Message-ID: <7773eli$9804131035@qz.little-neck.ny.us> From: john_dark@anon.nymserver.com Subject: {SJR}"The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane 06A"( bf mF mF+ )[19/52] Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Note: This message was posted by a secure email service. Please report MISUSE OR ABUSE of this automated secure email service to . Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <6gk8kg$anp$1@sparky.wolfe.net> The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults. If you are below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now. The story codes in the subject line are intended to inform readers of possible areas that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author make any guarantee. You should be aware that the story might raise other matters that you find distasteful. Caveat lector; you read at your own risk. These stories have not been written by the person posting them. Many of those e-mail addresses below the author's byline still work. If you liked the story, either drop the author a line at that e-mail address or post a comment to alt.sex.stories.d. Please don't post it to alt.sex.stories itself. Posting the comment with a Cc: to the author would be the best way to encourage them to continue entertaining you. The copyright of this story belong to the author, and the fact of this posting should not be construed as limiting or releasing these rights in any way. In most cases, the author will have further notices of copyright below. If you keep the story, *PLEASE* keep the copyright disclaimer as well. This particular series is by Santo J. Romeo. That might even be his real name. The version that I have copied used his initials, and I have followed suit. It is more a tragic story of coming of age than simply a sex story, and individual segments might not contain any sex. The entire story, however, is a hot one. ======== **** WARNING **** WARNING **** WARNING **** THIS DOCUMENT IS A SEXUALLY GRAPHIC STORY ABOUT AN INTENSE SEXUAL, EMOTIONAL AND INTELLECTUAL RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN A TEENAGE GIRL AND A YOUNG BOY AND THE COURSE OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP OVER A PERIOD OF 10 YEARS. IT IS A DRAMATIZATION ABOUT REAL PEOPLE AND THEIR CON- FLICT WITH SOCIAL EXPECTATIONS. IF THIS SUBJECTS OFFENDS YOU OR IF SEXUAL LANGUAGE UPSETS YOU, OR IF YOU DON'T WANT THIS MATERIAL SEEN BY UNDER-18 OR OTHERWISE UNQUALIFIED PERSONS, DELETE THIS DOCUMENT. THIS DOCUMENT IS COPYRIGHTED 1994, 1996 BY SJR. SO--HEY, YOU CAN COPY IT BUT YOU CAN'T CHANGE IT OR SELL IT UNLESS I SAY SO. ==================================== THE ADVENTURES OF ME AND MARTHA JANE by S.J.R. sjr <73233.1411@CompuServe.COM> ============ PART 6A: Neither my parents nor Martha Jane's mother were home that week. She slept with me for the first time. When I woke, earlier than usual, the morning sun was just above the rooftops of the buildings beyond mine. Dazzling shafts of sunlight rushed into the room. Water was running in the bathroom. I knocked on the bathroom door and Martha Jane invited me in to take a bath with her. I told her I'd love to. I walked into the bathroom and stood in front of the sink, looking at myself in the mirror. She noticed me and said, "Do you spend every morning looking at yourself in the bathroom mirror?" "I don't look any different," I said, observing the same old me in the mirror. "Oh," she smirked, soaping her legs. "But how do you FEEL?" I took in a deep breath, my shoulders back and my chest out, extended my arms far out at each side, and intoned as loudly as I could in my best, loudest, deepest, Texaco Opera Theater baritone, "Steeee-vennnnnn!". I beat my chest several times and grunted like a gorilla. Then going back to my operatic bellow, I sang from the famous aria from Barber of Seville: "Lala Lalala Lalala Lalala Lala...Figaro! Figaro! FigaroFigaro Feeee-gaa-ro!" She said, "My, my! Were you, uh, referring to last night?" I grinned. "Veerry flattering." She stood and moved to one end of the tub to make room. "C'mon, let's wash the sleep off you." I climbed in and she handed me the soap, but before I got started she held me close to her bubbly-slick nakedness and hugged me. "You were asleep when I woke up," she said. "You're a wonder- ful lover." She kissed my forehead. After I soaped down she took the bar of soap from me and lathered her hands, then reached down to wash my cock. She winked. "Remember this?" "Mm-hm." "I never thought of using soap on you when we started all this. Of course, you're a lot bigger now." She rinsed me and stepped out of the tub to dry off. She had chores to do that day, she said, but we had time for breakfast and a little talk. I saw a small blue bag in the corner of the room and asked, "That's all you bought over here with you?" She told me the blue bag was filled with enough spermacide and powders to lower the Indian birth rate. She blushed and said, "You put an awful lot of cum in me." After I fell asleep the night before, she had douched twice, and twice again before I came into the bath. "Douched?" I asked. "It's a long story, hon. Later." She blushed again. Then I remembered reading about it. "Oh. You mean, 'cause we didn't use a rubber?" She sighed impatiently. "Yes." "I don't mind using one." "No!" she said firmly, spreading jars of makeup on the edge of the sink. "And you just forget that those ugly things exist." I asked, "Doesn't all that stuff make you sore or dry inside?" "We can always apply some...lotion," she said, blushing again. I was amused at her modesty. After a night of raw passion, she blushed and avoided my eyes continually. She got into her bra, panties, and slip right away--a far cry from the way we started out a few years before. As I dried off I watched, fascinated and charmed at the sight of her putting on makeup. "What are you staring at?" I answered, "Watching you doing woman things." She laughed mildly, dabbing at her face with powder. "I'm glad you find it so enjoyable. We women think it's just a pain in the neck." "I like watching." "How can you get such a thrill out of watching a female cover up what she really looks like so she can throw the wool over everyone's eyes?" "I like watching women do woman things." "I see." I paused. "I like watching you do woman things. It's not just watching. It's watching you." "Speedy. You're a dear. Really." "I'll fix breakfast," I said, hanging up my towel. "You've added cooking to your many talents?" "Sure," I said. "I've been hanging out in a restaurant for years." "Well...I'll try anything once. Hope we live." I was pretty noisy about it, but I managed to get the eggs sunny-side up and the toast looking just right in two plates on the small kitchen table. Out in the back yard I found a wild daisy and placed it in a small glass of water on the table. She entered the kitchen in her slip. "Wow," she said, "Look at this, picture perfect! You're being so nice to me. It looks beautiful. Is it edible?" We ate and talked. She told me about her schedule for the week. Just listening to what she had planned was exhausting. "I'm a work fiend," she confessed. "I feel guilty if I don't work myself to death every day." She told me about her classes, the kinds of projects she was doing, the problems she encountered with teaching in special education. I told her, "But you like it," and she nodded. "Yes," she said, chewing off a corner from a piece of toast, "not because I'm so dedicated, but because I'm so neurotic. I'm terrified of ever being poor like this again." I asked her more about what she did, about the people she met at school, about what college was like. "The first thing you should know," she warned with a strong edge of sarcasm, "is that every professor at Memphis State is a Commu- nist. And anyone who shows up expecting to actually learn anything is a pathetic egghead. All the girls are virgins, regardless of how many football players they've slept with." She went on with this litany of definitions, exaggerating each item and apparently having a good time doing so; but after a while I realized that she was actually defining herself as a hardworking, dedicated outsider. She stopped at one point and looked at me hesitantly. "Speedy, would you...would you like to spend an afternoon with me and go to Memphis State? It's the holidays, but they're open--at least the library is. That probably doesn't sound very exciting, but--" I breathed in amazement. "Really?" "Do you want to?" "That would be the best adventure I've had since Uncle Johnny let me spend two hours in the Bump 'em Cars at the fairgrounds." "Yes, well, it does get a little like the Bump 'Em at exam time, but...don't get all worked up, now, it's not the biggest thrill I could think of for somebody as adventurous as you are." "But," I said earnestly, "it's what you do." She stared at me, taken aback. I went on enthusiastically, "It's your...it's your world, like mine is in the movies and the plays. And yours is college and learning to be a teacher. Of course I want to see it." She blinked and cleared her throat, propping her elbows on the table and folding her hands. "Speedy, do you know how many boys your age and older--much older--just want to spend an afternoon with me so they can get inside my pants?" "Get inside your pants? Hm, that's a funny expression, I never heard that one before. You mean...to fuck?" "I mean that's all they want to do." "Don't they ever do anything else?" "A lot of them, Speedy, no. Do you know what a tragedy it is in my life just to have an argument with some boy because I have work to do and I don't have time, just no time right away, right then, right now, to go out with them? They think I'll hop into bed with them to express my undying my gratitude for their taking me to a football game and watching them scream and guzzle beer and make fools of themselves." "So," I said, tenuously, "...so do you do it?" "Of course not. And then I don't hear from them for two weeks, or a month. Until they get horny again, and all of a sudden they develop this deep interest in what I'm doing with my life and my time." I grimaced. "What shitheads." "That's a very...apt description, hon." "Apt?" I echoed. "Yes, it means--" "Don't tell me. I wanna look it up." "I'll tell you what," she said, reaching across the table and taking my hand, "You go with me, say, Thursday afternoon, and I'll show you lots of things you can look up. Would you like that?" "Sure." We cleaned up a little, as I had left some record albums lying about, and Martha Jane made phone calls while she polished her shoes. Still in her slip, she went into the bedroom and started making the bed. When I went in there to help her we were almost finished when she asked me to sit on the bed and started undoing my jeans. I told her I thought she had to get dressed for her inter- views, but she said we still had a little time and she could stay in her slip for now. "I've always been curious about something," she said, taking out my cock. "We still have some time before I go. I want to show you something about your body." Of course, I didn't object. With my legs hanging over the bed and Martha Jane kneeling before me, she licked and sucked me until I was hard and then she started fisting me quickly, her hands gliding smoothly up and down my shaft. Again I was startled to feel all the things that happened in my groin as I approached orgasm. She could tell I was close when I began throbbing erratically. As I neared cumming she took one of my hands and put it into my crotch under my balls. "Feel here, underneath," she said. "Keep your hand there. In a minute you'll feel your muscles jump." Sure enough, I could feel swelling and movement down there. Then she pulled down the straps of her slip and shoved the front of her bra below her breasts, and brought her bosom closer to my cock. As she fisted me she whispered, "I've always wondered what this feels like...c'mon, hon...c'mon..." Soon I felt those secret muscles moving under my fingers, and I gasped frantically, "I'll get it on you!" but she grinned and said "It's okay, I can change...c'mon..." As my eyelids drooped I lost focus, and though my resources were limited because of the night before, I started cumming. Encouraging me, she whispered, "C'mon...c'mon," and then "Oh!" as I gave her a tight little squirt on her left breast. She slowed and tightened her pumping and I squirted again in the same place and she was delighted. The rest streamed out thinly over her hand and made squishing noises while she finished me off. I lay back on the bed, breathless. She stood and leaned over me, giggling. A drop of me ran down the swell of her breast and sneaked under the nipple. "Was that good?" she asked. "You getting used to cumming now?". I told her it was good, but it was still a little scary. She said, "Speedy, I can't imagine you being afraid of anything like that." "No," I said, "not that kind of scary. It's just...it's different. It takes over, and it all happens at once." "That's the way it's supposed to feel, hon." She walked to the bedside table, got a kleenex, and wiped off her breast. "But don't worry. You'll get accustomed to letting yourself go. I love watching you cum. I never thought I'd enjoy it so much, but you get so hard and it's so intense for you. I like that about you." She wadded up the kleenex and bent down to kiss me on the nose. "That's one of a lot of things I like about you." She did not see me again until Thursday, three days later. Where she was for three days I didn't know. She called at least once a day, and on Wednesday morning she came clomping with her high heels and purse and Sunday best to see that I had not transformed the apartment into a Frankensteinean horror. Each night just as I climbed into bed she would phone from next door and ask how I was. The phone rang Tuesday night around 9:30. I picked up. "Hello," I began. "This is the Louvre. Wanna buy some French post cards?" "Speedy, what if this had been someone else on the line?" "I would say 'wrong number' and hang up." "Did your mom and dad call today?" "Yes." "So how are they doing?" "Sounded like she was having a good time." "Just 'she'? What about your new daddy, didn't he have any- thing to say for himself?" "He never talks to me." "Now, that's mean. Maybe you just never talk to him." "I don't think he knows how to use a telephone yet." "Speedy, you must learn to like him. He's your daddy now." "It feels funny talking to you on the phone and you're right next door. Are you gonna sleep over here?" "...I can't, hon." "Why, what's wrong?" "I just...can't. I know it's silly, but I can't. I'll have to tell you all about it." "Okay." "You all tucked in bed?" "Yep." "Well, you go to sleep. And don't be afraid to call me if anything goes wrong, okay?" "All right." "G'night, cowboy." "G'night, Miss Scarlett." In later years, spending most of a vacation alone would not have been my first choice. But that week my mind seemed particularly alive and sensitive. Waking, walking about town, entering a movie and walking back out, and then strolling home, I followed the path of the rising, passing, and setting sun as I had never done before. In the late afternoon I made a sandwich, packing it and a wedge of cheese into my G.I. Joe mess kit, and defied the world by hiking all the way to the edge of Exchange Street, at the very zenith of the hill at the avenue's end, and sat on a bluff overlooking the river. Battle- hardened youth that I was after this gruelling six-block walk uphill, I ate from the kit and swigged heartily from my canteen filled with Nehi Grape Soda, and watched the sun go down on the flat, distant shore of Arkansas. The sky changed colors minute by minute, so gradually that it was always a surprise when I surveyed the horizon again to see how the silent panorama had repainted itself. Before dark it turned magenta, then intense purple, and finally black. As the sky dimmed, distant lights not seen in the sunlight became visible one by one. I wondered what might be out there. I wondered what it might be like not having to return home but to keep on going, straight, past those lights and onto new lights, new rivers, new bridges and towns. What got me back home was not a strong desire to be there but to be in bed when Martha Jane called. The phone rang at exactly 9:30 and I picked up. "Why, Martha Jane, you sound so clear on this wonderful invention, Mr. Bell's telephone, just as if you were right next door!" "Silly. Were you a good boy today?" "No." "That's the spirit. Did your mother call?" "Yes, they're fine. She called around supper time." "They'll be back Friday, then. And next week you'll move out of the Lauderdale Courts forever. Won't that be great?" "I guess." "You don't sound so happy about it." "Well..." "Oh, you will be when you get there. And you'll have that wonderful room all to yourself instead of keeping your things in cardboard boxes in that closet." "Well...maybe." "Oh, c'mon, you'll love it." "I'll have different neighbors, though." "...I'll have to talk to you about that...We'll have a nice talk all about that tomorrow. You still want to go with me to Memphis State?" "I'm ready now." "I'm over here with textbooks up to my nose, so I'll be up a while. But I'll still be up bright and early, so you better get your beauty sleep. You all tucked in bed?" "I sure am, Miss Scarlett." "You didn't leave a stinky sink full of dirty dishes, did you?" "No'm, Miss Scarlett." "...Are you mad at me for not being over there?" "No'm, Miss Scarlett." "Well...Okay. I'll be there at ten in the morning." "Yes'm, Miss Scarlett." "You be all ready to go." "Yes,'m, Miss Scarlett." "Stop it. G'night." Late in the night I was standing in the middle of the universe and I had the sensation of getting larger and smaller at the same time, while the universe shrank and expanded at the same time, and the part of me that shrank was not getting small fast enough for the universe that was shrinking, and the part of me that was expanding was not expanding fast enough, and the part of the universe that was shrinking kept pulling my expanding self back into the part that was shrinking, and yet nothing was changing at all in any direction. As I tried to comprehend this a low-pitched hum grew louder, louder, and soon it was a deafening buzz that threatened to crush even my thought. I woke up, literally poised to jump through the ceiling. I was gasping and sweating. I was not in bed, but standing in the pitch black hallway between the bedroom and living room. Apparently I had leapt from the bed in a single broad jump, as I vaguely remember being in the air just before I jerked to a halt. In the kitchen I made a glass of ice water and brought it to the living room, where I sat in front of the Philco and turned it on. The pearlescent eye of the green tuning tube glowed and stared at me. I picked up static. Trying to relax, I listened. After a minute I heard a voice in there. I could not hear the words. Concentrating on it took my mind off the nightmare and the eerie panic that crept into me when I remembered it. This was a dream I'd had before, perhaps a year earlier. I never told anyone about it; I didn't know how to describe it. Back in bed, I removed my underwear and moved to the bed to be naked under the moonlight. Lying on by back, I spread my legs and looked at my growing, lean, surprisingly strong-looking young body. I tried to remember what cumming felt like. It was unimaginable while it was happening, and so it was when I tried to recall it. A small machine whirred inside my chest, urging me to do something; like the voice in the static, my brain could not understand what the machine was saying. I gazed past the moonlight and out into the city. Out there, awake, all the things I wanted to do were waiting. A cricket chirped. I heard the sugary spring Southern night air glide past the window and felt me and the yard and the tree and Martha Jane next door and our little patch of earth turning slowly together in the universe. As fell asleep again I imagined I could feel the morning approaching us. ==================================== THE ADVENTURES OF ME AND MARTHA JANE by S.J.R. PART 6A -30- -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |