cum what mai
(revised june 2000)
by
jane
c 1999, c 2000
MF; exhib; 1st; FF; group
*...it was frustrating in the chat rooms that evening and early
morning... it seemed that everyone was busy with a partner except
me... and when i finally made some contact with a woman who was
wearing less than i, she dumped me quickly, thank-you-less, before
id played enough to cum... thats the way it goes some nights... i
nearly disconnected, planning to do some writing on a problematic
passage of an almost finished story... when a "snalla_tina" logged
on... my first pm inquired about her name... a "well-behaved
chirstine" told me she was "just" a housewife in chicago... her
husband, fast asleep, knew nothing of this foray into naughty
chatting on the net... i let her know that i was feeling horny...
she said she felt the same... then i asked, "would you tell me the
sexiest thing that ever happened to you, tina..."*
"It wasn't very long ago at all," she answered with surprising
swiftness. "In fact, it's still going on. I hope it is. Do you
really want to hear this? I'd like to tell someone."
==================================================================
Autumn rain decayed into a sprinkle, then a mist; the wind that
whipped it angrily against the low rise windows gradually subsided.
Inside, four friends put tiles, one at a time, turned right side
down, into the Scrabble box and thought their separate thoughts in
silence. Christina contemplated sleep. Mai wondered at the
clearing sky and distant thunder. Douglas hoped that warmth would
linger and prolong the Indian summer one more day. Peter pictured
driving through the rolling countryside tomorrow in his ageing
Saab. It would clear, they finally told each other. It would be
warm there, sheltered by the trees.
Earlier that week on their way out of the office, Douglas had made
the invitation. "Peter, why don't you and Tina sleep over on
Friday? Come for dinner. Mai is off that day. We'd save an hour
or so by leaving from our place, and it would be a nicer drive on
Saturday."
Peter saw the logic. "We could avoid the weekend rush." It would
be sensible to skip the TGIF battle on the Kennedy and Northwest
Tollway. It would be sane to drive on Saturday the four hours to
the campground in the a scenic park along the Mississippi River,
four hours rather than the eight that it would take them after work
on Friday afternoon and evening. They could get a sunrise start
from Niles, the bachelor flat that Douglas shared with Mai, his
girlfriend. "I'll see what Tina has to say. Sounds good to me."
"Mai? What do you think? Did Douglas mention it?" It was only
natural that Tina would not commit until she'd telephoned her
friend. The four had known each other three years then. They'd
shared plays and concerts at the U. of C., board games and cards
and restaurants, but, best of all, the weekend camping trips and
hikes.
"I think it is a fine idea," Mai replied. "It will be crowded here
in all this mess," she added as she surveyed the piles of cardboard
cartons stacked against the wall. "The move is going slowly, but
we will manage. We'll find a place for you to sleep. All I can
think about is going back." Instead of packing crates and boxes,
her mind saw splashes of fall colour and eagles drifting in lazy
circles overhead. The trip the four had taken one year earlier
still danced against the concrete backdrop of the city in her mind.
"That's great! I'm excited, too. I'll call you tomorrow night and
we can get everything organized." And so it happened, the well-
behaved Christina and her husband, Peter, settled themselves into
the cramped apartment of their friends, their first "sleep over,"
the prelude to an early getaway to limestone towers and magic.
"I'm sure that Shiva has something to do with fertility and sex,"
Doug grumbled. In the second Scrabble round they'd all agreed that
every word played must have some erotic meaning, that slang and
capitals were fair as long as sexual connections were there.
Doug's deep brown eyes flashed hints of playfulness. It was a
friendly grumble but still a protest. He was competitive;
combative after a loss. Against the lanky, hapless Peter on a golf
green or a tennis court, Douglas gave no quarter. He was an
athlete, bronze from outdoor contests that he rarely lost. Words,
however, sometimes slipped right through his rugged grasp. He
sometimes fumbled them, got them tangled in his long brown hair or
beard. "Shiva" would have given him the game, but it had fit too
neatly and would have scored too much. It was too cerebral for the
others on that night. It didn't fit the tone, Mai's tone. Words
were her domain. She beat them easily in words, but in that game,
the final one, Mai deemed it "just for fun." They co-operated,
peeked freely at each other's tiles, offered suggestions and set
each other up. Mai even slipped a vowel to Peter out of pity near
the end. It was the wine, she thought. It was the atmosphere. It
was their awkward try at being daring. It changed the focus of the
night from scoring points to nervous laughs and even leers. "Well,
she looks really hot to me," he pleaded.
"I think she is a He, Doug. But, I will check it Tuesday for you,"
Mai, a librarian at the university, proffered. "You may be right.
Anyway, that game was really lots of fun. We should play those
rules more often." Mai was a flower. Asian in feature and in
movement, with jet back hair cascading to her waist, she was third
generation American, second generation Chicagoan. Her voice was
delicate, a silken thread, flecked with hints Canton, that chained
her gentle words together. As she placated Doug, she placed the
Scrabble set inside a half-full box of books, bending from the
waist. Her skirt rode up an extra inch or two above the knee.
Tina caught Peter staring at her friend again. She winked. They
exchanged a private smile. Tina knew her husband's secret lust.
They talked about it privately, discussed the opposites that Mai
presented from his Nordic wife. Short and tall, flat and full,
brunette and blonde, dark and pale, calm and quick, delicate and
sturdy. Mai was a change, a very pretty change. It was Peter's
truthfulness, his shy simplicity that saved them from a gnawing
jealousy. Tina didn't blame him; she felt the pull herself. Mai
was as good a friend to her as she had ever had, dependable and
charming and, Tina thought, erotic.
================================================================
"How would you approach her, Peter? Give me your best pick-up line
for Mai," Tina teased gently. She lay next to him in a pool of
early morning light that flooded in their bedroom window. It was
summer, two months before the Friday Scrabble game. While she
waited for her husband's blush to spread across his jaw onto his
neck, she cupped her head onto the pillow of her hand and studied
him, a naked, skinny frame that stretched nearly the length of the
king-sized bed. Peter was an awkward man, prone to stumbling if a
chair was not pushed in completely or a sidewalk tile was slightly
turned askew. His intense, blue eyes didn't seem to warn him of
the cracks and less-than-even edges life created, not until they'd
tripped him up or barked his shin or given him a bruise. He seemed
distracted, odd, the child of aliens or circus freaks.
"First, tell me how you would seduce Douglas."
He always did that to her. Sometimes it exasperated, sometimes it
turned her on. She smoothed a hand across her satin negligee and
snuggled closer. "Okay. I'll go first. But you have to promise
not to back out." The pattern hadn't changed in their year of
fantasies. At the start, Peter denied he noticed Mai at all. He
didn't know the colour of her eyes. He'd never ogled her slim dark
legs or arms or pictured her breasts without a blouse or bra. Tina
didn't buy a word of it. Peter was adamant. Adamant, until Tina
broke the ice. She concocted stories of her own desire, secret
urges felt for Douglas. She told Peter haltingly about the bulge
she glimpsed along the pocket of Doug's shorts after a hike one
summer Sunday eve. She described her curiosity as nearly an
obsession. It made her wet, she fibbed. She asked him for
forgiveness, knowing that her husband was aroused. She coddled him
with dreams of what it might look like, if he had ever seen Doug's
prick perhaps while changing clothes after a game or in a john; she
wondered out loud if it might taste like Peter's. And as the
details came alive, she felt her pulse rate rise, and glimpsed how
subtle and undefended are the borders marking off the virtual and
the real. In spite of that, her invitation, it took him a full
week before he found the nerve to start confessing how he really
thought of Mai.
"I promise."
"Last night, during the second act, while Nora and Torvald were
tiptoeing around the obvious?"
"Yes," Peter smiled.
"I was maybe too tired for Ibsen, or it was just exciting sitting
between the two of you. Whatever, I started thinking about a plan.
It started out to be just an idea, a "what if" crazy thought. But
then I kept thinking about it more and more until I almost did it."
"Did what?"
"I thought that I would let my program slip, 'accidentally,' of
course. I'd wait for the part where Nora tries to keep Torvald
from discovering the letter, when Doug and you and Mai would be
concentrating on the action, on her little tarantella. I could let
it slide onto his lap or by his leg. Then I'd reach for it, before
he realized that it was there. Instead of going for the program,
in the dark, I'd feel him up; I'd grab his prick. I'd hold it for
just a second. Then act embarrassed and whisper an apology."
"You really planned that? How close did you come to doing it?"
"Very close. The program was in my fingers just about to slip when
I looked up, and Mai was smiling right at me. She probably had
read my mind. I think she found that first part boring, too."
"God."
"I just wanted him to wonder. I wanted him to think I might have
done it on purpose or maybe not." Tina tentatively slid her
fingers along his naked hip. "Mmmmm. You liked that plan, didn't
you. I bet you'd like to watch me fuck him, wouldn't you?" She
let her fingers trail along the stiffening prick. "Are you
imagining that? Me touching him during the play, or him fucking
me? I think it's your turn, Peter. Before you start thinking with
our little toy." She slid her fingernail through the oily drop
that signalled his excitement.
"You are a very wicked woman, Tina."
"That's why you married me, isn't it? Tell me."
"Okay? But it won't be as good as yours." He rolled to face her.
"Remember in the restaurant? After the play that night? Remember
you and I were sitting next to each other, across from them in the
booth? I was right across from Mai."
"I remember." She pictured Peter's long legs cramped under the
table that night, probably too long to avoid coming in contact with
Mai's from time to time.
"My knee rubbed up against her leg. I couldn't help it really; the
booth was small. What really caught me off my guard, she didn't
try to pull away. She just left it there. Just touching."
"Did you reach under the table with your hand? Did you feel under
her dress?" Tina's eyes grew wider. She encircled the prick
within her thumb and forefinger and slowly pushed the loop down the
length of the shaft.
"No, I didn't. Did Doug grope you under the table? God, that
feels good, Tina."
"We could fantasize that he did," she sang.
"Very wicked. I don't deserve you, Lilla Christine." His fingers
found a satin covered breast, found the nipple already straining
against the cloth. "Are you going to let me finish?"
"Yes."
"I looked up at her while our legs were touching together. When I
looked up, she was staring right at me. She looked away but there
was something in her smile. I think that she was thinking the same
things we have been. It's just that none of us seems to know how
to get there."
"Pretend that Doug and I weren't there. Pretend that the two of
you were having coffee all alone. What would you have said?" She
encouraged him by sliding lower on the bed, letting her nightie
catch on the sheets and pull up around her hips, revealing she was
naked underneath.
"God, you love to tease me, love." She rolled between his legs,
looking up at him like a child expecting a bedtime story, his penis
waving in her grip like a precarious flesh Popsicle. "Okay. I'd
say, 'I wish you'd move your leg a little, Mai. I wish you'd move
it just a little closer so that I could reach you under the table.'"
"'I've noticed that your arms are very long, Peter. I wonder just
how far you'd like to try to feel,' she'd say. I think she'd say
that, Peter. I really do."
"Then, I think I'd say, 'Far enough to find out if you're wet.'
Then I'd start to slide my hand along her thigh."
Tina licked the length of the warm cock gripped lightly in her hand
before she spoke. "She would whisper, 'Don't be surprised when you
discover I'm not wearing any panties, Peter.' I think she'd slide
lower in the seat for you and spread her legs a little wider. I'm
enjoying this. I'm going to lick you very hard this morning, if
you keep the story going."
"God, Christine, if you keep doing that I won't last much longer.
