to drive the cold winter away

bitter, arctic breezes
bleak, sullen skies, numb and tasteless
leaves skitter and skirl in gyres of whimsy
they are so very far from the truth:

that in the heat of your gaze
the sensual agony of your touch
the fire in your mouth
the feel of your breasts
the endless depth of your pussy
the shrieks of your passion
you drive the cold
and the dark
and the winter
so very far away

shifting, melding forms
slippery with sweat
your body shaped by my touch,
curved, arching, spreading, lifting to accept me
i taste the mulled wine on your tongue
carpet rough on our skin
b-tribe pulsing softly on the stereo
rolling over and over, slowly, entangled more and more deeply

i plunge deep
you sip air
we move in rhythms old as time,
clutching at each other
glowing with delighted wonder
knowing it can never last
but knowing we can always find this place again
this delicious dance
this more perfect union
this ocean of joy in a wintry storm

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 2-17-12: "A Ballet on Silk Sheets"

(Source image: unknown title, photo by Mina Bast)

"Now," she said. "Take me now. The rose is nice, and the dinner was excellent, but now I want dessert."

Time stretched, folded, twisted like taffy. She rocked atop me, hips moving slowly; then her legs were up over my shoulders as I thrust deeply inside; then she was gripping the bedframe as I pounded her from behind. A dance of decadence, a symphony of sensations, musk and sweat, heights of pleasure, cries of joy.

Afterwards we lay, spent, tangled together, hearts hammering. She sighed softly, contented.

"Happy Valentine's Day, love," I murmured.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of less than 100 words. Additionally, I provided a key word I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...folded..."

Nobody's checking word counts, or for the key phrase, but you're only cheating yourself if you break the rules. Unless you're doing it to earn a spanking (in which case, see me after class).

Special Bonus Director's Commentary Track:


I originally intended this to be much more raw and primal, more about animal lust than romantic love -- but then I saw the rose, and suddenly my viewpoint shifted in another completely different direction. I hope your own Valentine's Day was at least this lovely and more. If it wasn't, well, I hope you'll have some fun soon.


If you are playing along this week, please leave your link below using the widget. It will appear in the text of the post itself, not in the comments, so everyone that's playing will be listed here. This frees me from having to chase people down to find out if they're playing or update the Friday post several times for late entries. Your cooperation is appreciated.

In any case, the participants list is below. Go check them out, and thanks to all who played along.



Please note there will be no challenge next week and possibly the week after that. I will be occupied with personal and business matters and won't have the time or access to devote to FFF. Check with some of the other participants if you like, and be of good cheer; I shall return. 

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 2-18-11: "...And When She Falleth"

(Image source unknown, but it just begs to be called "Precipice". Photo this week provided by Lexi.)

She stood on the edge, looking down into emptiness. The wind sliced her to the bone, carved her up in shivering chunks and left her spread over the landscape.

Such a long way to fall. She tightened her hold on identity, grasping for the shreds of sanity that he'd left her. She tilted her head, staring down still, poised on the precipice of her own making....

….and fell.

Fell screaming, calling out his name, body dissolving in a rush and whirl of light and sound and heat. Plummeted, still calling his name as she sundered and burst from within.

Afterward, she lay clasped in his embrace, listening to thunder within. Silent tears trickled forth unfelt.

“I've never seen you let go like that,” he whispered. “I feel humbled.”

She rolled into him, clutching him tighter. “Hold me,” was her only answer.

(Click for details on FFF!)

Your challenge for today was to use the picture above and write a flash fiction of 115-148 words. Additionally, I provided a key phrase I wanted to see used somewhere in the submission:

"...poised on the precipice..."

Nobody's checking word counts, or for the key phrase, but you're only cheating yourself if you break the rules. Unless you're doing it to earn a spanking (in which case, see me after class).

Special Bonus Director's Commentary Track:

This pic was dark and turbulent but it was nevertheless arresting enough to practically leap off the screen at me when Lexi sent it my way. There was really no other possible choice for this particular week.

I made a conscious effort to take the darkness shown here and spin it another way. One of my ex-lovers used to keep very tight control over herself when we were making love; she would enjoy it, but would never really let go enough to fully experience the pleasure we were creating. Then one day she really did let go, and damn near cracked a window with her shriek of ecstasy when I sent her over the edge with mouth, fingers and tongue. The aftermath transpired a bit like this story -- me, astonished and humbled by the power of her release, and she almost crying with the relief of tension and deliberate release of control. There were many more orgasms after that one, but none that quite matched that one exquisite moment. Even now, I remember it (and her) fondly.

Please note that this week, as with the last couple weeks, I am trying something different with the participants list. If you are playing along this week, please leave your link below. It will appear in the text of the post itself, not in the comments, so everyone that's playing will be listed here. This frees me from having to chase people down to find out if they're playing or update the Friday post several times for late entries. We'll see how this works out.

In any case, the participants list is below. Go check them out, and thanks to all who played along.



Check back here on Monday for the next challenge! And if you have any photos or artwork you'd like to see in a future challenge, please send them my way. Thanks to Lexi for providing this week's (plus a few others which I may use later on).

-- PB

Flash Fiction Friday 10-15-10: "Ball and Chain"

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

"Lights, Camera, Action"

"I've heard stories about you lately, Val," he said calmly, sipping from his Perrier.

"Indeed? Oh, do tell," she said. "I love a good story."

"Well, there are so many," he mused. "Here're a few words and phrases....'Spoiled.' 'Vain.' 'Impossible to work with.'"

She stood stock-still, gaze hooded, head tilting slowly to face him as he circled her.

"I've got more," he said. "'Fiery temper.' 'Talented, but squirrelly.' 'Unpredictable.'" He moved closer. "'Past her prime.'"

She made a negligent gesture, her cigarette leaving dissolving trails spiraling upward. "They do say," she began, "that the only thing worse than being talked about..."

"...'is not being talked about.' Yes, I know. I've been in this business as long as you have, my dear."

Gray eyes narrowed to slits. "I'm not your 'dear', or anyone else's," she hissed. "Call me that again and I'll tear your face off."

"Tut! Manners," he admonished, shaking a finger at her. "We're on in five. Dawes is good at what she does, but even she couldn't cover over fingernail furrows in that short a time."

She tensed; he half hoped she would try it anyway. Might add a little spice, a little zip, to the upcoming scene. He'd been bored out of his skull in the ones they'd done so far, and they weren't even a quarter done with shooting. But then she sagged. The fire in her eyes dimmed to faint embers.

"So let's get it done, then," she said dully. "I've gotten good at playing lies, after all."

He nodded. "So you have," he said softly.

*******************

The director's exasperated shout rang through the set. "God dammit, Thomas, what is with you today? Can't you focus for more than two minutes?"

Thomas shook his head and emerged from his reverie, realizing scant seconds later that his hands were still gripping Valerie by her shoulders. There was a very smug look in her gray eyes. "Bitch," he muttered, sotto voce, and her mouth curved in a knowing grin.

He turned to face Wilkins. "Ah....I'm sorry, Scott," he called. "Got my mind on other things, I guess."

Other things. Yeah. Like the warm springy feel of Valerie's body against him. Like the way she smelled, like rain on the ocean. And most of all, damn it all, the way her lips felt on his. Jesus, what was the matter with him? Forty-some years in the biz and he couldn't handle a straightforward love scene? Twenty-odd fucking takes and the words were still coming out like he was carved from wood.

Wilkins was obviously losing patience. "'Other things?'" he parroted sarcastically. "I don't give a good goddamn what other things you have on your mind, but you'd better get rid of them." He tore off his headphones and threw them on the floor. "Everyone take fifteen," he barked. Turning, he glared at Thomas. "You and Valerie go practice this scene. When you get back here, I want to see something better than this amateur hour I've been seeing for the past goddamn hour."

Thomas felt a sinking feeling. He knew what she was going to say, and she didn't disappoint.

"Let's try it in your trailer," Valerie purred. ".....Dear."

*******************

The latch clicked shut with a dull snicking sound, and Thomas turned to find Valerie regarding him from all of two feet away. There was a speculative look on her face. Was she sizing him up? Calculating how best to humiliate him, now that she held the upper hand? How, precisely, was she going to make things more difficult for him when they went back to the set?

When she spoke, though, it was so far from what he'd expected that he couldn't process it at all.

"Please tell me," she said tremulously, "that you're feeling it too."

He blinked, honestly stunned. Expecting castigation, he'd heard instead.....what? Concern? Confusion? Was that vulnerability?

She was waiting for an answer. The problem was he didn't have the slightest idea what he was going to say. All his training was gone, all his years of performing had deserted him. And....no, she couldn't mean. Could she?

Now the silence was too old. He had to say something.

"I....guess that depends," he said, his voice sounding rusty and graveled in his ears. "What...are you feeling?"

Valerie seemed to wilt before his eyes, drawing in on herself like a plant in too much sunlight. She sighed. "I guess it was too much to ask," she said, for the first time sounding every bit her age. Her eyes filled and she blinked rapidly. "For a while there I thought....oh, for chrissake, I don't know what I thought."

Thomas felt his old heart skip a beat. Throwing his usual caution to the wind, he stepped in close and kissed her.

God, what a kiss. Worlds different from the playacting they'd been doing for the past hour. There was heat here, and the taste of her lips, like a crisp white wine. There was the rush of fire in his veins, the stirring of desires long dormant. There was a roaring in his ears, and the humming sound of her moaning into his mouth. Most of all there was the passion he'd sensed, the explosive potential she'd kept bottled up for the last few years, releasing it only in fits of temper at assistant directors, draftsmen, costumers, makeup artists and anyone else who annoyed her.

But this vibrancy, this rush of life and heat, this delirious buzzing sensation as they kissed and kissed and kissed, that was something he'd never dared hope for. He'd wondered in idle moments if it was something he was even capable of anymore, in fact. The crackling flame sweeping through his body told him quite emphatically he was capable of it and much more. He was harder than he'd been in years, sporting an indecently prominent erection. Val was obviously aware of it, her hips pressing firmly against him, her hands roaming over his back and down his body, their kiss going on and on, only stoking the flames higher.

An eternity later they broke for air. Val's silver hair was mussed from where he'd been winding his fingers through it, and he guessed his own was no less comical. Right at the moment he didn't give a damn, his only thought how he could get her out of that outfit with a minimum of fuss and take what they obviously both wanted so much. He began fumbling with the buttons on her shirt and she cooperated eagerly. "Yes, yes, my dear, yes," she was saying, the words coming from very far away through the rising buzz inside his skull.

And the outside world chose that exquisite moment to intrude: a hammering fist on the trailer door startled them both into immobility. "Five minutes, Thomas, Val!" a voice called. Rough, brusque, female; probably Wilkins's assistant Freda. Thomas would have cheerfully told her to fuck off running if Val hadn't started shaking with silent laughter.

He looked at her in consternation. "Is this really happening to us? A golden moment like that, spoiled, and all you can do is laugh?"

"It's either that or cry," she managed between gales of mirth. "I guess we'd better not keep them waiting." Her fingers were already working at her shirtfront, buttoning herself up again. She brushed past him and reached for the door, then turned, as if in afterthought.

"But I get the feeling that the scene'll go a lot better this time, don't you think?"

He nodded, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat for some reason. "Val?" he said as she turned the knob and stepped outside.

She turned back once more, silver hair shining in the spill of sunlight from outside. "Yes, Tom?"

"After we wrap for the day....we need to talk."

She reached out a hand and touched his cheek softly. "Of course we do. And we will. Time enough for that later. We've got all the time in the world."

-- PB

Reunion

The door clicked shut behind him and he sagged. "God, these fucking things are heavy," he groused. "When'll you learn to pack light for a trip?"

"Oh, shut up," she smirked. "You'd rather I stayed away for a couple more weeks?"

He snorted. "As if. It was bad enough living without you for six months."

"How bad, exactly?" she inquired dulcetly.

He gave her a very direct look. "I haven't left the house. I don't have any energy, any appetite -- for anything. I haven't slept for more than two hours since dropping you off at the airport. Vicky, don't you fucking know that you're got your claws sunk deep in me?"

She smiled. "Yes, but it's always nice to hear it. Ohhh, don't look so annoyed. C'mere. Kiss me. Show me how much you've missed me."

A trail of tangled clothes told the tale of their hasty rush towards reunion; a broken newel post on the bannister spoke of the brief but intense interlude on the stairway, when she grabbed on for support as he plunged deep, driving her hard and fast against the railing. The screaming had barely stopped from the first time before she was coaxing him back into life, straddling him in the hallway and wrapping her legs around his ass. He managed to lift and drop her onto his thick branch as he staggered into the bedroom, swaying in reverse to fall backwards onto the bed with her pressing him down. And she moaned, and he thrust, and she bounced on him with increasing fervor, and he shouted her name, and spasmed within, feeling her draw him out to his utmost.

"Missed you so," he murmured, hearing the thunder of his heartbeat slow. She gave no response in words, but lifted her head for a searing kiss, hitched herself higher and around him, asprawl and content, breathing hard, setting her mouth against his throat for a happy humming sound of wordless pleasure.

His arms tightened around her. Oh, it was good, so very good, to have her back home.

-- PB

Microfantasy Monday: "Connecting Amidst Chaos"

And so again, bodies once more entwined in tangled sheets as the hands of the clock spin and spiral inward, into blackness, raindrops sliding down the windowpanes in liquid counterpoint to the liquid struggle on the bed. A struggle towards -- what? To break through into the great blind and bursting nova, that golden moment when sun and stars explode through your body, your silver cord tautening and drawing out, drawing tight, tightening the knot you've formed with your partner, that knot that may stretch and tangle but never, ever breaks? To meld flesh with flesh, breath with breath, liquid centers merging, tightening, pounding hearts in rhythm, each heartbeat incomplete without the other?

In an entire lifetime of loves, how many times can it be like that, all soft and enfolding, salt-sweat and tang of tears, cradled close in all-encompassing darkness, all whispers and sighs and endearments, the connection so intense that it sears with the intensity of a nuclear strike. Summer lightning, brilliant and blue-white, transient and gone; its crackle and flash is nothing beside the intensity of this moment, this gaze, this creature with two backs and eight limbs, one pulse, one thought, one love.

It builds and it builds, that pleasure, waves crashing, thunder rolling, sonorous bass vibrating bones, tingling heat washing through nerves from end to end. Softly moaned endearments mingle with the cries of ecstasy, fingers clasping and unclasping, backs arching, bodies filled with wind and flame, a conflagration that builds rather than destroys. With every stroke they tighten their grasp; with every movement the music of their symphony builds to new heights; with every word the inadequacy of words is made more apparent. What they have is beyond boundaries, too great to be noted, too ephemeral for the cosmos to care, but as intense and unchanging and eternal as change itself.

Drifting and drowsing, slumbrous and spent, they lie in their blissful golden afterglow, the chaos of their world spiraling into a whirlpool, dwindling and gone. The world spins beneath them unfelt, unnoticed. Here there is only quiet, and warmth, and closeness, and a short exchange that has never meant more than it does now.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

(Microfantasy Monday is the brainchild of Ang, the Sweltering Celt. This week's theme was "Spiritual Connection". Go see Ang to find out who else is playing.)

-- PB

Tell me.......

Tell me what you're thinking. Tell me anything that flashes across the dendrites of that brilliant brain. Tell me this weird idea you had. Tell me about the celebrity you met once. Tell me about your dog. Tell me what you do for a living. Tell me about the trip you went on as a kid. Tell me why you love your favorite movie.

Tell me your hopes. Tell me your wishes. Tell me your urges. Tell me your dirty fantasies, the things you daren't mention to anyone else, your deepest darkest desires that dance delightfully in the depths of your dreams. Tell me why you haven't made those fantasies a reality. Tell me how you're going to fulfill them and when. Tell me that I feature in some of them. Tell me that I'm flattering myself.

Tell me who and what you are -- whither from, where bound, what drives you. Tell me what you want. Tell me what you need. Tell me what you must have but fear asking for. Tell me why you fear it. Tell me what else you fear. Tell me what makes you strong and proud and hale. Tell me what makes you weak and whimpering and willowy. Tell me what tears you apart. Tell me what reconstructs you, what makes you soar, what sets your spirit bouncing like a ball in a tight spiraling rebound.

Tell me you love me. Tell me you hate me. Tell me you revile me, want me, can't stand to be me without me, don't ever want to see me again. Tell me you long for my touch, tell me you came five times last night fantasizing about that touch, tell me you came five more times after your dreams of the following night.

Tell me you're mine, now and forevermore. And I'll tell you the same.

-- PB

a journey over landscapes

Shackleton
De Soto
da Gama
Magellan --
surely they could not have felt
the wonder and trepidation
I feel
upon
wandering your landscapes, amazed
by the glory of what I behold.

hair spun auburn silk
eyes of melting blue
tiny arch of nose
and your mouth, oh
your mouth:
it unsettles, it sings, it calls
ruby red, quirked in Cupid's bow
tonguetip caressing underlip
in I-dare-you challenge.

Challenge accepted, offer confirmed --
buttons are popped, catches snapped
and your armorweave protection
slips
from you
puddling, pooling
at your feet

White: so alabaster, so fine, so strong
textured like marble, but so soft, so giving
your flesh yields beneath my touch
and sighs, moans, whispering gasps
announce approbation

Your back arches, your hips sway, your hair curtains your face
hiding
that intense gaze, sparing me
from its piercing spike.
Your mouth finds mine.
Your tongue fills my mouth. I kiss a piece of the clean sun.
Your note vibrates along the strings of my psyche,
drawn out and drawn out and drawn out
resonating, amplifying,
shivering through from bones to balls to brain
and making each tingle unbearably.

Your soft hand wraps around me
in benediction.
Your mouth tastes my clear nectar.
Your liquid center accepts me
fired with heat, softness, purpose.
Your secret smile is ages old.

I am unmade, not unmanned, by your intensity.
Not for the first time I wonder
if this is how explorers felt
on
their
voyages.

-- PB

Welcome Home

On my way home, be there in twenty minutes, he typed, and hit Send. A few seconds later, his phone went queep and displayed her reply: Great! I'll be waiting for you.

She always did wait for him, he thought. Wonderfully patient, remarkably even-tempered, wholly understanding. He really didn't deserve her. But she sure as hell was a nice reward to come home to after a show. He could see her clear as day -- that pixie smile, that saucy wink, that come-hither motion of her fingers. He didn't know what it was that kept her so keyed up as a general rule, but he'd stopped questioning that long ago.

Twenty minutes later he pulled the GT-R into their slot in the underground garage and got out, stretching with a pop and crackle of overtired muscles and sinews. Right-ho. Time for a drink, a bath, dinner, and bed. Not necessarily in that order, he thought with a sardonic grin, twisting the key in the elevator and dropping his duffel bag wearily on the floor.

The elevator bell binged on the sixtieth floor and he emerged into their living room. "Hon?" he called, looking about and failing to find her. "Where're you at?"

"In here," her voice floated back to him, out of the kitchen. "Come and get me."

Well, well. It sounded like she was up to her usual tricks. He sniffed, and caught some wonderfully pungent aromas in the air. Garlic and other indefinable spices danced tantalizingly over his tongue as he tasted the scent experimentally. She must be making spaghetti bolognese. Wait a second, why am I thinking about what she's making for dinner? I want her for dinner.

He strolled amiably into the kitchen and stopped dead as he beheld a vision: she was bent over the counter, stirring a pot on the stove -- that must be the sauce, he thought dimly -- and moving slowly from side to side in time with the music drifting from their iPod dock. Not a stitch of clothing did she wear, save the apron tied round her waist, already spattered with a few splats of sauce. Her ass, which he always found maddeningly desirable at the best of times, practically screamed for him to come up and grab. Her breasts, too, seemed to be reveling in their freedom, hanging low and heavy like wonderfully ripe fruits.

In two steps he'd crossed the kitchen and was upon her, his arms going round her waist and pulling her hard against him. The ladle she held clunked into the pot and she moaned, "Oh yes. Yeah, baby, do you like what you see?" She wiggled back against him and her ass brushed against his groin. "Oooo. I can feel something likes what it sees." She straightened a bit and pulled his hands upward to her tits; he accepted the invitation, squeezing gently and feeling the nipples already hardening against his palms. "All night I've been waiting for you to get home. I've been simmering dinner on the stove; it'll be ready in a little while. But I've been doing some simmering of my own, and I'm ready now."

He could tell she was, too. He kept one hand at work on her breasts, squeezing and caressing, teasing those nipples into hard nubs just perfect for his fingers to tweak and roll. The other hand slipped lower, underneath the apron, down between her legs. She spread them wider, purring happily, as his exploring fingers found her hot and wet slit. He slipped two fingers inside and she shivered against him. She reached one hand back and grabbed one of his belt loops, pulling him against her. He growled low in his throat as his rapidly hardening cock caught in the folds of his boxers, and rubbed his crotch against her ass, his fingers now stroking inside her, soaked in her wetness.

He pulled his dripping fingers free and used them to lube up her nipples for some more twisting and tweaking play; she shuddered and gasped, and threw her head back. He buried his face in that ash-blonde darkness, his hands now fumbling with the button of his fly. "Yeah," he heard her whimper, and heard squelching sounds through the curtain of her hair -- she was very obviously playing with herself now while he struggled to get his cock free.

"Damn, what a slut you are," he growled, mock-sternly, and heard her fingers actually speeding up as she nodded her head frantically. "Oh yeah," she moaned. "Your slut. Do your little slut, baby. Do me now."

"Hate to keep a lady waiting," he agreed, and began rubbing his cock up and down her slit. With every delicious second of friction he could feel her dripping more and more onto him; in seconds his entire length was soaked, looking as if it'd been dipped in honey. Well, he guessed it had, in a manner of speaking. But there was far sweeter honey to be found. He angled, pushed, twisted; she wriggled, pointing her hips back and lifting one leg up, and suddenly he slipped into her. Both of them moaned loudly, he falling forward on her, she rising up beneath him. He bit her shoulder to stifle a scream as her cunt rippled around him. She was more than ready, he could tell -- she was practically there already. He started a hard rhythm, no time for niceties, his cock making wet delicious sounds as he thrust rapidly in and out of her. His hands went around her and began fondling her tits again; he used them as leverage to pull her upright so she was no longer folded over the counter, instead being nearly pressed against him.

"This is what I wanted all night," she moaned, writhing against him, hips thudding back against him, her cunt clenching his cock. Her hands grabbed the lower edge of the cabinet and clung there, bracing her, steadying her. "Missed you so. Fucked myself three times earlier tonight, watching some porn. But it's never good enough. Had to have you."

"Good," he grunted, thrusting hard, one hand sliding lower to her pussy. "Hate to think you'd found a replacement for me after only a day." She emitted an high wordless squeal as he began rubbing rudely at her clit, and she arched her back, pushing her tits harder into his upper hand. "Squeeze them," she moaned, pushing back harder against him. "Finger me. Oh, god, ring my fucking bell and fuck me. Harder, you bastard. Harder!"

He didn't know whether she meant for him to rub her clit harder or to thrust into her harder, so with a growling moan he started doing both. He ground his fingertips over her clit in short, quick circles, continuing to piston his cock in and out of her. His thighs and calves were starting to burn now, his belly and groin starting to smart from the smack smack smack of his body slapping hard against her soft ass -- even with a cushion that soft, things were bound to get a little red at this speed. She didn't seem to care, though, still moaning uncontrollably, pushing herself back against him, her arms trembling now. And he didn't give a damn either -- all of a sudden the only thing that mattered was coming inside her as soon as humanly fucking possible.

"No endurance record this time, my dear," he gasped, and she moaned back, "I don't care, lover. I want that cum and I want it now. Can you do that for me, baby? Can you give me a big load? Ohhh, I bet you can. I bet your balls are just churning right now. Come on, baby. Give me that nice big -- ooooooooooohhhh!!!" She squealed in delight as he began spurting inside her, his hand on her breasts clenching almost painfully tight, his fingers on her clit spasming over her nub in a stuttering rhythm. She ground her hips against him, got a bit more friction, and promptly began to come herself, throwing her head from side to side and moaning almost incoherently "yes.....yes......yes".

He thrust home one last time, almost lifting her off the ground, and then pulled back, down, out of her, leaning forward, resting his weight on her. Both arms tightened around her middle, and hers folded over his.

"God, I love you," he whispered to her. He heard her purr happily. "I love you too, hon," she whispered back.

-- PB

The Silence of Snowfall

Heavy, drifting flakes skirled down through the air outside -- big, soft, wet flakes that spelled trouble for road crews and power companies. It wasn't coming down hard, but with a steady, implacable pace that told of endless reserves above. Most of it melted as it struck, but already there were a few small accumulations here and there.

Inside, the silence was thick and soft, heavy with promise. He lay on the couch, she curled against him, head on his chest. His hand ran slowly through her curls, stroking, tangling and untangling.

"We don't get much of that stuff where I'm from," she noted quietly.

"Nor here, really," he said. "That's a rare event. It'll probably all be gone in a couple hours." He shifted a bit and she shifted in response, adjusting her fit against him. "But isn't it nice to watch?"

" 'Tis," she agreed. "Cold out there, warm in here. You're like a furnace, you ever hear that before?"

"It may have been mentioned once or twice," he allowed. "I can't help what I am."

"That's all right," she murmured softly. "I like what you are."

His hand moved down her back, along the ridge of her spine. She let out a small sigh and burrowed closer against him, nuzzling against the hollow of his throat. Her tongue darted out and tasted him there, once, twice. He shivered, but not from the cold, and he groaned. His arms tightened around her. She pressed against him ardently, feeling the ridge in his jeans. Her hand slid down between them and gave it a gentle squeeze. His own hand stole down to her ass and squeezed that.

"Here? Now?" she asked dreamily.

"Yes. Yes."

She raised up briefly, fumbling. Zippers were drawn down, garments hastily tugged down or aside. A shifting, an exploring, a fitting. Some of the cold crept in but it didn't last long. Heat and wetness met and merged. She raised her hips and settled down on him. He said her name with a soft gasp of wonder, and she sighed his.

She laid her head back down on his chest, eyes fixed on the drifting snow outside. Her hips moved slowly, liquidly. Moist sounds, flesh parting, being parted, accepting and releasing him. His hands moved over her back restlessly, ceaselessly, slow caresses. One hand twined into her hair and tightened there.

They drifted in a sweet haze, all sighs and murmurs and cries of delight, clinging to each other, pushing back the darkness and the cold, a tiny oasis there on his couch, the silence of snowfall enveloping them, enfolding them, holding them close as they made long, languorous, passionate love.

-- PB

Panserhistory, part 4: Faith

Since I started this journal several of you folks have asked me about my past. Who've I been with? you want to know. What was it like, being with them? Did they let you....y'know....do THAT to them? Did they hurt you? Did you hurt them? Did you learn anything from them? Would you do it again, if you had a chance?

So I'm going to write some entries about my history, limited as it is, and let you see for yourself. As always, all names I use here have been changed.

Part 4: Faith

Faith is somebody I've known now for almost twenty years. I "met" her in my first or second year of college. At the time I was reading some USENET newsgroups fairly regularly (this was long before they were all taken over by spammers) and she had made some particularly insightful comments in a newsgroup about one of my favorite authors. I replied to it via email, getting her first and last names transposed in the process because the message header had reversed them for some reason -- not a good start! Fortunately, she didn't seem upset and just corrected me, and that started what has turned out to be one of the longest friendships I've ever had.

Faith and I developed our friendship almost exclusively online for several years, sending emails back and forth. We made one or two phone calls but it was mostly via email. We talked about everything under the sun -- geeky stuff we both enjoyed, politics, TV shows, music, what we wanted out of life, and tons more. We even talked about the people we were dating at the time -- if either of us was dating. She, like I, was pretty selective, and like me she was slow to give her heart away.

Initially, I just saw her as a friend, but a very good one. From almost the very first, I felt that I could trust her with just about anything I said to her. I realized that she would never judge me unfairly, that she would always measure anything I said carefully against her own opinions and experiences, that she would keep any secrets I shared in confidence. She was and is one of the smartest people I've ever met, with an enormous drive to succeed and the willpower to go after whatever she wanted -- and get it. She was well-informed on politics and current events. And, like me, she was very very passionate about everything she did and said, and wouldn't hesitate to get into a lively discussion about anything on which we happened to disagree.

I think it was about two years after we first said hi to each other that we decided we should really meet face to face. If I remember right, it was during summer break and she was living with her parents then. So I drove up to meet her (and her parents, and her sister), and spent a couple of days hanging out with her.

When I met her in person I thought she was just lovely. Dark hair, dark eyes, beautiful curves (an ass to die for, fantastic cleavage hinting at great breasts too, great muscular legs) and one of the most dazzling smiles I had ever seen. I'd felt an attraction to her for some time, but since I was still fairly inexperienced at the time I never really did anything about it. I had a wonderful time just being with her, but there was little privacy since we were at her parents' place and her sister was usually around when her parents were not.

One moment in time does stand out, even years later. We had the room to ourselves for a rare couple of minutes, and I summoned up the courage to reach out and touch her. I gave her a soft caress on the back of her neck. I couldn't help myself -- her skin just looked so soft and I just really wanted to touch her and express some of the attraction I was feeling very strongly right then. It never went beyond that, but she gave me a look that seemed to say "what was that?" and so I backed off immediately.

A few years later, she told me that that one touch was like a jolt of electricity to her. It had affected her almost as strongly as it did me. But (like me) she didn't do anything about it either. More fools we, eh?

In any case, I left after a couple of days and headed back home. And our friendship kept going, strong as ever. She told me about the guy she was seeing, and I told her about what had happened (or was happening) with me and Charlotte, with Rachel, with Melissa. And the years passed, and we drifted apart a bit, but always kept in touch via email and the occasional phone call.

Then, about six years after I'd first said hi to her, we started talking, in a roundabout way, about the attraction we'd felt to each other on that first visit, and the attraction that we, y'know, still kind of felt for each other. Neither of us was seeing anybody at the time (me having just broken things off with Melissa for what was probably the first or second time, and she having recently gotten out of a relationship where the guy treated her like crap). This was also when Faith told me how powerfully she'd been affected by that one touch on the last night of our first visit. From there it was a short step to start talking about sex and how much both of us loved it, and from there (of course) it was just a short jump to how much we'd love to do naughty things to each other.

The attraction grew and grew. The sexy discussions flew back and forth. We talked about fantasies, about things that we'd done, about things that we wanted to do. We quizzed each other. We wrote fantasies. We talked about games we'd like to play. At one point I even wrote her a novel-length erotic fantasy story featuring two characters that were very obviously based on us. And soon we began discussing an extended visit. At the time she was happy with her job and where she lived (in the northeast US), but I was not happy with my own situation. So I began contemplating a relocation, but first I wanted to make sure that the attraction still existed when we saw each other in person. We eventually arranged for me to come see her for a week, so we could determine whether or not it was a good idea for me to move up there.

The time came and I was more nervous than I'd ever been. Yes, we'd been sending messages back and forth about how nervous we both were, and yes, she kept talking repeatedly about how we were likely to jump each other in the car before we even got back to her place. In fact, I'd even gone so far as to get tested for STDs so I could show her the (clean) results; neither one of us liked condoms and we wanted pure skin-on-skin. She was on the pill, so the protection thing was taken care of. But some part of me kept wondering where the catch was. Fortunately, there didn't seem to be any catch. I got up there, and we embraced, and within seconds I knew: this was going to be a very good visit.

And it was. She told me later that she knew I wanted her very badly because I was having trouble making eye contact, and she was right. Although it was me who made the first move, leaning in for a kiss just after we got into the car to head back to her place. She kind of giggled when it was done, but assured me she wasn't laughing at me. And when we got back to her place, she proved it -- it wasn't long before we were both naked and entwined on her bed. She was as enthusiastic, as playful, as fun-loving as I'd hoped, and she smelled and tasted so good. Her body was as exquisite when unclothed as those hints I'd seen years before had suggested -- beautiful breasts, soft smooth skin, voluptuous curves, muscular legs that she loved to wrap around me.

That was a very good week. We went out on the town and she showed me around. We visited Niagara Falls (she lived just a couple hours away from there) and wandered around the Canadian side, holding hands and delighting in each others' company. We went out to eat. We watched movies and listened to music. She even showed me off to a few of her friends when she threw a party one night.

And over and over, we made love. And we had sex. And we fucked. She and I both agreed that there are differences between each of those, and there's a time and place for all of 'em. We screwed on the floor of her living room, giving each other carpet burns. I slurped her pussy for what felt like hours sometimes -- I couldn't get enough of the way she tasted. I gave her a long, long full-body massage and it turned into something rather more like a naked oil wrestling match. I gave her the dirty talk she wanted (she said that she really liked the idea but her partners thus far had been too timid to really try it; I was happy to oblige her during one very extended session and we eventually made enough noise that the people in the apartment below hers started banging on the ceiling as a not-so-subtle hint). We had soapy slippery shower fun. I loved her body, and she seemed equally excited by mine. As with Melissa, she was just as likely to attack me as I was to pounce on her, and so for a week we reveled in each others' bodies, and each others' company.

We did discover, though, that discussion of a relocation might have been a bit premature. We got along fine in person, don't get me wrong, and the physical attraction was every bit as intense as we'd expected, but because we are both extraordinarily strong-willed and intense people with some fundamental differences on our outlook on life, our personalities did clash more than once. In fact I think we had a small fight before the first night was even over, and there were a couple more small ones before I left, though it never grew to a serious confrontation or ruined the time we had with each other.

We parted at the airport, both of us agreeing that it had been an awesome week. But for some reason we never really spoke of my relocating again. I think it was fairly obvious to us both that we worked really well as friends, and really well as lovers, but that we might be a bit too different fundamentally, too stubborn and hard-headed and strong-willed, to work out well in a serious relationship. We'd probably wind up fighting too much, and that's no basis for a relationship.

But over the years we've stayed friends, and kept in touch. Faith is one of the best friends I've ever had. I've never wavered in my convictions that I can trust her with absolutely anything, and that she will always be there for me. And I like to think she knows the same about me. I wouldn't lose her friendship for the world.

One last note. A year or two ago Faith told me that she was seeing someone again, so I of course started interrogating her for more information. She eventually told me that he was actually still married, and I was completely shocked by that. I told her that I supported her in her choices, but that I wasn't really sure I approved. And, in truth, I didn't -- at the time I was still pretty judgmental of anyone who'd cheat on their spouse. Over time my stance on the matter changed -- at least, with respect to her and her beau -- but at first I was not at all happy to hear what she had to say.

In recent months, of course, since reading all the stories from you folks who are in unhappy marriages due to distant, unavailable, or downright abusive husbands or wives, I have rather changed my opinion on the whole thing. If a man's wife outright refuses to have sex with him, or a husband tells his wife that she just doesn't turn him on any more, or there are medical issues preventing one party from participating, or one of the partners is being emotionally or physically abusive -- then the whole "adultery" situation is no longer so cut-and-dried. Faith is no more a homewrecker than the other frustrated people I see stories from every day -- she's just somebody who wants a loving relationship. She just happens to be in love with someone who's already married. And given what she's told me of the situation, the guy has done everything short of a divorce to try and remedy things with his wife. Apparently that woman just doesn't have any interest at all in working out their problems.

In any case, Faith is one of my dearest friends and I still talk to her every couple of days. I wish her nothing but the best and I hope that eventually she'll find a way to be with her lover openly, so that they don't have to hide their relationship from the world at large.

And Faith -- I still love you, too. (Yes, she does know about this journal, and yes, I got her approval before writing about her. Told you she was cool).

-- PB

Panserhistory, part 3: Melissa

Since I started this journal several of you folks have asked me about my past. Who've I been with? you want to know. What was it like, being with them? Did they let you....y'know....do THAT to them? Did they hurt you? Did you hurt them? Did you learn anything from them? Would you do it again, if you had a chance?

So I'm going to write some entries about my history, limited as it is, and let you see for yourself. As always, all names I use here have been changed.

Part 3: Melissa

I've written a bit about Melissa before (see this entry for details) but here's the full story.

I met Melissa at a Fourth of July party hosted by my friend Jonathan. She was a friend of Jonathan's sister. I liked her looks, liked her long curly black hair, liked her intelligence and ready wit, liked her geeky chic look, liked her geeky interests. We spent a lot of time talking that night but I left without getting her number. So, feeling like I was in grade school and sending a note to someone asking "Do you like me? Please check yes or no", I called up Jonathan's sister and, after hemming and hawing a bit, finally got around to asking if Melissa was seeing anyone. I could actually HEAR the smile in her voice as she said no, Melissa wasn't dating anybody, and by the way, would I like her number?

Good god, women can see right through us, can't they?

It was three more days before I got up the nerve to call Melissa, but she seemed delighted to hear from me and we made a date for that weekend. I drove down to see her (she lived about an hour away from me) and we had a perfectly lovely evening. Dinner out, a trip by a bookstore we both loved, winding up with a walk outside on a lovely summer night. We ended up on a wooden swing in her apartment complex, just talking. The night was warm, the stars were kind. I put an arm around her. We talked less and less, letting the silences build. And finally there was a moment when we both turned to each other, and the silence stretched, and slowly, slowly, I bent my face to hers.

If there is such a thing as a perfect first kiss, that was it. It seemed like we both wanted exactly the same thing, and were perfectly in tune with each other; I could see the anticipation on her face and it must have mirrored my own. Her eyes closed a bare moment before her lips met mine and I swear I heard her sigh softly. Her lips were warm and soft, a little damp; I tasted a hint of sweat on her upper lip from our walk.

We kissed, and kissed again. There were no words, only a growing urgency as our mouths merged. Warm lips, and growing warmer; they opened under mine and her tongue slid into my mouth. She moaned and I sighed in response. Our kisses built and built. Her arms went round my neck. We kissed, and kissed, and kissed.

Eventually I broke from her and mentioned something about not wanting to get arrested (we were, after all, still in a public place, albeit somewhat secluded on this little backyard swing). So we went into her apartment, where we made it all of five feet from the door before I backed her against the wall and we resumed our oral duel. More kisses, hungry now, full of fire. We must have stood there, just kissing and hands gently exploring, for a good fifteen minutes.

In what may have been one of the all-time bonehead moves, I fianlly broke from her again and said that I'd better head home now, or pretty soon I wasn't going to be able to. There was a hint of disappointment on her face but she agreed that it was probably best to cut things off there for now. I asked if she'd like to come visit me next weekend and she looked delighted. She immediately went to her desk, pulled out a pad of paper, and asked for directions; seeing her bent over the desk like that, I just couldn't resist. I slipped up behind her and put both arms around her, hands going to her breasts, fondling them and squeezing gently.

Now I didn't know it yet, but Melissa's total weak point was her breasts. Just a touch there was enough to get her hot and bothered, and so when I began fondling her tits that night after our heated kissing interlude, she told me later that she felt a spike of desire go through her so sharply that she wanted to turn around and jump me right then and there. As it was, she moaned loudly and pressed back against me, rubbing her ass against my crotch, confirming for herself that I was just as turned on as she was.

Somehow, I don't know how, I managed to stop after a minute or two, and in a ragged voice I finished giving her directions to my place. I drove off feeling a giddy excitement that she evidently shared.

********************

A week later, and Melissa and I were parked on my couch, watching TV. My roommate, showing an understanding beyond belief, had absented himself for the evening (in fact, he crashed at someone else's pad that night, giving me -- us -- plenty of privacy). It had been another fine evening, full of more good conversation and laughter, with plenty of double entendres and innuendos. Sitting there on my couch soon gave way to more kissing and exploration; soon she was lying back and moaning while my lips brushed against her neck and my hands slipped underneath the shirt she wore to find warm flesh beneath.

After a few more minutes of delicious torture, I found the balls to bring up protection. In all-time bonehead move #2, I hadn't bothered to pick up any condoms ahead of time, somehow thinking that I'd be jinxing things if I did. She agreed, with a sultry smile, that we should go and get some. Like, right now. Like, how fast can we get there and back?

I set a new record for a trip to the grocery store, and pretty soon we were back in my apartment, and then in my bedroom. I undressed her slowly, so slowly, marveling at her body -- she had a fantastic figure, womanly, full of curves. It wasn't a model's frame, but I didn't care -- the curve of her hips, the globes of her ass, the magnificent swells of her breasts -- oh god, she had fantastic tits. Soft, full, hanging heavy under their own weight, large hard nipples, begging to be sucked. And I sucked them, and she moaned, and soon we were on my bed, and I had my head buried between her legs, and I was slurping her pussy until she was crying out my name with joy.

It was here that I made yet another tactical error. I had been hard from pretty much the get-go, and the smart thing would have been to give her an oral orgasm and then give her what both of us were obviously wanting very badly -- a good, proper fucking. But she tasted so good and she was enjoying my attentions so much that I just kept right on going. She came again. And again. And again. And my aching cock was still aching. And pretty soon my balls were aching too, from frustration. But I ignored them and kept slurping away at her. Again she came. Again. And my balls were REALLY aching now, to the point where I made a soft sound of pain when I shifted position. After about an hour and a half of oral delight for her, she was begging me to take her. I fumbled a condom open, got my jeans and underwear off and tried to slip it on, but discovered to my horror that the steady dull pain from my balls -- now quite intense! -- had made me go soft. I massaged myself a bit to see if I could get hard again, and my balls sent a fresh bolt of pain through me. I tried a few more times, and Melissa even had a go herself, wrapping her fingers around me and then taking my cock in her mouth -- but it was no go.

Eventually we halted for the night, me still bright red from shame, she waving it off as nothing serious. "It happens sometimes, don't worry about it," she said. "We'll try again another time. And there WILL be another time, believe me." She fell asleep in my arms, and I lay there reflecting that sometimes too much foreplay really IS too much. Yet another lesson learned.

*******************

A week later, and Melissa had sent me a letter informing me that she didn't really like condoms much anyway, and so she'd been to see the doctor to get on the pill. She went on in much more intimate detail, telling me exactly how beautiful and sexual she felt when she was with me, and telling me how much she looked forward to seeing me again and continuing where we'd left off.

And we did. Oh, god, did we ever.

Again my roommate had absented himself for the evening (man, did I owe him big-time) and this time we skipped all the preliminaries like dinner and conversation. She showed up at my door and we went directly to bed -- do not pass Go, do not collect $200, go directly to hot makeouts. This time she undressed me, and then I undressed her, and we stood there, nude, caressing and kissing for ten or fifteen minutes, hands exploring heated flesh. I slipped two fingers inside her; she was wet, so wet, and her knees buckled when I penetrated her. She retaliated by wrapping her hand around my shaft and pumping me oh so slowly. I bore her backward onto the bed and she spread her legs wide, breathing "Now, now, do it now,". I slid about a bit, trying to find the right spot, and suddenly I found the right spot and there was no longer any doubt as I sank into her.

God, what a feeling, to be inside a woman for the first time, unencumbered by a condom. Rachel and I had made love many times but had used a condom for each. This was the first time I'd had sex without one and oh dear GOD it felt good. I think I just lay there on top of her, grinning, cock pulsing inside her, for a good two or three minutes, before I even started to move. But eventually I did, and she began moving with me, and before the night was over we had fucked four times.

********************

That was the beginning of a beautiful relationship -- at least, in the bedroom. Rachel had initiated me into sex but had never been tremendously enthusiastic; I'd gotten the impression that she was mostly indulging me as a gift. Melissa, on the other hand, was just as voracious and insatiable as I was -- she loved sex and she wanted it often, and wasn't shy about showing it. Whenever we were together it was usually a tossup as to which one of us would jump the other one first.

Oh, what a playground we made of each others' bodies. We fucked in every room of our apartments. We made love for hours, entwined on her bed with raindrop shadows sliding down our bodies. We did it standing up leaning against her bookshelf. I bent her over the desk in her bedroom, enacting what I'd wanted to do so badly that first night. I took her in her kitchen with the kitchen blinds wide open, providing a free show to anyone who'd happened to walk by outside. We screwed on the couch, in chairs, on the floor, on the stairs, on a table. I'd stay inside her after coming until I went soft, then she'd start squeezing my cock with her pussy and pretty soon I'd be hard again, and we'd get right back into it without me ever having pulled out. We loved to do it in the shower, frequently staying in there and fucking for so long that we were more sweaty and messy when we got out than we had been when we got in. We played with toys, with lube, with food; I painted her with honey and licked it all off; she made me her own personal ice-cream sundae and licked THAT all off. I turned her into a Slip-and-Slide with a bottle of massage oil; what a mess THAT made, but we were past caring after we'd fucked each other into a slippery messy coma. We role-played: "teacher and student", "master and slave", "doctor and patient". She dressed up in naughty lingerie and delighted in the reaction it got from me. We read erotica together, making love in interludes or whenever we got too hot; we watched porn together, both laughing at it and getting turned on by the hotter scenes. She was always up for exploration, for trying new things, for new scenarios, dirty talk, new positions, phone sex, mutual masturbation, experimentation -- anything went, anytime.

She loved to be held down. She loved it when I pressed my full weight on her, when I pressed her hard against a wall or pinioned her by her wrists. She came so hard she almost exploded when I tied her up and had my way with her. She loved having her breasts fondled, her nipples sucked, and sucked hard; she could come just from me playing with and sucking on her nipples. She loved fucking for hours, sliding from position to position over and over and eating dinner in bed because we STILL couldn't keep our hands off each other. I still remember how we just lost control when we were together, tossing inhibitions out the window. I recall one time in particular when we had made so much noise that the cops came to my door, saying they'd been called because neighbors had thought someone was being murdered in here. I had to produce Melissa, dressed in just a bathrobe, before they got the idea. (I'd never seen a cop blush before.) We were always ready, always open; just a few seconds of caresses -- from either of us! and we'd be breathing hard and trying to restrain ourselves. Countless times we'd plan to go out for the evening and never make it out the door because we just couldn't keep our hands off each other. We spent a lot of time at my place or hers just walking around nude, because it saved time disrobing; after all, we never knew when the urge might strike next. I loved that she was completely unselfconscious about her body and loved to show it to me; she told me later that I was the first guy she'd felt that way around, and I felt a smug self-satisfaction.

********************

Unfortunately, although Melissa and I were utterly perfect in bed (and out of bed, and anywhere else), we were not tremendously well-suited as romantic partners. We had a lot of things in common, but we had many other things that turned out to be personality conflicts, and eventually we split up. Oh, we kept giving it a try for several more years, on and off; one of us would call the other to say hi, and drop by for a visit, and usually they'd wind up spending the night because the smoldering physical attraction between us was always ready to burst into flame again. Sometimes we'd even agree to make another go of the relationship, but within a few months the old problems would crop up once more. And neither of us was the sort for completely casual sex, quite aside from the fact that we had so much emotionally invested in each other already that it could never really be casual again. We finally had our last fling about eight or nine years after I first met her -- she'd come to my place for a visit and, just like old times, had started fondling each other while watching a movie, and soon I was banging her from behind while she screamed for me to do it harder. I remember that she told me as she was leaving the next morning that this might be our last time for a while because she was going on a date next week. And oddly enough, I felt delighted for her.

Melissa is married now, to that same guy. He treats her like a queen and they are very much in love. I met him once and he seems like a really great guy. You get the impression that they are just perfect for each other -- interlocking puzzle pieces that fit just so, and can't be pulled apart without tremendous effort. They have the kind of marriage where they positively glow when they look at each other.

I wonder sometimes if we had that same glow when she was with me.

Thanks, Melissa. You taught to me that women can and do enjoy the hell out of sex, and helped me to be just as uninhibited about it as you. You are still one of the best lovers I've ever had.

-- PB

Panserhistory, part 2: Rachel

Since I started this journal several of you folks have asked me about my past. Who've I been with? you want to know. What was it like, being with them? Did they let you....y'know....do THAT to them? Did they hurt you? Did you hurt them? Did you learn anything from them? Would you do it again, if you had a chance?

So I'm going to write some entries about my history, limited as it is, and let you see for yourself. As always, all names I use here have been changed.

Part 2: Rachel

My sophomore year at college, I had gotten hooked (along with much of the rest of my dorm) on a precursor to today's MMORPGs. This one was text-based, and played over a telnet connection to a server hosted by another university. The acronym for it at the time was MUD -- Multiple User Domain (or Dungeon), and it was a sort of Dungeons and Dragons world, but programmed by regular people, college students mostly. This particular one was really cool not just for the extremely imaginative worlds that had been created by those who ran it, but also by the social aspect of things. As I discovered rather quickly, you can get to know some very interesting people by talking to them over the Internets. Except it wasn't called "the Internet" yet -- most people were still using 300 baud modems for home connections to BBSs. Much easier, as we did, to use a university's T1 lines for higher bandwidth. I kept my university email address and access to their telnet system for almost a decade after I graduated, upon which they finally retired that system....but I digress.

Anyway, I got hooked on playing this MUD, as I said, and most evenings could find me in the dorm's computer lab, typing away. I had already been a speedy typist but all the interactions and conversations I was having in this medium ramped it way up until I was over the 100 wpm mark. It's stuck with me to this day, which is very handy for instant message conversations or emails. Or trying to get one of these musings written quickly when I have limited time....but again I digress.

Back to the game. I had made lots of friends via this medium, if you could call someone a friend when you had never met them face to face. And sometimes more than friends -- several relationships blossomed between friends of mine and people they had met in the game world. I had one myself, actually, and even had some fun times experimenting with cybersex with "her" -- until I found out from a mutual friend that that person was actually a guy. Embarrassing! Dropped that one in a hurry when I found out, you can be sure. :) On the other hand, some of the relationships got quite serious -- in fact a friend of mine actually started dating one of the other players, who it turned out was just playing from a nearby dorm. They may still be together, for all I know.

Anyway, one of these relationships got serious enough for the girl to fly out and visit the guy in my dorm who was chasing her. I didn't know him well, but I'd talked with her plenty in-game, and considered her to be a pretty good friend. He'd invited everybody in our local "group" to come hang out when she showed up. I dropped by and saw most of the people in our local group hanging out and talking with him. Where was she, though? I craned my neck and looked around a bit for a strange face -- and there she was, sitting on the couch and looking a bit abandoned. So I wandered over and said hi, and she introduced herself as Rachel.

It turned out that the attraction he'd claimed he had for her had pretty much dissolved when he first saw her because she didn't meet his standards of physical beauty. This puzzled me then and puzzles me to this day -- she wasn't conventionally beautiful, perhaps, but she had a withdrawn, mousy librarian chic thing going that I personally found very attractive. And she had lovely soft lips and truly beautiful eyes, and sweet-smelling long hair.

Oops. I'm getting ahead of myself. At the time, I just hung out and talked with her, because after all she wasn't there to visit me. The guy she was there to visit wound up mostly ignoring her, but I saw her a few times over the next few days, and then she went back home. After that, we got to be a lot closer, both online and off. Over the next few months we would spend lots of time talking via the MUD, sending emails when neither of us was there, or sending real, actual letters when neither of us had online access. Things grew, and developed, and we got to be closer and closer, several times talking about the attraction we felt and a few times even fooling around with cybersex, all the while talking about how we wished it were the real thing.....and by spring break of that year we had decided it was time for me to come visit her. So I flew out to see her, planning to spend a week with her, expecting nothing more than friendship but hoping for more.

And holy hell, did I get it.

When she met me at the gate, we embraced like long lost lovers (which I suppose we were, in a manner of speaking). We went back to her place and talked while I unpacked my stuff, then she had to go to work. I went with her (she worked in a mall, so I had plenty to keep me occupied for a few hours), then we had some dinner after she got off work, and then we got back to her place....and then we moved to her bedroom, where we began kissing. Gently at first, then more forcefully. We kissed, and kissed, and hands began exploring, and clothes began coming off slowly, and then I began giving her a backrub, massaging her, and eventually, by the glow of warm candles spaced around her bedroom, we made love, for the first of what would prove to be a great many times over the next week.

How to describe having sex for the first time? Even more difficult, how to describe making love, really making love, with somebody that you feel a huge emotional connection with? More difficult still, how to describe the warmth and caring and patience she showed me? Inexperienced and virgin as I was, I was nonetheless possessed of a hugely active imagination, and I'd done plenty of reading and seen lots of porn, so I knew the basic mechanics, but putting everything into place isn't always as easy, I discovered, as "tab A into slot B". But Rachel was a fantastic lover -- patient, helpful with me, guiding me, telling me what worked for her, how she liked to be touched and tasted and mmm, yesss, like that.

I couldn't believe how exciting it was to be lying in bed, stark naked, erection pointing at the ceiling, caressing an also-nude woman who said (and demonstrated quite ably!) that she wanted me. How soft her breasts were. How sweet her hair smelled. How her lips tasted, so hungry, so fresh. How soaking wet her pussy was, and how sharp its aroma, so piercing, such evidence of arousal.

I made love to her with hands, lips, teeth, tongue, caressing and licking every inch of her body, and spending a good 30 minutes worshiping her orally (she told me later that she came three times) before I even considered entering her. If I was going to do this, I thought, I was going to do it right. Finally I sheathed my aching cock in a condom and crawled on top of her. I asked her if she was sure she wanted this (apparently still in shock), and she responded with a grin, reaching down between us and guiding me home into her warm, wet pussy.

I groaned as I slid in. Oh, gods, this was so much better than I'd ever dreamed. We started a slow rhythm; I braced myself on hands above her, our bodies wet with sweat, sliding back and forth in delicious friction. I gazed into her eyes as we made love, holding each other close, breathing in tandem. It was all soft sighs and gentle murmurs and quiet endearments, and when I stiffened a few minutes later and flooded the condom, it was one of the most exquisite sensations I'd ever felt.

We made love over and over for the next week, whenever we had spare time and she was not working. She rarely initiated things, but she was always receptive to my advances -- or if she wasn't in the mood, she never showed it and would indulge me anyway. When she was too sore too fuck, we would lie there nude, caressing and touching each other, snuggling close, kissing and fondling. We did it mostly in missionary position, but played some with doggy-style and once with her on top. We played with mutual masturbation. I was a kid let loose in a playground and she, it seemed, was equally willing, even if not quite as enthusiastic. And it was so good, so very good, to hear that despite my inexperience I was apparently "fucking fantastic" in bed. There was enough self-confidence from that to carry me through some very bad years, and it gave a huge boost to my self-image.

And when we weren't making love, we were snuggling, holding each other close, talking about anything and everything. She told me things she'd never told anyone else, and I shared secrets with her that I haven't told anyone since. We spoke of our childhoods, our fears, hopes and dreams, the things that hurt us, the things that made us cry in the dead of night. We were balm for each others' troubled souls.

And when we weren't making love, or snuggling, or emotionally bonding, we were out exploring her town. Wandering across campus. Seeing cult films at the campus theater. Eating at the great local restaurants. Hanging out with local friends of hers (some of whom were also regulars on the MUD we frequented, and ALL of those gave us very, very knowing looks when they saw us holding hands). And generally making the most of the time we had together.

When we parted, we both knew, I think, that we were far too different (and much, much too far apart) to ever make things work on a permanent basis. But, as she said as she kissed me goodbye with a tear in her eye, "we'll always have Paris, eh?" And I smiled sadly, and agreed, and gave her a long slow kiss and a long tight hug, and waved goodbye until I couldn't see her anymore, and returned home, feeling emotionally and physically wrung out.

I did keep in touch with Rachel. We still saw each other in-game, and emailed frequently, and sent letters when (inevitably) we drifted away from the MUD, which really had gotten to take over too much of our lives. At least we never got obsessed to the point where it affected our grades, as had happened with some of our colleagues! Still, we kept writing each other, and eventually she met a local guy who treated her fantastically well, and she wrote less after that, with good reason. I heard from her a year or two after that; she said that they were getting married and she was moving to Canada with him. I sent back a delighted reply, and that, sadly, was the last I've heard of her.

I've tried to find her a few times over the past few years. But she has a very common name, and when she took her husband's last name it was even more common. Google searches and Facebook searches don't help much when they turn up hundreds of thousands of results. So I think about her at odd times, and wish her well, and hope she's as happy as she deserves to be.

Because for a spring break week in 1992, she made me happier than I'd ever been.

Thank you, Rachel. I never said it enough when we were "together", so I'll say it now. I loved you, and part of me always will love you.

-- PB

Panserhistory, Part 1: Charlotte

Since I started this journal several of you folks have asked me about my past. Who've I been with? you want to know. What was it like, being with them? Did they let you....y'know....do THAT to them? Did they hurt you? Did you hurt them? Did you learn anything from them? Would you do it again, if you had a chance?

So I'm going to write some entries about my history, limited as it is, and let you see for yourself. As always, all names I use here have been changed. 

Part 1: Charlotte

We'll get the difficult stuff out of the way first. I didn't date at all through middle school and high school, didn't go to my junior or senior prom, never even kissed a girl. It wasn't for lack of interest, but being painfully shy, depressive, and geeky with a low self-image was enough to keep me from even asking anyone out. When I got to college, I at least attempted to grow and venture out a bit, but the first ten girls I asked out in my freshman year all said no or were dating someone already. Repeated rejections on top of an already low self-image was more than I was ready to handle at the time and I was pretty deeply depressed for much of my first year.

So when I finally got my initiation the way I did, it was one hell of a shock.

It was about four months till the end of the school year. In my slack time I was working for the university, a thankless administrative position that mostly had me sitting at a desk and looking up information for people who asked. One day, on my day off, one of my coworkers rang me up and told me to come by when I had some time, somebody -- a GIRL! -- had left a note for me at the desk. Curious, I walked halfway across campus to my work building and stopped by the front desk. My coworker handed me a sealed envelope with my name on it and said "Open it! Maybe it's a proposition for luuuuuuuuuuuuv." I punched him on the shoulder and said "Yeah, as if," but at his urging I did go ahead and open it up anyway.

And read: 

[my name] --

"If there were dreams to sell
Merry and sad to tell
And the crier rang his bell
What would you buy?"
-- S.S. Beddoes

I have wanted to ask you this for some time now. You intrigue me -- something not a lot of people do.

As always, 
Charlotte Richmond

I will remember that moment for the rest of my life. The world swam, literally, in front of my eyes -- everything went all wavery and swimmy. I staggered and almost fell, and had to clap a hand on the counter to steady myself. My coworker wanted to know what the hell was wrong but I could not find a single word to reassure him. I walked out without even thanking him for calling me. My mind was whirling and twirling willy-nilly and I was in a daze all the way back to my dorm.

I ran a quick directory search on her name and discovered that she lived in my own dorm, two floors above me. Emboldened by the note and by the phone number, I was nevertheless terrified, and for hours I tried to pick up the phone and call. Eventually, though, I did, and a warm friendly voice answered. I asked for Charlotte and she said "Speaking". I told her who I was and there was a long silence, which I finally broke. "Hello?"

"Well?" she wanted to know. "Tell me, then -- what would you buy?"

I took a deep breath. "Well, how about I stop by and we talk about it?"

She was smiling, I could tell she was smiling! I'd said the right thing! "That sounds good to me," she said. "I'm in room 617. Stop by anytime."

*****

She was an enchanting vision to me, a small, very beautiful curvy girl with a shy smile, melting brown eyes, and a cloud of straight, light brown hair framing her face. I still remember how stunned I was when she first opened her door and I saw her for the first time. Hell, I remember how stunned my friends were when they saw her holding my arm. Surely, I thought, a girl like her would never really approach ME? But she had. She had a ready wit, a quiet humor that bubbled over only occasionally, but when it did it was like the sun breaking through clouds. We never officially became boyfriend and girlfriend, but from that day we were together at every spare moment we could manage. I was woefully inexperienced, but I did my best to fumble my way through the intricacies of a relationship. I treated her like a princess, which she really was, to me. We wrote poetry to each other. We would lay outside on the grass and watch the clouds. We would go to movies, or restaurants, or concerts -- all the usual stuff for college students. We would go walking across the campus, holding hands, silently communing. We would study together in her room and I would just watch her for long minutes, dust motes drifting in the sunlight between us during those endless spring days. We would talk on the phone when we weren't together -- well, I would talk and she would listen, usually.

Unfortunately, Charlotte was not the best partner for somebody who was as uncertain and inexperienced as me. She was equally reticent, equally inexperienced (from what little I gathered of her over the months we were together) and equally shy -- it was a miracle she'd even reached out to me in the first place. We had some short kissing sessions -- she was the first girl I kissed, and the first girl I ever kissed with tongue -- but never anything more than that, even after a few months of dating. Her roommate was almost always in the room and I was too afraid to invite her back to my room for any privacy. In addition, she had a number of personality quirks I tried to accomodate at first, but became serious issues over time. She was a strict vegetarian while I'm an unabashed meatasaurus; every time we ate somewhere she would express disapproval over my choices. She was very very quiet, and I spent almost all my time with her trying to get her to talk to me and tell me what she was thinking or feeling. In fact, I poured my soul out to her more than once, only to have her simply smile and say that I hadn't told her anything she didn't already know -- but she never, never reciprocated. She rarely told me why she was with me, or complimented me, or gave me any indication at all why she was with me, period. It's hard when things are that one-sided. She liked to keep me off balance by saying things I'd never expect -- once, while we were at my parents' place, visiting, she grabbed my butt and said "You have a nice rear," then smiled at me and went outside before I could say or do anything. She was a true child of chaos -- taking every day as it came and rarely having a plan, which was at odds with my more methodical nature.

But the biggest stumbling block was that she liked to argue with me just for the sake of the argument, just to see how I would express myself and what points I would raise. She admitted freely that she would just start arguments by saying things that she knew I'd disagree with or that she didn't really mean, and then see how I reacted. This grew old very quickly. In fact, it was the cause of our final split.

We had been dating for about seven months (three of those included summer break, during which she went back home and I only talked to her via phone and letters). We had returned to college and were seeing each other again, and the old problems kept coming up. Still, I tried and tried to make it work, but one night things came to a head. One of the many arguments she'd started with me that night grew, and grew, and grew. She kept provoking me, deliberately saying wilder and wilder things that I knew for a fact were completely against her normal beliefs, until I was in a towering rage. I finally told her I had had enough for the night and slammed out the door.

It was three days before I called her again, and when I did I was informed by her roommate that she didn't want to talk to me any more. I was probably expected to fight for the relationship, but the fact is that I had so little spine at the time that I simply took it without a whimper. I did see her two weeks later after a few attempts to contact her, and we had an enormously awkward dinner at a local restaurant during which little was said and absolutely nothing was resolved. She told me that she would call me in two weeks to let me know what she thought and what she felt. And then I never saw her again.

I did hear from her one more time -- that Christmas, she sent me a card, in which she apologized for her behavior and said that no matter what she had said previously, I was a wonderful person -- a little shy and depressive maybe but a true romantic. She told me that she'd be around her apartment during the holidays if I needed a friend, but I never did call her, figuring it was better to leave things be......and that was the end. 

I'll always be grateful to her, though. She may have been withdrawn, enigmatic, quiet, and chaotic, with personality quirks aplenty. She may have driven me absolutely crazy and kept me off balance from start to finish. And things with her ended very poorly. But she was also stunningly beautiful and intelligent, intoxicating, and enormously good for my ego -- not only was she the first girl I'd ever been with, but she approached me, showing me that yes, I could be desirable and interesting to women. She showed me things I'd never had before, and I'll always remember how her body felt against mine. When she was in my arms, it was like a piece of heaven. No one since then has ever felt quite the same.

Thank you, Charlotte, wherever you are today. Almost two decades later, I still have that note you first sent me.

-- PB

(Note: Those of you who're here just for the hot stuff, there will be more sex in other History entries....but Charlotte deserved special mention even if we never did have sex.)

Across a Crowded Room, part 3

(Please do read part 1, which you can find here, and part 2, which you can find here. My apologies for the delay in finishing this, but I wanted to complete it with a bang, shall we say.)

Science fiction writers use terms like n-space and hyperspace to describe methods for moving between dimensions. There must have been something like that in or near your apartment, because I barely blinked and we were inside. Or maybe it was just that there wasn't room in my head for everyday observations, because I was utterly lost in you; your voice, your scent, your presence, all were so overpowering that there was nothing left but She, She who is all women and none, She who is sexuality defined, She who leaves even the goddess Aphrodite behind in beauty and poise and grace.

You drifted ahead of me, sylphlike, down the corridor, through beams of moonlight streaming through windows. "Here," you said quietly, and beckoned to me. I followed, blinking, eyes adjusting to the dim light. An enormous window at one end of the bedroom had curtains flung wide; silver shine spilled in, painting the thick, heavy bed in bright bas-relief, strong contrast to the shadows elsewhere in the room. You reached for a lamp switch; moving fast, I took your wrist and prevented you. "No," I said. "Nothing artificial tonight. I want to see you in all your glory without any aids."

In the luminous glow of the moon, you turned to me and turned your face up. I stepped close, bending near you, taking in every line, every curve of your face. Long eyelashes blinked, slow and sultry, waiting. Your lips parted, your tongue ran along your lower lip. I breathed deeply of your scent, reaching down to your waist and placing my hands there, gently.

Closer. I ran my hands up your sides, carefully avoiding the sideswell of your breasts; ran fingers around to your back and up to your shoulders. I played with your curls for a moment and bent closer still, inches away now from your face. You sighed and closed your eyes, lips parting further and pouting. It was long past time....

Taking your face in my hands, I closed the remaining distance and kissed you oh-so-lightly on the lips. Brushing softly against them, tingling touch only. Your mouth soft and inviting, warm and growing warmer. Again I kissed you softly, then with a bit more force. Again. Again. Each touch of our lips was deeper, more intimate. I caressed your face and neck as our mouths merged, melding together now, wet and hungry for more. Your arms went under mine and locked around my waist; with a soft murmur of need you pulled me close. I felt the soft weight of your breasts against me and wanted to crush you in my arms...but that could wait.

Again. We kissed and kissed, our breath coming faster now, soft moans escaping each time we pulled free. There was fire there now; I felt like I was kissing a piece of the clean sun, a sister to the moonlight now bathing us both in its radiance. One of my hands went, involuntarily, to the back of your neck, pulling your head harder against me; the other slid down to the small of your back, pulling your body closer against me there. Our tongues met now, twining together, hot and wet and urgent. My head spun. My mouth burned.

Again. Again. Moaning into each others' mouths now, heads turning in perfect synch as we tried new angles and new variations; still we explored, tasted each other, drank deep from the fountain of lust that was now spraying over us both. My hand on your back slid lower, cupped your ass, squeezed gently; you moved against me and cooed in delight as your belly pressed against my hardness.

We broke then, staring at each other, panting. Seconds passed; blue eyes locked with gray, that silent offer and counteroffer more plain than ever. Then: "More," you sighed. "I want more."

"And so do I," I agreed, bending to kiss you again, just once this time, but a deep, plunging and forceful kiss this time, bending you backward, supporting you with one hand on your head and the other at your back. I felt your arms clutch me convulsively, fingers digging into my back; a bright spear of delight shot through me and I groaned into your mouth. I pulled back and pulled you up, releasing you. Slowly, a panther stalking its prey, I stood back and began to circle you, eyeing you for what you were: the most delicious treat I'd seen in years.

You stood there proudly, offering yourself for my gaze. Your hands ran up your body, from curve of hips to flat stomach to swell of breasts in front; you lifted and cupped them for me, noting with approval how my breath caught and my grin grew. Up your hands went, caressing yourself, painting with desire, lingering here and there, a touch on your nipples, a curl round your chin, sweeping upwards through your hair as you arched your back and tossed your head. You sighed softly as I came to rest behind you; again placing my hands on your waist, I bent close and nipped at the expanse of skin between neck and shoulder. I felt you shiver, and began kissing my way up your neck, nibbling gently, bending forward, arms locked around you now, pressing against your ass insistently so you'd know without a doubt how you were affecting me.

Long moments we stood there, sighing, as I kissed and licked up your neck to your ear. Bending forward a bit more, I licked at your earlobe and heard a soft breathy gasp from you. I took it in my mouth and sucked gently, running one hand up your front to cup and fondle one breast, nipples now standing out very nicely. You arched forward, into my hand, pushing your tits into my caresses. My other hand was busy lower down, running over your belly and down to your thighs, caressing, exploring. You melted against me, reaching one arm back, hand going round my neck and clenching there.

Now both hands were on your tits, stroking and squeezing. Never hard, never aggressive, but fondling and teasing, feeling them tighten underneath my ministrations, nipples poking out so hard they seemed likely to cut through the silk of your dress. Low moans drifted from your lips; you wriggled your ass against my erection, bringing moans from me as well, making me push harder against your softness.

I pulled back, planting a final trail of kisses down the knob of your spine, and reached for the zipper at the rear of your dress. "Oh yes," I heard you sigh, and couldn't have agreed more. Feeling more excited than a kid unwrapping a Christmas present, I pulled the zipper down all the way to its stop just above your ass, an expanse of milky white flesh meeting my hungry gaze. I began planting kisses and licks down your spine, soft sighs from you urging me onward; I felt you shrug your arms free and the dress's front fell downward. Squatting, I planted a kiss on the small of your back, then reached both hands around front to your thighs, caressing, running upwards. The tight silk frustrated me; I couldn't get at the real goodies. I had to get this dress off you all the way.

Other things first, though. I reached for the clasp on your bra, my growing excitement finally betraying me as my fingers fumbled with it. I heard a low glissando giggle from you but you didn't offer to help; instead you stood very still until I slipped the clasp free and peeled the bra off you. Again I stepped close, cupping your breasts in my hands. Soft. So incredibly soft and smooth. You moaned as I lifted them and caressed, palms and thumbs running over your nipples, so very hot and hard. I squeezed one gently and you cried out "yes!"; delighted, I slid my other hand to your other nipple and squeezed that one as well, tweaking and rolling it between thumb and forefinger.

Your hips bucked and your ass thudded back against my crotch, reminding me there were further delights to be found. I slid my hands lower and began working the dress free from where it'd bound up around your hips; you undulated from side to side, somehow managing to brush against my cock repeatedly while still "helping" me get the dress off; seconds later it fell free and puddled around your ankles. You stepped out of it, now clad solely in a pair of spike heels; I rocked back, stunned, realizing your panties hadn't come off in a mass with the dress -- you just weren't wearing any at all.

You turned to face me, gloriously, unbelievably nude. "Do you like what you see?" you asked, licking your lips.

"God, do I," I muttered hoarsely. What a sight you were -- body bathed in moonlight, creamy white skin spattered with freckles here and there; a flush spreading down your face and chest; bright rosy red nipples standing at attention on perfectly-shaped breasts; a tiny, cute navel; intoxicating swell of hips; lovely firm thighs....and oh yes -- a perfectly-kept landing strip pointing the way towards something I wanted very badly to taste by now.

But not yet. I circled you again, touching you here and there, running my hands over your body, caressing, squeezing, inflaming you further. I'd bend to take a nipple in my mouth as I came round the front, or meet your mouth with mine for more deep, wet kissing, or squeeze the cheeks of your ass with my hands and pull you against me, feeling the heat of your skin through my clothes now. So hot. I wanted that fire. I wanted you. I wanted you.

My hands now went to the buttons on my shirt; eagerly, you began helping me, your fingers exploring and questing over my skin as the shirt was spread wide. You played with the few hairs on my chest, pressing your palms against my pectorals; I arched my shoulders as the shirt slipped backwards and off me, and was surprised as you stepped close, capturing both arms behind me, winding the loose bits of the shirt around the wrists for a temporary binding.

Now it was you who was in control, stepping close, rubbing your breasts against my chest, your hand on my ass, pulling me close. You leaned in and planted a line of kisses down my neck and chest; I threw back my head and moaned as your hot lips and tongue scored fiery trails down my skin. Gradually your hand slipped away from the shirt and it fell loose, away. I pulled my wrists out of it and it dropped to the floor. I felt your hands on my slacks now, undoing the fastening but stopping there; your small hands went to the bulge (very prominent now) at the front, rubbing, squeezing gently, running up and down my length. I moaned again. "God, that feels good," I sighed, and you answered "Good," happily, now going to your knees to plant kisses on my cock through my slacks, still caressing it with one hand and squeezing my ass with your other one. The friction was maddening.

A few moments of this delicious torture and you stood again. Hazily, I realized that you'd somehow gotten my shoes and socks off as well while I was busy floating in the clouds; I'd certainly been in no condition to notice. I felt your hands working along my length and then pulling the zipper down; your mouth quirked into an O of surprise when you realized I, too, had worn no underwear and only hot flesh awaited your questing fingertips. And it was hot, very hot, heavy and hard beneath your admiring gaze as you pulled my slacks down. And soon it was beneath your admiring fingers as well. You ran your hand along the shaft, testing its texture; I gasped at the contrast, softness vs. hardness, delicious friction. You took me firmly in hand and pumped me twice, quickly, sharply; I gasped again and felt my balls draw up in pleasure.

And then we were in each others' arms again. Skin on skin, so exquisite. I pulled you against me, firmly but not crushingly, my cock standing up between us, an exclamation point of desire. Our mouths met again for a hungry kiss, opening deeply, devouring, tasting, sucking at tongues and lips. My hands clenched on your ass, your arms locked round my neck, your fingernails dug in hard to my shoulderblades. I felt you wiggle against me, delighting at the way my cock throbbed harder and harder against you, delectable torture.

Now I bore you backward towards the bed and lifted you in my arms. Grinning, you kicked your shoes off and they clattered to the floor, fetching up in a corner. I bent and laid you down upon the coverlet; it looked like black velvet and felt softer still. I stood by the bedside a moment, admiring; the moonlight spilled in rivulets of silver over your curves, shadows pooling in the hollows the moon's caresses couldn't reach. You smiled up at me and beckoned me with one finger. I took the invitation and crawled onto the bed, spreading your legs, and you grinned again, this time in anticipation, as I began kissing my way up your thighs. You arranged yourself on the pillows and settled in for some enjoyment.

Kissing, licking, sucking; I tasted your scent on my lips as I got closer to your pussy. Musky and sweet, maddening and arousing. I breathed deep, filling my head with that aroma, then lapping delicately, oh so delicately, at your folds, opening you with my tongue, spreading your lips with mine. Such a taste -- no gourmand had ever had a variety of flavors like this one, earthy and complex, sweet and spicy all at once. I put one hand under your thigh and moved it outward; the other hand stole upward and began caressing one breast and tweaking your nipple again. I ran my nose along your landing strip, liking the way your scent had lingered there; perhaps you'd been rubbing yourself before I accosted you in the club? But why wonder about that, I wondered, when the real thing's available? And I dove back in, feasting on you with lips and tongue, lapping up your nectar, using the broad side of my tongue to lick you from bottom to top and back again.

Loud moans and cries were my reward as I continued my ministrations. I felt your hips undulating slowly, not bucking hard, not yet. Your thighs and belly were trembling with need. I wanted more, and I took it, teasing your folds open further until your pink pearl glistened in the moonlight. I began to lick slowly all around it, providing gentle pressure on the sides in passing, getting you wet and sticky with my saliva, mixing it with your own juices for a fantastically wet lube. Soon I closed my lips around your clit and squeezed it softly, once, twice. I heard a louder moan and smiled to myself, now licking you in earnest, tasting that nectar that was flowing so freely, getting it all over my face and lips and chin. I loved the wet sounds, the slickness, the liquid-on-liquid tones of pure cunt worship. Which this was -- I wanted nothing more than to stay here for hours, worshiping you, bringing you from mountaintop to mountaintop, whispering endearments as you moaned and thrashed, coming and coming until you couldn't remember your own name.

You had other ideas, though. I felt your hands on my head, pulling upward; I lifted reluctantly from your sweetness, wiping the back of my hand absently across face and chin to dry myself a bit. What I saw in your very direct gaze immediately drove all thoughts of further oral worship out of my head. A look of purest need, a look just on the threshold of begging, a look that reminded me of the growing ache in my balls and the throbbing need of my own cock. It wasn't a want anymore. It was a need. I needed you, and you needed me. "Yes," you sighed, and "Now" I answered.

I slid upward, forward, over you, poised and fluid. Your hands went between us, positioning me, angling me, pointing the way; you spread your legs and raised your hips. Smoothly, effortlessly, I glided up and into you, that electrifying moment of first mergence as always sending a shock right through the deepest pleasure centers of my brain.

We lay there, sweetly enclasped, for long moments. You drew up your legs and locked them around my ass, your hands moving up and down my back. "Yes, yes," you moaned. The animal side of me wanted to fuck you right through the mattress, but instead I began a slow, grinding rhythm, keeping my weight balanced on my palms, my stomach brushing against yours, driving my hardness deeply into your all-enfolding wet tunnel. In and out, in and out, moist sounds drifting, soft cries of pleasure from both of us. There were words there too, but only small phrases: "yes" here, "more" there, "oh, like that"....instructions we followed, feedback we passed back and forth as our pleasure built and built into another incredible feedback loop.

Sensations. Such sensations I'd never felt before. It wasn't just some trick of well-trained muscles, or that you were tighter and hotter than any woman I'd been with before, or that your skin was softer, or your nipples more exquisitely hard-tipped -- although all of those things were true. Maybe the moon was lending its magic here, but I began to realize as our rhythm picked up that windows were going to break from the screams when we came. Groaning, balancing on one palm, I reached the other arm around to lift and spread you further, spearing deeper and harder into you with each thrust. "Yes, yes," you urged me on. "Harder. Oh, god, like that. Right there." Your "right there" was perfectly in agreement with my own; delicious friction built and built and built all around me with every stroke I took. Our fit was exquisite, our movements effortlessly synched, every straining urge pulling us closer to a pure mergence.

Our gazes locked again and this time the eye contact was searing. I felt a dazzling shock go through us both, and knew by the shuddering gasps we were both making that we were right on the edge. "Can I?" I wanted to know, almost begging, and you threw back your head, crying out "Yes! Yes! Yes! Fill me now!" And I did, bucking against you, screaming "oh FUCK yes!". I thrust hard twice more, then fountained urgently, still screaming, feeling your pussy clenching around me almost unbearably tightly, seeming to shape and direct each blast, aiming my spurts so there was no part of you left unfilled by my hot cream. And you were coming too, crying out your own pleasure in keening wails, banshee howls, drawn out and out and out until I wondered how you still had breath left to scream. But I only wondered it dimly -- I was busy, still thrusting, still spurting, my hands clenching your ass.

A short time later I collapsed on top of you, still buried balls deep inside. I felt you stroking my back, and turned my head to nuzzle at the hollow of your throat, planting soft kisses, feeling your pulse beating at my lips. I heard you humming quietly, a sleepy tune I couldn't recognize, and with some effort I lifted up to gaze at your face, wreathed in a goofy grin that must have mirrored my own.

"So," I asked softly, "does this mean I finally get to find out your name?"

And you smiled.......

-- PB