

The following work of fiction contains sexual activities between
consenting adults. If you are too young, too uptight, or your
local government is too oppressive, you should stop reading now.



This story is in the public domain. While you are legally free
to do anything you like with it, out of courtesy to the author,
I humbly request that you leave my name and contact information
with this story.


Practice Makes Perfect
By Poison Ivan



By Poison Ivan

_Warning! The following work of fiction contains 
sexual activities between consenting adults. You must be at least 18 
years old to read it._

It had been a cold, icy Christmas, but the weather warmed up just
in time for New Year's. A yellow van rumbled down the street and
turned up my driveway, plowing through the knee-deep water that
backed up from the slush-clogged storm drains.

The van was delivering Mom's old piano - now my piano - a
mahogany upright that had been in the family for about a hundred
years. It made sense that I'd get it when Mom died; I was the
only one of the kids who took playing seriously. Not that I'd
played much recently, of course.

Two guys in faded jackets dropped out of the van. The big guy
went to work dragging out ramps. The short guy walked up to me
with a clipboard in his hand.

"Where you want it?" he asked.

I had cleared a space for it in the living room, where I once
kept a rickety wicker chair. The movers quickly wrestled the
piano into place.

They also brought an old, beat up bench, which looked ridiculous
sitting in front of the meticulously maintained piano. Mom must
have planned to refinish the bench. She did that kind of thing a
lot - she'd pick up old, broken down furniture and fix it up
until it looked better than new. But she apparently never got
around to the piano bench.

I took the piano for a quick spin, playing a few old simple
songs. It was still in good tune. I stroked the black and white
keys and brushed my hands across the shiny wood surfaces.

It would have been nice to sit and play for a while. But I had
Andy's party to get to.

This was the second year running I was going stag to Andy's New
Year's party. The year before, I'd just broken up with Sylvia,
and I had to endure the constant queries: "Really? I thought you
two were perfect for one another! What happened?"

Fortunately, I would not need to explain anything this year -
Peggy and I split up months ago, and only a few of my friends
knew about Peggy in the first place.

I dressed quickly and went back to look at the piano one last
time. I found a bunch of old sheet music inside the bench. A lot
of the stuff I used to play when I was a teenager.

             * * *


I gave up playing the piano in high school when I started going
out with Pamela. Pamela was my first serious girlfriend, and we
had lots of romantic notions, none of which included the piano.
We were both virgins - or at least I was, and she said she was.
Back then, I had doubts about her honesty concerning her
experience. These days, I am more inclined to believe she told
the truth.

I was endlessly fascinated by Pamela's naked body. Given the
opportunity, I could have lain for hours just looking. My stares
made Pamela uncomfortable, so I would fumble around, stroking her
awkwardly, while I studied her on the sly.

I loved her hips, and the first time I went down on her happened
by accident. I was kneeling between her legs, running both hands
up and down over her bare hips. Pamela lay passively, and I
wanted a closer look. I leaned closer while I caressed her hips
and thighs, and as I closed in, I caught a whiff of her arousal.

Pamela protested meekly, but I was drawn inwards. I stroked her
hipbones with my fingers, and my attention focussed at the warmth
between her legs. I rubbed my nose through her dark hairs and
inhaled her aroma.

"No," she whispered, and she placed her hand on my head.

I swept my head back and forth and settled my mouth between her
squishy outer lips. I stuck my tongue out, pushed it between her
hairy lips, and got my first taste of pussy.

"No!" Pamela said, and she wiggled out from under me. I was left
with a lingering taste on my tongue and a hard-on that demanded
relief.

Pamela and I split up after just one year because she said I was
boring. "You are so _dull_," she said during one of our
infrequent arguments. That hurt a lot. She apologized the next
day, and she said she didn't really mean it. I accepted her
apology, but the damage was already done.

It took me a long time to recover from Pamela. People always say
there is something special about your first love. I suppose it's
true, but I wonder what people mean by "special." I always
assumed people meant it was special in some pleasant way. But for
me, my relationship with Pamela made me acutely aware of my
limitations.

             * * *


I plunked a single key. Middle C. I sighed.

It was time to go.

I drove to Andy's, where the party already thumped along with a
boisterous rhythm. Someone had pushed the living room furniture
against the wall, and people were dancing to some fun music
played a little too loud. One couple was making out under a sprig
of mistletoe. Women drank wine out of clear plastic wineglasses,
and men drank beer out of yellow plastic cups.

I made my way to the kitchen and decided to try the wine, since
it was a kind I'd never tasted before. I thought it was pretty
good. I said hello to the people I recognized and made my way
back through the house. I sat down in a folding chair and looked
at the dancers. A girl on the floor was dancing wildly by herself
and drawing quite a bit of attention.

