Message-ID: <852eli$9705212114@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: Path: qz!news.accessus.net!not-for-mail X-Path-Preload: news.accessus.net preloaded to thwart rogue canceller there Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: From: Molly Subject: Hair Hair copyright Molly, 1997 I had always loved his hair. Long, thick hair, the shade of bitter chocolate, smooth and well-kept - the complete opposite of my short, easy-care mop. As he talked, he looked around the room, and I could have watched his hair swing from side to side for hours on end. It was always a struggle to bring my mind back to whatever was under discussion, as I day-dreamed about running my hands through it, moving it aside so gently to nuzzle his neck, twining my fingers in the ends of the hair to pull his head back and kiss his mouth hard enough to feel teeth... I was lost. I don't remember the first time we kissed. A sorry statement, but true; it was probably one of those random goodbye kisses between friends that only have meaning if you're looking for it. Sometimes, when he had had a few too many drinks, any woman within reach would be kept busy removing his hands from her arms, legs... but he never lost his good humour, and a whispered 'No' would cause him to stop. Lecherous, but well-intentioned. Things changed one night at a party. Oh, you've all been there, you all know the drill; suddenly you find yourself looking at someone in a whole new light, and the little voice of reason at the back of your mind is trying to scream "Are you _mad_?" while the rest of your mind throws caution to the wind and applauds as your lips meet, your hands explore, and the world shifts a degree or two on its axis. And what I remember most is my hands buried in his hair, like heavy silk flowing across my skin. I tried to forget - I was living with someone, after all, and so was he - but it never really quite worked. Once in a while it would happen that I'd be the last to leave, or he would, and we'd steal a few moments, kissing passionately in the hallway while my boyfriend or his girlfriend was yawning their way to bed a couple of yards away. I think they knew, I'm sure they both did, but for whatever reasons they ignored what was going on. A few months later, we had arranged to meet in the city. Both of our partners were away on business, so a drink with a friend was not that unusual. I met him in a bar, and we chatted about nothing much for the first couple of drinks, then decided to move somewhere else to find some food. We walked a few hundred yards, then turned down a darker side street, and he stopped. I started to ask what was wrong, but his lips silenced me, and once again I grabbed handfuls of his hair, pulling his face down towards mine. He bent down even further, his teeth grazing my neck very slightly as he licked the soft skin between my ear and my jaw; I left a row of light kisses along the parting down the centre of his scalp, markers on that which I wished to possess. The street was quiet; even in the centre of the city there are little-travelled places, and we had found one, by accident or by design. I felt his fingers running up my back and towards the catch of my bra, and only then did I realise I was leaning against a wall for support - I wasn't convinced my legs would support me if I stood up straight, but I managed to shift forward enough to allow him to unhook the catch, my breasts thrusting forward slightly as I did so. He leaned against me, his hands moving up between us to touch my breasts, palms stroking across my nipples which stretched towards his touch like plants reaching for the light. I could feel him hard against my leg, and freed one hand from its constant exploration of his hair long enough to caress his ass, smooth under his jeans. My eyes were closed, and as his hands moved across my flesh he murmured, "What do you see?" Barely coherent, I settled for the truth. "Stars. I see stars ..." We broke apart for a moment. I don't know what he needed, but I was gasping for air, so turned on that my eyes were refusing to focus. He took me by the arm and supported me as we walked another hundred yards or so, to a small alley stretching into the darkness behind the buildings to our left. The smell wasn't wonderful, but the chance of nosey passers-by was less than on the street, and once again I found myself leaning against a wall. This time he didn't waste a moment; looking up at me for assent, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of my leggings and eased them down over my hips, down to my knees so that he could spread my legs a little wider apart. My panties followed, and the cool night air on my cunt made me gasp for a moment until the breeze was stifled by his warm mouth, velvet tongue stroking my clit so gently that I had to beg for more, I couldn't help myself. And all the time my fingers stroking his hair, running along the smooth strands, my fingernails massaging his scalp as I loosed one handful to settle back along his shoulders and reached for the next. As I gasped and groaned in the throes of an orgasm, he stood up again, fingers replacing tongue dipping into me, and his tongue exploring my mouth instead of my cunt; I could taste myself on his face, his beard, his lips, and I licked him as though to remove my trace, though of course it was hopeless. I ran one hand gently down the centre of his chest and carefully undid the button on his jeans, reaching inside for his cock and stroking the hair around it with as much joy as my other hand was getting from the hair on his head. We're much of a height, so fucking standing up is not as easy as it might be. But you only ever think about the practicalities before and afterwards, and he slipped into me so easily you'd think we'd done this a million times, rehearsed the angles and the position, knew our marks and our lines -- but it was the first time, and the only time, and I think I screamed his name into the night as he came, and I came, and I almost pulled his lovely hair out by the roots. It's not happened again, and it probably won't; I'm still not sure whether I'm happy it happened at all. But when we kiss goodnight, I twine my fingers in his hair, and we smile at the shared memory. [end] -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /