*WARNING* This story contains sexually explicit material.  If sex disturbs
you, or you are under the age of eighteen, do NOT read.  I hold all rights
(c) to this story *JP*

   Redistribution is permitted as long as the following criteria are met.
1. The title is NOT changed in any way.  2.  The story itself is NOT
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download this article.

   I look forward to constructive criticism and suggestions for new
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   An original story by *JP*	                     
   Edited by PeeJ



                              Letters

                                1.                                   

	Amy's finger massaged her clit as she sat on the toilet reading 
the "Letters" column in her husband's magazine. She had gone into the 
bathroom for a quick pee but noticed it in the mag-rack amongst the 
others: House and Garden, Money, Fishing and other more benign 
periodicals. It was funny how she had never noticed it before but it had 
somehow snagged her attention this time.

	She recognized the name as a mainstream men's publication 
but she was curious to see what was inside. As she thumbed through 
the pages, occasionally checking out the pictures, she came upon a 
column called "Letters." In slightly smaller text just below the title, it 
read "Readers experiences," and then went on to explain how "you" 
could send in yours.

	What had kept her reading though were the titles, such as "I 
gave hubby a blowjob at work," and "How my boss got what she 
wanted," and of course the first one that she read, "Cum inside."

	Cindy, was the author and had a lot in common with Amy: they 
were both dinks, double income no kids, and their husbands had 
insisted that they stop all forms of birth control except for the 
withdrawal method. Cindy went on to explain how her husband would 
taunt her into holding him inside her vagina to the point of his orgasm, 
but would always manage to break away at the last possible second.

	She was about halfway through that letter when she decided to 
close the bathroom door so she could start "digging". Digging was the 
word that Amy and her friends had used to describe masturbation 
before they knew there was a name for it, and it had stuck.

	 John, Amy's husband, had never asked her to hold him in but 
everything else sounded familiar. In fact, he had tried to get her off the 
pill even before they got married, but Amy would have nothing to do 
with it. She had told him that if they got married, it would be because 
they wanted to, not because she was pregnant. 

	Amy pushed her panties down to her feet and kicked them off. 
She had removed her bra earlier as she usually did when she got ready 
for bed. Clad only in her t-shirt and sitting on the toilet, she continued 
to read—and dig. Cindy went on in her letter to describe her feelings 
as frustrated, and a relentless desire to be pregnant. She also missed 
the feeling of her husbands cock "going off" inside her. "The warm 
explosion of semen when he ejaculated," she wrote.



                                    2.
	

	Amy's finger dipped inside her vagina as she recalled the 
feelings that Cindy described. She remembered John's cock pumping 
warm cum inside her as he did that last hard push and held it deep 
inside her.

	She opened her knees wide as she sat on the toilet, and 
watched as her finger moved in and out of her wet vagina. Amy 
inserted a second finger and rubbed her clit with her thumb. Her red 
pubic hair tickled her upper thigh as her fingers distorted the flesh 
around her hole. Removing her fingers from her sex, she cupped her 
vulva with her hand and continued to read the letter.

                                      3.

	Cindy, the letter continued, had carefully calculated the date of 
her ovulation and it was due. She came up with a plan to seduce her 
husband that night and take the top position where she could be in 
control. Starting with his favorite meal and a sexy negligee, she then 
maneuvered him to the couch and began to undress him.

	After Cindy had removed his clothes, she wrote: "I got down 
on my knees and took his cock into my mouth. My tongue gave special 
attention to the underside where the foreskin joined and split the head 
into two parts. I sucked him with passion until I could taste his precum 
and knew he was on the verge of orgasm."

	Cindy climbed up onto his lap and pulled the crotch of her 
panties to the side, and then she inserted his cock. She locked her feet 
to the underside of his calves and worked her arms under his and 
around his back. Later in the letter, her husband would confess that he 
knew what her intentions were, but he had been too excited by her 
sexual aggression to stop it. Cindy went on to describe, in graphic 
detail, the rest of the story.

	"'Cum you fucking bastard,' I screamed through clenched teeth 
as I fucked him heatedly. My husband's hands gripped my hips and 
assisted my pumping movements. I could feel my own orgasm 
approaching and sat all the way down to his balls. I started a front to 
back motion not giving up one inch of penetration.

	"I—I'm going to cum," my husband sputtered as he tried to lift 
me off his cock, but it just made me bare down that much harder.

	"Cum—cum—cum!" was all I could manage as my orgasm 
overtook me. My husband's hot sperm flooded my vagina and I 
screamed unintelligible words that neither of us would be able to recall 
later."

                                       4.

	Amy put down the magazine and looked between her legs. Her 
vulva was inflamed and her groin felt heavy, as if something was 
inside her vagina. She put the tip of her finger at the entrance of her 
hole and then pulled it away. A long string of clear fluid clung to her 
finger and then attached itself to her thigh. She used her wet digit to 
dig at her clit as she relived an experience that occurred months before 
and had never been repeated since. 

	John had just finished making love to her and had ejaculated 
into her pubic hair. He had gone to the bathroom and she grabbed the 
towel, the one they always brought with them to bed, to clean herself 
up. But in a moment of weakness, she lubricated her finger with his 
cum and started digging at her clit.

	It was exactly the middle of her cycle and not a safe time for 
sperm to be anywhere near her hole—and that excited her. At first it 
was just a game of dare. How far would she go? 

	While she rubbed her clit, a finger from her other hand dipped 
into John's cream. She raised and spread her legs. Being careful not to 
penetrate, she smeared the cum around her hole, but like a thirsty 
kitten at her mother's teat, her pussy demanded more.

	This time, she used two fingers and scooped up a good lot of it 
and held it up to her hole. The finger at her clit dug in just under the 
little bundle of nerves, rubbing the length of it. Amy's orgasm was 
upon her as she struggled with the moral dilemma—but lost. At the 
last fraction of the last second, and just before the very peak of her 
orgasm: she shoved the two cum-covered fingers in her cunt

                                      5.

	A shiver ran through Amy's body as she sat on the toilet 
thinking back to that night. It wasn't an orgasm, but it was as close as 
she ever got without going over. It wasn't uncommon for her to have 
several mini-gasms, as Amy would call them, before the real thing.

	Amy looked over some of the other tittles in the column hoping 
to find another letter that interested her. There were about ten in all 
and most were topics she wouldn't want to read about. When she came 
to the last, the title was mysterious enough to make her read a little 
further.          

	"Two plus one equals fun," was the title and a woman named 
"Twobivirgin" wrote it. Twobi was a woman who had been married 
for over ten years and had grown bored with life, especially her sex 
life. Like Amy, she married young and had never had sex with anyone 
other than her husband.

	There similarities were enough to make Amy want to read on. 
Twobi describes herself as a woman in her thirties, a little round but 
not fat, small breasts and what others tell her is a cute face. She goes 
on to write that, "Judging from the attention I get from men, other than 
my husband, I am acceptable to most as a sexual partner." A rather 
odd way to put it, Amy thought, but curiosity kept her reading.

	Amy skimmed through some of the other facts that were 
mostly geographical in nature and moved on the juicy parts. Once 
again she let her finger do some digging while she read.

	The letter starts to get interesting when Twobi complains to a 
woman, Vicky, whom she works with, that her husband had to fly to 
fly to Miami on business and would be gone for the entire week—
including the weekend. She invites Twobi to spend a few days with 
her and her husband, David. After Vicky's assurance that David 
wouldn't mind, she accepted her invitation. 

                                       6.

	Twobi writes: "When I showed up at their door Thursday 
night, both Vicky and David greeted me with a warm smile and 
salutations.  David took my small suitcase while Vicky wrapped her 
arms around me and hugged my body. Her breast and groin pressed 
into me and she gave me a peck on my cheek. I remember thinking at 
the time that it was a bit much. David shook my hand; his right hand in 
mine as his left gently squeezed my wrist, and then he too gave me a 
kiss."

	The letter goes on to describe the first night as nostalgic and 
great fun. Except for the wine, it was very much like the sleepovers 
Amy had when she was a young teen. Even David had a roll to play in 
this; Twobi had a crush on her friend's older brother and now she 
found herself very attracted to David. Not that she would ever do 
anything to hurt her friend, but a girl can fantasize—can't she?

                                       7.

	"Yes," Amy thought out loud, "a girl should be aloud to 
fantasize." Amy turned the page.

                                      8.

	Twobivirgin continues; "we road together to work and Vicky 
was at the wheel. Somehow, the long commute to work didn't bother 
us one bit. We laughed and flirted with a carload of teenagers in a 
Mustang that played tag with us the whole way. Suddenly we were 
teenagers again ourselves; thirty-year-old high school girls winking 
and blowing kisses out the window.

	One of the boy's in the Mustang shouted, "show us your tits." I 
covered my mouth and blushed and was about to yell something back 
at them when Vicky pulled up her shirt and bra and exposed herself to 
them and, not to mention, anyone else that might have been looking. 
Luckily we were bogged down in morning traffic at the time and the 
car wasn't moving very fast. The boy's whistled and applauded as we 
pulled up ahead of them a car length. 

	"Go ahead," Vicky said.

	"I couldn't."

	"Why not, it's all in fun?"

	It wasn't that I didn't want to; it's just that I'm a shy person 
and have always been a little embarrassed about my small breasts. 
But—being around Vicky and her bodacious personality can drive you 
to do things you wouldn't normally do.

	"Come on sweetie, join in the fun. When I slow down, give 
them a peek."

	When she slowed and we were even with the Mustang—I did 
it. I grabbed the bottom of my shirt and hooked my bra with my 
fingers on the way up. With my nipples erect and a tingle in my clit, I 
displayed my tiny breast to the world. The sound of the boy's hands 
slapping together and their wolf whistles sent what felt like a thousand 
bumblebee wings buzzing in my groin. Out of the peripheral vision of 
my eye I saw a man, he must have been in his seventies, with a big 
grin on his face. Several of his fingers were applauding silently as if 
not to let his wife, hunched over the steering wheel and engaged in a 
white-knuckle death grip, hear or see what he was doing."

                                                   9. 

	Amy's finger on her clit produced another mini-gasm inspired 
by Twobi's story. The magazine rested on her knee as she closed her 
eyes and dug at her sex. She let out a soft moan and her body began to 
relax. Amy opened her eyes and looked down to her chest. Her nipples 
stood proudly.                                    

                                     10.

	The second night, Twobivirgin writes, was a weekend night, 
and no one had to get up in the morning. 

	"After work, Vicky and I stopped to pick up some Chinese 
food and wine for our festivities. A nice Sauvignon Blanc that Vicky 
had tried at a trendy new wine shop in town. I would have been happy 
with beer, but when in—France?
 
	When we arrived at Vicky's, I needed to pee in a bad way and 
Vicky had made me laugh so hard on the way home that I had wet my 
pants more than once. She almost busted a gut over my frantic 
departure from the car. I unbuttoned and unzipped my pants while I 
rushed to the bathroom and had even begun to pull them down by the 
time I blasted into the bathroom. 

	"Hi…" David began until he noticed who had entered the 
room.

	I had no choice but to continue with my mission, and that was 
to pee. It would either go in the toilet or on the floor, but it was going 
to happen. 

	"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" I said as I urinated. "It was an 
emergency."

	It was then that my mind cleared enough to realize that he was 
nude. All that had registered in my mind when I burst into the 
bathroom was that he was shaving. The fact that he hadn't been a 
gentleman and left is what made me look up. My face began to burn 
with embarrassment as I noticed he was naked—the splashing sound 
of my urine in the toilet water didn't help matters either.

	But—it wasn't all embarrassment; before me, stood a very 
attractive body, and it didn't help any that I was already attracted to 
him. Although he wasn't tall, maybe five-foot ten or so, he was in very 
good shape. His proportionately sized muscles rippled under his skin 
and I don't believe there was an ounce of fat anywhere. And tucked 
between his legs was, what I considered, the cutest little penis I have 
every seen. Not that I'm any expert, mind you, but I know what I like. 

	I pushed aside my wistful thoughts and apologized again—and 
then looked away. 

	"Could you throw me my towel please?"

	My puzzled look must have told him I had no clue as to which 
towel he was referring to because he then pointed in front of my legs. 
On the floor was a towel that I must have tossed when I lifted the toilet 
lid.

	David wrapped the towel around his waist and as he sidled by, 
between my knees and the wall, the tent-like bulge in the towel 
brushed my head—ever so slowly. He then left the room and closed 
the door behind him.

	There was a moment of bewilderment as I thought about what 
just happened. I was torn between disgust and sexual arousal. Disgust 
in that he had rubbed his dick on my head, and sexual arousal in that—
he rubbed his dick on my head. I reached down between my legs and 
squeezed my clit, but the guilt of betraying Vicky prevented me from 
masturbating."

                                     11.

	Amy reluctantly withdrew her hand from between her legs; the 
letter was continued on page one hundred and thirty-two. She cursed in 
a low, almost inaudible, voice as she searched through the magazine. 
She came to a pictorial of a man and a woman engaged in what could 
only be described as "we are about to have sex" pictures. The woman 
of course had big breast and the man was hung like a banana tree. His 
cock was semi hard and had a slight upward bend.

	The young attractive man held his cock an inch or so from the 
woman's mouth; her tongue set to lick the monster before her. The 
small slit in the head of his penis was open and a thick clear liquid 
filled the space. Amy's finger went back to digging as her eyes moved 
from frame to frame, but became frustrated when she had to turn the 
page once again. On the following page the woman's legs were bent at 
the knees and spread wide and the look on her face was that of a 
woman waiting for penetration. The man was poised over her with one 
hand supporting his upper body and one holding his cock. He was 
about to shove it in.

	Amy dropped the magazine to the floor and dug at her clit. She 
took a short detour to moisten her finger at the entrance of her vagina 
and when she returned to her clit she new she was about to go over. 
Her finger moved faster and harder as she made little circles over her 
clit, and then dug for gold by concentrating on a back and forth 
movement that brought her to her orgasm. It started in her groin and 
spread quickly throughout her body causing her to stiffen and close her 
legs tight and entrapping her hand. She remained stiff with sporadic 
spasms that jolted her entire body and caused loud inhuman-like 
sounds to escape her lips.

	There was a soft knock at the door. "You okay in there?" the 
voice from behind the door said; it was her husband, John. Amy tried 
to think quick but her mind was still locked into the afterglow of the 
endorphins that had just been pumped into her bloodstream. "Yes—
I'm fine."

	"You have been in there for a long time. What are you doing?"

	"Oh, sorry. I'm reading a magazine, do you need to go?"

	"No, I was just concerned, that's all. Go back to…"	He had 
ended the sentence with a pause, as if he were going to ask a question 
and changed his mind.

	Amy wondered if he would still say that if he knew what she 
was reading. She took that thought a bit further and wondered what he 
did when he read the magazine. The corners of her mouth slithered up 
and formed a kind of sardonic smile when she remembered the old 
cliché, "I buy it for the articles." 

	Amy turned to page one hundred and thirty-two.

                                     12.

	Twobivirgin continues: "After the bathroom episode, I went 
straight to my room and changed into something a bit more 
comfortable, and not to mention, into some dry panties. When I 
finished dressing, I stood at the door and paused, afraid to go out. How 
would I be able to face David again? It was bad enough that I had to 
pee in front of him, but then there was his nudity—did he notice that 
he turned me on, and that I peeked at him?

	I shook my head and couldn't believe how juvenile my 
thinking had become and I felt like a schoolgirl who had just been 
caught with her panties showing. My need to urinate had been an 
absolute emergency and as for the other, how could he know what was 
in my mind—and what of it. It was no accident when his penis slowly 
raked across my head. He's the one that should be afraid to face me.
 
	When I entered the living room, which also joined the dinning 
room seamlessly, Vicky had set the table and all the small boxes of 
Chinese food were strategically placed within reach for all. A glass of 
wine was set beside each place setting and the re-corked bottle of wine 
was in the middle. The soft jazz that played on the sound system 
coalesced with the twenty or so candles they had placed around the 
room, and induced an atmosphere of warmth and sensuality. Red and 
gold light from the day's last moments shown through the large 
westward facing window, and just over the horizon a small sliver of 
the sun seemed to struggle to keep the day alive.

	After the first few awkward moments when David sat down 
beside me, dinner went quite well. I felt relieved that the toilet 
encounter hadn't come up—but the morning commute did. David had 
asked us how our day went and Vicky let it out that they had an 
interesting drive to work. At that moment I realized that Vicky was the 
kind of person that just couldn't keep her mouth shut. A secret to her 
was like a pimple on a teenager's face. It would grow and grow to 
painful dimensions and then—explode.

	Suddenly I felt like a spectator at a ping-pong match. She said, 
and then he said, and then the rush of blood to my face when Vicky 
had said, "and she did it too!" My arms crossed both breasts in an 
attempt to hide them as a serious blush, nearly as red as the earlier 
sunset I'm sure, colored my cheeks.

	"May I…" I started to say, but it came out strange and my 
voice jumped up an octave. Trying again, I finally succeeded. "May I 
have another glass of wine…please?"

	Vicky and David laughed, and each placed a hand on one of 
my thighs, and then they both gave me a kiss on an apposing cheek at 
the same time. At first, it took me by surprise and I wanted to push 
them away, but the feeling of invaded space quickly faded and was 
replaced with a warm glow. Their lips felt like feathers as they 
scarcely touched my face. There was another kiss, and again. Like 
synchronized swimmers, they moved in a slow sensuous movement 
that ended at the nape of my neck, and then they kissed each other.

	They stood and each took one of my hands and led me to the 
couch. We sidled between the coffee table and sofa single file like 
young children at school on their way to lunch. They pulled me down 
between them and I turned to David to object to whatever it was they 
had planed but before my lips could form the first word; he kissed me. 
Vicky had moved close behind me and I could feel her warm breath on 
my neck. What happened next left no doubt in my mind that David—
and Vicky wanted to make love to me. They were a team. Neither 
male nor female, but one mind and two bodies and they worked well 
together. The left hand always seemed to know what the other left 
hand was doing.

	David's first kiss had felt more like a question than a kiss, and 
my answer had been to kiss him back, but it wasn't meant to be a yes. I 
was in a state of confusion and arousal, and I felt like the proverbial 
dear caught in the headlights of an on-coming train. David kissed me 
again but this time his tongue challenged mine to a wrestling match—
and his was winning. A hand had worked its way under my shirt and 
was massaging my breast. I reached for David's arm to protest his 
forward advances, but realized it wasn't his hand that was rubbing and 
tweaking my nipple. 

	My first thought was to stand up. To put an end to this before 
it all went too far, but my legs wouldn't move, and my arms didn't 
push David away, and the most surprising thing of all, I hadn't 
removed Vicky's hand from my breast. Those inner voices that 
seemingly come from nowhere, ghosts of parental warnings and 
indoctrination perhaps, were shouting hysterically now. "Get up—stop 
this now!" I wondered how many self-imposed rules I could break in 
one day: exhibitionism, voyeurism, infidelity, and the night was still in 
its infancy. That dark room in the back of my mind, the one with all 
the cobwebs and un-oiled hinges, was now open for business and 
revealing the desires that I had secreted away over the years."

                                     13.

	Amy set the magazine down on the floor and thought about 
Twobi's dilemma. How many times had she herself been tempted to 
open that door; to go inside and rummage through the stacked boxes 
filled with real and imagined sins. For most of Amy's life that door 
had been locked, but today she planed to open it up, air it out, and do 
some dusting.

	At this point in the letter, Amy new where it was heading and 
which dusty old box in Twobi's hidden room she would be opening 
next. Amy had a box just like it in hers, and its contents created the 
night that Amy and her friend, Ronda, had spent experimenting with 
sex. It had been so long ago that she wondered how much of her 
memory was real and how mush was pure fiction.

	They had both just turned eighteen, their birthdays were only a 
week apart, and they were celebrating by having a sleepover at 
Ronda's house. It was always best to stay at Ronda's because her 
mother was divorced and worked nights so they pretty much had the 
run of the house—and the beer. Ronda's mother was of the mind-set 
that it was okay for them to drink as long as they stayed in and didn't 
have any other kids over. Amy cringed at the thought now, but in 
Ronda's mother's defense, times were different then and she was a 
recovering hippie.

	Amy's recall of that night was rather vague as to how the topic 
started or even who had started it, but somehow they wound up talking 
about sex. But after admitting, along with some alcohol induced 
laughter, that two eighteen year-old virgins new nothing about sex, 
they moved on to something that they did know about and had even 
coined the name for—digging.

                                     14.

	Ronda had a secret:

	"What is it, come on—give?" Amy said as the two of them sat 
Indian-style, and facing one another on the floor.

	"I want to, but I'm scared of what you'll think of me if I do."

	"I wouldn't think bad of you, we've been best friends for most 
	of our lives."

	"But this is—different," Ronda said. The word "different" 
came out in a long drawn out whine; she bent her head down and 
ground her thumb into the carpet as if she were squishing a bug.

	"Okay, if you don't want to tell me," Amy said as she got up 
off the floor and started for the couch. She pulled at the hem of her t-
shirt and tried to cover her ass but the shirt was too short. They had 
changed into their sleeping attire not long after Amy arrived at 
Ronda's apartment; this consisted of nothing more than a t-shirt and 
panties.

	Ronda got up off the floor and ran up the stairs. For a moment, 
Amy thought she had pissed-off her friend and she was going to pout 
up in her bedroom for the rest of the night. Then a pair of pink-
toenailed feet appeared at the head of the stairs just below where the 
ceiling met the banister. She had paused there for a moment, and then 
continued down the stairs.

	She had a large brown paper bag in her hand, and it was 
swinging back and forth—as if it had something heavy inside. She 
walked around the coffee table, and then over to where Amy was 
sitting. She stood there for a moment clutching the bag with booth 
hands.

	"You have to swear—on your life—that you will never tell 
anyone about this," Ronda said. She had a look on her face that told 
Amy that this was serious. 

	"Shit, Ronda, your scaring me. What's in there—a severed 
body part or what?"

	"No, but your close," she said. The "o" in no was drawn out 
four times longer than needed.

	A tingle shot down Amy's spine all the way down to her feet as 
she pondered the meaning of "close." 

	"RONDA! WHAT'S IN THE BAG?"

	"You don't have to…"

	"Your creeping me out damn it. Just show me—no—scratch 
that. Tell me first."

	"Okay—okay. It's a dildo," she said. The crotch on one side of 
her mouth slid up into a roguish looking smile.

	"Dildo?"

	"Yeah, you know—a rubber penis."

	"A rubber penis? You mean like a model of one—human?"

	"I mean like a 'digging' kind, and yes—human, male, a man's 
thingy," she said as she handed the bag to Amy. "Wanna see?"

	Amy took the bag and set in her lap, and she could feel the 
weight of the thing as it lay across both her thighs. The only penises 
she had ever seen were on babies, like when she had to change her 
cousin's diaper, and that had been a little bit of a thing. She carefully 
unrolled the top of the bag and moved her face to one side as if 
something might jump out at her. Something like a snake-in-a-box; it 
wouldn't be the first time Ronda had set her up for a good scare. Amy 
made a small peephole at the top and peeked in. 

	There was a loud shriek, and then a thud as the bag flew off 
Amy's lap and sailed over the coffee table. A small glass vase stood in 
its path but was no match for the heavy bag. They both bounced on the 
carpet; the vase shattered into a thousand little shards of glass when it 
smashed into the baseboard of the far wall. The thing that had been in 
the bag flew from its prison and flopped on the carpet like a one-eyed 
fish that had just been landed.

                                     15.

	Amy pulled up her panties; the toilet seat was starting to bite 
into her ass and John would eventually get concerned about her 
lengthy stay in the bathroom. She took the magazine and headed for 
the sofa in the living room. John would be watching some old movie 
on television in the bedroom and would probably not budge until it 
was over. She looked in on him as she passed the door and noticed that 
he had fallen asleep. She could hear a light snore and he was on his 
side facing away from the TV. "Good," she thought. She shut off the 
light and quietly closed the door.

	She sat on the couch for a moment, and then removed her 
panties and shoved them under one of the cushions. Amy took the 
blanket that was neatly folded across the top of the couch and covered 
herself from the waist down. "This is much better," she though as she 
reclined and propped a pillow under her head. She brought her feet up 
sole to sole letting her knees fall apart and then rested her hand on her 
wet crotch. 

	Opening the magazine to page one hundred and thirty-two, she 
quickly scanned the page for the paragraph where she had left off. She 
started to read but found her mind drifting back to the night when she 
and Ronda had—dug a hole together. There was a muffled sound of a 
laugh from Amy as she tried to hold back a loud burst at her own pun. 

	She slipped the magazine under the couch as she wondered 
what Ronda was doing right now. The last time she had heard from her 
she was pregnant with her third child. Her husband had been 
transferred to Ohio and they were on the move again. They had called 
each other for a while, but with the cost of long-distance phone calls 
and such…

	That's just bullshit, she thought. The truth of the matter was, 
they had nothing in common anymore and Amy hated Ronda's 
husband. He was a little fucking computer geek that knocked up her 
friend and took her a thousand miles away—and she missed her. She 
missed the old Ronda; the one that she could share all her secrets with, 
and be there when she needed her to be there. What she would give to 
go back to that night when they shared one of Amy's most intimate 
experiences. 

                                     16.

	The thing in the bag that had frightened Amy was now resting 
quietly on the floor in the middle of the room. When she looked in the 
bag and saw the veins, it had startled her. She wasn't sure what she 
thought it was, maybe an arm or some other homeless body part, but 
she did think it was real. Amy had shoved it away in a moment of 
panic.

	"What the hell is that Ronda," Amy blurted out. Her heart was 
still pounding in her chest and it felt like it would jump out of her 
throat at any minute.

	"I told you—it's a dildo. Women use them to dig."

	"Dig?" Amy tried to understand but her brain was still in a 
frightened fog.

	"You know, they put it in their hole."

	An expression of enlightenment came over Amy's face as she 
finally got it, and then turned quickly to one of disbelief. 

	"No—I don't believe it. That thing is way too big to fit in 
there."

	"No it isn't," Ronda said. There was a big smile on her face 
and for a moment there eyes remained fixed on each other in silence.

	Amy was the first to speak.

	"You mean…"

	"Yes I have," Ronda said before Amy could finish her 
question.

	"But…that means…"

	"Well…yes, physically I'm not a 'virgin' anymore."

	"Wow," Amy said, but it sounded more like she was 
whispering to herself than talking to Ronda. She looked at the thing on 
the floor and tried to imagine Ronda putting it inside her vagina. 

	Ronda walked over to the dildo and picked it up off the floor, 
and then went over to where Amy was sitting. Amy was still spooked; 
it was like being in first or second grade again, when the boys would 
hand you a rubber spider or fake puke. You knew it wasn't real, but it 
was still gross.

	"Here, take it," Ronda said as she handed it to Amy. "It feels so 
real."

	"How would you know, I mean, if it feels real or not? Is there 
something else you haven't told me?"

	"No, but it does feel real—don't you think?"

	Reluctantly, Amy took the rubber phallus in her hand and 
examined it like a first year medical student that was about to dissect 
her first foot or hand. She knew the basics of the male sex organ and 
how it all worked, and she could even name the parts. Between her 
mother's embarrassing sex-talks, sex-ed at school and what her friends 
had told her, she understood all the details—except one."

	"Is this what they look like when their 'hard?'" Amy asked. It 
was a subject she had always wanted to clear up, but she was too 
embarrassed to admit she didn't know.

	"Yes," Ronda said with a puzzled look on her face. "You 
didn't know?"

	"Well I know the word, but I wasn't sure what it would look 
like. Where did you get this thing?" She asked, quickly changing the 
subject.

	"I found it in a box in the basement. When my father left, mom 
packed away all his stuff and I found 'it' with some dirty magazines 
under some clothes. I guess she forgot it was there."

	"Dirty magazines? You mean like playboy?"

	The lascivious grin returned to Ronda's face. "No—it's 
pictures of people having sex for real—and before you ask, I found 
them with the dildo. I think mom has forgotten that this stuff is down 
there. You know—she won't even go in the basement anymore, and if 
she wants something or needs something done, she just sends me to do 
it—you wanna see the pictures?"

	Amy nearly laughed out loud at the way Ronda worked in the 
question, "—you wanna see the pictures?" It reminded her of when 
they were in second, or maybe third grade and Ronda had learned how 
to spell the word "shit." She had that same look in her eyes, and 
couldn't wait to tell her. "S-h-i-t," she said displaying all her bright 
teeth in a grandiose smile. Something Amy's father might call a, "s-h-
i-t eating grin."

	"Yes, go get them."

	This time Ronda ran to the kitchen; she heard the caterwaul 
from the door that leads down to the basement, and then the thump of 
Ronda's feet as they hit each step of the stairs. Amy's attention 
turned to the disembodied penis that lay on her lap. It just didn't seem 
possible that it would fit inside her vagina without causing serious 
damage. One night, out of curiosity, she put her finger at the entrance 
of her hole and pushed it in about an inch, and even that was a tight fit.

	Amy heard Ronda running up the stairs of the basement and 
then the sound of the door slamming shut. She quickly tossed the dildo 
over to the other side of the couch as if her mother was about to catch 
her with the evidence of a cookie jar raid. Ronda hurried into the room 
and set the magazines on the coffee table.

	"I'm going to clean up the broken glass and them I'm going to 
have a beer, you want one?" Ronda said. She was breathing hard from 
her run down and then up the stairs.

	"Yeah, I think I need one," she said as her eye's purposely 
avoided the pornography before her. 

	In between Ronda's trips to the kitchen, the first trip with a 
dustpan in her left hand and dragging the broom on the carpet behind 
her in the other, Amy let her gaze fall to the collection of four or five 
magazines neatly stacked on top of one another. In bold yellow 
lettering, printed on the front cover of the first magazine in a half 
circle, were words of a language Amy didn't recognize, German 
maybe, or it could have been Pluto-nese for all she knew. Just under 
that were two naked people. A woman on her hands and knees, and 
just behind her on his knees with his hands on her ass, was a man 
fucking her. Although the lower cheek of her ass obscured the view of 
actual penetration, his penis was definitely inside her.

	"What do you think of that?"

	Amy jumped at the sound of her friend's voice, and felt as if 
she had been caught scratching her ass or checking her armpits for a 
foul odor. 

	"Uh, I haven't given it much thought yet. Do you need some 
help over there?"

	"Nope. Go on, Amy, look through them and let me know what 
you think," Ronda said as she went about her chore. 

	After Ronda plugged in the vacuum cleaner and Amy was sure 
she wasn't being watched, she picked up the first magazine and 
opened it to page one.

                                     17.

	Amy remembered those first pictures as thought it was 
yesterday as she rubbed her pussy. Long sweeping movements that 
started at the very bottom of her hole and went well over her clit. Her 
hand was making the blanket move in a way that would leave no doubt 
as to what she was doing.

	She reached under the sofa and retrieved the magazine from 
where she had hidden it. It was already on page one hundred and 
thirty-two and she was able to find her spot more quickly this time. 

                                     18.

	Twobivirgin continues in her letter: "David's kiss was breaking 
all the rules, but my will was diminishing and the internal voices grew 
lower in volume and intensity. I felt Vicky's hand move to the bottom 
of my bra and push the cup up over my breast. She then squeezed the 
entire breast gently. David released my lips and kissed his way down 
momentarily stopping on my neck—and then in what seemed like a 
perfectly choreographed movement, Vicky lifted my shirt and David 
sucked a nipple in his mouth.

	Once again my conscience raised its cogent voice in protest. 
"You've already stooped low into the bowels of decency, stop now 
before it's too late—too late—too late," said my inner voice now 
sounding more like my mother than me, but it was already too late. My 
juices were flowing and my groin felt heavy and excited; I wanted 
David, and if Vicky was part of the package—so be it.

	My eyes were closed and the back of my head rested on 
Vicky's shoulder as David sucked on my breast. Someone's hand 
wedged its way between my thighs and I let my legs fall open to its 
advances. There was a sucking sound as David released my nipple 
from his mouth and then kissed his way to the other. I felt my bra 
loosen as half of the two pairs of hands unfastened it, and then pulled 
both bra and shirt over my head leaving me naked from the waist up.

	I took David's face into my hands and gently pulled him up, 
and then pressed my lips to his. I invaded his mouth with my tongue in 
a long and passion driven kiss. The hand had arrived at its intended 
target and I moaned into David's mouth. My body bent at the hips as I 
ground my vulva against the fingers that rubbed my crotch. Vicky, 
unknown to me, had removed her blouse and bra and was now 
reaching to undo my pants.

	No words were spoken—and none were needed as I felt Vicky 
at my pants. Almost as a reflex action, I kicked off my shoes. For the 
first time since David's first kiss, I looked over at Vicky when I felt a 
tug at my pant legs. She was standing and bent over my feet, her heavy 
breast swinging as she moved.

	David gave me a gentle push and I fell against the back of the 
sofa. He started sucking on my breast and put his hand between my 
thighs. A song on the sound system filled the room with its raunchy 
blues-driven sound and a sax blew out a solo that sounded like sex 
incarnate. Vicky began to sway her hips; her eyes fixed on mine as she 
unzipped and then unbuttoned her pants. She slid them, and her panties 
down in one quick movement stepping out of them without missing a 
beat. My eyes went straight to Vicky's naked sex; the V of her groin 
was completely void of hair. The small labia reminded me of a tongue 
stuck out from between two large pouting lips. I wondered if it itched 
much.

	I let out another moan, louder this time, as I felt a finger 
penetrate my vagina. His thumb had found my clit and was rubbing it 
as he finger-fucked my pussy. I closed my eyes and moved my pelvis 
to the rhythm of his touch—which also seemed matched the beat of the 
music. David moved my hand to his crotch, he was the only one 
dressed now, and I felt around for his penis; I found it and gave it a 
squeeze.

	Now that Vicky had lost her audience, she came over to help 
David undress. I felt a light, almost nonexistent, kiss on my hand and it 
caused me to open my eyes. Vicky was kissing my hand along with 
parts of David's crotch. She pulled his zipper down and then with both 
of her hands, unfastened his pants and then pulled both his underwear 
and pants down to his ankles. His cock, all five inches of it, sprang up 
as his pants and boxers slid past it. I marveled at its beauty; it was as 
straight as a Popsicle, just as yummy looking too, and the skin was 
smooth with no scary veins bulging out that looked like they were 
about to explode.

	I suddenly felt an urge that I had never experienced with my 
husband; I actually wanted it in my mouth. Leaning over him, I took 
his cock in my hand, and then pulled his foreskin down away from the 
head. It wasn't round and fat like my husband's; it was more like an 
arrowhead with its pee hole set perfectly at the tip. I squeezed the base, 
and in a milking-like move, pulled the foreskin back up. A small bead 
of pre-cum oozed from the little hole and began to run down the 
glands: I quickly licked it up.

	Vicky kneeled in front of me and rested her arms on my thighs. 
I turned my head and looked at Vicky, who was now smiling at me 
and gently pulling at my thighs. The look on her face with her cute 
dimples, caused by her upturned mouth, made it impossible for me to 
say no. I let my legs fall open and scooted my butt to the edge of the 
sofa. I turned my face back to David's penis. 

	I slowly masturbated David and more clear fluid formed at the 
tip, and then spread over the entire head as his foreskin moved up and 
down. Vicky's first kiss on my inner thigh caused me to jump. 'It's the 
moment of truth,' I thought, and then wrapped my lips around the head 
of the second penis of my life to be between them." 

                                     19.

	Amy's clit buzzed with excitement and she burned with the 
heat of passion like never before. Suddenly an orgasm of a level ten 
magnitude on the Amy-Richter scale exploded through her body. She 
clamped her legs around her hand as spasm after spasm jerked her 
body. She turned to her side and the vowel "O" echoed in the room as 
the first tear of many splashed onto the couch when it fell from her 
cheek. A long hidden memory fought its way up from deep inside a 
box marked, "Sweet Poison" in the furthest corner of that dark room in 
Amy's mind. But the door to the room slammed shut, and the key 
quickly turned in the lock—and the memory faded.

	The warm glow of satisfaction wrapped itself around Amy as 
she lay still on the couch. The great clock in the corner of the room 
ticked loudly—almost deafening. Amy opened her eyes to a sliver and 
let them grow accustomed to the bright light of reality that lit the 
room. Her face was wet; she only discovered this when she scratched a 
tickle on her cheek. 'Tears,' she thought, and then asked herself why 
but could not come up with any logical answer.

	She had a strong craving for beer. It was strange really, she 
hardly ever drank alcohol and if she did, it was usually wine. She 
forced herself to move and got up off the couch, pulling down the hem 
of her nightshirt even though there was no one around to see her naked 
ass, and went to the kitchen to raid John's stash of beer.

	There was the swish-fizz sound as Amy twisted the cap off the 
bottle on her way back to the couch; she stopped by her bedroom to 
check on John. He was facing away from Amy towards the wall and 
snoring. He didn't have the kind of snore that rattled her teeth or kept 
her awake at night, but more like the sound a cat makes when it curls 
up in your lap and you stroke it. She felt lucky to have him—still, 
there was an itch he couldn't scratch, and she didn't think it was 
because he didn't want to. He was, after all, a skillful lover and the 
mechanics of it came easy to him.

	"So what of it, sweetie," one of her coworkers would say when 
her work was not quite right. She would continue with, "I don't walk 
on water, and they shouldn't expect perfection."

	'So what of it, Amy,' she thought to herself. Maybe she 
expected too much from him, maybe it's like the itch on your back that 
appears in one place, only to disappear and reappear somewhere else 
when someone was kind enough to scratch it for you. How could she 
expect him to satisfy her needs if she didn't even know what they 
were? Life was such…

	'Sweet poison,' she thought. Amy wondered for a moment, 
'where had she heard those words before?' Unable to recall, she raised 
and lowered he shoulders in a gesture of surrender and went back to 
her sofa.

	Amy pulled the blanket over her body but before she did, she 
removed her shirt. There was something naughty about being naked in 
the living room and it seemed to fit her private evening's motif. The 
magazine had fallen to the floor and was open to a photograph of a 
woman lying on the floor and perched on one of her elbows. Her legs 
were spread and one hand spread the lips of her vulva. She wondered 
what it would be like to display one's self like that to strangers. Amy 
picked it up and turned to the page where she had left off. Before she 
started to read the last of Twobi's letter, she pushed the blanket to the 
floor; she hoisted one leg up on the back of the sofa and displayed her 
wet, open pussy to a mythical stranger that was watching her.

                                     20.

	Twobi writes that there was another kiss from Vicky but this 
time it was at the crease that separated her thigh from he groin. Close 
enough to smell her sex and see David's fingers as they poked and 
rubbed at her vulva. How far would she go? Would she kiss her there, 
and lick her there? Even her husband had only done that once—and 
that didn't end well. She envisioned Vicky looking up from between 
her legs with a disgusted expression on her face, as if she had just 
eaten some bad sushi. 

	"In the next wonderful moment, I felt both of David's hands on 
my head giving gentle direction to my unskilled fellatio. There was a 
sensation of wet heat at the top of my vulva and I realized that Vicky 
was sucking on my clit. I felt one, or maybe two fingers enter my 
vagina and wiggle inside. I let go of David's penis and fell back into 
the couch; my whole being, my whole world, became concentrated in 
a six-inch area between my legs. My groin met each down-stroke of 
Vicky's mouth and I could hear noises you would expect to hear at a 
hospital for the grossly insane. 

	My orgasm was at its peak before I even knew it was coming. I 
reached down and pulled Vicky's face into my sex and held it there 
firmly, not daring to move—or even breathe. When I could finally take 
in air, and my heart had resumed its task of pumping blood through my 
body, I released my grip on Vicky's head. With each accidental brush 
of Vicky's hair or movement of the fingers still inside my body, I 
would lurch uncontrollably. Even Vicky's breath as she exhaled, sent 
small electric-like shocks through my clit that were amplified by my 
body.  My legs that had gone up and out, and had almost connected 
with David's chin on the way, slowly descended. 

	Still in the grip of orgasmic after-burn, I looked down my body 
and through my open legs at Vicky's face. The two small dimples, the 
ones that always accompanied her smile, were back. They gave an 
illusion of innocence that seemed out of place just inches from my 
pubic hair. Vicky moved up and over me, pivoting on her knees, and 
placed a sweet kiss just above my navel, and then another between my 
breasts. She continued upward and her lips touched mine. Then 
again—and again, but this time I felt Vicky's tongue push its way into 
my mouth; I could smell and taste my own sex.

	While my attention was on Vicky's kiss, she had moved from 
between my legs and David had taken her place. 

	"Is it okay if David puts it in you?" Vicky whispered in my ear.

	I opened my eyes that I had closed during Vicky's kiss, and 
was surprised to see David masturbating between my legs. I wanted 
him, but then there was that inner voice again; the one that sounded far 
too much like my mother. For an odd moment, I remembered a 
television commercial where a mom follows her teen-aged daughter 
around, and then instructs her on safety and values. "Look both ways 
before you cross the street," the mother would say. There were other 
bastions of wisdom, but she couldn't remember them. Come to find 
out, the mother wasn't really there but her teachings were—the 
creation of inner voices, I mused, and hers was up to its old tricks too. 
'Don't, but if you do, use protection.' 

	"Does he have a condom?"

	"Of course honey, wouldn't have it any other way."

	David pulled out a drawer in one of the end tables beside the 
couch. He picked up a small package, ripped it open and what 
appeared reminded me of a miniature nipple for a baby bottle. 'How 
ironic' I thought. I watched in fascination as he placed it at the tip of 
his penis and rolled it back onto the shaft. Vicky massaged my breasts 
with one hand as the other grabbed hold of David's cock and placed it 
at the mouth of my vagina. I braced myself for the inevitable 
penetration.

	David's first thrust separated the lips of my vulva as it sank 
into the fleshy folds inside. The pain that I usually felt when I had sex 
with my husband—didn't happen. There was just the pleasant feeling 
of fullness and a sliding sensation that worked its way up to my clit. 
His pubic hair meshed with mine as his balls slapped at my butt as if to 
punish me for "ever" doubting him. Vicky wasn't idle either—they 
were a team. A two for the price of one deal; she would hand him the 
ball and he would run with it. And in the end, she would cheer, "give 
me an S—give me an E—give me an X… "

	For a moment, I thought he had cum when he stopped fucking 
me. His hand went down between my legs and held onto his cock as he 
backed it out of my pussy, but I didn't see any semen in the little 
nipple at the end condom. David and Vicky each took one of my hands 
and led me down the hall and into their bedroom. The room was dark 
except for three candles they had placed around the room. The 
headboard of the spacious bed was centered on one wall and protruded 
out to the middle of the room. The music that had fill the living room 
was also fed into speakers that hung on two walls.

	David turned to me and pulled me to him in an embrace, his 
arms under mine causing me to put my arms around his neck. Behind 
me, I could feel Vicky snuggle up to my back. Her arms embraced the 
two of us as David and I started a long and sensuous kiss, which ended 
with David trailing light touches, not kisses really, of his lips down my 
face and neck. He would pause now and then to give me painless bites. 
Vicky wedged her hand between my buttocks and massaged my anus 
and vagina with her fingers, and then moved on to my clit. She 
pinched it between her thumb and finger using the lose skin around it 
like foreskin on a penis to masturbate me.

	I nudged David far enough away to reach his penis with my 
hand. The only experience I had had with condoms was one that my 
friend had shown me, and it felt so odd on David's cock. I wanted to 
feel his penis not wet sandwich wrap: I grabbed the little nipple on the 
end and pulled it off—there was a snapping sound and David bend 
forward with a resounding, "OUCH!"

	"Oh my god, did I hurt you," I asked.

	David sat on the bed clutching his genitals and after a moment 
said, "That's okay—I didn't need those four or five pubic hairs 
anyway."

	Vicky fell over on the bed holding her tummy, as she laughed 
so hard that I, again, thought she would bust a gut. She suddenly jumped 
off the bed, and with her hands cupped between her legs she ran for 
the bathroom shouting she had to pee.

	"I'm so sorry—I didn't think of…"

	"It's okay—it's starting to feel better."

	I sat beside him on the bed, and then took his hand and placed 
it in my lap.

	"Here—if it makes you feel any better you can yank a few of 
mine."

	David put his hand in the thick of my pubs and took a hand 
full, and for a brief moment I thought he "would" do it.

	"Na—I think I would rather do this," he said as his hand went 
to where my legs come together.

	As David's finger entered my vagina, I laid back and spread 
my legs as wide as I could. Each thrust of his finger was met with an 
upward push of my groin.

	I must admit that even now I have no clue as to what came over 
me. I sat up and straddled his lap, and as I did his penis entered my 
vagina. David started to say something but it was too late. I wrapped 
my legs around his hips and my arms were in a strangle hold around 
his neck. 

	"Fuck—I'm going to cum, I said as the grunting sounds that 
came from my mouth grew in volume with each thrust. Suddenly, 
there was another pair of hands on my hips and they were assisting my 
movements on David's lap. 

	"Twobi—I'm—going to—cum—condom," was all David 
could manage to get out. 

	I felt the first blast of David's seed fill my vagina, and I 
suddenly realized what I had done, but my climax was upon me and it 
shot through every part of my body in orgasmic intoxication. My head 
went back and I felt my upper body fall into Vick's arms. My legs 
were locked around David's waist to prevent him from moving, but 
with each ejaculation, his cock would twitch and it caused my body to 
jolt. 

	It seemed like a long time before anyone moved or said 
anything. Giving into a need for comfort, I leaned forward and off of 
David. As I did, I could feel the thick fluid that David had just pumped 
into me begin to drip down my thigh. Vicky noticed David's cum-
soaked dick and then shot a quick glance between my legs.

	"David—you didn't use a condom?" Vicky said.

	"It's not his fault Vicky, I wasn't thinking and I climbed on,"
 
	"Do you use birth control?"

	"Yes," I answered.

	"Whew—at least we don't have to worry about that," said 
Vicky—who now took an interest in my crotch. "Do you mind if I take 
a closer look?" Vicky asked, pointing to my crotch.

	I didn't answer with words, I drew up my feet and let my knees 
fall to each side. Vicky climbed onto the bed and slid in between my 
legs, and then gently inserted a finger into my soggy hole. She then 
rose up on her knees and took hold of my hands pulling me to my 
knees as well. Vicky then lay down on her back. I had no idea what 
she was up to till she scooted up between my legs. I turned my head to 
look at David, who had been strangely quite all this time; he was 
sitting in one of the two chairs in the room and was slowly pumping 
his dick.

	I bent my body at the waist and assumed, what I have heard 
called, the doggy position. Vicky flashed her dimples up at me just in 
time for a drop of cum to hit her squarely on the tip of her nose. She 
laughed and asked me if I did it on purpose. I smiled and shook my 
head, but I still felt a bit uncomfortable with the lesbian behavior of 
my friend. 

	Vicky reached up and grabbed me by the hips and pulled 
downward. I lowered my body onto Vicky's so that my crotch now 
hovered just above Vicky's face. I could feel Vicky doing things to my 
pussy but I had no way of knowing what precisely. Vicky's question 
echoed in my ears, "Do you use birth control?" Of course I had lied 
and told her I did. At that moment, I wasn't sure how I would 
handle it if I were to get pregnant. I turned my head toward David, 
resting my cheek on Vicky's thigh, and looked closely at his body 
features. I didn't think it would be "all" bad—to have his baby.

	"Move closer David—so I can watch," I said.

	David griped the seat of the chair and dragged it with him as he 
moved to the edge of the bed. He put his feet on the bed and spread his 
legs so that I now had a close up view. I could even see his anus 
peeking at me from between the muscular lobes he sat on. His balls 
hung heavily and would bounce as he played with himself. Vicky's 
pussy was only inches from my nose and I could smell the 
unmistakable odor of her sex. I found the smell pleasant—quite to my 
surprise.

	Something had discovered my clit, and that something was 
getting my excited again. Maybe it was a finger or a thumb, or maybe 
even Vicky's tongue, but it really didn't matter, it felt wonderful. I 
watched David move the foreskin of his cock up and down over his 
arrowhead-shaped glands, and I could hear the sound of his fist 
colliding with his groin as he quickened.

	"No," I said.

	We locked eyes for a moment, and in a language that can only 
be described as "intuition," he understood what I wanted. He rose from 
the chair, and in a precarious looking knee-walk, joined me on the bed. 
I raised my head up toward David and used my index finger in a come-
down-here wiggle. He took this to mean that I wanted a kiss, but that 
wasn't what I wanted. I wanted to whisper in his ear; to say something 
I didn't want Vicky to hear.

	As he started to kiss me, I turned my face and put my lips to his 
ear. Little bumps of anxiety rose up on my skin and my stomach took a 
turn, as if I were on an elevator at the first floor but my stomach was 
still on the third.

"Save it for me," I whispered.

"Save it for what?" he whispered back, and then kissed me 
behind her ear.

"You know…"

"Maybe I do—but I'd still like to hear you ask for it."

	The bumps on my body doubled in size and my stomach took a 
leap towards the fifth floor. 'God' I thought. "I can't believe I'm 
thinking it, let alone, asking for it." Vicky's tongue was engaged in 
villainess behavior between my thighs and it was hard think. I know I 
can justify my desire; after all, he had already cum in me once. Would 
it really matter if he did it again? 'Yes,' she thought, because it 
wouldn't be an act of seduction on their part or a stupid mistake on 
hers; it would be little Twobi, all around good girl asking for it, and if 
he made her beg—she would.

	"I want you to cum inside me again," I said. My voice had an 
unmistakable tremble.

	He didn't answer, and I was thankful I didn't have to say it 
again, but what he did next made me question the very ideals I had 
lived my life by.

	David grasped Vicky's knee, the one closest to him, and pulled 
it around himself as he knee-walked up between her legs. Vicky had 
raised both knees and I had to persuade her to move the one that was 
now in my face. The knee went down and to the side away from 
David; I used the soft, fleshy thigh as a pillow. 

	There was a pang of jealousy as I watched him rub the tip of 
his cock on Vicky's pussy, and I had to remind myself that it was 
his wife he was about to fuck. He made small circles around her clit 
and then moved down to her hole—and pushed the head in. He pulled it 
back out and then he held it up to my mouth. He didn't push it at me or 
try to force me to take it; it was an offer—an offer I "could" refuse.

	The head of his penis was wet with Vicky's juices, and the eye 
set perfectly at the tip looked as though it were crying. A tear of pre-
cum was about to fall to the bed, but it held on by the thinnest of 
threads. I could smell the distinct odor of sex; not the smell of a cock 
or a pussy, but the fragrance that was left in a room after a couple of 
horny newlyweds had been screwing all night, only stronger now. I 
looked up at him from under his cock, and there was a moment of 
doubt, but it passed quickly. I took the beautifully shaped head into my 
mouth in much the same way I would jump into cold pool water. 'Just 
do it,' I thought.

	Although the taste of his penis had changed, it wasn't 
unpleasant. I wrapped my hand around the shaft and pumped the 
foreskin back and forward while my tongue poked at the little hole, 
and each time I sucked him in, it went further down my throat. 'Deep-
throat Twobi', I thought. Once when I had tried it on my husband, his 
large dick choked me and I actually barfed all over his lap. That 
seemed to cure him of his desire to shove that big ugly thing down my 
gullet. 

	I knew I had it all when my lips widened and the light brown 
pubic hair around the base of David's cock tickled my nose. 'It's
silly--young girl stuff,' I thought, but I felt a sense of pride and 
confidence that I had never felt with my husband, and maybe—I 
"wasn't" the frigid woman that my husbanded had claimed, and I had 
believed. David pulled his cock from my mouth and there was a 
sucking sound as I let go—reluctantly. 

	"Put it in her," David said as he aligned himself with Vicky's 
vagina.

	I didn't "want" to share him, and a feeling of jealousy gnawed 
at my gut once again. 'Stop it," I thought as I looked up to his 
beautiful face. I want him, and just him. David and Twobi in bed 
together, kissing, fondling, sucking and—"YES," burst from my lips 
as I thought, 'his seed deep inside my barren womb'. The feeling had 
dug itself deep inside me and was now over-shouting reasonable 
thought. My orgasm peeked in a sparkling splash of colors that flashed 
on the dark side of my eyelids.

                                     21.

	Twobi writes; it was like a line out of an old movie, "my 
whole life passed before my eyes," but—in reverse. It was my future 
not my past, and it was lived with David "and" Vicky. I took hold of 
David's cock and pulled him forward and into Vicky. He sank into her 
and trapped my hand between them. With each outward stroke, I 
massaged Vicky's vulva with my fingers letting David's slippery penis 
slide between them as I did. My mind was now clear of the drug-
like effects of my orgasm and I was on a new mission. That mission 
was Vicky's pleasure; a well-deserved pleasure and I would do 
whatever it took to give it to her. 

	I, literally, had Vicky's "amor Veneris, vel dulcedo" in the 
palm of my hand, and I could feel the excited little organ as my hand 
was slammed into it by David's thrusts. 

	'It's only fare', I thought. I knew what it felt like to be on the 
lonely side of sex; after all, I had lived there for the last fifteen years, 
and had even grown comfortable in its company—too comfortable. I 
kissed Vicky's thigh, and as I did, I raised my hand and stopped David 
in mid-stroke. I placed another kiss lower and closer to the joined 
genitals of Vicky and David. My tongue licked the length of David's 
shaft up to the point where the gentle folds of Vicky's pussy coddled 
his glands. I took hold of his cock and pulled him out, and then rapped 
my lips around the head in a final slurp.

	I turned my attention to Vicky's pussy. I have always liked the 
word, "pussy," and it seemed to be a term of affection rather than 
crudeness, like slit or cunt, and that was what I felt—affection. I 
moved to the center between Vicky's legs, and using the fingers of 
each hand, opened the miracle before me. Without pause or regret, I 
kissed the opening to Vicky's vagina, and then inserted my tongue. 
The soft ridges and bumps inside, tickled my taste buds as I fucked her 
with it. 

	My finger replaced my tongue in Vicky's hole as I kissed my 
way up her sex. There was a soft moan from under me as I licked the 
small lips that lay limp between the larger ones. I sucked them into my 
mouth and fellated them in much the same way I would a penis. I 
lightly chewed on the elastic skin and stretched them out using the 
suction of my mouth—and then let go causing them to snap back to 
their former position like drunken guards of the gate.

	There was the sound of whispering behind me, and then the 
bed shook as David climbed off and on again. I looked over my 
shoulder and David had assumed the position behind me. His penis 
slipped inside and he began to fuck me, horse style, as Vicky watched 
from below. It was my turn to moan and I did so, loudly, as my pubic 
hair became reacquainted with his. My tongue returned to Vicky's 
pussy and I added a second finger. With my free hand, I 
reached back between my legs and rubbed my own clit. I didn't want 
to be obvious, but I wanted to know.

	There had been the whispering I heard before he mounted me. 
Had Vicky made him put on a condom? 'Put a raincoat on the little 
fellow,' I could imagine her saying. 'That's the rule.' My fingers were 
only two or three inches away, and all I would have to do is…but I 
didn't, and decided it was better not to know—not yet anyway.

	For the moment, it all seemed so unreal to me; there were 
moans and squeaks and the sounds that a body makes when it collides 
with another skin to skin, and all to the accompaniment of the music 
that was pumped into the room from the all-night-with-the-blues show 
coming to them straight from Chicago in glorious FM. Shadows on the 
walls of three bodies; hands moving, heads bobbing, legs bending and 
then striating, flickering from the three candles that lit the room. 

	Vicky's clit hardened under my tongue and her hips danced the 
age-old dance. They did the bump and grind at a steadily increasing 
pace that ended with an upward push that didn't recede. Her breathing 
had quickened at the same speed and was now holding fast as Vicky 
made noises that I was "sure" sounded just like a woman in heavy 
labor. Vicky's body convulsed with each move of my tongue so I 
stopped licking and held firm on the hard little ball.

	David had also started to show signs of approaching orgasm as 
his groin made slapping noises against my ass. He had a tight grip on 
my hips, and he used them as leverage to pull me back to meet his 
thrusts. My own orgasm hovered in a kind of stand-by mode in 
anticipation of the warm splash of semen I hoped to feel inside me. As 
David smashed against my ass for the last time, and his cock had 
penetrated as far as it would ever go, I felt a hot gush deep inside my 
pussy and it spread quickly through out.

	Our bodies were frozen in the posture of copulation and ecstasy 
for endless seconds as my hovering orgasm finally landed, and the 
sounds of birthing had returned to the room. For a fraction of a second, 
I thought Vicky was cumming again—until I realized the sounds were 
coming from me. Behind my closed eyes, small dots of light kept 
rhythm with my pulse, and the twitch of David's cock as he 
ejaculated—caused my body to lurch uncontrollably.

                                     ***

	The last paragraph in Twobi's letter had gone on to describe 
the next few weeks in her life and how she was torn between the 
euphoria of what she had done, and the sheer madness of it. She wrote 
that even the relief she had felt when her period finally showed—
"better late than never," she had thought, didn't satisfy the guilt. Her 
husband had never even asked about the weekend she spent with 
Vicky and David, nor did he seem to care. It was like nothing ever 
happened, but it did happen—and would likely happen again.

	Twobi ended the letter with a promise of an update.

                                     22.


	Amy set the magazine down and had coaxed the last few drops 
of her beer from the bottle, when the idea struck. All the old jokes 
about bottles and women came rushing into her mind and she felt a 
moment of shame for even thinking about it. 'Only a slut would do 
something like that,' she thought. "Slut," she said out loud. "Slut 
Amy," she said again, but this time it produced a quiet laugh.

	The thought of waking John for a brisk 'roll in the hay,' as her 
mother once called it, did cross her mind, but tonight she wanted 
something different, and although he was a good lover, he did lack 
imagination when it came to sex. Tonight she wanted to be bad. 
Tonight she wanted to be "slut Amy," even if it was all by herself. 
'Ha—ha,' she thought as she went to get another beer.

	She bent down to the lower shelf in the fridge where the beer 
was kept and thought of her imaginary friend again. Only this time, he 
was peeking in the kitchen window that was directly behind her, and 
masturbating as he watched her bend over. She purposely pushed her 
naked ass high into the air to give him a better show. Then she 
thought, 'what if there "is" someone watching me? Some crazy 
pervert from the mental institution less than a mile away.' She checked 
the back door to be sure it was locked.

	Amy didn't drink much, but when she did, two or three beers 
could make her a very happy, or sad—or sometimes both, drunk. She 
sat on the sofa and eyed the empty beer bottle on the table. 'They do 
kind of look like a soldier,' she thought. Someone had called the 
empty bottles "dead soldiers" but she couldn't remember who it was, 
"I may just have to burry him—poor thing," she said to herself. 

	The magazine was still open to the last page of Twobi's letter 
as she picked it up and stretched out on the couch. The blanket laid on 
the floor in a heap where she had left it earlier, but this time she 
elected to cover her naked body. She thumbed through the pages of the 
magazine looking for something that would capture her interests. The 
pictures were graphic in nudity, but lacked any real sex—like the ones 
Ronda had shown her. 'Sweet poison,' she thought, and for a moment 
she could even hear Ronda say it—but like one of Amy's mini-gasms, 
it was just a tease, a precursor to the real thing, which led her…

                                     23.

	Where? 'To Ronda,' she thought. Amy closed her eyes and let 
her mind drift back to that special night. Ronda was bent over; her 
pink-panty covered ass hovered over the carpet in a squat, and the 
vacuum cleaner roared as it sucked up the broken glass. There was an 
occasional "ting" sound as the small shards the broom had missed, 
went flying up the hose. 

	Amy was seated on the sofa and thumbing through the pages of 
the first dirty book in the stack. Blood rushed to her face as she looked 
through it, and her ears felt like they were on fire; they did that 
sometimes, when she was digging—or when she let a boy touch her 
breast.

	Any questions she had about erections were cleared up buy the 
time she got half way through the magazine. The nude man was shown 
many times with, and without, an erection and she found it fascinating 
how a penis could be so small, and then grow so big. In one picture it 
laid limp and hung down between his balls, and in the next, it stuck out 
straight, fat and rigid. But now, her inquisitive mind asked, 'if a man's 
testacies were so sensitive, and she knew they were, how come men 
didn't scream in pain when they closed their legs and squished the 
poor little things?'

	And then there was oral sex; fellatio the books called it, but her 
friends just said, suck or blow—so,which is it? Suck or blow, breathe 
in or breathe out, push or pull, black or white—which the hell was it? 
The woman in the pictures didn't look like she was "blowing" on the 
penis, if anything, she appeared to be sucking on it—like she was 
eating a popsicle or an all-day sucker—and she seemed to be enjoying 
herself.

	The room fell quiet and Amy looked up; Ronda had unplugged 
the vacuum and was rolling up the power cord. She was now standing 
but still bent over. Her pink panties had bunched up to one side and a 
healthy patch of black pubic hair extruded from her crotch. Amy had 
seen her naked before, mostly at gym in school, and her pubic hair was 
of the straight verity, and she enjoyed some good-natured harassment 
from the other girls because of it.

	"Your 'fur' is showing, Ronda," Amy said, and then laughed. 
Fur had become Ronda's nickname in gym class. Amy's had been 
"Red," of course.

	She turned, and in an exaggerated movement, fixed her panties, 
and then stuck out her tongue. 

	"What do you think about the pictures?"

	Amy looked down at the magazine, and it lay open to the page 
where the woman had the man's penis in her mouth, and her left hand 
was massaging his balls. Like most redheads, Amy's skin was pail, 
and just the slightest hint of a blush would stand out like a tall tree on 
an open prairie. As her face filled with hot blood, she shrugged her 
shoulders in answer to Ronda's question.

	"Oh, come on Amy, you must have an opinion? I'll admit it, 
they turned me on; I was hotter than a virgin in a whore house—sorry, 
I must have read that somewhere."

	"It was…" there was a long pause while Amy searched for the 
right word, "educational."

	Ronda left the vacuum where it was and walked swiftly over to 
Amy and started to sit.

	"You want an education, try this out," she said as she picked up 
the dildo that was lying on the couch. She sat and placed the rubber 
phallus in Amy's lap.

	"I think I'll pass on that one Ronda. I can't believe you put 
that—thing, inside you."

	Amy's statement felt like salt being rubbed into the self 
inflicted wound of her own guilt. Ronda hadn't believed it herself after 
she had done it, and the blood on the bed had scared her. Her dreams 
that night had been filled with nightmares; of trips to the hospital and 
doctors asking her how it happened, and her mother crying as she sat 
beside her on the gurney and listened as her baby girl confessed to 
blatant debauchery.

	"Whats the matter Ronda, you look kind of pail?"

	"Oh, nothing. You want another beer, I think I need one?"

	"I've already had two. I'll get drunk for sure, and you know 
how I am."

	"Please have one with me, will ya?"

	Against Amy's better instincts, she agreed. Ronda did look like 
she needed something—maybe just a friend.


                                     24.

	While Ronda was gone, Amy shuffled the magazines in front 
of her; she would look at the cover and then set it aside, and then pick 
up the next. At the very bottom, was a black book with one gold 
embossed word on the cover, "Letters." She was about to open the 
book when Ronda came back in the room.

	"No, not yet." Ronda said as she walked over to Amy. "Here, 
I'll trade ya," and she handed her the beer, and then grabbed the book.

	"Okay, Ronda, what's up with the book?" Amy said with a 
slight hint of frustration in her voice. 'Not yet,' she thought. 'The 
dildo, the dirty books, and now this particular book and she says, "not 
yet." This was all planed—but why?'

	"It's a book I found and I wanted to share it with you."

	"More dirty pictures?" Amy said, and then took a sip of her 
beer.

	"No."

	"Then, what?"

	"Letters."

	"—Yes go on."

	"Love letters. Not just any love letters, but secret ones."

	Amy laughed and said; "I don't think they could be 'too' secret 
if they're published in a book."

	"Well, maybe 'anonymous' would be a better word—first 
names only, and they were changed to protect the—well, you know. 
It's sort of like peeking through a window of someone's life. Their real 
life, not the sugar coated biographies you see on TV. These letters are 
the bones of the proverbial skeleton in the closet that are usually left 
out."

	"Okay you sold me, let me see it," Amy said as she reached for 
the book.

	"No, please. I—I want to read one to you. It's important."

	Ronda's eyes grew big, and she wrapped herself in a protective 
cocoon of body parts: her shoulders bent over, her elbows pulled into 
her sides and her legs crossed. One lone tear escaped the corner of 
Ronda's eye, and Amy watched it as it followed the contour of her 
cheek and made its way down and under Ronda's chin. In a swift 
movement of her hand, Ronda swatted at it, as if to shoo away an 
invisible fly, and then screwed up her face in a look of disgust and 
shook her hand. 

	"Sorry, it's a very sad letter."

"That's okay—are you all right?"

	Ronda nodded and took a deep breath, but avoided 
looking at Amy as she continued. She cleared her throat.

                                     25.

	"Dearest Sweet Poison." 

	Amy tried to recall the letter—but it was lost somewhere in the 
years that had gone by since. Still, it seemed important.


                                     26.


	Ronda closed the book. Her face was red, and there were more 
tears. 'All the friends and relatives of the first one,' Amy thought, but 
quickly discarded the unsympathetic string of words. She moved 
closer to Ronda and put her arm around her friends shoulder. Ronda 
turned and surprised Amy with a full embrace, and then laid her head 
on her shoulder. 

	There was an awkward moment when Amy didn't know what 
to do with her hands; she placed them on Ronda's shoulders, on her 
lower back, and then settled on patting her upper back. She was 
trembling and Amy was tempted to say something like, 'its only a 
movie,' or something funny to relieve the tension, but thought better of 
it. 

	"Amy?"

	"Yes."

	"Can I ask you something?"

	"I guess—sure," she said as she closed her eyes, but opened 
them quickly. The third beer had begun to do its work, and the room 
had gone into a spin when she closed them.

	"Do you still dig?"

	Five whole seconds had gone by before Amy understood the 
question, and when she finally did answer, her voice started from a 
low pitch and slid up into the vocal stratosphere. "—WHAT!"

	"Ouch," Ronda yelled as she pulled back from Amy and stuck 
the tip of her finger into her ear, and then gave it a shake. "Did you have to 
scream in my ear?"

	"Did you have to ask such a—personal question? Jesus, 
Ronda."

	"It isn't like we've never discussed it before. We used to do it 
together—years ago, remember?"

	"Yes I remember, but that was more like playing doctor or 
something, you know, I'll show you mine if you show me yours type 
of thing. Not digging."

	"I know, but I need to know—if I'm, well—abnormal or…"

	Ronda's face had wrinkled up and her mouth pulled to one 
side. Her lips were slightly parted and showing just the tips of her 
teeth. 'She just wants to know if it's normal to masturbate,' Amy 
thought, but she also felt that there was something else, something she 
wasn't quite ready to talk about.

	"No, I don't think your 'abnormal,' everyone does it, they just 
don't talk about it."

	"Really, you think everyone does it?"

	"Yes I do," Amy answered, but her mind instantly excluded 
'some' people.

	"So—you're saying that you do it too?"

	Amy was afraid to open her mouth. If she had tried to answer 
at that moment, it would have come out in a series of  'buts and ahs.

	"Well?" asked Ronda as the corners of her mouth slithered up 
into a crooked evil grin.

	Amy realized she couldn't avoid the answer; she shrugged her 
shoulders and said, "yes;" only the "s" rolled off her tongue and ended 
with an "a" and came out like, "Yessss-a."

	"What about the pictures?"

	"What about them?"

	"Didn't they make you want to…"

	"Could I have another beer?"

	"—Sure."

	'This will be a record breaking beer,' Amy thought as she 
watched Ronda go to the kitchen. Three had been the former, but her 
mouth was dry and she wanted to change the subject. She "was" 
curious though, about the pictures, and if she were to tell the truth she 
would have to admit they did turn her on—a little.

	Ronda returned with the beer and sat close to Amy, thigh 
touching thigh, and set the bottles down. There was a blanket on the 
back of the sofa and she reached over her shoulder to pull it down, and 
then spread it over their legs. She raised her beer bottle.

	"To 'Sweet Poison.'"

	Amy raised her glass but had no idea why; she just did it.

	"Sweet Poison," she said, and then poured a healthy, or 
unhealthy depending on your point of view, amount of beer down her 
throat.

                                     27.

	"Sweet poison," Amy said to herself as she thought about that 
night with Ronda. At least she could remember where she first heard 
it. Still, there was a cloud that surrounded those words and she tried to 
jump ahead; fast forward her memory like a videotape machine, but 
that button was on the fritz. No matter how hard she pushed it, the 
video in her head would only plod along feeding her one scene after 
another and in its proper order.

	She sat up and wrapped the blanket around her and went to the 
kitchen to get another beer. The blanket dragged behind her on the 
floor like the long train of a wedding gown. Amy reached for the 
refrigerator door—but just stood there puzzled. It was one of those 
things she did maybe ten, or more, times a day—open the refrigerator 
door. She had tried to open it from the left side—but the handle was on 
the right. She moved her hand to the right and opened it—it felt 
awkward and unfamiliar.

	Maybe John had switched it around; he was always screwing 
with things around the house, but she hadn't noticed it earlier—she 
was sure it had opened from the left. She squatted and looked for a 
beer, there were none on the bottom shelf. She grunted as she bent 
down lower to see if there were any hiding in the back. 'Oh well,' she 
thought, 'I must have taken the last one.' As she rose back up, she saw 
that there were seven or ten bottles of beer on the top shelf.

	Amy took a step back, and any residual effects from her three-
beer limit were now gone. She slammed the door shut. Small white-
tipped bumps formed on her back and arms and she could feel the 
short hairs on the back of her neck move as the skin under them 
tightened. 'They were "all" on the bottom shelf—I know they were.' 

	"John—are you here—are you screwing with me?" She asked, 
not expecting an answer. There was no place for John, or anyone else 
for that matter, to hide in the kitchen—not a full-grown man anyway.

	The lock on the back door was still in the locked position, and 
without a key, it couldn't be locked from the outside—or even locked 
and then closed, it was a deadbolt. She slowly turned, her senses 
heightened, looking for anything that might…

	The window, the one that faced the kitchen from the dinning 
room wall, seemed to have shrunk. It was only half, or maybe even a 
quarter of its original size. Movement from behind the glass had 
caught her eye—no, not movement—it…

	Fogged. She stood frozen in panic, unable to move or even 
scream. It fogged again—and again—and again; someone was 
breathing on the glass. 

She turned and ran. 

	"John," Amy screamed as one foot shot out in front of her, and 
her body pivoted on the other. She ran past the short wall that 
separates the kitchen from the living room, and then down the hall. 
Her mind raced well ahead of her feet, and she could see herself 
waking John, and telling him about the window, and how she could 
see "his" breath, and…

	"DOOR! Where's the FUCKING DOOR!" She had reached 
the end of the hall. She turned quickly looking left and then right; there 
were "no" doors—just a long, blank hallway. Amy fell back into a 
corner and slid slowly down to the floor. The thick-pile carpet that had 
once tickled her feet was now gone as well; replaced with a hard, 
multi-colored tile.

	"John—John, were are you," she cried. Her knees had pulled 
up to her chest and the blanket was wrapped tightly around her body.

	'I'm here,' said a masculine voice that seemed to come from 
within he own thoughts. 

	Somehow, it reminded her of an old movie she had seen called, 
"The Three Faces of Eve." The voice "felt" real—as if someone else 
had taken up residence inside her head—maybe even a male version of 
Amy.

	"Here?" Amy asked.

	'Yes.'

	Amy had an "almost" irresistible urge to ask him who the fuck 
he was and why he was inside her head—but said:

	"Why?"

	'Because I'm your guide.'

	"My guide?"

	'Yes, I'm sorry if I scared you—but I had to get your 
attention.'

	There was a clicking sound and Amy suddenly felt secure and 
safe rapped tightly in her blanket; like an unborn infant in her mother's 
womb. She could hear John's gentle snoring from the room that had 
previously disappeared, and in fact, everything had returned to normal. 
Amy stood; she had to steady herself against the wall when the room 
had begun to spin. 'Too much oxygen,' she thought, and slowed her 
breathing.

	"Did you do all this?"

	'Yes, but I had to get through to you.'

	Amy peeked around the door, the one that lead to her bedroom, 
and John was sleeping soundly. Despite her first desire to wake him up 
and fill his ears with exotic and impossible happenings, she was drawn 
back to the voice.

	"What are you guiding me to?"

	'The truth.'

	"What truth would that be?"

	'Ronda, and the letter.'

	Amy felt a sharp pain at the back of her neck, a sure sign of a 
bad headache coming on. She walked back to couch and sat down.

	"I can't remember the letter, I've tried."

	'You can and you will.'

	His words chased the pain in her neck up to the top of her head 
and it pulsed in time with the lightning that struck behind her eyes.

	"Stop it, STOP IT," Amy screamed. "My head is going to 
explode."

	There was a clicking sound again, two clicks to be exact, and 
the pain stopped. The flashing bolts of light behind her eyes flashed 
once more—then again for the last time. She took a deep breath, and 
then fell to her side onto the soft cushions of the couch and felt very 
relaxed.

	'Do you feel better now, Amy?'

	"—Yes," Amy said after a long pause.

	'That night with Ronda, when she was sitting beside you and 
showing you the erotic magazines, what happened next?'

	Amy's jaw tightened and her eyes closed so hard that her 
eyebrows came together over her nose. 

	"She took my hand and put it under the blanket in my lap—and 
told me to dig."

                                     28.

	"I don't think I can do that Ronda," Amy said, but didn't 
remove her hand from under the blanket. "We're not kids anymore, 
and this isn't show and 'not' tell."

	Ronda didn't speak; she opened the magazine to the first page 
and then the next. The pictorial was of a couple engaged in various 
forms of sex, and Amy found she was attracted to the young man in 
the photos. He had an athletic build and his penis was more in line 
with what she thought its size "should" be. It didn't look threatening. 

	Amy tried to resist the overwhelming urge to dig, but settled 
for a stealth-like approach to the problem. She moved her hand lower 
in her lap, until her fingers found the small hard bump under the thin 
material of her panties. The nipples of her breast, however, were not so 
discreet; they tightened and became erect revealing Amy's excitement. 

                                     29.

	It was disturbing, this sudden reversal of rolls. It had always 
been Amy that led the way, and Amy that consummated new ideas and 
gave them the thumbs up or thumbs down, but here was timid Ronda 
forging ahead into unknown, unexplored territory. 

	Ronda moved her hand under the blanket and began to dig. 
There was not attempt to hide it, or even pretend that it was something 
else like scratching an itch or adjusting her panties that had crept into 
the crack of her ass. She was masturbating. Ronda moaned and Amy 
could visualize Ronda's finger finding its target; working its way 
through the folds of her vulva and under her clit.

	The magazine fell from Ronda's lap, and there was another 
moan when her other hand crossed the barrier that separated Amy's 
thigh from hers. Her fingers dug in as she grabbed a hunk of Amy's flesh and 
held on as if she were afraid of falling off the couch. Ronda's body 
stiffened and a primitive grunt, like something you would hear from 
the ape section of the zoo, came from Ronda's throat. It was followed 
by several high-pitched versions of Amy's name.

	Ronda released Amy's thigh as her body sank back 
into the thick cushions of the couch. Her eyes were closed and the 
crotch of one side of her mouth slid up into half a smile. The hand that 
had gripped Amy's thigh with such vigor, now massaged her leg in 
ever growing circles that, with each rotation, inched closer to Amy's 
sex.

	Amy's eye's grew large and round as she watched her friend 
cum. She had been so captivated that she hardly noticed Ronda's hand 
on her thigh, but now it became the focus of her attention. Ronda's 
hand had bumped into hers, and she had been caught with her finger's 
on the sweet spot. A wave of guilt and embarrassment roared through 
her and the pail skin of her face and neck flushed with blood.

	It was all too fast for Amy's mind to comprehend; the alcohol 
had taken its toll, and before she could move past one emotion and 
onto the next, Ronda's hand was in her panties. 

                                     30.

	A feeling of impending doom overwhelmed Amy as she 
replayed the past in her mind. It was as if she had heard screeching 
tires on hot pavement and she was waiting for the thunder of the crash. 

                              ***

	Amy grabbed Ronda's arm and was about to extract the 
invading fingers from her crotch, when one of Ronda's fingers 
snuggled up under her clit and tickled its length. A classic dig 
formation if there ever was one. Amy's other hand joined the first and 
gripped Ronda's forearm. She could feel the muscles and tendons 
pulsate in rhythm to the stoking of her clit and it seemed to intensify 
the sensations. 

	'Stop,' she repeated over and over in her mind, but her body 
rebelled, and like an angry mob it pushed ever-forward breaking 
through her defenses. There was a tug at her hips and the sound of 
ripping paper—no—it was cloth. Ronda was on her knees between 
Amy's legs and had ripped out the crotch of her panties. 

	Ronda bit her thigh—and it was a hard bite. It would leave a 
mark that Amy would find later and curse the day she met Ronda. 
Amy grabbed handfuls of hair on Ronda's head in an effort to push her 
away, but her arms and hands ignored her commands. They were part 
of the coup; the great conspiracy of body over mind—and they were 
winning the war. Even her throat, larynx, and lungs joined in with 
shouts of pleasure and lascivious remarks encouraging Ronda to 
continue her assault. 

	Amy saw the large dildo in Ronda's hand; it bounced and 
wiggled like it was a living thing. A snake of massive proportions—
but with only one eye, and it stared at her. 'I will have you my 
darling,' it seemed to say. She wanted to scream and run away but 
again her body refused to retreat. There was relief when Ronda turned 
the ugly monster on herself. Amy watched in utter disbelief when 
Ronda sat on the thing, and she looked to be in pain as it penetrated 
her sex. Great beads of sweat trundled down her face and did a little 
dance before falling to their doom deep within the carpet fibers on the 
floor.

	Then her face softened and her mouth made odd shapes that 
could have represented all the vowels. "A—E—I—O—U". She would 
rise and fall as if she were on a carousel, and all the while, tweaking 
and pulling and massaging Amy's clit. 

	Their eyes met, and even as her face slowly descended to the 
fine wisps of red pubic hair, their eyes remained locked in meditation. 
As Ronda lowered herself onto the creature between her legs, her chin 
would dip down and touch that small bundle of nerves, the brains of 
the rebellion, and squeeze it against her finger.

	An orgasm lurked in the shadows of Amy's mind. It was a 
beast that threatened to consume her very soul if she would let it, and 
give into the revolution, become part of the coup, become a co-
conspirator. 'It's not you we're after my sweet; it's your innocence, 
your chasteness—your virginity.' 

	Amy struggled, but the odds were against her. Now Ronda 
kissed her pubis. Kissed the top of her left, and then her right thigh. 
She ran her tongue down the crease where thigh meets groin, and then 
kissed the very center of her sex. Like a soft, warm breeze that tickles 
the fine hairs of Amy's arms, Ronda's tongue grazed the small lips of 
her vulva, touching—but not touching.

	Ronda's orgasm came swiftly as she rode the snake monster; 
her hands had held onto Amy's torso as she bounced and bobbed. She 
stilled—her fingernails dug into the soft flesh Amy's tummy and 
several high-pitched squeaks escaped her taut lips. She didn't move or 
even breath for what seemed like several minutes. Amy felt sure she 
would fall over dead any second, but she didn't; air finally rushed 
from her lungs and she released the now sore, and fingernail-tattooed 
tummy flesh she had strangled for her pleasure. 

	Ronda kissed Amy's tummy and licked her way to her 
bellybutton using her nose to push up the nightshirt. She licked around 
and inside it. Amy tried to turn her body away from Ronda, but she 
still had no power to do so. She screamed at her to stop, but what came 
out of her mouth was a low sensuous moan.

	Ronda moved up between Amy's legs and brushed her lips 
lightly across Amy's. A thin string of saliva stretched and then broke. 

	"I've always wanted to do that Amy, you lips are so sweet."

	Amy tried to answer, 'get off me now! I hate you—I hate you! 
Why? Why did you do it?' But nothing came out.

	Ronda kissed her again, this time taking Amy's bottom lip 
between her teeth and gently pulling at it and then sucked it into her 
mouth. There was a slurping, slushy plop sound when she let it go.

	"You're kisses are like poison—'sweet' poison," Ronda said as 
she bent down for another kiss. Her tongue pushed past Amy's teeth 
and preformed an age-old dance that has never gone out of style. "And 
this," Ronda said, after finally releasing Amy's lips, "is the antidote—
the second kiss—and…" She kissed her again, and then on her chin, 
neck, between her breast, her tummy, and then her final distention—
her clit. Ronda sucked it into her mouth and performed a kind of 
female-to-female fellatio. Using her fingers to pull away the lose flesh 
that protected the stiff little organ, and she raked it gently with her 
teeth.

	Amy could hear herself moan as Ronda inserted a finger inside 
her virgin hole, and her pelvis answered with a thrust to achieve a 
depth never before explored. 

                                ***

	'No—why—why am I letting this happen?' Amy asked as she 
felt the finger enter her body, but nothing had penetrated her vagina as 
she lay on the couch, and she was helpless to stop it. She couldn't 
change the past—or even understand it yet. She was only along for the 
ride. There were two Amy's, Amy now, and Amy then. It was like 
some new interactive movie that guaranteed the realest of real 
adventures. And then there was the third—Amy? No, she didn't think 
so, he had answered to the name of John, her husband's name, so who 
was he? 

	A second finger interrupted Amy's thoughts as the wave of 
pleasure almost made her cum; a feeling that she had not desired nor 
welcomed, but was unable to avoid. Amy could see Ronda between 
her thighs licking and sucking on her clit even though she new she 
wasn't really there. The separation between reality and memory grew 
vague and transparent, and then disappeared altogether. Amy was no 
longer in her home with John snoring in their bedroom down the 
hall—she was at Ronda's—ten years in the past.

                                     31.

	There were two sets of arms and legs. Amy reached down to 
push Ronda away, while her other phantom-like limbs, caressed and 
pulled Ronda in closer. She was now Amy within Amy, a completely 
separate person with no real substance, and no control over the actions 
of the other. She could only watch—and "feel" the events unfolding 
before her. 

	Amy had heard of ghosts walking the earth with unfinished 
business and thought that this must be how it feels, to be powerless to 
right the wrong that had been done to them—or others, and powerless 
to change the "one" thing that triggered some catastrophe that ended 
their lives as they knew it. Amy could see and feel the first domino 
that stood ready to fall and strike the next, and to set in motion—
'What?'

                                     32.

	The dildo, now held at the entrance of Amy's vagina, bathed in 
the wetness of her sex. Amy of the future sat up, and then stepped out 
of the body of her former self. Momentarily stunned by what she had 
just done, her fingers and toes turned cold—and her stomach felt as if 
it had been left up on the twentieth floor of a tall building that sported 
a particularly fast elevator. She steadied herself on the armrest of the 
sofa and turned slowly to look at Ronda and—what, Amy number 
two? 

	Not quite trusting her sense of balance, Amy remained bent 
over and holding onto the cushions of the sofa as she moved closer to 
the lovers. She hadn't floated up to the ceiling and her hands sank into 
the sofa, and she could feel it. She hoped she could…

	Amy's hand went through and into Ronda's shoulder as she 
tried to get her attention, and she quickly snapped it back. She 
shuddered and fell back onto the couch. Everything seemed real except 
Amy number two and Ronda. She could even smell the beer on their 
breath and feel the movement of the sofa as Amy thrust her pelvis up 
to Ronda's face, but they were like phantoms—'ghosts of Christmas 
past or something.'

	Ronda held the dildo between the lips of Amy's pussy and had 
stopped mouthing her clit. The Amy of the future new what was about 
to happen and yelled a long and resounding, "NO," but as she did, 
there was a sharp pain in her groin. She opened her legs and saw a 
small trickle of blood. It started at the bottom of her vagina and had 
started to seep into the fibers of the cushion. Panic set in as she 
reached over to Amy number two and tried to console her other self.

	"It's okay Amy—It means nothing—please."

	There was a grunt, and… "Shit Ronda, what the hell did you do 
to me!" said Amy number two.

	"I'm sorry—did I hurt you?"

	"Hurt me?" said Amy. She stood and touched herself between 
her legs and then bought her hand up to her face. "Goddamn it 
Ronda—I'm bleeding!" 

	"I—I," Ronda started to say something, but before she could, 
Amy had gone into the bathroom and slammed the door.

	Even now, Amy sat on the couch angry with Ronda for doing 
such a thing, but the anger was diluted by time and a premonition that 
something more important, and more dangerous than the loss of a thin 
membrane of skin, was going to happen.
                                    
	When Amy finally came out of the bathroom, she had her 
overnight bag, which she always kept in the downstairs bathroom 
when she visited, and she was fully dressed. 

	"You're leaving?"

	"Yes!"

	"I'll get dressed and walk you home," Ronda said and she 
started to get up.

	"Don't bother—you've already raped me. What's next—you 
going to sell me on the street? This was a setup, wasn't it—a fucking 
setup."

	"I wouldn't…"

	"Wouldn't what for God's sake? 'I' wouldn't have thought you 
would rape me—and drag me down into your little perverted world."

	There was a slap sound as Amy's hand struck Ronda's cheek. 
It was so fast that Amy, the one still naked on the couch, barely saw it 
happen—but she remembered it. There was a feeling of satisfaction; it 
felt good—too good. She wanted her to hit her again.

	Amy raised her hand again, but this time she made a fist. 
Ronda flung out her arms to protect herself from the coming blow—a 
mirror directly behind Ronda caught Amy's eye, and…

                                                 33.

	Naked Amy on the couch shivered. She wasn't cold—she was 
in shock. Not from an injury or loss of blood, but from a loss of reality. 
She reached for the blanket that had been tumbled to the floor, her own 
had not made the trip, but it gave no warmth or comfort. Like 
everything else here, she could touch it—and even feel it, but it was 
like trying grab hold of a gust of wind.

	She had felt the pain of the rubber penis when it entered her 
and yet, it hadn't entered her—not the Amy of now. Amy could see 
and hear from two sets of eyes and ears, it was like she was in two 
places at one time. She could see the image in the mirror, but she could 
also see herself "seeing" the image. Was that even possible? She 
thought not. A dream, maybe its all just a dream and she'll wake up 
next to John and they would have a good laugh over it at breakfast.

Amy wanted to believe that, she "desperately" wanted to 
believe that, but—no, it wasn't a dream. The pain she had felt was real, 
the trickle of blood on her thigh was real, the feeling of her hand as it 
struck Ronda's face was real—it was all "too" real. The image in the 
mirror was…

                                                 34.

	Her fist was up and poised to strike; her lips pulled tightly 
across her white teeth and drained of blood. She could see the 
underlying muscles of her jaw, flexed and firm, as if she had bitten 
into something she was about to rip apart, and for a fraction of a 
second, she didn't recognize the face that stared back at her. 

	Naked Amy jumped up and stepped in between Amy and 
Ronda, willing to take the punch. As if in different layers, she could 
see three distinct images—all at the same time. She focused on her 
former self and tried to push her away from Ronda. After her hands 
made contact with Amy's chest, just long enough to build momentum, 
they passed completely through her. It was like climbing a flight of 
stairs in the dark, and thinking there was one more step that didn't 
really exist. She stumbled, past through Amy and slammed into the 
wall behind her.

	"Ouch—God I hate that!"

	She turned her shoulder into the wall. It felt so strange when 
she had passed through Amy. 'Dead skin,' she thought. 'That's what it 
felt like; pealing off dead flaky skin after a bad sunburn.' 

	The younger Amy was headed for the door. Ronda took hold of 
her arm and tried to pull her back.

	"Goddamn it Ronda, keep your fucking hands off me. Don't 
'ever' touch me again—just—just stay away from me," she said as she 
stumbled out the door. The bottom of her shoe had nicked the 
threshold and caused her to momentarily lose her balance. She was 
able to stay upright, but her anger now teetered on the edge of rage.

	Amy of the past turned and faced Ronda.

	Amy of now new what she was about to say. Her gut tightened 
as she replayed the words from memory, a memory that could foresee 
the coming events only moments ahead of their happening. Suddenly, 
"she" was standing outside looking in. "She" was facing Ronda and 
saying the words that struck the second domino—the third, forth…

	"You fucking dyke! You fucking whore! Don't ever—EVER 
talk to me again," she said. As she turned and left, Mrs. Langston, the 
neighborhood tell-all, was standing at the end of the walk. Her eyes 
and ears recording the event like security cameras in the mall, and 
surely would be played back to everyone with her own personal 
embellishments added.

	'Shit,' Amy thought. She turned within the living carcass of her 
former self and tried to go to Ronda, but she was unable to leave her 
body of the past. Ronda was on her knees in the doorway; naked from 
the waist down, and both hands covered her face. Mrs. Langston was 
halfway up the walkway and speaking to her, but all she could hear 
were the words, "all right." 

                                     35.

	Time had no weight in this world of two Amy's. She found that 
hours had gone by. The sun peeked into her bedroom window of her 
mother's house, and its beam inched its way onto her bed. The sun 
should have brightened the entire room, but the laser-like shards of 
light only pierced the darkness without warming or illuminating 
effects. It was morning. 

	As odd as it was to pass through bodies and solid objects, it 
was just as disturbing to blink her eyes and find that big chunks of 
time would fly by. The minute hand of the clock on the bedside table 
would make its way around the sixty-second circle, but only when her 
eyelids were closed. The bashful timekeeper would make leaps of 
twenty or forty minutes, and as Amy lay on the bed within the other 
sleeping Amy, she made a game of trying to catch the long hand move.

	Blinking quickly would make the minute hand race around the 
dial, and conversely, slow blinking made it crawl. Eleven thirty-five 
held a special meaning; a significant place in time and space although 
she wasn't sure why—just that it was. She began a rapid succession of 
flickering eyelids moving the clock closer to that time. When the short 
hand was equally between the ten and eleven, fear began to rise up 
insider her and she stopped blinking.

	"The letter," she thought. Her mother would deliver "the" letter 
to her bedside table at precisely eleven thirty-five. Somehow her mind 
had screwed up the sequence of things. 'That's why I couldn't 
remember the letter at Ronda's—I hadn't read it yet.' At ten thirty, she 
knew it was coming—but that was all. She batted her eyelids in a 
furious flutter and time advanced to eleven fifteen. There wasn't much 
more to remember than she had already been able to figure out for 
herself. It was from Ronda and it had something to do with the prior 
evening. Amy advanced time and space to eleven thirty-five.

                                     36.


	There was a timid knock at the door. 

	"Amy? You awake honey?" said the wonderful soft voice of 
her mother. 

	Amy wanted to separate from her prison-like confinement. She 
pulled and pushed and kicked…

	"Wake up!" Amy yelled at the sleeping Amy. 

	The door slowly creaked open and there was another knock 
before her head appeared.

	"Honey?"

	There was no response from the sleeping Amy.

	"Honey," she said again but this time gave Amy's shoulder a 
nudge. 

	The groggy, eighteen year-old looked up to her mother and 
said, "Yes—what's the matter?"

	"I found "this" in the mailbox a few minutes ago," and she 
handed a sealed envelope to her. 

	Amy tried to understand what he mother was saying, but the 
effects of the alcohol from several hours earlier, had left her in a bit of 
a hung-over fog.

	"Ah, isn't that were the mailman is supposed to put them?"

	"Amy," her mother said, now inflecting a tone of impatience in 
her voice. "Look at it—there's no address, return address or stamp."

	She sat up in bed and wiped ten or eleven hours of hardened 
gunk from her eyes, and squinted until the writing on the letter came 
into focus. There were only two words written on the letter. Amy, and 
Personal. Personal was about three times the size of her name, and 
followed by an exclamation point. She recognized the handwriting.

	"Oh, it's from Ronda—we had a fight last night."

	"She's never done this before, is she all right? Do you want to 
talk about it," her mother said as she sat down on the edge of the bed.

	"I'm afraid I said some mean things to her last night."

	"I know."

	"You know—how?"

	"I got a call this morning—Mrs. Langston."

	"Shit," Amy muttered. "Sorry, I didn't mean to say that. I—I 
don't think I can talk to you about this."

	"Well I'll be here all day—so…"

	"I know."

                      Part two: The Letter

                                       1.

"Dearest Amy,

I know you hate me now, and I've lost the most important person in 
my life, but I must tell you that I never meant to hurt you. How could 
I, I'm in love with you. Leave it to me, your old pal Ronda, to fuck up 
a life long friendship. If I could take it back, I would. It's just that you 
seemed to like what I was doing and one thing just led to another. 

I also realize that I made another dumb-ass mistake. I talked to Mrs. 
Langston, but I was hysterical, you know how I get. God, how could I 
have been so stupid. It seems I'm doing a lot of stupid things these 
days. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. Please tell 
your parents that I love them, and will miss them too.

Sweet poison. I meant it when I said it. When I kissed your lips, I 
almost died right there on the spot. They are at least as addictive as 
any drug I could take and will kill me in the end, but I can't help it. I 
did try to talk to my mother about it, but it embarrassed her I think. All 
she could say was, I would get over it. I wish I had a mother like 
yours; she at least will listen to ya and take it seriously. 

None of this, of course, is your fault, and I don't want you to think that 
I blame you for what I'm about to do. This is why I have left this note 
with you. I want you to read it first, to explain to you that it is NOT 
your fault. I am a lesbian. There I said it. I don't want to be, but I have 
known it for years. Your mother knows it, but I made her swear never 
to tell you. Like I said before, you have a great mother and she never 
made me feel like some sort of outcast or depraved animal. Now 
everyone will know, and I don't think I can face them.

By the time you read this, I will be dead. I'm so sorry that I put you 
through the humiliation of my advances and I'm also sorry to anyone 
else that my actions might hurt, my mother especially. Don't cry for 
me. I'm not afraid to die, and if there is a heaven, it will have a hell of 
a time competing with the pleasure I felt with you last night.

Goodbye, Sweet Poison, I will always love you.

Your friend,

Ronda."

	Amy read the letter quickly at first, her eyes merely scanning 
and intuition replacing the written words with assumptions. It had 
started out as what she assumed it would be. An apology, and she 
would have accepted it. By the time she read the words "sweet 
poison," she made herself slow down and read every word. She 
changed her mind about quick forgiveness when she realized Ronda 
had talked with her mother—and neither had let her in on the secret.

	All of her own feelings shattered into thousands of useless, 
fragmented thoughts; forgotten in an instant when she understood the 
meaning of the letter. Her skin oozed sweat and every muscle in her 
body became ready for whatever she would ask them to do, and her 
heart instantly doubled its pace when she flew off the bed.

	The clothes from the night before that still lay in a small pile 
on the floor were on her body in the time-span of two breaths. 
Sockless feet were shoved into sneakers and halfway down the stairs 
in less time that it took to think, 'God, oh dear God, don't let me be 
too late!'

	"MOM! CALL 911! SHE'S GOING TO KILL HERSELF!"

	"WHAT? OH DEAR…"

	Amy never heard her mother finish the sentence. She ran, and 
as she did, Amy of the past and Amy of the future began to fuse 
together into the one and only Amy of the now. She was "one," again.

	A large crowed had formed in front of Ronda's house. She 
could see red flashes of light over their heads and realized that an 
ambulance and police cruiser were already there. Ronda's mother was 
at the top of the stairs to her front door; her hands covered her mouth 
and nose. Even from behind the crowd Amy could see that she was 
crying. Not just flowing tears, but twitching and jerking as she wept. 
Large red stains covered the front of her blouse.

 
	A man and a woman dressed in uniforms with what Amy 
thought were medical patches on there sleeves, were lifting a body into 
the back of the ambulance. Someone beside her said, "Yeah, she's 
dead all right."

	"NO," Amy shouted. "YOUR WRONG!"

Several people turned and stared at her, and they were 
mumbling words that she couldn't understand. Amy saw a face she 
recognized and pushed her way through the crowd.

"Mrs. Langston, is she okay—please tell me Ronda's okay," 
Amy asked with wide, hopeful eyes.

	She turned, "Oh, it's you," she said with obvious distain. "I 
don't think so. I heard them say she's gone."

	"No…" Amy said.

	"What was that Amy?" Mrs. Langston asked.

	But Amy couldn't answer. She slowly turned to walk away—
and stopped. Big, floating, swirling spots appeared before her eyes and 
her heart seemed confused about what it was supposed to do; beating 
fast, and then slow with a hard thump. In the last few moments of 
consciousness, she thought it was strange that the sidewalk seemed to 
be rising up to her.

                                       2.

	Darkness was all around her. She was neither asleep nor 
awake, but she could think. 'Am I dead?' she thought. There was a 
distorted echo of a voice that seemed to come from nowhere, it was a 
male sounding voice but she couldn't understand what it was saying. 
She tried to say, "Is that you, God," but all that came from her were 
grunts and slurred pieces of words.

	There was a click, and then two clicks.

	"Can you hear me now, Amy?"

	"Yes," she said, and it surprised her that it sounded like the 
word yes.

	"What day is it?"

	"Sun—day. Did—you know—Ron-a is dead?"

	"What year is it, Amy?"

	"Two…"

	There was another click.

	What year, Amy?"

	"I don't know."

	"Think harder, Amy, what year is it?"

	"Two thousand—twenty or something—no—that's wrong."

	"Good, Amy. Now think again, what year is it."

	There were five distinct clicks.

	"Two thousand six."

	"Very good, Amy, your doing fine."

	"I am?"

	"Yes. You will hear a click, and when you do, you will wake 
up. You "will" remember everything that has happened up to now. 
You will see, and hear everyone around you. Do you understand?"

	"Yes."

	"Click!"

	Amy opened her eyes for the first time in three weeks. The first 
thing she saw was a brightly colored round object hovering in the air, 
but her vision wasn't clear enough to identify what it was. She tried to 
raise her hand and rub her eyes but her arms would not move. 

	"How are you feeling Amy," said the familure male voice. 

	She heard the voice this time—and even knew the direction it 
was coming from. She turned her head and could see the outline of a 
face and head.

	"I think I'm blind, and I can't move my arms—and my head 
hurts."

	"That will all go away Amy, you have been asleep for a while."

	There was a tug on her left wrist—and then her right. She was 
able to lift her arms, but they felt heavy.

	"Where's John?"

	"I'm here, beside you."

	Amy looked at the fuzzy image that sat beside her. "Your not 
my husband."

	"That's true. My name is Dr. Jon. What is you husbands 
name?"

	"John."

	"What's his full name?"

	"John…"

	"How old are you?"

	"Twenty-eight, or thirty, I'm not sure."

	"And what year were you born?"

	"Nineteen eighty-eight."

	"And what year is it?"

	"Two thousand six"

"I know it's hard for you, but I want you to tell me your age 
again—this time, before you answer, count the years between your 
birth and this year."

"Doctor, do we really…"

Dr. Jon put one finger to his mouth to quiet the woman beside 
him.

"Mom?"

Dr. Jon gave his reluctant approval. She stood and put her wet 
face against Amy's and kissed her cheek.

"MOM! Mom—Ronda's dead—and I killed her," Amy said as 
she began to cry as well. 

	The two women hugged and wept in an embrace. Dr. Jon had 
timed everything so well, and his new version of sleeping hypnoses 
had worked flawlessly, but now the mother of his patient threatened to 
send her back into her delusions. He put his hand on her shoulder and 
gently pulled her away from her daughter.

	"Please—please, we have work to do. I 'must' ask you to be 
quiet."

	"Mom—please don't go—I need you."

	Dr. Jon put his hand on her shoulder and said, "She isn't 
leaving Amy—I promise, but you want to get well—don't you?"

	"I don't deserve to get well—I murdered my friend."

	The last thing Dr. Jon wanted to do was confront that issue, not 
yet, she wasn't ready. The shock of the truth could do more harm than 
good.

	"Amy, I need you to answer my question." 

	Dr. Jon waited for her answer, but she was drifting away.

	"Amy—are you still with us?"

	His voice startled her and she nodded her head.

	"How old are you?"

	He could see it in her face. She had done the math and she 
knew the answer.

	"Eighteen—but how can that be, I live with my…"

	Amy's vision had improved and she could now see that the 
object over her bed was a balloon, tied to her bed. It began to spin, 
slowly at first, and then faster and faster—it spun so fast that it became 
a blur and the room grew darker…

	Dr. Jon shook her arm and said, "Amy, look at me." Her eyes 
drifted towards Dr. Jon, and as they reached the limits of their sockets, 
they seemed to drag her head with them. "Stay with me, you are 
eighteen years old. Say it!"

	"Eighteen—I'm…"

	"Go ahead," his voice now softer. "Say it."

	"I'm eighteen."

	"Do you believe it?"

	"No."

	"Why not? You know what year it is—and the date of your 
birth?"

	"Because—I thought Ronda had been married to a fucking 
geek—and now—I know I killed her. I thought I knew a lot of 
things—I don't "know" what's real—are you real?"

	"Yes," he answered.

	Dr. Jon changed his mind about Ronda. It was a gamble, but if 
he didn't do something…

	He took her hand and squeezed it between both of his. "Amy."

	She didn't answer, but her eyes remained fixed on him.

	"This is real, now is real, you must try to believe that."

	Her eyes were glazing over and he was losing her. It was if he 
were watching her die.

	"Ronda's not dead!" he said in a loud, firm voice.

                                      3.

	"—What?"

	"Ronda did "not" die. She is here, in the hospital."

	Amy's face went red; her eyes darted from side to side, and 
then focused on him again.

	"I—I don't believe you."

	"It's true, Amy."

	She studied his face and then called out to her mother, 
"Mom—mom, is it true—is he telling the truth—oh God let it be 
true—mom—MOM!"

	Her mother stood up and pushed the doctor aside. He began to 
protest, but reluctantly moved out of her way. She held Amy's face in 
her hands and kissed her forehead.

	"Yes baby—it's true. They wouldn't let me tell you till they 
thought you could handle it—but it 'is' true."

	Amy tried to sit up; her arms pushed against the bed and her 
body would rise, but fall back to the bed.

	"I must—go to—her," she said between gasps for air; her body 
weakened by weeks of muscular atrophy. 

	Dr. Jon pulled Amy's mother away from her and whispered in 
something in her ear. She hurried to the door and left the room. It was 
then that Amy noticed the small window in the door. 'That was the 
window in my kitchen—the one that…'

	"She will be right back Amy," Dr. Jon said when he notice she 
was staring at the door.

	"The window—someone was watching me through that 
window."

	"I'm sure, a lot of people are interested in you welfare." 

	Amy's face glowed crimson as she thought about the things she 
did while she was being watched. "What was I doing while…" She 
decided she didn't wan to know.

	"What was that Amy?"

	"Nothing," she said shaking her head. Where did mom go?"

	As Amy asked about her mother, the door opened and she 
came back into the room and stood by the wall. She held her hands at 
chest level, and her fingers where intertwined—as if she were praying. 
The squeak of the door hinge brought Amy's attention back to the door; it 
had opened just enough to permit the head of the person behind it to 
peek in.

"Hello?"

"RONDA! RONDA!" Amy screamed and pushed herself to the 
edge of the bed. She would have gone headfirst to the floor if Dr. Jon 
hadn't caught her. 

Ronda's eyes squinted and her stomach knotted into a painful 
contraction. She began to back out…

"RONDA! COME BACK!" She said with one arm around Dr. 
Jon and the other reaching out to Ronda.

Ronda looked around the door at Amy, who at first seemed to 
be yelling at her in anger, now begged her to come.                               

	'This must be what if feels when you know your going to die,' 
Amy thought, as Ronda took Amy's hand. Her whole life with Ronda 
blazed through her brain; the baths they took together as children, 
birthday parties, late weekend nights watching old movies and—
holding hands when one of them was in trouble.

	That was the best thing. Holding hands, and as she thought of 
it, they held each other's hands again. The warm flesh against warm 
flesh seemed so real. Ronda's wet cheek against hers shouted reality, 
but there was still that sliver of fear lurking in the back of her mind; 
waiting to pounce like the famous black cat of ill luck disguised in the 
form of a new voice, claming to be the real reality.

                   Part 3: Six months later                             

                                      1.

	Their lover's bed was strewn with sheets half on and half off, 
their bodies consummating the deal between them. Amy's legs were 
high in the air and spread wide, and the dildo was strapped to Ronda's 
groin. Amy pushed Ronda's fleshy buttocks to the rhythm her body 
demanded.

	Amy's breath blasted from her mouth, and caused Ronda's hair 
to fly out from the side of her head, and then fall back to her face as 
she took air in. It was an orgasm that seized her body like no other she 
had had before. Like an intricate jazz composition, her vaginal muscles 
squeezed the invading phallus in a counterpoint that drove her climax 
to its peek. 

	Ronda's pleasure was driven by Amy. She watched her face as 
it morphed into different shapes; her eyebrows almost touching in the 
space just above her nose when she would utter the most feminine of 
sounds that translated into "I love you," within Ronda's mind. Amy's 
tongue licked her own lips and her breath—her breath smelled so 
sweet as Ronda inhaled every exhale that came from her mouth. It 
could have been mistaken for a kiss, but their lips barely touched as 
they took turns sharing the same air.

	Amy's legs scissored and locked around Ronda's ass. Every 
muscle flexed and pulled at every bone and tendon in her body, and 
even her heart paused mid-beat—and then started again with a 
powerful thump when Amy's orgasm answered its own question and 
released her from its grip. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she tried to 
satisfy her need for oxygen and she gave Ronda a gentle push. The 
mammoth rubber cock strapped to Ronda, slid from the wet, fleshy 
folds deep within Amy, and then Ronda rolled to her side and 
snuggled up to her new lover.

	"Wow—that—was…" Amy said between breaths, but decided 
she couldn't finish just yet.

	Ronda kissed her cheek, "it's okay Sweet P, just relax."

	Amy's new nickname was fine when they were alone, but it 
bothered her when Ronda would call her that in public, and as fate 
would have its own way, it had stuck, and now "everyone" called her 
by that name. Of course no one knew what the "P" stood for, and when 
asked, Ronda would just say, "ark, ark, ark, I yam what I yam," and let 
them draw their own conclusion.

	"I love you, Sweet P," Ronda said as she brushed the hair from 
Amy's face.

	Amy answered with a deep kiss and while their tongues dueled 
within Ronda's mouth, Amy moved Ronda onto her back and 
straddled her at waist level; the dildo trapped between her legs. She 
wanted to give Ronda what she had received. Their lips separated and 
Amy stared down into Ronda's eyes.

	"I love you, too."

	For now the war within her was subdued, and all that was 
important was Ronda's pleasure. Amy kissed her cheek, her neck, and 
then between her breast. Both nipples were erect and she took one in 
her mouth sucking and nibbling on it. She slid back and her butt fell 
between Ronda's legs and for a moment, she was unable to move 
further back. After a brief massage of Ronda's vulva with her own, she 
rolled over and crawled on her stomach between Ronda's legs.

	It was at that moment that it occurred to her that she hadn't a 
clue as to what to do. Ronda pulled up her feet so that they were flat 
on the bed and then let her knees fall to the side. Amy had never seen a 
pussy before, even her own was out of view. If she spread her legs, as 
she sometimes did while taking a bath, and looked down, it still didn't 
prepare her for what she could see now.

	She ran her hand over the strait, black pubic hair that lived up 
to its owner's nickname "fur," it felt smooth and silky. The inner lips 
hung limp within the lager outers ones and almost covered the 
entrance to her vagina. The brown hole below her sex was covered in 
black pubic hair and it took her by surprise. She hadn't thought about 
Ronda's asshole staring up at her while she—did what? 'Eat her out,' 
she thought. That was what her friends had called it, but she didn't 
really know what that meant.

	Amy thought about digging, and what Ronda had done to her; 
what had felt good to her would probably do the same for Ronda, so 
she started with a kiss, and then another. On the third kiss, she sucked 
in one of the inner lips and rolled it around in her mouth. The taste 
wasn't as bad as she had imagined it would be. The texture was kind 
of like a thin earlobe and she liked sucking on them, and so did the 
boys, they always got excited when she did that. 

	The next step Amy thought of was to put her finger inside her 
vagina—and wiggle it around, but as she tried to find her hole, she 
touched Ronda's anus. 'Yuck,' she thought and quickly pulled away, 
releasing Ronda's earlobe-like lip from her mouth.

	"You okay?" Ronda asked, her head raised and looking down 
at Amy.

	Amy looked up from between Ronda's legs. The concern on 
her face was genuine and a pang of guilt ran through Amy's gut.

	"I'm fine—I just…"

	Ronda reached down and grabbed Amy's arms to pull her up.

	"You 'don't' have to…"

	Amy pulled away from Ronda's grasp, "No—I really want 
to—it's just that I don't know what I'm doing and—I don't want to 
hurt you."

	"Your not going to hurt me Sweet, except by forcing yourself 
to do something you don't want to do."

	"But I do Ronda—I do."

	Keeping her eyes fixed on Ronda's, Amy lowered her head and 
kissed Ronda's clit.

	"Oh—Amy," Ronda cooed, and her head slowly sank back 
down onto the pillow.

	Ronda's sudden pleasure sent a feeling of excitement and 
confidence through Amy and she began to lick vigorously. The more 
she licked, the more Ronda reacted with sexy sounds, and thrusts of 
her groin.  This time her finger found the right hole and it slipped in 
easily. The feeling of the soft, wet flesh excited her as she stroked the 
inside of Ronda's sex. Amy's tongue found the hardened ball, and like 
digging, she firmly massaged the underside as she would with her 
finger on her own clit.

	She added a second finger and doubled her pace, fucking 
Ronda the way she had fucked her. The orgasmic contortions on 
Ronda's face, and the sounds that seemed to come from somewhere 
deep inside her, triggered Amy's own building climax. She squeezed 
her legs together as tight as she could and dry-humped the bed. She 
sucked on the lose skin that surrounded Ronda's clitoris but took a 
sudden detour. They were calling to her. It wasn't that they talked to 
her, not in sound anyway, it was more of a psychic/telepathy type of 
thing. 

	Amy's tongue, the very tip of it to be exact, glided along the 
interior folds of Ronda's vulva, up one side then down the other, 
pausing just outside her vagina. The odor of sex was strong and she 
hadn't decided yet if she liked it. She had heard people compare the 
smell to fish, but she didn't get that at all. She hated that smell and if it 
had been even remotely similar, it would have turned her stomach. 
Once, out of curiosity, she had put her nose to the crotch of a pair of 
panties to see—if it was fishy. Even then she didn't think so, but that 
hadn't been what she smelled now either. This was strong, and almost 
overpowering, but it stirred something within her—something wild 
and bodacious. In an instant the decision was made and her finger was 
out of Ronda and in her mouth. 

	The taste did not live up to its smell and in fact it wasn't bad at 
all. She kissed Ronda's vagina, and then touched the silky pillow-like 
flesh inside with her tongue. Her curiosity grew and she stuck it in as 
far as she could, and then drew it back out. Ronda's sensual taste filed 
her mouth and she repeated what she had done, fucking her via the 
taste buds. The hand that had been fingering Ronda now dug at her 
clit, and the other had slipped down under Amy and found her own 
little bundle of nerves. There still remained one thing she felt she had 
to do—and the thought of it was disgusting.

	There was a whining sound from Ronda when Amy stopped, 
but she knew she had to do it. There was no logical reason for it, and 
Ronda hadn't asked her, but it called to her. Amy's finger dug 
furiously at her own clit and her stomach felt as if she were falling 
through an endless sky. She crunched up her face in a way that looked 
like she were about to swallow some terrible tasting medicine and 
then—kissed Ronda's anus.

	"Oh—Amy," said Ronda as she rock her pelvis in a fucking 
movement that caused her ass to rub against Amy's lips. "Go on, 
Sweet Poison, do it—fuck me with your tongue—fuck my asshole."

	Ronda's words exploded in Amy's body as the beginning of 
her second orgasm of the day. Amy's pleasure mounted and her 
disgust for the task at hand diminished—and even became—desirable. 
Her thighs clamped tightly around her hand that dug at her clit, and her 
butt twitched and gyrated on the bed as if she were fucking some 
invisible cock. Amy had reached the sacred plateau of her orgasm.

	Ronda felt Amy's tongue enter her ass and it drove her into the 
convulsion of her climax; it was well beyond the best of her best 
fantasies. The intimacy of the act was bewildering and endearing and 
sexy and exciting and…

	"OH—MY—GOD!" Ronda screamed as Amy's poison ran 
through her blood and touched her soul. "Ugh…"

	Amy's senses took in the smell and texture of Ronda's crotch 
as her orgasm began a slow downward death, only to be resurrected 
when needed. Her body melted into the bed, and she rested her head 
on Ronda's thigh. Her face was wet and sticky so she rubbed it on the 
bedclothes and again, rested on Ronda's leg. She watched Ronda's 
tummy rise and fall, slowing as she recovered. She heard a growl from 
that same tummy and she laughed.

	"Work up an appetite did ya?" Amy said.

	"Yum, I'm famished," she answered as she took Amy by the 
arms and coxed her up beside her.

	They lay together arms and legs wrapped around each other 
and now face-to-face—breath-to-breath. Ronda kissed Amy and her 
tongue took liberties with Amy's.

	"Sorry, I needed my antidote—you taste wonderful."

	"CLICK"

	Amy froze. Sweat formed on her forehead and small white 
bumps rose up on her skin—she waited for something weird to 
happen.

	"D-Did you hear that?" Amy whispered.

	"Hear what? What's the matter—you look terrible?"

	"That click—that goddamn click—hold me—please don't let 
me go."

	"I didn't hear…"

	"CLICK"

	Ronda looked up, she heard it this time and it was loud in the 
quiet room. Amy had closed her eyes and hidden her face within the 
space between Ronda's breasts—the vibration of Amy's shivering 
alarmed Ronda.

	"Hey—it's okay—it's okay. It's just the thermostat. See," she 
said as she lifted Amy's face. "See—it does it all the time. I'm sorry, I 
guess I just don't even hear it anymore."

	There were tears running down Amy's cheeks and she wiped 
them away with both hands.

	"Shit!" Amy said as she wiped her face again. "I thought it—
shit…"

	Ronda took her in her arms and rocked her as she wept. Amy 
rolled out of Ronda's arms and stood up.

	"Come on Ronda—I need to get out of here. I'll buy you 
dinner."

	"Oh-okay"

	The two girls dressed quickly, running a brush through their 
hair and skipping the makeup. 

	"Hurry," said Amy as she grabbed Ronda's hand, and almost 
running, dragged Ronda out the front door.
The bedroom was silent now. The shades were still closed and 
the bed was left unmade. Clothes from both girls were scattered on the 
floor along with several pairs of shoes, two different sizes. Tiny shards 
of light peeked through the shades, just enough to illuminate the room 
in a dim golden light.

"CLICK"

"Amy?" said a strong male voice. "Amy—can you hear me?"



End
