Message-ID: <22706asstr$950076605@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: <00b601bf7259$a39e9c80$2201a8c0@sromeo> From: "SJR" X-Priority: 3 X-MSMail-Priority: Normal X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V5.00.2615.200 Subject: {ASSM} ME AND MARTHA JANE '99 (m/FF,teen) MJANE14.TXT Date: Wed, 9 Feb 2000 01:10:05 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, apuleius, IceAltar, kelly, Lambchop, newsman SJR <1st attachment, "MJANE14.TXT" begin> **** 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, 1999 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. PART 14A: Any predictions, premonitions or expectations I might have had about New York were quickly and unexpectedly undone and/or displaced at every turn. Life in Memphis, like its population, was fairly uniform and predictable. Not so in New York. Martha turned out to be a pretty decent companion during the week, despite an occasionally cranky outburst. If Ronnie was in the throes of her period, she showed little sign of it; she was as even- tempered as ever at our two lunch dates during the week. And if I had thought she might have some squeamishness about sex or might allow her relatively narrow, sometimes unpleasant experiences to hold her back from anything, I was wrong. At lunch Tuesday she announced, "Listen, I've contacted some people who'd like you to pose for them. What do you think?" I said, "Well, but what about Martha?" "Oh, she'll say it's okay." "She didn't say that yet. She wasn't so hot for it last time." "Okay, if I get her hot for it, how do you feel about it?" I chewed my hot 'n sour pork and said, "If it's okay with Martha, it's okay with me." "Great. Great, Steven. And you'll get to meet some people, some really interesting, creative people. So different from those stodgy bureaucrats Martha deals with." She wiped her lips with her napkin and said, "Okay. So you need some practice posing, now, these are professionals and serious students and they get impatient when you just fool around. So listen, tomorrow's Wednesday and I usually get half the day off on Wednesdays. How about another lesson?" I shrugged, holding my palms up. "Think I'll last?" "Sure you will. Why wouldn't you?" I shrugged again. A shrug was getting to be my standard answer for just about everything. I was getting tired of my own lame, boyish mannerisms. "Come on, now, you were okay last time." I said, "Well, I guess I do need the practice. Especially at just standing still, period." "Come on, you need to learn a few more techniques, and you should get used to it so you won't be so restless. Can you meet at my place tomorrow after lunch? Around one?" "You got it." Then she gave me the oversized, accordian-fold paper envelope she's been carrying. She said, "Here. Martha says this is part of your ongoing education. She asked me to give you these. But If you ever get around to reading all this, don't forget to give it back." It was a collection of several issues of The Village Voice, a newspaper I'd heard about but had never seen. Starting the previous Sunday, Martha handed me a pile of reading matter that she was certain I'd find in Memphis only if I were digging underground for it. It was one of her first major "reading assign- ments" for me in New York. More would follow. The package included clippings and copies of articles from newspapers, magazines, privately published journals: the absurdist theater movement and the Chamber Theater movement, and some scripts of one-act plays; pro's and con's about behaviorism; a paper on the basic tenets of Jungian psychology; lengthy reports from the New York Times Magazine on the civil rights movement; articles about Southern authors, Southern sexual and religious mores; current trends in educational careers. And now I had a stash of Village Voice articles about what was coming to be known in the 1950's as the "impending sexual revolution". The articles covered everything from studies in adolescent sexuality to the new indoor sport of wipe swapping in Connecticut. This was heady material for a teenager. But starting Sunday afternoon when Martha presented it to me, I tore into it as though it were manna from heaven. Much of it was incomprehensible at first, but I began to slowly digest the ideas and images over the ensuing weeks. I spent hours with the stuff all day Sunday, and most of Monday and Tuesday evening while Martha buried herself in paper work. Wednesday morning, I handled all my chores and struggled through Fiore. Then I tackled more of my "assignments" and ventured into the Village Voice material. Although it was dry, technical stuff, it threw more sexual images into my head at once than I'd seen in years of warnings from the pulpits or in my family's issues of the Catholic Digest. My adrenaline was flowing by the time I knocked on Ronnie's door at one in the afternoon. She came to the door in her jeans and an old print shirt and said, "Right on time again." I said, "Five minutes late." "Oh, who cares?" She said as were getting ready, "You should see the drawings I did in my dark book the other night. I couldn't believe it, I stayed up half the night drawing you. I even had to start a whole book, just for you." I said, "A new one? How many of those books do you have?" "Lots. You'll have to see the others some time. But not now. I want you settled down while we work." But as we worked, the buildup in my groin over the previous four days became evident now and then. I didn't get a raging hard-on, but I did get somewhat obvious as the session progressed. As time went on she noticed, and she gave me a little smile while she worked and said, "All right, now. Let's control ourselves. You have to learn to control it, especially with my friend Mirabel. She's very attractive and sexy, so you have to keep your mind clear." "Yeah, but I wasn't in bed with Mirabel last Saturday." She blushed, erasing a couple of lines, and said, "So that's what you're thinking about." I said, "Well, it...occurred to me while I was watching you. I think it's very sexy to watch you work, you're so professional. She said, "Oh, Steven, please. That goes right to my head." "I don't think this would be a problem with Mirabel. I've never had a, uh, experience with her. So I don't think I'd be thinking about it." "Not with Mirabel. Now, a little bit of a reaction, she can accept that. She's no idiot. But don't let yourself get all worked up around her, because she would definitely object. Got me?" "Gotcha." I settled down for a while, but she set me in a pose again that had me looking right at her, and things got slightly out of hand again. Ronnie saw, but didn't say anything. She kept working. After a while she put me in another pose and saw that I was half hard, so she went into the bathroom and came back with a damp washrag that she lay over me, saying, "There. Out of sight, out of mind. That goes for both of us. And remember, it's still my period." She returned to her work. The cold cloth helped. After a couple of minutes of intense involvement in her work, she asked, "So how's it goin'?" "Better," I said. She drew some quick, sweeping lines, and then she began to work on them, glancing quickly at me and then at the drawing several times, and while she worked she asked, "Mind if I ask you something?" I sighed. "Uh-oh." "What does 'uh-oh' mean?" "When somebody asks if you mind if they ask you something, it means you'll mind." She grinned. "Oh, you're--" and she suppressed a laugh and said, "Well, you're right. It's personal. So you don't have to answer." I said, "I thought so." "Well, she said, shifting closer to the drawing and starting again, "Don't you masturbate?" I didn't say anything. She said, "Because one of the models, who wasn't going steady at the time, said that's what he sometimes did to solve the problem. So, you might consider that." I said, "People up here are very frank about their sexuality, aren't they?" "Oh, some of them. Not all, by any means. I didn't use to be. Not usually. I was always scared to death. Except with Martha. Martha's the only one I could ever talk to. She's the only one who's ever seen my dark books. And you." She worked for a moment, and she said, "Well, if masturbation doesn't do it for you, wouldn't Martha help?" I blushed. I didn't want the conversation to lead to the sexual history of me and Martha. I said, "I don't know." "Sure she would." I shrugged. She used an eraser that looked like a small ball of rubber and said, "I would." She rubbed the drawing and glanced at me from the corners of her eyes and grinned. "I know it sounds outrageous. I would never have considered anything remotely like that, before all this happened." She squinted, looking at a line on her drawing and nursing it with the edge of her hand, and said absently, "But it did happen. And I was very surprised. Well...no. No, I guess I wasn't. Martha, maybe, but not so much for me, not that much." She examined her work and leaned back, tilting her head from one side to another, and muttered, "Mmm, I don't know if I like this one so much. I must be getting tired." She looked at me. "How about it, time for a break?" I glanced down at the cold, baby-blue washrag. I was fairly hard under it. I said suggestively, "Now that we've had that intimate con- versation, I think I do need a break." She smiled and wiped her hands with a small cloth. "I guess my talking didn't help much, did it?" I shook my head no. She glanced at the washcloth on me. "Well, you did pretty well anyway." She got to her feet and stretched with a little groan. "Well, I'll try one more effort, just a quickie to finish off the afternoon. You just rest up a minute. Stand up and stretch if you want. I'll be back." She went into the bathroom and I heard water running. I stood up and stretched, my dong sticking out, and I put the cloth on it again and lay down, sitting halfway up against the arm of the sofa, my legs extended along its length. Ronnie called over the sound of running water, "Want some tea or something? Water? Soda?" "No, thanks." The water stopped. I heard her rustling around in there with a towel, and then she was clinking bottles and stuff together, mumbling, "Oh, where is it? I know it's here." Then she was quiet for a moment and she called in, "You never answered me." "About what?" "Masturbating." I thought: Why the hell doesn't she just leave that alone? I thought her openness about her sexual curiosity could be exciting at times, but here I was trying to get my dick down to an acceptable level. I called back, "Very seldom. I don't particularly care for it. It's too lonely." She muttered from the bathroom as she rummaged, "Well, you're right about that. It can be very lonely sometimes. But sometimes it helps. It helps me. Sometimes." I said, "Talking about it while I'm posing doesn't help." She said, "I know, and thinking about it while I'm drawing you doesn't help me, either." She came out of the bathroom and into my view, holding a hand towel and a small, opaque white, glass makeup jar, and a box of kleenex. She had a business-like expression on her face, all seriousness, and she said as she walked across the floor to me, "My fault. But the damage is done. So I guess I better do something about it." She stood looking down at me, her hands full of the stuff from the bathroom. "But only if you won't think it's gross if I do this. So...is this okay with you?" I smirked, "Did you think I'd give you an argument?" She knelt on the floor beside the sofa and put the glass jar on the floor, saying, "You could have. You might have been tired, or maybe too shy." She unscrewed the cap of the small jar. "I couldn't find my Coppertone. But a guy once told me he masturbated with cold cream. You ever do it that way?" I shook my head no. "Well, let me know if it feels too messy. Maybe we can try it another way." She settled onto her heels on the floor and started unbuttoning her blouse. Looking at me she said casually, with a taunt in her eyes, "Now, don't expect this on the job. This is just between us." I sighed and rolled my eyes, and looked down at my cock. My erection raised the washcloth about two inches off me. I said, "Oh, my. He's definitely out of control now." She said, expressionless, watching me, "Oh. This will definitely solve the problem. I shouldn't have mentioned any of this in the first place, but..." She slipped the shirt off her shoulders and reached behind to unsnap her bra. "...if you relieve yourself before you go on an assignment, or have Martha or me do it, there won't be any problem." She removed the bra, her sweet pears bare and looking very touchable but a little swollen. She looked down while she dipped her fingers in the jar on the floor, and I was taken back by her mat- ter of fact behavior. I found it so bizarrely erotic that my cock stood up even higher. Ronnie straightened up and moved closer to the sofa on her knees, leaning toward me a little, and she lifted the washrag from my cock. Then she looked at my cock while she used one hand to lift me straight up and the other hand to wipe the cream on my shaft. I caught my breath with a sudden hiss, and she asked, "Cold?" "I'll simmer down." She gripped me with the moistened hand. "Let's hold him a minute and warm him up. I guess that's why they call this stuff cold cream." I closed my eyes for a moment, enjoying a brief current of pleasure that flowed through my length, and I opened my eyes again. She was looking at my cock, her expression disarmingly calm. She said, "I felt him swell a little. Does that feel good, just holding him like this?" I winked at her. "Sure." "You know, I wasn't kidding when I said the other night that I'd never done this. Now that I did it once, I wonder why I never did." "It is surprising." She watched my face. She squeezed up slowly, and then again. "That way?" I whispered, "Yeah. Just like you did last time." She watched my cock and started milking me with a slow rhythm, and I let my shoulders rest against the arm of the sofa and folded my arms behind my head. The odor of cold cream filled the room. The stuff squished faintly as her hand moved up and down. I thought about Karen in Memphis and remembered her clumsy hand job. Karen had affection, but no technique; Ronnie had a dripping sensuality in her eyes and voice, and she used a gentle coaxing on the upstroke that made me feel as if my balls were heating up a huge load just for her hand. She asked impassively, "When's the last time you came?" "Saturday. With you and Martha." She said, "Mm. No wonder. Well, he'll be okay soon. Squeezing too tight?" "No, it's good. Uh, just...slow down a little." Her hand started down and then squeezed up, slower. "Okay?" "Slower." She slowed even more, her hand making a muted, greasy noise as it rose and gently squeezed. I sighed, "Yeah." She said, "I always thought guys would like it faster, the closer they got to cumming." I gave a little grunt of pleasure, and gulped. "It depends, I guess. Slower makes me cum harder, then a little faster when it gets there feels really good." "Oooh. Well, then..." She fell into a deliberate, unbroken pace, about one second downward and two upward, slowing as her grip enclosed the tip, and I felt that the pace and grip were perfect, just perfect. She asked, "Better?" I gulped. It was getting difficult to breath. I whispered, "Just right." "Good." We watched her hand milk me. My breath was getting short and the pleasure intense, yet I was amazed that she seemed unflustered as her hand patiently worked my erection. She said, "Now, remember, this doesn't happen on the job. Don't even think about it happening. Okay?" I gulped again. "I wouldn't dare." "After this, there shouldn't be any problem." I didn't say anything. My eight-plus inches stood stiff, straight up in her milking hand, and her other hand cupped my balls. My cock gave one of those early-warning throbs, and I made a tiny grunt. She asked, "Getting close?" "Put your fingers underneath, on that muscle. Then you can tell." "Yeah, forgot about that." With her other hand she searched for the bulge of nerve and muscle under my sack, and found it. I said, getting very close, "Mm, yeah." "That make it feel better?" "Mm-hm." My mouth started to fall open. My eyes closed halfway. She kept the same pressure and speed, but suddenly she combined the milking with a deliberate corkscrew twist of her hand upward, the twist tightening as it caressed my glans. And the nerves in my dick and nuts went crazy. I gasped, delirious, "Oh! Oh Ronnie!" "Is that better?" "Oh!" She whispered, her soft grip squeezing up, "You get so big." A throb coursed vertically. I held my breath. My eyes closed, my head arched back. Her hand milked and corkscrewed and my cock gave her hand a stronger warning throb and my hips rose. Barely able to move my gaping mouth, I gasped, "Faster! A little!" She milked faster, not quite doubling her speed, and I gasped "Yes!" The tubes tightened under my dick and I knew I was done for, and I couldn't believe Ronnie was so shameless, and then there was that wonderful, twisting hand, and then down to my toes that awesome stiffening... The orgasm rose in a rapid surge and the pulsing cycle began within Ronnie's long, twisting fingers. Cum bubbled from my slit, drooling downward, and I felt Ronnie quickly lean closer. My slit hurled the first small spurt and it landed on my tummy, and Ronnie drew a quick breath inward with a "ssss!" and whispered "Yeah." Then I panted wildly in the mad rush of fast, rocketing squirts. Ronnie gave a sharp gasp, and another, and breathed louder and faster, finally sounding excited, and she milked the big, thick ones out of me and her other fingers pressed under my balls, and then with terrific pressure a wrenching blast shot out, and another. Then both of us sighed, pleased, as the wave's crest dissipated. I gasped, "Slower!" She slowed as my ejaculations weakened, and her strokes made the cum and cream gurgle wetly. I felt something drip on my hip and I opened my eyes to see her leaning over me, finishing me off, her soft tits dangling over my midsection, cum slurping off her nipples onto me. She milked slowly, contentedly watching my slit surrender the last puny lunges of thick broth over her curled fingers. I sighed outward, loudly. She gave me a slow tug upward, holding and tightening at the tip, and cum bled over the glans, and she tugged up again, more firmly, and she watched the pale dregs tumble down her fingers into the pool in my curls. When she started another tug I felt the ache begin, so I gasped, "No, just hold! Unh! Hold still." She looked up at me, her grip still. "Got it all?" I nodded and sighed and relaxed, "And some I didn't know I had!" She breathed a quiet laugh. "It was that good?" "Oh, it was. Very good." "Well, I had two teachers, you and Martha." She held me loosely by her fingertips, watching my slowing throbs. "I didn't realize how complicated a guy's orgasm was until I saw it. It's fascinating. I'll have to draw it. I'll have to start a new book for that." She tucked in her chin to glance down at her bosom. "Look at all that. You're a very healthy young man." She gave me some kleenex and then grabbed the small towel near the jar on the floor and cleaned herself and then wiped me dry. I was relieved, but shaky with the sheer, outrageous eroticism of the moment, and she seemed, at last, a little embarrassed as she donned her bra and hooked it in back. "I told you," she said, "this is so different from anything I ever thought I'd do with anybody." I blushed, feeling my face get Titian red. "I'm not really used to it, myself." I gathered the used kleenex and looked at her. "I thought you never did this before." She said, putting her shirt on and starting to button it, "Not this, not until you." She smiled at me, rather cozily, even shyly. "Did you like it?" I continued to blush, even blushing about blushing as I settled against the back of the sofa. "Yeah. I did." Then she blushed, herself, looking down as she buttoned. She said quietly, "I did, too." She straightened her clothing and returned to her work, finally, and said as she began drawing again, "I think we solved that problem." I said, "I think so, too." I watched her working for a moment, her face calm. I asked myself how she could remain so composed through it all. Then I remembered Martha telling me Ronnie's experience in the street in her early days in the city. After she had settled into her drawing for a few minutes she mumbled, "I'm embarrassed. Really. I never felt like doing that before. And I've seen a lot of models that were very nice to look at." She worked for a minute, but I could see that she was holding back something. Then she glanced at me and suddenly broke into a giggle, and she put a hand over her face and said, "God, Steven. Really! I've never done that! Never." She laughed behind her hand as she continued drawing with the other. I kidded her, draping part of one of the big drop cloths over my midsection, "That's what they all say." "Never," she said, trying to hold back the laugh and getting back to her drawing. She sighed, settling down, and she said as she worked, still grinning, "I'm so embarrassed. I can't believe I let myself seduce you like that." I was more than embarrassed. I was somewhat shaken. After the session, I went upstairs and there was Martha, just arrived from work and changing into house clothes. While I was fixing up a quick dinner I dropped everything I tried to handle. As we ate, Martha asked a couple of questions about the session with Ronnie, and of course there was a great deal that I left unmentioned. When we turned in for bed, Martha apologized for ignoring me during her "time of the month" and asked if I wanted to cum in her mouth. I figured if I said no, having not had sexual contact with her for four days, a discussion would ensue. So I let her suck me, trying hard to get it up fast and appear really horny, but she just slowed me down and told me not to work so hard. Martha's expert hands and mouth brought me off after a deliciously slow treatment that had me gasping and groaning to the ceiling. She went to sleep. I stayed awake. I kept thinking: There, now, I have an extraordinary and probably illegal relationship with Martha, an indescribable and illegal relationship with Martha and Ronnie, and now an unrevealed, illegal relationship with Ronnie, and now I had lied to Martha -- or, at best, I hadn't told her the whole truth. And now I was worried that sooner or later, in the normal course of events, Ronnie would simply tell her of it. And how was I supposed to handle that? Things grew more unpredictable when Ronnie gradually revealed her interest in the details of sexuality, an interest that even surpassed Martha's. Ronnie talked about it at lunch and at our Friday dinner as if she had just discovered a magical new drawing technique. And it was sometimes enough to cause Martha embarrassment, especially in the diner Friday as we ate together. At one point Martha stopped eating for a moment and said, "Ronnie, can't you stop talking about this? I don't want everybody in this place to know my internal physical and emotional sensations when Steven ejaculates." I glanced around warily. The crowded diner ignored us. Ronnie said, "Oh, Martha. You prude." Martha insisted, keeping her voice down, "No, Ron. I happen to enjoy it immensely. But if *you* don't mind, I'd rather keep it private." Ronnie looked at me. "Steven, is this conversation embarrassing you?" I answered politely, "Under the circumstances, yes." "All right," Ronnie said, chewing her food and swallowing, and folding her arms in front of her and then thinking hard and rolling her eyes, she said pristinely, "So how do you guys think Eisenhower ought to handle Cuba?" Martha said, "Stop making fun." "Okay," Ronnie said, "How about Steven posing for a couple of friends of mine?" "Oh, Ronnie, the last thing I want is to call Steven's mom in Memphis and tell her that her son was mugged, raped or beaten or some- thing by some pervert I never heard of." "These are people I've known for a long time, Martha. I don't hang around with perverts. That's an insulting generalization about creative types." "Hm. How about George?" "George, in my mind, is as dead as cheese." "How about Melissa?" "Melissa's not a pervert, she's a lesbian. What would *she* be doing to Steven? If you ask me, she's a pretty safe bet." "Isn't she on heroin?" "Oh, so what? Steven knows better than to try that." "How about those characters that lounge around her place?" "Okay, okay. Not Melissa. No drugs, no strange habits, then. So how about Clara?" "Clara? Who's Clara?" "Oh, you met her. Watercolors? She did that Mott Street exhibit. Remember, all the Little Italy studies for the New Yorker?" "Well..." "Come on, she's too prominent to risk fooling around." "That doesn't mean anything." "Martha, come on." Martha turned to me. "Steven, are you sure you want to spend your vacation actually working? Working?" I shrugged. "I want the money." "For what? I thought you had plenty with you." I said, "I had no idea that cameras and books and great clothes were so available in this town. I mean, it's everywhere and it's driving me crazy." Ronnie said, "You should have seen him drooling in Willoughby's camera store." Martha looked at me, frowning, and then she looked at Ronnie with a scathing, warning look, and said with her mouth set hard, "Ronnie, if you get Steven in trouble, I swear to god..." Ronnie's mouth fell open, and she protested, "Martha! I love Steven. I might be crazy, but I'm not stupid. Really. Only pro- fessionals and students I know personally." Martha fumed for a second, and then sighed. "Don't you dare get him hurt. Or upset by any weirdo." "Come on, what is it with you? I love this guy. And I told you, I have marital plans for Steven. You think I want anything to happen to my best prospect?" Martha threw her an impatient frown, and then glanced at me with the same look. I shrugged and said, "She's after my chicken salad." Martha laughed, trying not to, and said, "Well, this town is cer- tainly brightening your personality, Steven. But you really don't know the life of this town that well. I really, really don't want anything to happen. I'm the responsible party around here, you know. You might have some respect for that." They settled the matter, Martha grudgingly approving, and Ronnie gave me a secret grin and a wink while Martha returned to her meal. PART 14B: During that same week, more complications ensued. As usual in New York, it was best to expect the unexpected, while expecting the ex- pected to involve unexpected hassles. On Monday I got a little financial relief when Fiore announced that I was in good enough shape to get transferred to a less expen- sive class, out of the more costly, personalized sessions. The change lowered the overall price of Fiore's training to one-half the former cost -- a good move for me because I was beginning to see the bottom of my formerly bottomless pit of New York spending money. As it happened, there were a couple of young people in the class with whom I had picked up a passing, hello-in-the-hallway relation- ship. There were twenty-six young people in the class, all teens, most of them in various stages of training for athletics or dance. Among them was an astonishingly lovely young woman, brown-haired, with dark brown eyes, who always wore solid black exercise outfits based on ballerina tights and little dancing skirts or black shorts. We never spoke. She was beautiful, graceful, soft spoken and good humored, always friendly, always working hard at the movements, with a teen girl's body that was fit and perfect in every way. We never spoke. I occasionally saw her in street clothes leaving the building and she seemed dressed expensively. She usually carried a small leather equipment bag that definitely wasn't found in Macy's bargain basement. She looked Hispanic, but on the few occasions when I could overhear her she spoke with a well bred American accent with no discernible regional color. Her voice was soft and musical, a little on the breathy side, and she had a precise, gracious way of speaking. Now and then I would glance at her; she was hard to miss, with her big brown almond eyes, fluttery lashes, a cheerful, rounded face, and skin that looked so perfect it seemed unreal. On a few occasions she seemed to notice me, but only in a passing, accidental way. Even when she began to see me daily in our class for an hour, I never caught her looking back for more than a brief, random second. And I never made an effort to strike up a conversation; I had seen enough wealthy New Yorkers, young and old, to know that her pedigree was beyond my means. On Saturday night, I was in Martha's getting dressed in my best for a semi-formal cocktail party that Martha was attending, with me and Ronnie as guests. It was being held by some United Nations bigwig by the name of Carreras, at his posh home in the East 80's. The people I'd previously met who worked with Martha at Columbia would be there, and some heavy duty government and education types, along with many students and graduate students who were part of a United Nations project. Martha came into the bedroom and straightened my tie. As we looked ourselves over in the mirror I told her, "You know, those ritzy people can spot me a mile away." Martha said, "Of course they can. You look terrific." "No." "Yes." "I look like a fifteen year old hayseed from Memphis." "Turn around, let me look at you. Is that the suit you had altered by Ronnie's tailor? They did beautiful work." "C'mon, I don't have any business going to this shindig. The announcement said you could bring one guest, and you're bringing two." "Oh, they don't care. We're so far down in the hierarchy of this project, we could all stay home and no one would notice. Here, how do I look? Here, along here. Is it okay?" "It's okay." "Oh, you didn't even look. Here, in back. How do I look?" I looked at her in the mirror. I stood behind her and smelled the sweet powder and the hair spray and the lipstick, and she had her hair smoothed back and bowed in back, and her pale white, full skirted dress had no neck and no sleeves and showed just enough bosom, and she looked the way I always wanted my dream lover to look. I said, "You look like Grace Kelly." "She's taller than I am, she has a different hair color, and she's much prettier." "Well, you look like Grace Kelly. And I look like Francis, the Talking Mule." "You look very good." She hastily dug for her earrings in the little jewel box beside the mirror. "You don't realize how different you look since you arrived here. You carry yourself better, you handle yourself better, you've learned to dress like a New Yorker. Thank goodness you don't act like them." She frowned at herself in the mirror as she worked with an earring. "Oh, these never fit when you're in a hurry. Never. I hope Ronnie shows up soon, we're already late." She picked up the second earring and glanced at me. "Hon, stop pacing. You're making me nervous." "Well, I don't know how to talk to these people." "Of course you don't, you never met them. You start with hello, and then you learn how to think on your feet." She winked at me in the mirror. "Don't worry, stick close to me or Ronnie." Someone knocked on Martha's front door. Martha winced with the earring in her ear. "Ouch. Oh, speak of the devil. I left the door locked. Let her in, can you?" I strode to the front door, feeling too high off the ground in the new dress shoes I wore. I opened the door and was presented with one of the most alluring women I'd ever seen. It was Ronnie, leaning on the wall with an impatient frown on her face. I moved aside to let her enter, and stepped back to look at her. Actually, I stared at her like an imbecile. She saw me and stopped in the middle of the room and looked down at herself. She asked, "What's the matter? Did I forget something?" She was radiant, in the way a softly glowing pearl radiates on a black background. She wore a long, sleeveless, low necked black dress that was as slinky as her slinky body, perfectly matching her combed, wavy black hair, black stone earrings, and dark blue eyes. I closed the door and said, from the bottom of my heart, "You're beautiful. You're absolutely gorgeous." She sighed, "I like you, Steven, but don't push it." She looked me over. "And you look perfect. Really. Boy, have you come a long way." She smiled and walked to me and gave me a kiss on my neck, and said, "Not that you had that far to go." She briefly hugged my face to hers. She smelled and felt so good, I didn't want to go anywhere but to bed. She kidded me, "Thanks for the compliment, though. I love a guy who knows when to lie well." She started for the bedroom. "Is Martha in here?" I followed her into the bedroom. "You look like a million, and you know it." Ronnie stood next Martha, who was still fighting with her earring in the mirror, and said, "Martha, I'm down to my last pair of hose. If these tear, I'm done for." Martha indicated a lower drawer in the dresser. "Oh, get a pair of mine, out of there. Put 'em in your purse." Ronnie said "Lemme help you with that earring first." I stood in the doorway looking at both of them, two lovely, svelte, very glamorous women, with whom I had partaken of both love and lust. The strange thing about seeing the two of them together, looking so pretty, was that I couldn't believe it. I just couldn't believe it. I said to Ronnie, "I told Martha she looked like Grace Kelly. She won't believe me." Ronnie looked at Martha in the mirror and said, "Yeah, I can see something of Grace Kelly here. With Lee Remmick's eyes." Martha said, "Stop it." I said, "Ronnie reminds me of Phyliss Thaxter. With black hair." Ronnie frowned and said, "Who's Phyliss Thaxter?" "Van Johnson's wife in 'Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo'." Ronnie said, "I'll have to take your word for that. You remind me of something between a young Montgomery Clift and a young James Dean." I said, "No. Can't be. I was hoping for Gary Cooper." "Oh, not him. He always looks half asleep." Ronnie glanced at me while she helped Martha with the earring. "Martha, don't look now, but there's this really nice looking young guy standing in the door, giving us the eye." Martha smirked. "Great. Let's bring him along." Martha looked around Ronnie's arm, grinning. "Hey, wanna go with us?" I leaned against the door frame. "You two better get used to me, because I'm not letting you out of my sight. I don't have the slightest idea why I'm going, where I'm going, or what I'll do when I get there." Ronnie said, "That's okay, just stick with us. You'll be fine. Here, Martha, you're fixed. Now , let's have a look at me, and see if any straps are showing." Martha walked around the room, gathering her purse and scarf. I said, "But, I don't know want to say. What do I say to these people?" Martha said, "You do what they do. Say hello and introduce your- self." I said, "Then what?" Martha said, "Then do what they do. Ask questions." I said, "Well, what if they ask *me* questions?" Ronnie said, "Do what they do. Lie." Martha and Ronnie stood together, primping in the mirror. "Okay, now," Martha said, "one last flight check, here. Steven, while we're there, don't stray too far. You're meeting your next date at this party tonight." "My next what?" "Your next date. Mister Carreras' godchild, and some of her friends. She's seventeen, she's very bright, and she's just your type." I stared her. I didn't say anything. Martha said, pinning a broach on her collar, "Did you hear what I said?" I said, annoyed, "Are you fixing me up again?" Martha said, "Yes." I sighed, heavily, making sure she heard it. Martha said, "And it so happens she already knows you. Sort of. Her name is Anita." Ronnie straightened up and stared at Martha. "Anita? Is that the same Anita I met? From last spring?" Martha nodded. Ronnie turned to me, "Hey, Steven, congratulations. You've hit the big time. Aneeeeeta. The Cisco Kid's daughter." Martha said, "She's not the Cisco Kid's daughter, she's the great- granddaughter of some former Mexican diplomat or something. She's Carreras' godchild." I sighed again, and shuffled and turned around and wanted to stamp my feet and scream. "Oh, for godssake..." Ronnie came over to me and patted me on the shoulder. "Hold on, there. pal, let's don't look a gift horse in the mouth. She may eat tacos instead of meat balls, but she is very, very attractive." Martha said, "Mainly, she's a lot like Steven. And very bright." I said, "She'll know I'm a fraud right away." Martha stepped from the mirror and grabbed her purse off the bed and said, firmly, "She'll know you're sharp, and bright, and consider- ate." She walked past me out of the room. I followed, grimacing, "Oh, come on," and Ronnie took me by the arm and whispered, "Shh. Wait til you see her." We walked onto the street and headed for the east 80's, only a few blocks away. I was ticked off. Martha and Ronnie knew it, and ignored me as they strolled along. I started feeling ignored. Then they started walking faster, and I fell behind. It was a better view, anyway; they both had gorgeous rear ends. But after a while, Ronnie turned and waited for me to catch up. She said, "Come on, I'll fill you in on Anita." I said, "I don't wanna know." Ronnie said, holding my arm and walking, "Martha's so right, you can be so stubborn." I said petulantly, "So what's so good about this Anita?" Martha told me that Anita was born in Mexico but moved to Cali- fornia when she was a baby. She was educated, partly in France, partly in the States, partly in Mexico, and Martha arranged for some of her tutoring for over a year. She was seventeen, just graduated from high school, interested in dance, film, and all the arts. Her dad died in an auto accident in Mexico when she was three. Her Mom inherited wealth, but Mom had little t do with Anita, because Anita refused to attend Catholic Church. Anita moved to live with her godparents in New York five years earlier. Martha pulled me into position between her and Ronnie and said, in her exacting manner, "Now, listen. She's very rebellious. But she is also -- are you listening to me? -- she is also considerate, and she knows *not* to bite the hands that feed her. Which means, hon, she has learned how to behave in the environment in which she must live until she's free to be on her own. So you take a good look at someone who's in a position very similar to yours." Ronnie said, "Just wait. Anita will eat you alive." I said skeptically, "That remains to be seen." "It's just a figure of speech, honey." Martha frowned at me. "You're not wearing your glasses." I winced and sighed. Martha said, "Steven?" "All right." I reluctantly withdrew my glasses case out of my jacket pocket and put my glasses on, my face set in a hard scowl. Martha said, "That's better," and I caught Ronnie giving me a smirk, and Ronnie said, "Believe me, they look good on you." Then Martha said, "I haven't even told him about Jessica." Ronnie said, "Martha, not Jessica. Give him a break." I griped, "Oh, no, not another one!" The Carreras family lived within a three story luxury building in the East 80's off Fifth Avenue. As soon as we entered the place and checked in with the doorman, and followed the porter into and up in the elevator, I knew we were in a neighborhood that required a pretty good chunk of pocket money for the rent. Marble walls in the hall- ways. Cathedral doors at entrances. Not exactly a flophouse. But neither Martha nor Ronnie seemed uncomfortable. I simply followed their lead and hoped for the best. One of the first people I spotted when we walked into the main lobby and started down the hall to the reception room was the actor, Henry Fonda. He was holding a glass and stood with one hand in his pocket, talking to some guy who looked rich and suntanned. I asked Martha, "Is that who I think it is?" Martha looked, and smiled at me. "Of course. Wanna say hello?" "No." "Oh, come on. He's just someone else who contributes to the project, just like everyone here. He's very big in theater." "All I know are his movies." "He does theater, too. He was in 'Mister Roberts' on Broadway, remember?" I gulped. "Are you sure I belong here?" "They're just people, hon. Some are snobs, some are not. Just like every other part of New York, there are people here from all over the world and every walk of life." I walked with the two women into the reception area, which was pretty much a huge, fancy living room furnished with an open bar and a lot of silk covered sofas. I asked Martha, "This is their house?" Martha said, "No, these are the conference rooms and ballrooms. Their residences are across the hall." Ronnie murmured, "Wish my living room had a dTcor like this. I think the bar in the corner is an especially nice touch." Martha said, "You would. If you had all this, you'd never get any work done." Ronnie said, "If I had all this, I wouldn't have to." I was introduced to Mr. Carreras, who seemed like a gracious sort, a kind of older Anthony Quinn with a black goatee, and his wife, looking well fed and Spanish, and to a couple of the people I'd met at the coffee shop near Columbia. They were all friendly enough, and as the evening wore on I began to feel more at ease. I even worked up the guts to shake hands with Henry Fonda, who basically ignored me but at least was nice about it. Now and then I somehow ended up alone, standing around looking for Ronnie or Martha. And every time this happened, some smooth guy would approach me, introduce himself, ask me where I attended school and how I liked New York, ask me a couple of questions, and then say that they noticed me arriving with either Martha or Ronnie try to wheedle their telephone numbers or other information out of me. I soon learned to feign total ignorance about both women, save that they gave me a ride to the party. After this happened a couple of times I spotted Ronnie across the room, standing by herself with her cocktail glass at her lips. I walked to her and she gave me a little smile and indicated her glass. "Ice water," she said. "No bubbles for Ronnie. Ronnie doesn't want to be seen lying on her face in a place like this." I said quietly, "You look beautiful." She blushed. "Come on." "You do." "Really?" "Yes." She held her glass to her lips to demurely take a small sip and said, "Thanks," and then she arched her brows and winked and muttered from one side of her mouth, "Wanna fuck?" I laughed, looking around, and she shifted her eyes around and said furtively, "I hope nobody heard me say that." She sipped her water and asked, "So how's it going? You holding up?" I shook my head no. "I'm not gonna touch that question." She suppressed a laugh and asked, "You met Anita yet?" "No." "Well, she just arrived. Over there by the door." "I won't look." She smiled and said, "Come on, let's get Martha to introduce you." "Oh..." She grabbed my arm. "Come on." Martha and Ronnie stood at my side as both moral and physical sup- port while Martha introduced me to Anita. I nearly fell over myself. She was the lovely girl I'd seen in my class at Fiore's. And she recognized me right away. She said, "Oh, I thought I'd seen you before. Isn't that strange, when Martha described you to me and told me you worked out at Fiore's, I was sure I'd seen you." I smiled at her feebly, trying desperately to find something to say, and I was captivated by her rich, red lips and charming smile and big brown eyes, and her easy, unpretentious manner, and I suddenly realized I was still shaking her warm, soft hand. She said, "It just goes to show you, we've seen each other every day for weeks, but we never quite met. Of course," she said, laugh- ing, "I have no idea what that means." I said, "Well, we should have just said hello and got it over with." "Yes," she said sweetly, "we should have." "So, uh...how do you like that class?" "Oh, it's great! I'm getting so good at it, I can almost stand up on my own when it's over." Someone tapped Anita on the shoulder and she said, "Excuse me," and she turned to him, a smile on her face as she listened, and beside me I felt Martha and Ronnie start to move away, and I turned a little and frowned at Ronnie, and waved my hand, begging her to stay, but they both backed away, frowning back at me. Then I was there alone with this perfect, absolutely beautiful teenager who stood there like a Spanish princess in her simple but expensive full skirted, light blue dress and smiled with radiant confidence at a young guy who was whispering in her ear, and she said, "Oh, good. Thank you for letting me know." And then there I was. And Anita. She was slightly shorter than me. Her long, wavy, dark brown hair hung over her shoulders and halfway to her waist. She held a cocktail glass filled with the same pink, non-alcoholic punch I was holding in my trembling hands. She said to me graciously, "I'm so sorry. I asked Ralph to let me know if someone had arrived." I smiled and said, "Oh, that's all right. No harm done." Which I thought, considering my state of mind, was a fairly brilliant state- ment. She beamed at me, seeming genuinely glad to meet me, and I thought: What style, what confidence, how absolutely charming, how do people learn to do that? Are they just born that way? Why had I not been born that way? She said, a soft laugh in her voice, "Martha told me you were from Memphis. But I won't embarrass you with the questions you usually get about Elvis Presley." I shrugged, and despite the fact that I felt as if my face were paralyzed and the flesh was slipping off, I heard my mouth saying non- chalantly, "Oh, that's too bad. I've memorized all the answers to those questions. Now I don't have anything to talk about." "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that." I said, "I'll come up with something." She paused, sipping from her glass, her eyes still on me, and we both paused together, looking at our glasses, and suddenly she said, "Introductions are so clumsy, aren't they? Do they ever get easier?" I felt so relieved when she said that, my dick started to get hard. I smiled gently at her. "You're not doing bad at all." She said, looking around, "Neither are you." She looked at me, her eyes easy, almost intimate. "Well, I feel I already know you, seeing you every day. That's what's so silly about it, you see someone you know so well, but you suddenly realize you've never said a word to one another." Her eyes glanced over and past my shoulders. She said, sounding relieved, "There. Martha's gone now. I can act my age." I said, "You weren't acting your age with Martha around?" "Well, you know, she always wants you act older, somehow. But she's sweet. I really love Martha. I don't see her enough these days." She sipped again, and I knew her eyes were looking at me, testing, asking. I sighed uneasily and said, "Well. This is my first time here. It's nice." She said, "I live here. Want me to show you around?" "Sure." She smiled and tilted her pretty head. "Come on. Let's walk around and bother people we don't know." "Sure. We can pester them with introductions." She giggled, her eyes brightening, and she said eagerly, her lovely red mouth laughing, "Yes! That's a great idea!" And I was in love with her. Anita actually spent a couple of hours with me, showing me every nook and cranny of the ballroom and dining area and explaining how the rooms were used for official and social functions and talking about all the famous who had visited there and some of the dramatic events that had occurred in those palatial rooms. I was mightily impressed, and she could see I was. We were standing alone, in the entrance hallways looking at a portrait on the wall of some general or other, and she stood beside me and said, "I'm afraid all this must make me seem intimidating." I said, feeling much easier with her by that time, "I guess I would feel that way, if I didn't know you." "That's what I mean," she said, a little glumly, her eyes looking up at the general. "That's probably why people sometimes don't just say hello to me. Maybe it's the way I look." "Well...you do stand out." "Oh, I don't mind standing out. But there are many people I'd just like to say hello to." She sighed, and asked, not looking at me, "Did you feel that way about me when you first saw me?" I thought for a minute, and decided I might as well play it on the level. Something about her made me want to do that. I answered, "Yes." She smiled. "See what I mean?" During the course of the evening she brought me to the other side of the floor lobby into the residence of her godparents, where the rooms were smaller, though still exquisitely furnished. We went through their two libraries, one of which was set up as a music room with a splendid and very high-tech audio setup. Some of her friends were there playing record albums, and she introduced me to them. A strapping, tall teenage blonde guy gave me a hefty, friendly handshake and we got into a conversation that moved to the music system. I mentioned, "I see they have a nice JBL setup here." His face brightened and he said, "You know about this?" "Sure. I'd love to have this at home." "Oh, you and me both, man. These JBL's are great. Ever build any of your own stuff?" "I have a Heathkit at home. Not much." "Yeah, but all their stuff's classy, isn't it? And I really like building it myself." I said, "You know, they're coming out with stereo. Now you'll need two of everything." I sat with him, listening to a few record tracks, talking about the sound of the speakers and how they appeared to have certain sonic characteristics. The guy's name was Ken. He listened to me for a while and said, "Man, you really have a good ear. You know, I did notice that little tremor on the flutes and clarinets, I wondered where that was coming from." "Crossover," I said. "Not easy for some crossovers to handle harmonics if the crossover region is in that range. But it sounds like the designer made a good compromise. That's what any loudspeaker is, anyway, a collection of compromises." "Yeah, they are." We both turned around to find Anita sitting on a small chair near us, looking confused. She smiled and said, "I'm glad you two know what you're talking about." When Anita and I returned to the crowded main hall we were strolling and talking. And casually holding hands. I have no memory of how that happened, or who reached out first, but it seems we both reached out at the same time. Her fingers hung loosely from mine, and she looked down smiling and I looked down talking, and when I looked up I saw Martha eyeing us. Anita and I had made a date to meet on Tuesday afternoon to browse some Greenwich Village spots, and she wanted me to attend a party with some of her friends on Saturday. As Anita and I were talking to Martha, Anita happened to mention that her theatre group was holding a contest of solo readings at her home within two weeks or so. Just as she mentioned it, Anita's eyes widened suddenly. She said to me, "Oh, I just remembered! Martha told me you're in theater!" I looked at Martha accusingly and muttered, "Well, yes. I guess Martha must have mentioned that." Anita said, "That's wonderful. Would you like to do a reading? Just a short piece, you know, from a play or some poetry or something. Come on, you can be a contestant and meet everyone in the club. That'll give you plenty to talk about." I said, "Well, I'm not really prepared. I didn't bring any scripts with me or anything." Anita said, "Would you like to use our library? We have so much material in there, or someone in the drama club can get you anything you need." She sidled close to me, squeezing my arm, and making an anxious face and laughing, saying to Martha, "Oh, please, don't let Steven get away. We'd love to see a new face at these things." Then she straightened up and said, earnestly, "Well, frankly, to get away from the same old faces each month, we're desperate!" I said, still glancing at Martha, "Well..." I looked at Anita, who was holding my arm, smiling and pleading playfully, and she said sweetly, "Steven. Please? I know you'd be wonderful. Martha told me so much about your theater work. Come on. We'd love to see some- thing." Then she sighed at Martha, "Oh, don't let him be too shy." Martha laughed and said, "Anita, never fear. Steven has grease- paint in his blood and he'll be--" a quick little glance at me "glad to do something. He really wants to, I can tell." I shrugged. "Sure." Anita said, "Oh, good. The whole group will be looking forward to it. Thank you, Steven. It'll be so refreshing." Anita soon took her leave, and it was time for Martha and Ronnie and me to get home. After Anita left, I stood there looking at Martha, my gaze growing more irritated. I said, "She says it'll be refreshing. Refreshing. For who?" "You'll come up with something and you'll be a major hit. And it's just a recreational drama club, it's not life and death." I said again, "Yes. It'll be refreshing." Martha looked right into my eyes and said, "She had you right in the palm of her hand. Figuratively and literally." I blushed. Martha was right. Sunday, none of us could find a movie worth seeing. Martha and Ronnie and I had a cheap meal at a Greek diner. At dinner, Ronnie told me she was envious. "You spend two hours with her and you get three dates? I was there for four hours and only got one." I muttered, "All three dates were her idea, not mine." Ronnie said, "Sure beats asking on your own, and getting 'no' three times in a row." She grinned at me. I told you she'd eat you alive. You just watch your step. She's very independent." Martha looked up from her dinner. "Ronnie, you didn't tell me you got a date out of that party." "Unlike you, Martha, I couldn't afford to turn guys down all night." "Who was it? That Bolivian?" "God, no. Who wants to go out with somebody who gets rich off forced peasant labor? There's already enough cruelty in my life." "So who was it?" "The guy from NYU." "Oh, Ronnie. No." "He's very nice!" "Well, he's a little conventional." "You can only give it a try and find out." Ronnie left to go to the restroom, and Martha drank her tea quiet- ly for a moment before asking me casually, "Steven, it's not that late. I was thinking, maybe Ronnie could come up for a while tonight." "Okay," I said, not thinking too much about it. "But if you're tired..." "No. No, it's fine. I was gonna ask her about posing." She said, "Oh," and she didn't say any more, and I wondered what she was thinking about. I asked "Why?" She said, "Just thinking," and she sipped her tea. We left the diner at eight and strolled home, with me between them. It was a slow, ambling journey with a couple of pauses at storefront windows. And it seemed like our slow stroll home from Penn Station several days before, seemingly aimless and yet with a single thought on all three minds, a kind of trusting assumption, and little did I know how it would all be repeated. We made our tired way up the stairway in their building and as Ronnie searched for her keys to open her door, Martha turned to her and said, "Ronnie? It's not very late. Want to come up? The three of us?" And Ronnie said, "I thought you were tired," and Martha said, "Just a little. It's not that late." Ronnie looked up the stairs at Martha and said, "You sure?" Martha said, "It's the end of the week," and Ronnie said, putting her keys back into her purse, "Yeah. It is, isn't it?" And Martha said to me, "How about you, Steven?" I said, "Fine with me. Maybe Ronnie can give me a few pointers on handling poor little rich girls like Anita." As Ronnie followed us upstairs to Martha's she told me, "You hardly need pointers from me. Three dates, for godssake." Martha said, shoving her key into the door, "Come on, you two. Stop plotting." We moved around the apartment lazily, feeling the Monday morning drudgery already threaten as Ronnie pitched her purse onto the sofa and said, "Monday tomorrow. Another day, another fifty cents." Martha undid the belt of her dress and headed for the bathroom, seem- ing deep in thought about something and mumbling, "Just a second, I'll be back." I turned on the fan on the living room window sill and then walked into the bedroom and checked that the second little fan was on the bedroom window sill and running. Then I walked into the kitchen and turned up the big window fan from low to high. Ronnie had flopped onto the sofa. She said, "Thanks. It was a little hot in here." Ronnie lit a cigarette and she and I chatted on the sofa for only a moment before Martha came out of the bathroom and stood in the hall between the bathroom and the bedroom, unbuttoning the neck of her dress. Unsmiling, she looked across the living room at us and said quietly, "Ronnie?" Sitting on the sofa, Ronnie turned toward her. "Yeah?" Martha just looked at her, unbuttoning the next button on her dress, and she seemed unsure and reserved for a moment. She asked Ronnie, "In there, or...?" Ronnie said, "Oh," and she took a last quick drag from her cigarette and crushed it in the ashtray on the coffee table. "No. Bedroom's better." I glanced at Ronnie and then at Martha, and Martha's eyes stayed on mine from across the room, and her hand went down to the next button on her dress. She said quietly, "Steven?". When I frowned, questioning, Martha tilted her head slightly, indicating the bedroom. Then I knew what was happening. I rose to my feet. Ronnie finished crushing the cigarette and grabbed her purse and said, "Come on, Steven," and Martha went into the bedroom, and Ronnie and I followed. We were silent in the bedroom. Martha stood before her dressing table, removing her dress. Ronnie walked to the small chair by the bedroom window and put her purse on the chair and looked down at herself and wordlessly started undoing the buttons of her blouse. I stood by the bed near Martha, and I saw Martha looking at my re- flection in her dressing mirror and she gave my reflection a slight, secretive smile, almost a blush. She whispered, "Come on, hon. Get undressed." It was eerie; no one said anything for a moment, and the two women seemed oddly solemn, our silence a kind of mutual acceptance of impending intimacy. But more than a prelude to sex, the silence seemed to close off the room from the outside world, while the wordless undressing was like opening secret doors within the room itself. Blood rushed to my head, and as I started unbuttoning my shirt I felt a giddiness that made my hands tremble. Martha got down to her slip and asked Ronnie, "Want a candle in here?" Ronnie turned to her and said, "Sure. That'll be nice." She removed her blouse as Martha went into the living room. I glanced at Ronnie as I removed my own shirt, and she looked at me as she reached behind her back to unzip her skirt, and she had the same secretive smile as Martha, her eyelids lowered covertly. Then she looked down to take her skirt off and we continued to undress. The living room light went off and Martha returned with a big new candle and set it on her dressing table, and Ronnie removed her slip and I removed my slacks. Martha lit the candle and turned off the bedroom lamp and removed her slip and her bra. Ronnie shed her own bra and dropped it onto the little chair with her other clothes, and she whispered "'Scuze me a minute" and headed for the bathroom. Martha stood near me and rolled her panties down and saw me watching her while I rolled down my jocks. She glanced at my hard- ening cock. She walked over to me in the candlelight and ran a finger along my shaft. I rolled one of her nipples in my fingers and she put her fingers around my cock and held it, and with her other hand she held my balls, and I slid my palm down her tummy and let my finger stroke along the corner where her thigh joined her hip, and then I cupped her pussy. She leaned against me and reached around and held my butt and I did the same to her, our faces resting on the other's shoulders, and we stroked each other's backs and behinds and legs and I kissed her shoulder. She kissed and chewed my earlobe and breathed against my ear, "Hon...I feel very wicked again." I swallowed nervously, my mouth feeling full of thick goo. Martha said against me, "You're tense." My eyes moved uneasily around the dim room. None of it seemed real. We were not on the planet Earth. I murmured, "Just a little surprised." "I thought you'd be used to us by now. Ronnie wanted to. We talked about it today. She likes this. I like it." She gave a small, hushed laugh. "But it's still a little scary." All I could say was to whisper, "Yeah." "I kept thinking about it. And at the last minute, out on the on the stairs...I just said yes to it. I wanted it again." I kissed her shoulder. "So do I." She said, "When we were walking home together, I watched you. You looked as if you already knew it would happen, the three of us. You didn't look worried at all. I thought I was the only one who was hesitating." I kissed her ear, pretending to be totally calm and grown-up. "It's okay." She whispered, "Keep touching me." My cock was hard against her thigh. In a minute Ronnie came out of the bathroom naked and dropped her panties to the floor as she walked over to me and Martha, whispering, "You two started without me?" Martha said, "You can join." Ronnie stood beside us and gave me a kiss on the shoulder and then she touched Martha's shoulder, and she put her lips on the tight skin of the edge of Martha's shoulder that glowed with the light from the candle, and she kissed softly. Martha turned her face toward Ronnie and they traded their secret smile. I was so surprised by Ronnie's gesture that I didn't breath for a moment. The image sent a throb through my dick and precum slipped out against Martha's leg. Martha looked down at my cock and held it and squeezed, and a new, clear bead appeared at my tip. Martha pulled on me slowly, and my eyes closed and I stood there and let the slow pulling motion make me longer and harder. My balls were already starting to tighten. Then Ronnie moved around and stood behind me, her nipples against my back, and her hands slipped around my waist and her nails played along my tummy while Martha pulled on my dick. The room was loud with our breathing. Then Ronnie's wet lips were on the back of my neck, and then Martha's lips were on the side of my neck, and it was all a little too much at once for me. More precum oozed from me and I moaned, and the two women gave quiet, whispered laughs. Ronnie asked, "You okay?" I gulped and said, "With the two of you, I'm not gonna last very long." And Martha said against my ear, "Well, it's been a while. Do you think if you cum now, you could last longer with us? Or do you want to wait?" I said, my head and lungs feeling too full, my brain floating in space, "Now is probably a good idea." Martha looked away from me, at the bed, and back at me. She said, "Sit on the side of the bed for a minute." The two women let go of me, but Martha kept her hand on my shoulder as I backed up to the edge of the bed and she said, "Right here. Just sit here and relax. Is that okay?" I said "Yeah" and I sat on the edge of the bed, my feet on the floor, and I felt nervous, wary, unsure of what they wanted and feeling as if I were going into surgery and was being led around with no will of own, shaky with growing desire. I heard Ronnie whisper, one of many whispers that would fill the night, "Let me see how you do it, Martha." Martha reached down and spread my knees. She knelt between them on the floor and began kissing my tummy. Ronnie sat on her legs beside me on the bed and kissed my shoulder and my head seemed full of candlelighted fog. Martha's soft lips moved down my tummy to my pubic curls and then straight to my tip, nipping wetly, gently, slowly, and I sighed, and Ronnie whispered in my ear, "I'll just watch. I want to see Martha do it," and I said, "I like the way you do it, too." Ronnie smiled and said, "Then that's the way I'll do it. Next time." Then I felt Martha's mouth going down on me, down, down, and I sighed again. And I thought: This is crazy, this isn't happening, it can't be happening again. Adrenaline rushing through me had my whole body feeling fluttery. It was sex, raw sex again, and I was frightened and thrilled, and I knew by the way Martha sucked me that it was the same for her and for me, it was strange and good and soft and lewd. Ronnie looked down and watched Martha start sucking me, slowly, slowly, and Ronnie said, "I see. You always like it slow." I sighed "Ahhh," letting the air out slowly and said, "Yeah. Most of the time." Ronnie settled against me and watched Martha suck up and down a few times, and then Martha nipped at my tip again and let her lips suck just the end and Ronnie licked my ear and ran her fingernails back and forth across my tummy and my cock urged upward and Martha's mouth went down, and down. Martha sighed through her nose with my whole cock in my mouth and paused there and ran her tongue around the corona, and I breathed a soft ahh and then she started sucking again, and Ronnie's lips sucked my neck and I moaned. Ronnie sucked for a long moment, and then she whispered at my ear again and I could hear the smile in her voice as she whispered, "Like that?" I breathed a muted, quick "Yes" and I closed my eyes and helplessly I felt the room begin to disappear under a sea of lusciously sinful pleasure. I was losing my mind with Ronnie's nails on my tummy and Martha's mouth doing an agonizingly slow up and down slide on my cock, which was soon throbbing strongly against the roof of her mouth, and my voice quaked as I gasped, "Oh, I'm...I'm close," and Ronnie whispered, "Already?" and I nodded yes. And then Martha lifted her mouth and she whispered, "Ronnie, give me your hand." Then I felt Martha placing a couple of fingers of Ronnie's hand loosely around my dick near the root at my groin, and Martha whispered, "Feel him cum." Ronnie whispered, "Martha. Where do you learn all this?" and Martha said, "From Steven." Then Martha licked my tip, and my dick lurched against her tongue, and then Martha put her mouth down, down, and started sucking again. I listened to Martha suck and I listened to Ronnie breath near my ear while she watched and waited with the root of my cock held between her thumb and index finger, and I couldn't believe how won- derfully nasty the three of us were. Within a few sucks I was trembling and moaning "Uh" and "Uh" and damn if Martha didn't just keep it slow, and I knew damn well she knew she was driving me crazy. Then my dick throbbed in Martha's mouth and against Ronnie's fingers, and it throbbed again, reaching for that cum, and Ronnie's breathing changed, getting louder. My head jerked back and I leaned back on my shaky arms, unable to speak, and Ronnie looked down at Martha sucking me and she whispered, "So many ways to do this." I held my breath and Martha's mouth went up and down, and then I couldn't stand it any more. I let a meager whimper out of me and then in a long, seamless moment of forbidden lust and joy the squirts began and cum squirted quickly inside Martha's mouth and I felt the squirts coursing past Ronnie's fingers and she breathed a soft "Mm, yeah," and my knees twitched and cum leaked from Martha's lips and she lifted her mouth a little and swallowed and moved back down and my cock lurched strongly inside her mouth again, and then I had no will and no existence except for the squirt and squirt and gush and Martha swallowing, and Ronnie hissed a soft, dirty "Yeah" and I thought my brain and my chest would explode. As the orgasm faded I sighed toward the ceiling, "Oh, good!" and Ronnie softly chuckled. While Martha's mouth finished me off, I panted and panted and panted, and Ronnie said, "That was fast. You must have needed it." All I could do was lean back on my arms and pant and gulp. Ronnie grinned down at Martha and said, "I hope we didn't finish him for good." Martha's mouth stopped moving on me, and she held my tip in her mouth and used her hand to squeeze up firmly, and I felt her tongue scrape the last drop from my tip, and she sucked and swallowed. Then her mouth let me go. Martha swallowed hard again and took in a breath and said, a little surprised, "That was a lot. Ronnie, get me a kleenex over there." Ronnie stretched across the bed and grabbed the kleenex box off the night table and handed it to Martha, saying, "I'm not surprised. My fingers could feel him. Martha, you've got to let me in on more of your tricks. Feeling him cum like that was very erotic. Really. If I could learn to please a guy that way I'd never be alone again as long as I live." The two women sat on the bed and talked while I rested. While I lay like a corpse trying to recover, they lit cigarettes and discussed ways of increasing sexual pleasure for guys and gals, getting very technical about physical and emotional responses. Ronnie noticed I wasn't smoking and asked me if I wanted to, but I said, "If I'm gonna get involved in all the things you two are talking about, I'd better lay off cigarettes for a while." They laughed, and while I rested they talked about erotic technique, and how the three of us being together was so kinky that they felt compelled somehow to make it as pleasurable for each other as possible. Ronnie seemed amazed and she said, "Isn't that weird? Things I was embarrassed to do with just one partner, I'm not afraid of with the three of us." The talk and the sight of these two desirable women soon had me aroused again, and while they were talking they started fooling around with me, with Martha showing Ronnie how to use her hands and mouth to get me going without causing discomfort after my orgasm. Things got a little silly when Ronnie started trying to talk dirty like Martha, especially when Ronnie tried that very, very slow sucking on me and stopped to ask me, "Did that make your thing feel good?" Martha and I got tickled and laughed about Ronnie using the word "thing" again. Ronnie said, "Well, I'm not sure what to call it," and we assured her that the best way to excite someone with words was not to just copy someone else or hold back modestly but to use the words and terms that simply seemed appropriate for the mood and feeling of the moment, words that were exciting for both partners. Ronnie said, "Yeah, I guess 'thing' isn't really something that jumps out at you from the dirty word diction- ary." Martha told her, "I can't believe you've spent years drawing your fantasies but never did anything about them." The talk became more subdued and serious as Ronnie and Martha talked about some of their fantasies. Ronnie asked me, "Steven, you haven't said anything. Don't you have fantasies?" Martha said, "He never seems to talk about them. I keep asking, but he keeps them to himself." Ronnie said, "Well, that's just the way he is. Men seem to be very afraid of the dark in themselves, they just keep it inside until they explode." My answer to them was that what we're doing right now never occurred to me. "After the last time and this time, I don't have much fantasy left." Ronnie said, "Oh, there's plenty left. I'm learning so much from you two, I have to start a new fantasy book all over again." She lit another cigarette and asked Martha, "Well, if he hardly ever tells you about his own fantasies, what does he do when you tell him about yours?" Martha looked at me and then blushed and said, "Now that you mention it, I don't think I've told him much about mine, either. Maybe, maybe just one that I remember." Ronnie winked at Martha. "Ah-ha. See? One of you has to open up first." Neither Martha nor I said anything, so after a pause Ronnie said to Martha, "Who's gonna be first?" Martha blushed, looking at me, and said slowly, "Well..." I said, "Oh, you don't have to tell me." Martha said hesitantly, "Well, no I...Before Steven came to New York I used to fantasize about watching him have sex with a virgin and giving her an orgasm. Her first orgasm. I used to fantasize about that." Ronnie said, "Well, that one came true with me." Martha asked, surprised, "With you? You weren't a virgin." Ronnie said, "Well, I wasn't a virgin, but I never had an orgasm during intercourse. I only came when I masturbated. Then Steven surprises the hell out of me with two in a row." She took a puff on her cigarette and winked at me and said to me, "Someday you're gonna tell me where you learned all that delicious stuff." I didn't say anything. Martha asked diffidently, "Well, Ronnie, have you...ever had, you know, fantasies about other women?" Ronnie said, "You know, I think many women have that fantasy. I read that, often, what those fantasies often say is that the women wish they had a male lover who would have sex with them the way the women really want, instead of being treated like a hockey puck." Martha said, "Really? You read that?" Ronnie said, "Yeah. Kinsey, or some place like that." Martha said, "Oh. Kinsey. I don't trust that. I think Kinsey should check his own research to see how many of his subjects are just lying." Ronnie said, "Well, I've thought about it. It's not one of my priorities. Right now my priority is...I guess, just being able to let myself have an orgasm during intercourse. I mean, I keep thinking it won't happen and I get scared and lose it." She gave me a suggestive smile. I blushed and said, "We might be able to do something about that one." Ronnie said, "I was so surprised when I came with Steven. You know, Martha, I didn't notice Steven at first. I mean sexually. When I first saw you, Steven, I said to myself 'Now, there's a nice looking guy with a gentle smile and nice eyes.' I had no idea anything like this would ever happen." Martha asked, "When did you start thinking about it?" Ronnie looked at me, thinking, and said, "I don't know." I smiled at her. "At the nude beach?" Ronnie said, "Not really. I mean, I noticed that you had this very nice, young body that's obviously partly genetic and partly hard work. But I've seen good bodies before, plenty of times. George had a fabulous body, not that he knew what to do with it." She looked at me, pondering. "I don't really know...it must have been on the train, coming back from the beach." I said, "On the train? I don't remember anything happening on the train." Ronnie said, "No, it wasn't just one thing, it was...Martha told me a lot about you, and she said she often wondered what you'd be like having sex with someone else, and...I just got to looking at you, and I wondered the same thing, and I realized that you were different from other guys. And what made you different was that you didn't seem to have any meanness in you. None at all." Martha said, "Yes. I remember you saying that." Ronnie leaned back against the bed's headboard and asked me, "When did you first get the idea?" I said, "I didn't. It just happened." Ronnie said, "No, I mean, when did you first think of me as a sexual, uh, possibility? At your age, I guess you see lots of possi- bilities. But did you think about it when you met me?" I said, "No." "But when? Really, I'm so curious about what goes on in a guy's head." I thought for minute, and I said, "When we had lunch." Ronnie's eyes widened, and she smiled. "Really? At lunch? Oh, that's so funny. At lunch. I don't believe that silly myth about how eating food is erotic, it never got me thinking about anything like that. You mean, the sight of a woman eating makes you think about sex?" I shook my head no and said, "It was your eyes." Ronnie said quietly, looking at her cigarette. "Oh, I see. My eyes. I see. That's...very significant." I said, "Really?" She pondered a moment, and said, "To me, it means you saw me as an emotional, thinking person, as well as a physical person." "I see." "Very nice," Ronnie said, and she looked at Martha. "Martha, I'm not gonna ask you when you saw Steven as a possibility, because you mentioned him on and off for over a year before he showed up here." Martha said, lying face up beside me with her eyes closed and a sly smile on her face, "I thought about Steven for a long time." Ronnie said, "Well, you know you inspected each other back in Memphis." "Yes," Martha said, not going further with it. Ronnie mashed her cigarette in the ash tray. Martha was lying on my right and Ronnie sat up beside me on my left. When her cigarette was out she laid her palm on my chest. She said, "Well, you made one of my fantasies come true. More than once. But how about you, now? Have I been clever enough to fulfill any of yours?" "You keep doing the actual fantasy before I can think them up." She laughed and said, "Really? I must be getting very creative." I said, "Yes, you are. Very." She was quiet for a moment as her hand touched me, and after a moment she looked at her hand on my chest and then she lifted her hand and used a single fingernail to draw a slow line around one of my nipples, and I shivered a little, and she laughed and said, "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to tickle." "No, it felt good." "Oh," she said, running her nail over my nipple again. "I like that." Ronnie whispered, "Yeah?" and I nodded. She let her fingernail caress slowly, and I closed my eyes and enjoyed it. After a moment I felt Martha sit up on my other side, and Martha whispered, "Mm, he does like that, Ronnie. I never tried that with him very much until I saw you do it." Ronnie said, "I never tried it, either. I never took the time." The next thing I knew, Martha lying beside me lifted a hand and ran her fingernails along the top of my thigh. Then she sat up beside me and ran her nails along the inside of my leg. She leaned down and whispered, "Feeling rested now?" I nodded yes. Then Ronnie settled onto her side beside me, one of her legs crossing over mine, and she ran her nails along my neck and down my chest, and she chuckled and said, "Look at you, you're so passive and cuddly," and for the next few moments both women silently cruised my entire body with their fingernails, leaving my cock untouched -- which was not necessary, because it soon began to stiffen on its own. I used my right hand to caress Martha's tush and my other to squeeze one of Ronnie's nipples and Ronnie whispered, "Mmm, I like that. I like that tight squeeze, just on my nipple." Then as they worked I felt Martha's lips kiss my nipple, and then they moved up to my shoulder, and then my neck, and then my cheek, and for a second Martha put her lips on mine. Then she lifted her head, and then Ronnie's lips were on my cheek, and then closer to my mouth, and then Ronnie put her lips on mine. Then it was Martha's lips on mine, gently sliding back and forth, and then Ronnie's lips did the same thing, and it felt so damn good it was maddening. When Ronnie lifted her lips I kept my eyes closed and I whispered, my own voice sleepy and dreamy, "That feels good," and Ronnie said, "You liked it?" I said, "It feels like some- thing very sweet and affectionate, like just tempting, not demanding. Making promises. Like saying I'm promising that it's going to be pleasure, just pleasure, that I don't expect anything except to give each other pleasure." Ronnie whispered, "Yes. Pleasure. I'm learning so much about just taking the time, taking the pleasure. It's so nice this way." Then Martha's face was close to mine, and she whispered, gently, "You say such nice things when you open up to us. That's one of my fantasies, pleasing you so much that you just let go without so much complicated persuasion." Then her fingernails left my leg and she gently wrapped her fingers around my dick, and I arched my hips. Martha said, "I like you getting hard and whispering and letting go." I found myself saying, nervously, "It's not easy," and Martha said, "I know, hon. But you're doing it." Ronnie said, "I know how he feels. I know. I hardly ever opened up, I keep it all in drawings," and Martha said to her, "But you can open up now. With us." And Ronnie said, "Yes. It just takes time. But it's so nice this way. Better than I thought something like this would be. The three of us so quiet. Our hands on each other. Kind hands. And the little kisses. And the whispers. And touching." And Martha whispered, my cock swelling within her fingers, "And fucking." And Ronnie whispered, "Yes. And fucking," and the way Ronnie said the word was always strangely exciting, in a way that was indefinably different from the way Martha said the word. When Martha talked dirty it seemed to ignite an emotional flood that went directly to my cock and balls. But when Ronnie said it, the word seemed to strike a nerve at the base of my spine that coursed upward, and the result was more cerebral than physical or emotional, affecting me in an entirely different way. As Ronnie's fingernails trailed over my tummy she whispered, "The fucking part is nice. So nice. I do like the way you fuck," and she sounded as if she was using the word over and over on purpose, listening to it roll off her lips. That was it for me. I'd had enough of this passive chit-chat. Ronnie's softly spoken obscenity had a subtle, compelling power that made me suddenly rise up and roll onto her, embracing her, and I began to kiss her nipples. These two women had me so electrified that I wondered if I'd seriously hurt myself with all the screwing I wanted to do. This time around, I prepared Ronnie very, very thoroughly before she put the rubber on me and let me inside her. She was already gasping and sweating when I started the slow fuck, and she watched my eyes, her own eyes quickly looking hot and pleading. She was still slower to cum than Martha, and she lost the climax a couple of times along the way; but thanks to the rubber, I resisted the urge to finish, and I resisted the urge to rip the damn thing off and screw her properly. Martha lay beside us and kissed Ronnie's shoulder and I saw Martha sneak a kiss onto the rise of one of Ronnie's tits. But then Ronnie's climax finally started and I bent down and gave Ronnie a love bite on her neck. She gasped and whimpered, "Oh! Ah! Ah! AH!" and then she stayed frozen in her release while I sucked her neck. While she came, her internal muscles were so active that I could almost imagine the real shape and feel of her through that damn rubber. After she finished cumming I held her, biting and sucking her nipples until her breathing settled. She looked lovely under me; the sight of her lithe, delicate nudity spread before me was still a turn- on, so I tried fucking her with the rubber on. I tried until I was breathless but I refused to come in the damn thing, I just couldn't accept cumming that way, not even with Martha stroking my balls and butt, and I finally stopped pumping. And Ronnie held my face in her hands and said, "Steven? That was it?" And I said, "It's not you. It's rubbers." She said, "But I want us both to enjoy it," and I said, "It's okay, it's okay. I'll get the hang of these things sooner or later." But I could cum inside Martha. I entered Martha without the rubber, and she held my face in her hands while I fucked her, and she watched my eyes and whispered, "Make it last, now. Make it good," and we began our whispers as we usually did, and Martha said "Your dick feels so good," and I said, "My dick likes it, too," and she said, "No rubber now, hon. You can cum. You can cum all you want," and I said, "I want you to cum, too," and she said, "Don't worry. We have time. Time to suck and fuck," and she whispered again, "Suck and fuck. Suck and fuck," and she smiled as if she knew her talk was making me cum. Ronnie's hands went under my butt and she pressed under my scrotum and kissed my legs and my gluts and I closed my eyes and let it cum, and Martha felt so damn good inside that I thought my balls were going to merge under the pressure. While I came, Martha crooned, "Mm, spurt, honey. You know I like feeling it. Mmm," and I came all I could, feeling thoroughly emptied, and weak and fluttery with lust. While we rested, Martha and Ronnie smoked and Ronnie said, "Martha, I can't believe the way you and Steven talk. I mean, Steven and I talked one time while he made me cum, and it drove me crazy. But we didn't talk like that." Martha and I told Ronnie that it was all a matter of individual preference, and that most couples didn't talk at all. I said, "Two people find their own language. You might be with someone else and the two of you would develop a language all your own." And that's when Ronnie told Martha about the hand job she gave me during our session Wednesday, and Martha was captivated by the story, to my surprise. Ronnie said, "But while I did it to him, we didn't talk at all." I said, "Yes, we did. Remember?" She thought about it and said, "Well, yes, we did, and we did the other night, too. But not like you and Martha. When Martha talks to you, my god, you get so heated up! She even heats *me* up! And I didn't say much at all while I was doing it to you Wednesday because I was trying to keep myself from jumping on top of you. If it hadn't been the wrong time of the month, I probably would have." I told her, "Maybe the way we talked or didn't talk is just, you know, our language together. Sometimes you might be in the mood no talking at all." Martha said, "Ronnie, doing it is as much a thing of the mind as anything, and every time you do it the mood's different. And Steven's right, at times you might not make a sound, period." Ronnie thought about it again and shook her head and said, "God, there's just so many ways." Martha said, "You're the one with hundreds of pictures in your dark books. And let's face it, hon, you've been around more than I have -- at least, you've been more willing to make the effort than I've been. You really ought to have plenty of ideas of your own by now." Ronnie said, "But when it actually happens, it's different from the fantasy." Martha said, "Yes. I know. That's what's so nice. Sometimes looking for the fantasy puts you in touch with something even better." I told Ronnie, "Remember the first time you came with me inside you? You just said whatever you wanted to say, and it was totally different. It really had me going." Ronnie said, "I don't even remember what I said." I said, "I do. Most of it." Ronnie laughed and said, "Jesus, I don't even remember saying anything." Martha said it was getting late, so she wanted me to just use my mouth to make her cum. I said, "I can get it up again, sure you don't want me to try?" Martha said, "No, hon, it's late and I'd have to clean up and everything. And all this talk has put me in such a passive, lazy mood. I just want to be lazy." This time, Martha rested her head on Ronnie's knees while Ronnie sat up and stroked Martha's hair and shoulders. Martha came almost immediately the first time around. Then Ronnie sat looking down at us, enthralled while I licked Martha through a second climax. As Martha swooned and gasped and was recovering for the second time, Ronnie grinned at me and said, "Steven, how in the world do you do that?" I said, "I like it," and Martha moaned, "God, I do too!" Ronnie asked, "Your mouth doesn't get tired?" and I said, "Eventual- ly." She gave me a wicked smile and said, "Next time, honey." Then Martha, still panting, her head back and her eyes closed, caressed my hair and whispered, "Steven. Again." I said, "You sure? I thought it was getting late." And Martha said, "I don't care." So I licked her again, slowly, torturously, hoping I could help her build one big enough to satisfy her for the night. And after a surprisingly short time, as she moved into her third orgasm with her head pressing hard backward against Ronnie's knees, I raised my eyes past her cunt and saw Ronnie smiling down at her from above, smiling while she watched Martha's final struggle, and Ronnie's hands drifted down both of Martha's breasts and to her nipples. Martha's head jerked to one side and she gave a small, weak scream as her climax began. Ronnie smiled down at Martha and squeezed Martha's nipples and watched her cum. As I fell asleep that night I thought about Martha and Ronnie and Anita, and I almost masturbated. I began to wonder how much of this I could stand. I suspected that there might be something to the jokes about how doing it too much could make you go blind, or crazy, or both! PART 14C: Anita didn't always attend Fiore's class, so I was pleased when I saw her there Monday morning and I walked up to her and said hello, and she returned it, and we joked around for a moment as if we had known each other for months. I told her, "See, you're not intimidating at all." She said, "Of course I'm not. I never was. That was all in your mind." During the workout I caught her looking at me during a particular- ly tricky exercise that the class was going through, and we saw each other having a tough time and trying to look graceful during the movement. It made us both break up and start laughing, which stopped the whole class. The instructor joked with us, telling us he'd have to place Anita and me on opposite sides of the room if we kept it up. After the class I wagged my finger at her as we passed in the hall, kidding her, "Now, you behave yourself," and she gave me a charming laugh. All of which was making me so horny I could barely stand it. As I lunched with Ronnie Tuesday, with Anita's date with me only a couple of hours away, I found myself having to keep myself steady. The work-outs and vitamins, the physical blooming, Ronnie's gentle face and cute figure, the vision of beautiful Anita ahead of me, the echoes in my head of Martha's sounds as she came and came... I found myself muttering to Ronnie as we ate, "I gotta stop takin' those vitamins." Ronnie asked, "Why? What's the matter?" "Nothin'," I said, cutting my meat and taking a bite. The world seemed to be moving faster and faster. I said quickly, "Who's Jessica?" Ronnie looked up at me. "Oh, she's some student Martha knows." "So what's the big thing about Jessica?" "Martha wants you two to meet." "When?" Ronnie put a hand on my arm. "Hey. Hey, slow down." I looked up at her, and I kept chewing away. She was smiling at me, baffled. "Hey, what's got into you?" I said, going back to my meal, "I dunno." She joked, "Wasn't Sunday enough? I should have hung around a while." "When's my first posing job?" "Soon. Probably tomorrow. I'll let you know. Why?" "I want a camera." "Okay, so you'll work and get yourself one. Hey, slow down. I don't like it when guys eat too fast. They end up making those stupid burping sounds." I burped, completely by accident, and we stared at each other and then both of us started laughing. Ronnie said, sighing painfully as she settle down, "Steven, that is *not* attractive!" I arrived early at Anita's requested meeting place on Christopher Street in the west Village. I removed my eyeglasses, still too insecure about wearing them, and I wondered if Anita would notice they were missing. And then when I met Anita in the Village and as we toured several art houses, I had to keep saying to myself: Okay, pal, settle down. Steady, now. Steady. Exercise a little mature self control. Take a cue from this lovely, poised, mannered young woman, and just settle down. And don't start getting any big ideas. She was not a giggly, self-absorbed, scatterbrained kid. She was seventeen but was years beyond her peers in bearing. My admiration for her conflicted with my own anxious feelings. Anita was a well bred young lady from a prominent family and was a friend of Martha's, and many of Anita's friends knew that Martha had introduced us. One stupid move on my part, and Martha would be slandered along with me. So I was in a perfect position to be blown away when Anita and I were sitting at an outdoor table in front of a restaurant on West 8th Street, and we were talking jokingly about our experiences with Martha, and Anita laughed about something and then asked me, "And did she ever start asking you about your sex life?" I lowered my eyes toward my bowl of ice cream on our table and said, "Oh, sure. All the time." Anita said unabashedly, "I was so startled when did that. But she's so uninhibited, I found myself spilling everything. She did that to you, too?" "Uh, yeah. Couple of times." "Well," she said, dipping into her ice cream, "Did you blush as much then as you're doing now?" I blushed. "Yeah. How about you?" Anita grinned her demure, charming grin, "I considered disap- pearing into the floor." So I took a big chance and saw that she didn't seem threatened by the subject, and I swished the ice cream in my mouth and thought and considered and weighed and calculated, and I asked casually, "So when she asked about it, what did you tell her?" With her mouth full of ice cream she tightened up and held back an embarrassed laugh, and while she wiped her lips with her napkin she gave me a naughty frown, and after she swallowed she said, kidding me, "Now, no fair. No fair, Steven." She wiped her lips again and held back another laugh and said, "And that's what I told her, too. I said," and she raised her voice in a mock whine, "But that's not fair! First she sets me up to be totally honest, you see, she makes a big production out of it, and then she asked me that. And I just sat with my mouth open and said, 'No fair!'. But she's so sweet. She really is. And I'm glad she taught me to open up and develop a more objective view." Anita dug into her ice cream again, and she looked at me for a moment and asked, "Do you think she's pretty?" "Of course. Very pretty." "She's beautiful. All the boys fall in love with her. It's like lightning, all it takes is one look." "It's her eyes," I said. "Yes. You're right, yes it is. Oh, I wish I had such eyes." "Nothing wrong with your eyes." "But hers are so..." "Electric." "Yes. You've noticed them, too. Did you fall in love with her?" I answered immediately, "I sure did." "You're kidding. You admit it?" "Sure." "Seriously." "Sure." "So what did you do about it?" I shrugged. "I wrote her a poem." "A poem." "Yes." "A poem? You gave it to her?" "Sure." Anita's eyes were wide and her mouth was open. "Well, what did she do?" I shrugged. "She cried." "She...cried?" "Yes. You know, a little tear, right here. Just a little one. Then she said thank you and we went to a movie." Anita stared at me, leaning against the back of her chair. I finished, "And that's all there was to it." She said slowly, amused, incredulous, "Is this a true story?" "Cross my heart." She leaned forward, still not recovering, and said, checking me out, "And then you...went to the movies." "Yeah." I continued attacking my delicious ice cream. Anita propped her elbows on the table and her eyes wandered while she thought about something, and she sipped her coffee and said, looking down at her cup, softly, "So you're the type who writes poems." That sounded a little ominous. I thought: Congratulations, idiot, you just blew her away. She hates guys who write poems. She murmured into her coffee cup. "Well...that's so nice. A poem that made her cry." "Not ponderous, anxious stuff, you understand. Just a quickie, you know, like a greeting card verse. You know, there was just one, small little drop. And then thank you very much that's nice, and off we went to the movies." "But," she said, still looking into her cup, "That's so..." She picked up her napkin and folded it absently and said, "She didn't tell me that about you." "Really? What did she tell you about me?" She grinned sneakily. "What did she tell you about *me*?" "I asked first." She didn't answer. She gave me an impish smile and leaned forward on her elbows toward me and said, "She said you had nice brown eyes." I looked at her, smiling impishly myself. "She did?" "Yes. You do have nice brown eyes." "So do you." I put my elbows on the table and rested my chin on my fists. "She told me you were independent, talented, sensitive, friendly, diplomatic, and..." I added quickly, "honest, brave, humani- tarian, outspoken, and beautiful." She kept staring at me, the smile getting playful. "You're flirting with me." "So are you." She waited, her eyes fixed on me, and then grinned. "You're nice." "So are you." "I have to go." "So do I." But she didn't move, her eyes and mine playing with each other. She said, "You're not really eighteen." "Neither are you." Her eyes were more intimate now, really looking at me and into me. I was getting a rush of blood to my chest and groin. She said, "You're very nice to look at." "So are you." She waited again, and our eyes looked at each other. She said, "You talk with your --" And we both finished together, " -- eyes." That one was easy. I'd been through that before. Still keeping her eyes on me, she sipped from her cup, put it down, and looked at me and said, "You're a guy." I said, "Unless my eyes deceive me, you're not." I dropped my voice a little. "You're very much not." She waited, and I could see by her eyes that she was thinking. She said slowly, "You're going to go for a walk in the woods. All right? This is a very important test." "Okay." "You're going to go for a walk in the woods. You approach the woods, walking. What's the weather? What's the time of day?" I thought, watching her. "It's morning. Early. It's spring. The sun is bright but not hot. The sun just rose a little while ago." "Mmm. Okay. As you walk through the woods, you see a cup. Describe the cup." "A cup?" She said, softly, and I saw her soft, puffy lips form the words slowly, "A cup. What's it look like? What do you do with it?" "The cup is...a chalice. Silver. It has been neglected, so it's tarnished. I pick it up. I'll carry it with me, take it with me, and polish it, restore it. I'll make it like new." She continued staring into my eyes, and as she waited her eyes seemed to look deeper, a small, mysterious smile on her mouth. Then she said, "I see." Then her smile became more knowing, "Well, I do have to go." Our eyes kept playing with each other as she stood up and hung her purse straps on her shoulder. I asked, "Did I pass or fail?" Her small smile became a slightly wider one. "You get extra points. I think." I grinned at her. She said, "I'll see you Saturday." "Okay." She took a step or two back, still keeping her eyes on mine, and she said, as if it were an afterthought, "Anyone ever tell you that talking with your eyes is a sign of -- ?" She stopped, seeming suddenly shy, and she was thinking, her lower lip slightly tucked under, making her smile look a little more flirty. She didn't go on. I said, "So are you." She grinned. Her departing gesture was a clearly more sexual look, a lowering of her eyelids as she smiled, and she said, almost in a whisper, "See you later." She turned and walked away, toward the 6th Avenue subway. I watched her trim, slim-skirted body as it moved for three blocks, all the way down the street. When she finally disappeared I leaned my head back and closed my eyes and sighed deeply and said to myself, "Holy shit!" For most of the remainder of that day I was an idiot in a romantic fog. It seemed to me, in my impossible situation, that anything was possible. There was bound to be a fallout from the fantasies I began to nurture after my date with Anita. For instance, I envisioned that I had somehow found a way to stay in New York, never to return to Memphis again. I'd begin as an independent model celebrated by a large corps of famous artists who would hail me as their most inspira- tional subject. I would move from posing to some sort of amorphous celebrity, Nubile young girls and mature women would seek me out for my body and my sophistication and my many other attributes. And somehow, in this chaos of success and admiration, I'd be with both Martha and Ronnie, and Anita always figured in. I couldn't have been more narcissistic if I carried a mirror around and kissed it all day. It was not just impossible, it was ludicrous. Ambition is one thing, but these visions were based on multiple denials of the demands of reality. There was bound to be a ruinous fallout from all my wild conjuring. But at the time, I couldn't see it coming. On the way to Martha's I picked up a card for Martha in a gift shop, and one for Ronnie. It took an hour for me to find something sweet but innocuous, thanking Martha for introducing me to Anita, and thanking Ronnie for her effort in setting me up for posing jobs. All of the I-love-you stuff seemed too daring for either woman, despite the fact that some of them expressed my exact feelings about Martha. "I love you" or anything approaching it was avoided, replaced by endearing thank-you's and words of friendship. And I had to resist the urge to buy a soppy card for Anita. I stopped at a supermarket to get the stuff for a huge salad concoction for Martha. On my way up the stairs I slipped Ronnie's card under her door. By the time Martha came home I had the table set with a huge salad, and Martha's card was placed next to her table setting. She came home dragging as usual, plopping her briefcase onto the floor, removing her high heels, and speaking little as she unbuttoned the jacket of her blue-gray business suit and then walked to the dining table, perfunctorily browsing the group of envelopes that had come in the mail. She saw the card on the dining table and asked, "What's this?" I said, "You're supposed to open it and see." She did so, and she read it without expression, looking tired and lifeless. She finished reading it with a little smile and walked to me in the kitchen and gave me a peck on the cheek and said, "Thank you, Steven. What's this for?" "Just a card," I said. "For being Martha, for looking like Grace Kelly, and for introducing me to Anita." "Oh," she said. She gave me another peck. She said politely, "Well. Thank you. That was very nice." Then she walked away, stopping to pick up her shoes in the living room, and strode into the bedroom to get out of her suit. Oh well, I thought, it was better than having another woman break into tears again. She spoke little during dinner, asking me about my afternoon with Anita. I didn't tell her I was falling madly in love, but Martha was pleased to see that I managed to hold my own in conversation with new people. Martha spent a couple of hours at the table with her papers, and she was soon huffing and puffing angrily over them. I walked over to her and stood behind her chair and hugged her shoulders, bending down to nuzzle my face against her soft hair. I whispered, "Hey. Don't you know when you've had enough? Why don't you turn in early?" She said, "Oh, I don't know. There's so much to do." I said, "Getting some rest turned out to be a pretty good idea the last few times. Remember?" "Yes. I guess you're right." She brought a few papers with her to bed, sitting up against the headboard and working on them. I lay beside her while she worked. I soon dozed off, lying with my back to Martha and thinking about Anita and a myriad of other fantasies. I opened my eyes a little later and saw that the bedroom lamp was still on and Martha was sound asleep, her head against the headboard, her pencil and some papers having fallen off her lap onto the bed. I gathered her stuff and placed them on her night table, then pulled her by her legs until she lay flat on the bed, and I went to sleep. In my sleep Anita was naked and looking up at me passionately, her arms reaching around my neck. I didn't know what Anita looked like undressed, but in the dream her body looked amazingly like Martha's. I woke up with a boner. Martha was asleep beside me, her face turned toward me. I was breathing a little harder than usual. I stood up and stretched and looked out the window, and then saw by the clock on the bedside table that it was a little after three AM. I stood by the bed and watched Martha for a moment. She was so very, very beautiful in her pajama top, lying on her side with one leg folded and the other extended, her auburn tuft looking delicate and touchable. I considered waking her up and having sex, but she looked so peaceful. Then I considered masturbating. But no. I wanted the real thing. I decided I'd be better off trying to get back to sleep; I had to keep up with my workouts, and I might have a long day with the possibility of a posing job. I slid back into bed carefully, but Martha stirred as I got settled. I lay still. But after a few seconds she raised her head and looked around sleepily, and then smiled at me, and edged closer and put her arm around my waist and lay with her head near my shoulder, and closed her eyes. I closed mine, and lay still. A moment later, Martha stirred again, snuggling closer to me, her head on my chest, one leg touching mine. With her face against my chest she whispered, "Why are you awake?" I said, "I wasn't, really. I was dozing off again. Why are you awake?" She yawned. "Got into bed too early, I guess." I said, stroking her face, "In my opinion, you can never get into bed too early." She laughed with a little "Hmm," and she squeezed my hand against her cheek. For a few minutes we were both still. I could not turn off my brain. I kept seeing Anita lying under me, her face ecstatic with pleasure, and I kept hearing Ronnie's soft words as she whispered to me while her fingernails stroked my abdomen, and I kept feeling Martha's beauteous warmth against me as she yawned and snuggled. Her naked hip was against mine and her lovely legs were half-folded, her knees on my leg, and damn if being with Anita all afternoon hadn't made me horny as hell! I slipped a hand under Martha's pajama top and she sleepily raised an arm to let my hand reach one of her breasts. I toyed with her nipple for a long while, and she seemed unresponsive except for the hardening of her nipple. It was a little strange; I couldn't remember having attempted to arouse Martha so obliquely. In fact, I was unable to recall many incidents in which I suggested having sex with her, just because I was horny, and never because I was horny for someone else. And she was probably tired. And what had made me horny was Anita, not Martha directly. Yet Martha, as she rested against me with her nipples responding, made no move to stop me. And I began to wonder what would happen if I fucked Martha, just fucked her for the hell of fucking, whether or not she was tired, and what she would do. I let my hand drift downward, and my fingers played in her soft tuft. She let one leg open up and I slipped my finger down to her pussy and gently tested her clit. She was slightly moist, but not wet. I circled around her clit for a while, eventually getting her a little wetter. And finally I said to myself: If you're going to get your rocks off, then just do it and get it over with or you'll never get to sleep. I sat upright and she rolled lethargically onto her back and I pushed her pajama top above her breasts. She lay lazily with her eyes closed as I sucked her nipples, and her arms went around my head and she hugged me against her. She was not heated up, but was not resist- ing, and her drowsiness made it all seem a little perfunctory. I wondered if she thought I was just playing affectionately before falling asleep again. I moved to get atop her and she raised her knees and spread her legs. Then I raised on my arms and tried entering her, but she was not very wet and my tip seemed to lodge itself in moist but unopening flesh. Eyes closed, she whispered, "Wait, hon." She gave the fingers of one of her hands a wet lick and then rubbed it between her legs, and then she wet her fingers again and rubbed her pussy again, seeing it was driving me crazy. Then she whispered with closed, sleepy eyes, "Okay." I searched with my tip and found her, and after nudging in and out of her moistened outer lips a couple of times, I slid into her. She snuggled her face into my neck and put her arms around me and wrapped her legs around my waist. I placed my hands under her hips and started fucking. I wondered if I'd ever feel Anita's cervix nip at my tip the way I could feel it deep inside Martha. And Anita wouldn't have to use a condom and her pussy would feel as good Martha's did now, wet and snug and smoothly walled and it would feel as good as Martha's fucking, it would feel good like Martha, and I went deeper, deeper and slower, and Anita's chocolate brown eyes and red smiling mouth were already making me cum. I was surprised that I could move so languorously inside her for such a short time yet get there within less than a minute. But as the orgasm began there was only Martha, naked and warm, filling the universe, sucking my cum into her center. I forgot everything except Martha. I heard only my own arduous sighs and near my ear her broken breath as she worked her wonderful pelvis and pussy, milking me. It was so damn good and easy and loving with her. My hips slowed and I savored my surprisingly easy, copious, warm, thickly gushing release inside her and my only thought was god damn she's so good, Martha, Ahh Martha, and then the peak faded. I began my return to earth, feeling guilty for losing myself in visions of Anita and not noticing whether or not Martha had cum. A few moments later she moved from under me and headed for the bathroom. While she was gone, I thought about what it would be like to rest afterwards with Anita and not have to send her to a bathroom. Then I heard water running and I felt like a fraud, a damn fraud for thinking of someone else while Martha had to leave her bed after giving such pleasure to me. When she slid back into bed she whispered, "That was nice. And I still have time to sleep." She snuggled next to me again, her head on my shoulder. I hugged her to me and stroked her hair, giving her a kiss on her forehead, and she snuggled closer in return. Then I was shocked and mystified as I drifted into sleep. I began thinking of Martha, Ronnie, and Anita, all three of them at once. And I wondered, why had Martha set me up for all this? Why should I feel such guilt, when she apparently expected me to do what I was doing? To say the least, I was very, very fucked up. PART 14D: Ronnie set me up for my first modeling session on Wednesday after- noon. I was going to be paid seventy-five bucks for an afternoon of work with a photographer that Ronnie knew. That was a pretty hefty sum in those days for a nonprofessional my age, although a pro would have been paid more. The session went well and was similar to posing for an artist, but with many more pose changes and a constant stream of instructions from the photographer. He was a handsome, shipshape man in his late thirties or early forties. There were many boring lighting adjustments between shots, then his motorized cameras would start rolling like crazy for several dozen frames. I started with clothing, and the clothing got more scarce as the session went on. A couple of assistants were around until the last half hour of poses, when the photographer requested to be alone to "concentrate on the personal stuff." Another half hour of posing nude with only a minor lighting change followed. It ended with the photographer turning off all the lights in the place except a dim fill on the background. He approached me without a word, and I anticipated another adjustment of the dim background flood, which was the only light on. But the man stood right in front of me and looked down at my cock, which was not aroused, and ran a finger along my thigh toward my crotch. I recoiled, not from recog- nition of what was happening, but because his touch ignited an instant itch along my leg. I reached down to scratch the itch, saying, "Oh. excuse me," but his hand grabbed mine, gently, and held it. I thought he was adjust- ing my pose. But when he didn't move I looked up. He was staring intently into my face. I asked, "Am I doing it wrong?" Without stirring, he said, unsmiling, "Oh, no. You're right. You're just right." He gave my eyes a steady stare and I felt his palm sliding up my thigh again. I stepped back and held up my hands, growing immediately shaky. I said, "Hey, uh, I don't know what I did, but...I'm women only." He smiled curiously, squinting, and eyed me with a tilt of his head. "You're what?" I could feel my breath mounting. I was scared as hell. Were those other assistants in the next room? I took another step back, holding my hands up again. He took a step toward me and said, amused, "Did you say 'women only'? Is that what you said?" He stopped a few inches away from me. I nodded yes. His smile faded, and he looked me up and down, and gazing at my cock he said temptingly, "I could make it worth your while. Very much worth it." I said, gulping, "Uh, seventy-five for today will be just fine." He gave me a scornful smile and a small chuckle and reached down to pick up a lighting cable and said, walking casually away, "Get dressed." I picked up my clothes from the chair we used for posing and the guy threw a switch to bring the lights back up. I put on my shirt and pants in the room while he ignored me, and then I left the room, my shirt unbuttoned and my shoes and socks off. I finished dressing in the outer office while the secretary typed up a check and handed it to me. I looked at it. $100 instead of seventy-five. That wouldn't be enough to get me back in there again. As I left I wondered if the check was good. I jogged to the bank whose address was on the check. I got a single Ben Franklin bill right away. By the time I left the bank I was no longer shaky. Instead, I was pissed at having felt so terrorized and powerless in that studio. This being Wednesday, Ronnie would be working at home in the late afternoon. At a phone booth I called Ronnie's apartment and told her I was paid a hundred bucks. She said, "Hey, good work! You got a bonus! I guess he'll ask you back." I told her I wouldn't have time for another session before I left town, and not to bother setting him up again. That's all I told her. "So," she asked over the phone, "How'd you feel posing?" "I'll get used to it." "No, really. Were you on edge, comfy, or what?" I lied, "Comfy." I wasn't going to let Ronnie's concern keep me from getting more work. Maybe I could even start a side thing going and extend my stay in New York -- if I could find a way to keep the Memphis school system from starting the Fall semester on time! Ronnie said, "Hey, call Martha at work. I just got off the phone with her. Remember, we promised we'd call as soon as you finished. Do you have her number?" "Yeah." A guy passed me on the street, and he seemed to give me the once-over. Or maybe he didn't. Then again, maybe he did. I called Martha at work. She was miffed at my calling so late and said she had stayed at the office after four because she was worried that I hadn't called. I told her the story about cashing the check, withholding all the other details, and I apologized. She said crankily, "Get yourself home so we can have dinner. And, Steven, please don't do this to me again. When I thought something went wrong, I was at a complete loss. You had me scared to death." I apologized again, profusely. And for the rest of the week I behaved as well as I could. After all, something had indeed gone wrong, proving that Martha was right about my not knowing my way around New York. I was a real sweet kid when she came home from work looking tired and flustered. I got the bed ready for her, started making coffee and breakfast for her again in the mornings, and pampered her every night to the point of getting the bed ready and sweet talking her into getting more rest. I couldn't blame Ronnie. As far as she knew the photographer was on the up-and-up. When I had lunch with Ronnie on Thursday I still made no mention of the photographer. Ronnie said, "You know, since he paid you extra, he must have been satisfied with you. Maybe we could wrangle a couple of prints from him. That's really the way to set it up, with some photographs of you." I said quickly, "No, he said he was going out of town. I don't have enough time left in New York to keep track of him." Ronnie said, "Well, I guess you're right." She chewed her shrimp salad and swallowed and said, "We having dinner with Martha tomorrow night? As usual?" "Yeah," I said. "The usual Friday night dinner, I guess." She said, mischievously, "And extended dessert afterwards?" I grinned and said, "Yeah. The usual Friday night dessert." But it wasn't the "usual" Friday night. It started out that way, with dinner at the same inexpensive joint on 86th Street, and a lazy stroll home. We went to Ronnie's apartment instead of Martha's, and I was surprised to see what her bedroom looked like in its normal state, with that weird bed of hers pulled out of the wall and properly set up. While the three of us we were getting undressed in her darkened bedroom I asked Ronnie, "Isn't it a pain in the neck to move all your stuff around this room and set up the bed?" Ronnie said, unhooking her bra, "I haven't had anybody pose for me in a while. It doesn't happen that often." I said, pulling off my jeans, "Next time I pose, why don't you just let me move all that stuff for you?" She smiled at me as she pulled her panties off. "Aw, that's sweet. For that, you get a reward tonight." I feigned a fearful grimace and kidded her, 'Uh-oh. A reward. This one won't make me go blind, will it?" "Well," she said, teasing, "like the joke goes, you might need new glasses." Martha stood naked in the bedroom doorway and looked around. She said, "Ronnie, you want candles?" Ronnie said, "Oh, Martha, yes. We need candles." "Where are they?" "Come on, I'll show you," Ronnie said, and as they disappeared into the bathroom Ronnie said, "Anyway, I wanna talk to you again for a minute." Martha argued, "Again?" Ronnie said, "I just want you to show me one more time." Martha said, "Oh, Ronnie..." I lay naked in Ronnie's bed, wondering what the two women were up to. I could hear them talking in the bathroom but couldn't make out the words, and in a moment they came into the bedroom and Martha had a big green candle. Martha said, "Oh, this is one of those nice ones that we can't find any more," and Ronnie said, "I know, I've looked everywhere for them. We got them for Christmas, you know." Martha set the candle on a small table beside the bed and said as she struck a match and lit it, "These smell so good. Not like those overdone, sugary things." Ronnie turned out the light, leaving us in the warm glow of the slow flame from the fat green candle beside the bed. "That looks nice," Martha said, sitting up on her legs beside me on the bed. "Like it, Steven?" I said, "I like it near the bed like that. The flame glows in your eyes." "Yes," she said, looking at my eyes. "Yours too. That'll make it very sensuous." Ronnie reached under the bed and pulled out a drawing tablet and said, getting into the bed with me and Martha, "I was working on these this week. Steven inspired me. Steven, I hope they don't embarrass you." Ronnie sat up on the side of the bed nearest the candle, her legs folded under her, with me between the two of them, and she held the big tablet on her lap and opened it. Martha whispered, "Oh," and I saw a pencil drawing of a young man that looked a lot like me. The figure reclined and was shown in a side view, from the head to just below the hips. He was dressed in what appeared to be shirt and jeans, though this was suggested rather than drawn in great detail. It was a figure in profile, details suggested by variations in shape and line. The young man's head was thrown back a bit, chin up, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, and at the belt line the jeans were undone and a slender feminine hand reached into the picture from the left and enclosed the figure's long, erect cock. I blushed profusely, and Martha grinned at me. "I guess it was too much to expect Steven not to blush." "I know," Ronnie said, and she smiled at me, "He'll probably never pose for me again." I said, "I wouldn't say that." Not only was I embarrassed, but the drawings were very arousing. Ronnie turned the page, and Martha said, "That's a nice one, too." The second picture was like the first, except that the figures were more sillouhetted, and coming into view at the left side was a young woman's head and neck, hovering over the erect penis as the female fist seemed to be rubbing the tip of the male's erection. I began to see a pattern of certain lines forming in the picture. A loose end of the undone belt on the young man's jeans hung loosely in the air, curled upward. It was matched by the curves of the upturned face and nose, and the slight curl of the thumb of the woman's hand on the cock; and echoed again in the curls of the woman's wavy, curly hair and her slightly parted lips, and her eyelashes had another form of the same curly lines. Ronnie said jokingly, "Martha, Steven's wondering what the hell's going on here, with these two nekkid broads and the dirty pictures." Martha said, "Dirty pictures is a poor description, Ron. They're done so well. Just because they happen to be very erotic." I pointed at the curled end of the belt and said, "This," and I pointed at the curled thumb and the eyelashes, and said, "And these." Ronnie said, "Yes. Very observant." Martha said, "What's he pointing to?" "These shapes," Ronnie said, pointing to the same ones. Martha said, "Yes, I noticed that, too." Ronnie said, "No fair, Martha, Steven saw 'em first." She turned the page. The third drawing was similar, except that the woman's hand was farther down on the guy's dick and the girl's silhouetted face was looking slightly down, the eyelashes more curled and obvious now, and her eyes seemed to be watching the first, curling spurt of cum that slurped from the cock's tip into the air. And I noticed in the picture that most of the broadly curled lines were more exaggerated and active. In the fourth drawing, the woman's silhouette extended into the picture, her head looking down. Her breasts and clearly delin- eated nipples, which were larger than Ronnie's, hovering directly over the penis as ejaculate zoomed upward, a long curl of fluid caught in midair, and another on its way up. And again, every curled line in the picture from the woman's wavy hair to the arching ejaculate was more alive, The picture seemed to bristle with a frenzy of excited curves. Martha breathed. "Oh. Ronnie. This one's very powerful." Ronnie said, "You think so?" "Just right," Martha said. The fifth picture had a similar activity, but now the woman's nipples dripped a slurp of cum, and the woman's mouth seemed to be opened more as the face looked down, as if the woman were saying "Ah" as she watched a new, thick, very long curl of sperm splash upward toward her breasts, and two smaller slurps dripped from the woman's nipple. This series of drawings was seriously turning me on. I felt an uncomfortable tightening in my crotch. In the last picture the emotionalism of the curls and curves had settled. The woman's hand still held the cock, but now only a single, thin slurp hung suspended from the nipple, and the woman had lowered her head to give the erect tip a light kiss, and the male's silhou- etted, undetailed face seemed more at ease. Ronnie said, "That's all. So far." Martha said, "Ron, they're beautiful. Really. If only someone would publish these." Ronnie said, her voice distant and quiet as she gazed at her own drawings, "Oh, there are people who would. But not the way they're supposed to be published. Anyway...they're private right now. Be- tween you and me. And him. Very private. Just for here and just for tonight." Martha said, "Let me see the one before it again." Ronnie turned the page back, to the most emotionally charged of the pictures, the one showing the height of the orgasm and the cum spurting and dripping. "Yes," Martha said, "that one." Martha looked at the picture for a moment, her eyes seeming to reach out to it. I glanced at Ronnie and saw her staring at her drawing, her eyes growing intense. Martha asked, "Is that what it was like for you. When it actually happened?" Ronnie whispered, the hint of a smile on her lips, "Yes." Martha said, "It's a very exciting picture." Ronnie whispered, "I *was* excited. And Steven had his head thrown back like that. I tried to capture all of it." I said to Ronnie, my throat a little dry, "If I remember, you didn't seem all that excited." Ronnie said, her eyes on the picture, "Oh, I was," and she put her hand on my knee and squeezed and said, "I was very excited." Then Ronnie pointed to the squirting sperm and asked quietly, "What does that feel like? When it spouts up like that?" I started to laugh at that one, but I sighed, seeing that she was serious and intent, and I answered lightly, "I really don't know how to explain it." Martha said to Ronnie, "You do ask tough questions, Ron." Ronnie said, unfazed but acknowledging Martha and me with a fleet- ing, apologetic little shrug, "Well, but...I mean, just this coming out of you like that. Can you physically feel it?" I rubbed my forehead, searching for words, and said, "I don't know if there are words for that. It...well, I do feel it kind of boiling up from under my testicles, that's where it starts, but--" Ronnie murmured, "Testicles, I hate that word." I went on, "Well, boiling up from down under, and then...I don't really feel it going through me, but I do feel it in the slit, the little slit in my tip, because the skin around the slit has nerves." I shrugged. "That's the only way I can describe it, I guess." Martha said to Ronnie, "This is my argument for the value of sex education in schools." Ronnie said, "Oh, they only talk about hormones and cells in sex ed, they don't talk about orgasmic pleasure and emotions." Martha said, "They would if I taught sex education." Ronnie touched Martha's shoulder and said gently, "That, Martha, is why they don't let you teach it." Martha nodded, conceding the point, and Ronnie looked back at the drawing. She said absently, "I know about the pulses, it's very exciting to feel that, but..." Ronnie sighed resignedly and said, "Oh, I'm making this too complica- ted, I guess." Martha interrupted to help me out, telling Ronnie, "The guy feels a lot of internal movement in his scrotum, that results from the muscle action down there where ejaculate is collected, and it forces the fluid out. It's very pleasurable. A lot like water going down your throat when you're really thirsty, only it's in reverse." As Martha spoke I recalled telling her the same thing, years ago, in the Lauderdale Courts. Ronnie glanced at her, "You learn this in sex ed class?" Martha said, "A guy told me. He also told me guys don't really care to talk about it, or they don't know how." Ronnie sighed again. "Well, the sight of a strong male orgasm is so...so much more stimulating than I thought it would be." Martha asked Ronnie, "And what were your feelings? What did you feel seeing this, and drawing it?" Ronnie said, looking up and pondering. "Oh, I felt...when the cum flew up and landed on me, you know, these heavy drops jumping up and striking me, so softly but so, mm, so strong, it was...it was excit- ing, but at the same time it was soothing, it was...comforting, and very dark, very...primitive..." Ronnie smiled weakly. She closed the book, saying, "I guess Steven's right. I don't think there are words for it." Martha said, prompting her, "There was a sense of power? Remem- ber? You said the guy always seemed to be in control, and you wanted to experience that yourself." Ronnie admitted quietly, "Yes. There was that. There was so much more, though. Steven gets so involved in his orgasm..." She sighed and she rose to her knees on the mattress and said, "It was feeling, all feeling. I don't have words. I just draw it." She gently pitched the big paper tablet away from her, and it floated lightly away and landed flat on the floor near the bed. We relaxed on the bed, Martha telling Ronnie that the pictures were wonderful, and Ronnie lay on her side facing me, her head resting on a pillow and one arm crooked behind her head, and I lay on my side facing Ronnie, propped up on one elbow, and Martha sat on her folded legs on Ronnie's other side. Ronnie looked up at me. She said calmly, "I read that during orgasm there's a vibration in the sex organs. It's like a note on a tuning fork that plays at a frequency of eight cycles per second. And terror is a feeling very similar to it." I murmured, "Yes. That's below the threshold of audibility. Martha said, gazing at the candle near her side of the bed, "When I have an orgasm, it's a series of events. There's a tension that builds for a long time, and it's very pleasing, which is why I like to hold onto it as long as I can. It increases the pleasure. And I feel this great...this great need to be filled with something, this need to open up and be filled with...with something. Then there's a...a soft- ness, I guess. It's like a heavenly softness that caresses and fills my whole body, and it builds inside me and it just seems to fill me." Ronnie said quietly, "Yes. I feel something like that. It really is difficult to describe, isn't it?" Martha said quietly, looking at the candle, "Yes." Ronnie looked up at me, her eyes finding mine. "What's it like for you, Steven?" I said, I don't know." She smiled. "Come on. Try. Let me know what it's like for you, so I can make it better." I sighed deeply, thinking. I let my eyes glance around, Ronnie's eyes being too distracting while she looked at me. I said, "Well, there are so many external sensations. Too many, I can't get even get into all that --" Ronnie said softly, "No, not the externals, I can guess about that. I mean, inside. Tell me." I smiled and said, "Well, no, I'd have to sort all that out. We could be here for days." She said, "That's all right," and she reached out and laid her palm on my thigh, which was near her hip. She said, "We'll listen." I said, "That's a large order. I was thinking more in terms of the overall sensation, the main feeling." "All right," Ronnie said, her nails casually stroking my thigh and her eyes watching me, her eyes increasingly attentive. Martha prodded me, "Tell her, Steven. Try." As I thought about it, Martha rose from her spot on Ronnie's other side, and she walked around the end of the bed while I spoke, and she got onto her knees just behind me on the mattress and touched my shoulder and back while I said, "There's a pressure that builds, as you say. And then I feel that vibration you talk about. It's funny, the pleasure of that vibration is so strong and yet I can't...can't say exactly where it happens. It's not exactly in my penis, it's...it just seems to be spread all through the organs, not in any one place. But that feeling leads to the release. And the release is...the best part is the pouring out, the...the spurting." "Yes," Ronnie said. Her finger kept stroking a little spot on my thigh, and Martha leaned closer into my back, her nipples against me, and Ronnie's eyes tracked mine as if her eyes were trying to feel what my words were saying. Martha said to Ronnie, "The spasm, Ronnie, the squirt, it's like the cervix clamping. You know? Only shorter and faster." "Right," Ronnie said, her eyes still watching me. I went on, frowning with the difficulty of the thought, "But it's the ejaculating, it's the..." Ronnie winced, shaking her head and muttering ruefully, "God, the words they thought up for this. Ejaculate. Scrotum. And they say that words like squirt and balls are ugly. Can you believe it?" She opened her eyes. "Sorry, baby, go ahead." I said, "If I had the pleasure sensation, but the emptying was missing, the spurting, then I guess the orgasm wouldn't feel complete. Although that vibration really does feel good." Martha said, her face on my shoulder, "So it's the emptying, the release of pressure. Mmm. That explains a lot about the first time I saw you cum. That's why it's so different when I would hold you back from finishing." I nodded yes, and Ronnie surprised me when she asked Martha, "You gave Steven an orgasm before? In Memphis?" Martha tensed a little, averting Ronnie's eyes, and said, "Well. A while ago." Ronnie smiled. "I thought so. And it must have been very excit- ing, both of you so young and innocent." Martha blushed, "Not very innocent. And it was a long time ago." Ronnie said, "But it's still exciting." Her eyes lit up and she gave a tight, girlish grin. "Steven, Martha showed you how to cum? Way back then, she gave you an orgasm?" And Martha and I blushed, Martha conceding, "Well, yes." And Ronnie opened her mouth wide in amazed delight and gaped at us, and then her mouth closed into a soft smile. "Oh, that's so exciting! And very dark. Oh, so very dark." Ronnie looked at me again and said, her voice growing lazy and sensual, "And so that's why you and Martha let the pressure keep building...Stronger pressure, stronger release." "Yes," I said. I saw Ronnie watching me, and she seemed almost enraptured by the images in her own head, and she whispered, "So that's why you and Martha like it so slow. Very clever." I shrugged. "Well, that's as close as I can get to a description. Give me a couple of months and a thesaurus, and I'll write you a nice, long report." Martha chuckled. "Mister Kinsey beat you to it." I looked down at Ronnie, who didn't laugh with Martha, and who still studied me with her eyes and stroked my thigh with her nails. She said, as if she meditated on each word, "The guy feels complete being emptied, and...and gals enjoy being filled." "Yes, " I said. "Convenient little design, isn't it?" "Very," Ronnie said. Her hand stroked higher on my thigh. I was sitting with my legs under me, my knees against Ronnie's hip, and I let my palm caress her thigh while her fingernails inched up my leg toward my lap. And Martha's lips and nails on my back weren't making my dick any smaller. It was sticking up and lying back, to just below my navel. Ronnie said, "I'm disappointed. I thought my pictures would have you after me like gangbusters." I nudged my lips forward, considering it. "That could still happen." She glanced at my cock and back at me and her smile widened a little. She said, "I want you bigger. You're not there yet." I said, "That could happen, too." Ronnie's humid but calmly waiting eyes told me she meant it. Or maybe it was our nearness to the candle, only a few feet away this time instead of across the room. The steady flame of the candle seemed to be reflected in her pupils. Martha slid her nails around to my tummy and said, "Ronnie, I think you set up your pictures just to get Steven revved up." "Me?" Ronnie said innocently. Then she admitted to Martha, "Of course I did. What do you think? My drawings always get me turned up. I figured they'd have Steven in a dead heat by now." I said "I'm heated, all right. But I like the pressure to build up. Not always, but most of the time." I bent down and gave Ronnie's neck a couple of light kisses. She put her arms around my shoulders and said, "Mmm. I like those," and then I started kissing downward toward her nipples. But she lifted my head and placed her palms at each side of my face, and she began to cover my face and neck with wet, warm little kisses and tongue strokes. And they seemed hungry, those kisses, small but hungry, and coaxing, and then she sucked a love-bite onto my shoulder, and then she held my face in her hands again. She looked at me, her face calm and half smiling as it almost always was, but there was something hot in her eyes, something torrid and determined. She asked in that curiously unruffled, steady voice of hers, the voice she used while her eyes blazed with a different story, "It's my turn to do what Martha did last time." I frowned, not knowing what she meant, and she said, "Sit on the edge of the bed. It's my turn this time." I got onto the edge of the bed, feet on the floor, and Ronnie knelt between my knees, and Martha knelt beside me on the bed. Ronnie held my cock with one hand, and with the other she cradled my balls. She looked up at me and said, "Just a little work on the pressure, okay?" I smiled down at her and she squeezed my dick, pulling up, and she saw the bead of cum ooze out and she said, "Mmm. Already." Martha leaned against me and stroked my arm and watched Ronnie put her tongue on my tip and licked off the precum and swallowed it, and then she put her mouth around my tip for second, and then Ronnie's head went down very slowly. Martha said, "Good, Ronnie. Good, do it slow." Ronnie's head came up, and I closed my eyes, and then Ronnie's mouth went down again, and her tongue caressed my underside as her head pulled up and then let me go, and I opened my eyes and sighed inward for a little air, and I saw Ronnie looking up at me. Her eyes were getting smoky the way Martha's did sometimes, and I wondered if all women had that same look, if their chemistry actually affected a change in their eyes when they got hot. Ronnie said in a hushed voice, her blue eyes lusty and shadowy, "Now, don't cum. Don't cum in my mouth, okay? I'm gonna suck it and get you really hard, and then I want you inside me. Is that okay? Can we do it like that?" I nodded yes, not finding much to argue with; and figuring that if I had to use a condom with Ronnie, maybe getting me all fired up would afford me a better chance at cumming inside the pesky thing. And so it was just a matter of enjoying Ronnie's turn with her mouth at the steering stick, as it were, while Martha's lips and fingernails did a number on my body. And then I'd finally get inside Ronnie and cum. Ronnie's mouth took its next trip down my cock my starting at my tip and sliding her thin, petal-like inner lips around the corona and around and around and around and around until my cock throbbed. Then she parted her mouth slightly as it went down and down and down, and the farther down she went the slower she moved, until my cock was almost in there, almost, almost, and it began to twitch and in my head I shouted Take it in your mouth and suck, and when I finally panted brokenly, "Mm. Oh!", her mouth sucked, loosened, and sucked without moving, and the technique actually soothed me in a crazy way, for at least I didn't get more delirious. Then she paused, and then I gave a deep sigh as Ronnie fell into slow, leisurely up and down suck, a little slower than the sucking Martha usually did on me. It was a unique sensation, the way she did it; for somehow her mouth seemed to be saying, this won't make you climax, this just makes you feel good, and I let my eyes open and I was getting my breath back while Martha kissed my neck and ears and ran her nails over my chest and tummy, and then Martha kissed downward and her lips found my nipple and sucked it. I looked down at Ronnie, at her pretty face framed with wavy black hair, her eyelids closed as her mouth nursed my erection into a new, pleasant, lewdly itching hardness. I found the pleasure of the feel of her mouth and motion making me grin devilishly, and a thought flashed through my head that kept saying this lady really knows how I like to be sucked, she really knows. I whispered lazily, watching her, "It's good, Ronnie. Ahhh. It's really good." Martha watched and said, "Ronnie, it must be good, it's making him talk." Ronnie sucked up, way up, then licked my tip a few times, and I could see that she had my cock wet and long and hard, its full eight inches or so ready to go. Martha whispered, "You get him big so fast. I'm gonna have to start doing it the way you do, Ron." Ronnie lifted her head for a moment and shook her head to the side to dislodge stray curls from her forehead, and then she held her fist loosely on my wet dick and slowly jacked me off, and she looked at my cock as she fisted it easily, and she whispered, "Steven. You have no idea how dark and dirty it feels, doing this. You're so big and so hard...and Martha making you cum like that, when you were so young... and you're still so young. It makes this feel so dirty." And I almost came right there, and she must have felt me stiffen and heard me moan, because she stopped and held me still, squeezing, and she said "Sorry" as she paused and waited for several seconds. Then she put her mouth on me and gave me a few more slow, sticky sucks, and then she stopped and lifted her head to wipe her mouth and get her breath. She had sucked me for one of the most memorable thirty seconds of foreplay in my young life, and I was hard as hell when she lifted her head again. Martha said, "Ronnie, you're talking, too." Ronnie blushed, sweeping hair from one side of her face, and said, "I know. I couldn't help it." And I said, fighting for my breath, "And you almost made me cum!" She let go of my cock and whispered, "No. Not in my hand. Not in my mouth." She straightened up on her knees and put her hands on my waist, and my waist felt her long fingers and hot palms and then her lips sucked my left nipple and she looked up at me and said, getting breathless, "Get up and let me get on the bed." She rose to her feet, saying, "Come on, while you're good and hard." I stood up, my legs shaky, and Martha stood at the foot of the bed. Ronnie lay down, long and trim and naked, and stretched out and opened her legs. I stood looking down at her, feeling powerful and feeling my dick jut into the air, seeing how big Ronnie's mouth had made me. Candlelight washed over her, and she lay long and slim and tanned and naked, her dark eyes and her dark patch waiting for me. I sat on the bed and swung my knee over her legs and she opened her legs to let me lie above her, and her body was warm and supple as I settled onto her. She reached between us, so I raised on my arms to let her find my dick, and beside me, to my left, I felt Martha settling onto the bed. Ronnie watched my eyes as she raised her knees and pulled her feet together, spreading her thighs wide. Her long fingers tickled when she found my cock and brought it to her opening, and I suddenly realized she wasn't putting a rubber on me. I went taut, withdrawing a little, and I looked at her and said, "Don't you want me to put on a ru-" She shook her head no, her dark eyes looking hungry, and she whispered, "No." And she gave my cock a pull with her hand, and she whispered again, "No. Just go in." Her eyes watched as her hand directed me, and she touched my tip to her wet slash and slowly swished the tip up and down, wetting it, and my eyes closed for a second with the vivid pleasure of her wetness and her lean, sticky gash as she got me wet with her, and when I opened my eyes again she was grinning, and her dark eyes seemed to grin as well, and she said, "I don't think I ever felt a cock's tip touch me like that, with nothing on it. It's...spongy. Soft." Then her grin faded into a softer smile, her eyes searching for messages from mine, and she lodged my tip just inside her outer lips and put her hands on my shoulders and whispered, "Put it in." I looked at her, not believing any of it, and her face seemed to absorb my eyes and the candle a few inches from her was burning in each of her eyes, and Martha's hand touched my back and I felt Martha's nakedness settle next to me. My first image was of waking up in Memphis one day and getting a letter that Ronnie was with child. Martha was worry enough, but at least I was used to Martha. Ronnie smiled. She coaxed, whispering, "It's okay. This is what I want." I moved my hips forward. My glans parted her oily opening and gently nosed past the snug muscle just beyond. I slid a couple of inches into her, and she whispered, "Yes." I pulled back, feeling the wet of her clinging to me, and her eyes watched mine as I nudged back inside again, getting wet, and she said, "Mm-hm. Yes." I moved in and out again, getting wetter, feeling the drippy wet of her coat my front two inches. Then I pushed beyond, and the snugness in her began to give way, and I pushed gently ahead and she nudged her hips upward, and she engulfed all of me and gripped me and her eyes melted and she breathed a soft "Ahhhh," and I stayed deep in her and waited, dis- covering, and she said in a lazy murmur, "Ah, god. Yeah." I wasn't prepared for what I felt. Martha, when I entered her, was a slick, smooth, firm, warmly gripping and massaging mommy. But Ronnie was entirely new and different. I was not overly surprised by her familiar, fleshy opening with its ticklish pubic hair; I had felt something of that delicious aperture, and the friendly embrace of the muscle just inside it, when I entered Ronnie deeply enough to go past the upper bound of the condoms that kept me from her. But now, with my shaft bare, Ronnie was conspicuously narrow and buttery, multi- extured. Her flesh clung to my shaft so closely that I imagined her lubrication soaking into my pores. And deep inside, near her cervix, her cunt tapered to a small sucking mouth that worked directly on my glans, stretching the slit. She let her thighs fall completely apart. I was all the way in. Slowly, I started screwing, screwing at the same slow paced she used to suck me into hardness, and I gave a long, low sigh of pleasure. She stared at me, her eyelids drooping, her lips parting in a lazy, sensuous smile. She breathed, "Mmm. Steven. Wow. Good. Good, nice and slow." While we both learned the feel of cock and cunt together, Martha slid upward, sitting on the bed near Ronnie's head, and she laid a hand on Ronnie's shoulder. Martha smiled at her and asked, "Feel different?" Ronnie glanced at Martha and said, "Oh, yeah. Much better." Then she looked back into my eyes and asked, "How is it?" I said earnestly, "Mm, it's nice," and I closed my eyes for a moment, concentrating on all the new sensations as I moved in and out. I glanced at Martha. She was smiling at me. I told her, "She feels so different without those things on me." Martha said, "I know. It's better for Ronnie, too." Martha teased me, "What's she feel like?" I started to chuckle, but didn't. "God, not now." Ronnie looked down at my cock while she let me fuck her slowly. And I let myself enjoy the wet and cling of her, feeling my cock getting bigger, feeling it was going to be a very satisfying cum in Ronnie, and I looked down and watched my cock going in and out of the thin slit between her outstretched thighs, at the fragile outer lips clinging and stretching as my cock slid outward, feeling their slick, subtle grip on my shaft. Martha bent close to me, her lips touching my neck and then my ear, and she stroked my shoulder and asked me, "Hon? Do you like her pussy? Do you like fucking Ronnie's pussy?" I looked up, and Martha was grinning at me, that crazy grin she wore when she watched Ronnie suck me off that first night, and I couldn't help myself; I grinned back at her, our eyes meeting and sharing in the debauchery of all three of us, and I said, "Yeah. Yeah I like it." And I looked down at Ronnie and pulled back slightly, pleased at the way her outer lips stretched and clung, especially those soft, outer curls of thin flesh that followed my shaft like slithery petals as I withdrew to my tip. I had a lusty grin on my face that was so lewd it embarrassed me, and I murmured, "Yeah...it's a nice pussy. " I enjoyed letting my tip toy with her slippery labia for a moment, slipping the head of my cock shallowly in and out to relish the play of her slushy opening around my glans. Then I slid back in, gratified at the way her warm cunt clamped around me. I stretched forward a little to go deeper, wanting that smallish depth in her to nip at my tip. I rose higher on my arms and started a steady fucking rhythm, staying deep, savoring that sweet spot deep inside her, and Ronnie's eyes narrowed pleasurably, and she murmured, "Like that. Yeah. Like that." While I moved in her I looked down at the nubile, willowy girlishness of her, at her upright nipples swollen into dark nubs, her knees pulled aside, thighs spread, tendons stretched. Her eyes smoldered and her small, moist lips smiled as she watched me, and then Ronnie and I began our language, our own whispers and signals, as our eyes and pleasures united us and sought their own expression, and I got into really fucking her now, my breathing trying to keep up. It got better with each stroke, and I saw her eyes recognize in mine that it was already starting to get good for me, and she raised her eyebrows at me. I said, "This is really good," and she said, "Yeah?", and I nodded yes, and Ronnie teased, "Like fucking me better this way?" and I nodded again, fucking her deeper, and I said, "It's a good fuck," and she murmured as if spellbound, "Yeah. Good fuck. Deli- cious fuck." She tightened her pussy on me and her eyes monitored mine, hers seeming to concentrate on what my dick was doing inside her and what her pussy was making me feel, and she seemed to know that I could feel the first stirrings of my orgasm, and she watched my eyes grow dim with the startlingly pleasurable effect of my bare cock in her, as well as my excitement at Martha, beside me, caressing my flexing back and hips. Seldom did I feel such an overwhelming orgasm mount so quickly. I wanted it to last. But I knew it wouldn't. Being inside Ronnie just felt too damn good. She watched me and nudged her hips upward a little with a faint "Ah, that's better," and I felt the change in her channel as it accepted my length more easily. Ronnie said, "You're getting bigger," and she said to Martha, "Martha, he really goes deep. I feel him swelling." Martha said, "You just feel it better without a rubber." Ronnie said absently, her eyes on mine, "There you go again. Condom, Martha. Condom. Mmm! Mm, Steven. Pulsing. God, so much going on that I wasn't feeling before!" My breathing got heavier and more uneven. "Maybe I should stop a minute. I'm not gonna last." Ronnie teased, "You gonna cum?" But I kept fucking. I told her, "Feels too good to stop." Martha's voice near my ear asked me, "Do you want to wait, hon?" And I panted, "Yes." And then Ronnie's cunt gripped me and I groaned "Mm!" and then I panted, "No!" Martha chuckled, "Ron, you're driving him crazy." Ronnie gazed intently into my eyes. "Steven. I want it." I moaned, lunging deep and slow, wanting to fuck her longer but wanting to cum, too, and Ronnie whispered, tempting, "C'mon. C'mon, I want it." And I panted, slowing down again, my hips backing up high and then flexing down. "Soon. Ahhh! Soon." Then I knew I couldn't stop it. That itch in my balls started. My hips paused briefly with my dick deep in her at the end of each stroke. Martha's hand caressed my butt. Beside me, she smiled mischievously as she ran her finger down my crack, and I whimpered with the sudden stimulation. I wanted to feel Ronnie longer, but both women egging me on was much too much. Then my arms and legs stiffened, and I gasped, and then Ronnie, who had her arms around my neck, lifted her torso slightly to watch me going in and out, her face looking down and her forehead near mine, and Ronnie breathed, "God, how do you hold it so long?" I went in and out and my arms shook a little and Ronnie looked down, watching, wait- ing, and she gasped, "You're so big!" Then I couldn't stand it any more. My arms couldn't hold me. I let my head drop and my face dug into her shoulder with the sudden rush of pleasure, and Ronnie's arms around my shoulders dug into the skin, and whispered excitedly, "Yeah, baby! Mmm, yeah! Let it go. Come on, let it go!" Then the orgasm streamed forward, my hips slowing into it arduous- ly, Martha's hand slid under my butt pressed the muscles and I moaned hard and I gasped, "Uhh, Yes!" and I gushed. "Uh!" And squirted, hard. "Mmm!" Then Ronnie tensed as the spurts came hard and fast and she kept tightening her cunt and she whispered, astonished, "My god," and cum leaked out of her and slickened her outer lips, and she pressed her forehead tightly against mine and she crooned, encouraging and com- forting, "Yeah, sweetheart. Yeeaah," and Martha massaged behind my balls and I huffed and puffed, and as the last big one left me I groaned loudly, "Ronnie!" Then it all slowed down. Ronnie kissed my neck, and I slowed to tired, weaker strokes, letting let my dick pause far inside her. A relieving shiver ran up my spine. Martha nestled close to me and kissed my back lovingly, and Ronnie started moving her hips under me, writhing, trying to hug every part of her body into mine, and then as I slumped on her she relaxed, kissing my cheek and rubbing the back of my neck. Ronnie sighed, "Whew! You know how to get all you can out of it." Martha said, "I think you contributed, Ronnie." Ronnie said, "Oh, of course. I've never been so involved. Really! So powerful." Martha snuggled closer to me, kissing near my ear. "Steven? Are you conscious?" I moaned, exhausted, "Yes!" They snickered together, and Ronnie said, "Oh, honey. You really had a good one." I moaned again, out of breath, "Yes!" Ronnie hugged me and said, "Mmm. Just rest. I like cuddling like this." Martha asked her, "How was it?" Ronnie swept a hand across her sweaty upper chest. "You have to be kidding! I never felt anything like that in my life. I mean, it was so *strange*, it's...really impossible to describe." She hugged me again. "Steven? Pretty good, huh?" I panted, nodded yes, too winded to talk. Ronnie laughed and gave me another hug, groaning playfully, "Mm-MM!" She relaxed her hold on me and pushed the hair out of her face and exhaled a long "Wwwwhhhhh. God." She squeezed me tightly with her cunt, and I felt her grin against my face. "Got any more in there?" I shook my head no. Ronnie said, "Aw, c'mon." Martha said, "He's drained, Ronnie. For now." Martha leaned down to my ear. She whispered mischievously, "Was she good?" I panted, "We'll work on it." She breathed a small laugh and said, "Well, save some to work on it with me, too." "Yeah. Whew! Right." Martha echoed, "Right. Ronnie, he's even starting to talk like you." Ronnie said, "Imitation's the sincerest form of flattery." I lay on Ronnie with an increasingly unreal feeling. How much more unreal could it get? Yet I also feared that if I coughed too loud or breathed too hard I'd wake up and it would all be over. Ronnie was getting her breath back and wiping moisture from her forehead. "Martha, I didn't know you could feel it. I mean, I could almost tell every time he spouted." Martha scoffed, "Hon, we gals can't feel all that." "Sure gals can. *I* did. It was like...it reminded me of those little toys at Woolworth's, y'know, with the Mexican jumping bean inside? It was like a soft little jumping bean would take a leap every second or so. You mean you can't feel that when he cums with you?" Martha frowned. "Well, no, when he ejaculates it's...more like... little waves of heat. But I can feel him pulse. "Oh, but I can feel the cum, y'know?. I mean, yeah, I guess so, little waves, like -- No, soft darts. Soft, warm, tiny darts. Right? Not wet, not like cumming in my mouth, that's when I feel it clearly. But when it's *in* me, it's..." She whispered, "Like soft darts way up there." Martha said, "Oh, Ron, you can't." Ronnie said, "Well, it's--oh, Martha, don't be so precise and difficult. I can't explain it, it was...Whew! What a sensation." She let out a long breath and propped one arm under her head, and I rolled off her a little. She turned her head toward me and her blue eyes looked at me. "Steven, you have such intense orgasms, you seem so lost in it." She laid a hand on my chest, which was still heaving mightily. "How about it, Steve Reeves? Am I a good lay?" I said, "No contest." "Mm. For a while there, I was beginning to think getting laid couldn't be nice." Martha lowered her voice to a serious tone. "Ron...we need to take a trip to the little girls' room." Ronnie winced. "Oh, hell, I forgot about that." Martha insisted, "Ron..." "Yeah, okay. I guess so. Steven, Mama Martha knows all about these things." She sat up and I rolled onto my back, and then Ronnie rose to her knees. As soon as she was upright, her eyes widened and she gave a sudden, "Uh-oh." She looked down, quickly cupping her pelvis with one hand. "My god. Now, *there's* a new sensation. I didn't think about that." Martha got off the bed and yanked a kleenex from the box on the table and handed it to her. "Here." Ronnie held the kleenex between her legs and gave herself a quick wipe, looking down. "Steven!" I said weakly, "Sorry." "No, no, honey, it's just--" She grinned at Martha-- "What a sudden surprise!" The two women scooted off the bed and skittered into the bathroom, laughing and whispering, and shut the door. As I lay recovering, I heard water running. The two women shuffled around and dropped plastic things on the floor. I heard Martha say, "Take it is easy, Ron." "Well, what are you doing?" "I'm just trying to help." "I don't want you to!" "Ron...what are you so testy about?" "Martha...You *know* how stark reality scares the crap out of me!" After a few minutes Martha came out of the bathroom alone and stretched her sweet, naked, perfect body on top of mine and kissed my chin and neck and eyes. "Hi." "Hi," I said. "That was incredibly wicked." "Thank you." She smiled at me, not speaking, and I smiled back tiredly. I sat up, feeling nervous. I noticed my hand resting on my knee, and I raised my hand an inch or so and saw it tremble a little. I gave Martha an embarrassed laugh. "You know, I'm...I don't know if this just feels too good or if I'm just a little weak and shaky." Martha said quietly, "I know." She laid her hand on mine and looked at it for a brief moment, deep in thought. She said, "I know what you mean. It makes me a little shaky, too. When I cum, with the three of us. Steven..." She stopped. "Yes?" She bit her lip and rubbed my hand. "Ronnie and I had talked about this, about doing this, and we always wondered what it would be like and what it would...well, reveal to us about ourselves. I mean, we didn't talk about doing it with anyone specific, you know, it was a kind of...a fantasy. It wasn't something that was supposed to really happen, it was just..." Her gorgeous hazel eyes searched mine. "Is it scary for you?" I thought for a moment. I said, "Well...yes." But I added quickly, "Well, not scary, just...well...a little bit, yes." She prompted, "Kind of like...it's not real? Lost all control?" I pondered that. I admitted, "Yeah." "I know," she said. Then it was Martha that gave me the little laugh, a single, small, nervous laugh, and she looked down and blushed. "Me too. And Ronnie. Ronnie, too." For a long moment we didn't say anything. Then Martha said, "Maybe we've been in control too much, for too long. I think we both have the same reasons for finding this to be a little scary. I hope ...Hon, I never thought I'd let myself go far, not...not so wickedly." She rubbed my hand for a moment, and she whispered, "I could almost feel the pleasure with you." She caressed my hand silently for a moment, and then she asked, "But it was good? It was total and... complete?" "Well, it felt good...yes...not exactly complete." "No?" I looked at her. I said, "It couldn't be that complete. It was Ronnie. It was good. But it wasn't you." I think I saw her eyes start to darken. She turned away a little, looking down and across my chest. She said, "I want you to be able to enjoy it with someone else when you're...not with me...because..." She took a deep, long breath, and lowered her voice. "I've seen what repression does to people who have very, very strong, intelligent, very sexual personalities. It makes them angry, dark, sick, violent people. I can't change all that, I can't change everyone, I can't change the system, but...this is our chance, for us, just for us. And the way life is, we'll never have this chance again. Anyone would cringe at the thought of this. But I just want to make sure that... Well, I don't--" She stopped again and rubbed her forehead. "My god, Steven. The world has a way of making us so feel so guilty about everything, doesn't it?" She gave a tired sigh and she turned to glance at the bathroom, where water was still running. She said under her breath, "But we'll never, never have a chance for such pleasure again. And I'd never be able to do this with anyone else. It's just this strange combination. You and I. And her." Then she turned to me, looking suddenly calm. She said, "You like her a lot." "She's very likeable." "Yes, she is. She's very sweet." Martha's eyes grew sad, and she looked away from me. "You have no idea how miserable she was. But she would never let anyone know, except me." She glanced at the bathroom again. "Take a lesson from her, hon. She's determined -- determined -- to be happy, and to give happiness. The night she left George, something snapped in her, and she came to my apartment with her clothes and her art, and she cried all night, and the next morning she didn't talk all day, she only said one thing. One thing. She said, 'Martha, I'll be goddamn if I ever live this way again.' Take a good look at her sometime, hon. I do love her." I said, "I do, too, I guess." She sat up and sighed, raising her knees and resting her chin on them, looking across the room silently, her eyes closed. I said, "What's wrong?" She shook her head no, saying nothing. She lifted her head and then she turned toward me and held my shoulders and she smiled and pulled me down on top of her and hugged me, and she whispered into my ear, "Ronnie will be back in a minute and we can all talk and be together. And you can rest. Rest. I want Ronnie to watch us." Ronnie emerged from the bathroom, joking and philosophizing and smoking one cigarette after another. They tried twice to get me up again, but Ronnie had done one hell of a drainage job on me. I ended up licking Ronnie to a strong orgasm before I was sufficiently turned on to handle Martha. When I entered Martha she was surprisingly passionate, even for her, throwing her head back with an ecstatic smile and sighing, "Ah, fuck me, Steven. Fuck me!" The fuck with Martha was long and drawn out, with Ronnie caressing her and me and watching us in silent fascination. Martha was desperate for the ultimate, wrenching climax. I was able to hold out and make her cum twice. It seemed especially pleasurable for her, in her excited state, and before Martha's second climax Ronnie helped raise her to a fever pitch with an unending stream of erotic talk about dark pleasure, whispered into Martha's ear. While Martha came I ground my pelvis roughly into her, my dick firmly against her clit, and she writhed her hips in a fit of one of the most animalistic orgasms I'd seen her enjoy. It seemed she didn't want to rise out of the second one. She held me so tightly, the only parts of me that could move were my feet and my hips. At her peak her pelvis squirmed violently against mine and she buried her mouth in my shoulder and made a long series of low huffs and growls. They were some of the most electri- fying sounds I'd ever heard from her, making the hair bristle on the back of my neck. As good as it was to please her, I knew I was approaching my physical limit. Martha gave a long, ecstatic, moaned scream at the end of her incredibly intense climax. As the peak subsided she grasped my buttocks and pulled me to her, nearly sobbing with pleasure. By then, I was both physically and emotionally bushed and needed a break. While Martha was shuddering and recovering, Ronnie stroked Martha's neck and face. When I was able to raise my head from Martha's hot neck I saw Ronnie's surprised look. Ronnie breathed, "You two are wild." Then she laughed. "What am I talkin' about? All three of us are wild." She gave Martha's forehead a kiss. She said, smiling at her, "Hey, settle down. Want me to help you in the bathroom?" Martha panted, grinning happily, "I'll be fine -- If I can even get in there!" While Martha was in the bathroom, Ronnie and I rested against the headboard. She smoked a cigarette and we talked a little, both of us tired. Now and then Ronnie would glance at me but didn't speak. Finally she said, "I don't know if you realize this about Martha, but in some ways she 's very conservative. She's so afraid of the darkness in her. But the two of you, you have a way of bringing it out." "Bringing it out?" She exhaled. "The forbidden. The gentle beast. Pleasure that burns through the flesh, into your soul." I asked her, "And what about with you?" She chuckled. "Steven...we're gonna love working on me." After Ronnie and Martha, my back was too tired and my cock too ravaged for any more screwing. I hadn't climaxed with Martha. So when she returned from the bathroom she sucked me off. I was too weary for a drawn out episode and she sensed it. She brought me to an orgasm surprisingly fast, and just as I exploded she changed to angon- izingly slow, noisy, slurping sucks that had me whimpering pitifully. My balls surrendered their very last, with thin, hurling spurts while Ronnie watched us and used her fingers to feel my scrotal muscles desperately pumping, something that seemed to make Ronnie somewhat gleefully crazy. And when I shot off in Martha's mouth I knew that when it came to deep, loving, emotionally super-charged pleasure, Martha knew how bring me there. She was always good. She was the best. She was better than anyone could possibly, ever be. Continued. . . <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. 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