Message-ID: <12023eli$9806091114@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Subject: Move Day Part 3 (F-Mmm ?) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d 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: <4540e01.357cdf23@aol.com> Move Day Part 3 (M-Fmm, Wf, Hsb) Continued from Move Day Part 2 By MeiRaj@aol.com The search for quicksand needed some backtracking. I had deflated him enough, perhaps too much. Men have to be cooled down slowow...owly, just like women like to be brought to sizzle slowow...owly. I am sure Max was wondering what I had meant by what I had said in the shower. I had to go back to it, to offer some explanation, if I wanted him to bite my bait whatever it was going to be. I spoke, " you know Max, when I said what I said when we were in the shower, I was merely expressing how I felt at that instant; the idea did appear to have some merit at that moment." And I repeated emphasizing, "At that moment in time, mind you. Call me fickle minded. I am a woman you know". I was cooing tenderly, sexily. I could sense something hardening among his body parts. I quickly continued my explanation, "All I meant was yes, we should talk about it sometime." With this added elaboration, the hard thing had to become a bit less hard. I continued on, "I got angry because I thought you had plotted and conspired with them. If you wanted to increase my pleasures, you should have been plotting with *me*, conspiring with *me*, to get them into my panty". I continued my chiding, "My dear husband, when will you learn to communicate with me. If our communication channels are clogged up, our lovelife and our relationship 'in toto' gets clogged up, does it not?" Max could not but agree. I had been trying to make him understand the notion of men being from Mars and women being from Venus. "I am sorry, really sorry, babe! Can we put this behind and start from square one," he asked. "I don't know about going all the way back to square one. I will settle if we just go back a bit to about where we were when I got my water cannon solute", I said smiling. Max lit up as if he had gotten a bright idea. He quickly freed his heels from under my tush, got up on his knees and swooping down locked on to on what had just been my mound. I was getting an air-gun solute. The air-gun solute is a bit noisy, with phurrr and phirrr and phusss noises, just like it does when you try to blow a balloon by stretching its neck into a thin slit. The air quickly makes a U-turn and slips out the other end of the slit. My mind for some reason thought of George's wife and I got worried about becoming a blimp. So I wiggled and squiggled to disengage myself from the air-gun, and tugged and coaxed Max to make a full U-turn. Max got next to me on the sleeping bag. He got on his side and nestled me in his arms and criss-crossed my thighs and legs with his. He started kissing me on my lips, chin, neck, nose, eye lids, cheeks and ears. He worked on my ears the longest. I was getting back that intoxicatingly ticklish feeling. Max whispered, "Hey babe, lets hatch a conspiracy and plot to make this an all night delight! Let's see if we can get into those black and yellow pants downstairs. What do you say babe?" I was pleased about the way he asked. I hugged him tight and kissed him hard, nodding my head unhu, hunh, affirmatively. "Oooo, I would love to plot. I love to conspire," I said, softly putting my mouth into his ear. I had to act my high priestess role to exorcise the ghost of his fantasy. Comfortably nestled on his arm I asked in earnest, "how shall we go about it?" Max sat up. "OK here is my plan," He continued to mull over it for a few more seconds. "What if we take our sleeping bags downstairs on the pretext it is too hot here. We could all bed down in the living room where they are bedded down with their sleeping bags now - like a slumber party, you know. I will pretend to fall asleep right away and in the dark, you could crawl up to one of them first and then to the other. There will still be enough light from the window for me to watch you enjoying yourself. What do you think?", he asked. I considered it for a full half minute. I said, "It does have some tantalizing possibilities. But on the downside, I don't like ME crawling up to them. I would like THEM to crawl up to me. But I think they might be very much afraid of you waking up, going berserk, and attacking them with a knife or something. Mortal fear is not conducive to man's penile erection. ... Umm, don't you think?" I put the ball back in his court. While he was thinking his response I added, "They would also have to deal with the fear of what would happen if their wives found out. Don't forget the two of them are still neighbors in the cul-de-sac, and would be afraid of the other guy knowing too much, even if he was a partner in the sneak bang-bang." "I guess you are right. It can't be done then!" He sounded as if I destroyed his plot and conspiracy. But he continued, "what did you mean a little while ago when you said something about their wanting, willing and performing?" I was glad he was seeking understanding and wanting to establish clear communication. I took his hand and guided his middle finger into my pussy saying, "Okay, read my mind, what does it want?" He let his finger take a short walk and came to the conclusion, "It is saying you are wanting and pretty much ready...." "Exactly!" I cut in. "Do you think George and Yanchee want what you want them to want? You have no information on their willingness and readiness, do you?" I let him search his memory banks for a few seconds, and added jokingly, "Have you noticed any bulges in their pants when they see me, when I am talking to them? Those are subtle cues of what their mind may be thinking and wanting. Just because you think I am attractive it does not automatically follow every other fellow wants to get into me. Remember sometimes when I say so and so is attractive and sexy, you don't always agree? You know what they say, one man's honeypot is another man's pi........," I trailed off without wanting to think that any man would consider me as a pisspot. I also didn't feel too happy to have thought of this frightening metaphor. " You know you are right, I have not observed anything about how they feel and react to you. I have to make a confession here. When I see a cute babe, I feel like eyeing her again and again, feel like drinking her up with my eyes, my mouth goes dry or juices up more than normal, and I get burstingly stiff in my pants. But you know that, and you have pointed it out many times. I guess that is what you call as 'wanting', being turned on. But I don't do anything about it, don't want to do anything about it, and sometimes I do it with you. it goes away. and don't you. I can't take eyes off of her But it did serve to put Max's penis into a nose dive; all the fizz went out of it. I guess he must have started thinking. When men think, all the fizz goes out of their penis." OK, let us talk about performing first. You know that people will not ordinarily perform or commit a killing or murder, even when they think it is justifiable, even when they want to..... " Max cut me off, "But murders and killings are taking place every day. You can't deny that, can you?" "I am coming to that. You must know that most killings are done under emotionally charged conditions, that is the difference between first and second degree murder; I am sure you know that. When emotionally charged, in the heat of the moment the will is suspended or denied, and performance takes place", I said. "I see what you mean. You are saying they WILL do second degree sex even if they are unwilling to do first degree sex! We have to get them emotionally charged, aroused and then we are home," he said, adding, "Hey, you are pretty smart, Madeline" His confidence in me to think through with him was swelling up. I could feel it pressing hard. "Yes, we have to get them into an emotional frenzy, and we have to think of a way of doing so," I said. "But before we get to this WILLINGNESS bridge, Max, the WANTING aspect needs to be taken care of." Max was still on the Willingness bridge, "Oh yeah, we can whip up their adrenaline if we go into a WFFF game and get them to referee us. Yes, that bridge is easy to cross, He said. I suddenly felt unsure where I was going. When I go into a WFFF game I was not sure I would keep calm and keep my wits without myself going into a frenzied excitement myself. If that happens I may not be able to cure Max of his fantasy. I don't think any man's penis should be so shrunken and so small ! It was time for me to take charge and do something about it. I announced my intentions, "Max, I want to talk to your Dick. If you wish you may consult my Diane. I opened out my thighs, and mounted him in the 69 position while at the same time opening out my thighs so he could find Diane's door easily. So, while I consulted with his Dick, he talked to my Diane. The more I talked to Dick the more he started waving his flag. I felt glad I had talked to Dick. His mood surely lifted up. Diane was getting excited. I didn't want her to get too excited. When she gets too excited she goes into 'petit mort' as the French say - small death. I didn't want her to go into small death - at least not before the i's were dotted and the t's crossed. "We should look and see if we have other loose ends to our plot," I said and waited for Max to pickup. When he didn't because he did not know of any loose ends, I continued, "I don't know if I would like the toolkit they have? I have high standards. You know that. You are my bench mark. You have the best toolkit in the world. How many Joe Schmits have the tools to rival yours?" Max's eyes were now wide open and beaming. He obviously liked my rating him as the benchmark. His penis was actually short and stubby. But it is what I was happy with. My mind dwelt for a moment on size and girth statistics from a survey of oriental men I had seen posted on the Web, and flipped to speculate what percentile Yanchee could be. "For me to have a night of non-stop delight I should have the right tools, don't you think so Max?" I posed. "I don't know and you don't know if these guys have the right tools. Neither you nor I have made any visual, tactile and olfactory inspection of their hardware. This is a serious drawback to our plot." I had all the seriousness of a drug queen considering the pros and cons of a major business decision. 'Gee, I am hard nosed', I complimented myself. That thought took me back to the olfactory and tactile sensations my nostrils had perceived earlier in the evening. George and I were passing each other in the hallway. He was holding a box in his hands, pressed against his chest. The hallway was narrow and I had stood pressed against a wall for him to pass, and while passing his fingers grasping the box pressed against his chest had accidentally brushed lightly against my breasts. The corridor was a tight squeeze. At such close quarters I had smelled his body odor and had felt comfortable to smell it for that brief moment. There was something aromatic about it. But now I was not sure. More data was needed I felt. I continued, "Until we have visuals, we don't know if there are any ugly scars from circumcision, surgical repair or whatever. Visuals would also tell us whether the tools are functional. You know, national estimates have 20-30 million American males afflicted with e-d, erectile dysfunctionality. That would be embarrassing to them and to us if they just won't rise to the occasion." I laughed at my pun. "Physiological-medical conditions aside, most married men experience E-D because of fear - fear of God, wife, the other woman's husband, AIDS," I said not ranking them in any order. A tactile inspection you can't tell how hard is the hard-on. A semi-hard is no good after all this plotting and scheming. A conspiracy deserves better. I want you to understand I make no commitment. I love conspiracies, especially if I am the one who is conspiring and plotting. That dies not mean I will join you and execute the plan of action. To be continued in Part 4. Stirring the pot (the juices) Part 5. Tasting the Soup Part 6. Cooking the soup / Adding some water Part 7. Cooling the pots Part 8. postscript. The following Friday I got a call from, George's wife. When Max came home I mentioned it to him while we were finishing dinner, "George's wife called to-day. She said she wanted to rearrange some of her furniture around and wondered if I could send you to-morrow evening. She said that George has been called to work tomorrow and will be out of town tomorrow until mid-Sunday. She said I could come along too if I wanted and act as a side-walk supervisor. I could come with you, I don't mind being on the side-walk ..." One glance at Max told me that he was either going to faint or the dinner was going to come out of him. So I quickly added, "It is alright Max, I told her that George had just called to confirm that as promised, he was going to be coming over here tomorrow evening to help us finish our set up of furniture, and that I needed you both to move my stuff." Max grabbed me saying I am really wicked and carried me upstairs to whack me. Part 9. The real end of the story By MeiRaj@aol.com -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----