I'd say, 'Mai, if you aren't wearing any panties, then I bet you
aren't wearing a bra either. Show me.'"
"'You want me to unbutton my dress right here in public? Do you
want me to be arrested, Peter? But, I just might take that chance
for you, if you would do one small favour.'"
"'What is it?' I would say."
Tina took all of the prick inside her mouth this time before she
answered. She sucked it slowly. Then she slid her lips back off
to speak, "I think that Mai would say, 'Peter, love, as a favour
would you stick your finger all the way up inside of me and then
let us lick it off together right here in the restaurant.'"
The image was too much for Peter to maintain the fantasy. He
leaned forward and peeled the satin from his wife's summer freckled
body before he pulled her up on top of him to find her mouth and
thrust his hips between her spreading legs.
Sometimes it was a dream of threes and fours that turned them on.
Peter sometimes glimpsed Mai's bra-less nipples showing through a
blouse or tee. Tina sometimes talked of Douglas' grace and easy
confidence, his biceps, his prick inside her mouth. But neither
ever told a tale of Mai and Tina for their play. Just Tina by
herself felt curiosities of how that skin, a piece of painted
porcelain, might feel brushed lightly up against her own. Just
Tina, all alone in cyberspace, confessed to others how the body of
her friend aroused her secretly.
==================================================================
"What time is it anyway?" Peter hoped that Douglas hadn't seen the
way his eyes had slowly lifted up Mai's dress and stroked along her
inner thigh. "What time are we getting up?"
"Stars," Tina reported, peering out the window at the clearing sky,
hiding her reaction to his subterfuge.
"Eagles, soon," Mai smiled and apportioned the last of the wine
into their glasses. "We should start as early as we can. I hope
that second game did not make things too late."
"No, I finally won a game," bragged Peter. "I've waited too long
to beat you, Mai. Perhaps the packing and the move distracted you.
You guys have been busy. It looks like you must be close to
finished now. Is there any space in all these boxes for a pair of
guests to sleep?"
"We have a big futon for you, but there is no room in here.
Wednesday they are coming with the van." She waved lightly at the
accumulation of their three years. "We are all going to sleep in
there," Mai nodded to the only bedroom and let her neutral smile
broaden as she added, "unless that game has got the men too excited
to sleep."
The innuendo caught Christina her off-guard, although it fit their
routine, the pattern of their mutual titillation. There would be
another or, at most, a few more risque comments, before the thought
would quietly expire. Sex was the one topic on which the group
never seemed to reach a climax. When someone touched the edge of
it, a movie or an incident at work, an accident between themselves,
they made a clever feint or two and backed away afraid. They were
convinced, that friendships might be shattered if they ventured
down that slippery off ramp very far. There was too much at stake.
But Tina, once composure had returned, felt safe enough to offer
one more try, "What an interesting idea. Maybe we could encourage
the men with a game of strip poker or Scrabble in the nude, Mai?"
"Maybe we should try one of those tomorrow at the camp. Right now,
we ought to get some sleep if we're going to make an early start."
It was Peter this time that closed the door.
"Peter is right, of course. I think everything is ready for you
there. I will pack that room next week," called Mai from the
kitchen where she'd carried the empty crystal.
"I'll make sure," said Douglas. The suburban bachelor pad had been
his alone before he talked Mai into sharing it, persuaded her that
it would be no different from her sleeping over on the weekends.
Mai had seemed contented with the tiny space, but after three years
of acquisitions, Doug had started feeling pinched. He decided it
was time to move to something bigger, something closer to her work.
"This was a really smart idea," Tina called after Doug. "We'd
probably be just pulling into a campsite about now. Very cranky.
Having to set up in the dark."
Mai's voice was from the kitchen once again. "And now we've had a
lovely time at dinner, and Peter won at Scrabble. But, we should
get to bed if we want to get an early start. The driver needs his
sleep."
Doug added, "It's all set up there."
"I'm not quite sleepy yet, though. I'm going to have a shower,"
said Mai. "Maybe I will read out here awhile. You three can use
the washroom first."
A half-hour later, Christina lay next to Peter on the futon, eyes
wide, memorizing the room for future fantasies. There were only
two things, really, that absorbed her. One was a lamp without a
shade that stood beside their host's bed. It was unique, and Doug
had made no move to turn it off, had given no indication that it
would not burn all night. It wasn't frosted, but it had a soft
blue glow. The filament was sculpted as a kind of flower that
shimmered pinks and softer greens across a background of an azure
warmth. It made the room too bright for sleeping, lighter than
either of the guests would normally have used, but it intrigued
them. Tina, especially, found it beautiful. She tried to
hypnotise herself, drifting into sleep, playing with the magic
bloom in Oz-like fields.
Tina's other distraction was, of course, her husband. Or Doug. Or
some mental mixture of them both. Peter lay awake. Doug, barely
an arm's length away, might be only resting, or might have drifted
off already. He breathed in light, even intervals that barely
moved the mound of covers marking him. When they made their
entrance in the bedroom in their night clothes, Doug didn't speak
or move and hadn't since. He made no comment on Peter's pair of
short plaid boxers and, for discretion, short sleeved tee. He took
no notice of Tina's modest jersey Winnie-the-Pooh nightgown with
her panties and a bra. The bra was dumb. She regretted it
already. Peter tried to take it off as soon as they crawled onto
the futon. Tina firmly gripped his hand to let him know she wasn't
starting anything; there would be no thrashing, moaning shows for
Doug or Mai that night. Peter would have to wait until tomorrow,
save his ardour for the taunting privacy of their tent. Now she
wished she hadn't worn it. Peter lay silently beside her. Either
he was pouting, or he was also mesmerized, staring at the lamp next
to their hosts' waterbed. Tina wondered which, and wondered if he
really would have ravished her while Douglas listened just a yard
away, and wondered at the tiny tremble in her legs and thighs...
when suddenly it happened.
It was the sexiest thing that had ever, up to then, happened to
Tina in her life.
The futon faced the door, and when the knob turned and it opened,
it was as if darkness from the apartment flooded into the room. It
was a wall of black, out of which floated Mai. She drifted in the
room like smoke, like an ice dancer, her olive skin taking on a
ghostly cast in the magic lighting of the bedroom. Her gossamer
gown froze them. It slowly changed from peach to lime as she moved
closer to the light, then transparent as she stood next to the bed,
blocking the bulb. There was nothing underneath. Tina stopped
breathing.
Then, like a ballerina, arms crossed in front of her; thin perfect
legs bent slightly at the knee. Tiny fingers closed on the film of
fabric. And in slow motion, as smoothly as if the magic light was
slowing time, she raised her night dress up over her head, pulling
it through her endless hair. Perfection. Naked. Tina thought she
had never ever seen anyone more naked. Ever. Never anyone more
perfect. Facing the futon three-quarter view, her head twisted
away from them, toward her boyfriend's motionless form, she
surrendered the satin from her fingers. It changed colours as it
fell, turning once more peach as it settled in the half shadow
beside the bed. Her pubic hair was trimmed but only slightly at
the sides. Coal black curls. Her areola were large for such
petite breasts, firm as a teenager's. Her nipples were erect. Her
whole body seemed aflame, washed in the ethereal light. She stood
suspended for long seconds that seemed like aeons before she
slipped onto the bed and underneath the sheet.
Tina was a stone. Frozen in the roar of her pounding heart, she
dreaded that the drama might be over, dreaded more that she might
say or do a thing to somehow spoil it. Moving, doing, speaking,
anything seemed totally impossible. Then she felt him, Peter's
whole mouth covering her ear. She realized he was trying to talk
to her, say something very private, something urgent. "Tina.
God." He swallowed. Peter, too, found it hard to force his brain
to issue simple orders. "This is amazing. We can't let this pass.
We have to respond. Do something."
She hated him. So damned like him to put it all on her. A sudden
anger flared inside. Perhaps that was the spark, her irritation.
Perhaps it was the wet against her ear, the muffled sound, his
clumsy elbow digging in her back, perhaps it was reality that freed
her from inertia. Perhaps she just gave in and followed orders.
She didn't analyse. Tina moved her index finger. Like the pulling
of a trigger it set her into motion, one movement blended to the
next. She moved, trance-like, without a plan, without knowing
where the end was meant to be.
There was just a narrow space between the futon and the waterbed, a
tightrope of carpet, no room to mime her Asian friend in grace.
Her journey from beneath the sheet and blanket, up off the low
futon, into a stand was cumbersome at best. But she could see
Mai's dark iris', smiling. She glued her eyes to Mai's, leaned on
them for support, let them balance her like an aerialist's long
ballast pole.
Without words or gestures, Mai somehow set Tina's lips in motion,
somehow gave moisture to a mouth and throat gone chalk dust dry.
"It's really warm in here." The sound of Tina's voice echoed in
the tiny, silent room. Totally lame, she self-deprecated. It
didn't matter. Mai's chocolate eyes assured her, coaxed her,
helped her undo the four small buttons that decorated Pooh's
balloons and opened Tina's cleavage to the heavy bedroom air. They
grew wider, Mai's eyes, as Tina pulled off the nightgown, folded it
methodically, and draped it on the low bed frame. She didn't
hesitate, didn't falter, kept one motion following the next. Yes,
she was terrified. She believed the room reverberated with the
sound of valves within her heart exploding closed and open. Her
eyes stayed locked to Mai's. Peter touched her ankle for support.
She didn't notice. The bra unfastened in the front. She made one
quick movement to release her breasts and let the undergarment
plummet onto Peter's helpless feet. Milk white flesh, her large
breasts, swollen with excitement, hanging free as she leaned
forward, sliding her panties onto the carpet next to the bra.
Then she stopped. The blue light flickered on her freckled skin,
offering no prompt, no hint of what came next, no script. Mai's
eyes were steady. Christina might have crawled back on the futon
and slipped under the covers. She might have closed her eyes, let
all four of them pretend to sleep. She might have let them lay
awake all night inventing what had just transpired and how it might
have ended. Mai's eyes were steady. Instead, Tina took two
awkward steps along the narrow aisle, side-stepped the sturdy
corner of the bed. "Snalla, lilla Christine. Wow. I don't
believe I did that." Tina's voice was low and far away, and then
she faintly added a correction, "We did that."
Mai scooted over slightly making room as Tina perched cautiously
beside her on the bed. "You are a very good, little Tina."
Doug raised himself on one elbow, showing off a hairless bronze
chest, rippled with muscle. Tina flicked a glance at him, tried
desperately not to blush, but failed. Mai, too, sat up, unmindful
of the sheet sliding to her waist. "I guess no one was really all
that tired." She smiled again. A glow emitted from her face
competing with the lamp.
"I think Peter and I have a confession to make." Tina avoided
Peter's face. Damn him, for being so useless; she would have to do
it all herself. "We..." There would be no turning back from this,
once said. It risked it all. She looked at Mai again. She hoped
for courage, hoped for strength. Mai offered something else,
something unexpected, something Tina did not absorb at once or
analyse in full, an invitation. "We, Peter and I, have been really
attracted, physically, to the both of you."
"That's true." Finally, Peter.
"Now that it's out in the open, we felt the same," offered Doug.
Tina fumed. You cowards. You left it to your girlfriend and your
wife to break the ice. Tina touched Mai's hair tenderly, combing
damp, black strands back on her shoulder with her fingers, peeling
them like berries from the tawny glaze of sweat that glinted on her
breasts, grooming her as if she was a life-sized doll with real
pointed nipples. Tina's fingers tingled from the wine, and
trembled from each contact with her naked friend. She felt a
little dizzy. Dreamlike, different from the fantasies. Suddenly,
somehow each move invited more, each touch begged further
explorations from the coal black eyes. "Mai, you are incredible...
amazing. You have the most guts of any of us. Of anyone I know.
And in this light, you are an angel. You're perfect."
Mai lowered her gaze. The men finally breathed again.
Peter shucked his shirt and shorts, tripping on the futon, nearly
toppling the lamp. He made a one-legged hop, then half a skip
before landing next to Tina on the waterbed. Satin waves spread
across the queen-sized sheets. Words began to flow. Peter and
Douglas, flying their pricks full sail, began to explain the
details of the fantasies that they had dreamed in private. They
were giddy. They were eager. They counted coup for what their
mates had just invented; they hoped to use their longer vocal cords
to somehow take command again, release the tension they had just
sustained.
Mai brought them back to earth, touching their lips with her
outstretched finger, each in turn. "Too much talk. I think we
should invite our guests to share the bed with us, Douglas. Let
come what may."
Tina smiled and noted Peter's disappointment. She knew he hoped to
cut Mai from the herd, lure her off to somewhere private, lead her,
at least, back to the futon. Douglas was also less genial, as Mai
displayed her leadership, as the others accepted it. She had
written them a brave new game. She showed them how to start. She
coached them. Now they waited patiently for her to give them
rules, to paint them boundaries and tell them how to win and what
meant "lose."
Mai raised the sheet inviting Tina under it, warming her flesh
against her own soft curves. Tina copied the invitation for Peter,
who found himself on the periphery next to his wife, a position
that he wasn't sure was going to work for him. It did feel safe.
He wondered if the time would happen, if he could reach over Tina's
sleeping body and fondle Mai, her nipples. He knew that they would
haunt him, keep him sleepless all that night. Or would he chicken
out? Or did Mai have some plan for him in mind? His erection
pressed against Tina's thigh. Goddamn, he thought, what have we
started?
Tina's thoughts were not much different. So were Doug's. Like
discontented peas lined up inside a pod, silent, almost stiff,
almost frightened, they waited for a signal, hoped for a command.
One giggle might have sent them all into convulsions. A tear might
have telescoped them back into monogamy again.
Mai broke the silence. Mai saved them.
Perhaps." She paused as if this word alone might solve the puzzle.
Not really hesitating, simply without hurry, she went on, "It might
be more in the spirit of the situation if Tina and I exchanged our
places."
No one dared reply. The implications of the rule were pondered
individually. Stakes were raised. They proceeded to a different
level as the bets were called.
Tina moved. This time quite slowly, not wanting to create a tidal
wave to launch poor Doug or Peter off the edges of the waterbed.
Very slowly, wanting somehow to delay finding herself unclothed
between the bodies of her two best friends. So slowly, wanting
just to preserve the dignity of Mai's firm voice and her direction.
Extremely slowly, not to change a rule or change the mood.
Christina's arm slowly brushed over Mai. It lightly swept the
satin from her torso. Mai's long stiff nipples surprised her yet
again. They almost stopped her arm. Her leg. Crossing, slowly,
Mai's one at a time. There was no mistaking the dampness on her
pussy, no mistaking that it rose slightly from the mattress to
press Tina a little firmer in the passing. Tina tried to be as
steady as she could, as smooth. She was careful to brush Mai's
hair off of the pillow where she planned to put her weight. Their
bodies came in contact. Not like two hands that clapped together,
but like two mouths that rolled against each other, eager to find
as many nerve endings as they could, eager to feel and be felt,
eager to share and to be shared.
It would have worked. Tina would have rolled across her, next to
Doug. She would have, except for Mai's eyes, half closed,
directing her. Except for the soft moan, floated on a breath of
scented jasmine. Their faces almost passed each other, centimetres
apart. Almost, except Tina's lips brushed Mai's. Except, small
fingers touched a hip, resting casually at first, then growing
heavy, acting as an anchor, defying further movement. Except, one
set of nipples firm with desire massaging another set of nipples
just as firm, just as hungry. Breast to breast, a spark, ignited
them. The rest became a blur. Somewhere there was a waltz inside
of Tina's brain as Mai's tongue entangled with her own. There was
a dancing in their mouths. Elegant long gowns swept past them as
tongues slowly pressed against each other. Then Mai made up a rule
that let the lips of Tina rest upon the spaces of her hungry brown
areola, let the lips press a kiss against it, let the tongue invent
a teasing rhyme to tell the stiffening nipple. Nibbling was
allowed. And some time later their clits became a rosary of two
large beads, a wordless litany repeated with their fingers first,
and finally with their tongues.
Doug and Peter? Where were they? Shocked at first, perhaps.
Amazed, no doubt. Erect to be certain. And just as certain,
invisible to Mai and Tina. Mai pulled a blind that shut them out,
that froze them somewhere else in space and time, somewhere lost,
staring at a fantasy that someone else had written for their
partners. At some point in that long night, Mai and Tina both felt
male hands participating. At some time, there was male cum all
over them. In the end, four panting, dizzy friends collapsed onto
the bed, Doug nesting his relaxed, spent body next to Tina's. Yet
Mai and Tina still faced each other drifting in and out of sleep
that night and most of the next morning, fingers still lightly
entwined. And in the dream of Tina there were only two forms
cuddled on the bed, not four. It was Mai and Tina still winking a
sleepy eye at one another as a succession of their accidental
touches woke them late on Saturday. It was the smell of bacon
frying that finally dragged them, together hand in hand, out of the
bed and into dressing gowns. The men were sheepish, fully dressed,
and cooking as if they thought truck drivers might appear at any
moment.
It was late before the dishes all were cleared away. Very late.
Again, rain drizzled at the windows. They reconsidered, postponed
the trip until the weekend following. They found it hard to speak
about the night. Mai was silent on the subject. She talked
instead about the move and work, and no one had the courage to ask
themselves or Mai what it meant to score in her invented game, or
challenge her to spell it's name for them. And in their false
amnesia Peter and Tina, Douglas and Mai, nested in their own
private bedrooms on that chilly Saturday night, found new passions
in their lovemaking, new ardour that left the Friday,that left Mai
and Tina undefined.
=================================================================
"What do you think, Jane? Amazing? Or what?" she typed to me.
*"...i think i want to meet you and mai r/t.. wow... so how did
things finally sort out... what happened on the camping trip..."
i was breathless... dizzy... stupid... i am so careful about
mixing my real life and cyber time... i never ever suggest a
meeting, not even in jest... but i was suddenly tempted to bring
these two women into my life, a life curtained completely from such
secret chats and stories...*
"That was just last weekend. I've been going crazy about it
myself, Jane. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday passed. It was
like nothing had happened on last Friday night. Whenever I brought
it up with Peter, he'd brush it aside with, `They must be busy with
the move.' I had to know."
*"...you must have been frantic, love..."*
"Then this morning I got a phone call after Peter left for work.
Mai. I was so happy, Jane, just to hear her voice, her amazing
voice."
*"...was everything alright..."*
"She was rushed, but her voice was calm. Things were a mess with
the move. We could pick them up, though, tomorrow morning at the
new address. And.."
*"...yes... and..." i frantically hammered at the keyboard...*
"Her voice was like a lute, Jane. Like she was singing, except it
was just her voice, just talking. She said, 'And I am thinking one
tent only will be enough for us this time, Tina. We will use
yours?' Then she laughed."
*...i smiled... still letting my wet fingers glide along my
nipple... i couldnt wait to hear how that adventure ended...
"keep in touch, love... please... please let me know what
happens... *s*..." please...*