I had to adjust my position to control the beginnings of an
erection. Obviously, it was too long since I broke up with Peggy.
I was horny. Maybe even too horny. Sometimes a man gets a little
desperate.

             * * *


Sometimes I think Sylvia and I would have never got together had
it not been for my sexual desperation. The fear of another
rejection like Pamela's kept me out of circulation for a long
time. And then Sylvia entered the picture.

Sylvia was the daughter of one of my mother's friends. After a
polite introduction one day at my mother's house, we kept running
into each other at random times: in the grocery store, in line at
the movies, at the student union cafeteria. Sylvia was
attractive, with dark curly hair and bright eyes, and I began to
center every sexual fantasy around her. I would lie in bed and
masturbate as I imagined stripping her out of her clothes. In my
mind, our touches would begin softly and tentatively, and then
grow bold as our arousal built. I invariably reached orgasm as I
imagined my hand slipping between her thighs to touch her steamy
cunt.

Although my sexual fantasies revolved around her, I was too
afraid to ask Sylvia for a date. As we built a casual
acquaintance, our circle of friends somehow combined. I often sat
across a crowded table from her at some pizza joint, staring,
while my penis rolled and shifted in my pants. When she caught me
looking, I glanced away with embarrassment. Later, she told me
she thought it was cute the way I blushed when she caught me
staring.

Thankfully, Sylvia finally asked _me_ out. We quickly became a
couple, and I was deliriously happy that we did.

Sex with Sylvia was OK. I had built up a huge library of sexual
fantasies in the months leading up to our first date, but there
never seemed to be an opportunity to live them out. And it felt
so good to finally have _any_ sexual relationship again that I
wasn't prepared to risk it all with an out-of-the-ordinary
request. So we had a pleasant, unremarkable sex life. And, as far
as I could tell, Sylvia was not displeased.

Later, I learned that "not displeased" summed up her opinion
pretty well.

We had spent several hours in bed one night. A long, slow bout of
foreplay transitioned into a long, slow, undulating, missionary
position fuck. I came, filling her pussy, and we slumped
together, side-by-side.

Sylvia reached across my chest and hugged me. "I didn't expect us
to have sex like this," Sylvia said.

"What do you mean?"

"Jon, you are a different person when we make love."

My face burned with fear of an up-coming criticism, but Sylvia
did not elaborate.

It seemed like I was always trying to read women. And without
much success.

             * * *


The girl in the middle of the floor danced like a whirlwind. She
wasn't much like Sylvia. Or Pamela. Or Peggy. She was short,
curvy, with honey-colored hair. She wore a T-shirt and a short
skirt - more a summer costume than one for New Year's. She did
not wear a bra, and her ample breasts bobbed under her shirt.

There was a lot about her to watch. Her breasts - I could tell
she was proud of her breasts - were out for display. But I also
liked the way muscles in her legs flexed as she bounced around.
And when her back was to me and she shook her ass, I knew I would
love to have my arms wrapped around her luscious thighs.

But those were just my fantasies talking. I wasn't the kind of
guy who suddenly attracted women. It always took a month or two
knowing some girl before I even had the guts to ask her out.

I was watching her and falling deeply in lust when Andy wobbled
up.

"You need a beer, Jon?" he slurred.

I showed him my wineglass. "Nope, I'm set."

"Checking out the talent, I see."

"Who is that?" I asked, nodding towards the girl.

"Connie," Andy said. He grinned. "You like her?"

"She's cute."

"She's single."

"Yeah?"

"Come on, I'll introduce you."

Andy was drunk, which made him impossible to resist. He grabbed
my elbow and dragged me forward until I stood right in front of
Connie. He introduced us and made a quick retreat.

"Hi, Jon!" Connie said, grinning widely.

"Hi," I said. I tried not to say too many words, because I was
sure I would stammer.

"I noticed you watching me over there." She panted slightly.

My face felt flushed. "I'm sorry if I was staring."

She laughed and reached out and touched my forearm. "That's OK! I
was making a spectacle of myself, don't you think?"

I forced a smile. "Maybe a little."

"Maybe a lot." She laughed. Her laugh was light and penetrating.

We sat down facing directly at one another. "To tell you the
truth, I like the way you look at me. Not like these other guys,
these peepers. When you stare at a girl, Jon, you really stare at
a girl."

"I do that, I guess. I've always done it. I can't help it."

She smiled. "Get me something to drink?"

"Wine? Beer?"

"Which ever is stronger."

"That would be wine, then," I said.

She leaned back in her chair and fanned her face. Her T-shirt
stretched across her breasts, and I imagined snuggling my face
between them. Connie had lovely breasts.

I left to get her a drink, and returned to find her tapping her
foot to the music as she watched the other dancers. I gave her
the glass of wine. She smiled, thanked me, and quickly downed the
entire thing. "Whew!" she said, staring at the empty glass, and
she laughed.

"You're not driving, are you?" I said.

"Nope. Are you?"

"Yeah, I drove. Do you have a friend who is driving you home?"

"Are you offering?" she grinned.

I stammered something and she laughed. "Am I embarrassing you?"

I forced a grin. "Yeah, I guess."

"You know what?" she said, leaning towards me conspiratorially. I
leaned close, and we were only a foot apart. "I came here to get
laid," she whispered.

I felt foolish, leaning and grinning. "You did?" I whispered
back.

"Uh huh." She giggled. "You're blushing."

No doubt. I knew she was trying to shock me, but I also knew I
was on the verge of something good. If this had happened to me
when I was younger, I would have definitely fumbled it. But with
age and a little more experience with women, I felt a certain
confidence that I might pull it off. I was more anxious than
nervous. If she wanted to play flirting games, I could play
flirting games.

I took her hand and pressed my lips to her knuckles. Her hands
were hot. Her nipples tightened under her T-shirt.

"What are you looking at?" she breathed.

My eyes rose up to meet her eyes. "I'm looking at your breasts,"
I said quietly.

Connie giggled. "Do you want to dance?" she said.

"I'm not much of a dancer, I'm afraid."

"That's funny," she said. "You look like a dancer."

             * * *


Sylvia and I used to dance a lot, but not in public. We always
danced when we were alone with something soft playing on the
stereo. A familiar old tune played, like "My Funny Valentine" or
"Someone to Watch Over Me," and we stood up and held each other
close. She nuzzled into my shoulder, and I smelled her hair. Our
bodies swayed and rocked together in time to the music.

I marveled at my good fortune. A gorgeous woman was in my arms,
her body against mine. I tried to feel every inch that was in
contact with me: her hands on my back, her cheek against my
shoulder, her breasts pressing my chest, her legs brushing my
legs. Her physicality overwhelmed me. Her scent. Her touch. The
way her body felt. We had danced that way a hundred times before,
and with each dance Sylvia's bounds wound tighter and tighter.

The song ended and she tipped her head back to look at me. Her
dark eyes moistened and flickered in the dim light.

Her hand slid over my crotch. The corners of her mouth tipped
upwards. I had become erect without realizing it.

She nuzzled close and stroked my penis through my pants. "Do you
like me, Jon?" Sylvia whispered.

"I love you, Sylvia," I said.

"But do you even _like_ me, Jon? Do I turn you on?"

I didn't understand how she could ask such a question. Of course
she turned me on! I had never felt more aroused, never felt more
pleasure, never longed for anyone's touch as much as I did for
Sylvia's.

"I want to _feel_ you, Jon. I want to feel what you are feeling."

I thought hard about what she said. I parsed and re-parsed the
sentence and thought about the meanings of the words. I wasn't
positive, but I thought maybe I knew what she meant.

But I had no idea how to do it. How do you make someone feel what
you are feeling?

We went to bed, and we followed the ritual we usually followed
when we made love. Whispers, soft kisses, and slow strokes. She
lay on her back, I kneeled on top of her, and I teased her with
fingertips feathering across her legs. I moved my hips so my
penis rubbed on the top of her smooth thigh.

"You don't love me," she moaned.

"Yes, I do," I breathed. I touched my lips to hers. She grabbed
and pulled me into her and opened her mouth wide. She sucked my
tongue right out of my mouth.

I'm sure I made some noise of surprise, but I sucked back. She
twisted away with a wet smack. "No," she panted, "you don't."

She grabbed my cock and pumped me hard. "Do you love me like
this?" she said. Her knuckles turned white with the force of her
grip. My cock was so hard that it felt like it could pierce
metal.

I was excited. Sylvia had never acted like this before. I was
excited, and I needed to spring. I was thrilled and terrified. I
wanted to use the spear clutched in Sylvia's tight fist.

The pounce was almost unconscious. I was between her thighs in an
instant, my cock jammed painfully up into her crotch. She
wouldn't hold still - she kept squirming underneath me.

I grabbed her hips and held her down. She hooked her heels around
the backs of my legs and squeezed me into her. "My love is
stronger than yours," she said, and she contracted her legs
powerfully, pinning me right up into her crotch. The underside of
my cock smashed right into her pubic mound and scratched around
in her crinkly hair. She grabbed my chest muscles, then pinched
my nipples until I yipped out loud.

I reared over her. I ground my thigh between her legs.

"Yes!" she cried out. "Oh God, yes!"

Is this what she wanted? Did she want to feel the physical
strength of my lust?

I raised up above her and put my hands on top of her wrists,
pinning her arms down. She panted heavily through her nose, and
her hips rolled beneath me. Her nipples were tight knots. My cock
stood up hard and purple with its sexual anger.

Did she have any idea how strongly I lusted for her? Did she have
any idea at all?

I slid into her, one long, firm stroke, driving all the way in
until her bellies touched. And I pressed into her. "Feel me?" I
said a voice loud enough to surprise me. I ground down hard,
reaching for the greatest depth. She was all liquid and heat.

I hung by a thread, my cock deep inside her, our breathing
synchronized and ragged. I pulled out until just the head was
still inside her. And then the thread broke. I dropped down on
her like an elevator with its cable cut, hurtling towards the
ground in total free fall.

             * * *


I drove carefully through the slushy streets while Connie bounced
in the passenger seat, singing along with the radio. When I
parked in the driveway, she jumped out of the door before I could
turn off the engine. She waited for me on my front doorstep, with
her arms wrapped around herself.

"Hurry up!" she complained. "It's cold!"

I let us in and she walked ahead of me into my house. She made a
side trip through the living room. "Nice piano," she said.

"I just got it today," I said.

"So where's the bedroom?"

I nodded towards the back. She smiled.

"Naughty boy," she said when she saw my bedroom. "You didn't make
your bed." She turned around with the backs of her legs against
the mattress.

I shifted close to her, moving slowly and relentlessly forward. I
put my hands on her arms, my knees against her legs, bumping,
touching, until I was pressed all against her. She grinned like
girl with a secret she couldn't wait to tell.

And for the first time we kissed.

We kissed feathery soft, and I tickled the sides of her neck with
my fingertips. She whimpered between kisses, and when I opened my
mouth for a deeper kiss, she suddenly surged into me, her mouth
wide and sucking. My right hand found her breast, and my left
hand found her butt. We kissed hard with wet lips, and saliva
dripped down my chin.

She worked the buttons of my shirt and kissed down my neck. I
tried to pull her T-shirt up - I wanted to feel her bare body
against me. But she eased out of my grasp and pushed my shirt
open. We tumbled together on the bed. She crawled over and rested
her chin on my breastbone. Her eyebrows arched and she grinned
widely. She grabbed my chest muscles, one in each hand. She
pinched both nipples.

"Come here," I said.

She slid up and we kissed again. I got my hands up the back of
her T-shirt and felt the hot skin on her back. She squirmed
against me as we kissed, pressing harder and closer.

I sucked on her neck and licked her skin and went up and bit her
earlobe. She squeezed my chest, and my fingers found the backs of
her legs. I drew down from her ass to the backs of her knees. "Oh
God!" she said, her voice raspy. The skin behind her knees was as
soft as a silk.

She lunged against me and pressed her mouth hard against mine.
She broke the kiss and quickly unzipped my pants. Once loosened,
she slid down so her head was next to my hip. She grabbed hold of
the waist of my pants and pulled them down.

My cock popped up fully erect. She stared at my erection for a
couple beats, then gently lifted it in both hands.

"Wow! You have a nice one!" she said.

"You excite the hell out of me," I said.

She kissed the underside of my penis and gave me a tongue tickle.
Then she dropped my cock, stood up, and quickly stripped off her
clothes. Naked and smiling wide. Skin. Breasts. Tummy. Pussy.
Thighs. Pussy. Breasts. Pussy. All that naked Connie. She climbed
on top of me.

I loved the way her naked body felt against me. I loved touching
her skin and pressing my torso against hers. I loved the way her
stubby little nipples rubbed against my chest. I loved the feel
of her naked legs on mine. I loved the way my cock felt trapped
against the soft skin of her belly.

We kissed and felt each other up. The desire surged inside me,
and I wanted to grab her, hold her tightly.

She tipped her head back and I kissed the front of her neck. I
got my hands between her legs and rubbed her inner thighs. I
stroked the soft skin between them. And it took every ounce of
will power to not touch her cunt.

Not that her thighs weren't wonderful to touch in themselves!
Soft and warm. Muscles at work, tiny little movements of her
legs. The ever-increasing angle as she spread wider and wider.

I finally gave in to my temptation, and my fingers stroked up and
down through the curly hair on her labia. I grabbed the hairs and
lightly pulled them. I pressed my palm down over her mound. She
pushed back against my hand.

I crawled on top of her and we kissed. She was breathing heavily,
and I could hear my heart pounding. I got up on my knees and the
head of my cock brushed through her pubic hair.

Her hands slid down my back and came to rest on my butt. I slid
my cock through the soft folds of her cunt and found soft,
yielding flesh. I pushed inwards and her slippery heat enveloped
me.

She pulled her legs way back so she was spread widely beneath me.
I pressed my weight down on her until I was fully inside her. She
bit her lower lip and whimpered.

"You OK?" I said.

"I'm great," she said. "Press down on me. Press down harder."

I was a little confused, but I tried to push down harder with my
hips. "Yes, like that," she said, "harder." And I ground myself
hard into her crotch, and Connie began to buck and whimper
louder. "Harder," she gasped.

I pressed with all my might. My penis strained deep inside her. I
slid my body up and down a little, or back and forth a little.
She gasped and writhed underneath me.

I had her pinned, but we bounced and ground against each other.
The muscles in my thighs and butt began to get sore. Connie gave
out a short, sharp cry. "Harder!" she demanded, and I pressed
with all my might. She shimmied and ground and finally her
fingernails clawed my back. She yelled out and her eyes suddenly
flew open wide. "Aggh!" she yelled, and her body twisted. I could
actually feel her vagina squeezing my cock.

Her face was all flushed, and I felt ready to pop.

She panted with her eyes closed, and her hands fell limp at her
side. I began to pump.

A smile came to her face and she chuckled. My legs and butt were
sore, and sweat dripped down my chest. Her breasts and belly were
covered with sweat, probably a mixture of mine and hers.

I felt the wonderful stroke of her cunt and I knew I wouldn't
last much longer. She laughed and ran her hands all over me.

My body began to falter from a mixture of pleasure and fatigue.
The shuddering pleasure built up in my groin. "Oh man! Oh man!" I
groaned, and I thrust deeply inside her and my penis swelled to
its greatest extent.

And then I throbbed.

I couldn't move. I lay on top of her, my cock buried inside her,
my semen pulsing into her.

"That's it, baby," Connie cooed.

I pulsed until I couldn't pulse any more. And it was over.

I didn't want to leave her, but I couldn't hold myself up. I
pulled away and she frowned as my limp penis slipped out. I
kissed her. And I lay down at her side.

We panted for several minutes, just looking at one another. My
eyes felt droopy, but I forced myself to stay awake.

I watched her as her breathing returned to normal, a little smile
on her lips. And she closed her eyes.

And I drifted off to sleep.

             * * *


When I woke up, my fingers tingled, and my arm felt heavy and
numb. I pushed the blankets down, sat up, and hung my feet over
the side of the bed. I made a fist and released it. I shook my
hand until the prickles eased away.

She reached out and placed gentle fingertips on my bare hip.
"Where you going?" she mumbled.

I looked back at her lying there, her cheek pressed against the
pillow, her hair curtaining her eyes. "I'll be back in a minute,"
I said. She hummed and hugged the pillow to her face. A round,
bare shoulder pulled out from under the blankets, and desire
tugged at me. I could ravage her again. Nothing would make me
happier.

But first I needed a drink. I stood up and stretched, reaching
for the ceiling. My boxer shorts were on the floor at my feet. I
picked them up.

I thought back to her tugging them down earlier. Just thinking
about it sent a vibration building in my lower belly.

I pulled my underwear on and looked back at her. Her face was
still half-buried in the pillow, but she was watching me with one
eye.

"You want anything to drink?" I asked.

She rustled around. "No thanks. But hurry back, OK?"

I smiled and left the bedroom.

In the kitchen, I poured myself a glass of water and gulped it
down, then refilled the glass. I sipped the second glass and
stared at my ghost-like reflection in the window.

I couldn't believe my luck.

I'm not sure what she saw in me, but who was I to complain? I'd
never had a one-night stand before.

Was that what this was? A one-night stand?

I swirled the half-full glass of water. A one-night stand. I
poured the rest out into the sink. I wandered out towards the
living room.

My mother's old piano stood in the shadows against the far wall,
with the mismatched bench sitting in front of it. I turned on the
light to get a better look. How many hours of piano lessons had I
taken? Hundreds? Thousands? And thousands more practicing. I
liked to play the piano, even when I was a kid. It was something
I could succeed at by being relentless.

             * * *


Back in May, I bought one of those electronic keyboards. I
dabbled with it off and on, practiced some easy pieces, dusted
off the old piano playing muscles. It wasn't the same as playing
a real piano, but it got me thinking about playing again.

At about the same time, I started a relationship with Peggy.
Peggy taught third grade, and we were together through most of
the summer while schoolteachers were on break. Peggy had curly
red hair that she could never fully control. Her pale, green eyes
were punctured by the blackest pupils. We fucked on the second
date; if I had figured it out, we would've fucked on the first
date, too, but I was slow on the uptake.

All summer long, we fucked surrounded by the sweet scent of
summer thunderstorms. Sex with Peggy was frequent and
spontaneous. I would stay overnight in her apartment, and the
next morning, while we lounged around drinking coffee and reading
the newspaper, I would look at her: at the soft cleavage showing
through the neckline of her bathrobe, or her long, smooth legs.
And I would become overcome by desire.

We fucked in the morning, we fucked in the afternoon, and we
fucked all night. Peggy liked to bite and pinch and scratch. And
she was vocal, cussing like a construction worker. "Your cock
feels so good in my cunt I love the way you fuck me come on fuck
my cunt with your big cock."

I didn't sleep much over the summer, and the lack of sleep made
my temper short. Peggy's temper was always short. When she got
angry, she made tight fists, digging her nails into her palms.
Sometimes she screamed until her face turned purple.

She scared me when she got angry. We'd have horrible fights about
the most trivial things. The worst was when I had to cancel a
date because my brother was flying into town to talk about our
mother's deteriorating health. I defended my decision and refused
to apologize.

At one point I grabbed her by the shoulders and shouted at her.
"It's my _mother_, God damn it! My mother is _dying!_"

Peggy shook violently and she started to wail. Her voice raised
higher and she held her head in both hands and screamed at the
top of her lungs while I held her tightly by the arms. She looked
at me, her scream turning into a shriek, the noise penetrating my
head. My ears rang and I could feel her voice in my eyeballs. She
looked right through me, like she couldn't even see me there, her
eyes all flash and fire.

And suddenly, it was over. Her mouth snapped shut, and she sat
back huddled against herself. She shook all over. I sat down
beside her and put my arm around her waist. She leaned her head
against my shoulder.

"Sorry," she whispered.

Without another word, her fingers went to work at my fly. Her
head dropped down and she engulfed my penis. She sucked hard,
drew me erect, and vigorously pumped her mouth up and down.

We tore at each other's clothes and jumped on top of one another.
Adrenaline screamed through my veins. When I finally wrenched her
panties off, I got my fingers up into her crotch. She was soaking
wet.

I fingered her slit and she pumped my prick and we kissed. I
pulled away from a kiss, and she sucked on my lower lip,
stretching it until she finally let go. She scratched the
underside of my cock with her fingernails.

"I want you to fuck my ass," she said.

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

We hurried back to the bedroom, and she hunched up on her hands
and knees. Her tight little anus peeked out from between her
cheeks. My cock seemed impossibly large as I slathered
lubrication all over it.

I went as gently as I could. Even so, it was slow going. Her anus
clamped shut several times before I finally worked the head of my
penis into her ass.

I wouldn't call it fucking as much as it was rocking with one
another. Peggy would sometimes grunt loudly, and I'd feel the
powerful muscles squeezing my cock. I'd ask her, "Are you OK?"
She always said she was fine.

I eventually built up enough motion to feel the pleasure inside
me rise. I came soon thereafter, leaving my semen in her bowels.
I pulled out and lay next to her. Tears streamed down her face. I
kissed their salty tracks.

I couldn't take Peggy's roller coaster. She wore me down, and we
eventually had to have a serious talk. I could not see us going
on.

"I like you," I finally said, "but honestly, Peggy, you scare me
a little. You're going to give me a heart attack."

Peggy just laughed. "Jon, your heart should be the least of your
worries."

I never really knew what she meant by that. Was she saying I was
heartless?

Peggy and I split amiably. We even waved to one another as I
backed down the driveway after we made the break official. We
don't run into each other much, thank God. I know the temptation
to engage in one final tumble would be hard to resist.

             * * *


I thought about Peggy, and I thought about Connie's compact naked
little body waiting for me back in bed. I looked at Mom's piano.
How long would Connie wait?

Perhaps if I were quiet ...

I sat down on the bench and opened up to Brahms, an old piece I
learned a long time ago. In 6/8 time. I laid my fingers over the
keys, felt the cool surfaces on my fingertips. I had played it a
thousand times before. I didn't really need the music, but it was
always easier to play seeing the notes in front of me.

I began.

Playing it again after all these years, I was surprised. I
remembered it as a mechanical piece of music, something I had
practiced over and over until I had it down perfect. But now the
tune was fun, light, and happy. I began to sway along with the
music.

And then just as I got going, just as I hit stride, Connie was
behind me. "Hiya," she said, and she giggled. She slid beside me
on the bench and bumped her hip against mine. She had found one
of my T-shirts, which hung down nearly to her knees.

I almost lost my place but continued through.

"What're you playing?" she said.

And I lost the rhythm, lost the music. I took my hands off the
keys and placed them on my thighs. My foot remained on the pedal,
and the final notes sustained.

Interrupted. I hated to be interrupted. I never could take up a
piece from the middle. I always had to go back to the beginning,
start again from scratch.

She looked at the sheet music. "Brahms?" she said. "It's pretty."
She picked up my wrists and placed my hands back on the keys.
"Play it for me."

But I did not feel like it.

"What's wrong? Are you shy or something?" she said. And she
laughed.

"OK, then, it's my turn," she said. She stood and crowded against
me, wiggling her way between me and the piano. I scooted back to
give her a little more room. She was short, and her butt was only
a little above my knees.

She brought both hands down hard on the keys, a loud, jarring C
major chord.

And then she was off, thundering down on the keys in 4/4 time.
Basic tonic and dominant and sub-dominant chords. Trilling with
her right hand, hammering with her left.

She played and played and jumped up and down in rhythm, her hair
whipping about.

And right in the middle of the bombast, she stopped and whirled
around and laughed. The final chord vibrated in the piano's body
for several seconds. Her eyes shined. "How's that?"

God, she was incredible.

"I don't know how you do that," I said.

"Do what?"

"Did you just improvise that?"

"I play whatever comes in my head."

"I never could improvise."

She bent forward, her face close to mine, and placed both hands
on my thighs. She gave my legs a quick squeeze. "You play
beautifully," she said quietly.

"I wish I could make things up like that."

"It's not so hard," she said.

I humphed.

"Just try it," she said quietly. "Make something up for me."

I wanted to. Maybe she was right. All I had to do was try again.
She sat beside me and watched as I placed my fingers on the keys.
I counted out an A7 chord.

I let my hands strum down on the keys. I love the sound of a
seventh.

But then what?

Nothing.

"I can't," I said.

She stared at me, but I couldn't meet her eye.

"You want to know your problem?" she said. "You're just a
romantic." Her hand slid up my thigh and onto the front of my
shorts. "Just ... a ... romantic." She squeezed my cock through
my boxers, and her other hand roamed along my side. I stiffened
in her hand.

"Just a romantic?" I said. My voice sounded surprisingly high-
pitched.

"Uh-huh," she said, and she rubbed her hand down the front of my
shorts, sliding along my shaft. "Just a silly ... romantic."

"Just a silly romantic?" I said. The tension in me rose again.

"What's wrong? Don't I turn you on?"

"I think you already know the answer to that," I said. I put my
hands on her thighs and leaned towards her. We kissed lightly,
and she squeezed my erection hard through my shorts. She giggled.

My heart pounded. I twisted around to face her. I wrapped my arms
around her waist and pulled her against me.

We kissed furiously. She put both hands down the front of my
shorts and grabbed my cock, skin to skin. We ended the kiss with
a gasp.

Her face was flushed as she fumbled in my shorts. I needed to see
her naked. I needed to fuck her. Fuck her now.

I wrapped my arms around her thighs, hiked her up, and dumped her
on top of the piano keys. Her butt landed with a loud, dissonant
chord. "Ow!" she said, and then she giggled. She rocked side to
side a little, adjusting her position, and her butt played a
slurred scale, up and down. Her shirt bunched up over her hips.
Her bare thighs parted, and between them was the delicate ruffle
of her sex.

I tossed off my boxers and hurled them across the room. My cock
stood up red and angry. "Ooo!" she said, and she reached out for
me with both hands.

I got up between her knees and we kissed. She grabbed my cock and
stroked up and down the full shaft, and I reached up under her
shirt to squeeze her tits.

I pressed against her, and she hummed. We kissed hard, our lips
smashing together. She kept grabbing me, strong grabs all on my
shoulders and arms and sides and hips. And then she got a strong
hold of my cock and yanked me, and I ground my hips right up
between her legs. Her public hair rubbed against my cock.

I stepped away and she whimpered. Her red cunt was all drippy and
open. I lined my erection up with her hole and pushed up into
her.

I thrust up into her cunt. I drew out slowly. And I thrust back
in. Out. In. With every push, she grunted and bounced on the
keys.

"Jesus," she grunted, and she began to slip. The keys slurred.
"Ow!" she said. "Ow!"

I got my hands under her butt and held her still. She wiggled
around in front of me, the piano making groaning noises, and I
got a good hold of her. I lifted her, lifted her completely off
the piano, and held her against me, her legs wrapped around my
hips, and she gripped me tight around my neck. My cock was buried
deep inside her sizzling hot cunt. I spun us around, and almost
lost control, I was so top-heavy. But I caught my balance, and
she squirmed against me.

I carried her over to the couch and let go. She dropped, hitting
the couch with an "oof." "Fuck," she said, and she scrambled
around, her legs still apart and her red slit all exposed.

I fell down on top of her and stabbed my cock between her thighs,
missed, and stabbed again. "Christ!" she said.

I slid all the way in, pressing deeply. When I was all the way
in, I stopped and held myself still. She looked me in the eyes.
She breathed hard, quick little pants through her open mouth. I
pushed down harder, using my weight and muscles to reach the
deepest penetration. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes
tight.

I pulled slowly back, then pressed back in, again pushing deeply.
She moaned. I used my hands to force her knees further apart,
stretching her open.

And I fucked her hard. Pounded deeply. Fucked her harder and
harder. She dug her nails into my side. She grunted with every
inward shove.

"Fuck!" she said. "Fuck!"

The urgency in me rose. She gave a strangled yell and writhed
beneath me. Through her clenched teeth, a wail built, and I
settled into long, deep, powerful strokes. Her fingernails
scratched across my chest.

She squealed, and my own torrent built. I pulled out of her
saturated cunt, my cock huge, nearly purple in color, engorged. I
throbbed strongly, I felt a clutching in my groin, and finally
the sudden release.

Semen erupted, and powerful pulses of cum splashed against her
hairy cunt. A half dozen potent salvos, until her belly and
pelvis were covered with the shimmering tracks of my jizz.

Gasping for breath, she ran her hands through the trails of my
cum, spreading it around in her cunt hair, around on her thighs,
up onto her hipbones.

I wiped the sweat off my face.

"Man!" she said, and she untangled her legs from under mine and
scooted away. I slumped backwards and sat on the floor.

She looked at me, a glint in her eye, and brought her cum-slicked
fingers to her mouth. She licked them devilishly, and smiled.
"Maybe I turn you on after all!"

             * * *


"Maybe I turn you on after all," Sylvia said.

I lay on top of her, my chin nestled against her neck, and I
gasped for breath. She was squeezing my relaxing penis with her
vaginal muscles, little squeezes I could feel all along my semi-
stiff shaft. I thought about being inside her, about my cock
filling Sylvia up.

I looked at her and she squeezed me and she laughed.

I wanted her cunt. I want to fuck her and fuck her and fuck her.
I wanted her to be mine.

Slowly, my erection was reborn. My growing stiffness slipped
around in our gooey mix.

She laughed. "I knew you had it in you. I knew there was a
passion hidden inside you."

I'm not sure one person can know another person that well, and I
was sure she was mistaken. I am not what you would call a
passionate man.

But I didn't say a word. I began to pump inside her again.

             * * *


"Come on," Connie said. She kneeled down on the floor with me.

"What?"

"Come on."

She grabbed my limp penis and pulled. "Hey!" I said. I was forced
to stand up and follow. She led me by my penis back to the piano,
and she sat me down on the bench.

She stood behind me with her arms circling around; I could feel
her breasts on my back. She kept one hand on my cock, and the
other opened flat against my chest.

"Now play something for me," she whispered.

She held my cock, and I put my fingers on the keyboard. Something
simple, Jon, just keep it simple. I played a C major chord, and I
let my right hand run up the scale. Her fingers tightened around
my penis.

It sounded good! She nuzzled into the side of my neck, and her
thumb stroked the underside of my penis, and I began to get hard
again. I shifted to F, muffed a note, but kept playing. I went
back to C, and she stroked me harder. I tapped on the foot pedal,
and played a little something in G, threw in a couple notes from
the minor seventh, and I felt it, I felt the piano singing! My
cock stood up hard and she pumped me in her fist. I shifted back
to C and tossed in a simple coda. I couldn't believe it!

Connie released my erection and sat beside me. She put both hands
on my face. She forced me to look her right in the eye. I stared
into her eyes, and her fingers traced down my face, my neck, to
the front of my chest, and came to rest on my bare hips.

"You know," Connie said, "if you wanted to, we could see each
other again some time." Her eyes flickered with light.

She was so fucking sexy.

"Yes," I said, "I'd like that, Connie. I'd like that a lot."




              

Comments? Good or bad, I'd love to hear them. Email me at
poisoniv1@hotmail.com. Or you can find mor estories like this on
my website, http://bounce.to/poisoniv1.

