Message-ID: <6662eli$9803042057@qz.little-neck.ny.us> From: lcs Mixmaster Remailer Subject: JANEYS JANUARY (PART II) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Comment1: This message did not originate from the X-Comment2: above address. It was automatically remailed X-Comment3: by an anonymous mail service. Please report X-Comment4: problems or inappropriate use to X-Comment5: 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: <19980304064002.23105.qmail@nym.alias.net> WARNING: This is a story for adults. If you are under 18, please stop reading immediately. This story may be archived but is not to be distributed without the name of the author, changed in any way, or sold. Please make any comments on the newsgroup "alt.sex.stories.d" with the subject "A.S.S.D.: Janey's January." The e-mail address is a fake. JANEY'S JANUARY by Janey PART II Life went on. Beth told me Steve was out of the country again, floating around Asia. I'd hate to have a husband gone as much as Steve was, but it didn't seem to bother Beth. Thinking about it, it seemed to me my husband spent a little too much time in medieval Europe. Anyhow, Steve was Beth's problem. But about ten days later, on a Tuesday morning, I came out of a morning counselling session and found a note from the secretary telling me to call Steve with a phone number. That had never happened before. Being cool and calm as always, I ran back in my office, sat down and passed out. Well, not really out. I shook a lot. My face got hot. Somewhere considerably below my waist got sort of warm. I figured I must be excited. So I sat there a while reading department notices until I got back to room temperature. That took maybe ten minutes. My next appointment was coming in another ten minutes, so I went to the women's room and then got a drink of water and came back to the office. Then I called the number. I got a snooty secretary, but she deigned to connect me to Steve's office. "Steve Walters," I heard. "Jane Urquhart here," I said, primly. "Oh, Hi, Janey," he said. "Uh, . . . I was just wondering if we could have lunch or a cup of coffee or something. I could come down your way." He didn't sound the way I felt. Maybe just a little bit hesitant. I held the phone at arm's length and took three big deep breaths. "I'm honored," I said. "I have to catch the train in time to be home at three, so lunch is o.k. if you want. I'm free from about 11:30 till 12:45. You know where Newbury street is? I can get there by 11:45 and we can have a quickie--I mean a quickie lunch, at the Trident bookstore. It's not too crowded on Tuesday." "Great," he said. "I'll be there. Uh, where is the Trident? I don't get down there too often. Do they serve lunch at a bookstore?" "Yeah, they do. It's between Hereford Street and Mass Ave. Just up from Tower Records." "O.K., I'll take a cab. See you at a quarter to twelve." "OK, see you. Bye-bye." He mumbled something and hung up. I very carefully put the phone on the hook. I was delighted with myself. I had enunciated clearly and crisply. I had not sounded like a high school girl. I had just made a lunch date with my best friend's husband. Oh, God! I pulled myself together and started reading the notes for my next interview. I decided it probably wouldn't ruin the kid's life if I was a little unsettled when I prattled on about test scores. After I saw the client I was sure he would ruin it satisfactorily without my help. What's more, I got rid of him fifteen minutes early-- legitimately--and had time to dive into the ladies for a minor overhaul before I had to leave. Lunch was unusual. For instance I had a cheese sandwich instead of the omelette. Steve said it was so cold he'd almost rather be in Indonesia. I said sometimes we went to Florida during the college breaks. Hot stuff, huh? Finally, after we had finished eating and I had succeeded in pouring a second cup of lousy weak tea, Steve reached out and took my hand. "Listen," he said. "I'm no good at this. No practice. But I think about you all the time. I have a bad case on you. What am I going to do about it.?" My hand was red hot. My face was kind of pink--I could tell because I felt each blood cell as it rushed up past my neck. I was full of witty repartee, so I said, "I don't know." Neat, huh? Steve took a deep breath and said, "Would you consider joining me some afternoon for a little experimenting? My company has this suite at the Four Seasons where we put visiting VIPs, but it's usually empty. I'm the guy with the key." He put his other hand on my knee under the table. My heart was going like a triphammer, whatever that is. I found that I was answering him. "Yes. Ten o'clock Friday morning." Then Steve looked like he was the one who might faint. I smiled and reached under the table and put my hand on his. Now the next part was really romantic. He took both hands back and dragged a little black book out of his pocket and opened it to where there was a little ribbon. I watched, fascinated. I put one hand on his knee just to see what happened. Nothing did. "I'll be there before you get there. Room 607. OK?" "Have something strong for me to drink," I said. We got up--I left the tea--and he paid the cashier. He helped me on with my coat and this time his hand brushed my nipple hard. My knees didn't buckle, they just felt like the were going to. Outside the store he took my arm, pulled me close and gave me a little tiny kiss. He grinned. I blushed again and smiled. "Bye, Janey," he said. "See you Friday." He scurried off toward Mass Ave and I stood there a minute collecting my wits. I finally started picking my way through the ice chunks toward the scene of my helping endeavors. All I could think of was Room 607. Room 607. Room 607. Room 607. I got back to my office without getting run over. ----------------- I succeeded in putting Room 607 out of my mind the rest of the afternoon. When I got home, however, I got supper, got the kids off to do their own things, and found myself with time to think. All of a sudden this thing was real. Bob was involved with some book. Normally I'd have left him alone, but I wanted to talk to him. I still had time to call up Steve and call the whole thing off. Did I want to? Yes, I did. No, I didn't. "Hey," I said, "I want to ask you something." He looked up in a daze and said, "Sure. What's up?" "Do you still love me?" He got this funny what's-she-on-about-now look he gets. I read it as saying that I'm some kind of weirdo, probably retarded, and certainly an emotional basket case. It's not an uncommon look. It always made me feel weird, retarded and emotionally a basket case. Usually I sort of dry up and drop whatever subject produced the look. I resolved to be resolute. He finally spoke, looking back down into the book. "Of course I love you! What's gotten into you?" Nothing yet, I thought. "Well, you haven't given me a real kiss since last summer. Occasionally you take me to bed, or, rather, once we're already in bed you grab hold and we have sex, but you haven't really made love to me since last summer, either. If then. Maybe I've done something wrong, I don't know. I just want to know what's going on." "Oh, God, Janey, nothing's going on. I just got tenure, now I've got to produce. On top of that I'm on the Faculty Senate, as you well know, and I have to sit on at least five committees. I'm working harder than I did while I was in the Navy. It doesn't have anything to do with you. I married you, and I'm still here, aren't I?" "I know you're busy, and I know you worry a lot. But we don't have any fun. I work, I take care of the kids, we go out now and then, but you don't talk to me and you don't make love to me." By now I was looking off into the distance--that is, not at him. He put the book down, got out of his chair, came and stood alongside me and put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Janey, I really am. I just get so involved I never think about anything but the next problem. And I don't think you really understand how important all this is. I'm doing it all for you and the kids. One of the these days I'll be a full professor and we'll have more time." "You said that when you got your Ph.D. we'd have more time. Then you said when you got tenure we'd have more time. Now it's when you're a full professor. Maybe when you retire?" "I don't know how to please you, Janey. I do my best." "I guess you do," I said. Then I opened the book I'd brought to read and turned away from him, sniffling a little. "I wish I could make you happy, Janey, I just don't know what else to do. I really do love you." "Yeah," I said. "OK." I'd stopped sniffling. He patted me on the shoulder and stood there a minute. Then he went back to his chair and started reading. I closed the book and got up, saying, "I think Ill get on the computer and check my mail." He didn't hear me. When I got back into the little room we keep the computer in I just sat there for a while. Thinking maybe I won't cancel Steve. But I didn't think I wanted a full-blown affair--maybe a one-morning stand? I didn't know. I knew I was getting in over my head if I went to the Four Seasons at all. I didn't know anything about sex except what I'd done with Bob about 400 times and a very few others before that weren't much. I've read a lot of books, but they weren't very helpful. I sure as hell didn't want to end up like Emma Bovary. On the other hand, some of the books had some scenes in them that were hotter than anything I'd ever done. Maybe I could learn something from this. Might as well enjoy it. So I got to thinking maybe I'd better learn a little before I ever went to the Four Seasons. I had two whole days. Well, minus the usual round of stuff I had to do. I clicked on the news button and got a page that showed me Bob was subscribed to some medieval history. group. Show all groups, I told the damn machine. Went down the list. Clicked on alt.sex.stories. Ugh! Eight thousand ads. Great stuff like "Want to see my pussy?" Actually, I didn't. Back to the news group list. "Alt .sex.stories.moderated." Maybe it would be better. It was. A long list. I skimmed one on some little kid getting seduced by his mother. Ugh! Then one that said "MF, rom." Not so bad. I was getting the hang of this thing. It was about some guy rescuing a woman who wrecked her car in a snowstorm. Oh, yes, he rescued her all right! At this rate I'd take a long time to find very many stories that would teach me anything. But the snow story was sexy, so I read a couple of others. They made me feel sexy. Maybe I learned a few things. My God, I couldn't believe there were so many. I got started on one where he was getting ready to tie her up. Not me, buster. People have some strange tastes. The next day I went back to the Trident at lunch and bought a little book I'd seen on the cashier's desk the other day--The Pocket Kama Sutra. It was more to the point. Indeed. I took it home and examined it carefully. Nice pictures. I kept it in my pocketbook all the time. What if I put it away and somebody found it? But what if I was in an accident and they looked in my purse to find my name and address? This whole thing was getting more complicated by the minute and I hadn't even done anything. Except make a sex date with my best friend's husband. Well, I was getting prepared, anyhow. ---------------- Maybe you don't understand this, I don't myself, quite, but as those two days passed I got more excited but calmer at the same time. The decision was made; no more thinking about that. I finally tried to look at myself and understand what was going on and I concluded that basically, I was just needy. Physically. The kids touched me all the time. But Bob didn't. I wanted to be touched--thoroughly. Wrestled with by a man. OK, I was a pathetic creature. Yes, I was being totally reckless, taking a chance on wrecking my marriage to a good husband whose only real failing was that he was a workaholic. So be it, I thought. Then I started picturing what was going to happen. I had never been in a room at the Four Seasons, so I couldn't picture the room very well. But a bed is a bed, and I figured the room wasn't going to be squalid, not at the prices they charge. But would it warm enough? I wear sweaters at home all the time in the winter. I could see myself hiding under the covers trying to keep warm while Steve scrambled around trying to find me. And I couldn't imagine how we were going to get to the bed. Was he going to offer me a drink and chat a while, or would he leap on me the minute I got inside the door and poke himself in before I got my clothes off? In the latter case, would I be ready? Riding the train from Needham does not usually stir me to heights of sexual anticipation. I went to Victoria's Secret and bought new underwear--nothing fancy, just new. I stewed. -------------- I have this habit of getting everywhere early, but on Friday I showed up at Room 607 at 10:20 a.m. EST. If anybody was going to stand around waiting, it wasn't going to be me. My heart was racing. Steve opened the door. We stood there for about ten seconds. Then he took my hand and gently pulled me into the room. He shut the door. He turned and took my hand again. "Hi, Janey," he said. "Hi," I said. At least he hadn't thrown me on the floor and ravished me. Heck. "Let me help with your coat," he said. "Thank you," I replied, starting to shuck the gear. I was wearing a fur hat, a wool muffler, and a beautiful white parka I didn't wear much because it got dirty so easily. It was clean. I was so clean, top to bottom and inside out, that I would have glowed if it had been dark. Under the circumstances I had decided not to wear my wooly knickers, so I was cold, but I didn't notice it because I was so hot, if you get what I mean. We got the coat off and he put it in a little closet by the door. I reached down and one at a time pulled off my boots. This was not graceful, but it was necessary. I was wearing a beige wool jersey dress that clung to me like skin with a little blue scarf at the neck and a little gold bird pin. And a diaphram. No shoes. Steve came back and held out his arms, then he kind of lurched forward and I was getting the hug of my life. I bent my head down a little and kissed him on the lips. He kissed back, hard. I could feel his tongue searching around so I opened my mouth a little. The tongue entered, the hug got tighter, I opened my mouth some more and enthuiastically tangled my tongue up with his. I started feeling the most extraordinary bulge gouging into my belly. That kiss lasted a long time. I had my arms around Steve's neck, and he had one arm around my waist and the other on my neck. I could feel my nipples pushing into his chest, and I was beginning to get these tingles between my legs. He broke it up, then put his hands on my sides and kind of rubbed up and down. His thumbs came out and pushed into the sides of my boobs. He looked solemn, so I smiled. "Oh, God, I'm glad you're here," he said. "I was beginning to wonder . . . ." "Nice you waited," I said. One hand came up and cupped my right boob. My knees got weak. I still had my arms loosely around his waist. I pulled him close and kissed him, with passion. He got my nipple between his fingers and squeezed. It hurt a little, but it felt good. Very good. He pushed me away and grabbed my hand. "Come on," he said. He pulled me over toward the bedroom door and kind of shoved me through. Once inside, standing behind me, he put each hand on a breast and just held them there, kneading, while he nuzzled my neck. I leaned back onto him, quietly going nuts. I could feel myself getting very wet. I broke away, turned around to face him, reached down and gradually pulled the dress over my head. Then I just stood there and looked at him. "You're beautiful," he said. If this relationship was going to be built on lies, that was one I liked to hear. "Take off your clothes," I said. Sometimes I like to come on strong, like the guy in that Czech movie. The trouble with me is that I see the humor in everything. Watching him get undressed was like watching a Buster Keaton movie. It was like a standing hundred-yard dash. He had trouble getting his jockey shorts down over his uh, well, penis. It was standing there at present arms ignoring everything. (I was the first woman in the Army ROTC in college.) Clothes flew through the air. I can see myself standing there with this little smile on my face. Once bare, he came close and held onto me for about a tenth of a second, then started trying to unhook my bra. I leaned my head back enough to say, "In the front, dummy." His hands were shaking, but he got the hook loose and slowly opened up the bra. What isn't there in quantity doesn't sag, anyhow. He backed off and looked at me again. "You're beautiful," he said. I still liked it. Then he took hold of the waistband of my pantyhose and, bending his knees, pulled them down to my feet. I shivered--it wasn't quite as warm as I'd hoped. Panties followed. I took one foot out of the pile of underwear before he pushed me down onto the bed, which he had thoughtfully turned back before I got to the hotel. He climbed in beside me and was sucking a tittie before I realized I was horizontal. All this seemed to be happening rather quickly, but what the hell? At first he just pushed his tongue around and around. I could feel the wet part getting wetter. Then he began actually to suck on the nipple. I thought of the little babies I'd suckled, but it felt different. This time it was shooting shocks of pleasure all the way to my toes. But he stopped just as I was beginning to relax into the whole thing. He reared up and came down on top of me. It turned out that his being shorter than I am didn't interfere in any way at all. Seeing as how he was in this all-fired hurry I helped him get where he wanted to be, and he quieted down for a minute, just resting on his elbows and looking at me. His dick (I have to call it something) was a nice size. It slid in fast and I loved the filled up feeling it gave me. He leaned down and kissed me. I was melting fast. Oh, my, I had him inside me and it felt really, really good--what can I say. No words for it. Exquisite? Then he started moving in, and out, and in, and I responded, pushing my hips up like I was trying to unseat him, but I was just beginninng to get that creamy feeling that women get sometimes. I was being a good girl and helping him. He was moving fast--I don't know how long this lasted, but it seemed like seconds when started shouting, "My, God, I'm coming! I'm coming." Since he was shuddering like Mt. St. Helens, I had already figured that out. He nearly squeezed the breath out of me. Then he toppled off like he'd been shot and landed on his back What the hell? He flopped back on to one side and looked at me, smiling this loopy smile. "How was it for you?' he said. I was flummoxed. After a little bit, I turned my body to face him and said: "Pretty good as far as it went." His face went all concerned and he said, "Huh?" I smiled. What else? Then I said, "Look, sweetie, we are having this illicit love affair, right? I think maybe you haven't heard, but often there's a little bit more to it than this." "You didn't come," he said accusingly. "Actually, I didn't," I said, still smiling, "but that can be rectified." He looked a little bit more relaxed. "What did you have in mind?" I looked down at his exhausted-looking member (I read Victorian smut sometimes). Then I smiled some more and said, "I want to you go way down to the end of the bed and gently stroke my right ankle." He looked at me like I was crazy, but I knew this time I wasn't, and anyhow, only my husband seems to be able to make feel the way he looks like he thinks I am. "Your ankle?" "Yes, please." Dutifully he got on his knees and crawled down to my feet. He put one hand on my ankle (the wrong one, but I didn't think it was time to start complaining). He kind of rubbed at it. "Gently, please," I said, sighing in what I sincerely hoped was a voluptuous manner. He stroked gently, sometimes just with his fingernails. It felt good. Quick learner. After a minute or so, I said, "It's OK to move up a little now and then, just don't hurry. You could kiss me down there, if you like." "I think I'm getting the idea," he said. I was enjoying the strokes. "You are, " I said, "you are." Gradually he approached my upper thigh and stroked not only the top, but the inside. I could tell he liked that almost as much as I did because the flagpole was not looking so much like last night's spaghetti. There was hope. "You might use your left hand to gently caress my breast while your other just keeps on with what it's doing." You can see that in the heat of passion I even split infinitives. Good thing he wasn't an English prof. He plopped his hand down on top of my nipple. I gently picked it up and moved it over to the extreme edge of titty land. "Right here, first, then approach gently." I have to admit that I was getting a little impatient for more action, but I am a dedicated teacher, and what he was doing he was learning to do quite well. I wasn't cold. "Kiss me now," I said. And he did. Gently. Then, all on his own, he started kissing my forehead, and cheeks, and ears. Oh, a very good pupil. I reached up finally, put my arm around his neck, and pulled him down for a long, involved, tongue-twisting, wow of a kiss. I reached down while this was still going on and felt for Roger. Roger was turning into a little soldier again. When the kiss broke, I smiled langorously and said, "May I call him Roger?" "I don't care of you call him Ephraim," Steve said, "as long as you keep your hand right there." Steve stopped stock still while I gently fingered his Roger, stroking every so softly right under the little slash. Roger responded beautifully. Then, reluctantly releasing my new little friend, I gently pulled Steve's head down to my neck "Kiss me there," I said. "I like Roger, but I need my hand. I won't forget him." He did, and all this was beginning to affect deeply what I had just discovered was my little Earlene. "Continue downward, please, but not too fast." He got down into the valley between my breasts, and I began to shiver just a little. Not the cold. Then he kissed the right nipple, then the left. He lingered there and once more sent big shivers down toward my toes. This was getting really exciting, and I liked it a whole lot. I was beginning to love Steve just a little. I wasn't "in love," but I was sure loving what this guy was doing. "Take your time," I said, "but feel free to go further down." He took his time. Maybe just a bit too much, but you can't nitpick when a good pupil is doing reasonably well. When he got down to my mound he stuck his nose in my pubic hair and just wiggled it back and forth. I jumped. It tickled. "I love your enthusiasm," I said, 'but remember--be gentle." Tickled or not, I found my legs slowly opening up. Then I felt his tongue, just on the edge of Earlene's little lips, and that turned me on--a lot. I kind of squirmed. He looked up and smiled beautifully. Then he went back to work. He kind of brushed over the significant part a couple of times without stopping. "Easy," I said, "You might pay a little extra attention to the hard little nub down there." He did. He kept that up for a nice little while, even sucking on little Earlene until I found myself practically hyperventilating. "Goddamn it, get in there!" I shouted. He complied. Now he was the one getting the breath squeezed out of him. He was so spooked he kept trying to be gentle, so I said, "Stop being so gentle! Screw me!." He had the nerve to look me right in the face and laugh. I felt the orgasm coming. I was meeting him halfway and we were going like bunny rabbits. (Sometimes in the heat of passion I get trite.) It felt like a train was coming. I had time to think, "Oh, God, Freud!" before it hit me, but when it did I didn't think anything at all except maybe something like, "Whee!" Now I was the one shuddering and bucking and digging my nails into his back and generally having a hell of a time. Great gusts of tingling pleasure swept through me, radiating from that little place between my legs. I found myself shouting, "Yes, yes!" as if I were watching a fencing bout. It took a long time for me to come down. I wasn't there yet when he came, too, and it was all a big fracas. I was getting wrestled with just like I'd wanted. This time instead of rolling off he stayed on top and ol' Roger just quietly melted away. Finally I gave him a shove and he moved up tight alongside me. I lifted my head and he put his arm under my neck. It was cozy. "Thank you," I said, turning my head to look at him. "Was it worth the effort?" "I'm speechless," he said. "I've never had an experience anywhere near this. You are not only beautiful, you are remarkable and wonderful." "Learned it all out of a book," I said. ------------- We did this caper twice more, on the following Tuesday and Friday. Then, right at the end of January, I got this call from Beth. She didn't waste time. "What the hell did you do to my husband?" she screamed. I held the receiver away from my ear a little, and started to talk. "Well, you told me to encourage him, so I did. Turned out he didn't need too much encouragement." "Listen," Beth said. "I don't mind your taking him to bed at all, that's fine. But he's gotten so gentle, so slow! He wants foreplay, for God's sake! I married this he-man wham-bam-thank-you-mam guy and you turned him into a pussy!" "I'm sorry," I said in a little voice, once more gobsmacked. "I just taught him a few little things I needed him to know." "Oh, I guess it's all right," she said. "I can retrain him, and maybe I'll get old and like it your way. But the way he is now I'm afraid he'll want to move to Cambridge and read poetry!" "Maybe he could teach you something?" I said. "Huh," she said. "I know about fifty times as much as you do about sex and I also know what I like, so you leave him alone." "Yes, ma'am." I said in my little girl voice. When she heard that she started laughing and wound up asking me if I'd like to go to the Four Seasons for lunch. "Oh, I don't think I'd like that," I simpered. "That place is so full of memories." She laughed again and we agreed to go back to the Trident. ---------- On the night of February 1 I was sitting there reading a romance about some dim woman travelling through time to meet her six-foot-Scottish lover when I was astonished to hear Bob say, "Hey, I want to talk to you." I looked up and there he was, looking pained. Oh, my, I thought retribution time. "Sure," I said. "Talk away." "Well, I'm ashamed to tell you this, and it's taken me two days to work up the nerve." I got up, went over to his chair and sat in his lap, feeling ever so much more cheerful. Whatever it was, it wasn't the irate husband bit. "Tell Mama," I said. "I love you and I stand by my man no matter what." "I've been sleeping with Beth," he said, looking down into my lap. "How was she?" I asked. He looked shocked. "What do you mean?" "Like, on a scale of one to ten, how do you rate her as a bed partner?" Now, Bob is six-feet-three, and when I sit on his lap he can look right into my face, unlike others who shall remain nameless. So he looked at me, and I could see relief sneaking into his eyes. But puzzlement was right there with it. "I never thought about that when I decided to tell you," he said, "and I haven't much to go on, but . . . compared to most people I'd give her about a seven, and compared to you a zero." "Well, Bob was certainly no more than a two when I started with him, but he's easily an eight now." If he'd been sitting in my lap, he'd have fallen out. But I had him pinned. "Do you mean what I think you mean?" "Yep." "Oh, God, what a mess!" "No, I don't think so," I said. "We can just forget all about this. We're both terrible unfaithful people, but I still love you." All of a sudden I panicked. "You haven't fallen in love, have you?" "No, no, no! All I want now is out. She's eating me alive. And besides, I really love you and always have and always will." "That's the nicest thing you've said to me in at least a year," I said. "I guess I'll call her up and thank her." Bob hugged me like he hadn't in years, and he cried a little, almost. I could see the tears in his eyes. "OK," he said. "We forget about it." "Wait a minute," I said, "I have one more question: Where did you go for these get-togethers?" "The Park Plaza, why?" "Oh, goodie!" I said, bouncing up and down and nearly crushing the poor man. "The Four Seasons is much better!" -------------------- Next time I ate lunch with Beth she said she had a confession to make. "You see," she said, "I really love you to death, I wouldn't hurt you for the world. So when I got this yen for Bob, I knew I had to handle it just right. So I invented a crush for ol' Steve, and with your help he promptly got one. I knew you were ripe, anyway. That way, when you found out what I was doing with Bob, you wouldn't be all that upset." "Well, shit!" I said. Then I ate some more raisins. -------------- -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |