Message-ID: <7460eli$9804021709@qz.little-neck.ny.us> From: john_dark@anon.nymserver.com Subject: {SJR}"The Adventures of Me and Martha Jane 4A"( bf mF mF+ )[10/52] Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Note: This message was posted by a secure email service. Please report MISUSE OR ABUSE of this automated secure email service to . Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <6fshrn$gpp$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 4A: I had a bad cold. It was just before Thanksgiving. Wearing a heavy brown flannel robe, I sat up against the headboard as Martha Jane settled near me on the bed and sat Indian-stlye. In her hand she had a bottle of green cough syrup, a bottle of cod liver oil, and a bottle of ear drops. "Okay, hon, time for dessert." "That's not dessert," I complained. "This is dessert for sick folks." She shimmied her hips into the mattress to get comfy. "Now, let's see, what does this say...?" She examined the label on the cough medicine. "One tablespoon. Okay!" With a giddy smile she fished for the spoon in the paraphernalia she had gathered in a large dish towel spread on the bed. She held up the spoon. "One tablespoon!" she an- nounced. Seeming to enjoy every minute of it, she unscrewed the cough medicine, held the spoon up as she poured the dark green gunk, and carefully brought the spoon toward my face. "Oookay... a-a-all for you, hon. C'mon. Yumyum. Yumyum." "Yumyum Yuch!" I pouted. "Come on now, you don't want to stay up coughing all night like you did last night, do you?" I frowned at the spoon. "C'mon. It tastes good." "I already had some of it and I know it doesn't taste good. It's terrible, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth for hours." "Well, Speedy, it doesn't taste good because it's medicine. Medicine isn't supposed to taste good." "Why don't they make it in the first place so it *does* taste good?" "'Cause if it tasted good in the first place, you'd drink it all the time. You'd live on it, and then it would make you sick." "If it's medicine, why would it make me sick?" "Listen, stop bein' so logical. Here. Yumyum. C'mon." I opened my mouth and she tilted the spoon into it. I swallowed and grimmaced. "There, I knew you'd like it." "Yech." "Now where's the cod liver oil..." "Yecch!" I growled, as disgustingly as I possibly could, stretching my mouth into a horrific grimace that went from ear to ear. I held the pose as if frozen into it. "Oh, stop. It can't taste that bad. Here..." She care- fully squeezed an eyedropper of amber oil into a spoon, and then squeezed the juice from half an orange into it. As she did this I sat rigidly against the headboard as if long petrified, my face still frozen in the same gruesome pose. "Speedy, stop making that ugly face. Now, here...here's your cod liver oil. Come on, stop makin' that face and swallow this." I looked her straight in the eye, with the same face. "Speedy, that is the ugliest thing I ever saw. Stop, so we can get this over with." I let my face relax, sighed heavily, and opened my mouth. The orange juice didn't do much to hide the bitter, fishy taste that clung to the inside of my mouth. "Yah!" "That's a good boy, that's two outta three. Now let's get this off the bed so you can lie down and I can fix those ears." She placed the dish towel of goods on the side table and sat up on her knees on the bed, holding the bottle of ear drops. "Lie down on your side. C'mon, you've had earaches before, you know what to do. At least your ears can't taste this." "They can too," I insisted. "Lie down the other way first, hon, facing away from me. That's right. Now, here..." She bent over me and placed the tip of the filled eyedropper into the opening of my ear. The sudden contact of the cold glass tip made me jerk and quiver involuntarily. "Oh!" She jumped and pulled her hand away. "Oh, Speedy, did I hurt your ear?" I shook my head no. "It itches!" "Oh my god, don't do that! You almost gave me a heart attack. I thought I hurt you!" I coiled up into a ball and feigned a low, pitiful groan, then another. "Oh, behave. You're not funny. Be still." I relaxed on my side and then cringed as the cold thin fluid filled my ear with a small roaring noise. "It itches. Eeew, it's so itchy." "It'll settle in and be okay," she said, stuffing a piece of wadded cotton in my ear. "Now turn over so I can do the other one ...Turn over." I lay still. "Speedy, turn over so I can do the other one." I sat up and pretended I was in a breathless daze. "What? Did you say somethin'? I can't hear. Where am I?" Holding the ear medicine in one hand and the eyedropper in the other, she started to laugh, resisted it, and closed her eyes patiently. "Speedy, please...you'll make me laugh and spill this stuff all over the bed. Now...please...stop." I groaned, "Okay," and laboriously rose to turn over on my other side. Already weak, I feigned an even greater weakness, moving slowly and spasmodically, writhing at every turn as if in pain. "Oh...Uh...Mr. Holmes...uh..call Dr. Watson right away... it's the deadly, poisoned ear drops...cgh, cgh." "Speedy, if you make me spill this..." She started to laugh again, and held it back with clenched teeth. "Stop, or I'm gonna spank your butt 'till it falls off on the floor." On my side facing her, I lay still. On her knees, she shuffled closer to me. "Honestly, I never in my life saw anybody go through such agony...Now here, this is the last one." Once more, the cool fluid rushed into me and greasily leaked over my eardrum. I shivered again with the same itch in my ear as before, and Martha Jane sealed my ear with cotton. Then she sat back and sighed, drooping. "I am exhausted from this! You're worse than a room full of sick puppies." I smiled seraphically. "Don't you smile at me like that, you little devil." She leaned closer to me and half-whispered, scowling. "Hon, you have to get well. We can't fuck while you're sick like this, you're too weak. So there." She rose from the bed and brought the bottles and table-cloth into the kitchen. While I heard her running water and cleaning I made myself comfortable in the bed, lay on my side, and pulled the covers up to my neck. I shivered as the 'flu coarsed through me, but soon the blanket warmed me and I relaxed. Martha Jane turned off the lights, except for one small lamp in the living room. Then she came into the bedroom and turned out the ceiling lamp using the switch on the wall by the door, and reached under the bedside lamp to turn off the last light in the room. We were dimly lit by the glow from the small living room lamp. Martha Jane hiked up the legs of her jeans to make herself more comfortable in bed, and quietly lay down beside me. She put her palm on my head briefly. "You still have a little fever," she whispered. She fiddled with the blankets and straightened my pillow. She felt me tremble. "You still have chills, hon?" Lying on my side, I nodded slowly. "Well, don't you worry, they'll go away soon." She stretched and pulled blankets about, soothing out the twists and tangles that were made while we struggled earlier with the medications. "You just stay nice and warm and...take your medicine the way you're supposed to, and...before you know it...you'll be well and gettin' right back into trouble, good as new." She rested on her elbow beside me. "You ready to go to sleep?" I nodded. At that moment another chill went through me. I clasped my arms closer to fight it off. "Want me to keep you warm?" she asked. I nodded. She moved closer to me and put one arm around my head to slightly lift and cradle me onto her bosom. "There we are," she said, and as soon as I was settled against her she unbuttoned her shirt and pulled it open loosely. Then she pulled her bra up, baring her breasts, and wiggled down so that her left nipple grazed my cheek. I reached up and kissed the brownish pink bud. "There...," she whispered. "Sleep, hon." The shivers made a brief pass through me as I fell asleep against her softness. ...A week or so later I was standing in Martha Jane's kitchen as her mother, a thin lady who looked much older than my own and who resembled her darker brunette daughter more than her fair, auburn-haired Martha Jane, carefully handed me a large tablespoon filled with dark green syrup. Her mother always spoke slowly and with a slight rasp, having never completely overcome the lung problems that she developed from the long and severe illness fol- lowing her husband's death in the war. "There," she told me, "now go in the bedroom and give that to Martha Jane. And be certain she takes every drop of it." "Yes, ma'am," I said. Holding the filled tablespoon face-high before me, I walked carefully through their living room and into Martha Jane's bedroom. She sat up in bed, a pink wool blanket up to her waist, the place littered with used kleenex and her school- books. Her eyes and nose were swollen and red. In one hand she held a thoroughly used tissue. I grinned maniacally at the door and chanted, "Yumyum." She winced. "Don't yumyum me, you--Is it already time for that awful stuff again?" "Yumyum." She called into the kitchen, "Mother, I thought I already took this stuff!" "It's three times a day, Martha Jane," her mother called back. "Oh my," she moaned. I had climbed onto the bed and, on my knees, moved cloer to her with one hand holding the spoon and the other cupped guardedly beneath it. "You were right," she said, sniffing. "That stuff really does taste awful. And you can taste it for a week!" "Yumyum," I said, moving the spoon closer. "Oh," she whimpered, wincing again. "Do I have to?" I nodded. "It hurts me more than it hurts you." "Right," she muttered, eyeing the spoon with mild terror. "Oh...all right." She opened her mouth and I dipped the spoon inside. Mugging and wincing, she took it all, swallowed, and slithered her tongue around thickly. "Oh, that is so disgusting! This is supposed to be the atomic age. Can't modern science do better than this?" Her mother came into the room and retrieved the spoon. She stood beside the bed shaking her head. "Look at this," her mother said, indicating Martha Jane's books and papers all over the bed. "Look, she won't even stop when she's sick as a dog. I don't know what to do with her, Speedy. She was awake half the night studying, and if she wasn't studying she was coughing *and* studying." "I have to graduate," she muttered petulantly. "On time!" "But, Martha Jane, you can't learn very well if you don't sleep. You need rest, dear." "Yes, mother, I know. I know, and you're right." She sighed and played nervously with the kleenex, which she brought back to her nose, and blew into it. "I hate people staring at me when I'm sick. I'm so ugly." "Alright, I'll go back in the kitchen. Speedy, you visit a while and try to talk some