Message-ID: <17933eli$9812100438@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: r_rivers@cryogen.com (Rivers) Subject: {Rivers} Summer Story: Part 1 (M/F Sex, Asians, Seasonal Affective Disorder) 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: This story contains graphic descriptions of sex. It is intended for adults only. This is more or less a sequel to another story I wrote: Her Name Was Yuki. There is not much overlap between the two, and reading of the previous story should not be necessary for the appreciation of this one. As a warning, some readers, perhaps many, may find the ratio of sex to plot unfavorable. The story will be posted as written with the intention of making each part, while a piece of a larger whole, interesting enough to stand on its own. As always, the author welcomes any constructive criticism. Summer Story By Richard Rivers Part 1 Scented by the garden, the breeze came in through the opened row of stained glass windows. A hushed excited chatter rose from the people gathered in the lobby while waiters, silent and efficient, threaded their way through the room with large trays of drinks and hors d'oeuvres. Carla fidgeted, backing away from several conversations. What an awful bunch of people, she thought - so self-possessed. Snatching another glass of champagne from a passing tray, she decided to scan the room for eligible looking men, deciding that if she had to sit through the boring lecture the least she could do was get something out of it for herself. The free drinks were a start, she thought; now all she had to do was find a palatable guy to take home where she could show him her own idea of what continuing education was all about. Carla slowly made her way through the room with a growing sense of annoyance. What on earth was she thinking, trolling for men in a place like this? These guys weren't palatable; hell they weren't even possible! Everywhere she looked Carla found herself surrounded by bow tie clad, bald headed men posturing and spouting pretentious gibberish. She shuddered. Fuck these boring intellectual types! Angrily, she asked herself why she didn't just blow this scene and hit one of her regular bars: she had that routine down to a science. She exchanged her now empty glass for another full one, deciding to gulp it down before leaving. As she turned to make one last perusal of the room, she caught sight of a woman standing alone near the row of open windows. At first Carla's eyes simply skipped across her and continued around the room. However, in another instant she found herself looking back. Carla had a knack for reading people's body language - minute things in their actions often revealed things others easily missed. When she bothered to confirm them, her hunches were almost always proven right. She let her eyes rest on the woman, taking it as a challenge to determine what had caught her attention. The woman was standing by herself at the edge of the crowd. That was one element of what made her stand out, but not enough in itself to draw attention. There were other solitary people in the room, like herself. To Carla the woman seemed more than alone; she was isolated, as if surrounded by an invisible bubble that held the people around her at bay. Carla guessed she might be Korean, maybe Japanese. Perhaps she didn't speak English, she reasoned before dismissing the idea: why come to the lecture if she didn't understand the language? She continued to examine the woman, discreetly moving a few paces closer. Her hair was cut short, and at first glance her body seemed slight, her figure almost boyishly spare. Yet beneath the a simple unadorned dark skirt and white blouse she had on, Carla became aware of the delicacy of the woman's features, the soft female roundness of her body. When she raised her glass Carla found herself watching the woman's slender forearm, the graceful bend of her elbow, her wrist's gentle inward curve. Goosebumps rose on her own arm and a feeling surged though her, an almost predatory kind of desire, a totally novel sensation which she imagined to be something like what a man must feel when sizing up a woman across a crowded bar: the soft flesh before her eyes was prey to be captured. She continued to watch, feeling renewed bursts of the strange sensation every time the woman moved. Her actions were plain just as her appearance, yet something about the way she moved was so graceful, so thoroughly feminine. Carla found herself shivering. The odd, lusty feeling disturbed her, and she became angry because she was at a loss to explain why it had come over her; she felt for once powerless, out of control. Anger clouded her normal faculty and she groped for an explanation blindly, coming to the conclusion that the woman had to be just another stuck up intellectual type - another boring tight ass: the place was filled with them - and she shrugged off her reaction as jealousy or envy of the aloof stranger. Carla was just turning way, still with a vague sense of dissatisfaction, the nagging feeling she hadn't really come to the right conclusion, when she realized how completely she had misjudged. The revelation shook her for a moment - to have something so obvious before her eyes and not to have noticed. She looked back knowing now that the woman wasn't aloof: she was terrified. Carla wasn't even sure what had triggered the insight - perhaps the brightness of the woman's eyes, the line of a tendon stretched across the back of her hand - often the specifics escaped her, but she was suddenly positive about what she saw. Intimidated by the crowd, that woman was forcing herself to remain standing there, perhaps unable to move, enduring what for her must have been awful torment. The delicate, graceful motions were all carefully controlled, artful and practiced mannerisms designed to hide her feelings from the people around her. Carla congratulated herself for having picked up on something she was sure no one else in the crowded room had noticed. She quickly glanced around to confirm that nobody seemed to have given the woman a second thought. Her curiosity aroused, Carla also felt sympathy, and she stood watching for another moment, deciding whether to approach or turn away. ** The ferocity with which she threw herself at the task of finding a partner for the night surprised Carla and even made her a little frightened. She went to an unfamiliar bar near the university instead of one of her tried and true old haunts, taking a grim, wolfish revelry in the challenge of picking somebody up in such unfamiliar surroundings. After hurrying through several drinks she gravitated towards the most conservative looking guys in the place, almost as if she were making up for her disgust with the boring, straight-laced crowd at the reception by trying to find someone similar and debauching him. Normally she was wary when prowling for men. That wariness and her uncanny knack for weeding out the truly creepy guys had helped her survive a year or more of the bar scene, the lost, gray twilight since her divorce. Only when she was back at her place with the guy she had led home did Carla begin to come to her senses and realize how lucky she was. He seemed genuinely sweet, helping her up the stairs of her apartment and through the door. He acted as if he might leave, do the chivalrous thing and not take advantage of a lady who had obviously had way too much to drink, before Carla had grabbed him and pulled him into the bedroom. He turned out to be a good lover too, not one of your athletic superstars, but considerate, patient and with the staying power of an ox. Carla let her eyes fall closed as he fucked her, the even, vigorous thrusts sending steady tremors of pleasure up and down her body. He seemed to go on and on, like a marathoner, pacing himself and Carla let her mind and body surrender to the sweet, measured onslaught. Then she could feel his balls grow tighter, a sign that he might be coming at last, their rubbery hardness rasping against her. She reached down to touch them - a feather-light stroking usually did the trick. She had her ways to make a man come. She loved feeling them lose control - their purposeful motions losing coherence, losing all pretense of trying to please her. Some of them held on desperately, trying to stave it off, like drowning men grasping for an outstretched hand as they are pulled under; she loved it when the fought it off like that, a losing battle, becoming like squirming babies when they could hold out no longer. She loved sending them hurtling over the abyss, overcoming their virile male power with a feathery touch, a word. This one was fighting it, stubbornly; Carla could feel the tension in his thighs, the force of his willpower staving off the inevitable. She was about to escalate her efforts to the next level by calling his name - most couldn't resist that cooing in the ear, the imploring tone asking them to please come, to do it for her - when she realized his name had completely vanished from her mind. She felt a moment of panic - what would she do, afterwards? - before realizing that she could always take a peek in his wallet when he got up to go to the bathroom; they always went to the bathroom, after the sex and just before trotting out their excuse for having to leave and go home. Her relief was tempered with disquiet as Carla realized that this was a milestone of sorts, maybe even a warning about the lifestyle she had adopted. She was troubled to become aware of how much she had changed since her marriage had fallen apart. Her enthusiasm for the sex waned and she released her grip on his balls, feeling him regain his composure and slow down. Carla was impressed by his stamina, but the life had been sucked out of the moment and she felt herself becoming oddly detached. She could still feel him pushing himself in and out of her, feel the muscles rippling on his back but it was all happening as if at a great distance; Carla's attention seemed to sink inward, her eyes like two holes she had fallen through. Looking upward she could see the outside world through them, receding as she plummeted downward into darkness. She found herself reliving the reception she had gone to, before the bar. The woman she met there; what was her name? Carla was briefly angry with herself again before it came back to her: Kozue. Kozue Tanaka, she repeated the name to herself. They had spoken for a short time; Kozue was obviously very uptight about something and trying to hide it. Carla, curious but tactful, had gotten nowhere trying to figure out what her problem was. Still, their short conversation revealed that they had a few things in common. Kozue was a psychologist, something Carla was trying to become herself, working to finish her degree with night and weekend courses at the university; they were both divorced and in their mid to late thirties - as close as Carla could guess from Kozue's inscrutable face. The interchange had been little more than pleasantries, mostly Carla trying to satisfy her curiosity about the woman who had caught her eye, and so she wondered why she was preoccupied with Kozue again, now of all times. She tried to shake off the memory, return to the present, maybe put some more energy into fucking this guy, whatever his name was, but the image in her mind was persistent. Along with the memory she found herself reliving the same feeling, the odd sexual lust. She wondered if Kozue had a lover, a man, and if she was with him tonight. Carla tried to stop the images which came flooding into her imagination: of Kozue making love; a strong male body between those legs, his rough skin against her creamy smoothness; holding her legs apart, watching himself disappear inside of her, feeling her soft, delicate flesh part and fold around him; those delicate arms wrapped about him, her slender fingers splayed on his shoulders... Carla could no longer resist; she let the images of Kozue inundate her, until she felt her own identity dissolving to the point where she seemed to merge with the other woman; it was as if she had crawled into her skin, becoming her, feeling what she was feeling. Carla felt a surge of arousal and a tingling sensation in her loins. Already lost, she was losing herself again, more completely, as she felt her own orgasm well up and sweep her away. Fin Part 1 Richard Rivers 12/98 -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----