Copyright by H. Jekyll.  Permission is freely granted to post on any site that does not charge for entrance, as long as proper attribution is given. The story should not be read by anyone under the legal age to read sexually explicit stories, or by anyone in a location where it is illegal to read such stories. 

Please send comments, inquiries, requests, and criticisms to: h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com.  I do enjoy corresponding with like-minded people.  

I am especially indebted to Maggie McGee (DESERTSKIES_@excite.com) for criticism and editing.  She is responsible for what "charge" the story contains.

FF, M-mast., MF
----------------------------------------------------------

 Intimacy
 
 H. Jekyll
 
 On the second evening of the Yangtze River cruise, I
 slipped on deck and saw two women from our tour group
 kissing. They had found a niche formed by some
 superstructure and a lifeboat, where they thought they
 would be hidden, where they thought they could see
 anyone who approached. I slid to a shadowed area and
 watched them kiss.
 
 They were roommates, but more, always together. Any
 time one was there, the other was close. Of course
 there had been friendly speculation that they were
 gay, but they were circumspect and the speculation was
 just to pass time on the tour. If they had been older
 no one would have thought about it at all. 
 
 Or maybe they would. The couple made a lovely
 contrast. One was an administrator from my school,
 fair, with blown-dry, gray-blond hair. No, not fair,
 but pale. Creamy, English pale. And funny. She had
 an unlimited supply of jokes, could spout Simpson's
 lines, and once, when we had over-sampled the local
 beer in Shanghai, she had managed to count to five in
 one belch. I would laugh at her jokes and try to
 one-up her, but I also liked to look at her. Her
 friend was dark, with dark brown eyes and dark curly
 hair. She was quieter and more serious. Perhaps she
 had a darker soul? She listened more than she
 participated. Both were athletic and trim, one trait
 they shared.
 
 Now they were kissing and everything was different. 
 I watched them brush their lips on each other's, their
 mouths open only slightly. The pale lover put both
 her hands on the brunette's cheeks, caressed her
 cheeks with the backs of fingers, moved her mouth over
 cheeks, eyes, back down to mouth. She combed fingers
 through that curly hair. 
 
 I was creeping, slowly, quietly, to see better, but
 they had become lost in each other, so had grown
 oblivious to the possibility of discovery. There were
 murmurs and I heard one say, "Yes, please." I couldn't
 hear their breathing but I heard rustlings as they
 moved. I was that close. 
 
 I hadn't been aroused in, how long? Days? Weeks? 
 That dry spell was over. The dark lover moved her hand
 in a lazy s-shape all the way down the other's front,
 ending between her legs. I heard her unsnap and unzip
 slacks, and she must have pushed her fingers deep
 inside panties. She ignored a soft protest: "No, not
 here." Her companion didn't mean it, not really. She
 leaned back against a rail and pushed her hips out. I
 caressed my penis, the full length of it.
 
 I was surprised at first that they were taking this
 chance, but the moon was full and the terraces marched
 up the incredibly steep slopes of the gorge, almost
 from the water all the way to the stars. Everything
 white -- railings, life preservers, deck chairs, walls
 -- had a faint iridescence, as though illuminated in
 black light, and there was enough light in their
 hideaway to show their faces. It was enough to
 illuminate the pale lover's teeth, to make them
 unnaturally white. It was enough to show her cupping
 both her hands over the other's breasts, even as she
 tilted her head back. 
 
 When I left the bar I had been captured by that
 otherworldly light, so different from the light on our
 little group in that vinyl-clad room watching karaoke
 sets on the TV. If I had not been quiet, because the
 spirit of the night demanded it, they would have seen
 me. They must have been captured the same way: the
 night had called them out. There were only the three
 of us in the world, our little world. They moved
 their mouths over each other's and then moved their
 breasts against each other's in circular motions, but
 the darker woman kept her fingers buried. She moved
 her hand in and out, smoothly, over and over. My
 penis swelled enough to push against my slacks. I
 rubbed the head; it throbbed. The blonde made a
 sound in her throat and the other bent to nip the tip
 of her breast.
 
 They were suddenly aware of me and jerked apart,
 trying almost comically to appear nonchalant, the way
 Lucy would if Ricky had caught her giving Fred Mertz a
 blow job. One was fooling with the snap of her
 slacks, though, and both looked stricken. My fair lady
 seemed about to cry. I could see the liquid in her
 eyes in the moonlight.
 
 "I...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude." 

 It always helps to sound a little hesitant in these
 situations, to let people know you aren't being
 predatory. Though of course I had been. I backed
 away, turned, and went inside, to my cabin and my
 wife. They hadn't said anything, or moved after
 they'd pulled apart. They could have been statues.
 
 I lay in bed that night, listening to my wife
 coughing occasionally in the dark, but mostly playing
 the kiss over and over while moving my hand quietly,
 tickling the shaft of my penis, using my thumb to rub
 my fluid in a circular motion around the underside of
 the head. I saw the movement of the brunette's hand,
 heard, "Yes, please." Were they worried about my
 catching them? I rubbed my slippery penis. I was
 very still and worked hard to control my breathing and
 not shake the bed. I saw a face, so wan under the
 moon, and then I stopped. Her look had been
 woebegone. Lost. Her eyes had been swimming in
 tears. 
 
 After a bit I entered a fantasy in which her eyes
 were half closed and swollen with desire. I did
 something to her to bring her to ecstasy. She
 whimpered, "Yes, please." Then I came.
 
---------------------------------------------------
 
 They weren't at breakfast the next morning. 
 
 I thought to go to their cabin, to look in on them,
 but decided it would just compound their
 embarrassment, and anyway I didn't know what I'd say. 
 That I was sorry I'd seen them kiss and caress each
 other? They were, both of them, successful in their
 careers, and they must be tough-minded. They would
 live it down. But I couldn't keep my mind on anything
 else. I wanted to see them and didn't want to. I
 asked casually if anyone had seen them that morning.
 
 Around midmorning she sought me out in the bar, my
 pale administrator. She certainly was not creamy now,
 but washed out, almost pasty. She was trying to look
 nonchalant again, and again not doing a very good job
 of it. Her eyes were bloodshot. I think she hadn't
 slept. She always wore a little bright red lipstick,
 but not this morning.
 
 I was schmoozing with some other tour members. She
 stood beside and slightly behind me, sipping a diet
 coke, pretending to listen to people's stories,
 waiting for a time when attention was elsewhere. From
 time to time I turned to her to smile and nod in a
 friendly fashion, really wanting to talk with her, but
 she wouldn't look me in the face. Then she seemed to
 screw up her courage and bent to whisper to me, asking
 if I would come outside with her. 
 
 We went out the back exit together, not talking or
 looking much at each other, and climbed to the open
 observation area over the bar, away from everyone. 
 The sun was brilliant, so that we had to shield our
 eyes. The wind blew with the passage of the ship
 along the river. 
 
 She didn't know how to begin. After a false start,
 she said, "Look, I can guess what you think you saw
 last night, and maybe what you thought was happening."
 
 Then she stopped. She didn't know what to say or
 even what to admit. She had to think I would out her,
 ruin her career, and destroy her social life. Frankly,
 I don't think I could have accomplished all that, and
 maybe she should have realized it. But how would I
 take it if someone had discovered my dark side?
 
 I waited for her to go on but she was frozen, even
 her mouth. The wind blew her hair into her face and
 when she pushed it back I could see she was again
 almost crying. She was facing the sun and the light
 made her look odd, ghostly, like she might disappear
 at any moment. I decided that I would have to step
 in.
 
 "I didn't see anything last night. I was in the bar
 all evening. I saw nothing anyone will ever know. 
 Please now. Don't go expecting the worst."
 
 "But what, I mean, what, well what must you have
 thought of us?" 
 
 She wasn't hearing me. Her chin was quivering. I'd
 never seen that in an adult. She had been cheerful
 and confident and outgoing. Now she was terrified,
 trying not to cry, swallowing hard, and she looked so
 vulnerable that I fell in love with her right then. 
 
 I liked her and would have liked to fuck her, but I
 didn't want to love her. Nonetheless, it happened. I
 could almost stand outside of myself and watch the
 transformation, and amidst everything else that was
 happening at the same moment I made out a mocking
 comment from some odd corner of my mind: In love with
 a lesbian? Why not just shoot yourself? 
 
 "What I thought?" 

 It was time to take a chance. Carpe diem. 
 
 "What I thought was that you were beautiful. The two
 of you were, but especially you. I didn't think
 anything bad of you." 
 
 The ship's horn sounded. It was a deep blast, almost
 overwhelming when you stood too close. It vibrated
 through bodies and drowned out everything. But it
 gave me time to think. Then:
 
 "Maybe for a moment, just for a moment, I felt some
 ... jealousy, or regret. Because I could imagine how
 your mouths felt. I could imagine sharing your
 breath. And I knew you weren't for me." 
 
 Oh hell! End this nonsense. 

 "I wouldn't ever expose you. Please believe me. I'll go 
 tell your roomie. You don't have to worry."
 
 Then she did start crying. She had been holding
 everything in all night and had believed whatever the
 absolute worst was. Her face crumpled. She was
 standing there helplessly, not even trying to hide it,
 while I looked around to see if anyone would stumble
 onto *this* scene. 
 
 I took one of her hands and whispered, "It's okay. 
 It's okay. Really. Here." 
 
 I pulled her close, pulled her to me. She put her
 face between my left shoulder and my chest. Ah damn,
 damn it, no! Don't do this to me! I was completely
 aroused again, and I hated myself. I put my left arm
 around her waist. I stroked her hair a very light
 stroke with my right hand. I kissed her hair. She
 smelled wonderful. This would be my one time to feel
 her body against mine. "There, there," I said.
 
 ------------------------------------------------------
  
 At lunch they sat at our table. They looked tired
 and drawn and said they'd been a little sick. 
 Everyone understood. Who hadn't been? As time
 passed, though, they entered the conversations, grew
 jollier, sampled the dishes off the lazy Susan, told
 tales. My wife ate a little and returned to our cabin
 and the jokes and comments continued. 
 
 To his darling: If I love you, what business is it
 of yours? The line I was thinking is an old one, from
 Goethe. The couple was sitting directly across from
 me, acting as though nothing had transpired, and I was
 trying to do the same. More, in fact. I had to hide
 what I knew of them, which wouldn't be difficult. The
 hard part was hiding my feelings from them. So, I was
 helping them play a role for the audience at the table
 at the same time that I was playing a role for the two
 of them. It was hard work. 
 
 We were joking about administrators and about using
 The Force only for good. When the couple got up to
 leave, my ghostly darling stopped behind me, put her
 hands on my shoulders, and announced that henceforth
 as a department chair I should be called "Grand
 Pooh-Bah." 
 
 I said "Make that Grand Pooh Bear," but my attention
 was focused on her hands and I found it hard to be
 witty. 
 
 Her hands were soft and warm, the way you'd expect. 
 There was nothing out of the ordinary about them
 except that they were perfect. I didn't want to feel
 like a moonstruck teenager, but there she was standing
 almost against me, resting those hands as lightly as
 ectoplasm on my shoulders while she joked with
 someone, and I was filled with that fantasy about
 being the one guy who is man enough to turn her
 straight. She bent and kissed the top of my head
 theatrically. I patted one of her hands. 
 
 Then she put her mouth next to my ear and said, "Can
 you come up to our cabin when you finish here?" 
 
 No, I don't remember the rest of the meal. Would
 you?
 
 -----------------------------------------------------
 
 I'm adult enough to know what fantasies are and
 aren't. They aren't to be taken for the genuine
 article, for guidance on how to act when she confesses
 her love and slips off her robe, revealing a perfect
 body. Because that isn't going to happen. My
 fantasies wouldn't stay banished, though. They were
 worlds better than what was going to happen. Most
 likely she wanted to apologize for crying up on deck
 earlier. In the worst case they would formally thank
 me for keeping their secret, reinforcing what I
 already knew, that I was forever an outsider to them. 
 
 But she was alone, and serious, and wanted to talk.
 
 It was as awkward as it could be. "I ... wanted to
 thank you for being so kind to me today." 
 
 I had a retort about rescuing damsels, yadda, yadda,
 but it wouldn't come out, so I said something about
 being happy to be able to help. It grew quiet awfully
 fast. The cabins had lovely, dark paneling, and she
 moved her hand back and forth over some wainscoting,
 going with the grain. A boat went past the window
 traveling upstream, and still nothing was said. 
 Finally, in hardly more than a whisper: 
 
 "Did you mean what you said this morning? I mean
 about us? About me?" 
 
 Cyrano de Bergerac could craft the magic answer that
 would clarify everything and win her, but that wasn't
 me. So after another moment I just said:
 
 "Yes. Everything." Then, "I'm not usually so bold."
 
 Again, silence. We couldn't have been more than
 three feet apart in that tiny stateroom. This wasn't
 right. I shouldn't have said anything. I shouldn't
 have come. I should make my excuses and leave, so I
 could be miserable alone. I almost did, when she
 spoke: 
 
 "No one ever said anything like that to me before. 
 It won't leave my mind. It was the most beautiful
 thing anyone ever told me." 
 
 Then she stepped forward and kissed me very lightly
 on the lips.
 
 My hand went to her cheek and I stepped backward,
 bumping the desk behind me. Something was squeezing
 my chest. I didn't know what to think. It was hard
 to talk, without any air. Finally I managed: 
 
 "I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry. I know it
 can't be. I shouldn't have said anything like that
 when you were so upset." The thought came unbidden: 
 so lovely.
 
 She was suddenly relaxed and happy. She put her
 right hand up on my left cheek. 
 
 "Don't be so certain it can't be, you silly head. A
 lot of us have been with men before, and some of us
 *like* men." 
 
 "Silly head"? What was she leading up to? Her "us"
 was my "them," and that was what made this impossible.
 She paused, then became serious: 
 
 "And I like you so much." 
 
 She came to me again and we started kissing. I had a
 hand where her waist flared out to her hip, and one in
 her hair. She kept caressing my cheeks while we
 kissed. Her tongue flicked between my lips and I
 captured it and sucked on it. I still didn't believe
 it.
 
 Things are complicated when you're an adult. There
 was something I had to know. "What about your
 roommate? Will she barge in on us, or do we have a
 limited time, or what?"
 
 She giggled. I wouldn't have expected that. It just
 burbled up out of her. Her eyes were half closed, but
 she smiled and said: "She doesn't mind. She and I,
 we're not like that. We're not lovers or anything. 
 We're just friends who like to get together sometimes
 to travel and play. And the fact is, she thinks
 you're cute." 

 We kissed some more, and I stroked her  neck with 
 my finger tips. I was still shy about  touching her body, 
 but growing bolder.  "So," she finished, "we have all 
 afternoon if we want it."
 
 "Maybe we could all play grown up games together?" 
 
 She used a Mae West voice: "Not today, big boy. I'm
 all you get." 
 
 --------------------------------------------------
 
 There are only so many ways to sex your partner, only
 so many things that you can do, and you enjoy doing
 them over and over. It isn't any different if you
 love someone. It is in one respect, sure. The
 experience has a different quality if you've fallen. 
 Still, there isn't anything you can do in love that
 you can't do just for passion. So shall I tell you
 what we did? Do you want to hear it again?
 
 How often have you unbuttoned a blouse and pulled it
 open, or had yours opened? She wore a white blouse, a
 white bra, white on white on her white skin. I undid
 her pants so I could take the blouse off completely. 
 She reached behind her back to unfasten the bra, and I
 pulled it off. She looked at me the whole time she
 did it. Do women know how erotic the unfastening is? 
 
 The first look at our partner's body is exquisite,
 always different than we expected. She was like other
 women, her own version. She held her hands to her
 thighs and presented her chest to me, and it was
 obvious she didn't need the bra. Her small breasts
 wouldn't sag; they went with her body. The flesh of
 her breasts was more creamy even than her face, and
 had beauty marks. It added to her ghostly aspect, but
 her nipples were long and pink. I suddenly thought of
 that limerick about the man who made love to a
 beautiful ghost. But she was solid, a body of flesh
 to fuck and love.
 
 I did what lovers do, what you have done. I licked
 and sucked on her nipples, first one side and then the
 other, while she kissed my head and ran her hands down
 my back. When I looked up, she had gone red and
 blotchy from the tops of those breasts, up her neck,
 all the way to her chin. No ghostliness there! Her eyes
 *were* swollen and half closed, exactly as in my fantasy. 
 
 My penis ached from being confined to my jeans. I
 didn't want to take it out too soon, in case it might
 ruin things. When had she last seen a penis? You say
 you never worry about that? I hadn't with any other
 lover, either.
 
 I pulled her slacks down and helped her get them off.
 She wasn't shy. It was as though she was used to
 someone undressing her. 
 
 Her panties were pale blue, setting off her belly and
 hips. I knelt and kissed her belly, which was smooth
 and firm, and rolled her panties down. Her sparse
 pubic hair was like corn silk, but on her it looked
 almost dark. I would get down there soon enough. She
 had an appendicitis scar, fainter even than her skin.
 
 She kept stroking my hair. Was she like this with
 all her lovers? Was I? Every lover is aroused by 
 different things. I gave her a hickey just below her
 navel, leaving a red mark on her belly, and she gasped
 and then held my head tightly to her while I did it. 
 I stayed there for a moment, feeling her belly move in
 and out as she breathed. 
 
 "Oh, you're bad a man." 

 She used a breathy, Marilyn Monroe voice. She was still 
 holding my head to her. I pulled back to see her face.
 
 "I'm usually more evil than this. Am I being too
 soft on you?" I would be softer if she wanted.
 
 "How evil are you?" Still in the Marilyn voice. 

 Then she shifted the topic and offered me much more
 than I expected. "Do you want to do bad things to
 me?" 
 
 During the last sentence there had been a catch in
 her voice, and a little extra breathlessness. She
 couldn't know what I liked; no one here did. I
 looked up at her and her expression was anxious and
 excited. Have you seen that look? I stood.
 
 "I want to do *every* bad thing to you. Everything
 you'd like." 
 
 After I said that she looked in my eyes for a long
 moment, then wrapped her arms around my neck and put
 her head to my chest. She held me very tightly.
 
 In her own voice she said, "I'd like you to do things
 to me. But I'm a little afraid. I'm really not very
 experienced -- oh don't be so surprised. And I'm just
 finding out things about you." 

 She held her head against my chest the whole time she talked. 
 
 I moved my hands lightly all the way up her back from
 her flanks and felt her get goose bumps. I loosened
 her arms and held her back from me a few inches. I
 looked in her eyes; just below was her mouth,
 slightly open, inviting me. What would I like? What
 would *we* like? If I didn't talk right away I was
 going to start kissing her again. I pulled her arms
 behind her and held them at the small of her back. 
 She leaned against me, head back, looking back in my
 eyes. Why wasn't I naked too? I took a deep breath.
 
 "*Everything* about you surprises me." This made her
 smile. 

 "Let's just take this one step at a time,  and find out all 
 we can about each other. There's  plenty of time to try 
 whatever we want. Right now I'd  like to explore your 
 sweet body. So ... can I handle  the merchandise?"
 
 "Well, only because you're one of our favorite
 customers."
 
 But she wanted to undress me first. She started with
 my shirt and followed the same basic order I had. 
 Once my shirt was off she moved her hands over my
 chest, starting with my nipples. Her palms were on my
 nipples and her fingers were on the skin around them,
 caressing. She licked up my breastbone, then took my
 nipples in her lips and sucked at the same time that
 she fondled my upper-chest muscles, my ribs, my
 stomach. Her hands explored constantly. I held her
 face to my nipples; she was sucking almost too hard,
 but I didn't want to make her stop. I thought my
 prick would explode.
 
 Once she had my jeans off she wouldn't stop looking
 at my underwear, and then she wouldn't stop looking at
 my penis. It curved up out of my graying hair. It
 bobbed a bit. It was dark, such a delicious contrast
 to her skin. It almost always is, no? And we love
 that. I went up to her and moved it back and forth
 across her stomach. It was hotter than her skin. She
 stared down at it.
 
 I said "Close your eyes." 

 Why do women get so excited by this? Why do I like it 
 so when they do it? I started touching her as lightly 
 as I could, running my fingers here and there, up her
 back, over her breasts, across her ass, along her throat. 
 Light strokes always seem best. Her breathing grew shallower
 and she became flushed again.
 
 "Spread your legs." 

 She did, swaying dangerously in the process. She kept 
 her eyes closed. As lightly as before, I ran my fingers up 
 the insides of her thighs, on both sides, then on up through 
 her pussy lips and over her belly, ending at the hickey. The 
 first feel of her pussy, when slippery fluid coats just the
 opening of her lips, is exquisite. She made her first
 tiny groaning sound.
 
 I wanted to play with her ass -- I always do -- so I
 had her kneel down with her head and shoulders on one
 of the beds. Her eyes were still closed. She started
 to say something and I shushed her. 
 
 Her anus was like anyone else's, brown and puckered. 
 I tongued it and she groaned again. She was curling
 and uncurling her toes. I tickled her ass, moved my
 fingers around and around her anus, then tickled her
 on that spot right between anus and vagina that is so
 sensitive to brush strokes. Have you ever done that? 
 I pushed two fingers all the way into her vagina, but
 I stayed well away from her clitoris. I wanted to
 give her sweet torment for awhile. My fingers went
 right in.
 
 I got up and rummaged through their toiletries to
 find some petroleum jelly. I lubed my right thumb,
 put it to her anus, and pushed in softly. Her eyes
 flew open.
 
 "Wait, no, wait, just a minute." She had been caught
 by surprise.
 
 "Do you want me to stop this?"
 
 She paused, but only for an instant. Then, "No. I'm
 sorry. I just wasn't ready. I didn't mean to make
 you stop."
 
 She was so willing for anything I wanted to do, one
 of those people who are stirred by having things done
 to them. I lubricated my thumb again and pushed it
 all the way into her rear. Her sphincter was tight
 around my thumb. It might have been virgin. I played
 with her pussy with the other hand, until her
 breathing deepened again, then I began fucking her ass
 with my thumb. It brought me currents of sexual
 pleasure. I hand-fucked her front and back, moving my
 hands slowly. 
 
 During this she was lying with her cheek on her 
 hands, her eyes closed again, and I could study her
 face while I fucked her; she was marvelously
 expressive. She would close her lips tightly, and a
 vein would stand out on her forehead. Her eyes were
 not just closed, but squeezed shut, as though she was
 concentrating, and she kept tilting her head back. 
 Then, she would open her lips in an 'O' and pant. 
 Among her pants were little whimpers and groans, not
 loud at all, but loud enough for me. I played with 
 her and watched her and listened to her for awhile.
 
 I wasn't sure what to do next. I stood and pulled
 her up. I picked her up like you would carry a sleepy
 child, kissing her mouth and letting her feel how
 strong I am. She curled her body into my arms, her
 head on my shoulder, one arm around my neck and a hand
 barely resting on my chest, ready for whatever I
 wanted her do. I could smell her hair when I wasn't
 kissing her. 

 I told her, "You are even more beautiful right here." 
 
 I couldn't hold her very long, at least not easily. 
 It felt a little silly, though I did enjoy it, so I
 thought of what to do next. After a few minutes I
 laid her on the bed, spread her legs, knelt between
 them, and began licking and sucking her sex. 

 Don't ask why I took so long to get to this. Maybe I was
 shy, thinking perhaps that I couldn't satisfy her, she
 who had been eaten by women. Maybe I'm an idiot. 
 
 I shouldn't have worried. She was a lover of the
 mouth, urging "yes, yes," in a hoarse whisper even
 before I had begun, cooing, tangling her fingers
 through my hair and pulling. 

 Though I know not all women like cunnilingus, I confess 
 I've never sexed one who didn't. I once knew a woman 
 who disapproved of it because it wasn't Biblical, but thank 
 God she was never a lover of mine. I've had partners who 
 asked me to do it, or who lit up in joy when I started, as
 though it were a rare gift. Can it be that most men
 won't pleasure their loves this way? 
 
 She lit up. She responded no matter what I did. She
 pushed herself toward me with her hips and tried to
 pull my head to her. I sucked her pussy lips into my
 mouth and nibbled on each of them. I got some of her
 corn silk in my mouth. Her clitoris was a tiny, pink
 nub that I licked very softly, using just the tip of
 my tongue, as lightly as I could, tasting her. She
 tried to get more sensation but I just kept touching
 her lightly, making her crazy. 

 I moved down and tasted inside her. Of course she wasn't 
 sweet, like people say; yes her vagina was like a soft
 fruit of some kind, but tangy and musky. I pulled back and
 breathed on her sex, then went back to her clitoris,
 tonguing just at her scant hood. How high could I get
 her without her coming? She grunted at every lick. 
 
 Once she was very high I moved away from her, helped
 her kneel up on the bed, and put my erection to her
 mouth. What would she do?
 
 She opened her mouth and licked the underside of the
 head and made a little face.
 
 "What is it?" I asked.
 
 "It's a little bit fishy tasting."
 
 I laughed. "Well, I didn't know this was going to
 happen, so I didn't wash before coming here. I'll
 wash it now. It won't take a second."
 
 "I *like* fish." 
 
 I laughed again. "Well, then lick it, and use your
 perfect mouth to pleasure me." 
 
 But she really didn't know how to do that. She had
 been truthful that she wasn't very experienced, at
 least with men, so I had to help her. It was almost
 enough just to feel her mouth and to know she liked
 doing it. I nearly came right then, and pulled out
 and squeezed behind the head of my penis to stop
 myself just in time. 

 She didn't know what I was doing and thought she 
 was disappointing me. Dear God, no. I kissed her and 
 told her she was wonderful. We knelt in front of each 
 other for a moment and kissed each other's faces and I 
 strummed my fingers up and down over her breast and 
 she fondled my prick.
 
 Then I laid her on her back again and licked and
 sucked her more strongly. I ran my whole tongue in
 long, smooth strokes over her sex. When she began to
 come she was moving her hips up and down, and twisting
 to the side. I crawled up between her legs. I found
 her opening, and I pushed all the way in while she
 came. I always savor that first stroke, when her
 flower isn't yet fully opened and my penis is pushing
 her walls outward. I fucked her until, in just a
 minute or two, I came, and I heard myself making
 crying sounds and I collapsed on her completely. She
 continued to come the whole time.
 
 -------------------------------------------------
 
 We were snuggling and drowsing. Even though we were
 leaking madly she wouldn't let us put our underwear
 back on, so we were damp and sticky. Touching her
 afterwards was affectionate and quiet, except when I
 found a tickle spot. She was fascinated with my spent
 penis. She kept stroking it and commenting on how
 soft it was. I asked her not to go on so much about
 that.
 
 "I want to see you tonight."
 
 "Oh, my big, strong man, I want that too. But I'm
 not sure that we can. There are other people to think
 of."
 
 I didn't know if we had any future, but for the
 moment I was content to be called her *anything*. She
 liked me, liked being with me afterwards. I turned to
 her. 
 
 "I didn't mean for sex. At least not necessarily. 
 I'm at an age when it might even be difficult." I had
 almost said 'hard.' It was twitching, though. She
 should quit stroking it. 
 
 "I just want to see you in that moonlight again. And
 your roommate is welcome. I think I'd like to see her
 there, too."
 
 "Oh? You want to watch us kiss, so you can get
 turned on again?"
 
 "No, I thought she and I could kiss, to get *you*
 turned on again."
 
 "Well what about your wife?"
 
 I used a Bogart voice: "Sweetheart, I'm all you get."
 
 We snuggled some more.