sense into her." Her mother left and I started to settle on the edge of the bed, but Martha Jane said, "Don't get too close," holding up a hand. She sneezed suddenly, and held out her palm, indicating the box of klee- ex near my knees. I gave it to her and she plucked a new tissue. "I hate this." "I'm sorry," I said, and sat on the bed anyway. I leaned forward to kiss her. "No," she whispered. "You'll get this same cold again." She held the kleenex to her nose and sniffled. "Well, alright, a little one. Right here--" she indicated her forehead. As she held the kleenex over her nose I leaned forward and gave her a noisy kiss. "Thank you, Speedy. I'm sorry, hon, you're really sweet. Don't pay any attention to me. I'm sick!" "Is this gonna keep you from school?" I asked. "No, no, it'll just slow me down. I'll have to work like the devil to keep up. I already worked myself to death, getting in school a year ahead of my age to begin with. I hope it doesn't hurt my grades." She settled against the pillow behind her and gazed out the window. "I have to make those grades. I have to get out of here. I have to get out of the "Lauderdale Courts U.S. Government Housing Project"." Though I wanted her to get well, the thought that she might soon leave the project was disturbing. Fortunately for her, the Christ- mas break would soon be underway and she would not miss many of her classes. And I knew she still had the winter and spring to go be- fore graduating. But by this time it was something she mentioned with more frequency than I found comfortable. Falteringly I tried to think of the questions that would give me more information about what might happen in the near future. "Would you move out as soon as you graduate high school?" I asked. "Oh no, hon, I still have college to go. You can't get a decent job with just high school, at least a girl can't. Not in good ole Memphis, Tennessee. My poor sister got her diploma and she hardly earns peanuts. She was hoping she'd make more, and she wanted to rent a place for all of us. But she can barely support herself, and she gives mother money to keep us goin'." She sighed again longingly and shook her head. "Why can't she marry some filthy rich man who shows up here in that driveway with sacks of money...? Oh, well, Evelyn wouldn't do that. She wouldn't marry just for money." "Would you?" I asked, half smiling, half not. "No," she said directly and firmly. She blew her nose. "But I wouldn't complain if some was included." I had no idea what to do about her completing high school, going to college, and leaving. But I knew she was unhappy where she was. Heedless of the fact that the forces of time and economic necessity and all the rest of it were far beyond my control, I was determined during the following weeks to please her so well that she might have second thoughts about never seeing me again. Within a few days she recovered from her cold and used the Christmas break to work feverishly on catching up with her studies. Trying to make myself indispensable, I checked with her daily during the holidays to see if she needed anything. If she needed note paper I volunteered and ran to the drug store to get it. I trailed along with her to the library and looked up several of her books. The weekend after Christmas, Mom had a date and Martha Jane sat with me, but I spent the entire night waiting on her, fixing dinner and washing the dishes, bathing and cleaning up while she studied. I even prepared the bed myself so that by nine o'clock she came into the bedroom to check on me and found everything in place. "Well!" she said, sliding into bed and hovering over me with a warm smile. "You didn't even need me here tonight, did you? You did everything all by yourself." "You were busy," I said. "Yes, I was. And so were you. And I'm glad you let me study, hon, I needed it. And don't think I didn't notice. Now, is there anything I can do for you?" I didn't answer. But I could see a sultry look in her eyes. More than likely, in the pause that followed while we searched each other's eyes, she saw something similar in my own. She whispered softly, "I'm all sweaty. I have to clean up a little. You wait right here and don't go anywhere." She rose, went into the bathroom, and closed the door. I heard the bath water running for about five minutes, and later she opened the door, turned out the bathroom light, and came into the room wearing her wrinkly old bathrobe that she had worn for years. The apartment was, like all the others, not very warm in winter. Her robe didn't fit that well any more, seeming a little short, more like a short sarong than an ankle-length garment. And it was too tight around the shoulders, so that even when she held it closed in front the lapels ventured outward, revealing the soft glimmering swell of her breasts. She had just started to slide into bed when I got up and scooted down, off the foot of the bed and onto the floor. "Wait a moment, madam," I said, rather elegantly and formally. "The, uh, services of this establishment go beyond cooking dinner and making beds." "Oh, really?" she asked innocently, batting her eyelashes. "It includes turning out the lights," I said, walking around the bed and shutting off the bedside lamp. In the dark I con- tinued, "And many other services to insure that you rest peace- fully during your stay with us." I removed my underwear. She asked primly, "And do the services include the manager of the establishment making himself nekkid?" I answered, "Yes, madam. They also include the management making the guest nekkid, too." "Oh my," she whispered. "I'm shocked. And pleased." I reached for her hand with mine, and pulled slightly so that she rose from the bed and stood before me. I noted that we were just about the same height now. She was only slightly taller. In a single motion, but gently, I pulled off her robe and dropped it to the floor. It was, I think, the first time I had undressed her myself. I whispered, "All madam has to do now is lie down." "And then what happens?" she whispered back. "Management...manages." "I can't wait." She moved into the bed, going near the other side to give me room, and I followed. I stayed on my knees, watching for a moment as she lay flat on her back, stretching to get comfortable. Her hands were behind her head, her slim body stretched out in the moonlight. She spread her thighs slightly, just enough to show me in the dark that she had begun to moisten and open. I hovered over her, surprised at how, more and more, I should be so deeply affected by the sight of her. Then I settled on my elbows close to her. She started to put one arm around me, but I whispered, "No. Don't move." She lay silently and waited. I began to softly, slowly, and wetly kiss her, starting with her nose, her face, her neck. "You don't have to do anything," I whispered. It took me about fif- teen minutes to move my lips from her neck to her toes, and up her thighs again. By then she was trembling and sighing. When- ever she tried to help, I would tell her to lie still. One time she asked me, "Don't you want me to do anything for you?" I ans- wered simply, "You are." From that point on she gave herself to my mouth and hands. Finally I lay betwen her thighs, my mouth nipping at the sensitive skin along the tendons and muscles there. She gave a series of small gasps as she felt my lips licking toward her cunt. Watching her from below, I shortened each lick as I moved upward, closer. I have no idea how these techniques ever got into my young head. I simply learned from her responses. I could see the tension in her tightened fists as I neared her center. I knew that when she held her breath she would be completely ready for the touch of my mouth directly on her. Soon this happened. She lay tense and unbreathing, her thighs and tummy stiffened expectantly. I removed my lips from her completely for only a second or two, then lowered my tongue to nestle directly and lightly on her clit. She exhaled and whimpered, and her hips swiveled once. I removed my lips again for another brief pause, then curled my mouth into her slit, took her clit in my lips, and gently sucked. Surprising even me, she whimpered helplessly, and started cumming immediately. This was sooner than I had planned, but I was not one to interrupt. Still sucking, I arched my tongue rhythmically and slowly along her nub. She stiffened, and her hips rose slightly off the bed. Her head rolled languidly to one side. She uttered a strange sound that I can describe only as the sound of a beautiful young woman cumming deep and hard, and I could feel her tummy and taut thighs quiver around me through most of it. Soon her hips fell back to the bed and she let out a long, breathy "Oh! God!". I continued my gentle suck, waiting for the subtle sensations that told me her hot clit had stopped swelling, and soon her thighs jerked once and I knew she was returning to earth. I unmouthed her as she regained her breath and I licked her cunt petals lightly, smelling the cum and the remains of the bathroom soap on her, nipping at her thighs again, and rose to lie fully on top of her. For a moment I kissed her neck and her nipples. Then, rising on my elbows, I aimed my cock by sight and slowly and fully entered her. "Oh hon," she gushed, though she still could hardly breathe. "God, that feels so good!" I didn't move. I could feel her clasp me inside, once for several seconds, then two or three contractions around my shaft that waned in strength. I rose on my elbows. Slowly, the new young animal in me rising gradually and fully until I found myself unexpectedly breathing through clenched teeth, I looked down at where we were so delicious- ly joined, and wordlessly and with a deliberate and unchanging rhythm, I fucked her until she came again. I said nothing until she gave a final quake and went entirely rigid, and as she lay suspended and frozen in pleasure I moved my lips near her face and breathed "Cum...cum..." again and again, waivering only when I felt that odd tickle in my cock sliding inside her, and the soft writhing of fledgling tubes in my lower gut that I could not resist told me with a startling jolt of pleasure that a drop of me was oozing into her. By the time she relaxed we were both overcome. Neither of us could move. Eyes closed, she lay stroking the back of my neck. Finally she whispered. "You are such a wonderful fuck." To which I could only mutter into her bosom, "I had help." With her cheek resting on my head I felt her face form a wide smile. Without seeing her, I could envision her teeth gleeming in the dark. "Flatterer," she purred, sounding sinfully pleased. ==================================== THE ADVENTURES OF ME AND MARTHA JANE by S.J.R. PART 4A: -30- -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |