we were face to face, her in my lap, and she gripped my cock and guided into her waiting pussy, sliding down until I was buried, balls deep, with her pussy completely surrounding me.  She wrapped her arms around me and pressed her breasts up against my chest, and as we sat there heart to heart, I started to really feel the rum.
	"Bren... Jack," she started, then shivered, and I pressed us together tighter, "this is what I want'd to git drunk for.  Cuz I need to tell you sumthin'.  Sumthin' I c'n on'y admit to m'self when I git drunk.  Y'see, I know...  I know 'bout... 'bout you and Rose.  Know you been lovin' each other," this last said with a squeeze of her inner muscles around my cock for emphasis.  "I know you been... f... fuckin'... my li'l baby girl..."  I think she knew I wouldn't have interrupted her, but she put her fingers on my mouth anyway.  "D... don't rilly blame you... all that much, I mean, I was 14 when I fucked my first guy... but he was 19..." she wavered, aware that she was sliding away from the most important point she wanted to make.  "I was... rilly upset, at firs'... cuz you were so old," my flinch at this seemed to go right by her, "but I knew you wouldn' hurt her.  I knew... you... were a good guy, a rilly good good guy, I KNEW it, I knew you wouldn' hurt her..."  She began to rock, just a little bit, back and forth on me.  "I knew you... were like Stan... patient... and loving... an' she loves you, Jack, she loves you like a... like a... oh god damn it, Jack, I don't know what she loves you like, but she loves you.  She LOVES you, Jack.  With all her little heart..." She was rocking harder now, still riding my cock and starting to slide up and down on the shaft.  "An' you love her too, I know you do, I seen it with my own eyes.  I seen the way you look at her, the way you talk to her, the way you touch her... Aahh, aahhhh, oohhh... oh god..." this last in response to the friction of my cock inside her.  "Oohhh f... fuhhhhhck... fffuuuhhhck me, Jack, fffuuuhhhck me... FUCK me like you was fuckin' Rose, FUCK me with your big hard daddy cock inside my little girlie pussy..." She was riding me for real now, humping with her hips and hugging my head to her breasts, "FUCK me daddy, FUCK me Jack, F... F... FUCK ME STAN, FUCK ME HARD IN MY PUSSY, FUCK ME LIKE YOU LOVE ME, FUCK YOUR BABY GIRL..." and she dissolved into a wordless series of ahhs and uhhs, moaning and gasping, humping like her life depended on it.  I was in awe of the sheer desparate energy of it all, of her manic humping and pounding, and in what seemed like no time, she was cumming and crying out, and when she was done, she collapsed onto my chest.  I hadn't cum, and had been in no danger of cumming.  It had felt fantastic, and I didn't feel the least bit cheated; I was just glad I had been able to provide her with the means for her to reach orgasm a second time.
	As we lay there together, my hardness still deep inside her, I was surprised and bemused to hear gently snoring.  As carefully as I could, I rolled her off of me and onto the mattress, rolling with her, taking care to keep my cock inside her.  She stirred a little as I carefully and gently began stroking in and out of her, and in a couple of minutes I let loose another load inside her.  She never woke up when I came, but she smiled and laughed gently in her sleep.  I pulled out and laid next to her, stroking her hair and gently touching her face.  She stirred a little more, then snuggled into me and threw her arm over my chest, still sound asleep.  I pulled the blanket up over us and felt my eyelids getting very heavy, and that was the last thing I was aware of that night.