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Forbidden Fruit -- Shana

It had been a long day.  One of the kids in the house had stuck
something in his arm, and we'd had to make sure he'd live before we
could throw him out.  Then, about the time most folks were settling
down to dinner and the tube, an irate parent showed up, and was almost
stupid enough to do it when I said "If you don't like it, call the
police."  As Boris held the Polaroid where Momma could see it, I
snarled "Or you want me to make the call for you?"  I hadn't got much
sleep the night before, either; a kid whose back's in ribbons, who
won't go to the hospital because They're there looking for him needs
someone to hand him tissues and lit cigarettes while he tries to talk
and distract himself from the person behind him soaking his shirt off,
taking pictures in case the kid decided on emancipated-minor status,
and getting enough disinfectant in to do some good.

A bad day, right?  So I figured I had an easy night coming... the
universe OWED me, right?  Wrong.

That was the night some idiot figured beating on his wife at home
wasn't good enough, and he'd better follow her over to her job and get
in some time.  You'd think a guy'd have better sense than to knee a
rentapig in the crotch, if it's a female rentapig, but I don't know --
maybe he didn't even notice that I wasn't the male guard he expected
from the outfit.  But anyway, he crotched me, gaped in amazement when
I didn't curl up and groan, and really only got one good lick in on me
before I got his arm folded up behind his back.  I believe the
traditional phrase is "Pow, right in the kisser!"  Anyway, I had a
split lip that nearly reached my nose, and needed a few stitches.

By the time I got to the emergency room, Boris and Jim were there.
The guys at Dispatch weren't sure who of us did which to what, but
they DID understand that we were family.  Good enough.  As soon as I
called the office, asking relief so I could get my lip stitched, Ginny
said "I'll call your house, and tell 'em where you'll be."

Then there was the usual unpleasantness: "Forgive me Doctor, but it
has been eight years since my last tetanus shot." "Go and bleed no
more."  You know the sort of thing, painful and boring, with
occasional small dabs of painful but interesting.

I guess I should tell you a little about Boris and Jim.  I'd known
both of them for a while before I figured out I should introduce them
to each other.  I'd figured Jim was gay first time I met him, but
Boris was so _perfectly_ what I was looking for that year that
whenever my gaydar went off I said "Nah, ghod wouldn't do that to me!"
But of course, ghod would.  We lived together for years, and I think
we made love five times.  Maybe.  Probably could have been more, but
I'd rather be horny than pity-fucked.

But by this time, we were renting a big house, living there with what
seemed like a few hundred of our closest friends, sheltering the
occasional runaway who didn't want to live on the street with the
pimps and other human predators, and trying to build a family.

Most bedtimes, some subset of us would end up seething together.  But
I noticed that if I or any other unpartnered woman were there, Jim
would stop, pull back, and seem afraid I'd "catch" him touching Boris.
Or get horrible female cooties on him.  Really, guy, I'd think to
myself, being het ain't _catching_.

When they were done sewing my lip back together, the doctors told me
to go home and get some rest, and turned me over to the guys.  As we
walked through the night back to the house, they teased me about
getting into a fight I didn't win, before Boris told me he'd seen the
guy at the E-room, and described him to me.  (You see, the first thing
that happens when I get dragged into a brawl is that my glasses get
broken; the second thing is that I get a little berserk, and then the
fight's over.  But I've never SEEN one.)  Seems I'd not broke his arm
--that's good, I was trying not to act as pissed as non-consensual
violence makes me -- but I had striped his face with my keys and
nearly got an eye.  That bugged me some, because it was from anger,
not necessity, that I'd hit him there.  And fighting from hate makes
you become like what you're fighting.

By the time we finally got home, I was feeling a little shocky.  They
helped me up the stairs, brought me hot broth and blankets, and
settled down in my room to keep me company.  My spare glasses weren't
where I'd expected them, so I was still semi-blind.  But they
stretched out on the floor and told me that they wouldn't leave till I
was smiling in my sleep.

"But Boris, it HURTS when I smile."

"That's OK, Shana, it's supposed to.  Lie down, and whatever happens,
don't move.  Don't come closer, don't speak, just be a pair of eyes, a
fly on the wall, an invisible presence."  He used the tone he'd found
triggered my submissive side, and I fell into his game.  I nodded,
slid one hand under the covers, and determined that if he didn't
release me, I'd still be there when the lease ran out.  He kissed me,
very lightly, a brush of lips on the forehead and I tingled.

I don't really understand why when I'm in fag-hag mode I can get off
on so little, but I can't complain.  I was nailed to the bed, almost
afraid to breathe without permission, head spinning, lip throbbing,
and every erogenous zone I owned trying to double its size.

Then Boris reached over, and took Jim's hand in his.  They came
together like fire and ice -- the flame between them was so clear I
almost thought I was seeing with my body's eyes instead of my heart.

Danger

A girl leans against the window of the 93 bus as it lurches downtown.
She seems a little frightened.

Thick red-gold curls are cut off abruptly at the base of her neck, and
green eyes fringed by bright green-painted lashes.  A smear of glitter-
gel decorates her cheek.  Her face is flushed:  she looks feverish.

Complicated earrings, fractals of golden loops, nearly brush her
shoulders.  A small gold labyris hangs on a thread around her neck.

The girl is playing with the keys in her hand.  The idle gesture looks
strangely deliberate.  Her fingers are slim and pale, the nails cut
short and dotted with gold star and moon decals.

She might be seventeen or eighteen.  Nineteen, perhaps, and
young-looking.  She chews her lip and stares out the window.

Outside it is raining, and dark except for the blurred streetlights.
She cannot see the moon.

She wears a loose, sleeveless green cotton blouse shot with gold
threads, and a mustard-colored gauze skirt.  Her legs are slim and
furred with delicate blonde hairs.  When she reaches to rub the back of
her neck, stiff from leaning against the cold pane, it shows the rough
red-brown hair under her arm.

Her shawl, a soft mix of yellow and green, is folded loosely in her lap.
The bus is warm.  She smells of sandalwood and new perspiration.  Her
odor is faintly reminiscent of coffee.

Someone is watching her closely enough to observe her fear, the small
hairs on her legs, her scent.

                           *     *     *

What is this girl doing on the bus at midnight, her fingertips
glittering, delicately and methodically arranging her keys?

The truth is that she is going to see her lover.  Uninvited and
unannounced, she may not be welcome.  This forms a part of her
nervousness.  She may find her lover asleep and angry at being woken, or
in bed with somebody else.

With each turn the bus takes, she feels more dreadfully that it was a
mistake to leave the dormitory.  There is no way to return:  she only
has enough change to ride in this direction, and will have to borrow
money from her lover to go back in the morning.

The abrupt yearning to see her lover, which impelled her onto this bus,
now seems puzzling and remote.  She almost dreads her arrival.

Her lover's apartment is four blocks away from the bus stop, and the
stretch of road she will walk along is dangerous at night.  Now she
imagines herself being stabbed to death.

The quick violence and pain do not frighten her so much as the picture
of her body lying in the dark street, bleeding into the rain.  It seems
an image of absolute waste and futility, and for a moment she thinks she
will cry.

                           *     *     *

Two seats to the girl's right, a woman is watching her.  She has spiky
black hair with a brief shock of white in the front.  Her skin is pale,
her eyes very dark.  Her right ear and the right side of her nose are
pierced with small silver rings.

The woman's frayed jeans are tucked into black boots.  She wears a worn
black T-shirt under a black leather jacket.  Her face is angular,
wolfish and beautiful.  She stares at the girl's hands.

The girl is nineteen, and young-looking.  Her name is Cynthia.  She
dislikes the name and answers to Cyn, enjoying the pun.  She is a
sophomore in college:  pretty, impulsive, and easily amused.

None of this appears to interest the woman in black.  She is looking at
what the girl does with her keys.

She arranges them one by one between her fingers--first her own two
keys, then her lover's--and carefully closes her hand into a fist.
When she finishes, the keys are a row of blunt metal spikes:  her hand
is a weapon.

The dark woman moves quietly into the seat next to her.  Cyn turns,
startled.  Her fist tightens.

She breathes the woman in layers, like gauze veils.  The first veil is
tobacco smoke, clinging to her jacket and hair.  Beneath that is the
smell of scuffed leather.  Then the girl breathes the faint, peppery
scent of her skin.

Underneath it all is the perceptible odor of sex.  The woman could have
come from a lover's house, or from a bar with a dimly lit back room.
She could have been touching herself, silently, while the girl stared
out of the window.

Inhaling near this woman, you think:  smoke, leather, skin, cunt.  She
moves like a predator.  In a moment Cyn expects a leather-wrapped arm
around her shoulder, smoky breath in her face, a proposition.

                           *     *     *

The woman does not move to touch her.  Her voice is soft, deep and
cigarette-roughened.  The girl is as startled by the tone of unexpected
sympathy as by the words:  "Are you all right?"

She was not ready for kindness from this beautiful, tough leather-dyke.
She relaxes her fist, relieved, disappointed, grateful.  Her eyes ache
and her throat tightens.  If she speaks, she is afraid that she will
cry.  She nods and attempts a weak smile.
(* Need I say more *)                     
"Worried about getting home in one piece?" The voice is soft, gravelly,
gentle and only slightly amused.  It strokes the girl like a lambswool
glove.  Cyn manages a more convincing half-smile, and nods again.

The woman makes her words casual to reassure the girl, watching her
face.  "You'll be okay.  Muggers don't like the rain, you know.
When it's like this outside, they stay home, yell at their girlfriends,
watch pro wrestling, eat TV dinners."

Again Cyn nods, wordless, feeling vulnerable and foolish and close
to laughter.

"My name's Morgan..." the woman begins, and pauses.  She flashes a
sudden, wry grin.  "Did somebody tell you not to talk to strangers?"

The girl finally laughs.  "No, I just--oh, I don't know.  Bad mood,
bad night." She shrugs apologetically.  Her voice is soft and light:  it
flickers like a candle.  "My name's Cyn."

"Sin?  As in mortal?"

"Venial, mostly." A dimple forms like a comma by Cyn's mouth.  She is
flirting a little, still nervous.
(* Need I say more *)                     
The woman's eyes crease in a warmer smile.  Her voice is teasing. "So
nobody told you not to talk to strange women on the bus.  Where are you
going at this hour, anyway?"

"I'm meeting someone." The words are meant to be a warning, but Cyn's
voice trembles on the "someone".  She sounds frail and unconvincing.

The woman's voice hardens.  "So have fun with Someone.  Congratulations,
Someone.  Tell Someone I said hi." She seems about to move away.

Cyn's voice is small, her chest tight, her words clipped.  "I'm breaking
up with-- someone." As she speaks, she realizes that is it true.

"Oh." The leatherwoman's voice is heavy with sudden compassion.  "Shit.
I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Cyn is not crying:  her own dry eyes surprise her.

                            *     *     *

Morgan hesitates before speaking again.  "So you're going to tell--
someone--that you're leaving?  In the middle of the night?"

"I guess so."  The girl grimaces.

"And then you sit on a corner in one of the worst parts of town and
wait for a bus to take you back home?"

"Right.  But first--"  Cyn's laugh is shaky-- "I have to ask her for
fifty cents for the bus."

She barely notices that she has identified her lover as a woman.

Morgan gives a short laugh.  "Never rely on an ex-lover for your ride
home.  I can lend you the change."

Before the girl can protest or thank her, she goes on:  "But you should
wait out the night before breaking it off--just to be safe.  Sleep over,
break up in the daytime, get home in one piece.  It's one thing to walk
a few blocks by yourself, another thing to hang around a bus stop for
forty minutes in the dark."

"I can take care of myself." The girl pushes her shoulders back and
tosses her head in a gesture of forced bravado.  "I'm pretty tough," she
adds challengingly.

She sounds defiant and silly.  Morgan smiles, a little admiring and much
amused.  Her eyes drop to the girl's fist, looser now but still studded
with keys.

"You know," she says casually, "nothing like that is going to do you
much good unless--" Swiftly she pins both Cyn's arms behind her back, in
a firm twist which leaves the girl, not hurting, but unable to move her
arms or shoulders without pain.  "--you know how to use it." Morgan's
tone is still gentle.

                           *     *     *

Cyn breathes in sharply.  The woman waits a moment, holding her still,
staring at her face.  "Why don't you scream?" she asks softly.  "The
driver will hear you.  Scream, and I'll let you go."

A rush of adrenaline:  Cyn's own heart thuds in her ears, filling her
head like the ocean sound of a cupped shell.  She feels as if she is
hanging over a cliff, about to let go.  Her voice is a whisper:  "No."

Morgan leans over and begins fucking the girl's ear with her tongue.

Cyn's breath flutters like a trapped bird's wings.  A moist shiver
passes over her skin.  When Morgan presses a knee between her legs, she
grinds her hips against the denim, keeping her upper body as still as
she can.  She winces when one movement sends a stab of pain through her
upper arm.

Morgan's free hand runs along the girl's thigh, pushing her skirt up.
She finds the silky fabric of her underwear, probes inside it.

She presses her forefinger and thumb into the moist cunt, then pushes in
with a third finger.  Her last two fingers force slowly into the girl's
asshole, ember-hot and tight as a trap.

Cyn feels completely filled, stretched open, at some sort of breaking
point.  She is at the rough boundary between pleasure and pain.

The leatherwoman fucks her with quick, twisting movements of her whole
hand.  Closing her mouth over Cyn's, she matches each dizzy thrust with
a stab of her tongue.

Every motion of the girl's upper body brings pain in her arms.  She
forces herself to keep almost entirely still.  Unable to diffuse her
tension in movement, she feels the pulse between her legs more
intensely.

When she comes, her cry is muffled by the leatherwoman's mouth.

                       *     *     *

Morgan releases her, withdraws her hand.  Cyn drops the keys:  they hit
the floor of the bus with a metallic clatter.  She kneels on the floor
in front of Morgan, kissing her slick come-scented fingers.  Her
mistress strokes her face gently.

"I've missed my stop," Cyn murmurs absently.

Suddenly she reaches to push Morgan's black T-shirt up, exposing full
breasts and skin like hot cream.  For a moment the leatherwoman seems
too startled to move.

Morgan's dark, brownish nipples are pierced with silver rings that match
the ones in her nose and ear.  It only takes the girl a moment to hook
her fingers through them and twist.

The nipples harden abruptly.  Morgan gasps in mixed outrage, arousal and
pain.  Cyn holds the rings tightly, grinning like an impudent child.

Morgan does not make another sound.  Her hands are quick to find the
girl's small breasts under her blouse, and her fingers close on the pink
nipples like clamps.

As she wrenches Cyn's nipples slowly around, her face stretches into a
narrow-eyed grin that says:  I can hurt you much more than this.

The girl whimpers and lets go of the rings in Morgan's nipples.  The
woman keeps twisting, giving her a few moments' worse pain.

Cyn's eyes shine with tears.  "I'm sorry," she says quickly, keeping her
voice low. "I'm sorry.  Please stop.  Please." When she is on the verge
of sobbing, Morgan releases her nipples.

Cyn drops her head, ashamed.  Her breasts will hurt for a week.

                           *     *     *

When she looks up, she sees Morgan unzipping her jeans. Sliding them
down her pale thighs, she opens her knees wide.  Cyn stares at the wide
vulva, framed in black curls.  The smell of sex is overpowering.

The wet, raw, open sex is poised over Cyn's face.  Without a word she
begins to tongue it, on her knees like a mute penitent.

It is like diving in a warm sea, the sea smell all around and waves
and darkness and salt liquid in her mouth.  Then it is like drowning.

She rubs her whole face in the slick hollows, not only her mouth:
fucks the woman with her nose, rubs her with her cheeks, presses with
the hard bone of her chin.
(* Need I say more *)                     
Her face buried between Morgan's legs, Cyn rubs her own crotch against
the leatherwoman's boot.  The dark leather is smeared with slick fluid.

The girl comes first, moaning into Morgan's groin.  The sound brings
Morgan to her own climax:  she grinds furiously against Cyn's face.

Finally she relaxes in her seat.  "Okay," she says softly.  "Okay."

Cyn will not stop.  She moves her head, her tongue, in a wet frenzy,
burrowing into the soft ocean bed between Morgan's thighs.  She is drunk
like a wild fish on the woman's taste, her smell.

A second orgasm swallows Morgan and then another.  In an angry ecstasy,
she hisses:  "Bitch, bitch..." Finally she has to tighten both hands in
the girl's hair to pull her away.

For a moment Cyn expects some kind of punishment.  She stares up
anxiously into Morgan's face, crosses her hands over her breasts.

Morgan pulls the girl up into her lap, and takes her in her arms.  The
girl's face rests on her chest:  the moisture on her cheek wets the
shirt.
Cyn wraps her arms around Morgan, thinking of leather and smoke, and
rests on her body.  She feels comforted and oddly safe.

                           *     *     *

"My stop's coming up soon," the woman says.  "I can leave you here with
fifty cents to get back, get off wherever you like.  Or you can come
home with me.  Up to you."

"I don't know," Cyn says slowly.  "You hurt me."

The topwoman blinks.  "Oh, you mean this?"  Her fingers brush the
underside of Cyn's breast, avoiding the sore nipple.  The girl nods.

Morgan shrugs. "That was self-defense...and, all right, a few seconds of
discipline."

"You enjoyed it."  The girl's voice is flat.

"If I ever try and tell you that I didn't, I'll be lying." Morgan looks
Cyn in the eye.  "But I'm not trying to get you home so I can beat you
up.  Even if you asked me to, I'd be too tired.  All I have in mind is a
cup of ginseng tea and a night's sleep, then getting you on a bus home
in the morning.  I doubt I'll jump you when I wake up--I'm not really
awake or friendly before noon--but if I do, I'll be reasonably gentle."

Cyn smiles uncertainly.  Morgan pulls the cord to signal her stop, and
zips her jeans.

"Up to you."  She presses fifty cents into the girl's hand.  "Whatever
you do, don't forget your keys."

Cyn picks them up, and follows her off the bus.

/shadows/

 
I'm driving around Tuscon in my car (let's say a Porsche, okay?). It's
really late at night, or should I say morning? The clock on the dash says 1am.
I see a liquor store ahead and decide I should stop for something, before it
closes. Champagne sounds nice. I have nothing to celebrate, but the thought of
all those bubbles tickling my nose, and the great taste of something cold and
wet on my lips makes my decision final. Yes, champagne it is...

Downshifting, I pull into the parking lot. No one here but me. Opening the
door, I get out. A blue Jag pulls up, screeching it's brakes to a halt,
as it pulls into a parking spot. "Show-off," I think to myself. I'm feeling
like a real bitch tonight. Maybe it's because I haven't been laid in a few
days! I sure could use a good fucking. He wouldn't even have to pay. I just
need someone tonight...

Making my way through the aisles of the store, I feel eyes looking at my short
skirt and ass. I look around to see no one. "Hmmm...I could've sworn someone
was staring at me..." Grabbing a cold bottle out of the cooler, I make my
way to the register. The cold neck of the bottle in my hand gives me an evil
thought, a smile comes to my face and I giggle. "Hmm...I wonder..."

Jack, the cashier, asks me, "How's tricks, DeeDee?"

"Slim tonight, Jack-honey. Not a soul out on the street," I reply. "I think
I'll just go home, have a few glasses of the bubbly, and get out my *toys*," I
say with a seductive smile on my face.

"You're so BAD, DeeDee," he chuckles.

"I *know*, Jack. In this business, you've GOTTA be bad to be *good*!"

"Take it easy, hon, and be careful out there," Jack says, as I go out the door.

Outside, standing at my car, I look up at the stars. The night air is getting
a bit brisk. As I fumble for my keys, I see the blue Jag still parked next
to mine, engine still on. Soon the driver comes out of the store, brushes past
me. I can feel his stare and it *excites* me. "What a babe!" I think to myself.

"Mmmm, honey! Where you been all my life?!!" he remarks.

Flattered, I turn around. "Wouldn't YOU like to know?" I say in a cocky voice,
smiling an evil grin.

"Yeah...I would..." he says, as he looks me up and down, stopping at my tits.
The cool night air has made my nipples hard and he gazes at them like a hungry
animal. "What are you doing tonight?" he asks.

Still grinning, I tell him, "What would you LIKE me to be doing tonight?"

We both laugh. Without saying a word, he climbs into his car, reaches over to
the passenger side, and unlocks the door. I get in, my black leather skirt
barely covering my ass. As I sit in the seat, he stares at my garters that are
showing. I squirm, trying to pull my skirt down over them, but he stops me.

"No...leave it the way it is, " he says, and slides his hand up under my skirt
and between my legs. It feels soooo good.

Spinning his tires, we're out of the parking lot and soon racing at fast speed
down the freeway. This guy REALLY knows how to drive. Going fast has always
excited me. It must be the DANGER involved, I guess.
(* Need I say more *)                     
We stop at a motel, just outside of town. He gets out and says, "I'll be right
back."

"Mmmm...I'll be waiting, sugar," I say, as I'm licking my lips.

A few minutes later, he's back. I grab my bottle of Champagne and we are
walking up the steps to the room. He walks behind me and slides his hand up
the back of my skirt, grabbing my ass, making me wetter. Inside the dimly-lit
room now, he closes and locks the door. Still smiling, I slink over to him
and kiss his lips. I can feel his hard-on grow as I press my body up against
him.

"Mmmm..is that a rabbit in your pants or are you just glad to see me?" I laugh
wickedly.

"I'll show you *exactly* what it is, baby, but first...some champagne..."

Sitting on the bed, sipping champagne, a song comes on the stereo. It *moves*
me. I just have to get up and dance. The sound of the sax travels through my
body and soon I am doing a seductive dance, slowly unzipping my skirt and
tossing it gently across the room. He stares at my legs, black stockings held
up with the daintiest pair of garters. There's a small rose sewn on my very
*scanty* panties. As the song plays on, I pull my black tanktop, over my head,
and gently toss it aside, too, exposing my black lace bra. He rubs his cock,
trying to shift it around, as his pants are getting a bit tight. Still dancing,
I glide over to the bed to unzip them. I kiss his lips hungrily, searching for
his tongue. It meets mine and we embrace for a long hard kiss.

"I'm Danny. What's your name, baby?" he asks, kissing me all over my face and
neck.

"DeeDee," I whisper, enjoying the chills going up and down my spine.

"Mmmm...baby," he moans, "It's time to have some *fun*"

"Mmmm...yes..."

Getting up, he removes his pants and shirt and (finally) his panties, exposing
the biggest, hardest cock I have ever seen. Grabbing his swollen red dick, he
tells me "Here ya go, DeeDee... Come suck this big monster."

Kneeling down, I open my lips, look up in his eyes. There's a small drop of
jism at the tip. Grabbing his cock, I taste it with the tip of my tongue.
Mmmm...delicious! I want more...MORE. Taking him deeply down my throat, I suck
and suck and suck.

"Mmmm, baby! SUCK HARDER! HARDER! HARDER!!!! Oooohhhh....!!!!"
                     
Grabbing my head, he pulls me into him, deeply thrusting his cock into my
mouth and throat, exploding his hot cum. It tastes *so* good. Some comes out
the side of my mouth. Wiping it with his finger, he tastes his own cum.

"Jeez, you give good head, DeeDee..."

"It's one of the things I *enjoy* doing most, baby. Now, how 'bout eating my
wet cunt?"

Taking me to the bed, he tells me to get the empty champagne bottle. Pulling
down my bra, to expose my hard nipples, he gently bites them and starts
fingering me through my crotchless panties. I squirm with delight, clamping my
legs around his hand. Vigorously he finger-fucks me...one finger, two fingers,
three fingers... Taking the bottle from my hand, he shoves it up my pussy.
Immediately I cum, humping up and down, shaking and quivering. My cum drips
inside the bottle.....and he is pleased. Smiling, he takes the bottle and
drinks my juices.

"I'm soooo hot..I've just *gotta* fuck," I tell him.

"Mmm....I *know*, baby...but not just *yet*. I wanna tie you up and have
my way with you first."

Tying my hands and feet to the bedposts, I'm squirming for his big cock to
sink into my hot little box. "Ooooh, please fuck me, baby...please??"

Straddling my stomach, he removes my bra and tosses it. Then rubs his cock
between my titties, squeezing them hard around his manhood. My tongue is
eagerly trying to reach the head of it, flickering frantically side to side.
He cums and shoots his wad all over my tits and in my mouth. Licking his cum
off my tits, he's soon got another hard-on. I can feel it against my leg as he
lays next to me.

"Oooohhh, Danny-baby, I want you inside me *now*, honey...gimme it, please??"

My body is *aching* for him...I'm sooo hot and horny! He *knows* this and is
making me squirm for him, teasing me with that big cock of his. Untying my
feet and gently kissing my ankles, then my calves, he makes his way up to
my cunt. He dives into it, burying his nose into my muff hair and smelling
my cum. His tongue sinks deeply into me, swirling around and around and around.
One of his fingers goes up my ass and I gasp with pleasure. Just as I'm
starting to cum *again*, he backs off and takes his cock and shoves it in DEEP.
My pussy clamps down hard around him and I shake and quake in ecstacy! The
sound of his cock pumping in-and-out in all those juices *electrifies* me and
I am soon humping and bucking up and down, meeting his rhythm, and we fuck in
a heavy frenzy.

Untying my hands now, he wraps his arms around my body, and I around his...
both of us getting ready for that special moment. It hits us both like a
bolt of lightening! His cock is burning me inside with his hot semen...it's
soooo hot! My pussy clamps around his dick HARD and I can feel him pulsating
within my walls. We collapse, breathing hard, trying to catch our breath.
I can feel cum dripping down the crack of my ass now...I'm sooo full, I'm
overflowing...

Resting now, we look into each other's eyes and smile.

"This was just toooooo good, baby, what are you doing the rest of the day?" he
asks.

"Simple. I'm spending it with you," I reply.  :-)

 

A NEW YEAR

Mark had not enjoyed New Year's Eve since the year in high school when he and
Buddy waited outside the liquor store and scored a bottle of gin a college guy
bought for them. Since then, he'd gone to polite parties, made uneasy
chitchat, and left alone soon after midnight.

Still, Mark had been glad when Buddy phoned him at the dorm. New Year's party
at Greg's house. Sure, why not? Now, as he drove down the hill toward Greg's,
Mark began his pre-party confidence rap:

Weight: check. Actually I'm thin right now. Tall, dark and thin. Hair looks
good. Sharp new sweater. Remember to drink the first beer fast. Be loose.
Smile. Circulate. Meet all available women. Look into their eyes, deeply,
deeply. You are irresistible, sensitve, patient--oh, so patient. Hell, I was
patient with Dora. Left high school a virgin. Wish I'd stayed one after laying
that nympho Margaret while Will watched. Okay, this party isn't a swap meet,
just the old gang looking for a good time. And this year, I am going to have a
good time!!

And it wasn't a bad time at all. Ten guys, ten women, about half couples, half
singles. Mark downed three beers trading notes with the guys, and then found
himself warmly reminiscing with Sue, his first date ever in junior high. Sue
was majoring in forestry at UC Davis and had been seeing a guy named Robert
for more than a year. That revelation made Mark both time-conscious and guilty
that he was losing interest in Sue's story.

Mark politely disengaged, then wandered into a conversation with Buddy and
Janet, seldom shall they part, Walter and Vivian, and Elaine.

Elaine. A monument, Elaine. Nearly straight A's in high school, friendly but
aloof. Promising curves. Dark, curly hair. A too-understanding look. Mark had
not been ready for an Elaine, and now, as he glanced up at her, a sensation of
chilling anxiety overwhelmed him.

Elaine was not smiling at him the way people smile at parties. She was smiling
as if he had returned from the seas, as if ...

"I was hoping you'd be here, Mark."

(Okay, get it together. Steady, steady. Smile. Good.) "It's great to see you
Elaine. How's Berkeley?"

Unbelievable. The others were wandering off. Elaine walked up to him, The
Smile playing across her soft, wise face. "Berkeley has its moments, but I
want to know about you. Let's sit down somewhere."

Detour for beer. A couch. Elaine: "Mark, I don't want to make you uptight, but
I promised myself this if you were at the party, so here it goes. In high
school, I always hoped you'd take me out. I was too shy to do anything about
it, or about dating at all. I know we're different now, but maybe we can leave
early and find out about each other.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Twenty after midnight. Mark and Elaine at Howard Johnson's, ignoring burgers.
Mark, wondering whether he's simply digging being wanted or whether the
incredible pull he's feeling toward Elaine is real. She tells him about her
two lovers, her two breakups, the pressure of her studies, the longing she
feels for a relationship with all the trimmings--care, support, sharing.
There's no question about the entree.

Mark relates his non-history candidly. "Dora and I were shy, even after a
year. I think our shyness about sex kept us from getting close in other ways.
At UCLA it's been a lot of studying, a few dates and that magic encounter with
Margaret. But this is going to be my year."

"Do you know what you want, Mark? What's your image?"

"Equal parts libido and friendship. She's a bit overwhelmed taking care of her
Uncle Fred's summer home at Malibu. She spots me one day as I'm handily
repairing the dorm bike rack. She asks me if I can lend her a hand at the
beach. The beginning of an epoch."

Elaine, smiling and shaking her head with delight: "My folks are in Hawaii and
one of the kitchen cabinet doors is loose. Want to tempt fate?"

In the front door two steps and locked in a clinch. Elaine's lips like melting
butter, her tongue gently inquisitive. Mark's hands wildly stroking her back,
her sides, her ass. Elaine, clutching at his shoulders, rubbing his hair.

On the floor, frenching, tearing off each other's clothes. His tongue rolling
through neck hollow and down, into the valley of her breasts, now up, reveling
in the firmness of her left nipple. She moans as he sucks, hard, his right
hand moving to her other breast, stroking, kneading, pressing and rolling the
nipple. His left hand finds her hot and moist. His middle finger probes,
joined by an index finger with radar for her clit. Her moans become higher,
shorter bursts that spur him to stronger movements with his fingers, harder
stroking with his tongue as he sucks. With a sustained scream Elaine arches
and comes.

Mark has never felt so virile, competent and hot. Resting on an elbow, waiting
for Elaine's panting to subside, he focuses on his cock. (Fuck her, you're
gonna fuck her hard, fuck her, fuck her.) It's turning him on too much. He
shakes off the sensation and blurts: "Pill, you on the pill?"

"Yes, and no diseases. If you have any problems, say so fast," and she slides
around to his ramrod and takes the head in her mouth, rolling her tongue
around it, sucking. Mark lets out a loud "aaaaaaaaah!!" and reaches for her
ass. He pushes her to him and plunges his tongue into her. She is slowly
moving her lips up and down on him, grabbing handfulls of his ass. Mark's
going to pop soon, but he is light years beyond restraint. Unbelievably, she
rolls under him, and says, "Go." Mark manages four strokes and explodes.
                     
In the shower together. Mark: "Why me, Elaine?"

"I liked your mind, and I thought you were cute. I fantasized about you. I
can't believe it's happening like this."

"Shut your eyes, Elaine." Kneeling down to her, tongue on her, in her, the hot
water playing on his back, her taste and silkiness and the return of her moans
reawakening him. Thinking he could die this way.

"Mark, it's so intense! Let's dry each other off."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

As he tamped at Elaine, Mark was struck by the whiteness of her skin and the
beauty of her breasts, large, firm and crowned by delicate pink tits, hard
nipples. Her hand reached for him, found him ready. "Perfect," she said. They
both laughed as his cock bobbed.

In bed. In Elaine. Enjoying self-control, and her moans, her soft walls, her
breasts, her. Steady, serious strokes. Elaine's feet up and around him. "Give
it to me Mark, do it." Mindsnap. Banging, pumping, fucking her, hard. More,
more. Fucking, fucking, and that scream again, high and sustained. Mark felt
the come rising. He slammed again, again,  as hard as he could, his mind
flashing vivid emerald patterns as an incredible spurt surged through him and
his screams joined Elaine's. Mark blasted and yelled, felt turned inside out,
saw colors never seen, felt pleasure beyond imagination, and then, still
pumping and never wanting to stop, he snapped clear. There lay Elaine, gasping
and smiling, still moving with him. Their eyes gently engaged and they held
each other tightly as the aftershocks subsided.
 


Sixty Metaphors (for J.H.)

Part One:  Your Cock

Your cock is a redbud in bloom.
Your cock is a trout jumping.
Your cock is a red bird taking flight.

Your cock is a pestle grinding nutmeg and saffron.
Your cock is a snake swallowing a mouse.

Your cock is bread rising in the oven.
Your cock is a guttering candle.
Your cock is a rabbit startled in a field.

Your cock is a burrito stuffed with jumping beans.

Your cock is a sleeping baby.
Your cock is a fountain pen writing mad poems.
Your cock is a bottle of red wine from Argentina.

Your cock is a stalk of grape hyacinth.
Your cock is a song by the Rolling Stones.

Your cock is a dolphin diving into the sea.
Your cock is a roast sucking-pig with an apple in its mouth.
Your cock is a ripe stalk of corn.

Your cock is a flute playing jazz.
Your cock is a saxophone.
Your cock is a handkerchief knotted in my pocket.

Your cock is a slick red sportscar offering me a ride.
Your cock is a wet finger testing the wind.

Your cock is a sweet root in the ground.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Down the crowded highway in the afternoon, half-asleep.  In the left lane,
trying to make time.  My hands in my lap, I open the zipper of my jeans.
Cars pass.  I look inside, trying to see the drivers.  I think a little
bit about the angle, knowing they can't see me.  But mostly I think of
other things.  I can feel strands of hair sodden and wet on the ball of
my palm as I slowly stroke myself.  The tender wetness of my cunt has long
saturated my panties, and I can see the dark stain beginning to spread on
the seat belt.  A cop passes; I hadn't even seen him.  I jump, startled,
and lose my place.  Then, beginning again, I slowly stroke myself, the
tip of my little finger snug in the entrance of my ass.  It doesn't take
long until the pressure in my body builds up to the point where it explodes,
and like opening the valve of a firehose, I am flung against the seat.  My
one hand grips the wheel, but I don't know if the car is steady or not.  As
the shocks begin to subside, I look out of the window in a sudden sense of
desparation and loss.  The trucker on my right, looking down, gives me
the thumbs-up signal.  I smile back at him, comforted.
   Janie

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Part Two:  Your Hands

Your hands are starfish on the sea floor.
Your hands are gingerbread men floating downstream.
Your hands are honeysuckle vines.

Your hands are snowflakes melting on my face.
Your hands are violins playing Stravinsky.

Your hands are mares running loose in the fields.

Your hands are slim paintbrushes.
Your hands are open books with a surprise ending.

Your hands are cats in heat.

Your hands are a bellydancer's cymbals.
Your hands are silver bracelets.

Your hands are pentacles.
Your hands are brown spiders spinning in a doorway.
Your hands are apple trees.

Your hands are small brush fires.
Your hands are a hawk chasing a sparrow.

Your hands are naked women rolling downhill.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
                          Across A Crowded Room
                             - By Jonah

     The screwdrivers were getting to him, he knew it.  Time to lay
off.  His head seemed full of cotton.  Someone was talking to him about
something he didn't care about.
     "Oh, yeah... sure", he fumbled with words to make it sound like
he was listening.  The accounting test this morning had taken its toll
on him, and he'd promised himself to party until he couldn't party
anymore.  Music blared loudly out of speakers not sturdy enough to
adequately carry the signal, people jostled each other in their
drunken tumblings, the smell of alcohol pervaded the air.
     A warmth on his back, he felt, he knew he was being watched.  That
odd feeling that a person gets when they are being watched entered his
mind.  Glancing behind him, Alan noticed a thing of beauty.  Without
conscious thought, his body reacted to the wonderful beauty he saw
from across the room.  Briefly, his eyes met hers.  She flashed a
knowing smile, looked away.
     Be cool, be calm, he said to himself.  Introduce yourself, man!
She's damn cute, don't let her be just another one you let slip by.
Between them was a vast expanse of people, a mass of study-weary
students.  He found himself drawn to look at her again.  It'd be too
much work to get over there... no don't think that, make your way over.
Say "hi" to her.  Simple words.  She's all the way across the room.
To hell with it, I'm feeling the screwdrivers.  He pulled himself
up, assumed a confident stance.  As he forced his way through the
crowd, she looked away from the person she was talking to, and looked
him in the eyes again.  Any resolve he had disappeared, and he made his
way instead to the door.
     Moments later, through another door, this one without a knob.
Pull the little guy out, give him some relief.  Inebriated as he was,
the sound of his urine against the cold ceramic of the urinal echoed
oddly to his ears.  Come on, man, you chickened out... this might be
your only chance!  Sure you had to piss, but that could have waited.
Go back, ask her to dance.

                            ********

     Never knew how peaceful a bathroom could be, he thought, as he
once again entered the party room.  Back in Black, by AC-DC, blared
terribly across the speakers.  Where did she go?  Looking around, he
didn't see her.  Has she left?  Damn!  Depressed, he went to where he
had been before he saw her the first time.
     The warmth again.  The space between his shoulder blades became
sensitive.  He turned around, she was there.  Her eyes pierced
intensely into him, moreso than before.  Damnit, Alan, go over there.
     This time, he ignored the people.  He kept his eyes on her as he
made his way across the crowded room.  The alcohol haze still filled
his head.  Everything seemed surreal.

     "Hi, my name's Alan," he said to her, loudly so she would hear
over the noise of the music.  "Would you like to dance?"
     She looked up, and his heart nearly stopped.  Never before had he
seen such piercing blue eyes, full and round, a part of the face, yet
standing alone in an odd way.  Her features were soft and flowing, her
cheekbones high.  Her brown hair flowed tenderly over her shoulders,
framing her face gracefully.  Her lips, full but not bee-stung, curled
into a natural smile.  She wore jeans and a simple black blouse, and in
her hand, a strawberry daiquiri.
     "I'd love to!", she beamed.  She straightened herself, and put
her hand in his.  Warm fingers, he noticed.  As they moved to the center
of the dance floor, he heard the song end.  Careless Whisper, a Wham
song, began to lilt softly, flowing through the air, bringing a calm
to the room.  Couples drifted closer together.
     "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name...", he trailed off.  He felt
peculiar at not having asked before.
     "I'm Sharon.  Pleased to meet you."  As she talked, she was able
to maintain her beautiful smile.  She looked around, noticing the
couples, and moved closer to Alan, putting her arm around his waist.
Alan responded by doing the same, pulling her close to him.  They
swayed to the rhythm of the sound.
     His head was starting to clear, the alcohol haze became thinner.
He felt wondrous in her arms, yearned to be closer to her, even though
they were touching.  He felt the gentle curves of her body, the
smoothness of her back.  He sensed the imprints of her small breasts
in his midsection, her head against his chest.  He put a hand on the
back of her head, not wanting to let her go.  He combed through her hair
with his fingers, feeling its softness.  Unconsciously, he let her
know his thoughts.  She felt his pressure on her groin.
     Alan suddenly realized that the song had ended.  Sharon stepped
back from him.  No, don't go, he thought.  Pat Benatar pulsed through
the air.
     "Would you like to go for a walk, get away from the party for a
while?", he asked her, hoping she would say yes.
     She did.

                            ********

     The door to Bryan Dorm fell shut with a resounding click.  The
night air was warm, with a touch of wind to tease the hair.   A slight
humidity penetrated the thinnest of clothes.  Alan and Sharon walked
past the gymnasium toward Richmond Road.
     As the President's house came and went, "So, what dorm do you live
in?", Alan asked.
     "None around here, " she replied. " I'm from Tech."
     "oh.."
"You sound disappointed."
     "I was sort of hoping you were from around here."
     "Can't have everything you want, I guess."

Damn.

                            ********

     "This is DOG Street.  The tourists call it Duke Of Gloucester
Street." Alan added, "but then, they're tourists."
     "Hey watch it... technically, so am I.", she chided.
     "No offense intended... I was referring to tourists as a group,
not anyone in particular."
     "Yeah, yeah, just kidding you.  I remember this place when I was
a kid... Parents pushing me here and there, sticking me in those funky
holding bars for pictures.  Me, I wanted to go to Busch Gardens.  I
didn't care for the historical bit then."
     "I know... I was the same as a kid.  But I think, living around
here for the past two years, you get sort of romantic for the old
ways."
     "Yeah, I guess you do."  Her arm found its way around his waist.
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders.  The night air seemed warmer.


                           ********

     As they moved between Landrum and Chandler, there was silence.
She had grown tired of walking, and mentioned feeling giddy due to the
daiquiris and beer she had earlier.
     After minutes, they arrived at the Sunken Gardens.  "Please, can
we stop... my feet are hurting," Sharon asked.  Without talking, Alan
took a seat on the lowest steps, patting the bricks near him for her to
sit.  She did so, leaning her head against his shoulder.  Alan put his
arm around her, rubbing her shoulder to comfort her.
     A low fog sat in the Gardens, the lamp light giving it an eerie
glow.  Alan noticed, feeling a mix of fear and wonder, a nearly mystic
feeling.  His thoughts were interrupted, a nuzzling at his neck.
     His attention went to Sharon, her nose rubbing into his neck.
Looking down at her, his eyes again met hers.  A quality entered her
eyes and her smile, one Alan had not seen before.  A timeless moment
passed, and their lips met.
     Her tongue overpowered him, making its way into his mouth,
rubbing against his tongue and teeth.  He pushed hers back, using his
tongue to probe the soft interior of her mouth.  His hands were on her
back, but one - as if moved by a mind of its own, slid forward to her
side, resting on the edge of her breast.  A barely noticeable gasp
escaped her lips as they kissed.
     Slowly, so slowly, his hand moved to encircle her left breast,
his thumb rubbing the spot on her blouse over her taut nipple.  With
this, she seemed to come alive, aggressively locking her lips to his,
taking control of his passion, as well as hers.  Her hands grasped his
buttocks, and she felt his cloaked manhood against her pelvis.
Likewise, he could sense her heat and want.
     Picking her up in his arms, Alan walked over to the moist dew-
covered grass.  She clasped her arms around his neck and shoulders,
continuing her tempestuous kiss.  Still holding on, he set her against
the slope of the hill, in the shadow of the bushes, the gibbous moon a
beacon in the sky above them.  Alan lay down next to her, gently
caressing her lips with his own.  In his effort of carrying her, her
blouse become untucked.  Alan slipped his right hand under her blouse,
reaching for her bra clasp.  He was surprised to find out that she had
not been wearing one, but was joyous nonetheless.  His hands felt the
warmth of her breasts, caressing one, then the other.  She helped him,
reaching up to unbutton her blouse, opening it to the cool night air.
Moving his head down, he nuzzled her breasts, kissing her erect
nipples, one, then the other.
     She pulled his shirt out of his pants, unbuttoning it, exposing
his hairless, slightly muscular chest.  Switching positions with him,
she caressed his chest, gently biting his nipples, also taut.  As she
did this, she allowed a free hand to roam down to his crotch, loosening
his belt buckle, his jeans button, and his zipper.  Alan felt the
dampness of dew on his back, but was too preoccupied with her tongue
on his chest, her hands near his penis.
     Lingeringly, she traced her way from his chest with her tongue,
down to his belly, teasing his navel with the tip of her tongue.  This
allowed her the use of both hands, as she crouched over his pelvis.
She finished pushing his jeans around his hips, and pulled his
underwear down around his hips.  His erect cock pointed toward the sky,
the moonlight reflecting erotically off its head.  She accepted it
into her hands, stroking it gently, admiring it.
     Eager to taste of her crotch, Alan rolled Sharon onto her back,
slipping, landing on top of her, his bare cock pressing against the
fabric of her jeans.  Her breasts pressed against his chest as they
embraced again, kissing again, more passionate and sharing than the
earlier, lusty, kisses.  He rolled both of them onto their sides, and
with his right hand, began to undo her jeans.  Pulling her around, on
top of him, he grabbed her hips, pushing her up onto her knees above
him.  He pushed her jeans down, past her hips, to midthigh.  Her fleecy
bush beckoned above him, and he pulled her down on top of him, gently
impaling her on himself.  Their lips met again, she softly kissing him,
taking his lower lip between hers, pulling it, letting it go.  They
kissed again, tongues entwining.  She slowly raised and lowered her
hips, in a calm, rhythmic beat.
     Footsteps sounded on the brick walks, familiar voices were heard.
They were ignored.  The passion, the heat of the moment consumed them,
nothing else mattered but each other.  Her flesh encompassed his,
pleasing him, tantalizing him.  The moistness of her vagina covered
his penis, and the cool air produced wondrous sensations on his shaft.
The dewy grass against his back only served to enhance this.  After a
few minutes, he could bear his pressure no longer, and released
himself inside her.  She as well felt her desire peak, and tensed as
she came, her breasts heaving against his chest.
     They lay together, on the wet grass, in the shadow of the bushes,
holding each other.  Their sweat mingled with the dew, keeping them
warm, yet coolly refreshed, on this cold night.  Their body heat kept
them warm, and their closeness calmed them.

                             ******


     Some time later, the moon disappeared from the sky.  The two
lovers lay sleeping in the grass.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Part Three:  Your Mouth

Your mouth is a beehive in summer.
Your mouth is a lake full of fish.

Your mouth is a bowl of mulled wine.
Your mouth is a Celtic harp.
Your mouth is a bed with velvet sheets.

Your mouth is a cave of fruit-bats.

Your mouth is a pomegranete split open.
Your mouth is an orgy in a Victorian drawing-room.
Your mouth is a shy octopus.

Your mouth is an oyster in the shell.
Your mouth is a satin shoe with a dancing heel.
Your mouth is a valley where peasant women grow tomatoes.

Your mouth is an iris dipped in blood.

Your mouth is a butterfly trembling on a branch.
Your mouth is a slow inhalation of ether.
Your mouth is a jelly doughnut.

Your mouth is a Brahms chorus.
Your mouth is a summer storm.
Your mouth is a forest in Germany.

Your mouth is a girl dressed in red, with a wolf licking her fingers.


